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comfortwriting · 3 years

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Privacy - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Prompt 48: He pressed his lips against yours, you kissed back and your hands tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt.

Prompt 50: “shhh...” he whispered “be quiet, you don’t want your parents finding us”

Requested/About: The reader invites her boyfriend of over a year, Fred, to come over for dinner and to spend the night at her parents house as they are eager to meet him. Throughout his stay under her parents roof, Y/N and Fred become sexually frustrated due to their lack of intimacy; causing Fred to take matters into his own hands.

Warnings: 18+! detailed smut, swearing, vulgar language, fingering, oral female receiving, penetrative sex, mention of food and eating.

Y/D/N = your dads name, Y/M/N = your mums name (if like me, you have no parents, include whoever is your guardian or any names you like!)

Your dad finished up helping your mum cook dinner in the hazy kitchen, popping the trays into the oven and slamming the door shut before more air could escape into the already scorching room, you could tear the two of them giggling, chatting amongst themselves and dancing along to the radio.

Biting your lip and staring at your reflection in the mirror, you raised your tartan skirt, rolling it up so your upper thigh would get more notice, even if you were wearing sheer black tights underneath.

Dating Fred Weasley for over a year definitely has its perks - his family became your family, the burrow became your second home where you were welcome to stop by and stay over whenever you liked, Fred’s skiving Snack boxes helped you get out of things you didn’t want to do at work, and around the house, Fred is incredibly romantic, taking you out on the most fun dates around Diagon Alley, and your sex life... well, it’s nothing short of steamy or adventurous.

You could feel your heart flutter, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, pacing around your bedroom you hurried over to your bed and straightened out the covers and brushing over the tiniest creases. You straightened your picture frames, you and Fred in fits of laughter in your hand-me-down robes and darted around the room doublechecking for the tiniest specks of dust.

“Y/N!” your mum called up, now standing at the bottom of the stairs “he’s walking up the driveway!”

Almost jumping out of your skin, you went back to the mirror and quickly fixed your hair one last time, checking how minty your breath was from the mouthwash and sprinted down the stairs, almost sliding down the last few steps.

Your dad walked out of the hazy kitchen and into the hallway, wrapping his arm around your mum's waist, chuckling at you going red in the face.

“Roll that skirt down!” Your dad called out, pointing at your tartan skirt.

“Oh leave her alone!” your mother defended you “she isn’t a kid anymore”

“you’d think she’s off to a concert dressed like that!”

“Please don’t embarrass me” you warned them quietly under your breath, your back facing the door, slowly and grudgingly pulling your skirt down by the smallest inch.

Y/D/N raised his eyebrows “You know we wouldn’t, but the rifle is under the stairs-”

Y/M/N slapped him playfully and tutted, scolding him “behave, will you!”

“Dad!”

Fred’s footsteps crumbled as he walked over the stones, standing in front of the door, and knocking three times.

You stood there and glared at your dad who kept nodding his head towards where he kept his rifle.

“Don’t you dare!” You hissed at him, starting to regret taking up your parents offer for this evening.

“Answer the bloody door then!”

You sighed and turned around, facing the large wooden front door, taking a deep breath, you opened it, coming face to face with the man of your dreams.

His windswept ginger hair made him look like he had fought against the wind whilst walking up the worlds steepest hill and his beautiful brown eyes twinkled as they poured into yours. His tartan jumper matching your skirt.

“Hello, love,” he said softly, pulling you into a tight hug.

You rested your arms on his shoulders and brought them around the back of his neck, nuzzling your face into his warmth, the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon engulfing you - making you wish you could apparate to the burrow without worrying your muggle parents.

“So you must be Fred Weasley” your father called out, letting go of your mother and walking towards Fred.

You and Fred pulled away from each other, you stood by his side, taking his bag and hanging it up on the peg beside the door next to your coat.

“Yes, sir” Fred replied, swallowing hard whilst trying to smile, holding out his hand.

Your father smiled and shook his hand “well, it’s lovely to meet you, Fred, I’m Y/D/N” he gestured over to your mother “and this is my wife, Y/M/N.”

After the slightly awkward, but better than expected introduction, Fred helped your father set the table and explaining the products he created and sells at his joke shop whilst you helped your mum plate up the food.

“He seems absolutely lovely!” your mum beamed, tipping more broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower onto the plates.

You smiled, picking up your plate and Fred’s “yeah, he’s amazing” you blushed “I love him.”

Following your mother into the dining room, you set Fred’s plate down on the placemat and then the same with yours next to him, your mother set the other two plates down and went back into the kitchen to fetch out the gravy and seasonings.

“If you allowed me to do magic the table would have been set within seconds” you huffed, as Fred pulled out your chair.

“When you live in your own house” your father started, sitting down “you can do what you like, but under this roof, you’ll be a - what's the word?” your father looked over at Fred.

“Uh, Muggle,” Fred replied, staring at your arse.

You sat down, Fred pushing in your chair before getting sat down, your mother finally placing everything on the table and opening a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for herself and her husband.

“ah, yes, but under this roof you’ll be a muggle like me and your mother” Your father lifted up his wine glass, thanking his wife and took a sip.

“I’m muggle-born” you sighed, picking up your knife and fork.

“Let’s not dive into this topic yet again!” your mother interrupted cheerfully, pouring gravy over her chicken.

Your father put down his glass of wine, licking the residue away that sat his lips “Fred” he lifted up the wine bottle “would you like a glass?”

Fred shook his head, cutting into the chicken and stabbing it with his fork “no thank you, I’m fine with my water” he smiled, taking a bite of his food.

Dinner went well, and again, better than expected. Fred laughed at your fathers terrible and cringe jokes whilst you and your mother pulled sour faces and reminded him about table manners, but Fred encouraged him even more, winning his approval.

Whilst your parents got caught up in their own discussions when resting, or with empty plates, you and Fred exchanged cheeky glances, his eyes travelling up your skirt which you made sure to roll back up before sitting down. Your hand sneakily rested on Fred’s thigh, slowly moving closer and closer to his crotch, making him almost choke on his sweetcorn and bash his knee under the table as he jolted.

“You’re a bloody tease” Fred muttered under his breath, helping you wash up “doing that to me and giving me a semi under the table.”

You smirked and placed the last plate on the drying rack, turning around to face him as you leaned against the kitchen worktops, the tiny puddles of soapy water that jumped out of the almost-overflowing sink seeped into the back of your skirt.

“I was only saying hello” you grinned, as Fred dried his hands and stood in front of you, placing his hands at either side of you, trapping you underneath him.

“Fancy giving me a speech?” he smirked back, his voice low.

You bit your lip and blushed, Fred leaned down to kiss you, his tongue dragging over your lips for entrance, making you both feel excited. Granting him access, your tongue and Fred’s fought for dominance, one of his hands now running up your inner thigh.

“Do you two need a hand?” Your mum called out, walking over to the kitchen door and opening it.

You quickly pushed Fred away from you and pulled the soapy, gravy cup off the drying wrack, scooping up water from the sink and throwing it over Fred, drenching him before he had a moment to realise what was happening.

The kitchen door swung open, warm, soapy water covered the kitchen floor and Fred’s jumper, your mother stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. Fred stood against the fridge, rubbing his eyes, you were stood sharing glances with both your mum and Fred whilst you gripped onto the gravy cup.

“Y/N! What have you done to the floor?! and look at Fred, he’s drenched!”

“We got carried away” Fred covered for you “I’m sorry Y/M/N, we’ll get it cleaned up.”

Y/M/N smiled and your boyfriend, calming down, “Oh don’t be silly! you don’t need to clean this mess” she replied sweetly “get that jumper off, I’ll pop it on the maiden to dry.”

Fred pulled off his wet tartan jumper, the butterflies inside of you fluttering around at the sight of his muscles busting through his short-sleeved t-shirt, you clamped your legs together at the knee.

Fred passed his jumper to your mum “thank you” he said softly.

“Get this cleaned up” your mother ordered “come into the living room with us Fred, a really good film is meant to be coming on at any minute now.” she walked out of the kitchen.

Fred followed behind slowly, piercing you with his eyes, “you’re in for it” he whispered, shutting the kitchen door behind him.

Biting your lip and sighing, you could feel the butterflies in your crotch, making you squeeze your legs together even tighter, swearing under your breath you grabbed the cloths and started to clean up.

Sitting between your dad and Fred, your eyes were glued to your boyfriend’s veiny arms and hands, he kept tensing and bunching his hands into fists on purpose, knowing you were watching and couldn’t do a thing about it. All the while, Fred continued to risk glances up your tartan skirt, getting a peek of your lace red thong.

Fred could feel his cock harden in his trousers, he shifted on the sofa and blocked his hard-on from view with his hands, noticing Fred hiding away, you also shuffled on the sofa which pulled back your skirt, exposing more of your inner thighs and your thong.

His eyes travelled up your legs with desperation and his breathing went got heavier, his cock getting even harder, his large length becoming harder to hide and painful to ignore, you smirked at him and focused on the television, not understanding the movie your parents were so hooked on.

“I think I’m going to call it a night” Fred announced quickly, almost stumbling over his words, standing up and retrieving his no longer wet but now damp jumper, which he used to cover up his hard-on.

“Yeah, me too” you forced a yawn, stretching out before standing up next to Fred and linking arms with him.

“Are you sure?” your dad protested “the film is nearly over”

Fred could feel his cock pulsate, he squeezed onto his jumper in frustration “I’m sure, too much telly can make us Wizards feel a bit dizzy” he lied, walking over to the door.

“Oh gosh!” your mum panicked, trying to get out of her seat, almost knocking over her wine glass “will you be alright-”

“I’ll look after him, he’ll be fine” you replied, pushing Fred through the door and out into the hallway “goodnight!”

Unlinking arms with Fred, you giggled and bolted up the stairs, Fred chasing after you and breaking into your bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, Fred threw his jumper onto your bed and leant against the door, his eyes staring you down as he walked over to you, backing you up against your study desk.

“I told you, you’re in for it” he growled.

Lifting you up and sitting you down on the desk, Fred spread your legs open with his hands, the veins in them bulging as he stood between them. He pressed his lips against yours, you kissed back and your hands tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt. Fred smirked against your lips and pulled off his t-shirt, giving you an eyeful of his muscles, his big, hard cock poking through his trousers.

Breaking away from the kiss, leaving your lips red and coated in his saliva, Fred started to undo his trousers and dropped them to the floor, standing out of them he kicked them across the floor, leaving him in his boxers and you still fully dressed. Fred sucked on his index and middle finger, spitting down them as he approached your wet cunt, his two wet fingers now sliding underneath your thong and brushing against your sensitive and swollen clit.

You gasped out and let a little airy moan spill from your lips, causing Fred to smirk and bite his lip, hooking your thong with his fingers as he dragged them down your legs and throwing them beside his trousers. Fred’s two fingers lined up against your tight hole and pushed inside of you, your cunt engulfing him in warmth and your walls tightening around his fingers.

His long fingers pumped inside and out of you, slow at first and then picking up in speed as you got used to him, you pulled off your top and dropped it on the floor, your breasts desperate to be let free from your matching lace, red bra. Your quiet moans and facial expressions encouraged Fred to pull down his boxers with his free hand and take hold of his hard cock at the base of his shaft, as he started to pump his cock, the built-up precum spilling out onto the head.

Fred licked his soft lips and dived down in between your legs and under your skirt, continuing to finger fuck you, Fred stuck out his tongue and swirled it around your clit in circular motions, sucking on it every now and then before licking in a different direction - this time slowly dragging his tongue up and down as you came undone.

The feeling of his fingers stretching you out as he added a third finger and his tongue exploring you sent waves of pleasure down your spine and expanded throughout your insides, your moans continued to spill from your delicate, kiss hungry lips, louder and louder.

Fred groaned against your pussy, the vibrations from his voice pushing you closer to the edge.

“Freddie!” You yelped out in pleasure, lolling your head back and scrunching your eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of his long fingers and wet tongue.

Fred pulled away and stopped eating your cunt, causing you to open your eyes and look down at his head and eyes peeking up from under your tartan skirt which you wanted nothing more than to rip off.

“Shhh...” he whispered “be quiet, you don’t want your parents finding us”

“mph” you moaned softly “but I want you so bad, Freddie, we can put a silencing charm on the-”

Fred withdrew his fingers, making you feel empty and sucked your juices off his fingers, he stood up and lifted you in his arms, walking you over to the bed, laying you down gently, climbing on top of you.

“You know we’re not allowed to do magic under this roof, sweetheart” Fred reminded you, his voice low and deep, his soft lips peppering your neck with kisses whilst his hands sneaked around your back, unclipping your bra.

“I promise I’ll be quiet” you whispered, looking over to the door as Fred pulled off your bra, your hands now pulling down your skirt, Fred dragging it down your legs and tossing it on the floor.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep” Fred smirked, continuing to touch himself over the sight of your wet cunt.

You pulled out a condom you hid under your pillow earlier in the day, handing it to Fred so he could put it on as you grabbed the lube. Fred rolled the condom over his large length, squeezing away the bubble at the tip of his cock.

You squeezed out the lube into the palm of your hand and across your four fingers, spreading it all over Fred’s length as you took him in your hand, toying with him gently before you pulled your hand away and spread the excess lube across your entrance, fingering yourself teasingly, watching your boyfriend thirst for you.

Fred got on his knees and beckoned you over to him with his two fingers, you crawled over to him as he held onto your waist as you sat down slowly on his large length, your mouth forming an O shape, moans escaping your lips and his. Fred spread his knees apart and slowly placed both of your legs on his shoulders, so the back of your thighs were against his chest, his hard cock pushing deeper inside of you - his hands holding you over your ribs just above your waist.

“I’m so fucking deep inside you” he groaned, his cock brushing against your G-Spot.

You nodded and moaned out as he started to buck his hips and bounce up and down on your bed, “I can feel you in my tummy, Freddie.”

“Good, that’s my baby girl.” he grunted.

Continuing to bounce and buck his hips, Fred’s cock slid deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting your G-Spot over and over, your quiet moans flowing from your mouth like water from the kitchen tap. Your ample breasts bouncing up and down, your hair tousled like Fred’s, the veins in his body looking like bolts of lightning.

The very sight of him edged you closer and closer to reaching the beginning of your climax, your walls continuing to tighten around Fred’s pulsating cock, squeezing him whilst he stretched you out, your lower abdomen starting to tense up.

“The sight of you makes me want to cum” Fred grunted again, beads of sweat across his forehead and chest glistened in the moonlight that pierced through your bedroom window.

Your cheeks were red and hot, your legs rattling on his shoulders, your toes curling, your head lolling back, exposing your soft neck.

“I’m getting close” you breathed out softly, biting down on your lip to restrict your moans from becoming too loud, hearing footsteps pass outside your door.

Fred stopped for a moment, waiting for your parent's footsteps to die down as they went to bed, you whined at your orgasm slowly drift away from you, until as soon as your parent’s bedroom door closed, Fred, started to pound you, fast, deep, and hard.

“Fucking cum for me, Y/N” Fred panted “I can feel myself getting close too.”

The sound of Fred slamming into you filled your bedroom, his groans and your moans pushing one another closer and closer to the edge, your walls clamping around Fred’s cock so unbelievably tight causing him to twitch inside of you - his fingernails digging into your sides whilst you left scratches down his strong arms.

The pressure building up and suddenly bursting, Fred’s name escaping your mouth quite loudly as your cum gushed down his length, Fred’s sperm shot into the tip of the condom as he thrust himself deep inside of you, his cum pooling slowly into a puddle.

Both of your chests elevating and deflating with mismatched panting and gasping for breath, Fred slowly helped you get your legs off his shoulders and slowly pulled out, laying you down against the cool bedsheets before taking off and binning his filled condom.

Laying down next to you, both of you drenched in sweat, feeling as if you had completed a marathon, he reached out for your shaky hand, holding it in his as he planted a kiss against it.

“I think it’s funny that” Fred spoke out slowly, catching his breath “it’s easier for us to have sex at mine when the home is full of family, and friends”

You broke out into a light laugh and shook your head “yeah” you replied, breathless, “muggle parents are cock blocks”

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @lucymfer @freddiemylovelg @xmalfoyweasleyx @escapingrealitybyreading

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #Weasley #weasley twins #ron weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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For Jameson... "He was trying". (I'm really enjoying these!)

CW: Stabbing, character death, blood (and lots of it), pet whumpee

He's trying to stop himself but he can't.

He can't stop bringing the knife down. Tears blur his vision and he can't see Brute at all until he blinks, rapidly, sees red and then white and black and then the world swings back into focus, all at once.

He pauses, breathing hard, feeling bruises still healing all over his skin protest at the expansion of his ribcage, and he starts, not quite understanding why, to laugh.

His laugh is hysterical, his own voice breaking, laughter to a sob and back to laughter again.

His anger overtakes everything else there is. He doesn't feel human, just skin stretched over the rage that will save him.

The knife was for him, after all. The knife was to kill him, and now it's killing Brute instead. It's clutched in his hands so tightly his knuckles ache at the pressure, his fingers are white at the ends, and still he keeps going.

"You won't k-kill me," The pet breathes, and giggles a little, hysterical and half-mad, burying the knife to the hilt and twisting it. Brute's eyes are open, wide and stupid and empty, and he jerks and burbles sounds that aren't human, or they are maybe... maybe they are the most human sounds of all, those sounds a man makes as he dies.

The taste of his voice changes, it dissolves, it shifts and runs off his tongue. The pet keeps swallowing, again and again, as if he weren't tasting a voice but drinking in the life it belonged it, and still, still his arms keep moving.

There's blood on his hands, splattered up onto his face, dripping onto the floor around them. The pet is on his bruised knees straddling Brute's enormous body, sitting on his hips, and how many times had Brute nearly crushed the pet by sitting on him just this way?

Another time the knife comes down, another burst of blood, but the sounds have stopped and slowly, slowly the pet stops, too.

He sits there, staring down at the face of a dead man, breathing hard like he's been running, covered in a film of sweat.

Everything is red.

Everything is rage.

The pet spits in his face and laughs when Brute doesn't flinch, because he can't anymore, because he's fucking dead. Finally, the pet drops the knife. It thumps softly into the dirty sticky carpet the pet has been crawling on for months.

There's so many wounds.

There's so much blood. It's soaking into the fibers, and the pet watches it spread for a while, and wonders how much will come out before it stops. He leans over, slowly, pressing one hand over Brute's chest, pushing down and down and down to watch the blood come out of a body.

Just a body.

A body that can't hurt him anymore.

He looks at his own palm, perfectly stained red now, and then grins and leans over, rubbing it over Brute's face, staining his face red with his own blood. He doesn't try to close his eyes. Just lets it all go red.

But it's done.

Which means...

He digs into Brute's pockets, finds a keyring and realizes his bloodied hands have started to shake as he carefully tries to find the little one, the one that, that will unlock-

He finds it and gives another little laugh, unlocking the brace on one leg and then the other, key slick-stained but it works, carefully unbuckling the leather straps and throwing the contraptions to the side.

"Should've k-kept you alive for a while," The pet hisses, and there's another hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat, not believing what's happening to him now, what he's done. "Should've done to you what you did to me first. Should've. Should've...should've punished you, bad boy, bad Brute-"

No. Bad pet.

Nanda's death was his fault but it wasn't something he did. But this... this is killing your owner, this is the worst thing a pet can do. If anyone finds out, he'll be refurbished, wiped clean to be sold discount bargain-bin by some place that doesn't give a shit, he'll-

"It doesn't matter," The pet says, shaking his head. He's talking to himself as he shifts off of Brute, sitting back to carefully stretch his legs out, closing his eyes at the soft burn of muscles that have been stuck in the same position for too long. It feels good. He smiles, and shivers a little. "You're not m-my legal owner anyway."

The dust particles dance around the dim room and the pet is briefly entranced by them, watching them catch the light in tiny flashes you only see when you're trying to.

Finally, using the couch for balance, he carefully gets onto his feet. His legs threaten to give out, but after a moment of breathing carefully, they hold him. He keeps his hands on the couch, the side table, the wall as he makes his slow, halting way across the room.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he thinks that Brute looks so goddamn surprised to be dead.

That brings another laugh out of him.

He's steadier by the time he makes it to the shower, listens to the squeak as he turns on the water, holds one hand out to check for it to finally warm.

Shower, then clothes, ransack the place for money, and go.

He wonders, as he locks the door behind him and throws the keys into the bushes right outside the house, his pockets bulging with stolen cash, how long it will take someone to notice Brute is dead.

