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proxylynn · 5 months

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MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #2)

{Reposting due to the original post getting lost.}

[Sorry this one took a bit to get done. Between IRL stuff and dealing with mental/physical health issues, I kept getting distracted. I’ll try to get chapter 3 out faster.]

Another dawn. Another day. Another sun rises that barely breaks through the smoky cloud-riddled sky.

The sound of a bird tweeting merely outside is such a lovely tune...till a clock is hurled at the animal, sending it flying away in fright.

“Damn annoying pests...”

The groggy voice of Jack Horner remarks before being cut off by a long yawn and shutting his window.

“Note to self...First thing to do with all the magic in the world, render all animals silent. Especially the talking ones.”

He gives a stretch before taking a seat on his bed. His hands rub his face and run through his soft hair.

“Lynn...” He calls out as if trying to get the attention of a distracted dog.

But there's no answer.

“Lynsie!” His voice rings louder, irritation building.

And once again his call is met with no response.

“Woman, don't make me get up and drag you in here!!” He practically roars.

A sudden thud is heard someplace away that is quickly followed by skittering and speedy footfalls. The door of his bed chamber opens and she stands there, disheveled and in a simple black nightgown.

“Took you long enough.”

She stares blankly at him, unfazed by his morning attitude.

“And you just came in without knocking? I could've been indecent!”

Not that he was...kind of. Nothing too crazy about seeing a man in his private bedroom in nothing but his boxers, even if they were an adorable shade of lavender with plums on them.

Her vacant expression at his words has him only getting a bit further irritated.

“Well? Get in here and dress me.”

It takes her a second before she shuts the door, her mind seemingly elsewhere if the 1,000-yard stare she is sporting didn't make it apparent. This was a somewhat new part of the routine for them. As part of his “punishment” for her for dabbling in his collection without his permission, he gave her more to do. Things that will annoy and grate on fragile nerves, like waiting on his every whim to the point of it being obscene.

The worst part of it, there is no moment or place for her to take a break from his demands. She works under him and she has a room in his home. There is no escape from being with Jack Horner for her.

As if on autopilot she goes about his quarters collecting various articles of clothing from wardrobes and dressers. He watches as she lays everything down on his bed before getting to work dressing him, starting with his garter socks. Though, he can't help but take notice that something is off.

“You're awfully quiet this morning.”

Normally she would've given him a “good morning” or “how did you sleep” by now. But she is silent, almost distant. And it's an uneasy feeling. For the first time in a long time, Jack only hears the ambiance of life. The sound of wind against his window. The rustling of his clothing being placed on his form. The pumping of his heart in his hefty chest. And the returning tweets of that damn bird?! It's too quiet!

“Say something.”

The command falls on deaf ears as she proceeds to get his legs into his pants. This doesn't go over well.

“Don't ignore me!”

With a simple flick to her forehead, she snaps out of her trance and back into reality.

“Huh? What's wrong?”

Her confusion makes his eyes roll as he stands up and pulls his pants up fully, buttoning them close.

“Snap out of it. I need you in top form today.”

She rubs her face and looks at the floor.

“Forgive me, Master Jack. It is no excuse, but I failed to find rest last night.”

That made him pause for a faint second before motioning for his dress shirt.

“Insomnia acting up again?”

She holds the shirt open and he slips his arms into the sleeves, straightening it over himself as she forces the straining fabric closer together so that it can be buttoned shut.

“No. ...Kind of.”

Her voice is soft yet hollow.

“I slept. But it wasn't...restful.”

He eyes her for a moment; as if knowing there's more to it than that.

“Yeah, that happens I guess.”

But he doesn't press her further. Letting this slide...for now. She seems to register this and nods.

“I just need a moment. Clearing the smoke in my head. Then I'll be...Myself.”

She helps to put on his vest and button it as he deals with tying his cravat.

“Shall I prepare breakfast?”

He practically scoffs at her question.

“In your state? Please. I can't trust you to not zone out and burn the place down.”

That makes her flinch and she leers at him.

“What? What's with that look?”

“Burn the place down? Really?”

“Are you telling me that you trust yourself to cook right now?”

“I trust myself to not start a fire.”

“Are you sure about that?”

His tone is almost mocking; as if salting a wound. It's enough to make her head lower in defeat.

“That's what I thought. You're not cooking. At least not right now.”

He grabs his trenchcoat and flings it over his shoulder.

“Now go get dressed and fetch my clock from outside.”

She looks at him funny.

“Why is your clock outside?”

“Because the bird moved.”

Her mouth opens to question this but she shuts it and shakes her head.

“You're ridiculous sometimes.”

“Well if birds don't want things thrown at them, they shouldn't be squawking near my window.”

He states it like it's a basic fact of life.

“...Touché, Master Jack.”

They leave his chambers and go their separate ways for the moment, she moves a few doors away to her room to change and he heads down to grab something quick to eat before heading out to the factory.

Just a typical start to a normal day for the pair.

[Time Skip...around noon]

The bakery is a buzz with the usual signs of work life. The whole place is filled with the sweet smell of baking pies, as well as the bubbling vats of delicious filling. The ovens hum, the conveyors whir, and the sound of industrial equipment echoes through the building as the bakers bustle about their tasks. Few casting looks as their boss passes by and in his shadow the smaller woman that is never too far away.

It is a normal sight to see now, but one that was hard to get used to when she first appeared years ago.

When the commotion of the facility was filled with sounds of guards shouting and fighting to restrain her figure cloaked in black as she bounded like an animal through the building. Only was the rampage brought to an end when it was noisy enough to disturb Jack, his presence and demand to know what was going on made her halt long enough for guardsmen to bring her down. It was assumed she was sent by rivals to sabotage the factory or kill him or even just some fool thinking they could steal one of his prized magical objects. None expected this woman who had just raised hell to get in to then ask for a job.

Harder still to believe among them was when Jack gave her a test to see if she was even worth taking on as help. It was something outlandish that would either result in her death or be so treacherous that she'd never return. Within a little over a month she was back, and with her, proof of her mission being successful. A pouch of golden apples and a vial of venom from the drake that guards the apple's tree.

And with that, she became an ever-present figure around the facility. Always at Jack's side, at his beck and call. The rate at which she was found trustworthy and the position she was given made it very suspicious to the rest of the staff. A suspicion that only now lingers among new hires that find it odd for a woman to be so close to the boss with no ulterior motives. Though it doesn't last long, not when it becomes apparent Jack doesn't treat her special. Her pay was no different from theirs, sometimes not even receiving any. Her hours are never-ending. And her duties range from the mundane to the extreme.

It is something almost worthy of pity. Almost. Because it was also clear...She wanted it no other way.

“I hate these trivial meetings...” Jack mutters to himself. “But it's not like I want a bunch of stab-happy cutthroats wandering around the factory either.”

“It does let you get out of the office...” Lynsie interjects. “You've been stuffed in there for a while now. It's good to get some fresh air and stretch your legs.”

“Eh...That crap is over-rated.”

“Plus you get to mess with others and make them squirm.”

“Now you're speaking my language.”

The pair pass through the building, heading closer and closer toward the main gates. The guardsmen are quick to bring about a carriage, a simple one but still tasteful. A gleaming silver and pulled by two glistening Akhal-Teke. A bit flashy but it never hurts to fault your status among the common folk.

The trotting of hooves on cobblestone is a signal to all that the BIG man is coming and it's not wise to be in the way. It's not a bad city either. The business Jack runs created many job opportunities, allowing the area to prosper and thrive. And of course, his more seedier dealings attract others looking to take hold of rare opportunities. Overall though, the people aren't so bad. It's almost fairy tale-esque. Almost.

The carriage comes to a slow stop and the driver alerts them they've arrived at their destination. A quaint pub nestled not too near the city's edge but just on the skirts enough for it to be a spot where more nefarious types can gather with little fuss. A charming name it has too. The Cloak&Stagger.

It is Lynsie who opens the door to this pungent place. The inside chatter falls to a low volume at the strange rumble she reverberates, a faint pseudo warning of sorts as she holds the door and allows her superior to enter. Jack hunches over to enter, normal doorways aren't made for someone his size, but once he's in his presence is ever commanding even when in such an establishment. No words are exchanged as he walks with purpose. Being a frequent customer and a financial aid to the city grants certain perks, such as a private spot that is always reserved for you and you alone. However...

“Ah! Señor Horner! A fine day for a drink, sí?”

Drunkards tend to forget the rules and make poor life choices. Like loafing in something of Jack's and downing what appears to be his tenth bottle of drink if the empties on the table were all of them that is.

“Lynn, it could be the haze from all the booze in the air tricking me, but I see someone in my seat.”

“Nope. Your eyes are working just fine. I see him too.”

“Such disrespect. It's like the owner doesn't want my business anymore!”

He says loud enough to make the bartender finally notice.

“Oh! Apologies, Mr. Horner! I didn't...!”

Jack lifts a hand and it's enough to silence the pub. Except for the drunk who isn't of sound mind.

“What's the matter, Señor Horner? You look tense. Sit. Drink. You and your señorita need to unwind.”

Jack merely glances down at Lynsie and she smirks up at him.

“Shall I do the honors, Master Jack?”

“Very well. But don't make a mess. We still have business to do here.”

“Understood.”

Some of this is enough to get through the drunk's intoxicated mind, probably the all too cheery grin on the woman's face set off danger signs that even a blind person could see.

“My good sir, you're right. Today is a fine day for a drink. In fact, let me get you one of my favorites.”

She skips to the bar and goes behind it, looking around before grabbing a small slender bottle. The bartender doesn't stop her, no one does. They merely watch as she returns to the drunk and sits beside him.

“See this? This is a special bottle. It's got a funny little name too. Some call it a shooter.”

“Really? Do tell, señorita, why is it called that?”

“Well, it's because when you drink from them you shoot it down in one go.”

She demonstrates, tilting her head fully back and bringing the bottle to her open mouth. With that done, she twists the cap off and offers it to him.

“Go on, sir, try it. It makes the effect more intense. Or are you the kind to turn down a lady's offer?”

The scene has to look like a mouse being tempted by a snake. A snake with a voice laced with sweet innocence and a smile that would charm the pants off a pious man. An inebriated mind is no match for such apparent temptation and he's easily swayed.

“Of course not, señorita.”

He takes the bottle from her and raises it in good cheer.

“To señor Horner! And his great taste in fine sweet coño.”

He brings the bottle to his mouth and her once gentle eyes turn cold.

“Well...Now I don't feel so bad about doing this.”

“Qué?”

“I know Spanish, pendejo.”

She forces his face forward and shoves the bottle in his mouth, her fingers work to induce swallowing. Horror fills the man's eyes as his throat intakes the bottle, but it gets worse. She strikes his neck, collapsing his windpipe around the bottle, causing him to panic as he struggles for air he can't get.

“You have maybe two minutes before you either asphyxiate or drown as the liquid fills your lungs.”

The man bolts in fear from the table, scrambling for the exit.

“Panicking only shortens your time!”

She shouts as he flees out the door. A few other people slowly follow after him.

“They are so going to rob him when he drops dead.”

“Oh, no doubt.”

Jack adds. She cleans out his spot and he finally takes his seat with a noticeable grimace.

“What's wrong?”

“It wreaks of stupidity and shame. With just a hint of sweat.”

She turns to the bar and holds a hand up. A candle with matches inside is tossed her way and she is quick to lite it.

“Better?”

“It's a start.”

He leans back with his arms resting over the top of the seat.

“So...Who am I meeting again?”

“I believe you're booked for two. One is a returning hire and the other are new prospects.”

“A returning hire? We don't get many of those.”

“True. But this one is good. Very talented. She's been on the payroll for quite a few jobs.”

“Wait...She?”

It takes him a moment before groaning.

“Oh...Her.”

As if on cue, the pub door opens and the small figure walks in.

“Ah, speak of the hell cat now.”

She waves the cat over and Jack bites his tongue to keep from expressing his building annoyance in this ordeal. The pub atmosphere rubbed him wrong. The drunk in his seat pissed him off. And now...Now he has to deal with a magical talking animal. Granted it was one he could rely on getting the job done, but still, her bigger-than-she-is attitude wore on his tolerance. How could a small house cat act so big?

“Hola, Jack. Hola, Lynn.”

This was the outlaw and skilled master thief Kitty Softpaws. Kitty is a black tuxedo cat, standing around 2ft tall. Her fur is very dense and smooth. She has a white chest, whiskers, muzzle, tail-tip, eyebrows, and white clawless paws hence her last name...The result of her former owners having her declawed. Her eyes are a bright deep blue with large pupils lined in prominent black, with noticeable eyelashes and underlined with faint white stripes. She carries a fine stiletto dagger, which can somehow extend into being used as a short sword at the push of a button. The blade is worn on a mint green cloth belt. She also wears a decorated mask and a small cape in green, with gold accents, matching the belt. She also wears high-heeled dark brown leather boots that cover most of her legs.

“Afternoon, Miss Softpaws.”

“Kitty.”

It's the best he's going to give at the moment. She pulls up a large stool just to sit at level with the humans.

“What's up with him?”

She speaks to Lynsie as if Jack isn't there, making his right eye twitch for a moment. Lynsie is calm and smiles.

“Master Jack is fine, Miss Softpaws. Merely settling himself after dealing with a rather unpleasant vagabond that was too foolish for their own good.”

“I take it that was the man clawing at his throat in the streets?”

There's no change in either Jack or Lynsie at Kitty's words.

“My, how dreadful.”

“That sounds like a HIM problem.”

Utterly remorseless.

“Anyway, Miss Softpaws...”

“Please, you can just call me Kitty.”

She wasn't into the whole business etiquette thing and hoped the woman would be more casual.

“Heh. Miss Softpaws...”

Or not. Worth the shot.

“This meeting is to discuss your use for another job. Your previous successes in retrieving various objects have put you high on the list for selection. Provided you're interested in doing so of course?”

Her tail curls playfully at this.

“It must be a difficult job for you to be needing someone of my talent. At least you're able to recognize quality when you see it.”

“You could say that.”

Lynsie reaches into her vest for something but her search is halted when Jack puts a hand on her head. He straightens up, towering even when seated, and Kitty senses something is off.

“This job isn't for the faint of heart. But the reward is worth it. Unless of course, you're a scaredy-cat.”

Kitty glances at Lynsie who appears unbothered by Jack now taking charge of the conversation. Whatever she was going for in her vest is completely forgotten about.

“What kind of job are we talking about here?”

He smirks.

“Word has it, there's an enchanted lantern buried in cursed ground. And you know me. It's magic and I want it.”

She chuckles.

“Yeah, that's definitely how you are. So what's so magical about a dinky little lantern?”

His lips twitch to keep from sneering.

“It happens to be a skull that was made into a lantern that keeps its fire no matter what.”

“That does sound like it might be useful on cold nights. And the cursed land?”

“Bah. Nothing too crazy. It refuses to allow any light to be made on it. So you can kinda see the dumb fairy tale connection thing about it. Magic light in a dark land. Good thing cats can see in the dark.”

“That is kind of estúpida. Anything else I should know?”

“It's said the spot where it's buried is a where a lone hut stands deep in a gloomy dark forest, a rose bush marks the spot. Typical cliché stuff. So...Think you can pull this one off?

“Please. I'm the best thief you could have. I'll have your little night light in no time.”

“Good.”

“Just one thing first...”

Kitty looks at Lynsie who cocks her brow quizzically.

“This is a real thing, right? He's not just making it up.”

Jack glares.

“Are you accusing me of lying?!”

“I was asking her.”

Jack growls, about to make a move till he feels something brush against his leg. He doesn't look down. He doesn't have to. From the feel of it, it's Lynsie's own leg crossing over to hold him down. It's a weird enough move to keep him seated and grateful the table is covered as she speaks though nothing is up.

“Indeed, Miss Softpaws. Master Jack speaks the truth. It is a real item. I forget which fairy tale it is from, what with there being so many, but I believe it's one of those darker stories. You know? The kind with a wicked step-family kind of deal that is evil to the main character for bull reasons but it's okay because they get punished in the end and insert happy ending.”

Her professionalism broke for a moment and Kitty is surprised, not used to seeing this from the woman before. She never could get a decent read on Lynsie. Her animal instincts were always calm around her but there was something else, something in her mind that could sense to be wary around the woman. Maybe it was just a gut feeling. But Kitty is one to never drop her guard fully. And when dealing with Jack Horner, or even someone working for him, it was a must to be on edge and at the ready at all times.

“Then we're good.”

She hops off her stool and bows cutely.

“Adios, Jack. Lynn.”

Jack just looks away and Lynsie waves with an ever-sweet smile.

“Take care, Miss Softpaws.”

Kitty takes her leave of the pub, likely for the better, she's got a job to do after all.

Inside however, now that the cat was gone, Jack casts a stern look at Lynsie who moves her leg away.

“What was that?”

His voice is unusually low and she sighs as if she was holding her breath.

“I could ask you the same thing. Why did you change the plan?”

She too keeps her voice down.

“I'm sick of her. She's outgrown her usefulness to me.”

She looks at him blankly.

“She finally pushed your buttons too hard, huh?

His fists hit the table with enough impact to crack the wood. The commotion being one loud enough to make the pub stand on edge, a few glasses and bottles dropping from shock.

“Why does she have to be so damn smug?! Stupid magical animal! Thinking she's so damn great! I hate it!”

She rubs his shoulder in sympathy.

“Shhhhh...Easy now. It's going to be okay. Take a few deep breaths and relax. She's as good as dead. I mean, you did just send her out on a suicide mission.”

It takes a bit for him to slowly ease out of his seething. His hands flex, clenching and unclenching his fingers a couple of times. She wasn't wrong, he really did send Kitty on a mission likely to end with her death. Or at most, grievous injury.

The forest Kitty will be heading into is the territory of Baba Yaga, a ferocious-looking woman that's said to be deformed, an old witch, or even an ogre. Hard to say really as most don't live to give a proper description. She's known to steal, cook, and eat her victims, usually children. A guardian of the fountains of the water of life, she lives with two or three sisters (all known as Baba Yaga) in a forest hut that roams on massive chicken legs, and her fence is topped with human skulls. Baba Yaga can ride through the air in an iron kettle or in a mortar that she drives with a pestle, creating tempests as she goes. The lantern is from the fairy tale of “Vasilisa the Beautiful”, where it was given to Vasilisa and only her, so when Vasilisa's wicked stepmother and sisters took the lantern it hunted them down then burned them to ashes.

“...Better?”

She questions softly and he exhales deeply through his nose.

“No.”

“What if, when we get back, I whip up a nice hot meal and work on your back? A little comfort food and massage to melt the stress away. Sound good?”

If it was said by anyone else, anyone at all, Jack would laugh in their face and crush that foolish soul verbally with a slew of creative insults for daring to attempt to suck up to him. But he knows her too well. She has no motives other than his own and to make him feel good.

“...Sure.”

That earned him a heartfelt smile from his assistant.

“So...You going to explain leg thing or not?”

And like that, her smile went away.

“That seemed like the less awkward move to make at the time.”

“Less awkward? You were practically playing footsie with me.”

“I was doing no such thing and you know it! And yes, that was less awkward. Because lord knows my hand on your leg would've been way too much.”

That got some rose to dust his face.

“Excuse me?”

She rubs her hands a bit trying to not seem perturbed.

“You were getting mad at her. I knew if you snapped, then your plan would be ruined. So I figured I'd try to disrupt your irritation with something random to get your mind off of it.”

“And that's what you came up with?”

“Well it worked, didn't it? You didn't throw a fit and she went on her merry way none the wiser.”

“I was not going to throw a fit.”

“Don't fib. I know you too well. You would've flipped this table to wring her tiny neck.”

“That's not a fit! That's justifiable collateral damage.”

She snickers as two figures approach the table.

“Um...Is this a good time?”

“We can come back.”

These are the Serpent Sisters, Jan and Jo. The pair look and dress quite similarly, possibly fraternal twins due to them having different eye and hair colors, their faces are quite similar and their long hair is gathered in a braid. Jan has liz blue eyes, thin eyebrows, black hair and lets it hang behind her back. Jo has chuck hazel eyes, thick eyebrows, dark strawberry blond hair and drapes it on her left shoulder. Both sport matching face tattoos that go down both of their arms, Jan has red rattlesnakes while Jo has green ones. Both wear completely black clothes, black full-button shirts with their long sleeves pulled up to the elbows, and black suspender trousers, the straps being made of snake skin just like their knee-high boots. Jan's are a bit brighter with only one suspender strap that holds up on her right side while Jo's seem to be darker and both her suspender straps dangle at her sides.

Lynsie looks to Jack who merely shrugs and she straightens in her seat.

“Now is fine. Please. Sit.”

The two pull up chairs and take their seats across from the imposing pair in purple.

“So...You two seek to lend your services to "Big" Jack Horner?”

Lynsie's professionalism had returned. Jan clears her throat.

“More like we have a proposition that you might be interested in.”

Jack cocks his brow and Lynsie continues.

“By all means then, make your pitch. It best be a good one. He's a very busy man.”

They give each other a knowing look and Jo speaks.

“Mr. Horner...The man...The big boss...Do we have some info for you.”

Jack huffs.

“Spit it out then.”

The sisters smirk.

“Okay. What if we said we know the location of a certain map?”

“A certain magical map. The one that leads to certain star.”

Any foulness that was hindering Jack's mood dissolved in that instant. His eyes widening with focus.

“You know where the map is?!”

It is such a sudden shift, how something like this news could turn this harsh man into an excited child.

“Tell me! I must have the map.”

This change in him is short-lived when Jan put a hand up.

“Hold up. We know how this goes. If we tell you where the map is there's no guarantee you'll pay us.”

“We know where it is. So we'll go get it for you. For a price.”

A bold move on the part of the sisters. Using extortion on Big Jack Horner isn't a smart thing to do, but in this case, he has no choice but to fold as they hold all the cards.

“And how much are you wanting? Provided you succeed that is.”

“We're expecting a hefty sum.”

“This is the one and only map to the Wishing Star after all.”

He can feel that spite coming back. He's being teased with the thing he's wanted most but can't have. Like dangling a steak over a starving dog. If he could, he would give the order to lock this place down and personally get the information out of them. But he's not prepared for an interrogation and the likelihood of them being honest is low, even when tortured. They are notorious murderous thieves and ruthless mercenaries who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Good thing Jack has such a soul beside him. All he needs is a small momentary distraction to allow him to sort things out.

“Would you ladies like a drink? Go on. Treat yourselves. It's on me.”

“Ah sweet!”

Jo nearly tackles Jan just to get to the bar. Jan takes a moment to eye Jack before joining her sister.

“What are we thinking, Lynsie?”

He inquires while glaring at the sisters. Lynsie cracks her neck a little.

“I don't like them. I will admit, it was an interesting choice to do such a power play right out of the gate. They caught us off guard. I can respect that. But I take offense to any that dare to withhold what is rightfully yours.”

He smirks.

“How should we proceed then? I have no intent on giving them a single coin.”

She eyes the sisters as they interact at the bar. Jan trying to reign in Jo who's making a spectral.

“The one with black hair is more reserved and attentive. She's the brains. People like that tend to have a limit on how much they can tolerate. I'm willing to bet if a situation goes badly enough, she won't hesitate to throw her sister to the wolves. Now when it comes to the other one, she is more nïave and impulsive. Likely she lets the other do all the thinking. You can use that. If this is legit, then they'll want payment. A big payout likely, one that'll make them retire.”

“So...What do you think? Do I wait for them to steal the map and then kill them, or do I send someone to go with them as assurance that then kills them?”

“Hmmm...”

Her gloved hands tap at the table in thought.

“It might spook them into keeping the map for themselves if we have someone go along, hidden or not. We can't risk that. Right now, they don't seem to understand the significance of the map. This might even be their first magic-based job considering how they're handling it. They just know you want it and you are willing to do anything for it.”

She sits back and lounges with her arms behind her head.

“My assessment...Let them continue to think this is the score of a lifetime. Greed is a very powerful motivational spark. It's also incredibly blinding. They'll end up doing all the hard work because, let's face it, you're "Big" Jack Horner and they want you to pay up that sweet reward for getting you what you want. Then when they come back, prize in hand or with a trick, we can kill them. Done deal.”

“Perfect...”

He gives a small sigh.

“After all these years, I'll finally get what's coming to me.”

“And all we have to do is let them think they're getting a ton of gold.”