Or if anyone will even care when they do.

It doesn't matter. The pet walks briskly down the sidewalk, damp hair drying in the sunshine, and waves to a neighbor washing his car as he passes, shoulders hunched, high-necked jacket that's too big for him hiding the collar he still won't let himself take off. The neighbor waves back, hesitantly.

Bus stop, or train station, or somewhere else. Buy a ticket to anywhere, no return.

Wherever he ends up next, it has to be better than this.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary

#jameson bb #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #character death #murder tw #whumper death #pet whumpee #angry whumpee #defiant whumpee #escaping whumpee #whump #microfiction #stabbing #blood tw #lots of blood #so much blood #hooray

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softomi · 4 years

Text

The Monsters and their Lovers.

Sawamura Daichi

There were rumors that there was a class of shapeshifters in the nearby forest. In fact, the forest was named Murder’s Woods for the over abundance of crows. If you walk through the woods, expect groups of crows. They fly to the branches, following you every step, their eyes never leaving you. There were whispers that the crows were the shapeshifters; waiting for the perfect way to attack. You walked through the forest, a basket in your hand, the crows sitting atop the branches; they use their voices to call to each other; a smile graces your lips as you continue the path. A hand harshly pulls you from the shoulder, the basket in your hand drops, you gasp when a knife slides against your cheek.

“Monster!” The man shouts, “You’re one of them shapeshifters.”

Blood trickles down your cheek, your hand cups the dripping blood. The crows shriek, they drop their wings, falling from the branches to circle the man in a swarm. Your eyes widen, behind you a crow drops; leaves circling, feathers withering as fur grows. A wolf emerges, a growl on its lips as it brushes against your thigh. The crows follow suit, their raspy shrieks replaced with snapping growls. Your eyes shut, the man’s screeches dissipate as a wolf drags him further into the forest; the other wolves follow suit. One wolf lingers, it circles you; your knees give out. The wolf lets out a whine, when you open your eyes, the wolf is sitting in front of you. Your hands brush against it’s fur.

“Daichi.”

The wolf’s tongue drags against your cut cheek, the whine disappearing; the fur sheds and a male sits across from you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfect now that you’re here.” You look to the basket, pulling out a small blanket to hand to the man, “But please, cover up.”

The wolves howl into the night, he catches the faint smell of blood; a hand resting on your back as he leads you home.

Kuroo Tetsuro

It was three in the morning. The witching hour. It was a rule to never stay out during the witching hour. That’s when the creatures come out. They feed on the weak, the innocent, anyone walking the streets. The braver ones broke into homes, took what they called theirs, destroying lives for entertainment. You heard a scream from down the block, your footsteps quicken; laughter follows behind you. You can’t help but to continuously look over your shoulder. Despite it being summer, the witching hour practically made snow fall.

“And where do you think you’re going.” A cackle comes from the alleyway you’ve just passed. When you look over your shoulder, you see a group of men coming from the dark shadows, eyes sharpening on your figure, their tongues slither as they begin to move towards you, “Come back and play with us.”

You begin to bolt, they cackle loudly as they begin to chase. Your heart pounding, eyes brimming with tears, you turn the corner, slamming into the chest of a man. Fear radiates from your body as you look up, “Tetsu!” You bawl, shaking to your feet.

“She’s ours.” The group of men have caught up.

Kuroo narrows his eyes onto the men, a hiss on his lips, “I don’t think so.” Kuroo pulls you to your feet, he drags his fingers to the neck of your shirt, yanking the cloth to expose your shoulder. The outlining of a cat sits nestled on your collarbone, “She’s been marked.”

The men turn away. You look at Kuroo, you smack him in the chest and he lowly laughs, “You’re the worst.” You spit out, walking pass him with your arms crossed.

Kuroo chuckles, arms wrapping around your waist, “Come on, isn’t this fun?”

“No.” You can feel the way others stare at you, hunger in their eyes when they take in your scent, “I want to go home.” It was unbearable, the way he loved to dangle you in front of others, “I don’t feel safe.”

He tightens his hold, fingers gripping the neck of your shirt, his tongue drags against his mark, “No one can touch you.” He whispers in your ear, “They’ll burn in hell before they can.”

Oikawa Tooru

The palace sat neatly a top a hill, large and vast it stretched just as large as the city below it. Commoners gazed up at the monarchy’s household with envy. The villagers were divided on their ruler, some loyal to their king, others whispered rumors about the evil hiding behind the innocent face of the dictator. It was no doubt that he was obsessed with you; his queen, his one true love, ruler of his heart. He’d cross oceans for you; he started a war for your hand in marriage. When he met you, an engagement ring rested on your finger, one too unfitting for your beauty. His soldiers charged into battle and in less than a year; he placed a wedding ring far grander on your delicate finger.

The citizens were getting restless, they were asking for more resources, more money, more food, more support. The king was utterly distracted, fingers dancing on your hip, kisses on your cheek, you tried to pull away when an interviewer approached.

“Are you denying me?” He whispers in your ear as the camera is being set up.

You look to him, “Of course not, my king. I just thought it would be wiser to have some civility when the camera rolls.”

Oikawa grins, his finger touching your nose briefly, “You’re so smart.”

As he pulls away to straighten himself, he doesn’t miss the way your body relaxes when he removes his hand. He watches as your eyes suddenly light up at the entrance of a mere guard. He catches the fleeting glances between you and the guard, a red dust on your cheeks. Oikawa is irritated.

You sneak through the castle, a skip in your step as you reach the tower. When you open the doors, a smile graces your lips, “My love.” Silence strikes you when Oikawa is seated on a chair, “My king.” Your voice falls, in his hand rests a bloodied sword, the family symbol of the guard engraved onto the steel.

“My queen.” The sword falls onto the ground, he’s brushing his bloodstained hands into your hair. The blood of your lover sticks to your cheeks as he cleans your tears, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Kita Shinsuke

It was crazy, it was preposterous; yet the villagers thought that if it worked, then it must be the only way. It was a tale as old as time, it was something outsiders could never understand. Outsiders gossiped about the unusualness of the village, when drought reached nearby cities and towns, this particular village only experienced prosperity. When war broke out, soldiers were lost amongst fog trying to find the last standing town; wounded warriors brought stories of the fog, shouting nonsense of foxes tearing men apart.

“Is that her?” Someone whispers with astonishment, “The bride of the fox spirit.”

You turn when someone addresses your title, curious to who whispered. The twins behind you halt in their steps, their eyes peering at the outsider in the village; their scent was dreadful.

“Excuse me!” They approach, the boys hold back the person, “Please help me! My village is burning.”

“She doesn’t talk to outsiders.” The twins speak together.

You had gotten used to the sight, the begs and pleads of outsiders at your feet; you had to turn a cold shoulder. The village’s prize possession, that’s what you were. Given to the fox spirit as its bride, you would be written down as the twentieth wife.

“I am home.” You state upon reaching the shrine, “My husband.”

A gust of wind brushes against your skin, an air of red encircles your figure, arms wrap themselves around your waist. A chin rested on your shoulder, your body stiffens, he presses a kiss to your neck.

“Kita.” You pull away, turning to him, in your hand resting some fried tofu, “I would have brought more but Osamu and Atsumu ate a lot of them.” You feed him; he can smell it; the slight fear running through your veins.

He holds your wrist, your eyes stared into his. Kita lowers himself to you, nosing brushing against your; your lips beginning to quiver, “I’m sorry.” He whispers on your lips, “I’m sorry they took your life to give to me.” Tears fall from your eyes; you cling to him out of desperation.

Bokuto Koutarou

It’s been said that when someone is lost; an owl will lead the way. If you choose to follow the owl, be mindful that where they lead you may not be home. Word began to spread, disappearances of people between nearby towns. The sound of owls calling out to each other in the night, it signaled a disappearance. People began to leave for their homes when the sun started to set, doors locked, windows shut, streets empty. It was best to try and sleep through the night, it was best to try and pretend like the hooting of owls wasn’t right outside the windows.

You felt as though you had walked passed the same path ten minutes ago. Your nerves were at its peak, the sun passed the horizon; the moon accompanied you. A lump in your throat as you watched an owl fly above, you watched the direction it flew; your foot moved in temptation to follow.

“Are you lost?”

You jump in your spot, a small shriek from your lips. You whip your head around, looking at the male. It was a person; someone you hadn’t seen before. For a second you think his eyes glowed with a yellow tint, but his friendly smile puts you at ease, “Yeah. I’m just trying to find my way back to the main city.”

“I can help you.” He reaches a hand out, “I’m Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Thanks so much, I’m Y/n.” He extends a hand in the direction of the path he’s leading you on, “Are you from here? I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before.”

He laughs, “I’m actually new, I’m trying to find a place to settle.”

You’re grinning, “Oh, this is a great place. Despite the owls lately.” Your eyes follow the way another owl flies overhead, “Something about them, seems creepy. I’m glad I’m not alone right now, they say that if you see an owl at night when you’re alone; you’ll disappear.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, “Are you trying to scare me?”

“Are you scared?” You whisper to him, you halt in your step, peering up at him with a playful grin. You lean into him, on your toes, your voice near his ear, “You should be.” Your fingers burn an imprint onto the back of his hand.

“Witch.” Bokuto hisses as he pulls away from you. The back of his hand burning as a mark grows, “Seriously.”

You grin, “Owls are a rare catch. Come now, we must go home.”

#Halloween Special #haikyuu x reader #daichi x reader #kuroo x reader #oikawa toru #kita x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu #sawamura daichi #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa torū #kita shinsuke #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #daichi #kuroo #oikawa #kita

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sassanoe · 4 years

Text

His Present, Her Future

Thomas Sharpe

Masterlist [2]

Thomas Sharpe was a brilliant man, who with his sister, was leading a horrible life. What do they do when a girl from the future comes to the past. Working on a teleporter is all she was doing, a little tinkering, the portal opened with a wormhole. Sucking the young inventor in along with some of her stuff from the lab, she screamed, reaching for her older brother. "Daniel!"

The same portal opened in Allerdale Hall, in front of Lucille and Thomas Sharpe, with his wife, Edith Cushing. They all were shocked when a woman was on their floor when it closed with things around her. The woman slowly sat up, looking around, when she saw the three, her brows furrowed. "I am not in 2021 anymore." She got up and dusted her lab coat off.

"Who are you, and where did you come from?" The older woman asked. Walking towards the small group, she held her hand out. "Aurora Banks, a pleasure to meet you." She smiled brightly. "As well I come from the future. A future I need to get back to." When no one shook her hand, she put it back down, a little uncomfortable now. The other younger woman stepped forward first, "Edith Cushing, or well, Edith Sharpe now. My husband, Thomas, and his sister Lucille." Aurora smiled, taking notice of the twitch Lucille had, "Lovely to meet you, Edith, Thomas, and Lucille."

"When will you be leaving?" Lucille asked, "Well, hopefully soon, that is if my brother fixes my time machine, though being honest, it will more than likely be a moment." Lucille rolled her eyes and left. Watching this Thomas boy run after her. "Lucille!" He called. Aurora looked to Edith, "So, what now?" Edith smiled and took her hand, asking many questions, most of her answers being, "I don't believe I should answer that."

Later the same evening, Aurora was sitting in Thomas's chair in his little work area, working on her phone and watch. Thomas came in quietly when the watch sparks, "Shit!" She jumped up, holding her wrist. "Fucking piece of shit, watch! Why did I ever fucking make you!" She growled at the watch as she shook her hand out. His eyes widened slightly, such a vulgar mouth for a woman. She huffed and took her lab coat off, revealing a long-sleeve off the shoulder white crop-top with high-waisted jeans and knee-high boots. Thomas looked her attire over, amazed at what she had on.

She took a deep breath in, "What would Daniel do? Hey Google, play that's how you know from the enchanted soundtrack." When the song came on, she smiled, getting back to work singing softly. Thomas was shocked at the small device having the sound come out of it, "How do you know he loves you? How do you know he's yours? Well, does he leave a little note to tell you, you are on his mind? Send you yellow flowers when the sky is grey? Hey, he'll find a new way to show you a little bit every day, that's how you know, that's how you know, he's your love..."

She did a small spin then screamed, falling to the floor when she saw Thomas. "Good god! How long have you been standing there! That is so fucking weird!" "I didn't mean to startle you. I apologize." He held his hand out to help her up. She took it, standing, glaring at him slightly. "So, did you need something? Judging by how your sister speaks to me, I'm trying to leave and quick." At that, he frowned, "I apologize for my sister. She shouldn't have been so cold." "Yeah, she seems to not like other women." Aurora sassed. "She doesn't." He sighed.

Sitting back down, she got back to work as Thomas stood behind her asking questions. The two slowly got closer, spending the rest of the evening together laughing and smiling until Lucille came in. "Thomas, I have been looking everywhere for you." She huffed, walking over to him quickly and pulling him to her. Thomas looked to Aurora, worried slightly. "I've been helping Aurora with her things, such as what she calls her phone." he said softly, "Oh, I could also help with your machine that is digging clay." He smiled brightly, and he broke away from his sister.

"Really? How? What do you think would help?" He immediately started firing off questions. Aurora giggled, taking his hand pulling him closer. She showed him her ideas she sketched out in his journal. "I apologize for using your journal without asking. I just needed to draw and write things down before I forgot." He shook his head, smiling, "It is no issue. It's truly fascinating how you know so much for a woman." She glared at him slightly and hit his chest. "Where I'm from, those are fighting words." She joked, "I-I didn't mean them as an insult. I'm truly sorry-" He rushed out, making her smile, "Thomas, I'm joking with you."

Lucille glared at the two before storming downstairs to Edith. "Edith, I think she is trying to steal Thomas from you." Edith laughed lightly, "I'm sure she isn't. I'm sure he is just excited to have someone who likes inventing like him." Edith brushed it off. An hour later, Aurora and Thomas came down. Thomas leads her to a room for the night, "I bid you goodnight, Aurora." He kissed her hand, making the young woman blush. "Good night, Thomas." She smiled and closed the bedroom door.

Thomas went to Edith and Lucille. "I showed her a room for the night." "How kind, Thomas." Lucille snapped. Edith smiled at her husband. "I will be heading to bed, Thomas." Edith got up and kissed his cheek before going to her room. Lucille took Thomas's hand, leading him to the attic. Pushing him onto the bed, she climbed into his lap. "You love me, right?" "Yes, of course." "Good." She kissed him, pushing him back.

The next morning Thomas and Lucille came downstairs from the attic. When they got to the main entrance, they saw Aurora coming back in. "Is she wearing your clothes?" Lucille asked, her voice sounding more like a growl. Thomas looked Aurora over, not minding the outfit. She had one of his button-ups on but not buttoned all the way, revealing something covering her breast, his overalls, pants, and a pair of Edith's shoes on. Her hair was up, messily. "She looks like a tramp." Lucille huffed.

Aurora looked up, hearing a voice, "Oh, Thomas!" She smiled brightly up at the man. "I had a look at your machine. Come! Come!" She waved him over, he smiled, rushing down the stairs. "Thomas!" Lucille snapped. He stopped and looked back, but Aurora took his hand and dragged him outside. "Ignore her, come on." Once outdoors, Aurora looked at him and found hickey's on his neck. "Thomas!" She smacked his arm playfully, "You got some!" She laughed, "I beg your pardon." "You got laid?" He still looked confused, "You had sex, fucked someone, what do you want me to say made love?" He looked away, "What? Is it that bad?" He opened his mouth then closed it.

"Thomas, what's wrong?" She asked, immediately concerned. "Is it Lucille?" He wouldn't look at her, and she furrowed her brows. Edith wasn't up yet, her room was next to Aurora's, and Thomas came from upstairs with Lucille. "Oh my god. You fucked Lucille?" She whispered to him. He snapped his head to her, shocked, "How did you?" "Edith isn't up yet, and I would have heard her moans as my room is next to hers." Thomas looked ashamed, and it clicked. "You didn't want to..." Aurora said softly.

Over the next few weeks, she was closer to finishing her teleporter, and Thomas had confided in her. The two attached at the hip, Lucille hated it.

Lucille had been storming the grounds looking for him, "Thomas!" She screamed. Thomas and Aurora were in the attic, working away from Lucille. "So this is how people communicate in the future?" Aurora hummed, continuing to work as he leaned over her shoulder. When she looks up to speak to him, she stopped staring into his eyes, not realizing he was this close. Both stared at each other for a few seconds, when Thomas started to lean closer, "May I kiss you?" His lips brushed against hers as he whispered, "I would be insulted if you didn't." She responded before he kissed her deeply. She stood, pulling him closer. He was quick to walk them backward until he sat on the bed, pulling her onto his lap.

He broke away from the kiss, "Are you sure about this?" She panted, "Yes, that is if you want to still." He grinned and kissed her as his answer. The two quickly work to remove her top. She sat before him now in her bra, and immediately she pulled at his shirt. "Off." She huffed and bit at his neck, pushing up against him. He groaned, quickly pulling off his button-up. "Thomas..." She panted when he started to bite at her neck, "Thomas!" Both froze, "L-Lucille." Aurora didn't move, nor did Thomas. "You slut!" She screamed at Aurora, coming towards the two with a knife making them jump up and move away.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" She screamed at Lucille, backing away. Thomas quickly stood in front of her, "Lucille, leave her alone." "Why so you can fuck her too behind my back!" She sneered. Aurora tried to step past Thomas, but he pushed her back slightly, slowly walking to Lucille. "Lucille, calm down." He said softly, but Lucille stabbed him, shoving him to the side. "Thomas!" Aurora yelled before going after Lucille and tackling her to the ground. Lucille slashed at her cutting her cheek and arm. Aurora quickly got the upper hand and straddled her, pinning her hands to the ground, letting her struggle and wiggle. She squeezed her wrist until she let go of the knife before quickly holding both wrists in one hand. After hitting her once, she let go of her wrist, using both fists to hit Lucille till she was knocked out cold and bloody.

Aurora stood huffing and bleeding before rushing over to Thomas to check over his wound, "Hey, you're okay." She said softly, leaving soft kisses over his face. Quickly she went and grabbed his shirt, ripping it, and tying it on his arm. "It's small. You'll be okay." She kept her words soft then started to look over the room. When she found a rope, she quickly put Lucille in the chair and tied her to it. She got Thomas up and left the room. "You fought her." He said, confused. "I wasn't gonna let her get away with hurting you," Aurora said with a huff. When they got to his room, she went into the bathroom and got stuff to clean his wound.

"I love you." He said when she came back. She smiled sadly, sitting next to him. "I love you too, but Thomas, this is your present. I don't belong here. You'll find someone else to love just as much, maybe even more." He frowned, "Why can't you just stay, or I go with you?" She gently cupped his cheek, "Thomas, you're needed here with Edith, and my brother needs me. We have responsibilities." She spoke as if talking to a child. "Then we can run away from here." She kissed him gently, "No, running." She patched him up, then crawling into his lap and clinging to him. "I'll miss you." She said softly.

He tilted her chin and kissed her, "May I have you for tonight?" He asked softly, "Yes." She said back. The two slowed down, being sweet and soft, watching out for the other's wounds. The next morning she awoke before him, getting dressed quickly in the clothes she came in and going over to his desk. She wrote him a letter and kissed it, spraying a bit of her perfume on it. She went back upstairs, grabbing her things from his workspace and the attic. Lucille was still out cold.

Quickly making her way back downstairs to his room, she came in as he slowly woke, "Aurora?" "Good-bye, Thomas." She kissed him one final time. He pulled her closer, and she broke this kiss. Quickly she left the room. It took him a second to process what she said before quickly pulling on pants and a top chasing after her. She didn't tell him she had found a way home days ago. She didn't want to leave him, but she had to.

When he came to the stairs, she had opened the portal. "You can't leave me!" He yelled, trying to get to her, he ran faster. When she started to walk through, he pulled her back, kissing her passionately. "Please don't, don't leave." He clung to her. "Thomas, this is the best for both of us." She said softly. "I'll find a way to you." He said quickly, "I have no doubt you will see me again." She kissed him again before pushing away, looking at him one last time. "I love you." Right as she stepped through, "I love you too." He said.

She was gone, never for him to see her again. Going back to his bedroom, he found the letter.

Dear Thomas,

I'm writing this to tell you that I love you. You're my first thought in the morning, and I hold you in my last breath in the evening. I need you more and more each day, like an addiction of some sort. It's an addiction I would never want to fix. You listened when I sobbed, and you watched me when I laughed. But, most importantly, you were accepting of a girl out of time. For this, you worked wonders. I'd never looked for a relationship or love. It simply fell into my lap. I'd never change anything. I'm glad you were my first love. So thank you for showing me love and allowing me to show you what love is, not the twisted kind of love your sister showed you. Now, you must be strong and help Edith. I hope you live a long life, have lots of kids, and are happy. Maybe, one day we will meet again.

Love,

Aurora

Should I do a part two? If you think I should leave a comment I'll tag you in it.

#crimson peak #crimson peak imagine #crimson peak fanfiction #crimson peak one shot #crimson peak x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe imagine #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe fanfiction #thomas sharpe one shot #fanfic

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH133

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 133: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXIII)

Use Countercurrent Sand to reset the cooldown of the S/L Data skill card.

Save and drink the Devil’s blood.

Detonate all miniature bombs.

There was a loud roar as a violent explosion blew the tower deep in the church into ruins.

At the moment the file was loaded, the demon "Depravity" vanished and the resurrected Qi Leren returned to the state of when he had archived. Now he had no longer drunk the blood of the Devil and was still a human being!

His fragile human body appeared in the center of the explosion and was immediately thrown out by the billow of air, fell heavily on the ground, and even rolled several times before stopping.

There were some surface burns, multiple fractures, and countless bruises and contusions, but these injuries couldn't be judged as fatal injuries. There was no second reading of S/L skill and there is still dust and smoke in front of him. Qi Leren coughed in a heartbreaking way, and the blood accumulated in his chest gushed out from his mouth, filling his mouth with the taste of iron.

It hurt so much, it hurt so much, even breathing had become a kind of torture, he felt truly terrible.

At present, his vision was blurred red with hot blood. Qi Lereen used his single intact right hand to hold the dagger, bringing it toward his chest.

This body had lost its combat effectiveness, so he had to load again.

Before the knife's tip could touch his chest it was stopped by an incredible force, and Qi Leren suddenly shivered and looked into the smoking chaos in disbelief.

In the smoke after the explosion, a figure was coming down from the ruined throne.

The dust and smoke gradually dispersed, and the safe and sound devil came to him with elegant steps. He said approvingly: "Perfect acting skills, precise psychological grasp, unexpected attacks, in order to have me lower my guard you even drank the cup of blood... The only regret is that everything you carefully prepared still can't smooth out the distance in strength."

Su He stopped in front of Qi Leren and looked down at him gently and pityingly.

As time went by, Qi Leren’s hand holding the dagger could not move, and the S/L skill’s countdown was running out.

Qi Leren stared at him, but his trembling hand was too late to send the dagger into his heart. The Devil King looked at him with a smile and watched him step into the abyss of despair.

Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59

"It seems that time’s up." Seeing the light of hope in Qi Leren's eyes dim, Su He leaned down and gently took the dagger from his hand.

Qi Leren looked at him coldly and he realized that he was about to die. Although Su He's expression was still gentle, his repeated attempts to thwart him had angered him, and the Devil of Fraud refused to accept the worm’s deception.

"Since the save hasn't been loaded it means that your current injuries aren’t fatal, but if just little more is done, you will bid farewell to this world, Leren." Su He played with Qi Leren's dagger and looked at him with a cold smile. "I’m very curious. When you really face the test of death, what will your choice be?"

The sharp point cut his throat and the blood flowed out. This degree of pain was not worth mentioning compared with the current pain all over his body, but Qi Leren knew that this injury would be fatal.

Foaming blood would quickly block the respiratory tract, and it would become more and more difficult for him to breathe. If he was not treated, he would die of suffocation or excessive blood loss in a few minutes.

Su He stood up and put another goblet full of blood a few meters away: "Now, you can choose."

Breathing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried to inhale, it was more and more difficult to get enough oxygen into the trachea blocked by blood foam. Blood was constantly lost, oxygen was constantly decreasing, and his consciousness was becoming blurred.

Death was coming, and Qi Leren almost saw the grim reaper hovering over his head. It held the scythe and raised it high…

He didn't want to die, he didn't want to…

No, he wouldn't die. He had the Easter Egg!

But if he easily gave up struggling and accepted death, would Su He believe it? What would he do if he saw through his fear?

Must... Do it again... Again…

The desire for survival once again surfaced in Qi Leren’s eyes and his vision blurred. He tilted his head and looked at the cup of bright red blood a few meters away. His bloody lips moved slightly, longing…

The Devil King watched with great interest as the dying man ignited the last strength with his will. He rolled over and dragged his body forward with his single intact right hand. He lost more blood. His cut throat and injuries dragged out a shocking trail of blood on the ground, which showed how strong his will to survive was at the moment.

It was only a few meters away, but he’d exhausted all his strength.

By the time he reached his destination, the weak human was already dying. He used the last of his strength to hold the goblet, but his trembling hand kept shaking the scarlet blood in the cup…

He cried, and his broken trachea made his cry like a nightingale's whine, so despairing and pitiful.

The Devil liked this sound, watching a strong soul lose its bottom line and become corrupted and dirty. He was struggling to resist, yet he still succumbed to his own desires.

It really was amusing.

With a clear and crisp sound, the goblet fell heavily at the feet of the Devil King, spilling blood all over the floor.

The Devil King accidentally looked at the dying human being and saw his unyielding eyes. He was speechless as blood seeped out along his throat. He tried to pull up the corners of his mouth, showing him a mocking smile.

-Go away.

He growled silently.

In the blood on the ground, the handsome Devil smiled. "I didn't expect you to really do this for him. Humans are obviously so weak, but they’re always unexpected. This is probably what makes them so interesting."

Qi Leren struggled to roll over and lie on his back on the ruined floor.

His cut trachea was bleeding continuously, and the dying Qi Leren looked at Su He in the distance as Su He looked at him in return. After a moment, he came towards him but stopped in the middle.

"What is it?" Su He said, turning his head.

Within the shadow in the corner, a vague unfamiliar figure appeared and bowed slightly to Su He: "I’ve come to convey my King's instructions, the 'goldfish bowl' has raised an alarm. It’s very likely that it will escape again. Please go back and preside over the overall situation."

"It seems that my holiday is coming to an end." Su He said faintly, "Tell Power for me, I will force myself to leave this task and go back now. By the way, I’m bringing a big gift to her."

The shadow bowed again. The special connection between Devil King and Devil King could not last long in the Holy Nun’s field, and it quickly disappeared silently back into the shadows.

In the cold air, Su He’s deep voice came, mixed with mocking emotion: "...That woman."

Qi Leren could hardly see anything. The cloak of death had covered his eyes, the air was growing colder and colder, the chill slowly rose from the ground, and he was dying.

He heard Su He’s footsteps stop beside him, and then the rustle of fabric. He seemed to squat down and gently parted the hair on his forehead.

"I originally wanted to play with you for a while longer, but unfortunately the game has ended early. Your best friend beat Isabel and is on his way, but calculating the time, he probably won't see you one last time. It’s a pity that I can't see his expression when he gets here," Su He’s gentle voice rang in Qi Leren’s ears as he lay dying.

"For your courage and perseverance, I’ll allow you to rest here." A kiss as light as nothing fell on Qi Leren’s forehead. A farewell kiss.

"Depravity’s appearance was beautiful, but unfortunately, you did not become it after all."

The footsteps of Su He's leisurely departure were getting farther and farther away, disappearing from Qi Leren’s ears.

Qi Leren was dying.

Glad and anxious.

Although his brain had almost stopped running, he still understood the dialogue between Su He and the unknown person. He would hurry to leave here immediately, which meant Ning Zhou was safe.

Great... Great... Really, great.

He could be resurrected in seven days, as long as the news was conveyed to Ning Zhou…

Qi Leren, who had difficulty moving a finger, squeezed out the last strength from his body and wrote a 7 with his bloody finger trembling. He also wanted to write another word, "days", but for all his effort he couldn't make his finger move again.

Qi Le people closed his eyes in exhaustion, his breathing halted, and his consciousness sank into chaos because of lack of oxygen. Even the pain became slow and psychedelic, as if his soul had begun to gradually break away from this scarred body.

He absently thought, there was only the one number, could Ning Zhou understand what he meant?

After 7 days, he could be resurrected in 7 days, just wait for 7 days…

Memories began to flash in his mind like fragments, like film pulled out from a camera, and then suddenly it fixed on a certain one. At that time, he was absent-minded because he was thinking about the task clues, and Su He was explaining the meaning of numbers to Dr. Lu: "Numbers are very interesting in the Nightmare World. Many numbers have special meanings. For example, 4 stands for luck and 7 stands for..."

"I love you."

He’d made an unforgivable mistake.

Qi Leren desperately struggled to keep breathing, but the blood foam stuck in his throat prevented him from inhaling air. He opened his eyes wide and tried to erase the numbers written in blood.

He tried his best to squeeze out the last bit of strength from his nerves, bone marrow, and every organ that was about to stop working, to erase this number, but there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't move, he couldn't move at all.

Tears of remorse flowed out of the corner of his eye and he cried. He hadn’t in the face of the Devil's performance, nor in the face of fear of dying, but now it was really out of control.

This desperate fear even exceeded his fear of death itself and his consciousness that is about to dissipate was shouting, struggling, and repenting. He couldn't imagine, couldn’t bear to think of Ning Zhou seeing this message - this simple number. It could be the last straw to destroy Ning Zhou.

The world slowly sank into the dark abyss of death.

He remembered the difference from a few hours ago. At that time, it was so dark that he had only dared to ask Ning Zhou if he wanted to go with him. His timid heart made him even afraid to wait for Ning Zhou's answer and he’d said goodbye in a hurry. He’d always thought they would meet again, so he said: I'll be back soon, you have to wait for me! You must wait for me!

How naive and how stupidly self-confident in front of reality, fragile and ridiculous, vulnerable.

At the last moment before the collapse of his consciousness, Qi Leren saw the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

At that time, he’d woken up from the stump covered with fallen flowers and followed Dr. Lu to the place where Su He was. As he walked, he’d turned his head and saw Ning Zhou.

He’d stood by the broken tree and looked at him from a distance.

So restrained, so distant, but so gentle, there were too many emotions floating in his blue eyes, just like the sky and the sea that contained everything.

He’d suddenly wanted to ask Ning Zhou, how many times had he looked at him like this? And how many times had he missed returning it?

Ning Zhou was always so lonely and silent. All his pains were buried deep in his own heart, without words.

If he hadn't looked back, he would have never seen such tenderness.

He would never have known how deep this repressed love was.

Just a little bit like infinity.

　　&&&

Through the broken stone columns and countless broken statues, Ning Zhou walked forward without looking away and finally came to the front of the cathedral.

The first half of the church had been seriously damaged, with solemn and historical writing under the starry sky.

Ning Zhou briskly walked to the depths of the hall, looking at the two huge stone doors.

The earth was still shaking and destruction had played the final movement.

Ning Zhou took a deep breath, and his abdominal wound was burning and generally painful. He drew a cross on his chest and then pushed back the stone door.

The huge Maria and the stabbed dragon would have occupied most people's field of vision, but Ning Zhou's line of sight chased the familiar figure lying on the ground amidst a shocking pool of blood.

His heartbeat stops at this moment, and whether heaven or hell, it didn’t exist at this moment.

He didn't know how he came up to him and knelt down there.

Open brown eyes looked ahead emptily, and there were wet tears in the corner of his eyes. His blood-stained fingers were stopped on a reddish-brown number.

At the moment before he died, he was saying—

I love you.

Deep in the dark hall, there came the cry of desperation and collapse. Witnessed by the remains of Holy Nun and the Devil, a devout believer finally admitted his love that was not allowed by his God.

But it was too late. At the moment when he’d received his love, he’d lost him forever.

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The author has something to say:

PS: So, there is no love that can't be achieved through a grand death. If there is, then die again.

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

Text

Wash

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Hi! What about Jaskier saving the female reader but getting hurt in the process. So she takes care of him after. One day she's helping him to take a bath and Jaskiers body is reacting a bit too excited. But she doesn't mind and decides to extend her help a little bit …] ok so here’s the tea, i totally forgot about the jaskier saving the day part...so i wrote this instead XD

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being 10/10.

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff, blood

Jaskier stumbles into a tavern and finds a friendly face.

Your chin rests in your hands as your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment. It’s late, and there hasn’t been a guest in your tavern since the snow started falling when the sun set. Everyone headed home, leaving you here to watch the hours tick by.

Now, the moon hangs high in the sky and the snow falls steadily outside, blanketing the world in silent tranquility. That is, until the heavy door to the tavern bursts open with a flurry of snow and icy air, and quickly shut once more. But there was not only a light dusting of snow on the floor now.

A young man, seemingly deposited straight from the pages of a maiden’s storybook, leans against the door. His cloak hangs askew on his shoulders and he is clutching an expensive-looking doublet in long, pale fingers. He looks up at you and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. His cheeks and nose are pink with chill, making his eyes look like they are glowing in the dim light of your tavern.

Oh, and those eyes. Bluer than the clearest sea, and you can see that they hold depths beneath them that could turn even the most experienced sailor dizzy.

“Ah, well met,” the man breathes, his chest heaving as he catches his breath in the warm room. He stands to his full height now, several inches taller than you, and slides his cloak off of his frame. You gasp when his chemise is revealed, the shoulder torn and stained with blood the color of rich wine.

You rush to his side, taking the cloak and his doublet from him and tossing them onto a nearby hook for travelers. Quickly throwing the lock down for the door, you usher him towards the rear of the tavern where your living quarters rest. “By the Gods, are you alright…?”

“Jaskier, my name is Jaskier, dear,” he smiles, but you can see the twinge of pain now that you are a bit closer. “And while I have been better, I have certainly been in nastier scraps. Nothing to be worried about.”

You give him your name in return before you turn to stoke the fire that had been warming water for your own bath that night. “Well forgive me, Jaskier, but I think that it may be a good idea for me to worry enough for the both of us.”

He genuinely laughs at that, leaning carefully against the wall. Fuck, his voice drips like honey from a pot. Your cheeks warm a bit as you lift the pot, pouring the warm water into your tub on the floor. “We need to get you cleaned up so I can take a look at that.”

Jaskier quirks a brow, mischief painting his features in broad strokes. “What, the local tavern owner is the healer too?”

You shake your head good-naturedly, gesturing to him to join you. “The closest healer is in the next town over, but I have seen my fair share of injuries.”

“Then I should count myself lucky that it was your tavern I found myself in.” Jaskier moves quickly, reaching up to pull at the already loose strings to his shirt. He undoes them and it falls open and off of him, cascading to the ground in a pool of creamy fabric streaked with crimson.

His chest is broader than it originally seemed, and, Melitele help you, covered in dark hair. You can see the strength that his body carries covered by a gentle layer of softness, almost certainly from a good diet of wine and good company.

And then he flinches as his fingers drift to the laces of his trousers, his shoulder twitching in pain. “C-could you?” He looks up sheepishly, and your hands reach out before you can think twice about it.

Your hands shake as the laces fall open and you look up and away to try and preserve at least some of his modesty, but you can feel how warm and solid his legs are as you push the pants down to the ground.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” Jaskier says, holding his hand out to help you up. You lead him towards the warm bath you’ve prepared and help him settle in before pulling up a stool behind him.

The moan that he lets out, though, when he reclines back in the bath, would make a priestess blush. The heat from the water flushes his chest and his head thunks against the rim of the tub and his blue, blue eyes blink open at you.

You swallow in an attempt to quell the redness creeping across your cheeks, but it's no good. The best you can hope for is that your professionalism won't let you down.

"We should get that wound clean and bandaged before you lose blood into the hot water," you say, having dealt with your fair share of injuries from tavern brawls and travelers. Even a witcher once came through with a bloody brow... took some convincing to let you clean him up, but he eventually conceded. He was nice, you thought as you got your med kit from behind the bar. Nicer than you'd've expected when he first came in, scowling and bloody and asking for vodka. You hum to yourself as you look for the right bottle.

“Do you sing?” Jaskier asks, seemingly unperturbed by his injury. You turn back to him with the bottle of clear alcohol in hand, your skirt swirling around on the floor. “Not typically, no,” you reply, sitting back down on the stool and uncorking the bottle. Your free hand finds his uninjured shoulder and rubs soothing circles over the tan skin. “This will sting.”

He inhales sharply and grits out a moan as the everclear wicks into his open wound, “Vayopatis that smarts!!”

“I’m sorry. A bit of tough love, I’m afraid. Hold still.” Your words are firm but your touch is gentle and caring as you continue.

“So,” you ask lightly as you dip a clean cloth into the water, lifting it to the wound, “just how did you find yourself with this?”

“Ah, nothing far out of sorts,” Jaskier replies, his voice thin and pained. “Heard someone speaking poorly of a dear friend of mine, so I gave them a piece of my mind. As I turned to walk away, they threw a knife at me! A KNIFE! Coward.”

“Seems you got lucky, looks like it just grazed the skin.” The wound has stopped bleeding now, and Jaskier seems to be melting a bit under your hands. “You still with me?”

“Oh, very much so,” Jaskiers voice is thick and strained, and his neck has flushed a pretty pink.

“Would you like me to help, ah...wash?” Your voice trembles a bit as you reach down next to you for the soap.

Jaskier smiles, his shoulders relaxing and his knees poking up above the water as he gets comfortable. “I’ll never say no to a bath from a lovely lady.”

You roll your eyes and laugh a little, the tension easing away like suds in the water. You add some soap to the cloth and drag it across his back, over the lines of muscle and down his spine. You are careful around the tender skin of his injured shoulder, but he seems content to lay and let you wash him.

The air turns thick in the room with the warmth of the water and you can feel sweat bead at the nape of your neck. You unlace the neck of your shirt and let it fall open, the soft skin of your breasts just peeking out into the night. You stand and bring the stool around to sit at Jaskiers side facing him, and you don’t miss when his eyes linger on your exposed bosom.

You hold out your hand expectantly and Jaskier’s gaze falls to your fingers. He stares for a moment, his mind drawing a blank as the air around him feels tighter and tighter. You clear your throat and wiggle your fingers, and Jaskier finally gets the hint. He slides his hand into yours and you hold up his arm, running the soapy cloth down from his shoulder to his wrist. The grime of travel is washed away with every stroke, and Jaskier swallows thickly with each passing moment, warmth blossoming low in his belly.

You can’t claim to be unaffected either, for you can feel his gaze burning into your skin like a brand. But not in an unwelcome, perverse way. No, Jaskier’s eyes watching your every move feel curious, searching for an answer to a yet unasked question.

Once both arms are clean you lean in, pressing the cloth to the broad expanse of his chest. You drag it lazily over the crook of his collarbone and down through the soft smattering of hair on his skin. His breath hitches and his cheeks turn pink when you brush over his nipple, and you bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to stifle your own moan at the noise.

Your hand drifts lower over his stomach and you can feel it rise and fall with each of his breaths. You are just about to dip below the line of the water when Jaskier’s hand suddenly darts out and catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You instantly retreat, cheeks growing warm with the ideas of what exactly you were about to do.

“Ah, darling, wait,” Jaskier breathes, keeping your hand tight in his. “I just-I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea...y-you’ve been so wonderful and I-uh, my body is ah, well. Very appreciative...”

You blink as your heart does flips in your chest and you only barely resist the urge to glance down to the water between his legs. “Well, if you wanted...I coul-I could help?”

And then, Jaskier’s face does something truly remarkable. It turns from the soft, apologetic young man to something darker, more primal. His eyes dilate and he grins toothily, and he tips his chin up, exposing the graceful line of his neck. “If you’re certain, darling, be my guest.”

His grip on your hand loosens, though he keeps you well within his grasp. Your hand goes back to his stomach and your fingers drift lower and lower, teasing at the edge of the water before plunging in. Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed and his breath catches when you find his arousal between his legs, hard and straining just past where the eye could see.

You carefully wrap your hand around the base, feeling the coarse hairs tickle your fingers. His cock throbs at your touch and you move your hand slowly, tugging gently up and back down. “Gods, woman,” Jaskier rasps, his fingers flexing where they now grip the rim of the tub, “h-how are your hands s-so soft?”

“Softer somewhere else,” you whisper, smirking with a wink when his eyes shoot open and grip yours with fervor. Your hand moves faster, just a bit, but enough to have his hips rocking up to meet you.

“Fuck,” Jaskier’s chest rises high and falls far with every gulping breath that is pulled from him. You lean in and press your lips to his skin, hot and wet and by the Gods so are you. Warmth pools low in your belly as you watch Jaskier fall apart under your hand, and for a fleeting moment, you think about what it may be like to have this in your bed.