Hearing that gives Jack an idea. An awful idea. Big Jack Horner got a wonderfully awful idea. The kind of awful idea that curls one's lips into a smile so crooked it gives the devil a run for his money. One he had to wipe from his face quickly as Sisters return to the table, a few glasses in their hands. Clearly, they've been enjoying the idea of Jack paying for their drinks.

“Yeah! Now this is the kind of treatment I could get used to.”

Jo raises a glass sloppily and the splash that comes from the escaping liquid makes the other three cringe, Jan getting most of it on her side.

“Knock that off...” Jan scolds her sister before she clears her throat. “Mr. Horner, forgive her, she's...”

Her words are cut off by Jack's scoff.

“Save it. She's just excited. And why shouldn't she be? After all...I'm going to pay you your weight in gold.”

This comes as shocking news. Jan's jaw drops and Jo spits her drink all over Lynsie, making her snarl as Jack laughs.

“Shut up! Are you for real?”

Jo blurts out.

“You're not honestly thinking of paying them that much, are you?”

Lynsie questions while wiping her face on the tablecloth, playing up a part to make things a bit more believable.

“Do you have a problem with how I do business?”

Jack glares and she lowers her head.

“No, Master Jack.”

“That's what I thought.”

Jack smirks as Lynsie looks away and growls, casting a side leer at the sisters that makes them flinch.

“Then we agree. You two get me that map. And I’ll give you a reward so great it's to die for.”

The play on words goes over their heads, blinded by booze and greed.

“You can count on us, Mr. Horner. We'll get you that map.”

“Yeah. And we'll kill anyone that gets in our way!”

Jack just looks at Jan.

“Is she always like this?”

“She gets pumped up when tipsy. Sorry.”

“No. I like it. Go nuts. I want that map and I don't care how you get it.”

Jo slams her drink down and stumbles out of her seat as she heads for the door.

“Whooo! Let's freaking go!”

“Jo! Wait!”

Jan bows her head as she gets up.

“You won't regret this, Mr. Horner.”

She is quick to chase after her sister and Lynsie looks up at Jack with a smirk.

“You're going to use the Midas Touch on them, aren't you?”

“You caught on to that, huh?”

“Heh. You're so bad.”

“Darn right.”

With his business taken care of, Jack gets up from his seat with a groan.

“Good call with the massage idea. My back is killing me. What is that thing made of? Rocks? There was zero lumbar support.”

He bends back a bit, his spine pops a few times.

“Yeah...I think I'm done here.”

“Understood, Master Jack.”

Jack takes his leave as Lynsie goes to the bar. Most cower away as she draws near, especially when she reaches into her vest, but all that comes out is a small but decently filled sack.

“Master Jack will no longer be requiring your services.”

She hands the sack over and the bartender feels the weight it holds.

“B-But...”

“This should cover whatever those two ordered and then some. Thank you for your business.”

“Wait! Can't we can talk about this?”

“You're joking, right?”

Jack chimes in.

“I pay you to keep my booth empty. If I can find one drunk in it today, who’s to say how many more have sat there on days I wasn't here? I don't waste my time and money on things I can't trust.”

“Mr. Horner, I...”

“Good day.”

“But, Mr. Horner!”

“I said, good day!”

Jack slams the door of the pub shut and Lynsie sighs.

“So dramatic...”

She follows him out and manages to grab onto the carriage as it passes by, a normal thing to be expected when Jack's in a hurry. As normal as the carriage making its return to the massive factory. The sweet scent of fruits and baked goods is a welcoming relief compared to the putrid stink of the pub. A new superior location will have to be selected if he is to engage in further meetings...that is if Jack needed to do so anymore. And why would he? Once the map is his everything else is meaningless.

A single wish. That is what the Star holds. A single rule-free twist-free wish to a single person that will grant one's greatest desire no matter what it might be. Not like wishes from Genies. Those require insane levels of wording in order to not end up getting screwed over and still, there's no guarantee you won't get a messed-up wish. For Jack, his greatest desire is to be the master of all magic. To have it all and leave none for anyone else. This would leave the world stripped of all enchantment. No more monstrous creatures. No more mystical items. No more talking animals. No more myths. No more legends. No more rhymes. No more fairy tales. The only happily ever after would be for him, "Big" Jack Horner.

“Welcome back, Mr. Horner. How was your...”

“Zip it.”

Jack cuts the awaiting guards at the main door.

“Get me fresh clothes. I can't stand to be in these a moment longer. I wreak of cheap beer and cheaper tobacco.”

Lynsie clears her throat from behind him, jumping off from the back of the carriage, and motions to herself as her uniform is in grosser shape.

“Oh, right. And her too.”

“Thank you.”

He heads in and she follows behind, yet for once she is not so close to him, in fact, she breaks away from him completely. Jack continues onward to his office whereas Lynsie stays in the lower levels. Being soaked in the spat drink of someone made her skin crawl and she wasn't about to stay that way a second long if she could help it. Jack at least could simply change. She needed this mess scrubbed. Luckily, when one happens to work in a large factory like this, there tend to be certain beneficial areas for employees to use...Like a workout/training room that has attached showering facilities.

She passes by others at lockers mid-change or post-drying off, dismissing the prying eyes as she discards articles of her clothing. She knows this feeling. The feeling of staring, some in lust and others in curiosity. It's nothing new. Her life as a mercenary had her mixing with many a sinful soul. But once she removes her top a new feeling is felt. The feel of watching eyes that are full of pity and horror. Her back is not a sight to be taken lightly. Dozens upon dozens of scars marring her flesh. Made by a lash perhaps? Who's to say? All any who saw could tell was they were very old and were cut very deep.

“It's impolite to stare.”

Her voice sounds empty. Obviously, this is something she doesn't want others to dwell on. But it can't be helped. One can not expect attention to not be given when one witnesses something so... intriguing.

“H-Hey...um...Is it okay to ask how you got those?”

She continues to disrobe.

“I lost a fight with a very ticked-off cat.”

A lie if ever there was one, but none further pressed it as she disappeared into the steam-shrouded showers. It's a nice spaciously tiled room with rows of shower heads lined up on the walls separated by shoulder-high barriers. Even here she separates herself from the others, tucking herself away at the end and not saying a word. Merely standing under the warm pouring water for quite some time, letting it rinse off the events of the day. Away with the smell. Away with the stickiness. Away with the foggy fleeting memories that come back to haunt her in the night. She rubs her back lightly, her fingers kneading into the divots of her skin, her expression grimacing. Even now, after all these years...she still feels the sting.

For Jack, his irritation as he refreshes himself is mild at most. The lavender scent of wet wipes is a calming one. And it sure as hell beats the stench that lingered on him before. The discarded layers of his outfit are being casually collected by a guard as another holds fresh linen for him. Temporary threads considering he wasn't heading out again, so it's nothing too bothersome to handle for the rest of the evening.

“Hmmm...It's been a while since I wore these.”

“Is something wrong, Mr. Horner?”

“No, just a little snug is all. I'm sure it just needs time to stretch.”

The buttons on his top struggle to contain him. One snapped off and ricocheted around a bit before hitting one of the guards in the face.

“Ah! My eye!”

“Whoops.”

He couldn't hide the chuckle in his voice. Little moments like the accidental maiming of others were a simple way to get him amused and in better spirits. Not that he wasn't feeling good deep down. As annoying and disgusting as the day had been, it was one of promise. Not only did he send an irritating goon off to a most horrendous death, but the one item he's sought for years, the map to the Wishing Star, was the closest it's ever been to getting in his reach. The very idea brought a childish glee to him.

“Is there anything else we can assist you with, Mr. Horner?”

He simply waves them away dismissively and lets them leave.

“Soon...”

He looks down at his hands, wringing them into tight fists as if gripping something that isn't there.

“It'll all be mine.”

#big jack horner fanfic #Little Lynn #big jack horner #jack horner #big jack horner x oc #jack horner fanfic #jack horner x oc #puss in boots the last wish oc #MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS

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seeds-and-sins · 4 years

Text

On the Fly

Pairing: Homelander / Reader

Rating: T (Language, lots of bad language)

Description: You are a loud mouth New York cop that doesn't give two shits what anybody else thinks. Homelander is the hero of America, the stars and stripes of justice. The fans ship you two together so bad, and it was all your fault. If only you had kept your mouth shut.

It was such a cheesy, stupid idea that the Vought marketing team had developed. One single interaction between Homelander and some tiny, pathetic little officer goes viral, and all the fans want more of it, ALL of the fans. You were just doing your duty that day, Homelander and Queen Maeve intervened when your partner and you were about to lead a huge drug raid that had been planned for months. You, always having been the more forward one, approached Homelander, when she just so happened to be addressing the news about the incident.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" His eyebrows rose up at the sight of you, a fleshbag at most, badgering him. Your hair was loose, the NYPD vest fastened tightly on your torso, toned biceps flashing, gun at your side, he was absolutely confused at first. No officer just straight up approached him unless they wanted an autograph, or a handshake. You wanted neither. And you were so angry, your New Yorker accent was shooting out of from your lips without restraint.

"Excuse me?" He then snorted, reminding himself that you were both being watched.

"This was my raid, not yours, you don't just come fucking barging in without notice. We had planned this for months."

"And I understand that, um..." He forced a smile, although he really wanted to just break your neck. No one had ever had the gull to speak to him that way. "You are the real heroes."

"Oh, like that fucking shit is going to cut it, huh?" You pushed Homelander, although it was almost like pushing a wall, you did it anyways. Everyone around you both made a resounding gasp, even some of the emergency services crew members in the backdrop paused what they were doing. "Listen buster, I trained for this shit show, and what did you do? You were born with the power to fucking fly and shoot lasers from your eyes? Big fucking whoop!" Homelander's jaw went taut and he sighed agitation.

"And don't you know who you are talking to? I saved your lives and made your jobs easier." You crossed your arms, lip pouting out.

"I didn't become a cop so that you could make it easy for me. I knew what I signed up for. Next time, mind your own shit! I will keep you on stand by."

"Next time, I will still do what heroes always do." He stated firmly between clenched teeth, then bowed down closer to you, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate you, but to his surprise you didn't even flinch. You came straight forward, faces an inch from eachother as you kept a hard eye contact.

"You fucking come into my establishment again, I will have your ass." You growled, fists at her sides.

"And we'll see how well that goes for you, officer." He snarled right back, then you were storming off. Even though you truly wanted to be the last one standing, you had work to do.

The next day you did the usual routine. You went on your six miler, hit the weights at the gym, and then got ready for the day. You didn't think anything of it, got your coffee, grabbed a whole of the daily paper and walked to work in uniform. As soon as you showed up to the department, it was a shit storm. People were flying back and forth, colleagues of yours sent you stares without replying to your greetings, the whole place was in disarray. Then you saw him, and your blood only boiled more, he was standing with the commissioner and several unfamiliar faces. When the commissioner saw you, his entire expression lit up in that face you knew all too well, the 'I am trying to hide how pissed I am so I will smile' face.

"Officer (L/N)! Come over here!" He exclaimed with feigned excitement, he scurried the lit of you into his office, where you took your usual seat. You had been here before, you weren't usually very good at following the rules as it was. This blonde woman took the seat beside you, two others standing behind her with clipboards. She had this eerie grin on her face, not much different from Homelander's.

"Officer (L/N), its a pleasure to meet you." She held her hand out, you didn't accept it and tilted your head towards your boss.

"What the fuck is going on?" As the woman retrieved her hand, the red head behind her replied in an all too chirpy tone.

"The fans love you! They want you in a team up with Homelander." She explained, you rolled your eyes and then stood with a sigh.

"This is a joke. I am not doing it."

"You have no choice, (Y/N)." Your boss said and he said it all too sternly, surely he would have your badge if you disagreed.

"I don't believe this, why me? Huh? Because I said what everybody else was thinking?!"

"Here are some of what the fans have been saying." The other one handed her clipboard to you, the blonde still staring in silence with that polite and cringy smile. You squinted as you read over the list of comments, particular on the viral video between Homelander and you.

"Aww, they are like an old married couple?!" You read aloud, "What the fuck?!" Then down to the next one. "Why don't they just get a room?! Team up?! What the fuckety fuck?!"

"It appears the two of you have had some chemistry, I suppose." The blonde finally spoke coolly, you then raised your glare to Homelander.

"Do you think we have chemistry? Huh? 'Cause I think you are just a fucked up, flying monkey asshole."

"(Y/N)!" Your boss chastised, you crossed your arms with a sigh.

"Whatever, lets just get this over with. People will get sick of it eventually."

"Perfect, we will have the cameras on you, as soon as within the hour." Your jaw dropped, and you wanted to speak in protest, but the words wouldn't leave your lips. As everyone left the room, Homelander was the lsst one to tap your mouth shut, he grinned.

"You're a celebrity now, (Y/N). Get used to it." You thought you could, but it was so much work trying to ride this out. The cameras followed you for weeks, allowing Vought to post short videos of your encounters with Homelander. Homelander replaced your partner for that period of time, which only drifted your friend and you further apart. The short videos became so popular, soon the two of you had your own TV show every night at nine. It was originally called Justice.

"Do you think we could film your workout routine, (Y/N)?" Vought was insufferable in their addiction for the show, it had gotten a lot of publicity and was a number one hit for the industry. Homelander accompanied you on bank robberies, house calls, domestic disturbances, etc. Meanwhile, the both of you disagreed over everything and the banter only made the two of you more popular. Vought started making t-shirts and memorabilia that selled like crazy. The two of you posing, your playful remarks, and almost all of the words that left your mouth:

Flying Monkey Motherfucker!

It was like a fucking hillbilly porno!

Go fuck yourself with some bullets!

Listen, I have bigger balls than this two bit motherfucking laser machine!

That was when the true name of the show was born:

"Yeah, like you think I am going to be like you, fucking on the fly-"

"That's it!" One of the producers shouted from behind the cameras. Homelander and you glared at him, annoyed that anybody would interrupt the very imoortant argument you both were having. From that point on the show was named 'On the Fly', it ran like crazy, and despite its popularity, Homelander and you still hated each other's guts. The fans expected the picture portrait chemistry off screen, and neither of you really understood what they meant. Until Season 8, that is...

"There's about twenty of them." Homelander stated, as he eyed the side of the warehouse.

"Perfect! Half and half." You cocked your guns and the both of you started towards the double doors, leading in through the back. There was a body cam on you, one on Homelander, and a cameraman, one of several as some of them had been 'accidentally' into the mix of shoots and dangerous fights.

"Last time you said that, you killed one of my guys." Homelander stated, pointing a finger at you in warning not to make the same mistake again.

"We'll just separate everyone as we go, okay?" You stood back as Homelander kicked the chained doors open, the shots started firing almost instantly. One thing Homelander could respect you for was that you kept up very nicely, for a meatbag that was. You were fit and vigilant and would have made a fantastic hero, if you had powers.

Homelander grabbed you by the back collar of your vest, tossing you gently up to a catwalk that crossed the warehouse, where you easily shot at four of the criminals. Homelander skillfully did his work, lasers flying around, punching threw chest and throwing people out of the roof. You both finally came to the last guy, he was unarmed. You were out of ammo and mags. You holstered your gun and grinned at him.

"Is this one mine?"

"Sure is," Homelander cringed a bit, the guy was bit and hefty, twice your size. "Unless you want me to handle this one." The man's eyes widened and he shook his head, then raised his fists toward her.

"Nope, I got it." As always, you struggled fighting against the bigger ones, but you always caught up. Homelander stood off to the side, herring you on even as you got your face punched or as you were thrown against a storage container.

"Keep going, (Y/N)! Just shout if you need help." He would mock, arms crossed, that one camera man looking in in horror. Finally you grabbed the back of the guy's head and drilled your knee into his face, he dropped to the side unconscious. Breathing heavily, bloodied face, fists clenched and sweating pooling off your skin, you kicked him one last time. You nearly fell back if Homelander hadn't been there to prop a firm hand against the middle of your back. "I knew it." He grinned, wiping a hand across the bruise on your cheek. "I could have done better, but..."

"Oh, fuck you, you pile of heroic shit." The both of you started to walk side by side back out of the front, where several cameras waited and the camera crew stood to finish the episode. You both turned to eachother and stared, you placed your hands on your hips.

"Not too bad, supershitter." You said with a huff after finally catching your breath.

"You too, officer, you too." But it felt dull, something was off, the air was thick and the wind was a bit too breezy for your taste.

"Cut!" The director came forward from the crowd, smiling with that off smile, he could feel it too. "We are going to run this ending again. Why don't you guys kiss, or something?"

"What?!" You narrowed your eyes on the director, that was where you drew the line.

"No. Not happening." Homelander chuckled, like it was some joke. You didn't know why his denial offended you right then and there, but it did.

"What am I not pretty enough for you? Fucking jerk." The director slowly started to back peddle, gesturing to the cameras to start rolling again. Homelander held his palms up in surrender and shrugged.

"You have blood and shit all over your face, why would I want to kiss you?"

"Oh, so if I didn't have shit on my face, you would do it?" You saw Homelander hesitate for a moment before returning to that same confident swagger of his.

"No, I never said that."

"Well, then what the fuck is the problem?! Why wouldn't you kiss me? Hmm?"

"Why does it bother you so much?" He jested, hands now on his hips and he stepped closer. He had to tilt his gaze down to consider your tinier self.

"Why does it bother you that it bothers me?" His eyebrows furrowed to contest.

"It doesn't bother me." He spat, you crossed your arms and smirked evilly, only really wanting the last word. It didn't matter if he kissed you, or not, right?

"I think it does. I think you are lying." You teased.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if it didn't bother you, you would just kiss me and get this shit over with."

"Fine." You didn't expect him to just go with it, your eyes widened as you stared up at him, hands dropping to your sides. Then you shook your head, pulling yourself back into thst glare.

"Fine, then." And you both leaned into each other, tight lips pressing together, and you hated yourself but you enjoyed the contact more than you'd like to admit. Everything was quiet, so quiet a pin could drop on the asphalt and everyone would be able to hear it. You gasped when Homelander's hands snaked around your waist, and your own hands found his biceps for support as you were slightly lifted off the ground. The gasp opened your lips and Homelander's tongue slid through and the kiss deepened as your mouths opened up and fought for dominance. Homelander held you tighter as he then ascended thousands of feet up into the sky. You gripped him harder and cried out, cheek pressing to his, now too high up for the cameras to find you.

"Hom-John, what the fuck, man?! Put us down!"

"Shut up." And he kissed you again, then soaring you both through the sky towards a destination unknown. You were so lost in the kiss at that point, that it didn't matter where you were going. This was the last thing you expected to happen, ever, in a million years. But you weren't going to complain...

Meanwhile, the camera crew and director stood down below in shocked silence. The silence was soon broken by the director's words:

"That was absolutely fucking perfect! Cut scene!"

Master List

#homelander #reader #homelander x reader #vought #cops and robbers #the boys #one shot

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

Siren Song

This is my entry for @mermaidxatxheart challenge #jamies500writingchallenge with the AU Siren/Sailor. I decided to kind of put a twist on it, so I hope it still fits!!!

Summary: You are a Siren. Your voice is an aphrodisiac that lures people into a spell. The only way they can break your spell is if they sleep with you. Steve accidentally hears you singing after a mission.

Warnings: dub-con, smut, drugging, gags, restraints, fingering, oral sex, Steve waiting too long for the woman he loves

A/n: Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I was a dumbass and waited until the day before this was due to write this, so if there are any error, please let me know :)

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

"What's your status, Siren?" Tony's voice came through your earpiece. You finished flattening out the line of your dress, taking a sip of your champagne before you answered.

"So far, so good. I have eyes on the target, let me finish my drink and I can engage—"

"No!" Steve spat in your ear, making you flinch. "Y/n, do not engage, do you understand?"

You scoffed. If Steve didn't want you to engage, then what was the point of you being here? At this point, you weren't even batting any eyelashes at anybody—under strict orders from your Captain not to.

"Come on, Sailor," you purred. "I can help. Let me do my job."

"You use your power on me again, I'm gonna quarantine you," Steve growled. You chuckled at his threat.

"Then what exactly is the reason I'm here, Captain?" you asked, taking another sip of the overtly expensive drink you held. "You want the target incapacitated, I can incapacitate him for you. It'll be easy."

"Incapacitated, not oogling over you."

"You got a problem with my powers, Sailor?"

You heard Steve sigh. "You know that I don't. I got a problem with the men here, especially the man we're trying to catch. He doesn't have a good rep with pretty dames like you, I'm trying to keep you safe."

"You think I'm pretty?" You feigned surprise, bringing your hand to your chest to mimic shock.

"That—" he paused for a moment before letting out an aggravated breath. "That's not the point and you know it. Just keep your distance for now, when we're ready we'll let you know."

You sighed. "Yeah, that's not happening, Cap. Sorry."

"Y/n—"

You turned off your comms, swaying over to your target, a man named Viktor Yakovich. He was a HYDRA lackie known for sex trafficking and importing drugs in and out of the Harbour. You passed him, fingers dragging along the chest of his iron pressed suit, rolling off his shoulder and when you looked back to meet his eyes, you winked.

The wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression he wore showed you he was enthralled. He watched as you sauntered to an empty seat at the end of the bar. You ordered a drink, a fancy strawberry vanilla tequila cocktail with a misconstructed french name. You watched the bartender make your drink, pouring different liquids into the mixer. He shook the tin almost violently before he poured the drink into a cocktail glass, adding three small strawberry slices into your glass. You thanked him as he handed it to you and took a hefty sip.

Just as you finished the last of your cocktail, Yakovich stood leaning against the bartop, eyeing you with a level of lust that had chills running down your spine.

"I'll have a double whiskey on the rocks," he said to the bartender, his accent thick, "and another of whatever the lady is having."

"Extra shot of tequila, please," you added. Viktor smirked at you.

"You are quite beautiful," he commented. "What brings you here?"

You made up some story about your father being too sick to attend the luxurious gala himself, so he sent you as his representative. It was a story engraved in your brain, a caring daughter worried about her poor father's health. His liver was failing, you told Yakovich.

Yakovich was quick to give you his sympathies. You thanked him, sipping on your new drink. Gathering your courage, you set your hand on his thigh, rubbing your thumb softly against the fabric of his trousers. You watched his eyes widen, his shoulders raised as his breathing hitched.

"Why don't we go upstairs?" Your voice lowered several octaves. Yakovich grinned, offering you his arm.

Your head pounded as you regained consciousness, groaning. You're vaguely aware of the pain in your body, the heaviness in your legs and how your arms almost felt numb. The dim light above you all too bright as you clenched your eyes shut in protest, grimacing. Your mouth was dry, the corners of your lips ached, and you felt a piece of plastic lodged between your teeth. You tried to bring your hand up, but something was keeping your arms rooted in place. As your mind became clearer, you saw your wrists were tied to the edges of the chair, arms pulled taut at your sides. You were gagged and tied down. Great.

What was the last thing you remembered? Yakovich had taken you to his hotel room above the ballroom. You remembered you had kissed him, he had pushed you against the wall. He moved you to the bed after you felt a sharp prick in your neck and then—and then it went black. The damn bastard had drugged you. But how had he gotten out of your spell? That wasn't supposed to be possible.

"Well, well, well. . . looks like the little dove is awake." The rich Russian accent sounded oddly humorous, which sent a shudder up your spine. Footsteps echoed against the chipped concrete. Yakovich stepped into view, a wicked grin plastered on his face. You frowned at him, tilting your chin up defiantly. He chuckled at you, roughly grabbing your chin. "I know all about you, little dove. You were HYDRA's most powerful weapon, made the Winter Soldier look like child's play. But. . . you defected. How come?"

You shrugged. Mumbled through your gag some jarbled excuse. Really you were just making noise. Yakovich sighed before backhanding you across the cheek, your head snapping to the side with a sharp crack. You bit down on the plastic wedged between your teeth, a yelp getting stuck in your throat.

"Oh, dove. You make such lovely noises. It is such a shame I won't get to hear more. Kill her now."

A knife was at your throat. You held your head up, glaring at Yakovich. There was a crash, shards of glass shattering on the cement floor. Something flew past your head with a deafening whoosh, Steve's shield striking Yakovich square in the chest, sending him flying. The knife had left your throat, Tony blasting the blade out the man's hand as Sam drop kicked him.

Steve was in front of you, reaching to unbuckle the gag behind your head. He threw it to the ground, his hand cupping your cheek.