“C’mon, Jaskier,” you murmur against his skin, twisting your wrist and squeezing lightly around him, “let me take care of you.”

Jaskier nods and swallows thickly, his hips thrusting harder and harder, chasing a quickly approaching high. Water sloshes out onto the floor and he gasps for air as he grows closer and closer under your watchful eye. “P-please, holy hells, I ju-”

“Go on, Jaskier,” you murmur into the hollow of his throat, “give me your pleasure.”

And then, seemingly quite surprisingly to him, he does.

A ragged gasp tears from his throat as he throws his head back, stuttering up into your hand. Warmth coats your fingers and you slow, still intent on wringing every last drop from him. Jaskier in the throes of climax is a glorious sight, his cheeks pink and muscles tensed, teeth bared with every breath he pulls. His stomach tenses and you move your hand away, not wanting to push too far. You press your lips to his neck one last time before standing, crossing over to the drying cloth that hangs on the back of your door.

“J-just give me a moment, darling,” Jaskier breathes, slowly blinking his eyes open. “I’ll gladly return the favor.”

You bring your washing jug over to the bath and set it on the stool along with the cloth. “Don’t worry about me, Jaskier,” you murmur as you help him to stand in the bath, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

You find the washing cloth and dip it into the jug, wiping Jaskier down from the now-soiled bathwater. Now that he’s standing and you feel a bit more comfortable, you are able to truly appreciate just how pretty his cock is. Long and just thick enough, with dark hair around the base between his legs. And, Gods be good, half-hard against his thigh. You look up at him through your lashes and find him reaching for you, fitting his finger under your chin and bringing you to close the gap.

“And now,” he whispers darkly, danger dripping with honey, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

#jaskier x reader #smut #fluff

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jlsadphoenix · 3 years

Text

a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)

The evolution of Emma and Killian’s thoughts for each other, told through the early events of their lives together. | 1/2 | AO3

EMMA

KILLIAN

because she took his hand and painted a future in brilliant colours, colours beyond the red of blood and vengeance he had lost himself in for centuries.

completely and utterly — he’d say hopelessly, except nothing gives him more hope than Emma Swan

Tagging: @teamhook @lillpon @ownedbycaptainswan @inwordsthatnobodyknows1121

“Hey! Hey, there’s someone under there!”

And hands are pulling him free from the pile of bodies he’d crawled under. Keeping his frightened mask on, Killian briefly glances about at his ‘saviors’, falling last on the beautiful blonde in unfamiliar clothes peering down at him with confusion and suspicion.

He could work with that.

Later he’s sitting at the table, telling his false tale. It’s played to perfection, Killian thinks to himself with pleasure. The right amount of faltering and trembling. The four women are eating it up, the concern, the sympathetic smile the blonde shoots him as his voice trembles, it was all I could do to survive, before she disappears behind him. Everything’s going right, and Killian is starting to relax. The other women are starting to relax, too, and he’s leaping at the first opportunity to present itself — I can guide you—

Then someone grabs his hair, jerking his head back and presses a knife to his throat.

Well shit, he thought wildly, now what?

Then Killian is tied up to a tree.

How the fuck did this happen?

He’s holding onto his ruse as best he can, I’m just a blacksmith, desperate and pleading. The others seem doubtful of tying him up, but the blonde stands firm.

And then she’s whistling sharply, bringing the ogres’ attention to them. And then she’s walking away.

She can’t be serious, can she?

She can.

Dammit.

“Good for you!” is called out with equal parts irritation and grudging respect. Killian will speak to her. Lies will not work so he’ll bargain. So he focuses on her, clearly the leader, the one to watch out for, and offers her his services, genuine this time, I’ll help you obtain it before she does, and she puts a knife to his throat once again in response.

That respect for this woman who’s seen through his ruse within mere moments, tied him to a tree, and put a knife to his throat twice is growing, so he responds with the honesty she deserves and quite honestly, has won. He stares dead into her eyes, unblinking, face clear of deception.

“To exact revenge on the man who took my hand— Rumplestiltskin.”

Well, the important things he can keep to himself, now.

Killian’s growing impatient.

He’s never been good with waiting, really. This was one of the first lessons he had learned in servitude — the wait in between each lash was worse than the pain itself, and that impatience had carried on to almost everything else.

And yet the four continued to argue on as time ran, as the sun moved, as the giant was doing who knows what, as Cora likely grew closer to coming suspicious.

Their voices raised, and his ears perk up as Emma mentions a Henry, and, soon they seem to quiet down.

Oh, please be her.

She and the warrior (Mulan, was it?) shuffles off to the side, and they speak in low tones, exchanging a bag, and continue to speak quietly, a grim look on Emma’s face.

Finally, his patience runs out, and he calls out to them, barely keeping the irritation in check, “Ladies, in this world we are slaves to time; in other words, tik-tok.”

They all share brief glances, and, please please be her, he has to know more about this woman who managed to best him, who has the look of a Lost One in her eyes, who is desperate to return to — not home, no, but this Henry. Her boy, most likely (and he can’t help the way his thoughts drift briefly over to another who wanted desperately to be reunited with her lad), and he tries to hide his pleased expression as she moves to him.

He’s sure he fails spectacularly, so continuing in the spirit of honesty with her — not like there’s any point to lying to her, anyhow — he reaches for her hand to rest on his shoulder, I was hoping it would be you, and continues to speak, delighted curiosity undeterred by her disinterest.

And up they climb.

They jump off the ledge at the top of the beanstalk, and Killian glances down in her direction, red catching his eye, and he’s calling out to her, let me help you, but she pulls away.

“No, it’s not,” he insists, catching Emma’s wrist with his hook, and stepping closer. He really doesn’t know what’s possessing him to do this, yet he reaches for his rum anyway as she rolls her eyes at him.

“And I’m always a gentleman,” he responds to her. Why does he care? He’s a gentleman, it’s simply good form, he repeats to himself. That, and he doesn’t need unnecessary injury to his ride to Storybrooke. Yes that’s it, he thinks to himself as he bends to catch the scarf with his mouth in order to tie it properly. Nothing to do with whatever connection he may have felt to her as they talked during their climb.

He glances up at her, catching her eyes as he ties the scarf, and her green eyes darken minutely, he noticed, pleased. “And then?” she asks him, voice barely coming above a murmur.

“Then we run like hell,”

“I don’t have time to wait for a giant to fall asleep,” she refuses, and suggests the powder made from poppies. Well that’s riskier, he thinks, and says so after a moment, even as he continues to consider her plan.

“Than waiting for a giant to fall asleep when we need him to?”

“Point taken,” he grins. She just keeps impressing him, and he wonders that she seems surprised he agreed so fast. Did she expect him to argue more? Why would he argue with the admittedly better — and more importantly faster plan? “You’re a tough lass. You’d make a hell of a pirate,” he’ll just ignore the look, he decides, offering up the powder to her.

“Who’s Milah, on the tattoo?” she asks instead, and Killian’s heart clenches, any cheer he had been feeling drowned by the cold of grief, of rage, drowned by ashes in the wind and the echo of fingertips brushing his cheek, drowned by I love you and even demons can be killed. It really was all he could do not to jerk his arm away, instead letting it fall to his side and giving it a small shake to make certain his sleeve covers the tattoo.

But she continues to stare, undeterred by his closed off expression. After a long moment, he can tell she simply won’t let it go, and so, someone from long ago, slips grimly from his mouth, and he walks off towards the home of the giants even as Emma continues to press.

“She’s gone,” he replies flatly without turning back, and it hurts, hurts to think about her, the reminder has the image of her heart turning to dust playing in his head again, has I love you whispered in his ear, and phantom touches cradling his cheek has him clenching his jaw and —

“Gold.”

Killian stops.

Emma continues.

“Rumplestiltskin. He took more than your hand from you, didn’t he? That’s why you wanna kill him.” And it’s clear she’s less asking, and more speaking aloud her realizations, but Killian doesn’t need her pity, her sympathy, so he bites back, for someone who’s never been in love, you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you, and he’s completely still from keeping his frustration in check as he turns to face her once more.

“Maybe I was, once,” she admits.

And something changes between them, an understanding formed. She’s returning the favor, he realizes. He showed her a sliver past his own walls and now she’s letting him see a tiny bit in return.

There’s no pity in her eyes.

And so he relaxes just a bit more around her.

“Hook!” she’s calling out, reaching for him, and he’s giddy, delighted. They’d done it. He can’t help the laugh that slips out, you are bloody brilliant, amazing, and he laughs again. He’s staring down at the compass, even more beautiful than legend, and really, the success is getting to his head.

He’s out from under Cora’s thumb now, he has his path to vengeance, to Milah’s murderer in sight, and he’s traveling with someone who is not only gorgeous, but intrigues him like no one else in centuries, traveling with someone he can easily see becoming someone important to him, and for the first time in centuries, he’s —

It has him reaching for the compass in awe, and Killian is far too delighted to be disappointed all that much when Emma pulls it away. It’s alright, he thinks, after all, he’ll have plenty of time to prove himself, to gain her trust.

So he offers up his hand, thinking nothing of the doubting look on Emma’s face. She takes it, and his heart pounds, and for the first time in a long, long, time, he can see — he might just —

And then she’s locking shackles around his wrist.

What?

What is she— “What are you doing?” he asks, rising to his feet, blood running cold as she hastily steps away from him.

“Hook, I—“

“Emma, look at me,” he tries, desperately keeping his voice calm, “have I told you a lie?”

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you. I’m sorry,”

Wrong?

Sorry?

There’s a roaring in his ears, and he’s simultaneously extremely aware of everything he feels and extremely detached from what’s happening.

Is he—

Is she—?

Why is she walking away, she can’t be walking away—

But he’s still chained as she continues on, never looking back, and he’s helpless as he yells after her, the betrayal and abandonment and frustration burning him, boiling his blood, and really he’s still so lost, because —

Because why?

Frustration tears a noise from his throat, as his hacking away at the chains prove useless, as is attempting to pick the lock, and he’s left to sit doing nothing but stew because she—

Because —

(Because for the split second she grabbed his hand, before she chained — abandoned — him, he could envision someday letting go of Milah, of finally grieving her properly, like he’s never let himself do, because she took his hand and painted a future in brilliant colours, colours beyond the red of blood and vengeance he had lost himself in for centuries, because —)

Everything hurts.

Moving, breathing, smiling, laughing. Everything hurts, hurts like nothing else since those feverish days after he had lost his hand, when he was half mad and half drunk on pain, grief, rage, and rum.

Emma Swan stands over him, gorgeous as ever, with a grim look.

Everything hurts, but there is a grim satisfaction in him, and just like those days, he feels have drunk on the pain and some strange sense of loss.

“Hey, beautiful,” he calls out instead, and his words rattle his ribs, his lungs ache, Killian thinks he can taste blood, but he is so so lost, because he has gotten his revenge, but he is still alive, and nothing feels right, nothing feels at all, really, and this wasn’t supposed to feel like this, but no, he will not think of that.

It is easy enough to focus on the grim concern on Emma Swan’s face. Maybe he’ll wonder about that concern when he can think right, but right now, she bends down to check on his injuries, and he hasn’t seen her since he threw their fight at Lake Nostos, and she truly does look beautiful, “And here I didn’t think you’d noticed —“

Pain.

She had gently pressed her hand to his side, but even that slightest pressure burned. She tells him his ribs are broken, and he laughs regardless of the pain, because he feels wrong wrong wrong why does he feel so hollow, so he fixates on the Crocodile, did you see his face, he thinks wildly, pushing himself up, and he doesn’t even know if he’s speaking aloud or not, but he has to laugh, has to see the damage he has done, see the Crocodile faced with the loss of his love, see him with his love ripped from him in a single moment, “Just like Milah!”, because that must be why he feels so empty, because he hasn’t had a moment to truly appreciate the look on the Crocodile’s face.

He keeps fixated on him as he approaches, and is he speaking? He’s saying something about Milah, but it’s taking everything to simply stay conscious, and everything hurts, and why is he still alive? Never once did he imagine living after getting revenge, he knew full well this was a suicide mission, and his arm trembles under his weight, and Killian doesn’t —

A foot slams into his face, and there is a cane pressing down his throat.

Ah, Killian thinks, I’m going to die now.

Distantly, he hears Emma trying to pull the Crocodile off of him, vague sounds of raised voices, and some loud ringing.

The weight is off his throat, and he can breathe again, but his life’s mission is done, he can rest a bit, can’t he? Perhaps he’ll see Milah again. If he does, he hopes she forgives him for the person he’s become, for what he has done in her name. Maybe he’ll even see Liam, but he’ll have to figure out how to look his brother in the eye.

(Captain Nemo was right. He should’ve taken his word for it.)

Killian wakes up.

Everything hurts. Someone has changed his clothes, his left arm feels empty, the weight of his hook missing. Each breath rattles against his ribs.

Emma Swan sits on the bed he lays in, watching him carefully.

“Where’s Cora?” is the first thing he hears.

What?

Killian suddenly feels very awake, and rapidly goes over the list of things he noticed once more. His hook and brace were missing. His clothes were changed, Emma was the only other person in the room, he had shot the Crocodile’s heart over the line, and everything hurts.

Oh, and he was, once again, chained.

“Again?” he asks Emma, and he’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt so much, “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

He moved up — attempted to, anyway, damn, that hurts, and Emma simply stands over him and reminds him of his cracked ribs. “Where’s Cora?”

Who cares about Cora?

He hasn’t seen Emma since Lake Nostos, not including whatever the hell happened after that metal contraption slammed into him. He was so drunk on pain, exhilaration, bloodlust, and loss that he — loss? Why would he —

“You look good, I must say. All ‘where’s Cora’ in a commanding voice — chills.” He says instead. You have all sorts of sore places I an make you hurt, and he only smiles blandly, entirely too distracted on —

Fuck what the fuck why —

“I have no idea where Cora is,” he grounds out, and fucking seven hells, but Emma only gives him a smile that is somehow both smug and bland at the same time, so instead he asks after his hook.

“You’re awfully chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car,” says Emma dryly, and ah, is that what those metal contraptions are called, cars, strange name, but everything else is still intact, Killian drawls, but more importantly:

“Plus, I did some quality damage to my foe,”

“You hurt Belle,” Emma says incredulously, but no, that’s not the point.

“I hurt his heart,” he corrected fiercely, “Belle’s just where he keeps it.” After all, the Crocodile tore out Milah’s heart and crushed it to ash as punishment for her daring to not love him, for daring to choose Killian over him, then took the thieving hand as though people can be owned and bought and sold and stolen as objects, left him with nothing but Milah’s cooling body, ash and blood on the deck, a shattered heart, and nothing but vengeance to keep him going. He killed my love; I know the feeling, he smiles, sarcastic edge to it.

Then Emma leans forward, falsely sympathetic smile plastered onto her face, bringing her head more level to Killian’s, and unbidden, his heart jumps as the memory of their first meeting rises in his head, the exact same smile she had given him then right before she put a knife to his throat and demanded the truth from him, the first moment he gained respect for this woman.

“Keep smiling, buddy. You’re chained down, he’s on his feet, immortal, has magic, and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year? I’d pick you.”

He returns her smile, equally false and sarcastic, forcing down the wave of bitterness as she walks away leaving him behind in chains once more.

He’s left all alone with his thoughts and no escape or distraction from the hollowness in his chest, no hiding from that empty, lost sensation.

What now?

I spent decades hunting down the men responsible for what happened. Why was he thinking of him now? No, he tries rationalizing, no, it must not be enough. The Crocodile is still alive, that must be why he still feels so unsatisfied. The metal of his cuffs are cold around his wrist, and the bitterness is still tight in his throat, and very suddenly, he remembered the warm hand taking his, the doubtful look, the giddiness as he thought of a future he had never once seen. And when I was finished? All I was left with was an empty heart and a bloodstained harpoon.

His mission must not be done yet. It must not be enough to hurt the Crocodile’s heart, Killian has to kill him, maybe — maybe then he’ll be sated, maybe then he can find peace, can stop drowning in this hollowness and —

Start? Revenge is no start, it’s an end, he’s always known this. But there is still the hollowness, the bitterness, the dissatisfaction.

And then what?

He thought of her hand taking his, the first time he felt like Killian Jones in centuries, even as she called him Hook, thought of the brief moment he imagined one day letting Milah go, of a future where he can leave revenge behind him.

Thought of the shackles closing around his wrist.

This is your chance, Killian. You don’t have to swim the dark waters any longer.

Killian twisted around, ignoring the stabs of pain from his ribs as he looks for something to pick the lock around these new shackles on his wrist.

“The map is working, we know where Henry is!” Emma rushes over to give him the map and Killian is quick to take it and explain where they are, and more importantly, where the lad is. The prince, surprisingly, backs him when he tells off Regina for being too rash, impatient, as does Emma, clearly already done and frustrated with Pan’s peculiar sense of humor.

“And if I disagree?” Regina, ever the queen. Killian is starting to think she’s doing this simply to get on Emma’s nerves.

“Go ahead, but I think you know that our best chance is together.”

And because it’s clear Regina has no other plans, and was likely disagreeing for the sake of it, she relents quickly enough, with only a muttered you’d better be right.

She’s brilliant, really, the way she still keeps calm and patient despite the constant doubting Regina lays into her, the way she manages to stay strong and focused despite the loss and worry the loss of her son clearly weighs on her. He simply cannot help but be in awe of Emma Swan, and he sees no reason to hold back his admiration, because so far, she is the only one who has not constantly doubted him and his motives, who has not fought his suggestions or advice at every turn, and she deserves to see some semblance of faith, some mirror of the faith she has placed on him.

“Excellent show of patience, love,” he smiles at her as the others begin to disperse, and he pulls out his flask to offer it up in celebration. “And that, is what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I hope so,” she murmurs absently before shaking her head and laughing at the flask he offers. “Is rum your solution to everything?”

It certainly doesn’t hurt, he shrugs, taking a swig, before silently offering it up to her once more.

She takes the flask and drinks.

But, as ever when it comes to her, he is curious, endlessly curious, he wants to learn more, take whatever she gives him, beginnings, middles, ends, whatever she will let him see. So just how did you unlock the map, he tries, but she merely smiles, deflects with a “Wouldn’t you like to know,” and it’s clear she means for him to laugh as well, for them to brush it off casually before following the others to prepare and plan for whatever Pan has except —

Except he has wanted to know who she truly is since she pulled him from a pile of bodies, caught him in a bald-faced lie, put a dagger to his throat, and tied him to a tree. He has wanted to know her since they climbed the beanstalk and he had called her an open book, because despite what he says of open books, he sees only the summary, only the passages echoed in his own story, only the pages just now being written, but none of the early chapters. He has wanted to know more since she put a shackle around his wrist and left him behind, and he locked her in a cell and left her in return, since she came at him with a sword, plainly inexperienced and reckless but making up for it in endless bravery and love for her son, and he couldn’t bear to get in her way, simply throwing the fight as subtly as he can so she could get back to her boy without Cora raising a fuss. He has wanted to know more since he was crumpled in pain in the mud and she stood over him, and he couldn’t help but call her beautiful, and he started thinking of what lay for him in the future, since she stood before him, asking for the bean and telling him that he could once again, be a part of something.

“Perhaps I would,” he says instead, and he couldn’t help the mild disappointment when she only holds his gaze for a moment before walking away, and couldn’t help the disappointment because that was the answer he had expected from her.

Killian wasn’t expecting the prince to just come out and acknowledge him like that.

Really, this whole day has been hard on him, harder than the usual day in Neverland, what with the constant memories of Liam threatening to resurface, and Pan’s deal. But the acknowledgement, the thanks —

It has him shifting uncomfortably, and he can hardly meet any of their eyes, and it feels good, no matter how wrong it feels settling on his chest. After all, he hardly deserves it, all he did was prolong the inevitable death sentence (Liam rarely ever says sorry, says he was wrong, and it was one of the last things he said, and now Killian is cradling his brother’s limp body, all because he had goaded him into testing the dreamshade, and now he’s all alone, lost like nothing since his father sold him —).

But the gratitude in David’s eyes is genuine, even if the tale he spins is not, and Regina is looking torn between surprised and impressed, and Emma — Emma looks like she doesn’t know what to think.

(Emma looks like she’s seeing him.)

She drinks his rum, toasting to him, and he can’t look at her, forcing down the bitter, guilty feeling that he had just sentenced her father to either a life in Neverland or a funeral with his family grieving over him the moment the Jolly Roger settles in Storybrooke, the same way he had Liam.