"Hey, Sailor," you rasped, your voice hoarse.

His thumb brushed over the red marks at the corner of your mouth. "Are you okay?"

"I had it handled," you smirked. Steve chuckled incredulously, dropping his head.

"You're unbelievable," he laughed.

He tore the twine that was wrapped tightly around your wrists. He rubbed the dark red marks, trying to get the blood flowing back in your hands. He whispered something that sounded similar to 'oh, baby', looking at the marks surrounding your wrists.

"Let's get you out of here. Okay?" Steve's hand went under your knees, your arm draping the back of his neck. He carried you out of the warehouse, the quinjet parked a few meters away. Steve sat you on the exam table that came up from the floor. "The others will be here soon, okay? They just gotta take care of Yakovich."

You nodded, swallowing. The pain was starting to set in—your head throbbed in sharp pains, your wrists were burning in piercing pulses. You were so dizzy, your world spun around you until you had to hold onto Steve. He looked at you, concern swimming behind his eyes as his hand covered yours over his bicep.

"I'm fine," you said weakly.

Natasha, Tony, and Sam boarded the quinjet.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony smiled. "How you doing?"

"Never better," you grinned. "Where's Yakovich?"

"Local police are gonna hold him while we get you back to the Compound," Natasha said, "then Tony and I are going to bring him into S.H.I.E.L.D. . . . What happened?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, I-I thought I had him. We were upstairs, I was—um, you know. . .." you scratched the back of your neck. "And then it just went black."

"I thought people couldn't resist your powers?"

"They're not supposed to be able to." You frowned, rubbing the bridge of your nose. There was so much pressure building up in your head, you just wanted to take some aspirin and sleep for a week.

"You gonna need medical?" Sam had his arms crossed, a frown on his face. You shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

"Y/n," Steve said sternly. Natasha went to the front of the jet, pressing buttons and flipping a switch. The ramp pulled up and sealed the entrance as the engine roared to life.

You sighed. "I'm fine, Sailor. Seriously. I just need a hot shower and to get out of this dress."

Steve tried to argue with you. "You might have a concussion."

You reminded Steve about the serum that was coursing through your veins. The same one HYDRA had forced into you, the same one Bucky had coursing through his veins. Except it didn't make you strong like him or Steve. It had done something to your cells, and with a few genetic alterations, HYDRA was able to give you your powers.

And HYDRA wondered why you left.

You let the dress slip off your body, leaving you in a lacy pair of wine red panties and a thigh holster. You discarded the holster, sliding the lace off your legs before stepping into the shower.

The water was warm, soothing your taut muscles. Your shoulders were so tight they felt like concrete. You sighed, leaning your head back into the water stream.

You left the bathroom clad in a towel, your hair damp. Your head felt better than it had when you arrived at the compound. Your wrists were bruising, the dark red marks encircling your wrists turning a violent purple. You had a bruise forming on your cheek, too, from where Yakovich slapped you.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?" you called.

"Yes, Miss L/n?" the A.I responded.

"Can you play some music for me? My 'Calm' playlist, please?"

"Of course, Miss L/n."

A Lana Del Rey song echoed through your room. You thought it was called 'Love song' but honestly, you couldn't be sure. You hummed along, drying your hair with a separate towel.

In the car, in the car, in the backseat, I'm your baby

We go fast, we go so fast, we don't move

"I believe in a place you take me," you sang, eyes closed, scrunching the water out of your locks. "Make you real proud of your baby."

You stood, grabbing a lavender and cedarwood lotion off your dresser. You sat back down on your bed, bringing your leg up.

"Oh, be my once in a lifetime—" You rub lotion up and down your leg, massaging it in. "Lyin' on your chest in my party dress."

You dropped your towel, moving to your drawer chest. You grabbed a pair of white cotton panties that were a size too small and an old Yankees shirt that was too big. It used to be Steve's, but one day he was doing laundry and the shirt shrunk. You snatched it before he could throw it away.

"Dream a dream, here's a scene." You pulled a pair of green fuzzy socks over your feet. "Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby."

You turned around, running into a solid wall of muscle. You yelped, Steve grabbing your arms to steady you. You looked up at him, frowning.

"Hey, Sailor, whatcha doing?" Steve was silent, staring at you intently. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as they raked up and down your form. "Steve?"

"I've never heard you sing before," he commented, his voice a few octaves lower than you've ever heard it. "Your voice is beautiful."

Your eyes widened, inhaling a sharp breath. You thought you had set F.R.I.D.A.Y up so when you told her to play music it also activated her soundproofing protocol. Tony assured you no one could hear you.

"O-o-o-o-o-kay." You twisted out of Steve's grasp, holding your hands out in front of you. "I think you should go. Go take a cold shower or something, okay?"

"Oh, but, sweetheart. . . you said I could touch you anywhere."

You slowly stepped around him, Steve stalking you with a dark look. Your knees hit the bed and you crashed down, looking up at him in—in what, fear? Anticipation?

Steve hooked his finger under your chin, tilting your head up. He looked down on you, a crooked grin splitting his lips. You swallowed, looking at his smooth, plump lips. You quickly looked up to meet his gaze, his bright blue eyes swallowed in lust. You called out his name, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours. A small whimper died in your throat, his lips soft as they moved against your own. Your eyes fluttered shut, Steve's grip on your chin tightening. His knees came up to rest on either side of you, straddling you. He pushed you down, leaning down to cup your cheeks as he sucked at your bottom lip. His heated length pressed against your center. When his tongue pressed into your mouth, you pushed against his chest again only to have him press your hands against the mattress.

Heat pooled in your core as you felt the effects of his arousal. It was a lot like secondhand smoking, the way it affected you. Steve was hooked, caught in your trap like a fly in a spider's web.

"Steve. . . Steve, wait." He pulled away, his hot breath hitting your lips, your noses almost touching. "You don't want this—please, snap out it."

"Come on, Siren," Steve smirked. "All that flirting. . . and you didn't see this coming?" His lips met your neck, trailing kisses down the column of your neck. Your lip trembled as he sucked a bruise into your skin, in the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

"Steve, please. You can fight this."

A hand trailed up past the hem of your shirt. "Oh, I don't wanna fight it, sweetheart. Look at you, all dressed up for me in my shirt, pretty as a picture."

His hand palmed your breast. You pushed against his chest, trying desperately to get him off. He nipped at your collarbone, pinching your nipple until you yelped. He shushed you, pushing the shirt over your head and up your arms. He ripped the fabric apart effortlessly, manhandling you to lay across the bed before he grabbed your wrists. Using the shreds of the old shirt he tied you to the bars of your metal bed frame. You were surprised by the amount of panic that fled through you as you pulled against the makeshift restraints, the cloth digging into the bruises around your wrists.

His lips teased your shoulder while he gently played with your breasts. He added the slightest pressure as he squeezed, your breasts fitting perfectly in his hands as you shuddered out a breath.

"Oh."

"That feel good, baby?" Steve mumbled into your neck. You helplessly nodded, whimpering as he rubbed his hard length against you in a rhythm that had your traitorous body moving your hips against him.

You tried to remind yourself that it was the effects of your powers, that both of you were under a spell and this wasn't real. It wasn't intimacy, this wasn't you and Steve so madly in love with each other it drove you insane. It was raw, unadulterated hunger. Nothing more than a spell.

"Steve, please," you whimpered, a particular grind against your core making you gasp. "You know how this is going to end—do you want that?"

"I want you, that's all that matters."

You cried out Steve's name as his lips latched onto your nipple, rolling the other sensitive bud between his fingertips. Steve couldn't mean that—if he wanted this, that meant you couldn't force him out of your spell. He was bewitched until he fucked it out of his system.

Steve's fingertips danced down your torso, hovering over your belly button and stopping at the line of your underwear. He traced the edge of the garments, mouthing at the spot where your neck and shoulder met. His fingers hooked into your waistband and he pulled your panties down your legs, dropping them on the floor. Steve groaned, inhaling your scent.

"Smell so good, baby," he murmured, "bet you taste even better."

Your cheeks flushed. You weren't sure you wanted him to put his mouth on you. It was wrong, Steve wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't thinking straight.

A strangled moan left your lips as Steve plunged two fingers into your slick heat, looking for the spot inside you that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble mindlessly, endless pleas of 'Steve, please' and vulgar curses. You struggled against your restraints, trying desperately to touch him. You wanted to feel him. He pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, drawing out the stimulation.

Then his lips were on the little bundle of nerves just above your entrance. You squealed, bucking your hips into his face. You thighs clenched around his head, pushing his face impossibly closer to your center. He removed his fingers from your entrance, leaving you feeling desperate and empty. You whimpered at Steve, gasping when his tongue darted into your entrance.

He devastated you with his mouth, his tongue teasing your aching clit again and again until the little bundle of nerves was vibrating. As soon as you felt your release forming, he'd move back down to your entrance, teasing it in and out of there just deep enough to have you begging for more.

"Taste so good, baby." He hummed into your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit, his hips rutting into the mattress. He pushed the pads of his fingers up, still teasing your bundle of nerves and that was all it took. You cried out, the coil snapping like a taut rubber band, your hips involuntarily jerking as you cried out and struggled against your bonds.

Your entire body was buzzing, your limbs boneless as you panted below him. Steve climbed atop you, fervently pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him. Licking your lips as he mouthed at your jaw, you closed your eyes. Your brow was sweaty as you tried to catch your breath. Powers or not, you hadn't cum like that in a long time.

When you opened your eyes, his knees were wedged between your thighs, the tip of his cockhead at your entrance. Steve hummed, brushing himself against your wet folds. You dug your teeth into your lower lip, trying desperately not to whimper. Steve leaned down to kiss your cheek before he pushed into you slowly, his thick cock stretching your walls.

Your breath left your lungs, a cry breaking in your throat as Steve groaned into your ear, your silky heat clenching him like a vice. You pulled against your restraints, wincing as pain burned your wrists. He shushed you, nibbling at your shoulder as a means of distraction. When he bottomed out, a growl reverberated through his chest.

"Fuck." Steve's hot breath hit your ear. "You feel so good, Y/n. So tight."

You preened as Steve picked up his pace, easily falling into a hard and fast rhythm. You screamed into his chest, Steve pushing your legs up and effectively folding you in half, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper. You were losing circulation to your hands by how hard you were pulling against the strands of fabric but you didn't care. All you felt was Steve and the way the tip of his cock hit the tip of your cervix.

Your orgasm came out of nowhere—rose so quickly and crashed over you like a tidal wave, sending you reeling. You screamed, seizing up and convulsing around Steve's cock. Steve cursed, feeling you pulsate around him. Black dots invaded your vision as Steve slammed into you harder, faster, and then pulled out suddenly, hot spurts of cum shooting onto your lower stomach. With an animalistic groan, Steve fell to the side.

It took several minutes for either of you to gather your bearings. You were still tied to the bed, breathless and coated in cum when Steve rose, the color in his eyes returning.

"Y/n, I—" Steve faltered. The guilty look in his puppy-dog eyes making your chest flutter.

"Can you just untie me?" you said quietly. "Please?"

"Oh—yeah. Um. . . yeah." He undid the knot, letting you bring your hands down and sit up. He felt his heart skip a beat at the fresh marks around your wrists. He jumped off the bed and for a moment you were worried he was going to run away, but he gently handed you his shirt before pulling his pants over his hips. "Hold on, okay? I'm gonna get you a rag." You watched him disappear into the bathroom. You pulled his shirt over your head, massaging your wrists gently.

Steve came back into the room with a damp rag. He handed it to you, hesitant to sit down as you wiped yourself off. "Y/n, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." You tossed the rag on the floor, looking down at your wrinkled sheets. "Just—I should have been more careful about singing."

"No—no, don't blame yourself, sweetheart."

"Listen, I'll go to Tony in the morning, tell him what happened." You sighed. "Maybe he can fix F.R.I.D.A.Y's protocol. I'll ask to be removed from missions, too, if that's what you want—"

"No, no. Y/n, I don't want that." Steve groaned. "I'll talk to Tony. I'm the one that invaded your space. I caused this, I'll fix this."

You bit your lip, ringing Steve's shirt in your hands.

"What is it?"

You sighed. "Nothing, it's just. . . I just Siren Song-ed you into sex and—and you're my friend, I don't want this to ruin things."

"It won't ruin things," Steve promised. "I was actually hoping we could. . . maybe go get some—you know, actually, never mind. It was a bad idea."

"Steve," you smirked. "What is it?"

Steve sighed. "Would you want to go get coffee with me? Maybe tomorrow?"

A smile spread across your face. "You wanna get coffee with me?"

"Yeah. I was gonna ask you after the mission, but things went a little. . . sideways."

You breathed out a chuckle. "I'd love to get coffee with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Good, good. I'll pick you up after the briefing tomorrow? We can go to the coffee shop in town with all the books?"

You smiled. "That sounds great."

"Good." Steve flashed you a toothy grin. "I'm—uh—I'm gonna let you get some sleep, okay? You've had a long day."

You scoffed, slipping your legs under your covers. "Yeah. Goodnight, Sailor."

Steve stood in the threshold, shirtless and sweaty, his hair messy as he peaked past the door. "Goodnight, Siren."

1K notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ five

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.9K ➻ Rating: pg-15 now/M later ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one part five

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

“O-Of course, Captain,” Yunho stammers. He moves around the bed to stand across from Hongjoong. “She has been making a quick recovery over the past couple of days. I expect a full recovery by the end of the week if not sooner. Vitals are all steady and manageable despite a lowered heart rate; however, she says that she’s not feeling any adverse effects from it.”

“Hm…” Hongjoong hums and glances past Yunho to look you in the eye. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting me. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon. This is my lieutenant, Park Seonghwa. Of course, you may know us by other names seeing as you are military – or former military, was it?” Hongjoong pauses, the silence giving you an opportunity to respond, but you opt not to and instead stare back at the captain with blank eyes. “Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. And you, Miss L/N – the Ghost of Eros. Such a distinguished group of criminals all gathered in one place. I should’ve known you were much more than a petty soldier considering that you’ve got a mean right hook. You knocked Seonghwa on his ass so handily I thought he was going to die of shame.”

There is a lilt of humor to Hongjoong’s tone and only a sliver of vehemence and anger. The man’s presence alone is intimidation at its finest yet the mellifluous voice harbors none of that same intimidation. It’s a strange game he’s playing – dancing between cruelty and a carefree attitude – and you can’t figure out what his true intentions are.

“You don’t seem upset by the fact that I put your lieutenant on his ass,” you say, voice coming out surprisingly steady and even compared to how you’re feeling at the moment.

“Me? Upset? Of course not. It’s not my job as a captain to be upset for my crew. If he’s upset about it then that’s his problem. It only becomes mine when he fails to separate those feelings from doing his job properly. So, Lieutenant, are you upset?”

“No, not in the slightest,” Seonghwa answers, eyelids falling shut as he grins at you again. “More embarrassed than anything, getting my ass handed to me by a person who was injured.”

“Not because I’m a girl?” You inquire and dip your chin down a little bit.

“Not even close. It’s not about your gender – never was frankly – solely because you were injured in your obviously dominant arm.” Seonghwa folds his arms over his chest, seeming to puff it out a little as he matches your stare with an equally firey one of his own. Despite admitting weakness, he exudes confidence and power. It hits you at that moment. The strange aura surrounding each member of Hongjoong’s crew, and including the captain himself, makes sense as the puzzle pieces slip together in your mind.

These are criminals of the highest degree, men with extensive records and crimes that would take days to write down, and for some reason, that fact did not sink in sooner. Yes, you’ve had many an encounter with criminals. This should be nothing new for you but these men are far different than the petty criminals you had to deal with when part of the military. Even though you are considered to be one of them, a criminal on the same level as them, someone just as evil and cruel and merciless, you don't feel that way. A surge of fear courses through your body. Any one of these men could end your life in an instant with zero remorse or care.

“What d-do you plan to–to do with me?” You direct the question at Hongjoong although it’s a struggle to drag your eyes off of the pretty lieutenant.

Another hum leaves the captain’s lips, and he looks away from you to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “Part of me wants to drop you out an airlock for attacking my lieutenant, sneaking aboard my ship, and stealing from my cargo hold. However, that is not what I’m going to do. I am merciless, yes, but I could drag your pain so much longer if I really wanted to. So give me a reason not to do that first.”

“Captain…” Seonghwa cuts in, reaching around Hongjoong to block his line of sight. “That isn’t the best idea. There is no point in torturing her if she can be useful.”

“Oh, so knocking you out counts as being useful nowadays?”

“Logic, Hongjoong. Think logically rather than emotionally. There are benefits to keeping her alive and well, especially considering who she is. Ghost of Eros isn’t a name thrown around lightly these days.”

“Yet there are also detriments to keeping her here.”

“If it’s space you’re worried about, we have more than enough of it. Plenty of empty rooms. She can stay in the med bay until she fully recovers then move into one of the empty rooms, no?” Seonghwa glances over to Yunho, who nods along with the words with fervor.

“Absolutely,” he says in a clear tone. “She should be ready to go any day now, and if we move her into one of the empty rooms, I can run post-operation checkups there rather than here.”

“You could also run those checkups from the brig. We have plenty of space down there as well,” Hongjoong argues, pushing Seonghwa’s extended arm out of the way.

“Be smart, Captain.”

“What are you insinuating, Lieutenant?”

“That you are thinking with your heart and not your head!” Seonghwa protests, voice climbing in volume. He steps around Hongjoong to face him head-on. “We have the space, and more than enough of it, so there is no point in putting her in the brig.”

“She is nothing more than a stowaway. That is reason enough, no?”

“No, because you never put Jongho in the brig for being a stowaway.”

“Jongho was useful, and he was barely a stowaway when I knew he was aboard the ship from the second we left that planet.”

“How do you know she can’t be useful as well? Hongjoong, at least give her a chance to be useful and carry her own weight until the next stop. You can dump her there if you don’t want her then.” The phrasing of Seonghwa’s words brings a scowl to your lips.

“Excuse me,” you intervene, climbing to your feet with shaky legs. “I am not an object or a piece of property that can be “dumped”!” Seonghwa shifts to look back at you.

“I’m sorry. I… That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he tries, the remorse evident in his furrowed brows. You return the apology with a half-hearted glare.

“In order to be useful aboard my ship, she needs to be able to shoot a gun,” Hongjoong cuts in and effectively redirects all attention back to him. “According to Yunho, that may not be a possibility anymore.”

“Wh–What?” You ask. Eyes find Yunho’s, and the second you make eye contact he glances away from you rather than facing you. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you didn’t even tell her?” Hongjoong laughs. “Nerve damage.”

“Nerve damage?” You echo, a tremor rising through your body. Your legs fail to support you any longer, and you fall back to the bed.

“It’s not bad–”

“Not bad? Not bad compared to what?”

“It isn’t debilitating.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Seeing as oh yea, it’s my fucking arm!” Yunho winces at the scathing rage in your tone.

“I wasn’t sure about the extent of the damage. Sometimes injuries like yours show nerve recovery over time. I needed to see if that was the case with you. There was – I didn’t want to tell you out of fear of upsetting you without knowing for certain what’s wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can still pull a trigger,” Hongjoong comments.

“But not aim a pistol as well as I used to,” you finish his train of thought, and he nods in affirmation.

“I don’t know if this will help but... we can correct some things through physical therapy and strengthening. Regain the ease you had with aiming,” Yunho offers, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips.

“But… I thought she didn’t need a fully functioning arm?” Seonghwa inquires, eyes finding Hongjoong.

“Huh?”

“To aim a sniper. You don’t need a fully functioning arm,” he elaborates for you. Your eyes fall into a sharp glare.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means I know who you are. Ghost of Eros isn’t your only nickname. It only took one search in a military database to see who you are. Y/N L/N, wanted military traitor formerly of the operations assassinations and peace control units. Highly dangerous sniper. Wanted for theft of military property, desertion, capital betrayal, larceny, arson, evasion of arrest, the list goes on. Oh, and putting a bullet in the head of the King of Eros.”

Having someone list off your crimes is not as appealing as it would seem, and your shoulders fall further with each crime listed until Seonghwa mentions the last thing. It has you sitting up straight again, staring him down with such intensity that he actually seems surprised.

“It’s a hefty bounty on your head,” he continues in a much lower tone. “But an even heftier asset.”

Hongjoong releases a huff. “I have to agree with him on that, even though I don’t particularly want to. And yet I can’t help but wonder what drives a person to desertion?”

You refuse to answer the question. Instead, you press your teeth together, clenching your jaw and opting to remain silent in the face of the notorious captain.

“Putting a bullet in the head of a king is a pretty good reason. But that still begs the question: why put the bullet there in the first place?” Your chin dips closer to your chest as Hongjoong drives the metaphorical knife deeper into your chest. “I’ve put many a bullet in people’s heads; however, I’ve never had the luxury of doing it to a king. I have to say it’s quite interesting that you would murder someone like that.”

“It wasn’t murder,” you spit out. Your eyes find Hongjoong’s, and you find a taunting gleam in them. Perhaps this is what he wants – to drive you to a breaking point and see you lash out, and if he continues on like this then you won’t be able to resist the urge.

“Oh? Were you paid to do it then?”

You ball your fists around the sheets beneath you rather than responding. Your only answer is the continued glare you send his way.

“Stop it.” It’s Yunho’s voice that cuts in and bleeds through the mounting tensions between you and Hongjoong. “Stop, Hongjoong. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it. You don’t need to keep pushing it.”

“Stand down, Yunho. Are you the captain?”

“No, but–”

“No. You are not the captain and as such, you cannot tell me what to do. If I am even going to consider making her part of my crew, then I need to know her intentions.”

“I’m not going to kill any of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can I be sure of that, Miss L/N? Give me solid proof that you are a gentle and merciful soul. From what I can tell, there is none.”

“I am merely doing the same thing you and your whole crew are: just trying to fucking survive.”

“And what about when survival means killing someone? What would keep you from killing someone in my crew to survive?”

“Forgive me in advance for asking the same question of you. What would keep you from killing me when it comes to survival?” A huff escapes your lips, eyes stabbing daggers into Hongjoong’s form, and you extend the arm with the IV sticking out. “Take the IV out. If he wants me to shoot, then I’ll do just that.”

Both Seonghwa and Yunho whip their heads in your direction, Seonghwa’s eyes nearly bulging from his head. Yunho opens his mouth to retort but you still him by redirecting your glare to him. He moves towards you and slowly untwists the IV, leaving the catheter in place. Before stepping back though, he folds his fingers around your forearm and leans close to your ear.

“Seonghwa’s holster is on his right leg,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The tall man leans back before Hongjoong or Seonghwa can comment on his odd behavior, and you barely process their expressions because your gaze moves for the gun lingering on Seonghwa’s right leg. You get to your feet with a fake sense of weakness.

In a split second, you dart for Seonghwa’s gun and jab the flat of your left hand against the back of his knee. Your right snatches the pistol from his holster with little trouble as Seonghwa is crumpling to the ground. You spin around while he falls, the barrel of the pistol finding a new home between Hongjoong’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he move. His expression remains blank and unfocused. Seonghwa recovers, jumping up at exclaiming at the sight before him. Hongjoong lifts a hand and places it against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Stand down, Hwa.” Seonghwa listens to his captain albeit with great reluctance, and you try to steady your hand.

As silence overtakes the room again, the faint sound of the gun rattling against your quivering hand rises. It isn’t that you are afraid of firing the gun; you have shot a man just like this time and time again. You physically cannot get your arm to still. It’s twitching and shaking against your will, and no matter how much you focus, it doesn’t stop.

“Would you really fire the gun?” Hongjoong asks with his steely cold tone.

“In an instant,” comes your scathing response. “But that’s not what you want from me.”

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa mutters. Out the corner of your eye, you can see his antsy moments, bouncing his weight from one foot to the other and ready to jump you for pointing a gun at his captain.

“What is it I want then?”

You blink, and Hongjoong is gone from sight. The gun clatters against the ground, pain spreads across your wrist, but it is nothing in comparison to the pain that sears through your whole arm a moment later. Hongjoong appears in your vision, standing beside you with his hand clenched around your bicep, directly over your recovering wound. A sadistic smile creeps across his features. Fingers dig into the bandage and push past the fabric to stab a finger into the hole covered by stitches. A loud cry of pain leaves your body. White blinds your vision, your legs give out under you, and Hongjoong holds you up with his tightening grip on your arm.

“Stop!” Yunho cries out, attempting to step between you and Hongjoong. “Fucking stop, Hongjoong! You’re hurting her!”

“Listen to me,” Hongjoong hisses. He yanks your arm, finger still pushed in your wound. A weak sob falls from your lips next. “Stupid ideas like that are the last thing I want.” His grip leaves your arm, but the pain doesn’t. It lingers, burns, seeps through your limb so much that you can barely think straight. His foot darts out and kicks Seonghwa’s gun in the man’s direction. “You can stay for the time being. However, the second I decide that you aren’t worth my trouble anymore, I will dump you either in space or on whatever planet is nearby. It’s your choice. I suggest you choose wisely next time.” Hongjoong stands up straight, face leaving your line of sight, and you watch his back retreat as he strides out the door, dark brown cloak billowing around him as he moves.

“Oh my god,” Yunho mutters. He is by your side in an instant, one hand finding purchase on your waist, and the other gently holds your arm. “Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe he did that.” He helps you back onto the bed then sits down beside you to pull the now bloodied bandage away from your skin.

“Are you okay?” The question comes from Seonghwa, but you can’t focus on him due to the pain in your system.

“He did a fucking number on my stitches.” Yunho sighs and gets up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab and needle and some thread, I’ll try my best to fix it quick. I will need to sterilize again as well as use some numbing ointment to just help with the pain.”

“It-it's okay,” you murmur, words slurring together. Seonghwa comes closer to the bed. He sits down beside you, careful not to touch you. When you feel the dip of the mattress, you tilt your head in his direction and blink at him in confusion. A smile decorates his lips, one that isn’t cynical or cruel, just one filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry about your arm.”

“It’s fine. Not your fault anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m sorry for his actions. He’s too rash and thinks too much with his heart.”

“Oh, so he has one?” You joke. Your senses are slowly returning to you, words becoming more clear with each one spoken, and your vision is growing less fuzzy by the second.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Seonghwa chuckles, the sound as pretty as his face. “By the way… I have no hard feelings about the near concussion you gave me.”

“How nice of you.”

“Were I in your position, I would’ve done the same. If not worse. Especially seeing as you were wearing a military uniform. I was planning on killing you then and there before I felt the brand on your arm.”

“That damn brand seems to be a hot topic among you all.”

“You have to understand: it’s not every day we meet someone of your fame and caliber.” Seonghwa’s lips curl as he speaks. “Once Yunho redresses your arm, I can take you to your new quarters. They’re all ready for you.”

“What do you mean? How can they be ready already? Didn’t he just make the decision now?”

“Well, no. Apparently, he decided a while ago on his own accord. Hongjoong isn’t one for spur of the moment decisions. He takes a lot of time to decide on things, so I know for certain that he thought about whether you would stay or go for a long while. Thus, he most definitely decided prior to today.”

Yunho returns to the bed, medical supplies in hand along with another bottle of vodka.

“I, uh, I don’t have the belt this time so you may just want to grin and bear it. I would say bite down on a finger but you might take it clean off.” Delicate fingers find your left wrist, curling around them, and you glance over at Seonghwa.

“Try to focus on me instead of Yunho. It might help take some of the pain away.”

“I highly dou–” You’re cut off by your own scream, cold liquid pouring over your skin. Twisting, you press your fingers against Seonghwa’s hand and he grips you with an equally strong hold as Yunho sterilizes your wound.

“All done, all done,” Yunho announces. The stream of cold ceases but your arm still throbs even as Yunho dabs white ointment across it. He massages it into your skin with gentle touches. Once it goes clear, he pulls back and retrieves his small needle. “You don’t need to watch this bit if you don’t want to. I know some people are afraid of needles.” Despite Yunho’s warning, you continue to keep your eyes trained on the wound and watch as he pinches your skin together. The numbing gel he put across it worked quickly; you don’t feel a thing except for a strange heavy pressure on your skin.

“It’s fascinating work,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning forward to watch Yunho work as well. The healer laughs in response.

“It’s simple stuff actually. Nothing much to it.”

“Simple to you maybe but not anyone else.”

“It’s my job after all.” Yunho shrugs, hands remaining steady on your arm. “And I’m damn good at it, so it ought to be simple to me.”

It takes less than a minute for him to remove the old stitches and attach new ones. He works so fast that you think if you had blinked you would’ve missed the whole thing entirely.

“There, all done! It’s a little irritated from being jabbed at like that, but now that I’ve got the new stitches in, it should be just fine. The numbing ointment will wear off in an hour or so. If it hurts drastically then be sure to come back and tell me. I can get you some medicine if needed.”

“Is she all good to go now then?” Seonghwa asks. He unfolds his hand from yours, and you hadn’t even realized that you were still latched onto it all this time.

“Yep! Almost mint condition. You’re welcome.” Yunho sends a wink your way, cheeks scrunching up as he smiles. “You are free from my care at last. Don’t go messing anything up now, I patched you up perfectly. I don’t want my talent to go to waste, after all. I will check up and see how my stitches are holding up later today though.”

“Aw, have you got your post-patient loneliness already?” Seonghwa asks. Yunho responds with a scoff and swings a loosely clenched fist in his direction, which Seonghwa dodges with ease.

“Do be careful though. You still aren’t as strong as I had hoped you’d be. Walking too much will most likely make you lightheaded and woozy. Seonghwa, if she collapses, I’m blaming you.”

“Aye aye, Captain Yunho.” Seonghwa mocks the healer by bringing his hand up to his head and saluting him. “I’ll keep the princess on her feet.”

“Oh wow. Thanks, pretty boy. I feel oh so safe now.” You push yourself off the bed. Despite the shakiness in your legs, you step forward and trail after Seonghwa as he heads out the med bay. Before you step out of the room completely though, you hesitate in the doorframe. Yunho catches your lingering gaze as though he was expecting it. “Thank you again,” you say. The smile that comes to Yunho’s lips is neither cocky nor patronizing.

“Of course. I’m glad you made a good recovery.” He turns back to the bed where you were just seated but thinks twice about it and looks back at you. “Don’t be a stranger either. My door is always open for whatever you need.” He passes another wink your way, and the cheeky action has you choking on air. His laugh resounds in your ears as you move out of the room, shaky legs carrying you to Seonghwa’s side where he waits for you to catch up.

“Alright, follow me. If you get to feeling weak, just let me know and we can pause or I can help you along.” He pushes a loose strand of black hair from his forehead, and as the strands move you catch sight of a small emblem cut into his undercut. It disappears before you can fully examine it, however, and you have to move your gaze before Seonghwa notices your lingering stare.

“Wait–” you call out, and Seonghwa stops in his tracks. “I… I have a question for you before we go.”

✧✧✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday my dudes ;) another chapter down, and most of the buildup and exposition doNE so things will be picking up in speed from here on out so yAY

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years

Text

Don’t Breathe | 4.0

»Genre: hitman!au/bountyhunter!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is purely fiction.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt. 4.5 - pt. 5.0

A/n: will edit later^^ hope u enjoy💖

taglist: @tangledsparkles @just-another-fangurl21 @impartoftoomanyfandoms @komorebi-unnie @tangledsparkles

The city has always held dark secrets in the shape of hopes and dreams, luring in optimistic ankle-biters, wishing to really become something. And more often than not, it works out. That dreamer gets to live the reality they’ve been waiting for, and it all seems a little too perfect.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“One coffee please,” Peeking up from his phone, he acknowledges the petite waitress, “no cream no sugar.”

“Coming right up,”

He’s gone over the folder a thousand times, just making sure he didn’t miss anything. As far as information on you, he’s got all he needs, now it’s a matter of finding out what you were doing in the 24 hours before you vanished. He was able to stop by the police station and talk with the detective on the case. She wasn’t much help, but she did say Suzy had been calling her twice a day, looking for updates. Jin didn’t contact her as often but he’s been waiting for updates from Yoongi instead.

“Excuse me?” He pulled from his thoughts when he sees the woman in front of him, “Hi, I’m Suzy, you’re Min Yoongi, right?” She looks a bit unsure, he figured she’s just waiting for him to respond.

“Yes, sorry,” He stands up and shakes her hand before they both take a seat, “thank you for coming so short notice.”

“Of course, a meeting was canceled this morning so I had the time,” Sitting her purse in her lap, she tries to look relaxed but the way her brows furrow, he knows she’s worried, “I hope I can help in some way,”

“How long have you known her?” He opens up a little notepad and takes out a pen.

“Six, Almost seven years now. She was an intern for a while, she’s been writing for us for all that time. Recently, I wanted her to start dabbling in field assignments as a reporter, she wasn’t too keen on the idea but she agreed.”

She glances at the notepad as he quickly jots down little notes. “What was the assignment?”

“A press conference with a lot of the controversy regarding the parties who attended. Quite a few people who attended from some news stations and outlets like that started dying off. She doesn’t really do politics, but I asked her to write an article on it because she was there. On the morning of publication, she didn’t show up to work. The publication was at 8 so I had to look for it so we could publish it. She had been working on it for weeks but it was missing from the writer's archive, it looked like it was deleted. The physical copy was gone and her computer was too. That’s when I went to her house and she was gone...”

The deep furrow in Yoongi’s eyes has her swallowing the lump in her throat.

“She went missing the day the article was supposed to be published? Am I the first person you’ve told this to?” She nods.

“Why didn’t you tell the police about this? If she went missing the exact same day the article was to be published, that information changes the case. Knowing that others who attended this conference have died, there’s a chance she was being targeted because she was there as well.”

“I- I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it, I never would have thought she’d be targeted for posting a harmless article.”

“I’m going to assume she was being targeted because of the article, it makes the most sense. Someone at that conference didn’t want this to get out and they knew she was writing the article somehow.”

If her heart could sink any lower, it’d be in her feet. She should have never had you write that article, maybe you’d still be here if she had just listened to you. “What does this mean?”

“This city is filled with crooked people in power, there’s a chance that one of them were behind this,” He closes up the notepad and takes one sip of coffee, “I’ll do a little digging and see what I can find.” He pulls his jacket on and tucks a few dollars under his cup.

“Wait,” She stops him, “what can I do to help? I feel like this is my fault, if anything bad happened to her-”

“Don’t blame yourself for this, it could have happened to anyone. Secondly, if you could give me sources on everyone one at the conference; reporters, cameramen, moderators, anyone. Someone had to have witnessed something, and I need to talk to them.”

“Okay, I’ll work on that today.”

Police, detectives, forensic scientist, all the necessary individuals required to pursue a missing person case passed through the station, on their own assignments. One of the detectives on the officers on the case, Jaemin, slips into his office to take a call.

“Hello? Mr. Lee, I’m sorry I could get to you early,”

“That’s fine, I just had a quick question. That missing persons case, you all are getting ready to drop it right? I heard there was investigation still going on,”

“Yes, unfortunately, we have an outside source working on the case and I hear he’s good. But don’t worry, Minho, I can shake him.”

“I hope so, one little reporter shouldn’t have made a big case,” He sighs, annoyed at the thought, “she’s dead, the client got what he asked for. I want this case to close as soon as possible.”

“I hear you, I’ll make sure it happens,”

“Good.”

He hangs up the phone and glances at the man across from him, waiting for the hefty check owed for his handwork on his last job. With a deep sigh, Minho picks up a pen and writes the check quickly and tucks it in an envelope before handing it to him.

“Everything okay, boss?” Jimin takes the envelope with a peachy smile.

“Kim’s last case is causing some problems- Not an error on his part of course, the target was reported missing and an investigation is happening. It was a multiple target case but there was one target that’s just fucking it all up,”

Jimin makes a thoughtful face. “A female? Young?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” Minho crooks a brows.

“He doesn’t seem like the type but I don’t know, where’s the body?”

“He doesn’t disclose that type of information, I respect his decision to do that,” Minho sighs, looking through files of other guild members to match them with clients, “I can’t imagine it’s a pretty process,”

“Well, maybe-” He pauses, finding the thought a bit humorous, “Maybe she’s not dead, y’know, just a theory,” He purses his lips, “but maybe not, his record is so clean, I doubt he’d leave a witness to tell the tale of whatever he does to them. I don’t blame him,”

“He told me that she’s dead, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Well, if he won’t disclose the body, how can you be sure? And you said he killed the other targets and there’s evidence of that, why is she the only one gone missing?” Jimin makes a nonchalant observation and Minho starts to really think about it, could Taehyung be hiding something? That’s not like him, he’s one of his best. He’s never had to doubt Taehyung, every assignment he’s been given, he’s completed without flaw. He can’t believe Taehyung would do anything to put the organization in jeopardy, he won’t believe it.

“Jimin, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

The smell of blueberry pancakes tantalizes your senses, your eyes sleepily follow his movements from the fridge to the stove every few minutes. He’s making late breakfast because he said he was in the mood for some brunch. You finally get a glimpse at the tall stack of pancakes next to the griddle and you sigh, it looks so good.

A few days have gone by, and the sleeping arrangements have been different. Some nights, he’ll tell you you can sleep in the spare room and others he’ll have you sleep with him, it’s not entirely unpleasant when you’re with him. He makes you answer questions and tell him about your hopes, dreams, fears, and everything in between. Generally, he's been more lenient with you, not chaining you up so often, letting you roam around a little bit to get some exercise. Lately, he's felt more like your companion than your captor. You’re beginning to see parts of him that are so human. And you’re starting to believe that he’s not lying to you, he’s genuinely trying to protect you. It’s hard to believe that that’s where you’re head is.

He has music on, playing soft study-like songs that make you feel calm. You tried to keep from grinning, like you’d try to contain a cough in a quiet classroom. He sways to the rhythm gently, tapping his foot and flipping the fluffy breakfast treats. How he hums to the song absentmindedly, it reminds you of how Jin used to hum while studying or doing anything really. Taehyung’s voice is really nice, it’s smooth and comforting

“Y/n, come taste,” He turns and holds a fork up with a piece of pancake on it, beckoning you to come to have a bite. You go to him of course, happy to sample what you’ve been smelling for the past thirty minutes. When you come to stand by his side, eye-level with his shoulder, you wait for him to put a piece on a fork for you.

“Say ah,” He holds the fork to your mouth and as silly as you know you might look, you don’t care, you just wanna eat. Your mouth opens and your eyes go wide when it finally meets your taste-buds, “good?”

You nod, it’s as good as it smells. You wonder why you haven’t tried to cook like this for yourself before. Work seemed to consume you, you can admit that. Sometimes, a coffee would suffice as your breakfast. And at night, a drink and a burger with fries from the restaurant down the corner would satisfy you. But cooking, making something for yourself, it hasn’t happened in a while. You used to do it a lot when you first moved when you and Jin were spending a lot of time together. It’s different being by yourself, it’s sometimes easier to over-treat yourself with fast food or quick little meals from local places. Seldom do you get to enjoy a homemade meal made just for you. He’s smiling down at the two plates he’s making when you look up from your daze and for some reason, you feel shy but a little, happy?

No, stop it. You’re not supposed to feel happy, don’t allow yourself to sink further into that deceiving head-space. Into the space that makes him the source of humanity, the reminder that you’re alive. Finding yourself looking forward to seeing the light in his eyes, hearing the bass in his voice heavy on your ears. It feels good, you relish in it. Yes, you’re still trying to stay on his good side but these positive feelings, they feel too real.

“Let’s eat somewhere different today,” He gives you your plate with a cup of syrup, a fork, the works. “I think I need a change of scenery,”

You’re not sure where’s he’s planning to have this breakfast when he starts walking upstairs. For a moment, you think he’s going to his room but then he walks to the room where he’s yet to open since you’ve been here. Your stomach turns, you’ve been wondering what was behind this door.

When he opens the door, he waits for you to enter first, a smile ever so present on his face, he’s in such a good mood.

You walk inside and the size of the room alone is huge but you’re more surprised by the canvases propped against the wall. The white sheets spotted with colors and a bit bunched at the edges, it’s an art studio of some sort. Is this what he does when he’s home? There’s one canvas on a tall easel and it looks unfinished so he must’ve worked in here not too long ago.

He takes opens the French doors to the balcony and takes a seat on the floor. You do the same, holding your plate above your lap in the same way he’s holding his. The smell of the paint doesn’t bother you too much because of the fresh air, and the blueberry pancakes outweigh the smell as well. “Thank you for breakfast.” You whisper, now cutting into your three fluffy stacked pancakes, what you more interested in at the moment honestly.

“You’re welcome,” He grins to himself, “other than what I’ve been making, what do you like to eat? I’m getting groceries tomorrow,”

You don’t respond, too busy staring out the window in a daze and eating as if he weren’t there. He calls your name to get you to glance at him, just to make sure you can hear him. “Nothing,” You deadpan, “I’m okay...”

“There has to be something you want.”

“Fine,” You set your fork down, a little annoyed, “um, chocolate chip cookies, the ones with the chunks, and almond milk.” Hoping he’s satisfied with your answer, you finish the last bite of your food and continue to enjoy the view outside.

He takes your plate and sits it in on his so he can take it downstairs, leaving you to the peaceful room by yourself. You’re just now realizing how large his land is. There are other large homes nearby but they’re a fair distance away.

It’s been a while since you felt the sun on your bare skin or the soothing breeze dance past you. You’ve missed this, running in the early hours of the day when the air is just right. The first people you used to see were a handful of dedicated adults jogging, some accompanied by their dogs.

This paint room has a super tall ceiling, makes you feel like you’re in a museum. When you look at some of the paintings on the floor propped against the wall, you smile. It looks like he likes to paint faces, distinct expressions on faces. Then there are flowers, the basic artist subject. There’s a long wooden desk with paintbrushes, pens, pencils, paper, a lot of paint.

He comes back to the room, but his presence is oblivious to you for a little while, until his stumbles over a stray paintbrush and you look back at him.

He straightens up, his big eyes staring you down as he walks over to you. “Do you like to paint?”

“I’ve never really done it before, maybe when I was little but that’s about it,” You watch him open up a case and pick out a few brushes. He opens a few tubes of paint and squeezes a small amount on a pallet, then sets that down in front of you, “is that for me?”

“Mhm,” He nods. Gently taking the canvas that’s covered with a sheet from the easel, he puts it on the floor with some of the others. He opens up the closet to look for a nice-sized blank canvas for you to use. You pick up a brush and absentmindedly brush it against your skin to see how soft it is.

“Here we go,” He adjusts the canvas onto the easel, “come stand here,” He gestures to the little space directly in front of the easel and you oblige, curious.

“You want me to paint something?” You look back at him, a little confused.

“Yeah,” He stands next to you, staring at the blank canvas before looking at you, “only if you want to.”

This is probably the most interesting thing you’ve done since you got here, you figure he’s starting to trust you more. You take a moment to pick a brush, given you have little to no knowledge about this craft, you choose a random one. Not too big, not too small.

He watches you debate over which spot of paint you want to dip the brush in, you decide on blue. A dark blue with a little bit of white. At first, you try to draw a flower, something easy, but it proves to be harder than you anticipated. When you think the brush will make a nice little crescent shape for a petal, it makes an unappealing squiggle. As menial as it seems, its frustrating that it’s not coming out the way you envisioned in your mind. After about five minutes of trying to fix it, your patients get peeled down to its last layer.

“Ugh,” You withdraw your hand and just stare at the canvas, a deep frown on your face, “it’s not coming out right...”

“You have to give it a chance,” He gets up from the bar-stool he was sitting on in front of the desk, “take a step back, and think about something beautiful that little mistake could become.”

Giving up on your small brush, you squeeze a glob of paint on the pallet and exchange the brush for your fingers. He tilts his head when he sees you rub your fingers in the pallet and then drag your hands down the canvas. Coming up behind you, he tries to get a better look at what you're doing. You’ve dipped your hands in different blues and you covered the canvas completely, eyes focused.

Your hand stutters when you see his long fingers mimic the movement that you’d been doing. Being that his size nearly doubles your own, his chest is just centimeters from you. His arms comfortably reach the canvas, as if you weren’t an obstacle.

“What’re you doing...” You sigh, making gentle brushing motions alongside his, “This is my painting.”

“Oh, so you do want to do this?” His fingers stop all movement, “I didn’t think you cared that much, I’m sorry,” He pulls back, ready to wipe his hands but you grab his wrist with your paint-covered hand.

“I’m kidding,” He didn’t seem to mind getting the paint on his skin because he didn’t get upset, “you’ll probably make it look better anyway.”

It’s tearing you up. How this feels nice and how you don’t want him to stop. Just standing here, so close to him, and watching his fingers dance across the canvas, it’s torture. When your hands bump, both of you laugh and it makes a pretty burst of blue.

He dips his hand in the lightest shade on the pallet and presses it on the edges of the canvas before you let your hand fall from the art-work. It takes a minute, but he stops putting on the finishing touches and steps back to look it over.

“Hm,” He grabs two rags from the floor, giving one to you and keeping the other for his hands, “I like it.”

You try to wipe your hands clean but they still have a bluish tent. “What about this does something for you?...”

“I like capturing a moment in time, making my thoughts into something visual and tangible, it’s therapeutic.”

You stare at the painting in an attempt to see something poetic, or anything other than a bunch of blue paints smeared on a canvas. But in your futile attempt, the thought that he might think you’re enjoying this comes to mind, does he think you’re enjoying this? Giving you art supplies to keep your occupied like a little child, you shouldn’t be offended but it does feel a bit patronizing.

“That’s probably why you write, yeah?” He asks, leaning against the stool. “I’ve read all of your articles, you have a beautiful way of expressing yourself through words.”

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” You toss out an honest answer, “I wouldn’t call it therapeutic, but I do enjoy it...”

“I was hoping this room could be an outlet for you, somewhere for you to clear your mind.”

Lately you’ve been falling into theses moments of zoning out and you just feel like you’re losing your mind. But that’s when he comes behind you, wraps his arms around you and you instantly come back. And it goes like this, almost every day. He gets closer, you let him, and you start to feel more like he wants to trust you.

“What does our painting mean to you?” He shuffles you forward, getting you closer to the painting with his arms still secured around you.

“You tell me first,” You counter.

He takes a look, head tilting a bit, “It makes me think of my childhood, it wasn’t a very colorful one. I was taken from my mother as a toddler after the courts deemed her an unfit parent. She was in a bad place, had no business having a kid anyway.” He rests his head atop yours, mentally slipping into his past to reveal it to you.

“I was in foster homes until I was a teenager, went from house to house every few months. The people who'd come and take me home were either trying to get money from the state or looking for another helpless kid to work for them. I didn’t know it then but I wanted stability, I wanted someone that I could depend on but never got it. I ran away when I was a teenager and depended on my self and here I am.” You can hear a smile in his voice, but you’d dare to say it was pain out of pain.

“It’s all blue, blue can mean stability or loyalty, that’s how I see it.” He let’s his hands slide down your arms and back up to your shoulders to give them a squeeze. “Also, we made it together, so that’s special in itself. Now, your turn,”

“Um,” You purse your lips, “it’s nice...” You answer as if you didn’t know any other words, you’ve never been good with speaking anyway. You rather write paragraphs than ramble on.

“It is,” He agrees, “but how does it make you feel?”

“I don’t know,” You frown, pulling his arms off so you can walk off, “it’s just a painting.” It’s cold not having his arms around you but you reason that you need the shock.

You don’t want to start thinking deep, knowing about his past, sympathizing. You need to look like you don’t care. Does he buy it? Probably not, but sometimes he doesn’t like to force you to talk, it puts you in a foul mood and he notices.

“Just when I think you’re about to open up,” He tsks, shaking his head, “you remind me of the situation, and how you want so badly to make this uncomfortable for both of us.” His cheery mood is faded and you know you screwed this up.

You defend yourself nonetheless. “I’m not trying to make this uncomfortable for anyone, I’m already uncomfortable.”

“You’re such a liar,” He turns you to face him and steps in front of you to eliminate the space, “a bad one though.” You look up at him, trying not to let him intimidate you into backing down.

“I’m not lying.” Wow, that’s the best defense you could come up with.

“You are,” He pushes his hand through his hair, a stressed furrow in his dark brows, “I’m glad we ended up with each other, really I am. But when you act like this, I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a little,” He leans down, breathing against the apple of your cheek almost. “because I know it’s not how you really feel.”

Taking his time, he looks your face other, and this is what kills him the most. He gets so close to your face and everything in him wants you to lean in, he waits for the moment that you lean in and eliminate the space between you two.