He and Emma are alone now. It is silent for several beats, before “Did you really save his life?”

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, genuinely curious. What kind of man does she think he is? Judging by her tone when he had asked about his story in her world, she had nothing particularly good or interesting to think about regarding him before they had met. But after... what does she think?

“Well, you and David weren’t exactly — how do you say it? Mates.”

Her attempt at his accent should make him laugh, but instead he turns to face her properly, pouring every ounce of sincerity he can into his voice, doesn’t mean I’d leave your father to perish, because as much as David will still die, as much as he is undeserving of their gratitude, he can, at the very least, claim that he has pushed back David’s death to give him some more time, time to come clean, time to say his goodbyes.

Thank you, she returns his sincerity, and it twists at his heart. So Killian shifts gears, easily slipping back into his pirate persona, letting a sly smile spread on his lips. “Perhaps gratitude is in order now,”

His tone is light and playful, and her own smile slowly starts to spread, and it makes his heart skip a beat, because oh, it chases away the shadows of his mind, pulls him away from the cabin cradling Liam in his arms as he is helpless. That’s what the thank you was for, is amused and teasing, and oh, he is in this for real now, no longer some charade to mask whatever grief and guilt was haunting him.

She smiles at him like she can see Killian Jones beneath Captain Hook.

He thinks it could be very easy for someone to fall in love with her as he continues to tease, is that all your father’s life is worth to you, and her smile only spreads, shakes her head, tells him that he couldn’t handle it. (All Killian can think is he can handle anything so long as she smiles at him like that.)

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” and they only stare at each other after, and Killian can’t completely squash his smile, no matter how much he’s going for daring, for tempting, but it wouldn’t matter regardless, because at any moment, she’ll laugh him off before walking away from him once more —

She reaches for his coat and drags him forward, and she kisses him, and oh.

His hand comes up to her hair, and he’s dimly aware of her own hand in his hair, but she is kissing him, and all he can think is oh. It takes him a moment to even register it, to respond, and he can taste his rum on her lips, and he has to breathe in, and he gives back as much as he can, gives back to this woman who keeps challenging him and pushing him, makes him want to become a part of something once more, become that honorable man he once was, even if he could never reach her, her, who is taking the rotten, shattered pieces of his heart and is starting to put them back into place in a single breath, and oh, his future has never seemed so clear.

She kisses him like he can someday be Killian Jones once more.

They separate, but they stay pressed together, and they are breathing the same air, and he has no words, is at a complete loss, all he can think is, “That was —“

“A one-time thing,” she says, pushing away from him, and what? But she is turning and walking away from him once more, tells him not to follow her, and he realizes that there is no way he can deny her anything she wants, as you wish, spilling from his mouth with half a bow that she doesn’t even see, and he turns away, but his lips burn.

A one-time thing? Not once since Milah had he been kissed like that, had he felt like that, no number of tavern wenches or prostitutes, no number of the men or women he had fucked had ever once come close to even the echo of healing his heart, of thinking that he could find another, of letting go, not like this single kiss had. The brief flashes and feelings he had gotten from her up on that beanstalk was nothing compared to that. And this was a one-time thing?

(She had kissed him like he might already be Killian Jones.)

(He thinks maybe he really couldn’t handle it.)

Bae sat in a cage across a massive chasm, and he cried out to Emma.

Behind him, Killian could hear Emma murmur Neal’s name, a strange tone to it that Killian was to distracted to try and consider. David and Snow White begin speaking quietly, considering ways to make it to Baelfire, but “I told you what needs to be done. Consider this the moment of truth, literally,”

He has no desire to speak the secrets of his heart, no desire to dig up all the crimes he’s committed yet kept secret, no desire to bring back his long, long past.

Somehow, he feels they wouldn’t work anyway, not with the way thoughts of Milah no longer bring that burn of pain and grief and rage.

“So what,” Emma asks doubtfully, “someone tells their secret and they sprout wings?”

“I don’t know the particulars, only what I’ve been told,”

“How do you know it’ll work?” David asks, far less hostile than Killian is used to from the prince.

He turns away from them, considering the distance between him and Bae, thinks of the boy he had taken in, taught to sail, to fight, thinks of the boy he once thought could be family, as Milah once wanted. Only one way to find out, I suppose, he sighs. He thinks of the look of betrayal on Baelfire’s face as he confronted him about Milah, demanded to leave, the look of horror as Killian lashed out by selling him off to Pan in exchange for himself and his crew, thinks of the way he had stood at the deck of his ship that day with the last bean, staring down the scratched out symbols for port and starboard, he just lost his father, ringing in his ears.

He could give any secret. He certainly has an abundance of them, lived far too long, committed far too many sordid crimes that he buried deep in his mind in an attempt to escape the guilt and shame building up in him. But he has always been far more free with his acts.

And he has always kept his heart close, hidden from view, sometimes even from himself.

Killian knows what needs to be done.

“I kissed Emma,” he turns, and Emma rolls her eyes as David starts to complain, but he has no care for them, only has eyes for her, even as she says she already told her mother, and it was just a kiss, and how is that your darkest secret.

“It’s what the kiss exposed,”

Perhaps it was just a kiss for her. But he had never felt as right as when she had kissed him, never felt so at peace with himself, and she walked away with one-time thing but all he could think of was all the thoughts and feelings he had been burying since he had met her, the thoughts of a future, thoughts of how pointless his quest for vengeance had seemed next to her, the feeling that he was lost, that he was drowning, lost in darkness until she had pulled him out of it when she pulled him free of bodies, when she took his hand on the beanstalk, when she told him he could be a part of something.

She had kissed him and breathed air in his drowning lungs, she took his hand and painted a future beyond the reds of blood and vengeance, he called her an open book and she returned the favor with we understand each other, and he hadn’t felt such fear in so long as when she lay on the deck of his ship, still, drowned, not breathing. It’s the way she smiled at him, thanked him, kissed him, the way Milah’s name brings him the ache of a love lost, wound scabbed over, now, no longer open and raw, and the way he wants to become worthy of all these things.

He speaks the words he always stops himself from speaking, cuts himself off from thinking, because his heart was far to broken, rotten, shattered for him to think it could feel this way again, thinks perhaps maybe his heart still works, “I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else.”

He doesn’t look away from Emma. He doesn’t think he could, anyway, not with the memory of the beanstalk and the first time he had felt like Killian Jones and not Captain Hook, not with the memory of the way she had dragged him in, the memory of her kiss, not with the way she’s looking at him now.

That is, until I met you.

He doesn’t need the rumbling of the Echo Caves to know this is his truth, the truth he had been trying and failing to bury down, and he thinks maybe his heart is starting to heal when Emma approaches him hesitantly, mouth open as though to speak, hand reaching out to him, before getting distracted by David and Snow’s confessions. Each shattering confession builds the bridge, each confession clearly tearing at Emma more, until she starts to cross the bridge to Bae.

He thinks maybe his heart is starting to break when Emma glances back at him briefly before reaching and releasing Bae, and the two embrace tightly.

10.

Emma, you have to go.

Killian watches as Emma holds back her tears, as she says goodbye, goodby to her parents, to Neal, to Regina.

You’ve touched the lives of everyone here.

He can’t quite think of what he wants to say to her except that he doesn’t want her to leave. She has walked away from him, left him behind so many times he stopped trying to keep count, and it seems she will do so one more time.

One last time.

He has to say goodbye.

He catches her as she moves away, moves towards her bright yellow car, and he leaps at the nearest thing to say, and if this is to be their last conversation, he wants her to smile at him, wants to remember the way she smiles at him, that’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan, and she manages a weak smile to his relief, but her eyes are watery, and he will never see her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh or feel the brush of her fingers as she reaches for his rum.

He was drowning and lost when they had met. He was focused solely on his revenge, not caring for whether he survived or not, not caring for whatever may lie ahead beyond that.

She gave him direction for the first time in such a long time, and she hadn’t even meant to do so.

And now she was leaving him one last time.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” Killian swears, because it’s true. He’s in love with her, he realizes with sudden clarity — completely and utterly — he’d say hopelessly in love, except nothing gives him more hope than Emma Swan, even as he says goodbye.

He doesn’t know what she will say to him, doesn’t truly know what she thought of about whatever was building between them, doesn’t particularly know if she would have chosen him, wanted him.

“Good,” she smiles at him.

He is helpless to smile back. He’s in love with her, he thinks again, helplessly. They’ve always had a connection, always understood one another, were always open books to one another.

She is leaving him with a single word, but he can satisfy himself with this, with the knowledge that — that maybe — maybe some other life —

Whatever it was that was building, it can never happen, they could never figure it out, but — but — but she was open to it, to him.

He stares as she gets into her car, as she drives away as Regina alters the curse engulfing them, and his heart is broken.

She had shown him that his heart still worked, could still love, could still care about someone other than himself, could still be a part of something, could still break, and all he has is good, and Killian thinks there is nothing for him with these heroes, in the forest, thinks maybe the Jolly Roger, the open seas and endless adventure and piracy could help him heal his heart, could help fill the hole left by another love lost, could distract from the fact that he feels very much like Killian Jones, and not Captain Hook.

(He thinks, deep down, he already knows the answer to that.)

11.

Killian’s heart pounds as loud as his pounding on the door in front of him. The loss of the Jolly Roger is still fresh, but it is nothing to the hope of seeing her again, seeing her safe, happy, of bringing her back to her family. The door swings open, and she’s got a polite confusion on her face, and his heart feels whole again.

She is more beautiful than he remembers.

“Swan,” he breathes, “at last,” he took a step forward, but she holds up a hand to stop him in his tracks, and she stares back, bewildered, confused, suspicious, and do I know you stings, but it doesn’t matter, he knew this, expected this, and he is far too happy to care about the pain, because she’s here, and he starts talking about her family, and Killian is sure he sounds like a madman to her, and she demands to know who he is.

“An old friend,” is all he can say, “Look, I know you can’t remember me, but —“ this is a terrible idea, he thinks to himself, a terrible, terrible idea that most certainly will not work, but the hope and joy he hasn’t felt in a year is building and he’s feeling reckless and impulsive, and so he says “I can make you,” and he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips to hers, and for the briefest moment, he lets himself hope, before —

Her knee jerks forward, and his groin bursts in pain, and he’s being pushed backwards to the wall of the hallway, cursing his own stupidity and this damn memory curse on her as she cries out what are you doing, and he answers honestly, as he always does with her, because there’s never any point in lying to Emma Swan, not that he would want to anyway, “A long shot,” he groans out, “I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did.”

“All you’re gonna feel is handcuffs when I call the cops,” she snaps back, retreating, but Killian has to stop her, has to make her listen, get her to believe him, to trust him, and dammit she kneed him hard.

“Look, I know this seems crazy,” he starts desperately, “but you have to listen to me, you have to remem-“

The door slams shut in his face.

Well, good going, Jones, he thinks furiously, you’ve gone and fucked that up, too.

Now what?

Apparently, now he’s following her to some restaurant, watching her greet another man with a smile and a kiss, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter, his feelings don’t matter, not as long as Emma’s in danger, her family needs her, and as long as she seems happy with this man. Bae’s old address is written down on a piece of paper he managed to nick, he remembered it from last year when he had followed Emma and Gold to New York in a desperate attempt to kill his enemy.

Except even back then he’d already been questioning himself, his quest, questioned just how much he’d wasted of himself, his life, time, soul, for the briefest moment of satisfaction that came with blood spilled.

Even back then, Emma Swan had already gotten to his head.

Now, Emma’s — lover? — had gotten up to leave, and Killian leapt at the chance, I can explain, already spilling from his lips the moment Emma looks up to see him. “You are a stalker —“ she accuses him, but he’s already imploring her, don’t scream, just hear me out, and he’s apologizing to her, “For trying to kiss me?” she questions, and she picks up the table knife, and Killian has to swallow a remark at that, because damn now this is starting to remind him of their first meeting.

“I was merely trying to jog your memory,” he explains.

“It’s time for you to go, now,” she demands, but he can’t because —

“Your parents are in great danger,”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” her voice is cold, understandably so. Because you think you’re an orphan, ‘cause that’s haunted you your whole life, because he knows, knows in the way the mere thought of being under someone’s control, ordered about without a choice to refuse, being a slave once more, sends shivers up his spine, the same way loss of love, of being abandoned by death or choice still haunts him.

“You don’t know me,” she dismisses him.

“Alas, I know you better than you know yourself,” he knows this for sure at this moment, when she still has false memories, still has no recollection of the abundance of people who’s lives she has touched, who she has loved, has wanted, no recollection of being touched, loved, and wanted in return. She has no recollection of their connection, their easy camaraderie, those moments they shared on his ship and in Neverland, their kiss and the way he bore his heart to her in the Echo Caves, or on the way to Dark Hallow, or at the town line, when she has no recollection of ‘good’.

“I have proof,” he pulls out Neal’s address, slides it over to her, “Take a gander. Here’s an address. If you wanna know who you really are, who your parents are, go there.” Please, he thinks, try something new.

“Leave. Now,” but Killian presses on, you’ve been there before, back when he was still on the wrong side, when he still opposed her, still refused to let go of his revenge, refused to admit what he had begun feeling for her.

“A year ago I was in Boston,” Emma insists, spinning a tale about a fire, and Regina really did a number on you, “You’re a crazy person, or a liar — or both,” she scowls.

“I prefer dashing rapscallion,” he quips, because he just can’t quite resist it anymore, and he really does miss those eye rolls and flat, unimpressed looks she gives him when she’s trying to hide the fact that she finds them funny. Yes, that same one she’s giving him now, and even without her memory, it makes him want to smile, “Scoundrel?” he offers again.

“Give me one reason not to punch you in the face,” she snaps at him lowly, because of course it wouldn’t be this easy. Fine then, he’s got one more card to pull anyway, try using your superpower, and she stares back, see that I’m telling the truth, he looks back at her earnestly.

Just because you believe something is true doesn’t make it real, and he has to agree, but still, “I know you, Swan, you sense something’s off,” and he tries once more, desperately hoping she’ll trust him, take that leap of faith, or at the very least, is curious enough to go, “don’t do it for me, or you. Do it for your family,” and he knows there is nothing left he can say to convince her until she goes, until she meets him again, so he leaves.

The next day he is pacing at Central Park, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting, doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have to wait, but he will wait however long it takes.

He sees her approach, and all he can feel is relief, even as she looks furious. She ignores his words, getting straight to the point, “Why didn't you tell me that was Neal’s place?”

“I think the tone of your voice answers that quite clearly,” because he may not know the full story, but he can certainly glean enough from what she and Neal let slip, from the way she had acted around him, from maybe I was, once. But the more Emma presses him, just a bit more afraid than angry has him wondering just how far Neal’s abandonment of her goes.

“I already told you, I’m not here because of Neal,” he interrupts cautiously, but Emma is staring back at him like he’s mad, my parents, their kingdom, a curse, do you know what you sound like, and Killian can only sigh defeatedly, “Like a madman, I’m sure,” but he has nothing left except to plead, to ask her to trust him, to take a baseless leap of faith on the madman dressed strangely prattling on about kingdoms and curses and the family of someone who believes she’s an orphan. “If you don’t believe me at all, why did you come here?”

“Because Neal,” she starts furiously, digging something out of her bag, “has a camera with my son’s name on it. How?”

And Killian feels another swell of hope, because “Don’t you see, that is proof of what I’m saying,” he urged, “Henry must have left that there in the apartment when you were in New York last year,”

“Not good enough,” and Killian is getting desperate, clinging to the bits of hope he has. “I want answers, real ones,” her voice has a flatness he recognizes, and knows he can go no further, knows there’s nothing else he can say to convince her, and all he has left is the potion.

“There’s only one way you’ll get those,” he holds it out to her, and he’s reminded of all the times he’s offered her a drink, offered her his flask, all the times she’ll take it with a laugh or a smile or a roll of the eyes, or even just a quiet thanks. “Drink this,”

“Drink the thing the crazy guy just offered me?” she demands incredulously, and yes, he can see how she could take this, but it’s all he has left, it will help you remember all that you’ve lost, but she’s still staring back doubtfully.

“If one small part of you senses that, don’t you owe it to yourself to find out if I’m right? What do you say, love? Take a leap of faith,” he pleads.

He stares back at her, pleading and open, earnest, and she looks down at the potion doubtfully.

And she’s closing handcuffs around his wrist.

Dammit, not again, he thinks with growing despair as he calls for officers and chains him to a bench, and “Swan, what are you doing?” because bloody hell when he was thinking about similarities with their first meeting, he certainly did not mean for it to be exact, and he certainly does not want to be helplessly chained in place, calling after her retreating back ever again.

And now he’s stuck in some brig, being given some disgusting bologna that somehow passes for food in this realm, and they are trying to speak to him but all he can think is surely Emma wouldn’t let him rot here, wouldn’t keep him trapped here, and he misses his hook, misses the Jolly Roger, misses the way Emma looked at him when she knew who he was, even when they had stood on opposite sides, misses the smell of the sea, the wind in his hair.

But Emma does not trust him, does not look at him like he is more than just a pirate, like she can see the man of honor he tried so hard to go back to.

Even as he gave up the Jolly Roger to Blackbeard’s mocking laugh in exchange for the bean, he knew this would not be easy, knew he would be lucky even finding Emma, much less getting her to trust him, get her memories back.

The irony had not been lost on him. He had been sold, he and Liam had the combined worth of an old rowboat, his freedom sold for his father’s desperate attempt at his. Killian had fallen in love with the Jolly Roger when he had first laid eyes on her, back when she was the Jewel of the Realm, when he had his first taste of freedom in so long, coughing up water as Liam presents the Eye of the Storm to the Naval officers.

And then he had sold the ship that gave him his freedom centuries later to reach a woman who did not even remember him, did not believe in magic, or believe that she had a family, believe that she was loved and wanted.

And then he’s being released.

He hears Emma call out to him, and the relief nearly has him sagging, because she came back for him, he’s approaching her but she came back, and “I knew you wouldn’t let me rot in that cage,” he barely holds back his laugh, “I’ve been in my fair share of brigs, but none as barbaric as that — they force-fed me something called bologna,” and gods, even it’s name is ridiculous.

Emma is shuffling papers in her hand, and shows them to him, demanding “What the hell are these? We never lived in a town called Storybrooke, never took a flight from Boston to New York, we never did any of this,”

“So you believe me, then,” he asks cautiously, but she’s clearly still so confused, and he can hardly blame her with the way he had turned up from nowhere with no rational explanation, turning everything she knows upside down with half-deranged ramblings, and I don’t know, you could’ve photoshopped these, she says desperately.

But, “If you think these are forgeries, then why did you spring me from the brig?” she has no answer for him, but he rarely ever needed her to speak to know what she thinks, “Because as much as you deny it, deep down you know something’s wrong, deep down you know that I’m right,” but she is still denying it, denying him, but he is close he knows he’s close.

So he pulls out the potion one more time. Offers it up to her, one more time.

“It’s real,” she insists, “And it’s pretty good! I have Henry, a job, a guy I love!”

“Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost,” it slips from him, only really half considering what he’s revealing to her. He wonders how many times she will break his heart. He wonders how many more times he will let her. (He knows even being in her presence is enough for him.) “Regardless,” he manages to cover up, “If you wanna find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies? You know this isn’t right, trust your gut, Swan, it will tell you what to do.”

She is staring back at him, and he can only hope, hope she can find it in her to take a leap of faith, to trust him, to trust herself, and Henry always says that, is said almost absently, and he is so close, it’s been too long, and right now, more than anything, he just wants to see her look back at him with recognition in her eyes. “Then if you won’t listen to me, listen to your boy,” and he’s staring back at her, pleading, earnest, and he just misses the way she had smiled at him before they had kissed, the way she had confided in him about her doubts, inadvertently or not, misses the way she had smiled back at him when she told him, good.

(He wonders if she would have missed him, had she remembered, wonders if one can miss something they never knew they had lost, wonders if she’ll be happy to see him if she takes the potion.)

She takes the potion and drinks.

She says his name, and everything feels all right again.

12.

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

But as he stared out at the sea, the horizon that would so often bring him peace, he felt nothing but the burn and ache of guilt.

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian was right, he had to be. He’s doing Ariel a favor, he repeats to himself. He did her a favor all those months ago, and he’s doing her one now by keeping quiet, right?

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Except... except it was his fault, wasn’t it? Her prince now lost because he refused to give up his ship, refused to swallow his pride, for her all those months ago.

It’s getting dark.

And the guilt that kept a grip on his heart from the moment he laid eyes on Ariel once again just grew tighter. He has to make this right.