Ding dong. You’re saved when the doorbell rings and you use this as your chance to slip away from him. He drops his head and sighs, this was bound to happen, he sort of regrets approaching you anyway. When he leaves he closes the door and leaves you wishing he was anyone else. You could hate anyone else right now.

When he checked the cameras on his phone, he was surprised to see that it was non-other than Park Jimin, what does he want? The bell rings for the second time and he rushes to silence it.

“Kim,” The man smiles, and Taehyung takes in his casual attire, meaning he was off today just like him, “I was beginning to think something happened to you,” His eyes intermediately go to Taehyung’s blue-tinted hands, “sorry to drop in unannounced like this.”

Taehyung makes an offended expression almost, he can’t hide his physical reaction to the concern, it seemed fake. “Didn’t have my phone on me, what do you need? It’s my day off,” His tone isn’t rude, but genuinely confused.

“I, uh,” Jimin rakes his mind for the story he’s supposed to tell, “my cuff-links! I left them in the bathroom that night,” His smile looks a bit too plastered, and when Taehyung doesn’t invite him in he let’s out a nervous laugh, “they’re expensive okay, rubies, can I grab’em?”

Taehyung opens the door wider so he can come in. He just hopes you have enough caution to stay hidden until Jimin leaves.

“So,” Oh no, he’s making conversation, “been doing some painting?” Jimin disappears into the small hall where the bathroom is to get his “cuff-links,” or so he says. Assuming Taehyung was hiding someone in the house, that evidence wouldn’t be in the guest bathroom. He has to stay in there a little longer, he hasn’t looked around well enough.

“I was,” He was trying to do a little more than that.

“Found’em,” He opens his hands to show the cuff-links that he planted just now, “Hey, can I get some water?”

“Sure,” Tae goes to the sink to wash his hands and Jimin leans on the large marble island, waiting patiently. Two plates. That’s the first abnormality that he notices. Two place-mats at the table and two sets on dishes in the sink, but it doesn't seem like he’s had any guest, there’s no car in the driveway.

“Y’know, I heard about that missing girl, one of your targets,” Jimin throws it out there, seeing if he’ll take the bait and give a reaction, “I bet that’s stressful.”

“It’ll blow over,” He opens the covert and takes out a glass, “how did you know she was my target?”

Damn, he shouldn’t have said that,

“You know I’m close with Minho, he mentioned it. He said it wasn’t your fault though, the investigators have an outside party helping, that’s why it’s not closing as fast. I have a little question for you,” He grins, “you don’t have to answer but Minho said it was a young girl, a writer, apart of a multiple target case, how did you do it?”

Taehyung sets the glass in front of him. “It doesn’t matter how I did it, as long as it’s done.”

“You’re as stiff as they come, Kim,” Jimin decides to lay off before Taehyung grows anymore suspicious, “I don’t do target eliminations but if I did, I would spill some details sometimes.” He takes a few gulps of water and looks at Taehyung who hasn’t stopped staring at him for the last few seconds.

“Well, thanks for the water,” He makes his way to the front door and Taehyung is more than happy to walk him out.

“You’re welcome,” He watches Jimin pass through the door and when he sees him get in his car, he closes the door with a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t go into his art studio for hours after Jimin leaves. He settles for busying himself with going over his next assignment over twenty times.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep this up, he never thought he’d get to this point. Something wasn’t right about that, Jimin isn’t his friend, and he’s never approached him like this—he knows something. When he makes his way upstairs, he tries to brush it off but here you are in his sanctuary to remind him.

“You were gone for a long time, who was that here earlier?” You mumble, barely sparing him a glance from your gaze off the balcony.

“No one you need to worry about,” He’s upset, that much you can tell, “I need you to go back to the basement for a little while, so you need to use the bathroom and eat.”

“What?” You can’t be hearing him correctly. “But why?...”

“Because I said so,” He stands in the doorway, arms crossed and posture uninterested, “let’s not have a repeat of last time,”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong...” The light drains from your eyes and anxiety pits in your stomach. “Is this because I wouldn't tell you what I felt about the painting?... Taehyung, I-”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” You walk inside and tears start to burn at your eyes instantly. You walk over to him and look to him with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll find it in his heart to change his mind. “Taehyung, I hate being down there, I’ll go to the other room, I won’t bother you...Please just don’t make me stay down there.” Tears stream down your cheeks and

“There’s an outside investigator who’s looking for you, the police are looking for you, and soon enough the man who hired me will be looking for you too. I’m trying to protect you and make you comfortable but you only like the benefits of getting close to me, you don’t actually appreciate that I’m giving you so much.” His tone is cold, no longer filled with that tinge of adoration and warmth.

“I do appreciate it!” You didn’t think he’d get so upset, you’re trying to save yourself now. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” He cuts you off, hands reaching for your arms but missing when you pull away. He grabs your arms with more than enough force and pulls you to him, and this time it hurts, “Don’t fucking pull away from me.”

“B- but,” You whine, wiping your tears as you try to comprehend why he’s acting like this all of a sudden. “Taehyung, please-”

“Shut up!” He lashes out, eyes dark and voice louder than it’s ever been before as his grip on you just tightens. “Stop whining like you’re hurting because you’ve made me feel a lot worse than this. You think I don’t notice what you’re doing? I’ve let you push and pull for as I could,” The volume in his voice seems to increase his physical size somehow and decrease your own, “but your little game isn’t fun anymore, I’m fucking sick of it now.”

“But I’m not-” You try to speak but he clamps a hand over your mouth and the horror of your worse nightmare washes over you. He’s trying to hurt you.

“Be quiet.” He walks forward until your back is pushed up against the wall, letting his hand fall from your mouth slowly so he can take your trembling wrist in his hands.

“All this time, there was so much I could have done, that I’ve wanted to do, but I’ve waited patiently...” By the way he keeps biting the inside of his cheek, it’s clear that he’s teetering on the edge of something.

“You’ve been starting to want it too and that’s why you push me away so hard, for some reason you like to deprive yourself.” He cracks a smile and looks up at you’re teary eyes, cooing at the sight of you falling apart.

“But you won’t admit that to yourself, or me. So, the best thing I can do for us is to lock you back up.” You shake your hand but he nods, a cynical glint in his gaze when you lean your head back to stop some of your tears.

“Why’re you shaking your head no? That’s what has to happen. Here’s how it’ll work; I’ll blindfold you so you don’t even have to see me and I won’t have to see those pretty eyes anymore. Maybe even gag you so I don’t have to hear your sweet little voice say another word. Then I’d have the pleasure of taking you upstairs and giving you a bath each and every day, you wouldn't want to see scary-Taehyung, right? So that blindfold will have to stay on. You’ll just have to trust that the only eyes and hands on you are my own. And every day I’d come down to feed you and you’d know that I’d make your life a living hell if you dared say one word. There would only be a hand full of sounds I would allow you to make,” He tilts his head, amazed by how much color had left your face.

“How does that sound? You wouldn’t have to be around the big scary-Taehyung anymore, is that what you want?”

Your lips tremble when you attempt to open your mouth and say something, it’s too scary. He’s scary. All this time, you’ve been waiting this out, trying so hard to stay calm and get close, but not too close. And this is the result.

“Answer me.” You shake your head, fearing the sobs that would erupt from your mouth if you spoke. But he doesn’t care, “Ah-ah, I’m not gonna treat you like a little baby just yet, answer me with your words.”

“N- no...” You push out your answer, chest heaving from trying to breathe through your cries.

“No,” He scoffs, mocking your answer, “well had you been the target for anyone other than me, that’s what would have happened to you. You either trust me, or you don’t, you can’t have it in the middle anymore.” Hands still firm on your arms and knee still anchored against you so you can’t move, it’s suffocating. “You have to choose, do you trust me or not?”

“I- I trust you...” You sniffle, nose burning red and your sight blurred from your tears.

“Ah, I don’t believe you,” He drops his hands from you, “I think you need to learn your lesson in the basement until I think you can be honest-”

“No!” You throw your arms around his waist and wail into his chest like a baby. “I- I trust you! I do, please don’t put me down there-” You hiccup, “I’m sorry, I really do trust you, I know you’re only trying to protect me, I get that now. I- I just want to stay with you, I wanna be with you.”

You want to be with him, a sentence he never thought he’d hear you say. He was just trying to scare you into revealing your true feelings but he didn’t expect you to cave that fast. He returns your affection, wrapping his arms around you gently. “Yeah, that’s what you really want?” You nod vigorously, your grip around him so tight it would take a hundred men to pull you off.

“Yes,” You look up at him, and just the quick, the Taehyung that you know is back. Those soft eyes, that gentle smile that wants nothing but to see you smile, make you happy. This is the only Taehyung you ever want to see.

He caresses your hair, pushing it back from your flushed face. The way you’re staring up at him, it makes him feel like you’re the only people in the universe and he’s swimming in a galaxy made of the stars in your eyes. He wants to eliminate that little space. But you beat him to it. You’re on your tippy-toes and that pesky little space is eliminated and he plunges face-first into the seventh heaven that is you. You have to show him and yourself that you trust him, you want to prove it. Your eyes are sealed tight and you’ve given up all control in favor of him doing as he pleases.

“Mh,” He leans down to lessen your reach and puts your hands around his neck. Breathless, his lips start to tingle and he bites down to regain a more familiar feeling. You’re so soft, just like he imagined. It’s all too much but not enough all at once.

He carried you away with loving arms, leaving all of his feelings to tip over like a bucket of paint and spill over the blue-stained sheets

* * *

“Hey boss, I went to his place this morning,” Jimin finally got the call from Minho, “did I see anything? Not really. There were two placemats at the table, two sets of dishes, it kind of looked like he had someone over but there was no one that I could see. Maybe he had someone over last night, I don’t really know,”

“Did you ask about the target?”

“I did, but he gave me a bland answer. He said it doesn’t matter how it’s done as long as it’s done, his usual, sorry I couldn’t be more of more help,” Minho thanks him for his efforts before hanging up the phone.

“I’m just so scared for her,” She plucks her third tissue from the box in front of her, “I haven’t slept in days.”

Jin drove all this way to sit with your mother, he called her and she said her husband out on business. He couldn’t imagine being alone when your child is missing, the thought alone hurt.

“It’ll be alright,” Jin sits at with your mother, who at one point he thought had a chance of being his mother-in-law. “They’re doing everything they can to find her, she’s a fighter.” He grasps her hand.

“I know,” She sighs, crumpling up the tissue and throwing it in the bin, “you came all this way, have you eaten? I feel like cooking something.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you-”

“Please, I know you have the same favorite meal as Y/n, let me make it for you.”

“Alright, thank you,” He smiles, watching her leave to the kitchen with a bit more light in her eyes. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he slips it out.

Min Yoongi: I talked to Suzy today and I can almost guarantee that her being missing is related to the handful of reporters who died at a conference she attended a few months ago. Why she was the only person that went missing makes me suspect an alternative motive. I’ll update you if anything changes.

Yoongi slips his phone back in his pocket and walks into the police station, it’s late but he hopes the cop over your case is still in. When he walks up to the front desk and asks, the receptionist points him into the direction of the person he’s looking for.

“Min,” The man smiles, extending his hand and dropping his conversation with the Sargent in front of him.

“Cha Eunwoo, so you’re the lucky guys on this case,” Yoongi has known Eunwoo since his days at the academy. He went FBI and Eunwoo went police department, both choosing paths that fit them the best in the end.

“Yeah,” He scratches the back of his neck, dismissing the guy he was talking to, “I know you’re working alongside us, a personal favor?”

“Something like that, is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Yoongi doesn’t notice, but there’s a pair of lingering eyes that watch him and Eunwoo moves to his office.

“What’s going on?”

“I talked with the girl's supervisor today,” Yoongi walks around the desk, looking out at the pretty sunset, “I was informed that she went missing the exact same day an article of hers was supposed to be published. This article held details from the conference that have never been revealed. The article's physical and digital copies are gone. Cha, this doesn’t seem like you’re average missing persona case, there’s something bigger going on,” he rests his hands on his hips, bottom-lip tucked between his teeth. “I don’t want to tell her family that just yet, not until I’m sure.”

“You know what,” Eunwoo makes a thoughtful expression, “you could be right. There has been speculation around this case that the abduction was planned for a while now, I think for her sake we should look into that. Thank you Min, this could really change the nature of this case and it’s probably gonna get bigger, especially if we bring the parties at the conference into question.”

Jaemin was hanging outside of the hallway but runs to the restroom when he hears footsteps approach the door. When he’s sure there’s no one else in the stalls he frantically pulls out his phone and makes a call.

“Hello?”

“The case is about to blow up, the PI is onto us and I think the organization is about to be in jeopardy.”

“Damn it,” He sighs, “what do you suggest we do?”

“You have to tell Kim to reveal the body.”

#taehyung smut #taehyung stalker au #taehyung angst #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts angst #bts au #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung assassin #bts assassin au #don't breathe

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Mature

Warning: Mention of whipping

A/N: My plan is to post each chapter (7 in all) daily so thank you @everlarkficexchange ; @javistg and @xerxia31 for always being so accommodating and generous with your time. A special thank you to my beta and bestie @sunsetsrmydreams.

~~~

Chapter 2

Dad and I make a great team working harmoniously alongside each other and it’s not hard to notice the difference in him in the short space of time. He seems less pressured and the warm smile I remembered as a small boy has returned. Whether in the kitchen or serving customers, I’ve realised just how connected I am to this place.

I delight in friendly conversation but avoid answering any questions relating to The Hunger Games which most of our customers respect. What I enjoy doing the most is preparing for the morning ahead and kneading fresh bread dough in the back room has become a tranquil sort of therapy for me.

In the mindless quiet, I can block everything out giving me time to sort the shiny stuff in my head until I’m left with what’s real. This might not be a proven method of mind-therapy, but it works for me most of the time by sifting through all my cluttered thoughts so I can make better decisions for me and my future.

And I need that now more than ever.

Mother, in her usual meddling ways was quick to invite the Cartwright family to dinner and insisted Delly and I go out for a walk alone to get to know each other. As it turned out, she’s good company and I enjoy having someone to talk to, although she does most of the talking herself.

Now we meet almost every evening.

Delly’s a nice girl, just like mother said and I know I need to start thinking about a lot of things especially my future, but she keeps hinting at speeding up our friendship and I don’t think committing myself to her in that way is something I’m ready for.

In the few weeks Delly and I have been seeing each other, things have moved rather quickly from our casual walks after dinner. She’s pretty and sweet but I’m only fooling myself into thinking I could ever let another claim my heart.

Each time our lips meet, I close my eyes tight and imagine it’s someone else I’m kissing. I feel awful but I just can’t stop imagining grey eyes and a dark braid.

I’ve tried talking to Delly, suggest we slow things down and just get to know each other as friends, but she makes a habit of changing the subject at the slightest hint.

Far from being pure and the shy girl my mother claims her to be, Delly has on more than one occasion, suggested we move up from chaste kisses under the moonlight to something more intimate. Her hands always seem to wander, telling me how good she can make me feel once I let go of my inhibitions. But each time she brushes her fingers against my belt buckle, I quickly step away and end the night abruptly with my ‘it’s getting late’ excuse and walk a very disappointed Delly home.

Any normal hot-blooded male would have easily jumped at the invitation and I can almost hear my brothers smart arse remarks telling me what an idiot I am and saying something crude like ‘try before you buy’ or ‘never look a gift horse in the mouth’, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I always imagined my first time would be meaningful, not just some frivolous teenage romp at the slag heap.

Maybe I am a complete idiot.

***

Hoping to gain some reprieve from the mounting list of questions in my head today, I busy myself by preparing the rest of the dry ingredients for another batch of baking but the unusual noise level coming from outside is becoming a distraction.

When I hear raised and panicked voices, I wipe my hands on my flour-dusted apron before covering everything on the bench with a clean cloth and head towards the shop front.

Walking through the swinging doors, curious to see what all the commotion is about, I see my parents peering out the shop front window speaking in hushed tones and so engrossed with what’s happening outside, they haven’t even noticed me entering the room.

“What’s going on out there?” I ask, and they both startle at my words.

Dad turns to me first, his face noticeably pale and pauses to swallow before speaking, “Jake Blacksmith came by a minute ago and he…umm…said Head Peacekeeper Thread has ordered everyone out to the square,” he answers, taking a quick glance towards my mother who stands stoically and uncharacteristically silent.

“Thread is claiming he caught a traitor trying to sneak back into the district to spy for the rebels. The punishment has been set at fifty lashes,” dad finishes with a harder swallow and a noticeable sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

The image of Thread using his whip to tear into flesh from the back of some poor citizen while everyone in Twelve is expected to bear witness to his cruel and barbaric form of corporal punishment, sends a cold shiver up my spine.

Since he’s arrival, our new Head Peacekeeper was quick to impose strict laws forbidding practically everything his predecessor Harvey Cray conveniently overlooked…for a price. Now, anyone caught disobeying these laws usually find themselves tied to the newly-erected wooden post in the town square without trial or appeal and the punishment is always the same.

Being flogged within an inch of your life is Thread’s answer to law and order and the brute even insists on inflicting every lash on his unfortunate captives himself.

The first citizen of Twelve to feel the sting from the Head Peacekeeper’s cat o’ nine tails was Zed Palmer, a tailor with no male heirs to take over his business. That, along with severe arthritis in his hands meant he could no longer work to pay the hefty taxes now enforced and those who witnessed the flogging were grateful Zed was dead well before his fifty lashes was reached. Most disturbing was Thread not being satisfied until the last lash was counted.

I hope whoever this unfortunate citizen is, their suffering too will end long before the count to fifty is reached.

I move closer to the door and watch mother step out onto the street to join Delly and her parents who are in deep conversation while more people leave their shops and head towards the town square in hurried steps.

“A traitor?” I huff and shake my head in disbelief as I watch Merchants lock their shop front doors obeying Thread’s authoritarian command. “I doubt anyone in their right mind would want to come back if they had the chance at freedom,” I tell dad. “They should have kept running as far away from here and never looked back,” I add, expecting him to agree with me but he stares into the distance and offers nothing in response.

A moment of awkward silence falls between the two of us and the strange look on dad’s face gives me pause, but I let the weird feeling pass. As I turn to step back into the kitchen and carry on with my work, he speaks in an afterthought manner, “must’ve had a good reason to risk it all,” he says looking at me strangely, but I don’t say anything and give him a nod acknowledging his comment at least. Still, it doesn’t alter my way of thinking. If there was a choice between freedom or here…?

No…nothing would be worth it.

I take another glance outside at the passing townsfolk all walking in the same direction towards the town square like a herd of frightened sheep. But my attention is more centred on mother who stepped outside to speak with the Cartwrights and are conversing in lowered voices, sending the odd stare my way.

That cold shiver I was feeling earlier returns and it runs through me like ice.

I wave politely to the Cartwrights, but they ignore my friendly gesture and after a few brief seconds decide to join the rest of the Merchant population gathering in the town square.

What could be more horrid than being forced to witness a fellow citizen of Twelve…or anyone for that matter, whipped to a pulp?

I try to block the image from my thoughts. I’ve seen enough horrors to last me a lifetime and I’m a little disappointed Delly’s parents seem eager to join the growing crowd.

Delly gives me a half-smile as she continues to speak with my mother and the looks I’m receiving from them both increases my uneasiness.

I can’t shake this feeling of dread and turn back to dad who’s staring out in the distance, his facial expression looking lost. “Something isn’t right,” I mutter under my breath, and even though I spoke in a hushed tone, I know dad heard me.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” I ask, knowing if anyone is going to give me a truthful answer, it will be him. Dad’s straightens his back and shoulders almost immediately and when his eyes meet mine, his chin begins to tremble.

“Dad?” I ask, holding in a shaky breath.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, dad looks away from me and gives my question a moment’s pause before nodding, almost as though he’s giving himself permission to speak.

“Jake said Katniss disappeared with her family and the Hawthorne’s a couple of days ago and everyone thought they’d escaped to the woods to join up with the rebels, but she was caught trying to sneak back in this morning…alone. She’s tied to the whipping post. Fifty lashes.”

I stand dumbstruck. This can’t be true.

“No…Jake’s mistaken! He must’ve heard wrong!”

The curtains in Katniss’s room have been drawn for two days now and I haven’t heard her scream out in the night. I just assumed she and Gale—

I clear that image from my mind as I try to process everything in my head and look out to see my mother shouting at dad to shut up and what a worthless idiot he is while Delly stands in silence, watching me.

Over my mother’s angry and verbal abuse, dad continues to speak, “I wished to God he was wrong but Jake saw Katniss being dragged up on the wooden platform and I have no reason to doubt him. He’s a good, hard-working honest man and wouldn’t make something like this up.”

This I know to be true.

Dad reaches his hand to my shoulder, but I don’t feel the touch as the world around me starts to spin and I feel like I’m about to pass out. I’m so caught in a daze I don’t even know if I’m still breathing or if my heart is beating at this point. How I managed to step outside without tripping over my own feet is beyond me.

I need to get to her.

Delly breaks her silent stare and rushes towards me with a look of determination on her face and reaches her hand out to try and stop me, “she’s not worth risking your own life Peeta…think about us!” she pleads, and her words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Us?

Was it her intention to keep me from knowing what was happening to Katniss until it was all over? Is that what they were all trying to do? I can understand my mother wanting to keep me from rushing to Katniss…but Delly?

I brush past Delly ignoring her pleas to stop. I can’t even bring myself to look at her right now and only get a few steps away before mother is in front of me, grabbing a firm hold of my arm and blocking me from running to the square.

“Let go of me!” I say through gritted teeth, as anger starts to build up inside me.

“You’ll kill us all by drawing attention to yourself and for what? She’s nothing but Seam trash!” My blood boils and just like Delly’s words, I don’t let the venom spilling from mother’s mouth stop me from getting to Katniss.

Mother wouldn’t understand…nobody would. Despite everything, I made a promise to protect Katniss and I know she’d do the same for me.

“I forbid you to go! Your future is with Delly not that dirty whore in the square getting exactly what she deserves!” she yells but I yank my arm away from her tight grip.

“My future is not for you or anyone else to decide…it’s mine!” I shout defiantly.

“You’re a fool! She’s as good as dead already!” I hear mother yell as I run towards the square.

***

I silently curse my legs for failing to get me to the square any faster and when I finally reach the cobble-stoned ground, I’m feeling ragged and short of breath.

Crack!

Don’t let it be her! Don’t let it be her! I repeat those words over in my head as I try to catch my breath and refill my lungs with much needed air.

Crack!

I hurry my steps…breath be damned and as I approach the sea of faceless people both Seam and Merchant standing side by side to watch the sickening spectacle, I begin to push my way through.

Hands reach out to stop me and I hear their gasps and pleading whispers not to venture any further, but I need to see with my own eyes.

Crack!

I feel my blood drain from my body, but I continue to edge my way closer to the wooden platform and as I do, my legs begin to weaken as soon as I reach the first step. Climbing the next two seems like I’m moving in slow-motion and when my eyes lock on the gruesome sight before me, I cry out her name in a pathetic wail.

“Katniss!”

What has he done to you?

My heart plummets at the sight of her limp body, hanging like a piece of butchered meat. Her hands are bound together by a thick piece of rope tied to a large hook above her head. Katniss’ braid is messy and mattered with loose and bloodied strands of hair covering her bruised face and when my eyes look closer to her bare back, rage envelops and I almost lose what little is left of my self-control.

The shirt Katniss wore has been ripped in half exposing the upper part of her petite frame including her breasts for all to see. The raised marks and torn flesh from the countless number of lashes she’s already received, seeps with so much blood I swallow back the bile rising from my throat.

I was too late to save her.

My eyes well up from tears rolling down my cheeks and I gasp for breath between my uncontrollable sobs. I shut my eyes tight praying this is a horrible nightmare and I’ll wake up in my bed, walk the usual steps to my window and see her alive and pacing about in her bedroom. But when I open them again, there’s no mistake.

This nightmare is real.

I feel my legs start to buckle from beneath me and I slowly kneel to the ground to stop myself from falling. I don’t know how to fix this…what can I do? She shouldn’t be here. Dad said she ran away.

Why did she come back?

Endless questions whirl around my head consuming me along with the grief and the realisation I’ll have to live the rest of my worthless life knowing I failed in my promise to keep Katniss safe.

Loud voices bring me back to the now just in time to see Thread’s arm raised, poised and ready to inflict another lash to her lifeless body.

Even in my grief-stricken state, the feeling of deep loss and sorrow is overtaken by a sudden rush of strength and courage from within and it propels my body forward to block Thread and his whip from finding their mark.

‘No!” I cry out. This Capitol brute will have to go through my dead body first before I let him touch her again.

“Well, well, well…who do we have here?” Head Peacekeeper Thread remarks loudly and when I look up, I see him grinning with mutt-like eyes staring down at me.

“Looks like this traitor scum has a bedfellow eager to play white knight. She must have some hidden talents worth risking your life for,” he suggests crudely, wiping the sweat and blood from his face with the palm of his hands…Katniss’ blood.

The distinct sound of Peacekeepers heavy tread come barrelling towards me, then hands roughly try to pry me from where I lay clinging to Katniss.

“Can’t you see she’s dead!” I yell, shoving their hands away to stop them from breaking my protective hold over her body. “She’s been punished enough. What more do you want from her?” I shout to the point of hysteria, not caring if my question will be answered with a lash to my back or a bullet to my brain.

“It’s the other Victor, Peeta Mellark, sir,” a voice I recognise answers from behind me. My eyes dart slightly to the left and even through the darkened visor of his white peacekeeper’s helmet, I know it’s Darius Jackson, one of a dozen or so decent soldiers stationed here in Twelve, clearing his throat and standing at attention.

“He’s also the youngest son of the town baker, sir,” he adds.

Head Peacekeeper Thread storms over to Darius and barks out a chilling warning, “you speak one more time without my permission Corporal Jackson, and I will take great pleasure in cutting out your tongue and feeding it to the jabberjays. Do I make myself clear?” Thread emphasises loudly.

“Yessir!” Darius is quick to respond as he stands at attention.

“Now I don’t care who he is, get him off this platform! I’ll deal with the gallant knight once I’m done here,” Thread orders and Darius obeys, saluting him first before stepping towards me with his head lowered.

“He can help you keep count while he waits his turn,” Thread adds coldly, as he inspects the leather handle of is whip.

Keep count?

I have no idea how many lashes Katniss received before I got here and the thought of counting them down much less being forced to watch helplessly as Thread carries on with her punishment is more than I choose to bear.

I jostle with Darius and the other two peacekeepers who stepped forward to help him pull me away from her body. It takes all three peacekeepers to overpower me and pry my hands away forcing me to separate from Katniss.

Weakened by my struggles and overtaken by grief, they drag me away and all I can do is cry out and tell Katniss how sorry I wasn’t here to protect her and that I’ll always love her. Just as those words leave my lips she moves and moans in pain.

She’s alive!

“Stop! Please! I’ll take the rest of her punishment!” I scream, finding a new source of strength and scuffle myself free from the heavy-handed grips of the peacekeepers.

“Whatever you think she did…whatever the count, I volunteer to take them all. Just let her go!” I demand and as my words ring out, loud murmurs coming from the crowd distract Thread for a moment before turning his attention back to me.

“How very noble of you,” Thread snickers. “But your request is denied. This runaway whore was sent here by the rebels and she refuses to disclose her mission and the whereabouts of her leader’s hideout. Now move knight!” he commands, and when I don’t budge he raises his arm and I instinctively throw myself over Katniss to shield her and the pain is instant.

Crack!

The pointed leather straps strike my shoulder blade before I have a chance to brace myself for the blow. Even against the fabric of my shirt, the lash rips through the worn calico barrier as if it were made of paper. My skin underneath feels like I’ve been stung by a nest full of tracker jackers…but I don’t budge.

With clenched fists I try to ignore the painful stinging sensation and the warm, watery feeling that is probably my blood trickling down my shoulder and stay on top of Katniss’ body to block Thread from getting to her.

“She doesn’t know anything! She’s not a rebel spy!” I yell at the top of my voice, pleading with Thread to stop but when I hear the distinctive cocking of his pistol I know my desperate pleas are about to be silenced with a bullet.

“You’ve tried my patience long enough knight. Obstructing a Peacekeeper from carrying out his duty and interfering with a prisoner’s sentence is punishable by death and you are guilty as charged!” Thread bellows and the gasps and murmurs of discontent from the crowd grows louder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” an all too familiar voice shouts out from amongst the crowd and I’ve never been happier to hear his gruff tone.

Daring to look, I see Haymitch with hands raised, step up to the platform and inch his way closer to me and Katniss. If he is disturbed by what he sees, he doesn’t show it and keeps his eyes pinned on the Head Peacekeeper.

It takes Thread a split second to shift his pistol from the direction of my head, to our mentor’s instead and I’m holding onto my breath in trepidation of what may happen next.

Katniss murmurs something then moans in pain from her bloodied wounds as she tries to move and my attention falls back on her. But all I can do is gently stroke the only place I know Thread’s lashes haven’t ravaged.

With shaking hands, I stroke her hair and push a few loose strands away from her face before bringing my lips to her ears to hush her, “shush…it’s going to be okay. I won’t let him touch you again,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me. My only focus now is calming her as best I can so I start to comb my fingers through her hair while silently praying Haymitch can get us out of this hellish mess.

“I don’t think President Snow is going be too pleased when he hears what you’ve done to one of his newest Victors,” he tells Thread who keeps his pistol aimed at Haymitch’s head.

“Stripping you of your command would be my first guess. I’ll let you do the math as to what my second guess would be?”

Whatever game Haymitch is playing at to set us free better work because right now, I’m not feeling confident as he stares down the barrel of Thread’s pistol.

The Head Peacekeeper lowers his weapon just long enough to grab Haymitch by his jacket, bringing his face so close to Haymitch and of all the things to cross my mind at this crucial point, I’m wondering if he can smell the alcohol on our mentor’s breath.

“My allegiance is to General Maximus Jackson and I answer only to him not that old fool in the Capitol,” Thread informs him, then shoves Haymitch back raising his pistol towards his head again.

Haymitch unperturbed, regains his footing and straightens his jacket, “oh, so Maxy Jackson is your boss? Well, it’s a small world after all,” he remarks flippantly.

“Your General and I are old drinking buddies and we go way…way back. I’m sure he won’t be too thrilled when he finds out you’ve whipped a Victor within an inch of her life,” he quips to Thread who glares at him with displeasure in his eyes.

“Now who do you suppose Maxy reports to…huh?” he pauses just long enough to take a breath and when Thread isn’t forthcoming with the obvious answer, Haymitch supplies it for him.

“I’m gonna take it you’re still working it out in your head but let me help you out here. President Coriolanus Snow…that’s who. He’s probably watching us from the Capitol. Eyes and ears everywhere you know,” he says, waving his hand randomly about the square.

Thread takes a quick look around the square then turns his attention back to our mentor, “my men caught her sneaking under the fence. She’s a rebel spy!” Thread yells but Haymitch is quick to respond to his preposterous accusation.

“Katniss Everdeen may be a lot of things but a rebel spy isn’t one of them! Everyone around here knows she hunts outside the perimeter for wild game…technically illegal yes, but she’s done so out of necessity to help feed her family. She sells whatever’s left at the hob, which you and your peacekeepers seem to have overlooked while enjoying the fruits of her labour with the fresh meat you buy to fill your own stomachs,” Haymitch reminds Thread, and I hear voices from the crowd bravely agreeing with our mentor.

“We all know you’re a smart man, but have you taken a moment to think what the consequences you alone as Head Peacekeeper will be expected to pay if you kill Snow’s Victors, not to mention how all this will impact on our mutual friend, the General? I think the best thing you can do for yourself right now is to let them both go and pray the girl doesn’t die from her injuries,” Haymitch strongly advises.

Silence fills the square as the crowd hold their collective breaths and wait for Thread to react and just when I think all hope is lost, Haymitch gives it one last-ditched effort to free us.

“The President had Cray removed…permanently, what makes you think he won’t do the same to you?”

The colour on Thread’s face turns a scorching red but he tries to remain unaffected by Haymitch’s comment. No matter who gave the order, Cray was relieved of his command the day Thread and the new troop of peacekeepers under his command drove into Twelve in their heavy-armoured combat vehicles.

Cray’s disappearance is a grim reminder of the absolute power President Snow holds over every citizen including his peacekeepers.

No one is safe…not even a Head Peacekeeper.

The silent tension is immediately broken when a peacekeeper rushes up to the platform, panting heavily and carrying a radio transmitter device. He salutes nervously first then informs Thread that General Jackson is on the other end wanting to speak with him without delay.

Thread snatches the device from the out-of-breath peacekeeper’s hand and strides to the corner of the wooden platform. Even from this short distance, his General’s voice can be heard shouting from the other end of the device. After a much one-sided conversation, it ends in less than a minute.

The order for everyone, including us to clear the square, is bellowed out before Thread marches off the platform and into his armoured vehicle where it speeds back towards the peacekeepers barracks.

I untied Katniss’ hands from the large hook the moment Thread finished barking out his order and when she flops into my arms and begins to whimper, my first thought is to cover her half-naked body with my apron which starts to blot with blood.

There’s no time to waste and with Katniss safely in my arms, I start to make my way off the platform in long even strides. Haymitch is there to guide me carefully down the steps before we make our way through the gathered crowd who strangely offer me sympathetic looks as they move to the side giving me a clear path.

This in itself is a strange occurrence but I don’t have time to analyse. There are some things I want to ask Haymitch but before I get a chance to open my mouth, he’s in my ear.

“That sadistic bastard! Thankfully for us Thread’s not too bright,” Haymitch claims. “Now listen to me very carefully boy and don’t ask questions…there’s not much time,” he begins, looking cautiously over his shoulders.

“I could wring that hot-head Hawthorne’s neck. He knew sweetheart would never leave without—” he stops mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Nevermind…none of that’s important right now,” he adds and although our mentor is talking in riddles, one thought sticks in the forefront of my mind.

If Gale Hawthorne was responsible for this in anyway and by some slim chance we cross paths in the near future…he’s a dead man.

“Take Katniss back to your house and stay there until I come for you both,” I go to protest, not exactly sure why I think it would be a bad idea, but Haymitch speaks again before I have a chance to utter a word.

“Don’t argue with me! Things are going to move quick from here on end, and I need you both ready and in the one place when all hell breaks loose. Just stay alert!” he emphasises strongly. “Your house is the safest place for both of you…no listening bugs there, I’ve made sure.”

Be ready; stay alert; no bugs; when what happens? I don’t have a clue what any of that means and maybe it’s best I don’t…for now.

What little he does tell me, I already figured out for myself. Without Katniss’ healer mother and sister Primrose, who escaped along with the Hawthorne family, there’s isn’t anyone in Twelve qualified to attend to her wounds, but when Haymitch mentions sending someone he thinks could help, I’m quick to refuse the offer.

I won’t let a stranger near her.

“No! I’ll take care of Katniss myself,” I interject. “I know you have connections in the black-market, and I don’t mean Ripper. She’ll need the right kind of medicine and I’ll pay double whatever the going rate is…more if need be. Tell them to name their price and I’ll pay it! Just bring me everything you can lay your hands on, anything to fight infection and something strong for the pain,” I instruct with urgency as we make our way out of the square.

I may not be a healer, but I know the basics and keeping wounds clean is the first step to healing. That much I learnt from Katniss.

Haymitch taps me on the shoulder and I wince, my body reminding me of the single lash I received from Thread trying to protect Katniss.

“Keep your money boy. I’ll get you everything sweetheart needs and if she lives through this, it will be a bloody miracle,” he says before hurrying off, and the insides of my stomach twists with his response.

She has to live.

#Springtime Edition 2020 #submission #justajjfan #prompt 83

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nite-shay · 4 years

Text

His Hero Part 3 -Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

AN: I am so so so so so sorry for how long this took! :/ I wish I had a valid excuse for this but I don’t… I hope ya’ll enjoy it!

Links: Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3

Also side note I know I’m messed up a few little things but I will edit tomorrow as I go through it. Its late D: But I promised myself I would post this today.

******

Two days…

Two long, boring desk duty days.

Kirishima sighed loudly as he signed and initialed what had to be the same form for the tenth time in the same case file!

Ah, bureaucracy of the hero world at its finest.

Now UA prepared him for a lot of things.

How to use his quirk fully, fighting villains, saving people, etc.

But one thing they didn’t prepare him for was the amount of paperwork that came with his hero career.

Hmm… maybe that’s why they gave so much homework…

Sign. Initial. Sign. Checkmark. Checkmark. Sign. Date. Wait, was he suppose to sign here or there? Crap, is that the right date? Did he just date everything wrong?! No wait, false alarm, the date is correct.

His chair gave a loud creak as he stretched his back, glancing up at the clock. He’d been at this for hours now, and he still hadn’t even made a dent in the wall of folders on his desk.

His mind started to wander as he stared up at the clock hands that he swore he saw moved backward a few times.

I wonder how (Y/N) doing…

It was crazy how badly he wanted to call up to the hospital and check on you, but… he was nervous. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he’s some creepy ex stalker who you literally barely knew you.

He just… was worried about you. He wasn’t looking for another hookup! No, no, no! He just wanted to see how you were. He did care about you, not in a creepy way just in a general way!

Luckily he wasn’t completely in the dark about your condition, thanks to his green-haired bro. The morning after the robbery, Kirishima woke up to a thoughtful text on your condition. He even got an update on your son, who loved his news toys and played hard with them till he passed out in his mother’s arms.

God, he wished he could have seen it.

He sighed loudly before tossing the file in the ‘completed’ section while reaching for the next one. He blinked as he lifted up the hefty folder.

It was the toy store robbery.

Damn, this was going to be a long one—numerous villains, along with multiple injured civilians and a fair bit of collateral damage. This was going to take the rest of the day. Thankfully, though, Fatgum should be just getting back from lunch, and the store just had a damn good security system installed last week.

“Well, would ya look at that? I guess paper really does beat rock.” A slightly slimmer Fatgum chuckled as he walked in their shared office, arms full of takeaway bags.

“Ha Ha,” Kirishima laughed sarcastically, glancing over to the older hero. “Got enough food, Toyo?”

“I used quite a bit of energy yesterday on that emergency call. Gotta bulk back up.” He dumped the food on to the small table across the room. “Plus, we’re going to be here a while when those reports.”

“Yeaaaaah. Just got to the toy store one. Did the detective ever send the surveillance footage over?”

“Yeap, got it this morning. Check your email. I think you’re on it too.“

"Sweet. I’ll load it up.”

“And I got the snacks,” He grinned as he held up one of the bags.

After some quick furniture rearrangement, two sat side by side in their chairs, video buffed, snacks to side, pen and paper at the ready for notes. This was still work after all. They chose to use the blondes’ monitor since it was bigger. He had seniority, so he typically got the good stuff, which the redhead was cool with.

The first 20 minutes of the video was pretty boring so then ended up fast-forwarding until a familiar pair entered the frame.

It was you and your son. The two of you were slowly making your way down the sidewalk towards the store. Kirishima, who’d previously been slouched and looking rather bored, was not hyper-focused on the screen in front of them. Which didn’t go unnoticed by his mentor, who just snickered quietly to himself.

“Look! There they are!” The younger hero couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two you. You had a sly smile on while your son, who was looking rather frustrated, said something to you. He watched as your lips moved, but nothing came from the speakers. What were the two of you talking about?

Damn, he wished there was audio.

“They look pretty happy, don’t they?” Fat gum comment just as you pointed to the shop, the kids’ faces lit up like a Christmas tree. The kid wasted no time as he grabbed your hand and dragged you inside the store.

“Yeah, they really do.” Kirishima grinned as he pressed a key, switching the view to inside. The redhead beamed as the two of you bounced from isle to isle, your son getting physically more and more excited.

Something churned in him.

Something that’s been happening here a lot recently. He noticed it a few weeks ago.

How his gaze would linger on families he’d pass down the street or on Bakugou as he interacted with his daughter. He really didn’t know what it was at first and just tried to ignore it.

But when he ran into you and your son two days ago, those emotions were brought to the forefront. And these last two days of drowning himself in work wasn’t just to get you off his mind. It was to drown out his feelings.

He… wanted this…

A wife…. A kid… A family…

Not that he doesn’t have a family! He’s still got both of his parents plus his sister he talks to on a pretty regular basis. He’s also really close with his friends to the point where he thought of them as family. Hell, his literal best friend lives right next door to him. You’d think he has it all?

A loving and supportive family. Amazing friends. An awesome career that is literally his dream.

Sounds fantastic, right?

But sometimes, after the long hard days. His apartment just felt empty.

He was greeted with a quiet (Bakugou’s yelling is more like background noise to him now) home.

No one to greet him when he gets home after a long day.

No one to just cuddle and share thoughts with. Even the stupid or random ones.

No one to share meals with while they go over plans or talk about their days.

No one to have petty arguments with like who ate all the cereal and didn’t put it on the list, who left the cap off the toothpaste, not replacing the toilet paper.

No one but himself.

He had a few roommates for a while, but they all moved out to live with their s/o. He’d tried dating and even had a girlfriend move in with him once, but that ended badly. Hero life was hard. Being the significant other of a hero, well, that could be even harder some days. They broke up not long after, and he’d been single ever since.

He mentally sighed. Guess it was the bachelor’s life him…

He continued to watch the two of you browse another aisle as you made your way to the back of the store. From the angle of the camera, he could barely see you now. His hand itched to switch the view to the rear camera, but he restrained himself. This was his job; he needs to watch for the villains, not ogle you. No matter how beautiful you were. How soft and sweet your voice was. Or how quickly that demeanor changed when it came to the safety of your son. He knows first hand you don’t come between a momma bear and her cub. He wouldn’t lie, seeing you go into protective mode, just… damn.

Thankfully, before that thought could go any further, two figures walked through the front door and into the frame. It was the villains. They could only watch as the villains made their way over to the front desk and the shopkeeper.

The villains split up, the smaller one stayed near the desk while the larger one stalked around closer to the racks. He could see the villains and the shopkeeper talking but couldn’t make out what was being said. Lip reading wasn’t his thing. But it was apparent the villains were trying to intimidate the scared-looking man.

A flash in the corner of the screen brought his attachment back to you as you and your son moved closer to the front and ultimately closer into danger.

“No..go back…” Kirishima whispered under his breath as he watched the next bit unfold. The brute yelled something, gave his partner before giving the rack on end a hard shove. Toys and plushies tumbled from their metal shelves as the racking toppled over into the one beside it.

He already knew what was coming.

That rack fell into the next, which fell into the next one. Line by line, row by row. All the shelves dominoed into each.

His eye darted from the villain back to where you were, his body on full alert. Your head jerks to the side, no doubt from the sound of the loud crashing. With reflexes that surprised even him, he watched as you grabbed your son just as the shelf beside you gave in to the weight of the rows before it.

“Is there any other view on them?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. Yeah they were suppose to keep their eyes on the villain's for the report but...

“Yeah, there’s one in the back.” Fat was already reaching for the keyboard as he glared at the screen, his food seemingly forgotten. The screen flashed for switching over to the back of the shop.

It was total chaos. Toys, plushies, and other items were scattered everywhere from the falling rows. And there in the middle of the disaster area was you and your son. Nearly all of you laid beneath the rack currently pinning you to the floor, save for your one arm and your head. Your son wasn’t in any better of a position; he could only see the top of his head. Suddenly the video stopped. Fatgum had paused the video before playing back the part of you, grabbing your son, right before the rack fell.

“Good reflexes.” The older man sighed in relief. “Little guy would have been crushed if he’d stayed .” Kirishima could only nod as they continued to watch. The video was back to where it was before, with the two of you being pinned under the rack. Even though he couldn’t seem much of you, he knew the two of you were scared. How could you not be? Damn, he should have gotten there faster!

If he’d been faster, maybe… you wouldn’t have gotten hurt as bad, or your son wouldn’t have been as scared. Though, to be honest, it was just chance they’d been in the area. Guess you could say it was a right place at the right time kind deal. The two heroes just finished their shift and were heading back to the agency. They’d gotten into a debate on food and made a wrong turn, which put them on that street. A loud crash caught the attention of a civilian across who called to them from across the street.

If they hadn’t been there, how long would it have taken for the call to come in? How long would you have been pinned there? How long would your son have to watch you suffer, alone, scared?

A shadow in the corner of the screen shook him from his thoughts. It was the bigger villain making his way towards the back of the store.

“Hide…” Kirishima mumbled as they watched the villain make his way over to you. You shifted, hiding your son further into the small hollow, but leaving you exposed and unprotected.

“The detective said in the email that a part of this was pretty hard to watch, I’m guessing that’s about to come up…” Fatgum muttered sadly, putting his snacks down on the table. They watched as the villain stopped in front of you. The man was clearly saying something to you, but you only kept your head down, shielding your young son. The villain tensed for a moment. Was it something you did? Or maybe you said? Whatever it was clearly angered him as he gave you a wicked grin before putting his foot on the rack above you. Before, the redhead wished there was sound, but now, he was grateful for the silence.

"That bastard!“ He saw red as he watched you scream from the man applying more force to the shelf.

"Easy Red, they’re both ok, that guy won’t be able t-.” The older man tried to calm down his partner, well, until the villain kicked you in the face. That made the older hero jump to his feet. “That fiend! Just you wait till we get there! You’ll regret that!” As enraged as Kirishima was, he couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at how quick his mentor’s demeanor changed.

After picking his char up off the floor, Fat sat back down, and the two returned to watching the video. It wasn’t long, for they saw the villain’s lip moves, still looking over for walking off-screen. You weren’t moving, and your face was now covered in blood.

Nothing moved on the screen for the longest time. Fat was just about to reach over and speed up the video when something caught his eye.

It was your son.

Kirishima’s heart broke as he watched the small boy pull himself out from under the wreckage. He was shaking, and his clothes were torn, but thankfully, he wasn’t hurt. Well, not physically anyway. How the kid managed to walk away from that unscathed was a miracle. (Y/S/N) looked in the villain’s direction before turning back to you. It was hard to see the kids face at this angle, but the heroes didn’t need to. They knew he was crying as he gently shook you, trying to wake you up.

Sadly you weren’t waking up, not then anyway.

If he’d been in that kid’s shoes at his age, he would have given up right then and there.

But not this kid.

No, instead, he grabbed your arm and started pulling you. Trying to drag you up from under the rack.

This elementary school kid, who was just the victim of a villain attack, was trying with all his might to save his mom. He jerked and strained as he tried to pull you from under the massive weight, but you weren’t budging. He gave one final strong pull before slipping on remnants of a displaying, causing him to fall back on his butt. Kirishima had to physically stop himself from moving.

The kid was back on his feet in a flash, this time though he was trying to lift the rack. He knew he couldn’t lift the shelf; even with a quirk, it would be impossible for him given his size. But there he was still pushing with everything he had.

“Poor little guy. He must have been terrified but look at him. He’s really giving it his all."

"He’s an awesome kid. If it’d been me, I’d be too scared to move.” Kirishima’s voice was full of pride but held a trace of sadness. The redhead was proud of the squirt. Most kids, hell, most adults would have been paralyzed with fear.

But not him.

Despite the fear.

Despite the pain.

Despite the hopelessness.

He still kept trying.

He’d make a hell of a hero one day…

A flash of red in the corner of the screen jolted him from his thoughts.

It was himself. They’d finally arrived to help. While the video played out in front of them, the rest of his senses played his memory. He could hear the kids cry for help. He could feel the weight of the shelf as he moved behind the kid to rescue you. The warmth yet limpness of your body as he pulled you from the wreckage. The wailing of your son calling out for you. The relief when he felt your pulse still beating beneath the fragile skin of your neck. The overwhelming emotions as tried to comfort the small, terrified child in his arms.

Fatgum paused the video once everyone was out of frame. You on a stretcher and him with your son still in his arms.

“You did really good out there today, Red.” Fatgum grinned at him before reaching over to the file on the desk, flipping through the report.

“Thanks.” Kirishima sighed. “I just wish I could have done more. Maybe if I’d been faster, (Y/N) and (S/N) wouldn’t have had to suffer as much. Some hero I am…"

"Don’t say that! You did everything you could and believe me when I say this, at that moment, you truly became that kids hero.”

“Hmm…" Fatgum gave the folder in his hand a puzzled look before hit rewind on the footage.

"What’s up?” Kirishima glanced up at the larger hero.

“It’s nothing really. Just wondering something. The paramedics said the kid was ok right?”

“Yeah, they checked over him at the scene. His clothes were torn up some, but surprisingly, the little guy didn’t have a scratch on him.” A light bulb went off. “Wait, How did he do that? He was under that rack too!”

“That’s what I was wondering. Maybe he used his quirk? If he did, given the shape he momma was in, it might have saved his life.”

“Hmm… well, he did say that his quirk was kind of like mine. But I didn’t see him use it.” He thought back. Fat paused the video to right as the rack was falling on to the two of you. It was still hard to watch, but they went through it frame by frame. “I can’t see anything resembling a quirk…”

“Hmm… I can’t tell anything. If he has a defensive quirk, it doesn’t really stand out. Plus, with all the objects falling around them, it makes it harder to tell.

"Maybe his clothes are hiding it?”

“Hey, can you go to the part where he crawls out? I think there was a pretty good shot of him there.” Fatgum nod hit a few keys to comply. “There! Right there!” They let the video play out from there.

Until they saw it. For a split second, the kid is looking right at the camera, showing his whole face. And something… just looked off. Was something wrong with the camera? Maybe it was a trick of the light or the lens?

“Can we zoom in on his face?” Kirishima leaned forward, looking closely at the screen as Fat zoomed in on the boy’s face. The screen was blurry for a minute, but slowly the video started to render, making the image clearer.

What? Was his skin…. hardening?

No, it was just hardening.. it was sharpening too… Just like his…

Kirishima felt his heart take a free fall into his stomach.

The kid didn’t have a quirk similar to his.

No, his quirk was exactly like his!

The room started to spin as he felt like every molecule of breathable air suddenly took an exit stage right, right out of the room.

“Hey… Kirishima… when did you meet (L/N) again?” Kirishima could barely hear Fat’s question over the ringing in his ears.

Links: Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

Tags: @hot-pocket01

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

---

The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes. “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots.

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle.

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night.

I hope you enjoyed :)

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :)

#princess x brute #brute x princess #ppg #princess ppg #brute ppg #thepowerpunkgirls #ppg fic

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guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 2)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: Here’s pt2 i have up to like...8 written but i’m gonna upload from here on out like weekly probably while i work to finish writing the rest of the story

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

You’ve known Byun Baekhyun for two years less than you've had your ship. You met him in Arae, a well known pirate city in the west, when you were 21 and he was 22. He was fairly well-known around the city. People knew him as a charming and witty pirate in training. He worked on different crews mainly as sailing master to whoever was willing to pay the most. If you needed information, he would most likely have it or know where to get it.

Junmyeon had gone off with Yixing to post “Help Wanted” posters in places around the city. You had snuck off for a drink in a bar. You were tired, and the three of you had been looking for more crewmen for days.

He’d slid up to your side with his best smile and a gleam in his eye that drew you into him. That and the eye patch he sported. He was possibly one of the most handsome men you had ever initially seen, with his white teeth, the sneaky look in his eye, and the earrings and jewelry adorning his body.

“You must be new around here,” he observed.

You downed the rest of your drink. He watched in silence. “Is it obvious?”

He motioned for the bartender and ordered two more of the drink you had been drinking. “Kind of. I usually know all the pretty people that frequent Arae.” The drinks were placed in front of you both. You took the one he nudged your way with a snort.

“That line work on everyone you hit on at a bar?”

He laughed around a sip of his drink. “I don’t know. Is it working with you?”

You paused in bringing the cup back to your lips to really get a look at the man next to you. He was handsome, sure. And yeah you guessed he was kind of charming with his bright smile and pretty fingers wrapped around his own drink. His hair looked soft, and the mole above his lip was kind of cute. But boy, did he have some big ass ears.

Fuck it, it had been a couple of weeks since you’d had sex. Who were you to turn down an offer like this? You didn’t even need to work for it. “Yeah I think it might be working,” you told him. His eye widened at your admission. “So, you got a place around here or what?”

He smiled fully again then, finished off his drink, stood up from his chair and held out a hand for you to take.

The moment you put your hand in his sealed your fates together.

He fucked you, against the hotel mirror, cracked in the middle when he slammed you too roughly against it. You fucked him, in the dirty motel shower when he had gone to clean himself off and you left painful bites along his wet skin and pushed him under the spray of the water and pulled another orgasm out of him with nothing but your hand and kisses hard enough to make his lip bleed. You fucked each other, one last time on the bed, arms pinned above your head as he marked your own skin with sucks and bites that stung for days after.

You lay on your back, chest heaving as he put on his boots. You had called it quits because you needed to leave soon. To find Junmyeon and Yixing. They wouldn’t be worried, but they would ask questions. Questions you didn’t have the energy to answer.

A click of metal on your wrist shocked you out of your fucked-out stupor.

“What the-” You yanked against the metal and heard it clang against the bed frame.

He stood up, straightened out his shirt and pushed back his hair, looked down at you in satisfaction. Covered in marks, cuffed to the bed, and naked as the day you were born. “Sorry, it’s nothing personal sweetheart. I had a good time, but…” he jingled the pouch of money that was in your discarded trousers on the ground.

You stared in disbelief. A bit impressed, but more pissed off. You couldn’t really be that upset since you’d let your own guard down. “If you’re going to rob me and ditch me chained to this bed, the least you can do is kiss me goodbye, you dick.” You sat up the best you could and pulled the sheet up to cover yourself with your free arm.

He held your money pouch out of reach as he leaned down to press a rough kiss against your lips. You bit his hard enough to draw blood. When he pulled away and brushed the blood off his bottom lip with a clipped laugh, you bared your teeth. “Cute.”

You licked the blood off your own lip and spat it on the sheet at your side. He tossed your money in the air and caught it with a smirk. “Thanks for the pouch, and the sex. You’re not bad, kid,” he said appreciatively. “Good luck getting out!” He wiggled his fingers and disappeared from the room with a bounce in his step. You nodded to yourself and laughed sourly at the situation you’d been left in.

“Bastard…” you muttered as you pulled your free hand back from under your sheet. The hand you’d snuck into his pocket with the pouch of money you pulled off him as you bit his lip. “Dumbass,” you said with a smile. The money he had on him is more than what you were carrying around, you could tell from its weight. If he was going to rob you, you could rob him right back. Fuck him and his handcuffs.

It took half an hour before someone came to help you out of your cuffs. That’s how you met Seulgi. She was a maid at the hotel, and came to clean when she found you bruising your own wrist trying to yank your arm free. She used a pin in her hair to uncuff you and you offered her a job on your ship on the spot. Maybe you could thank him for that at the very least.

Every encounter you've had with Baekhyun since then has ended with one of you bleeding, beaten, or abandoned in some location with no way home. You don’t think that you’re someone who really hates anyone. You understand people usually have their reasons for doing things, and there are times when people need to die for particularly horrid crimes.

It’s never personal for you.

But Byun Baekhyun? You loathe him. You cannot fucking stand that sorry excuse for a pirate and you’re glad to know he feels the same. The hatred you feel for him, oh it’s personal. Any pain you want to inflict on him, is entirely for your own pleasure.

He smiles, all teeth, at you from behind bars. “Long time no see. Glad to see you’re in good health.” He scans you from top to bottom. “You look much better than you did the last time we met, sweetheart.”

“That’s Captain to you,” you correct. He raises his hands in mock apology. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re just your average stowaways Captain. Nothing less, nothing more.” His response in relaxed, comes out too easily.

“Bullshit,” you bite out. “Give me a real reason why you’re aboard my ship or I’ll kill you and your little friend, right here.” He raises his eyebrows but his earlier smile melts into a smirk. “I’m waiting.”

He shrugs innocently. Fuck it. You pull out your gun and shoot it once right above his head without warning. He jumps and the prisoner in the other cell lets out a surprised yelp at the noise.

“Spill it,” you growl. Your ears ring from the sound of the gun firing in such a small space, but as much as it hurt you, it had to hurt him more.

“Fuck.” He winces and digs a finger into his ear. His expression finally turns serious when he brings his attention back to your face. He looks you dead in the eye. “I know you’ve got the Princess of Atlantis aboard this ship.”

It feels as though time stops. You try to keep your expression neutral, but he must find some kind of break in your facade because he brightens immediately. The excitement in his eye makes his smile look wild. “You do, don’t you?” he asks with barely concealed mirth.

You raise your gun between his eyes. “What do you want?” You can feel the panic rising in your veins. You close your eyes for a second and try to hold in your anger. “If you don’t give me a reason not to fucking kill you both right here in the next 5 seconds-”

“I know how to find Atlantis,” he starts. You open your eyes to properly judge the words coming from his mouth. “I know how to get the princess back home. She’s been lost for years, everyone knows that. I don’t know how long she’s been aboard your ship but I know that it’s been long enough that you’ve stopped actively looking for the city.” He sounds serious enough in his explanation.

But then again, he would say anything to save his own life.

“How do you know that I’ve been looking for ways to find Atlantis?” You and your crew gave up trying to find it almost 3 years ago. Every man and his mother has been looking for the Princess of Atlantis since news broke out of her going missing 20 years ago. You didn't think that anyone had caught on to your ship looking for the lost city itself and not its lost princess.

Baekhyun rolls his neck slowly, you cock your gun impatiently. “Hold on, hold on. Give me a second!” he exclaims. “Itchy trigger finger,” he mutters under his breath. He clears his throat and settles back into seriousness. “I have my sources okay. Nearly everyone on Arae knows that she vanished and that there’s a hefty reward for her capture. Everyone has been looking for her for years, but not you. Not your ship. You’ve been looking for clues to the city itself. It doesn’t take a genius to put together the pieces that you must already know of her whereabouts.

“It was honestly a shot in the dark…assuming that she’s on the ship, but you’ve already told me everything I needed to know.” He smiles devilishly.

“I haven’t told you shit.”

“You and I both know that you’re wrong about that.” His eyebrow quirks quickly. You exhale angrily. “It’s only a matter of time before a lesser man puts together the same pieces that I did.” He tilts his head cockily. You lower your gun but keep your eyes trained on him.

Cocky bastard.

You've come to know Baekhyun as a captain known for his wits, craftiness, and unpredictability. You’ve crossed paths many a times in the past, and as much as you hate to admit it, he may be one of the smartest pirates around. Because of his reputation you are willing to believe that he gathered this information on his own and hasn’t gone around spreading it to just anyone. If he’s got a hunch about a prize, he goes after it on his own.

He may have gotten the information from real sources, but that doesn't mean that you trust him. You put your gun in its holster and decide to end your questioning there. You don’t want him to get any information out of you accidently before you get a chance to talk to your crew.

Fuck. “Don’t you have any more questions!?” he calls out after you. “I’d be more than happy to answer them!”

You continue your way out of the room, but not before tossing back a, “Shut up Byun” and leaving them entirely.