He’s turning, chasing after her, and the next thing he knows, his confession is spilling from his lips, Because I was too ashamed, I sacrificed saving your prince for my ship, I am so sorry, Ariel.

She slaps him again, just like last time.

And just like last time, he keeps still, taking what he deserves.

“You’re a coward,” she accuses him, “and a monster. You let a man die for your ship? What kind of person does that?”

“The kind who’s empty,” he answers, voice hollow. “Who believes a ship can fill a void left by a broken heart.” As if that’s some kind of excuse, his mind spits back at him, and Ariel echoes this.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says vehemently. “I would give anything, to take it back, to make things right!”

He would, he truly would. He’s a villain, and nothing he does could possibly right his wrongs, could make him deserve a happy ending, but perhaps, perhaps, if even just one could find some way to forgive him, then maybe his soul isn’t lost, heart isn’t completely rotten, then maybe he could find the path he has to take to become the man Liam once thought he could be, become the man of honor he once was.

But — “How am I supposed to trust a man who no longer believes in love?”

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

“I still do.”

“Then swear to me on it. This woman? Who broke your heart? You still love her?”

He thinks back to the bird warning him of the curse, the hope fluttering in his chest as the note had instructed him to find Emma, and the way he sought after Blackbeard and never thought twice about giving up the Jolly Roger for the bean. He thinks back to New York, the unbridled joy that had swelled up in his heart when the door opened beneath his fist, and saw Emma Swan’s confused eyes peering back at him. He thinks back to Neverland, the way she found the broken pieces of his heart and started to help rebuild it in a single breath, and leaving him completely wrecked in the next as she left him behind with nothing but a one-time thing, and good, and thinks of the way she had been the first in so long to see him beneath Hook. He thinks back to the beanstalk, where they had seen through each other’s walls like they were nothing, where she took his hand and for the briefest moment before it all came crashing down, he could see a future once more.

He thinks, again, to New York, trying so hard to convince her to try something new, to trust him and take that leap, a guy I love, and the way perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost, had simply slipped from his mouth, and the way she found it in herself to trust him and drink the potion despite her memories. He thinks of the way she calls him by his name, calls him Killian in a way that makes him believe he could be Killian Jones once more, makes him believe he could someday leave Captain Hook behind, thinks of the way she smiles at him, the treasured moments in which she confides in him, thinks of the way she laughs, the way she stays so strong despite the weight of all those expectations upon her, thinks of the way she trusts him to keep her boy safe.

He doesn’t know when he fell in love with her. Perhaps it was the kiss, perhaps Echo Caves, where the feelings he had been trying to bury had been forced to the light, perhaps Dark Hollow, when she called out his name, worried for him, perhaps it was when she left him with nothing but “Good,” and a shaky smile, and the image of her yellow vehicle driving away from him as the curse engulfed him. Killian hadn’t even known he had started falling for her in earnest until he crashed, completely and utterly gone.

You still love her?

How could he not?

I swear on Emma Swan.

The brief moment of relief he gets as his yes and his vow lifts some weight off his shoulders, off his heart, is very quickly drowned by horror and panic as his lips sting and Ariel turns into Zelena.

(Later, when he has to lie to Emma, the look of pride and wonder and joy and the smile she gifts him has his heart weighing heavier than it ever did when he was all alone on the Jolly Roger, hopeless and heartbroken and aimless, and he wonders how he ever thought he could be someday be worthy of winning her heart.)

(And after, she tells him she doesn’t care about what he’s hiding, doesn’t want to live in the past anymore, all he can say is “I know how you feel”, and he can still feel her stare as he leaves, feel the concern, concern for him, and he has never felt less worthy of being in her presence.)

13.

She’s smiling. Emma’s turned away from him, leaning against the doorway as she watches her parents and brother, and she’s smiling, bright, wide, pure joy, and Killian thinks she is gorgeous, thinks she is breathtaking like this, (he’d certainly know what breathtaking feels like, he scoffs at himself), but “Never thought I’d see one of those,” he calls out to her because he can’t resist, because her cheer is infectious.

“It’s called a baby,” and his heart lightens even more, how could it not, when she’s looking at him with that smile, when she teases him lightly, when she moves over towards him.

“No, Swan — a smile,” and her grin only widens, eyes only brighten, we won, tone so pleased, and Killian wants to keep seeing this smile, this delighted Emma, wants to stay by her side as long as he can, but he has put her son in danger, put her in danger, has put her in a position to sacrifice her magic, forced her to choose between her magic or his life, and he can’t help but wonder if she made the right choice.

“With all the chaos, I never got a chance to say thank you,” he says, and she tilts her head, looks back confused, you really think I’d let you drown, but he has endangered her and her family, he had been turned into just another tool to harm her, and she was right to be furious with him, his inability to fix his own mistakes, thinks of all the times he bore his heart, thinks of all the times she had walked away from him, thinks maybe someday she might not come back, and, “Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain?” he keeps his smile up, keeps his tone light, tries to cover up his doubts.

It must work because she laughs a bit. “Has your power returned, now that Zelena’s been defeated?” her smile fades just a bit, no, is said without much emotion, but Killian feels that stab of guilt again, can’t help but wonder, again, if she had made the right choice, “I’m sorry, love,” is all he can offer her, because she had given her magic up for him, to save his life.

“It’s okay,” she shrugs, smiling at him again, “I won’t need it in New York,”

And Killian’s heart sinks, and he stares as Emma calls Henry to meet his uncle, stares as they join the rest of their family, and he stands at the doorway, outsider looking in, but he can no longer feel the cheer Emma had started to bring out in him, can no longer scrounge up much more than an incredibly weak, false smile, because she’s standing there, happy with her family, but she’s going to leave again, leave her parents, leave her brother, leave this town, leave him.

He doesn’t want her to leave him anymore.

He doesn’t want to keep calling after her retreating back.

He wants her to stay, wants to stay by her side, wants her to let him stay at her side, wants her to want him at her side, wants her to be a part of something.

Killian watches them, outsider standing alone by the door, watches them celebrate, coo at the newborn, wide smiles and bright eyes, watches them happy and together, and thinks he wouldn’t deserve it.

14.

“So you just keep running,” Killian finishes, and it makes sense, in some way, except Killian doesn’t want her to leave, doesn’t want her to run.

“I learned something a long time ago, Hook,” and he voice is quiet, gentle, tired, maybe even just a bit apologetic, “Home is a place, when you leave, you just miss it. So yeah, I’m gonna keep running until I feel that,”

He doesn’t want her to leave. He knows she doesn’t want to leave, either. He saw her smile back at the hospital with her family, remembers her a year ago at the town line, in tears because she was being forced to leave. He didn’t imagine the look on her face when she realized she had to leave, didn’t imagine the relieved set to her shoulders when her parents remembered who she was, didn’t imagine the way she had smiled at him at the town line last year, when he had promised her everyday.

He hadn’t imagined the way her thumb brushed his jaw, the way her hand cradled his head when she chose to save him over keeping her magic.

“So you’re just gonna leave your parents, then. Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

Perhaps he did imagine it. Perhaps he had been seeing things that weren’t there, perhaps the near-death experience managed to scrounge up those sensations. But still, he can’t get her smile out of his head, so bright and wide and happy, standing by her family’s side looking down at her brother, the smile of someone completely at peace with her place.

And Emma is looking back at him, like she can see right through his words, like she can see every doubt writing itself in his head, see just how much her talk of running to find a place to miss has him thinking of all the times she ran from him, all the times he had to chase after her, all the times he had missed her.

“Of course I care,” she insists gently, “I just have to do what’s right for me, and Henry, and —“

Then they’re up and running towards some beacon of light because they can never get a quiet moment to just breathe and speak, always another crisis on the horizon, and dammit, he’s just going to have to enjoy these minutes of peace, won’t he?

They’re at the barn again, and whatever is happening has absolutely no chance of being good, and Emma’s saying that Zelena’s death must have triggered it. The doors are rattling, planks look moments away from flying lose, and the light hanging above the door is swinging wildly, and Emma is running towards it what is she doing —

“Wait!” he caught her arm hastily, “We have to get out of here.”

“Not until we find a way to close it!” she protests.

“You’ve got your magic back?” he questioned sharply, eyes flickering between her and the rattling doors, barely waiting for her answer before his fear for her safety wins out, “Then we’re not bloody well messing with any of this, let’s go!”

Too late.

The doors swung open inwards, and the force of the portal has them slamming to the ground, getting dragged in, and Emma he thought wildly, she’s twisting, reaching for him, and the moment he feels her hand grip his, he twists and slams his hook into the ground, but Emma’s too close, and she has to hold on, he’s holding onto her as tight as he can, begging her to hold on as tight as she can, but she’s screaming, but her hand is slipping and, I can’t, and the sound of the sleeve of his coat ripping sounds infinitely louder than the chaos of the portal, of the barn, and —

He stares as she disappears, as she falls into the portal.

How many times was this now?

“Oh, one of these days I’m gonna stop chasing this woman,” he curses, and even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie, knows he’d go anywhere for her, to the ends of the world (or time), would follow her anywhere so long as she let him stay by her side, because he’s still safe but Emma is gone, because his heart is in his throat, fear and horror as her hand had slipped from his.

So he twists, releases his hook and lets himself fall through the portal, and he doesn’t know where they’ll end up, doesn’t know when, doesn’t even know if they’ll fall out together, but all he can think of is getting to Emma, and the fall is painful, but he sees Emma’s red leather jacket just beside him, and all he can feel is relief that she’s all right.

15.

“Mary Margaret and David are always going on about this ball and that ball — what’s the big deal about these things?” she whispers to him, and Killian remembers the first time he attended a ball when he was still in the Navy, remembers his own awe, remembers Emma, just before they fell through the portal, calling these fairytales and stories and how she couldn’t reconcile her own life to this.

He can’t answer her, not when he doesn’t want to miss her reaction.

She’s staring, stunned, enraptured, lips parted, and Killian cannot help but grin at her, cannot help but feel so blessed to be the one to see this, see her like this, and he leans close to whisper “You were saying?” and she still looks stunned as he takes her hand what am I supposed to do, as if Killian would ever pass up this opportunity, pass up the chance to see her smile and laugh and dance and embrace being a princess. He had wanted quiet moments, moments without crises, without the shadow of a lurking threat, not traipsing around some manner of forest courting danger.

They’re on a mission, yes. But for just one dance, Killian does not want to court danger. For just one dance, he wants to court only her.

So he leads her across the room into the crowd of dancers, and she doesn’t seem to believe him, are you saying you know how to do whatever this is, and Killian just moves her hand to the right places, steps just a bit closer, rests his hand on her waist, and he doesn’t know if he can fall any deeper in love with her, because for as long as they’ve known each other, he had always been the one to follow her lead, to put his faith in her and her knowledge of her world, but now — now she’s putting her faith in him, following his lead through his world, and she trusts him enough to not lead her astray. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing,”

She is beautiful, an absolute natural, a grace and regality to her movements that makes Killian’s heart swell, all because she’s smiling at him like that, (like maybe she’s —) she may not think she’s a princess, may not think she belongs anywhere near this world, but the way she moves says otherwise, “I’m not mocking you, Swan, just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,”

He has sworn off royalty, has declared was on his own kingdom, declared war against a whole navy, has never had good relationships with royalty he meets after, not Poseidon and Ursula, not Regina, not Cora, there isn’t much more he distrusts more than monarchs, very little he hates more than a corrupt crown — but he would swear fealty to Emma Swan, would lay his cutlass at her feet and follow her into battle, into portals, into different realms, anywhere she would let him.

“Really? You get my first dance at my first royal ball, and all you can say is I told you so?”

“I believe what I’m trying to say, your Highness, is that you appear to be a natural,”

They are good together, they’ve always made quite a team, and Killian thinks he has never felt as good as when she is looking at him like this, never felt as right as when she is smiling at him like this, never felt as whole as when they are together, and right now, she is all he can focus on, all he sees, because they are good together and he’s completely in love, and she’s looking at him like maybe —

16.

Killian doesn’t expect Emma to come looking for him, doesn’t know why she came looking for him. “So,” she asks lightly, settling into the seat next to his, “do you think Rumplestiltskin is right? I’m in the Book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right,” because Killian has spent the night scrounging his memory for her, for golden hair and green eyes, and for the way she looks at him, for the way she kisses him, but the only kisses he has are from Neverland and his attempt at a True Love’s Kiss in New York, “Otherwise I’d remember that damn bar wench I kissed.”

“How would that prove anything?”

“I know how you kiss,” he reminds her, remembers Neverland, remembers the way he always feels like Killian Jones with her, even when he was very much Captain Hook, because she had been the first in centuries to kiss him like that, and, past or present, memories or not, Killian or Hook, he’d have followed her anywhere. “I’d have gone after her. But I didn’t. My life went on exactly the same as before,”

“Must’ve been the rum,” she murmurs, and she is staring at him, and he wonders what she sees, wonders what she thinks.

“Everything’s back to normal. You’re a bloody hero, Swan,”

“So are you,” she returns, and Killian scoffs a little at that, because all he did was follow her, all he did was do what he’s already been doing for some time now. “I wanted to thank you, Killian,” makes him look up at her, makes him look her in the eyes because he can’t think of what — “For going back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn’t —”

But it’s hardly something to praise about, he was simply doing the right thing, anyone else could have easily taken his place.

“How did you do it?” she asks, and Killian’s heart sinks. He had wondered how long it would take her to ask, had wondered how long he could keep deflecting, “How did you get to me?”

There’s no more running.

“Well, the curse was coming,” he keeps his tone light, keeps it as even as possible so Emma can drop the subject, can think it’s nothing all that important, “I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.”

“You outran a curse?”

“I’m a hell of a captain,” a hell of a captain who had a hell of a ship, “and once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between the worlds was possible again, all I needed was a magic bean.”

“Those are not easy to come by,”

No. Not if you didn’t know where to look, not if you didn’t know the right people, didn't have access to the right prices, if you weren’t willing to pay that price. But Killian had had no problem with the price, had no problem tracking down Blackbeard, as loudly as he gloats about being in possession of a stash of beans, and he certainly had the leverage.

“They are if you’ve got something of... value to trade,” he can’t look at her right, doesn’t know how she’d react, doesn’t know what she’d think, and he misses the Jolly Roger, misses the scratched out symbols for port and starboard, misses his cabin, misses that little plank of wood that he can never get set right.

“And what was that?” she asks, laughing a bit, likely thinking of jewels or gold.

He doesn’t want to tell her, doesn’t want her to feel some sort of debt to him, but he doesn’t want to lie to her, either.

So Killian forces up a smile, puts on his most nonchalant voice, “Why, the Jolly Roger, of course,”

It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work, not with her, and she’s staring at him like she did when she had thought he helped Ariel, staring with surprise and awe and disbelief, and you traded your ship for me, and he can’t keep up the act anymore, can’t pretend that the Jolly Roger had meant nothing to him, not when Emma clearly sees how much it had meant to him.

“Aye.”

She’s leaning in to him, slowly, and Killian doesn’t move, wants to let her do as she wishes to kiss him or change her mind and walk away, to take the blackened heart he’s offering up to her, to let her break it should she wish, wants her.

Killian just wants her.

And she’s kissing him, and he can feel everything she isn’t saying. He can feel the gratitude in it, can feel that this is more than just thank you, this is her telling him she’s ready, ready to let him in, ready to lower her walls, to let him love her, to let him be a part of her life, and he wants it, loves her so much his heart is swelling with it, and they separate and she is smiling at him, smiling like she feels that everything is okay, that this is okay, that this is perfect and she wants it too, and as ever, her joy is infectious, building on his own, and this time he is the one to lean in, and she responds enthusiastically.

Killian does not have the Jolly Roger, but he can find his home here with her, because she was the first to see Killian Jones, because she had brought back Killian Jones, and he was so lost without her, had been lost in rage and vengeance, then lost in his own heartbreak, but he wants to do better, wants to become worthy of what she sees in him, of the privilege of being let past her walls, wants to become a better man for her.

She had managed to find her way past his masks and his own walls and find the heart he didn't think could still work, could still love or care for or break. She is kissing him and he has never felt so free, so at peace.

He thinks he could someday be worthy of it.

#ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #my fanfic #j’s stuffs #a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)#title from Sleeping At Last’s ‘Eight’#introspective as all hell #this is basically analysis headcanons and metas disguised as fic #a nearly irresponsible amount of italics #it’s literally my first time writing a fic id love some feedback #for if ever I keep it up I know how to improve

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blueberrypossum · 4 years

Text

You are my weakness

Howdy yall!! I wanted to get this out for the Hollidays so that everyone got their daily dose of Leonard love (I can't get this man out of my head).

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️: There are swear words and little bit of adult content (such as making out and yearning)

I don't know if others are like me, but I love listening to music while reading fanfiction so here's a few songs I was listening to while writing

Hope you guys enjoy!

(BTW the word fat head is slang for stupid or foolish person, I just see Danny using slang and such)

Okay, that’s not how the conversation went, Mickey is lying to you!”

“That electric pole couldn’t lie to his worst enemy!”

“I guess you’re below that point then, aren’t ya?”

The orge yokai let out a bellowed laugh next to you and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. You both were hanging out on his balcony, Danny, Mickey, and a few of your other friends were back inside; you all had a successful heist and were celebrating back at his and his gang’s place. You slightly move the mug in your hands, the hot chocolate slowly swallowing the marshmallows Mickey had placed in it.

With winter hitting the surface world, the Hidden City had gotten colder and some of the witches had cast a spell to let it snow, the fluffy little flurries covering the city in a thin blanket of white. You looked back over at Leonard and couldn’t suppress the smile that grew across your face. You’ve been friends with him and his gang for years, always working together to be known as some of the best thieves down in this golden city.

You brought your jacket close, well, Leonard’s jacket. Anytime you were cold and forgot to bring something warmer, you were always up to steal Leonard’s clothes. He never complained and never asked and you would make sure to leave it where you found it. You could hear the faint laughs of Danny, Mickey, and your friends inside, knowing that they were placing bets on the card game they were playing. As you took a sip of your drink, it was Leonard’s turn to watch you silently. He took in your red cheeks, how your fingers twitched against the warmth of your cup, and how the snow stuck to the top of your head like a crown.

It has been years; years of earning each other’s trust, months of becoming close friends, weeks of falling for you. He watched as you ran your fingers through your hair, the snowflakes that had settled melted or pushed away. Your arm was touching his and he tried his damn hardest to not let it show that it bothered him, how he wanted to lean into you, lean into your welcoming scent and breath you in instead of the icy wind.

You were so addictive and he hated it.

You let out another giggle and he gave you one of his side grins.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about today. How Danny literally started to sing to the crowd while we made our escape, maybe he should join a band.”

“With that ugly mug? He would mostly likely have to be the drummer since people swoon over the singer, guitar player, and then the drummer.”

“Does that mean you get to be the guitar player since you play?”

“And leave Mickey to be the singer? I think we’re better off as thieves.”

You placed your hand over your mouth to hide your laughs as the jokes finally got to you, her body unwilling leaning against Leonard to hold you up as your body heaved up laughs. The tall yokai gladly took in your weight, your warmth spreading over him like wildfire and couldn’t help but let a light hue of red cover his face.

You were extremely close now, to the point that if you breathed the little ice cloud would cover his face. You were still letting out chuckles as you finally looked up at him, tears barely forming at the corners of your eyes, causing your eyes to sparkle like deep twilight. All titans above he has fallen for you, he has fallen so deep for you he was surprised he was still standing.

“Are you done laughing? I’m pretty sure the humans above heard you.”

You roll your eyes and set your mug over on the ledge of the railing, the steam of the hot beverage slowly dancing with the breeze.

“You know bad jokes are my weakness. Unlike you, I can actually admit to it.”

“I can totally admit my weaknesses.”

“Really? What’s your number one weakness then?”

This was it. This was the time to say his bloody feelings, to let you know that he thinks about you nonstop at random times of the day, how he makes sure that nothing hurts you during their heists, how he lays in his bed and thinks, just for a bloody second, what it would be like if you were there next to him. He could feel sweat start to build up on his body as the silence continued between you two. You were so genuine, loyal, funny, and your features could make anyone swoon.

His mouth opened up to say something, anything, until Mickey came crashing through the door. Leonard quickly moved over to where you and him were no longer touching and he moved his face to hide the blush that covered it. Heavy laughs and booing bursted out from the apartment as the cold air was let into the warm building.