~~~

You call your first mate and navigator to your quarters for a meeting. You leave the ship in Yixing’s capable hands while you all have this dire discussion.

Fingers tap nervously on the table top as Yeri and Junmyeon settle in across from you. There’s no plan to ease into this conversation, so you bite the bullet and get right to the chase.

“Byun knows how to find Atlantis.” You hear an intake of breath but close your eyes rather than meet the looks on their faces. “I know we said that we would give up on this wild goose chase years ago. I know that. The clues back then were always dead ends, useless, or wastes of time…if not all three.” You exhale tiredly, in disbelief at the words coming from your mouth. “But I think that Byun could be telling the truth…and I may be willing to try one last time to find Atlantis…for the princess.”

You lift your eyes from the table to gauge their expressions. Junmyeon looks at you pensively, a bit of disappointment in his eyes while Yeri avoids your eyes and instead focuses on the table.

“Captain…haven’t you…had run ins with him in the past? How could you trust him?” Junmyeon asks carefully.

“Do you mean the time he locked me in the brig of his ship, tried to kill me, and then left me for dead on a deserted island? Or maybe the time he shot me in the arm at that bar in Arae because I bought the last pint of his favorite beer? Oh! Or perhaps you mean the time he tried to turn me in for a bounty on my head and I had to handcuff him to a sink and knock him unconscious just to get away?” You list a few of your encounters off the top of your head and Junmyeon winces. “Yeah, don’t worry I haven’t fucking forgotten.”

You can also remember all of the bounties that you lost to him and his crew. Your ship could be the first notified, but somehow he would manage to get there first and claim the reward that you were hired for. The information was getting slipped to him by members on your crew that he’d bribed.

Let’s just say you had to do some pest extermination and reevaluating the so-called loyalty of your crewmen.

“I don’t trust him,” you tell them simply. “But I’m willing to follow his information, if it seems trustworthy, just one last time.”

“One last time?” Junmyeon asks hopefully. Since the first days of Storm Chaser, Junmyeon has been here at your side. He’s seen you run yourself ragged trying to find the lost city in your early days as captain.

You place your hand on his. “One last time,” you assure him. You look over to Yeri who hasn’t said a word since the conversation began and can feel how tense she is. “It’ll be fine Yeri. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, then we kill Byun and the princess will stay here on the ship with the crew. We’re all a family, remember?” She smiles a bit and relaxes at your words. “Either way I win, so I just need you two to be on my side when I bring this before the rest of the crew.”

Yeri finally nods and places a hand on your shoulder. “Okay Captain,” she says with a squeeze.

“I’m in Cap’n,” Junmyeon says assuredly. “One last time.” He warns.

You smile sadly. “One last time, I promise…” you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. “I guess we should call off this other bounty hun-”

A gunner bursts into your room. “Captain, the prisoners escaped.”

You groan and stand up from the table. “Did anyone search the prisoners before we locked them up?” The gunner looks sheepish.

“We took away their swords, knives, and guns…” he starts.

You storm out of the room. “ATTENTION! I WANT EVERYONE’S ATTENTION RIGHT FUCKING NOW.” You wait a total of 30 seconds for the attention of anyone around. “I want ALL men to look for the prisoners. If you catch sight of them and they try to run…you have my explicit permission to shoot them in their fucking kneecaps. Byun is an expert lock picker so I want him brought straight to me before he’s taken back to the brig!” No one moves. “GO ON!”

~~~

Baekhyun is thrown at your feet on the main deck not long after setting everyone on the crew to find him and his accomplice.

His kneecaps are still fully intact (much to your dismay).

You look towards Minseok. “Search him thoroughly.” You glance at Baekhyun who looks all too smug about finding his way out of your brig once. “I want him striped, and searched thoroughly,” you emphasize, leaning closer to Minseok pointedly.

Minseok smirks happily. Baekhyun finally looks a bit nervous. You smile gratuitously and leave Minseok to it. You know that Minseok will get the job done and make Baekhyun regret every second of it.

“Yeri!” Blonde hair bounds over to you. “Chart a course for the closest port. We need to make a stop before we make any hasty moves.”

“Ay, Cap’n,” she says happily. You watch proudly as she ties up her hair and heads to the maps that she knows like the back of her hand. In your periphery you catch Baekhyun being dragged back below deck, but his gaze is fixed on Yeri. You frown and make a mental note to, personally, check that he’s sufficiently locked up.

He’s fucking up to something. You can feel it as clearly as you can the beginning of a storm.

~~~

A week passes on the sea with no issues. The weather has been kind, and has sped up your arrival time to Glacia, a large island close by that your ship can use to restock and prepare for its next course.

The prisoners have been quiet and fairly respectful (in the best way that prisoners can) and have caused minimal issues. You’ve sent Yixing down to try and pull information from either of them about the whereabouts of Atlantis, but he hasn’t gotten anywhere fruitful. You’re planning on waiting until getting to port and dragging the information out of Baekhyun even if it kills him.

Much to your annoyance, his presence has awoken the curiosity and gossipy side of your crewmen. It's slowly driving you absolutely batshit crazy.

You go down to the food storage to refill your canteen with drinking water, and to sneak a bottle of rum to your room (hopefully without being caught by your first mate). You crouch down among the secured bottles when whispering catches your attention. You freeze where you are in fear of Yixing or Junmyeon shaming you for stealing liquor from the storage, but you quickly recognize the voices of other crewmen as they get closer.

You strain to hear the conversation, but they start talking louder once they assume the room is empty. Mark, your junior gunner, whispers, “I heard he lost his eye fighting a baby kraken single-handedly.” You immediately know they’re talking about Baekhyun and the urge to reveal yourself and cut the conversation off is only slightly less than your desire to eavesdrop.

“I heard he slept with the eldest son of the King of Jekyll and was shot in the eye for ruining the Prince’s engagement.” Wendy, a boatswain whispers back excitedly.

“I heard that ever since he lost his eye, his fighting has only gotten better.” Taeyong, a junior sailing master says.

“That's true! He practiced fighting with one eye closed as a child and then took his own eye out to prove that he can still fight just as well and beat any other swordsman with just one eye.” Wendy says. You resist the urge to snort.

“Wow…he’s fucking crazy,” Taeyong says in shock. “The eye patch…is kind of sexy though. I have to give it to him.”

“He’s kind of amazing don't you think? He even dared try and kill the Captain multiple times…” You pick out the voice of Kun, your cook. If you’d planned on interrupting before you definitely aren’t going to now. They’re talking about you now too?

Mark gasps. “Who do you think would win in a sword fight? Have they ever fought one on one like that? I think Byun would win, the one eye thing probably makes all his other senses stronger…”

“Nah, she’s the best swordsman alive. There’s no way she’d lose a fight like that with him.” You smile as you pick out Minseok’s voice. Damn right.

“Didn’t they fuck? Did he ditch her after they had sex? Isn’t that why she hates him so much? That and the fact that he’s like…tried to murder her.” Wendy inquires. You hear a giggle.

“They definitely fucked; she would have killed him long ago if she wasn’t in love with him. They say the line between love and hate is super thin,” Taeyong says as if it's a well-known fact.

“Don’t you all have work to be doing?” You ask after hearing enough. You stand up from your spot, rum in one hand, your water in the other and your deadliest glare on your face. “Or would you all like to continue to discuss my sex life and rumored love of the son of a bitch locked in the prison of my ship?”

Everyone straightens and Mark lets out a noise of surprise.

“Sorry Captain!” Wendy, Kun, Mark, and Taeyong say in unison before scurrying from the storage room.

Minseok walks up to you with a smile on his face, and nudges your arm holding the rum with his elbow. “You planning on telling your husband about this?”

You grimace. “Don’t call him that. And don’t tell him about this,” you hiss. He laughs. “I’m still angry with you…gossiping about me on my own ship.”

“There’s nothing else to do these days, and we’ve got the ‘famed’ Captain Byun Baekyun aboard. Of course people are gonna gossip, you know it’s all in good fun.” He grabs the rum from your hand, uncorks it with his teeth and takes a huge swig. “If you were actually angry, you would have stopped them earlier. You can still scare the newer members but I know you’re not going to do anything about it.” He holds the bottle out towards you. “You were eavesdropping as if you were interested in the topic at hand,” he says smugly.

You grab the bottle with a frown. “Oh shut up…” you take a swig and hand it back to him. You point a finger at him threateningly. “Seriously, don’t tell Junmyeon or Yixing about this Minseok. I’m serious. They give me enough shit about not drinking while I’m supposed to be on duty.”

Minseok laughs around another swallow of the liquor. “Ay, ay, Captain.” His voice is nothing but playful, and you know that later tonight you’re going to get an earful from either your first mate or quartermaster based off of something they heard from an “anonymous source”.

You leave the bottle with him, a promise of “keeping this between you two and finishing off the evidence on his own” on his lips as you sulk to the kitchen for dinner and then to bed.

As expected, Junmyeon bites your ear off at dinner about drinking down in the food storage and you apologize profusely. Yeri laughs at your side and Minseok peaks his head in the kitchen with a smile and thumbs up before vanishing again.