“Y/N! Y/N! I need your help! Danny cannot beat my ass at this next game!” The eel yelled, his face warm with the booze mixed within his hot chocolate. He grabbed your arm and you let out a laugh as the eel basically fell onto you as he tried to drag you back into the apartment. Leonard gave Mickey an evil eye as he dragged you away, a low growl rumbling out of his throat as he turned back to the night sky, his beaten up fingers running through his hair. Maybe it was a sign, to either let you go or to go after you, he didn’t know.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You had left the apartment after your friends left, and Leonard couldn’t help but stare at the front door. Mickey was passed out on the couch, clinging to his handful of cards he had from the final game and Danny was cleaning up the last of the mess.

The green yokai looked back at the balcony and saw that the snow was building up speed and little piles were being created.

“So, ya going after Y/N?”

Leonard instantly perked at the sound of your name and he quickly turned to Danny, who’s eyebrow was raised and a frown was crossed over his face.

“What the hell are you talkin about?”

The rat yokai let out a gust of air as he threw the last bit of trash into the trashcan and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ya know that Y/N has fallen head over heels for ya, right? I knew that you were a fat head, but not that much.”

Leonard looked over to his side and his hands balled into fists, the emotions that raged inside of him were just too much, he had flings in the past, but he didn’t want that with you.You weren’t just going to be a fling. He wanted you. He needed you.

“What should I do, Dan?”

The tall rat was a little taken aback, never once in his life had he seen his friend so defeated, almost helpless, so desperate that he was asking for help. Danny looked around until his eyes landed on Leonard’s jacket, the one you had been wearing an hour ago.

He handed it over to Leonard.

“Go.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The alleyway was silent as you walked home, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your hoodie as you watched your small breaths create clouds in front of you. The last few hours flashed around in your head and your heart went weak at the sight of Leonard that jumped through your head. You wondered what he was going to say, you wondered if he was going to say anything at all, you wondered if he only saw you as a friend.

You heard hard and fast footsteps behind you and your hand was instantly out with a knife in your dominant hand, prepared for anything. You turned just in time to see who it was that was racing after you, almost trying to catch up.

“Leonard?”

The ogre yokai was out of breath by the time he got to you, his coat and jeans clinging onto him for dear life just like his hands were with his jacket. He took in several gulps of air and just when he thought he had gotten his breath back, it was taken away from him once again.

Snow was once again sprinkled onto your hair and even your eyelashes and your cheeks were clinging for any kind of heat. The city lights dusted you with a golden blur and in the silence he could hear and see your steady breathing from your chest.

Holy fuck you were exhilarant.

He was so distracted that he barely heard your voice against the pounding in his ears.

“What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

He looked down at you and then lower at his jacket, his fingers creating fingerprints due to the cold.

“You, uh, you forgot this,” he grunted and swiftly handed it to you. You took the jacket into your hands and gave him a frown.

“Len, this is your jacket.”

Shit shit!! What do I say? What do I do?

“Yeah, well, you wear it so much it might as well be yours,” he growled as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets, his eyes wandering around so he didn’t have to look at you.

You were still confused but put on the jacket anyway, the old scents that you had held dear hours ago flooded back with open arms. You could smell the sweat of the jacket, the adventure, the thrill of being Loathsome Leonard, you could smell his cologne that made him smell like a foggy pine forest with nothing left but moss covered stones and mysteries left unsolved.

“Thank you, but I’m guessing that's not why you are truly here,” you said with a light sigh, the chilly environment no longer bothering you. He watched as you brought the collar of the jacket closer and noticed how you smelled it and it made his throat and mouth dry.

“It’s hard to talk to you, you know that?” He huffed out as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I know, but you know it’s just me, right?”

Yeah. He knows it was just you, and that’s what made it unbearable to stand here and not kiss you, have you, to be yours.

He tried to think of something up, something cheesy and romantic like Danny, or truthful and spontaneous like Mickey, but if you liked that, you wouldn’t be hanging out around him, you wouldn’t want to be with him.

“Isn’t my weakness obvious, Y/N?”

Your frown only went deeper as your brain tried to think of what the hell he was talking about, and then the conversation came lashing back like a wip. You tilted your head at him and he rolled his eyes and looked at you again, but not at you, but the piece of clothing you were wearing. The jacket. The jacket you were wearing. You.

Oh.

All the blood in your body raced to your face and your hands were moving through your hair so fast that you were surprised that you weren’t bald yet. You tried to remain eye-contact with Leonard but it was almost like you were back in school, blushing and stuttering over a small crush. But this wasn’t a crush, this couldn’t be a crush, this was something fully developed, more well rounded and shaped, this wasn’t something you could just get over with.

The silence was almost too much for the yokai and for a split second he could feel fear and regret hit his gut like a punch, until your lips crashed into his like a freight train.

You were standing on the end of your toes and your hands were holding his face as you kissed him, praying to the titans above that you didn’t mess it up.

Leonard almost went dead within your hands as the heat from your lips traveled over to his, his hands had slipped out his pockets but they stood stiff near you as if afraid to touch you. For Leonard it felt as if the kiss lasted a few lifetimes full of adventure and heartache, but the kiss was short and simple.

You pulled back as you looked up at him with worried eyes. Maybe you had taken it too far, maybe you should’ve had him specify what he meant to double-check, or maybe just-

His lips were back on yours again, this time with meaning, this time with everything he fucking had. You instantly melted into the kiss and so did he, his hands holding onto your face, his thumb softly caressing the skin under it. That hand soon moved to behind your head as your hands went to his chest, your fingers gently holding onto his shirt. With his size and strength he was practically looming over you, consuming your scent, your passion, your taste. Your head started to dip as the kiss started to get heated, more meaning being pushed into it.

You barely had time to come up for air before he attacked your lips again and soon your back was against the wall of the alleyway and everything in your head was getting dizzy, all you knew was that Leonard smelled good, he felt good, and you’ve craved this for months.

Leonard couldn’t keep himself off of you, unless you said something, he was going to chase and explore this feeling you were giving him. His strong hands roamed your waist and couldn’t help but pin you against the brick wall of the alleyway. Your lips were soft, delicate, and your scent was practically calling his name, and your hands traveled up his chest and hooked around his neck and to all the higher beings above to say that you gave him a high was an understatement, because highs don’t last forever, but the love he felt for you would.

“Leonard,” you moaned into his mouth and he instantly slammed his hand up against the wall next to your head, his instincts going haywire within him.

He had never heard you say his name like that. He had only dreamt of it, only allowed his mind to wonder to you groaning and moaning his name during desperate times.

He growled into your mouth and it shook you to your very core to the point that it felt like you were sweating during the winter storm around you. You were able to get another breath before his lips once again found yours and he growled deep into your mouth. It’s almost like he knew you would go weak in the knees because he was holding onto you.

It felt as if he was made for loving you.

“Leonard.”

There it was again, the desperation, the thrill in your voice that was laced with need, you needed him, you wanted him. Another growl rippled from his throat as his kisses slowly trailed down your cheek, then jawline, and then your neck. You let out a gasp as his hands dipped under you and he lifted you up, pushing you more against the wall as he had full and utter control.

He took in your sensitive skin, the shiver that ran through your body, how his jacket looked on you. He couldn’t get enough, he could never get enough of you, he wanted this to last, to taste and savor every last second with you. But, when you said his name again, it was filled with panic.

“Leonard! The cops!”

The ogre yokai quickly turned over to the end of the alleyway; there were two cops standing there, flashing their flashlights down the dimly lit alleyway. As he questioned why the hell they would come down here and ruin his and yours night, he looked above your head to see the obvious No Loitering sign.

“Shit.”

He gently let you down and took your hand and headed in the opposite direction, the cops instantly spotting you two and gave chase. Of course, the cops wouldn’t do much to just two people loitering, but you both had just done a heist and you both knew that your faces would be plastered over every police station.

You and Leonard quickly darted into every alleyway, trying to find a building or area where you could stay hidden until the cops lost your trail. You couldn’t help but laugh as you both raced away from the cops, you felt like a kid again, running away from the cops for vandalizing or when you didn’t know how to hide from the law when you were younger.

Leonard heard your laughter and he rolled his eyes at you, once again laughing at the face of danger. But, you were his weakness, and he was glad of it.

#rottmnt #rottmnt loathsome leonard #loathsome leonard x reader #rottmnt loathsome leonard x reader #rottmnt mud dogs #rottmnt mud dogs x reader #Spotify

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girlmaster132 · 3 years

Text

Rosaria x Female Reader: Hidden In the Shadows

Rated: Mature

Words: 4k

Warning: Kidnapping, Death

First-Person POV:

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Mondstadt is such a beautiful place, the kind people, the breathtaking views. It is known as the city of wind and freedom. And for someone like me, it's the finest place to steal.

The Windblume festival has also begun doubling the number of people in the streets. My excitement reached its peak. I strode inside Mondstadt, flower wreaths and decorations welcomed me. I walked on a smooth blue carpet that reached the center.

Relief rushed through me knowing that this place has bad security. Knowing that most members of the Knights of Favonius are incompetent and lazy asshats, stealing here would be a breeze.

I smirked and watched the crowd form in the town center. Good Hunter has released a new dish and everyone's going crazy. I wore my hood and approached the nearest table. Golden Chicken Burger had a fragrant smell that could reach all the way here.

I sat in a chair and observed the potential victims. My other "friends" were doing their own business in the corners of Mondstadt. I wasn't on heavy duty today, so the simplest thing could be the greatest treasure.

I shifted my view to different people studying their clothing. A child wearing a flower headband, a man with booze, I saw a woman with a pouch of mora just hanging at her belt. I laid my eyes on the price and studied a route in this massive crowd. I stood up and quietly approached her.

I pretended to whistle and accidentally bumped into her. I swiftly swiped the mora on her belt and grinned hastily hiding the heavy pouch in my jacket.

"I'm sorry dear, I apologize for being ever so clumsy," I bowed down.

"Oh, no worries! A lot are excited for the food a lot of people bumped into me already."

"Well of I go, hope you have a nice lunch!" I winked and strutted away. I felt the bulge in my jacket symbolizing my success. I stretched and got ready to go back to base, I left Monstadt while giving empty smiles to whoever passed me.

My boots crunched at the grass, I strayed off the path and entered the woods. Boars and birds roam around. The sun was starting to set and after a few more steps I arrived at our camp. Some greeted me and when I entered the tent, I was met with devious smiles. The smiles of sinners, "Welcome back capt. Got anything worthwhile?"

I threw the pouch of mora and he clumsily caught it. "I did most of the work last raid, better not expect me to give you more than that." The rats rapidly took the pouch and fought over it. The coins dropped like heavy rain, clanking on the table, some even fell on the ground. They scattered around the room collecting the precious mora.

"This would be 5000 Mora. Nice catch capt."

She handed me a few coins, "Nah I don't need that, keep it for yourself. I'm fine with the food and shelter y'all provide me," I yawned and stretched. I walked around the room and observed the map of Mondstadt.

"Where are you going? It's night, the best time to get treasure. But you already did your share for this week?" I scoffed and

"You don't need to know." I sighed and stood up, "I'm going to the usual. See ya lads."

...

The moon glowed amidst the dark sky. The breeze was gentle and the town was silent. The lights gave a warm atmosphere as I walked to the cathedral. Thieves are sinners meant to be punished. It's ironic that I visit the church every night. I walked around the entrance and looked at the mountains.

Dragonspine was seen, I wonder how my fellow Treasure hoarders were holding up there.

I reached the back and stared blankly at the graves, there was a man singing lullabies. I eyed him and sat down at the stairs and waited for my friend to come. I blanked out and leaned at the huge door. The door opened quietly and I met with her.

"Tsk, stop sitting there like a homeless person and come in already." I blushed and laughed. A light blue color sparkled on her clothes.

Cryo Vision

...

The floors creak as I slowly approached the room. The windows glistened the moonlight. I tiptoed through the hall and kept looking back at the window I went in.

Desperate for a place to stay in, the treasure hoarders are my last chance. I strained my breaths through my pounding heart. In the hall were three rooms. I chose the door beside me, my hand wandered to my pocket and took a pin out. I knelt and unlocked the door. There Infront of me is an empty and dusty room. There were boxes stacked against each other and a sole table inside.

I walked towards the boxes and opened them. Coughing from the dust. Inside were broken bottles and cans. I pushed the box away, there needs to be something worthwhile here or I'm dead. I scanned the boxes and crawled to the table.

I ruffled at the table contemplating if I should hurry up or take this slow. I opened the drawers, piles of paper were in there. I stumbled and covered my mouth. I looked back and there were still no signs of people coming in. I gazed back at the table

The light from the window reflected a circle orb that caught my eye. I scrambled to it and took the papers above it away.

A Pyro Vision

It had no color or life, its owner must be dead. I sharply inhaled and grinned. I took the vision and fiddled with it. Relief surged through me, I'd finally get home and be able to attain Mora once I sold this.

"Oh, sweet mother of the archons! I'm saved!" I looked up into the ceiling and kissed the vision. Suddenly I heard stomping noises from the first floor. I quickly pushed the vision into my pocket and ran outside. I locked the door from the inside and slowly closed it. My heartbeat was faster as the footsteps were getting close.

I hastily jumped out of the window and harshly fell to the ground. My knees trembled and I stumbled. I picked myself up and stared at the pyro vision in my hand. I took a headstart and ran away passing the homes of Springvale.

I reached the forest, took out the map the treasure hoarders gave me. I followed the location running through the trees in the dark. I advanced and found the location. It was an empty camp with no sign of life or a fire source. I saw a girl a little bit older than me sitting under a tree staring at the darkness.

"Do you need help?" I whispered. I saw the table had food, cold but still food. I took a piece of bread and handed it to her. Getting near I got a better look at her. She was frail and her body was skinny. Her mouth had blood on it.

"I think you'd be needing that more than I do kid," She said with a raspy voice. I gazed upon her empty eyes. "You also shouldn't be here... I think you got the wrong location kid."

"Why not? The Treasure Hoarders led me towards here," I took out the map and showed it to her.

"Get out of here now those assholes tricked you!"

"Tricked me! W-what are you talking about?"

"You are nowhere near the Treasure Hoarders land. You're in the territory of the Ace Onyx if I were you I'd take this bread in my hand and have your last supper here." I paled when I heard people near us.

"Well, well, well what do we have here? You caught a new bitch?" I shivered and looked back. A punch met with my face and I fell down. I rubbed my face as my eyes got watery. The girl watched silently. "I wonder how this one would sell in the market." He loomed over me holding my face as he observed me.

"It'll be worth a fortune boss!"

He let go of my face and raised a hand. I covered my eyes and waited for the inevitable. The girl ran up with unbelievable speed as she roughly pushed him forward making him stumble. I gulped as the devilish eyes surrounded us.

"Lay a hand on her and I will kill all of you worthless scum!"

"Ya' talk big for a slave that knows no remorse and has killed countless innocent lives. You've taken all my dirty work and followed all my orders like a dog on a leash. Are ya' sure that you aren't part of this so-called worthless scum?" He smirked. I shakily stood up and walked backward, I looked back ready to escape.

"I am sick and tired of following your orders, getting innocent people involved just to survive and live a life. I'd rather die right here right now."

"K-kid let's go!" I took her hand pulling her towards me, yet she stood there unwavering. She glared at them with fire coursing through her soul.

"Fleeing makes you a traitor, and traitors can only earn their freedom through victory in combat," He raised his hand signaling the other bandits to stop. He took a dagger and threw it at her feet, she glanced back at me. Even if that hate wasn't towards me, it was enough to freeze to the core. "Well, come on then! Kill me, and you can leave this place. I'm long in the tooth now, while you've got youth on your side. You can do this, can't ya?"

She halted me from running away. I saw a smirk on her face. Like she was confident she was about to win. I sat back down on the ground as I watched the fight begin.

The girl twirled the dagger on her hand as her eyes were fixated on their leader. She inhaled and was quick on her feet; she struck upwards, slashing his shoulder. He prepared a jab which she dodged and elbowed him in return.

She ripped through his clothes, striking every opportunity she got. Every attack is driven by hate and rage, showing no remorse. This didn't even seem close to a fair fight. The leader was bleeding through several wounds. She didn't stop there, Her strength was admirable; she flipped him over and he roughly collided with the land.

She took him by his hair and brought him up. She stabbed him right in the heart, taking the knife out. The leader coughed out blood as she hit him in the face with the hilt of the dagger. She pushed his head down and didn't hesitate to stab him at the back of his head multiple times before he fell to the ground. She breathes out slowly, not even a single sweat dropped from her forehead.

She smeared her hand over the bloody head and disgustingly licked it. An eerie silence as everyone watched in horror. I breathe out and fog is released out of my mouth. I saw that the place was starting to get cold. The sky darkened and clouds swirled above her.

Something glowed in the sky. I squinted and gasped. A cryo vision slowly descended from the sky. My eyes widened as it fell into her hands. The bandits stood there trembling and terrified. They have no chance of winning against a person that has killed their leader. Let alone received a vision from the gods.

"Anyone else?" She pointed the dagger at them. Cryo manifested on the weapon.

Knights arrived at the scene and the bandits fought them. The girl took my hand and attempted to flee. We ran as fast as we could until we were out of sight, giving me enough time to do something. I crouched down and started digging in the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"None of your business—" More knights came in surrounding and trapping us. I hurried and threw the unused vision on the ground. I quickly stood up and stomped on it hiding it from the knights.

I hyperventilated and felt arms wrapped around me. I looked at her, she wasn't scared or startled at all. Men pointed their swords at us and instead of attacking us the knights just kept us in place. I covered my ears at all the screaming happening. Knights against the bandits, I saw sparks of different colors appear, symbolizing that the vision holders arrived and wiped everyone clean.

"Come on you two," The knight calmly said. Rosaria didn't falter, mostly because we're surrounded by knights and vision wielders far more superior and stronger than us. They locked up our hands with chains. They led us to a carriage in front of us. I gasped at the result of the fight.

Pools of blood surrounded them, huge deep cuts with oozing ichor out. Some were burnt and others had their eyes opened. The lifeless figures made my stomach churn as I stopped the non-existent food from going up out of my mouth. I froze with fear as the knights opened the carriage and helped us in.

I sat there traumatized that visions of those poor souls kept popping up in my head as if it won't leave me alone until I die.

"Rosaria," She quietly said.

"What?"

"My name's Rosaria." Silence overtook us, the carriage door closed and it started moving. "The nearest place we can stay is at Mondstadt. It's our only way of surviving. So if I were you, I'd like you to stay put and accept your fate."

Everything went hazy and I felt lightheaded. I relaxed and laid down on the floor. Everything has been so exhausting that I fell asleep.

...

I opened my eyes blinking multiple times with the sun blinding me.

We were both in the same cell, Rosaria was quietly fumbling around her newly acquired vision. And I was playing with my chains. Her wounds healed up quicker than I thought. I had a bandage up on my face after that punch.

We heard the door open and clanks of armor echoed around the cells. Knights escorted a tall man with them. He was looking down at us and I felt a tinge of intimidation radiate from him.

One of the knights took the key out and opened the rusty gate of our cell. Rosaria tensed as the man walked in. He crouched down to our level and surprisingly gave a warm smile.

"I am Varka Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. I've heard about you two caught at the site of the Ace Onyx last night. You two seem young—"

"I'm talking to no creep."

He chuckles, "oh no you got it all wrong. I would never do anything bad to you children. Instead, I suggest that you go to the Cathedral and be cleansed by the light of our archon. You still have the chance to turn your fate around and live a normal life," Varka said.

"And what exactly— you want us to be nuns?"

"Indeed, I believe with all my heart you two would be reformed."

I noticed he was more inclined towards Rosaria. I have a feeling He deemed her more dangerous than me for having a vision.

I'd do anything to give me a temporary home.

"We accept."

...

A few days later I returned to the site of the fight. Everything was empty now, the bodies, the camp are gone. The place has been cleaned and a few animals were roaming around. I dug up the ground and found the vision I hid. I glared at it not knowing if I should feel happy that I saved a soul or to sell it to get back to my old ways.

"You all tricked me!" I yelled surprising the assholes.

"How the fuck did you survive?"

I tossed the unused vision at them. Their eyes widened, visions are hard to get. Unused ones are rare, and being able to steal them is rarer.

"W-what happened to the Ace Onyx group?"

"Whatever the fuck that group is they're gone! I was there to witness the Knights of Favonius kill each and every one of them!"

"They're gone?" They said with shock plastered amongst their faces.

"What? What's so special about them?" I asked while shifting my view to each one of them.

"They're our enemy faction, we've been battling for territory and power ever since. If they're gone that means..."

"We're the strongest faction in Mondstadt and Liyue."

"Does that mean?"

After the oh so meaningful conversation they immediately accepted me. They even paid a huge sum of mora for the unused vision I gave them. They celebrated that night and I rose the ranks quicker than I thought I would.

This is the life.

3 Years Later

It was a busy day, I walked up the stairs headed to the cathedral. I wonder how Rosaria is? Balancing my life as a treasure hoarder and commoner. I walked up the stairs.

"Miss Rosaria, please, show a little more circumspection in your actions! You are a member of the Church. How is it appropriate that you simply never turn up for hymn practice?" I overheard sister Ophila shouting.

"Please calm down, Sister Ophila. Miss Rosaria, I'm told that you have never attended a single one of your compulsory classes. Is that so?"

"Yes," Rosaria deadpanned.

"Mother Maria, please look at this... Rosaria's theological essay is an utter mess!" A sister chided while showing her a piece of paper. Sister Ophila took it and read it with a contorted look.

"Miss Rosaria, if I may ask frankly... do you intend to do any work at all here at the Church?" She asked while looking melancholic.

"No. I've already found other work." The sisters sighed in unison. Rosaria never showed so much as a hint of anxiety in any of these exchanges.

"Fine, miss Rosaria we'll let this pass this time but please take your next duties seriously." Rosaria bowed and the sisters left. I stood there as awkwardness filled the air.

"Hey Y/N I know you've been watching there. I could hear you a mile away," She glanced at me. I laughed at their antics. "Sorry, you had to see that. That was embarrassing."

"No, it's fine! I'm just worried maybe with all this work you're doing, you might not be feeling well," I said while scratching my head.

"You ask me that as if you didn't leave the church. I should be asking how are you?" She trudged away and I followed her.

"I'm fine really, I don't understand why they won't let you leave but here I am strolling around Mondstadt freely. Also, the additional fact that you're the one with the vision and I'm a useless person."

"You're nowhere useless to me," She muttered. Rosaria was forced to stay in the church by Varka. I still have no idea why he was so hellbent on the idea that Rosaria would be a nun and would reform. It's been three years and she's the same as ever.

We both reached the edge of the cathedral and sat at the edge of the cliff. We watched as the moon rose and the city turned calm. Rosaria took a cigarette out and started to smoke.

"What do you plan to do with your life?" I stretched.

"If the church wasn't so disdainful and bigoted I would like to do many things. I'd also want to spend my life and be with..." she trailed off.

"What did the church do again that's stopping you from doing what you want?" She glared at me and I scrunched my brows. "What?"

"You're denser than the dense. Stupid even. Whatever," She stood up and rolled her eyes.

"Hey?! Don't say all of that and then leave me hanging! Did I do something wrong?!" I ran up to her and grabbed my hand. She pulled me in and kissed my cheek.

"That kind of dense, you blundering buffoon," She scoffed and walked away. My mouth was wide open and I was dumbfounded.

...

Present

We entered the church and I yawned.

"How are you and what did you do today?"

"Oh you know, the usual. I was roaming around Starsnatch cliff to watch its amazing views."

"Was it a lovely sight?"

"Yeah—"

She used her elemental skill and teleported behind me. She hit my feet and I fell down. She tugged my shoulder and tossed me, sending me flying to the wall. I hit the wall with a thud as I groan and rub my back. The ice crawled up behind my back and my body slowed down. Her hand grabbed my neck and pulled me up. She glared at me with a burning hatred that pierced my soul.

"Treasure hoarders always get on my nerves. I can't believe you're the infamous Y/N. The brat that leads the group of treasure hoarders that terrorized Springvale for an entire month. I can't believe you're a vicious rat that's been hiding under our noses. How dare you betray me and my trust?"

I struggled to breathe and felt her hand trembling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she was trying to make me feel bad, she was doing the right thing.

"Are you that "thing" my fellow treasure hoarders kept talking about?"

"It seems like you misunderstood me from the start. I may have been a friend to you, but I've been working for the church at night. Skewing and finding the threats of Mondstadt." I held her hand struggling for freedom, "Though I'd kill them the moment I catch them." She leaned in and we were face to face.

"Well, what are you going to do? Are you going to kill me now?"

"No, I'm going to do something better." She opened her mouth and I felt fangs bite into my neck and I wince in pain. She held me in place while she sucked on my blood. I breathed heavily and the world around me went hazy. Lightheaded, she pulled out and licked my neck. Chills ran down my spine and body. She shoved me down to the floor and smirked. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

I panted heavily and lifted a hand up to my neck. To check if I was dreaming or not, I smeared blood across my neck and looked at my hand.

"Y-you're a vampire! I thought they died whenever the rays of sunlight hit them! Does being inside a church not hurt you?"

"Oh, poor kitten do you seriously believe in those silly fairy tales? You've been my friend for a few years by now, yet a dense idiot like you hasn't caught on to the fact that I wasn't a normal human at all."

"How long did you know that I was part of the Treasure Hoarders?"

"I've known since the past month you've led your little buddies to attack Springvale. I am quite impressed that you've deceived me. But you've also angered me! But I can give you the luxury of freedom, I can spare you," She chuckles. "I'm quite starved. I would surely like to drain you right here right now. I've been waiting for a reason to do this." I gulped and looked at her eyes as she licked her lips.

"No... I will give back everything! Everything I stole! Just spare me!"

"How about we make a deal? I won't turn you into the Knights of Favonius. In exchange for something."

"I'll do anything! Calm down!"

"For someone as sinful as you, every night we meet here and I'll take a little bit of you."

I panted heavily and dreaded the future.

"So what's your choice? To rot in a cell for the rest of your life, or to give me something of yours every night? I promise I won't take much and you'd live." She smiled sadistically.

"Fine... I'll do it."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Author's Note: I uh post in wattpad too- https://www.wattpad.com/story/264619512-genshin-impact-oneshots-x-readers-x-characters

#genshin impact #genshin impact rosaria #rosaria #genshin impact x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #rosaria x reader #genshinimpact #genshin_impact #genshin x reader

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neverendingstories00 · 4 years

Text

Past The Point Of No Return (Ch.1)

Summary: Your the young and fiery Cryptographer for M16 who happens to be the obsession of the mysterious and disfigured Safin. When you threaten to bring him down, he makes sure to drag you down with him.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Minor descriptions of blood/violence

A/N: Please Read!! I haven’t seen any Safin x reader fics, so I decided to write one myself. Ik the movie comes out in November, but I cannot wait. I’m in love with this pyshco man. This will be a mature story by the way and I’ll try updating as soon as I can! I’ll add warnings before each chapter starts. Just take a few notes in! Ik the movies come out in November so this is pure speculation on Safin’s origins/motives. Bond is back in business and took back 007 while Nomi took 008. Reader is a Cryptographer for M16. Your codename will be C but y/n will come in soon. Also, Reader is female. Hope you enjoy!

The Pandemic had caused discord throughout London. It didn’t seem like it would infect the globe in less than three months. But when Q had gotten the virus, the office had shut down in less than twenty-four hours. If you weren’t a field agent, then it was required to work from home. For someone like C and Q, it wasn’t a big deal. All of there work required communication from electronics. But evil was always on the rise. It never stopped. March had dragged into June as the Pandemic only worsened. y/n wasn’t one for social interaction, so thriving in isolation wasn’t the worst thing on the planet.

M16’s biggest threat was the infamous Safin. Even Q couldn’t encrypt any information on him, nobody could. Safin was a prime example of an anarchist. He refused to let some Pandemic stop his reign of terror and thirst for world domination. His movement of so-called “absent authority” was causing terror in post-soviet countries. Violent protests, property damage, the list when on. The anarchist targeted smaller countries that wanted to break free from there governments. Bond called Safin “a man who wanted to play god because he was bored”. Safin was a true anarchist (and a possible sadist). Information on his past and whereabouts were near impossible to find. He would insult M16 constantly since he knew he was winning the game of cat and mouse. It seemed like Safin was going to keep upsetting established order until the brink of a civil war.

But you were always one step ahead.

C, or y/n, was a Cryptographer for M16. After Bond’s hiatus, they had been recruited for there work in the military. You were the perfect candidate; bilingual, hands-on, young, intelligent, and fiery. One of the many languages you spoke was Morse code and other military languages. Not even Q, the smartest man in M16, was fluent in all of them. But with your aid, he caught onto it quite well. The Cryptographer and Quartermaster had made quite an efficient team and friendship. While Q gave orders and signals to the double’s oh, you stayed in the back, encrypting the signals and decrypting codes. Having a Cyrptographer was truly an aid for M16. You were praised by all of agents for your hard work and loyalty to the world of espionage. Enemies and other organizations envied for the cryptographer.

Before the lockdown, you had noticed a pattern in the protests. The leading agitators would all wear bandannas covered in the phonetic alphabet. Any normal person could see nothing in this. But with years in the military and language, you quickly followed onto the pattern. Q had noticed it as well along with the other double oh’s. The only people who spoke the phonetic alphabet in M16 were you and a few agents, and not even Q could decipher such a code. The message said many things, mainly gibberish. But you did not give up so easily. Whenever you saw a challenge, you attacked it with rigor. After rearranging for hours on end, ten codes had stuck out to M16 that could be a lead in bringing down the anarchist.

ROMEO OSCAR MIKE ECHO

CHARLIE ALPHA CHARLIE ALPHA CHARLIE ALPHA SIERRA

ALPHA MIKE SIERRA TANGO ECHO ROMEO DELTA ALPHA MIKE

OSCAR SIERRA LIMA OSCAR

TANGO OSCAR KILO YANKEE OSCAR

HOTEL OSCAR NOVEMBER GOLF KILO OSCAR NOVEMBER GOLF

MIKE OSCAR SIERRA CHARLIE OSCAR WHISKEY

CHARLIE ALPHA INDIA ROMEO OSCAR

All of them happened to lead to capital cities across the world, which happened to be countries that were infested with Safin’s anarchism. With even more research, Q managed to pinpoint possible gatherings for the terrorists. It could be a break in the case. Each double oh was sent to these locations. 007 and 008 were both flown out to Rome. The location was near the Spanish Steps. Even after the pandemic, the area had been bustling with civilians and protestors. You and Q had been in charge of guiding them to the location,

“You’d think during this pandemic, these bloody idiots would stay inside.” Bond said as he moved past the crowd of angry protestors. He wiped dust off of his grayish-blue suit. Safin’s message of tidying the world of “corruption” sent shivers down any sane person’s spine.

Nomi was ahead of him, dressed in a white chic jumpsuit and cat sunglasses. “The wicked never sleep, Bond.”

He huffed, frustrated. Of course, when his vacation had been occurring Q would call for his aid. “Q, how much further?”

“Maybe if you would pick your pace, then you would get there in four minutes instead of forty.” Q responded.

C could hear Nomi chuckle, and followed along with her.

Bond annoyingly huffed, “I truly haven’t missed your remarks, Q.”

“Gentlemen, settle down.” You interrupted, able to see where the agents were through the bodycams. “Keep your guard up. Your getting stares from some protestors. Oh, and do pick up the pace.”

The two agents squeezed through the crowd. Nomi had noticed them being followed. But thanks to Q, they lost them through Rome’s small puzzle-like streets. Upon losing them, the agents had left the lavish streets of Rome and into the more sketchy and depressed areas. The further they walked the more life began to disappear. Bond and Nomi stuck out in there designer outfits in the slums of Rome.

“On your right,” You stated. The agents stopped, looking upon the building. Nomi took her glasses off to examine the building. It was broken down, dark, and covered by boards.

Bond sighed, “Bloody hell. This it?”

“Unfournelty,” Q said. “Head in the back, there’s an open entrance.”

Nomi and Bond turned to the back of the building, noticing a piece of wood covering the wood. Bond attempted to move it, but his age was beginning to show. The young and muscled Nomi tore it down, letting them enter the broken down building. On the side, it was dark and empty. Shining the light of his rifle, Bond noticed a kitchen that was covered in dust and spiderwebs.

Q and C heard faint noises, which sounded like music. Nomi moved close to the stairs and could hear it coming from the upstairs. Along with the music was a light.

“See anything, double oh eight?” You asked, looking through her bodycam. The song sounded Italian. It could have been singing, or just a record player.

“A light. You think we have company?” She asked, pointing her rifle upstairs.

“Seems like it. Investigate, Keep your weapons at bay.” Q ordered.

Bond had led him and Nomi up the creaky wooden stairs. The music had become much louder. At the end of the hallway was a door closed, with light emanating under it. The two agents tiptoed to the door. Bond placed his ear against it, hearing only the sweet Italian love song. Q and C couldn’t tell what was behind that door. It could be Safin, his goons, anything.

Counting down to three, Bond and Nomi kicked the door down, guns prepared for anything. But the room was empty. It had been lite by a few candles with a CD boombox, blasting a loud Italian song. Bond examined the room for anything suspicious while Nomi went over, kicking the boombox quiet. She picked up the CD player, examining the front.

“E’ la vita?” The female agent muttered, turning the DVD over. The other side had been written in morse code. C found this odd, squinting her eyes to see. The handwriting was neat and done in an expensive ink. Not only was there writing, but it seemed like it was a list of more global cities. It seemed oddly familiar. “Why waste good ink on a CD?”

“Double oh eight, can you r-”

Bond interrupted, “BOMB! GET DOWN!”

All C could remember is Bond running towards Nomi to cover her before both of there bodycams had glitch out. She panicked, trying to reconnect to them. Q had a status of all of the double oh’s, and each of there bodycams began to flicker out. Then Q and you had realized the worst of it.

Safin had set them up.

“Fuck. It was a fucking trap.” You huffed, running a hand through your hair. They had truly hit a dead end. “Q, any signal? I can’t reach them.”

“None. I’m trying to get their signals. There cams both locked out before the explosion.” Q replied. He was just as frustrated as his co-worker. Suddenly, both of there computers froze with glitched screens. “Not only was it 007 and 008, but the other double oh’s went out.”

C could hear Q cursing under his breath, the sounds of him furiously clicking his keyboard. “Shit, Shit, Shit..”

“Q, what is it?”

“He hacked us. Safin inflated the sys-”

Just like Bond and Nomi, Q’s signal that gone out. It had all be planned. Safin wanted for all of us to happen. The other agents had probably been killed. Sitting in front of a glitched-out screen, you let out a small sigh and slumped back into her chair. Singlehandedly, you had fucked up.

“Not such a clever girl now, are we?”

Raising your shoulders, y/n arched her neck back to avoid the sharp blade that was too close for comfort. The voice was velvety with a slight accent to it. From the videos M16 had received, you knew it all too well.

It was Safin himself.

“I-it was a trap..” You stuttered, unable to talk to the knife around your neck. Safin’s hand was on C’s shoulder, holding her from getting up. C heard footsteps from behind. Great, now you were truly defenseless, being held by the world’s most feared Anarchist. In the corner of your eye, y/n saw the white mask he wore to conceal his identity. It looked like a porcelain doll prop straight out of a horror film. “A fucking trap.”

“Your little friends are gone now, No one is here to protect you now” Safin whispered into your ear. He was too close for comfort. He took an inhale of your Chanel perfume, admiring your breathing pattern. He thought y/n was so gorgeous this close. After months of waiting, Safin was so close to her, yet far. The woman who had threatened to bring down him was now enwrapped in his arms with a knife to her neck. But she wasn’t scared. Her breathing was heavy, but Safin had noticed that she was rather calm for having a blade held to her throat.

You chuckled at his “weak” response, “I have your locations all on record. M16 will bring you to your knees, you monster.”

“A monster?” He marveled, amused by Y/n’s comment. This man was a true psychopath. “My dear, you truly live up stubbornness. You lead all of those double oh’s into there demise. How innocent does that make you feel?”

“Says the one who wants to kill millions.” Y/n hissed, venom in her voice. You felt the guilt pull at your heart. “I saw your plan. You’re killing Europe city by city. Fooling the post soviet states and moving up towards the Medterrian. Your delusional.”

“Your ignorance is their power.” He purred into her ear. He massaged y/n’s shoulder to relax her (as he held her down). “You are a very talented girl, wasting her intelligence on foolish old m--”

Seeing him lose his guard, you reached for your mug full of hot coffee and threw it back at his mask. He lost his footing and fell backward as the lower piece of his mask cracked off. Wasting no time, you pushed yourself up and ran behind the desk to the front entrance. Q’s flat wasn’t far away. If you took the right routes and stayed out of action, then he could help her. As she neared towards the entrance, a sharp sting echoed through your knee to your thigh. Tripping on the edge of your carpet, your tripped and scraped your head against a coffee table, falling to the ground. You tried to stay awake and fight, but eventually succumbed to the darkness.

Safin pushed himself up, noticing that the bottom part of his mask showed his chin and lips. He turned to see y/n’s body by the door, her navy slacks stained by blood.

Safin cursed under his breath, walking over to her body to check if she had a pulse. Thankfully you did, but it was light. “Who shot her..?”

His henchmen did not respond, holding their weapons.

“I SAID WHAT ONE OF YOU IMBECILES SHOT HER?” Safin yelled, pure fury in his voice.

One of the men, donned in black and holding a sniper rifle, stepped forward. “It was me, Safin. You said tha-”

The man with the sniper rifle was shot in the neck and fell backward, choking on his own blood. Each of the henchmen jumped back. They knew when Safin raised his voice that he was going to die.

A small sigh escaped Safin’s lips as he pushed back his hair. Safin turned to face Serrano, his right-hand man. He was tall and lean with dark skin and emerald eyes. “Serrano..”

“Yes, Safin?”

“What did I explicitly say to you to tell these idiots before we entered C’s flat?”

Serrano responded, “Not to bring her back dead, but alive and injured.”

“And what do type of girl do you see laying on the ground?” The anarchist pointed to the ground, showing Y/n’s body. She had a bruise on her forehead and a bloody thigh.

“An injured girl, sir,” Serrano replied, looking down in embarrassment.

There was an awkward between the anarchist and this men before he commanded, “The lot of you, take the girl and prepare the car. Serrano, wipe all of her devices and anything that can track her. We leave on the submarine by dusk.”

The men nodded as the muscule grabbed C’s motionless body and carried her out. Serrano destroyed her phone, computer, and any camera or electronic that lingered in the flat before they left the crime scene. Entering the range rover, Serrano sat in the front with the driver while Safin sat in the back with the unconscious Cryptographer.

As they began to drive to the docks, Serrano asked, “Safin, what do you see in this girl? She is not James Bond or Madeleine Swann.”

“I see a source of information. This girl is not some receptionist or analyst.” Safin explained as he looked at her sleeping body. Your face was more relaxed than it was thirty minutes ago. There was something so intriguing about the Cyrptographer that Safin couldn’t pinpoint. “She fell into her very own trap, letting us access all of the M16 databases. M16 just lost there most valuable asset.”

“A bargaining chip?” Serrano questioned.

“Not just a bargaining chip, but an intelligent girl who is going to be vital to us.” He explained, “Unlike Bond, she is not redundant. She has many values, I know of it. You will see, Serrano. The world will open it eyes to y/n.”

Safin couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The remaining sunlight from the purple sunset shined on her face. Seeing your face, he knew Y/n not only ordinary on the inside but the outside. A woman that was much younger than he was made him feel less bitter about the world. He had a lonely life and seeing a young and beautiful such as yourself made him drop everything to the floor. The way your floral smelling [y/h/t] [y/h/c] hair fell out of the small bun and rested on your shoulders, [y/s/c] glowed in the sunlight, and the sweet aroma you wore drove Safin mad. Unknown to your knowledge, he had been watching over you for quite some time. You had a desk job, but occasionally accompanied the double oh’s and even had taken out some of his henchmen in the past. Y/n was a girl who not only knew how to decrypt some of the hardest codes to M16 but could defend herself if needed. Safin’s mere intrguement with you had grown into an obsession. Now the woman he obsessed over was sitting less than a foot away from him. Upon seeing the cryptographer, he knew that he needed you. He wanted y/n more than anything in the world. M16 didn’t deserve such talent. In Safin’s eyes, all they had ever done for y/n was hold her back from being your best self; by his side.

“I’m sorry they hurt you.” He cooed, pushing a glossy lock to get a better view of y/n’s face. “I have freed you from there incompetence. I know you will demand to leave and mindlessly say that you hate me. But I promise you my sweet, you will grow to like me and your new home.”

Safin felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #safin #no time to die #james bond #safin x reader #my writing

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