Mutineer.

~~~

Your door slams open at the early hours of the morning startling you out of your sleep. You groan and sit up in your bed tiredly. “Listen, I said I was sorry Junmyeon. You already ripped me a new one I’m not going to drink again…” You rub your eyes and finally recognize the face in your doorway.

Yixing looks frantic and not at all bothered by your sleep driven rumbling. “There’s a ship in the distance off of starboard. A couple of our men are down, knocked out but alive and-”

“And let me guess,” you interrupt and your mind immediately switches awake. Sleep long forgotten as you begin putting on your boots. “The prisoners escaped.”

Yixing swallows, his expression turning grim. “And they’ve taken Yeri.”

Fuck.

#exo #exo imagines #exo stories #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun pirate au #exo pirate au

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the-l-spacer · 4 years

Link

Raven decides to embarrass Lloyd while out on a date. Based on this post.

'Raven has a shirt that says “i think carnies should be able to vote” and every time he’s out in public some good samaritan stops him to make his day with the news that yes, in fact, they can, and he just loses it. complete fake-joy sobbing mess in the street. he thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world until Lloyd refuses to go out in public with him anymore'

Enjoy!

“Raven. Please. Don’t do this.”

Raven wrenched his hand away from Lloyd’s, and continued heading toward the door. Over his shoulder, he spat, “I’m doing it no matter what. And nothing you can say will change my mind.”

Moving quickly, Lloyd darted past his boyfriend and stood in front of the door, blocking his path forward.

“Ravey, if any of the years we spent together, if any of the things we endured to be together again had meant anything, anything at all, you would listen to me when I tell you please, please don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Raven eyed Lloyd’s pleading face, eyes in supplication. He was unswayed.

“Lloyd, you know I love you, but this is too important. You can’t do anything to stop me.”

Lloyd slumped in defeat.

“So be it,” he said coldly. He detached himself from the doorway, allowing Raven to step past. A brief silence ensued, before Raven proffered an elbow, which Lloyd, after a heavy pause, took.

The two Posthumans left together, disappearing into a recently-opened doorway to another narrative.

The pair walking down the street of Victoriopolis, a city in a lovely steampunk narrative rather well known for its excellent carrot cake, would not have looked out of place, if it weren’t for the way one of them was dressed.

To be specific, the ‘one’ was wearing pins and badges all over the front and back of his jacket, declaring every variation of “Votes for Carnies!”, and “I think carnies should be allowed to vote!” and “Carnies demand votes!”.

The man wearing the bizarre accessories seemed completely content with the confusion it was sowing among those who caught a glimpse of its (numerous) messages as he and his companion walked down the busy street, grinning and winking at people who stared too long in confusion.

The man beside him, however, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else.

His dour disposition did not last long. As the day progressed, and he grew accustomed to the stares his companion was attracting, he finally seemed to relax.

The two men wandered through the streets of Victoriopolis, weaving in and out of quaint little shops, visiting a bakery and sharing a tray of sumptuous-looking sweet pastries, going on a carriage ride through the park, hand in hand, before taking tea in the park’s lush garden.

It was evening by the time it finally happened.

The streets of the fashion district were bustling with workers and members of high society alike, returning home after a long day’s work, or heading out for a night of fun as the sun set. The two men were doing the latter (in fact, they were going to see a performance at the local theatre), as they passed a young university student, balancing a chicken pie bought off a nearby street cart on an armful of hefty textbooks.

When they passed by the two, the student did a double take at the… interesting aesthetic choices of the one on the right, nearly dropping their pie in the process. A conflicted look passed over their goggle-clad face, and they opened their mouth as if to say something, only for a tiny squeak to come out instead. The men to look round, confused, before continuing on past the spluttering student.

It took a few more seconds for the student to muster up their courage, and doubling back, they ran to catch up to the two strangers.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Two heads turned around, regarding the student with piercing gazes.

The student hugged their books closer to their chest, cleared their throat, and addressed the dark-skinned man in purple, pins and buttons (’Carnie rights!’) flashing from the light of the street-lamps.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, sir, but, um.” They flushed beet-red. “I think… I mean I’m rather sure that, well, carnies are already allowed to vote?”

In that moment, time seemed to slow. The man had halted completely in his tracks, jerking his companion to a stop alongside him. His eyes widened, mouth parting slightly in a gasp.

His voice was soft and tremulous, but cut through the bustle of the street. “C-could you say that again. Please?”

“Um… Carnival employees are already allowed to vote?” The student stammered. They could tell the three of them were beginning to cause a scene, people turning around to witness the reason for the sudden stoppage in the flow of foot traffic.

The man didn’t seem to care, however. He brought his hands to his mouth, as tears began flowing freely down his cheek. The student took a few steps backward in alarm.

“Sir? Are you alright? I-“

Too late. The man’s quiet tears turned into full-on sobbing, and he lunged at the student, wrapping them in a crushing hug. The chicken pie fell with a splat on the pavement. Drat and blast.

“I can’t believe it,” he bawled. “After so many years, my dream’s become a reality! Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The student’s rather surly response, a muttered “I think they’ve always been able to, the canvassing really wasn’t necessary” went unheard as the man, still hiccuping with joy, disentangled himself from them and turned toward his companion, busy insisting to bewildered passers-by that he was in no way associated with that lunatic.

Said ‘lunatic’ seemed to think otherwise, though, and he ran to his companion, sweeping him up and dipping him low, kissing him victoriously (the student had never witnessed a victorious kiss before, and in between lamenting the loss of their pie, was mentally taking notes).

“Did you hear that, my dear Lloyd? Carnies can vote, now!” He said once they broke the kiss. His eyes were shining and his voice carried all the joy of a kid on their first Christmas.

Shutting his eyes tight, the other man growled, “Yes, it seems so. How wonderful, Ravey.”

“It’s everything we’ve ever hoped for, oh I can’t wait to tell the others!” He burst into happy tears again.

The other man, ashen-faced, dutifully let his companion cling to him, blubbering messily into numerous handkerchiefs he was seemingly pulling out of thin air.

“Why. Don’t. We. Go. And. Tell. Them. Now?” He bit out.

The man, bright eyed and sniffling, turned to him. “Oh, let’s.”

As they made to walk off, the glowering man turned toward the student, who was attempting to retreat into the crowd of onlookers.

“Sorry about that,” he said shortly. “He’s… a showman.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about it!” They replied with false cheer. “I’ve met plenty like him in the Theatre department. He’s certainly got some flair.”

The man looked as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. “That he has, Mx, that he has.”

Then, under his breath, “ThisiswhyIneverwanttogooutinpublicwithhim.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Just… be wary of theatre folk. You may think they’re just harmless eccentrics, but a good many are downright monsters.”

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind?”

“Do.”

And with that, the two disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind numerous flyers for a place called ‘Uncle Raven’s Super Happy Funtime Carnival!”

(They had also left behind a slightly cooled apple pie, tucked into the bag of one well-meaning student, unbeknownst to most, including the student themself, who would only find out long after they reached home. Showman though he was, Raven wasn’t a complete monster.)

It was dark outside, and Han Mi was in the middle of a rather interesting book when Raven and Lloyd returned to the carnival.

She glanced briefly up at the both of them.

“How was your date?”

Raven answered “Absolutely wonderful,” just as Lloyd muttered, “Terrible. I’m never going out with him ever again.”

She cocked her head at the two men. The former was practically glowing, while the latter looked as if he sorely needed to stab something.

“Mmhmm, glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Han Mi hummed, and turned back to her book.

#new albion #shaperaverse #lloydven #writings

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indiaalphawhiskey · 4 years

Text

SD Drabble #1

Note: Another prompt I thought of long ago, that I’m still so in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the time to write it, but here it is anyway. Posting under the tag “Sugar Daddy AU”. Please excuse my self-indulgence. xx ---

“Have you got that?” the woman asked. The tone of her voice, coupled with the patronizing pinch of her newly ‘refreshed’ lips, screamed condescension.

Harry offered her a soft, subdued smile. “I have, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

She sniffed and her nose, already two and a half inches in the air to begin with, titled higher in doubt. “Repeat it, then.”

Harry let out a slow exhale through his teeth.

“Of course.” His smile never left his face as he ran through the list in his head. “For the table’s appetizers, the Rockefeller oyster platter, baked garlic lemon butter scallops, lemon butter sauce separated into individual sauce dishes, garlic to the side, and a Caesar salad, with no dressing, no bacon, no chicken, and no croutons, to be served twenty minutes before the main dishes. For his entree,” Harry said, turning to offer the gentleman – who had been scanning him from head-to-toe with a rather lascivious smirk – a quick nod. “Sir will have the cherry-glazed rack of lamb, with marble potatoes instead of garlic rice pilaf, potatoes pre-cut into quarters, and a whiskey double.” He turned back to the woman, a challenge in his tone. “Madam will have the Chilean sea bass and braised asparagus, asparagus to the side and blanched instead of braised, with the pesto and lemon sauce on a separate dish, and a glass of Semillon. Dessert will be two pieces of the dairy and gluten-free chocolate truffle cake, and two glasses of our best sherry.”

The woman’s gaze remained unimpressed.

“Fine,” she breathed. She flicked her fingers away once, the sheen of her opulent diamond ring reflected on the white tablecloth – a dismissal.

Harry bowed politely, face impeccably calm as he gathered the menus from the table and began to walk away.

Oyster platter and scallops baked in nothing, he recited in his head as he weaved his way around the tables. Plain lettuce masquerading as Caesar salad. Lamb with an entirely different side dish than the one on the menu – Chef will be pleased as fuck, by the way––

Snap! Harry startled at the sound. What the f–– Snap! Snap! Snap!

He leaned back reflexively to avoid the hand aggressively snapping right in front of his nose, before turning to find it was attached to a portly man in his mid-fifties. His face was tinged red with impatience, his breath laboured as he heaved himself back onto his chair now that he had Harry’s attention.

Harry took a deep breath before facing the table.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,” he began politely. “But my colleague will be with you in just a mo –”

“Oh, you’ll do, sweetheart,” the man crooned, licking his lips as he surveyed Harry. “You’ll do just fine.”

His impatience had faded completely, Harry noticed, though Harry much preferred irritation to… whatever this new expression was. Having only had this job for three days, it took all of Harry’s willpower to swallow the cutting remark that was already resting on his tongue. He managed, but unfortunately, the way his skin was crawling with discomfort was not as easily dealt with.

He exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he needed this job. Unbidden, the events of the last week flashed before his eyes.

Finding unrecognizable lingerie under his pillow. Being told by his fiance that he was being left for a nineteen-year-old pilates instructor slash aspiring male model. Discovering three months’ worth of unpaid rent bills hidden in their (now his, he supposed) bread box, and a discarded bill for a ‘12-carat gold-plated necklace with ‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive’ (Gross.) in his trash (already paid, thank God for small favours). Combing coffee shop bulletin boards for part-time jobs that fit his tedious grad school schedule. Chicken-flavored ramen for the three straight dinners.

He tried not to sigh.

Relax, he told himself. Be professional, get your check, and get out of here.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Harry said, miraculously polite.

“Well, handsome,” Lecherous Restaurant Patron purred, drawing out the pregnant pause as Harry quelled a rising gag.

“Come off it, George,” his companion cut in. He tacked on a chuckle at the end like an afterthought, though it couldn’t mask the slight edge embedded in the words. It made Harry think of the way a cheeky thief smiles as he runs his finger back and forth against a switchblade – just a hint of a threat. “Just order, mate. The kid’s busy.”

It was hardly a white knight stepping in to defend his honour, but after the week Harry had, it was close. He had barely glanced in his saviour’s direcion before George spoke again.

“I own the place, Tomlinson. He can spare a couple more minutes, can’t you, darling?” He punctuated the question with two hefty slaps to Harry’s arse cheek. The first made Harry freeze in shock. The second made his vision go red.

Lingerie.

‘He’s… amazing, Harry. I love him.’

Rent.

‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive.

Wanted: Part-time Wait Staff.

‘Repeat it, then.’

Slap! Slap!

The punch flew out of Harry, the crisp sound of knuckles against cheekbone ringing satisfyingly in his ears, loud and clear over the scuffle, over the yelling, over the firing. It was all Harry could hear until the harsh slam of the restaurant’s back door, and the biting whip of the winter wind.

Cheated on, left, in debt, harassed, fired, tossed out on my arse, Harry thought to himself, raising his fist in a sarcastic cheer. B-I-N-G-fucking-O. What he wouldn’t do for a joint right now.

He let out a deep, bone-tired sigh, winter’s icy fingers creeping around his open coat and up his too-thin undershirt (they had taken his uniform straight off his back, the bastards), before making his way out of the tiny back alley. He hunched his shoulders automatically, the wind somehow stronger out on the dimly lit main street, and began his long trudge to the tube stop, large hands stuffed awkwardly into his coat’s faux pockets because he had also lost his favorite gloves to bloody Neverwhere this morning.

“Mind the gap, indeed,” he mumbled to himself sadly, taking a little solace in the fact that he had remembered to bring his earphones with him today. He was convinced the morose opening chords of Landslide would manage soothe his broken heart, if he played it enough times. (Hey, if Stevie made it through, so could Harry.)

Lost in thought (and in the gargantuan task of untangling the aforementioned earphones), the barely audible crunch of gravel next to him didn’t register at all.

“ – genuinely feel like you’re ignoring me on purpose now but, once more, with feeling – Do. You. Need. A. Ride?”

Harry jumped, clutching at his heart and dropping his earphones in surprise. “What the bloody –”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. He offered Harry a sheepish smile, his elbow resting on the window of his cheesily predictable top down. “But I’d been here for like seven minutes –”

“You’ve been stalking me for seven minutes,” Harry deadpanned, so done with these absolute shits. “Yeah, not a great line to lead with.”

“Not stalking,” he tried to chuckle confidently, but the tone came out slightly uncertain. “But like, offering you a ride. You know, to make up for…” He tipped his head backward, motioning to the restaurant. “My partner. Business partner,” he clarified seriously, and ––

Oh, Harry thought. The other guy. Tomlinson, he remembered. No wonder his voice was familiar.

“No, thank you,” Harry said curtly as he began to walk again, his face resolutely blank, eyes trained stubbornly on his destination.

A huff of disbelief weaved itself between the sound of slow-rolling wheels.

“C’mon, kid,” Tomlinson tried. “It’s cold as shit.”

“Then maybe get a car with a roof,” Harry said, quietly.

Tomlinson chuckled in answer, wheels still painfully in time with Harry’s steps.

“Fair point. C’mon,” he repeated. “You’ve had a shit night. You’re cold and tired. Let me give you a ride.” When Harry stayed silent, he continued. “You’ll be home quicker. Home, and clean,” he needled. “And warm.”

At that, Harry let himself steal a glance, and was greeted with Tomlinson’s smirking profile, his eyes on the road. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, the lovely peak of a small nose – everything was slim and pointed. Pixie-like, Harry caught himself thinking, though the delicate quality of his face was offset by just a hint of handsome stubble. A healthy amount of silver decorated his temples, but the hair on his head was still a touch more pepper than salt. Not quite a silver fox just yet.

Fifty, Harry guessed. Fifty-five at most.

“Is this your M.O., or something?” Harry asked, trying to keep the raking irritation from bleeding into his voice. The calmer he was, the less Tomlinson would think he was getting somewhere. “Is that how this works? You go to a restaurant, find a target, get your wingman to act like an arsehole, and then swoop in for the kill?”

A startled laugh broke through the hush of the street.

“Just a wee bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Tomlinson teased.

“Evasive, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock.” Harry could still hear the amusement in his voice. “I do have killer flirting skills, but not serial killer flirting skills.”

Harry sighed then, so, so exhausted. “Right. Well again, no thank you on the ride. In case my little demonstration at the restaurant was somehow unclear, I don’t date men who are old enough to be my father.”

He tipped his chin up higher, because while Harry may not have any money (or a job, or a fiance), he still had his dignity.

Or at least part of it, he corrected, pushing away the curdle of humiliation as he remembered finding those awful panties.

“So you only date cheap men,” Tomlinson said, decisively.

“God,” Harry whispered under his breath, his annoyance now too hard to ignore. Louder he said, “Fuck off.”

“Cheap,” he continued confidently over Harry’s insult. “Young, handsome bastards who get one big paycheck and think that makes them Drake or whoever the fuck –” The cool-dad rap reference, plus the well-timed dig at his stupid, necklace-engraving ex, made Harry’s lip twitch upward against his will. “ – and then fuck off with some barely-legal twit who sucks dick like a champ but can’t name a single city outside of London.”

Harry snorted.

“Know him, or something?” he asked sarcastically, eyes trained on the tiny Underground sign that was still about three blocks away.

“Know him? Oh love,” The way he said it – ‘Luhv’ – made Harry finally turn to him. It was a mistake. His eyes were sharp – a searing blue even in the orange cast of the street lamps – and his smile devastating. “I am him,” he admitted freely, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smirk widened. “Only, you know,” he shrugged. “With a few more checks, and slightly higher standards. I mean,” he blinked, almost sweetly. “You can name at least three cities outside London... can’t you?”

Harry could feel a gentle heat settle at the tops of his cheeks, the insinuation about his blowjob skills decidedly not lost on him. He felt his stomach do a sudden somersault. He pushed it away, convincing himself it was just the rush of attention, the electricity of an unexpected ego boost and that quick, first moment of feeling pretty again after getting horribly, horribly dumped.

His brief silence must’ve signaled a chink in his armour, because Tomlinson then took it as an opportunity to say, “I’m Louis.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said, tongue fast, though the fact that he hadn’t yet ducked into a not-suitable-for-sports-cars-sized alleyway probably softened the blow.

Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous. “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?”

“Closer to twenty-six,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “Which is an entire fully grown adult between us. You could have kids as old – nay, older – than our age gap.” Did he just say ‘nay?’

“Did you just say ‘nay’, Shakespeare?” Louis teased. “So definitely at least three cities outside London, then.” Harry didn’t smile but it was a close thing. “And I promise you,” Louis continued. “I haven’t put myself in the position to bear children since you were – nay, before you were born. Been in a lot of other positions since then, though.”

He had the audacity to punctuate it with a wink. It was annoyingly charming, and Harry had never been angrier at himself.

“Besides,” Louis said, with the kind of smile that knew victory was close. “It’s just a ride, love, no strings attached. Unless of course, getting tied up is what you’re into,” he added, so incredibly pleased with himself. Harry wanted to smack him. But he could also feel the blessedly comfortable heat radiating from the car’s vents.

“Fine.”

#sugar daddy au #larry drabble #iaw drabble #SD1 #writing exercise

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eastasianfeelings · 4 years

Text

boys vs. boys: Vixx

← previous: toys vs. boys

Summary: Your next marketing event for Vixx goes off without a hitch... except for the part where your six boyfriends decide to throw a fit over your business cards.

Words: 4k

Warnings: polyamory, super-dumb jealousy

You look around the venue filled with people and take a moment to pat yourself on the back.

Y/N, you are a marketing genius.

Several months ago, you pitched the idea of targeting female fans’ boyfriends to the rest of your marketing team. Men could give their girlfriends the “gift” of Vixx by purchasing tickets to exclusive fanmeets and photo ops, where they could record, photograph or otherwise document their girlfriend meeting Vixx in-person, thus giving their girlfriend a lasting memory.

It took a few meetings to come up with an appropriate strategy, since your team’s historically focused on targeting the core audience of female fans. But after enough buy-in, you got the budget and resources to build your campaign, and now you’re standing at the back of the conference centre’s main hall, basking in the record attendance numbers.

“Vixx is on their way,” someone reports through your headset. That’s your cue: you start to make your way discreetly toward the front of the hall.

On the left side of the room, it’s mostly women sitting in numbered seats. Behind the cordoned area on the right, it’s general seating occupied mostly by men, where they’ll be able to record or take photos of their girlfriends and Vixx.

You reach the front of the room and position yourself in between the crowd of men and the table where Vixx will sit. Just in time: cheers fill the air as the members file through the back door, waving and smiling.

“Real V! V-I-X, we are Vixx! Hello~!” Hakyeon kicks things off with the familiar introduction, and the atmosphere in the room hits the roof; even some of the men in your area are getting into it and clapping along. You make eye contact with a few and quickly look away, suppressing a grin.

“Hi everyone, how are you?” Leo picks up his mic next.

“We’re so glad to see you,” Hakyeon continues, “it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

The audience calls their assent, and Ken chimes in.

“We couldn’t wait to see our Starlight babies!” he says. “That’s why we’re holding this event.”

Hyuk lifts his mic. “Everyone, you know how this works, right?” He pauses to let the “Yes!” from the audience ring. “That’s right, you have your number in the order on your tickets.”

“But today, there will be time for you to take a photo with each one of us,” Hakyeon says brightly. “If your boyfriend is here and ready to film you from over there, he can do so!”

“If you’re a good Starlight and saved yourself for us,” Ravi says cheekily, “we can take a selca instead.”

“Yah,” Hongbin says, “there are no bad Starlights. They’re all our precious babies.” It’s a line that was scripted for him by one of your colleagues, so his delivery is flat, but the fans react predictably well.

You notice some eye-rolling from the men in front of you as the women eagerly queue up, but that’s to be expected; as long as nobody throws a jealous tantrum and derails the event, everything should be fine.

“You were giving out your number to them.”

“I was giving out my business card, Hakyeon.”

“Your card has your number on it, doesn’t it?”

Four hours later, you’re standing in the empty dressing room, facing off against an upset Hakyeon. The event was a success, but you unfortunately failed to anticipate an alternate source of jealous tantrums: your own boyfriends.

“You realize that those men have girlfriends, right,” you say as patiently as you can, “that’s why they were there.”

“Yah, noona.” There’s the noise of crinkling plastic behind you as Hyuk finishes gulping down an entire water bottle, smushes it casually in one fist and comes over to join the conversation. “I heard them talking to you, some of those guys were there with their sisters or cousins.”

You frown at him. “How did you even hear that? Were you not paying attention to your fans?”

“I was!” he says indignantly. “But Hongbin-hyung was holding up the line and there was no one in front of me and then I heard that one guy asking about you.”

“What guy?”

“That guy who asked you what your ideal type was!”

You squint and try to remember, while Hakyeon and Hyuk stare at you like you’re a suspect about to confess. “Oh. That?” You laugh as you recall. “Hyuk-ah, you know what he was saying right before that?”

“That his ideal type is someone just like you?” he says grumpily.

“Of course not.” You reach up and scrub your hand through his hair. “He was saying that his sister’s ideal type is you, Hyukie.”

Hakyeon barely stifles his snort, while Hyuk flushes. “So what? That was probably his segue into asking about you.”

“But I told him I agreed with his sister,” you say brightly, and grin as Hyuk turns even redder. “And I think he got the message.”

“Hm.” Hyuk ducks his blushing face away, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

“Y/N-ah.” Hakyeon sidles closer, amusement gone. “You told him Hyuk is your ideal type?”

You look over at him. “So?”

Hakyeon just pouts at you, disappointment leaking from his every pore. You laugh a little and take his hands in your own.

“What do you want me to say? ‘Actually, all six Vixx members are my ideal type’?”

“Why not?” he says defensively as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Don’t be dumb, hyung.” Hyuk edges in as well, eyeing your hands. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Yah. Who are you calling dumb?” Hakyeon frees one hand to chop at Hyuk, who ducks it skillfully and then snatches your free hand in his.

As Hakyeon glares, Ken comes sailing into the room. “Hey, here you are!” He comes to a stop when he sees Hakyeon and Hyuk on either side of you. “What’s going on? Are we fighting?”

“No, we’re not fighting,” you say quickly, tugging your hands free. “We’re cleaning up. You can help!”

“Oh, ah...” Ken looks around at the mess of the room, then quickly whips out his phone. “I was actually going to send an SNS post, so I’ll do that first, okay?” He adds a wide smile to the end of his excuse.

“One post,” Hakyeon warns him, “and then you’re helping us clean up.”

“Hyuk-ah, can you put this on that trolley over there?” You push a hefty package of disposable water bottles toward Hyuk. “Hakyeon-ah, look through these coats and tell me which ones belong to you guys and which ones are going to the lost-and-found.”

While they’re both doing so, Ken lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Y/N-ah!”

“Hm?” You walk over and peer at the phone screen he’s thrusting at you.

“Look!”

“It’s… a tweet about this fanmeeting?”

“Look at the photo!”

You look, and still see nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s… a flatlay of swag from this fanmeeting,” you try next.

Ken whines in exasperation and points to a white rectangle in the corner of the photo. “It’s your name! It’s your card!”

“What??” Hakyeon drops the coat he’s holding and hurries over.

Hyuk joins the huddle around Ken’s phone. “What, what is it?”

When you squint, sure, you can make out the company logo at the top of the card, and a tiny set of blurry characters that do spell out your name. But—“Jaehwan-ah, nobody’s going to notice that.”

“I just did!”

“Yeah, but that’s because you know what my business cards look like. No one else would pay any attention.”

“That’s not the problem, Y/N-ah.” Ken jabs at his phone screen again. “The problem is—”

“The problem is,” Hakyeon takes over, “why were you handing out your card?”

You huff out a breath and step away from your little circle. “I hand out my card because it helps people to remember the event, to remember you guys. If someone digs out the card from the bottom of their pocket later, they’re going to go, ‘Oh right, this company with those idols’. It’s an opportunity to make a mark.”

“More like an opportunity for a booty call,” Hyuk mutters.

Ken sucks in a dramatic gasp while Hakyeon bristles violently. You just facepalm.

“People do not use business cards for booty calls.”

“You don’t know for sure, noona,” Hyuk protests.

“Why even take that risk?” Hakyeon says.

“Yeah! We can just give them more swag instead of sacrificing you,” Ken says.

“I’m not being sacrificed, Jaehwan-ah.”

“Who’s being sacrificed?” Ravi comes into the room.

“Nobody,” you tell him.

Ravi comes over to lean one arm against Ken and the other against you. “Noona, I barely saw you during the entire event. I thought you were going to be on the floor with us.”

“She was too busy talking with all the men,” Hyuk grumbles.

“The men?” Ravi’s eyebrows rise.

“What men?” comes the suspicious question from Leo as he enters the room, Hongbin right behind him.

“All those men at today’s event,” Hyuk elaborates.

“I was doing my job, okay,” you interrupt, a little exasperated.

“What are we talking about?” Hongbin asks, sitting down so he can look at you all judgmentally from a distance away.

“Y/N-ah was handing out her card,” Hakyeon says grimly.

“Her what?” Ravi says.

“My business card,” you emphasize. “Because that’s what business cards are for.”

“Noona, you gave them out to random strangers!” Hyuk exclaims.

“...Random strangers?” Leo’s slowly worming his way into the circle around you.

“Look!” Ken holds out his phone. “Someone tweeted a freaking picture of her card!”

“Jaehwan-ah, what’s the username of the account?” you question.

Ken blinks, then checks. “Why?”

“It’s a female name, right?”

“So what?” Ravi’s arm has migrated over your shoulder so that he’s got you in a sort of backhug, arms pinned to your side.

“So, it’s not like I only gave out my card to men.” On instinct, you test your mobility; you feel Ravi tighten his hold to keep you in place. “Wonshik-ah.”

His muscles tense, but when you tap at his forearm, he grumbles and loosens enough for you to step away.

You put your hands on your hips and look around at all of them. “Look. Giving my business card out is a part of my job. I’m in marketing, it’s going to happen. You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?” You raise your brows.

“Of course not, noona,” Hyuk says immediately. “But—”

“Good. Because I’ve given out my card countless times in the past and I’ll continue giving it out in the future,” you state.

“Countless times?” Leo repeats.

“In the past?” Ken sidles up to your side. “Like, in the recent past or in the far past?”

“You’ve given out your card so many times you can’t even count?” Hakyeon looks disproportionately horrified by this idea.

Why is this what they’re focusing on? “That’s not the point—”

Hongbin interrupts with a quiet tsk. “Noona. Are you trying to make us mad?”

You roll your eyes at him. “If I wanted to make you guys mad, I’d just ask Hyuk who his favourite hyung is.”

There’s a pause as everyone looks to Hyuk.

Hyuk opens his mouth, then wisely closes it and narrows his eyes at you.

You can’t help pushing a little, for your own entertainment. “You do have a favourite, right, Hyukie?”

“Who is it, Hyuk-ah?” Leo demands.

“You can’t ask me to pick a favourite,” Hyuk hedges, sidling around you so you’re in between him and Leo. “That’s like asking N-hyung to pick his favourite dongsaeng.”

“Oh, well.” You shrug lightly and launch the bomb: “I always thought your favourite was Jaehwan-ah.”

“Your favourite is Jaehwan?!” Leo starts toward Hyuk.

“I didn’t say that!” Hyuk yelps as he dives behind you. “Noona said that, not me!”

“Aw, really?” Ken bounces around your other side to meet Hyuk for a big hug. “I love you too, our baby maknae~!”

“Yah, Sanghyuk, I raised you.” Leo swerves around you, Ravi and Hakyeon to get at Hyuk and Ken, who run in the opposite direction.

You stifle a laugh and turn to Hakyeon. “As for Hakyeon-ah…” You smile up at him. “I’m your favourite dongsaeng.”

That gets him blushing in a second. “Ah, I mean…”

“I’m not?” You add a dash of aegyo.

“Of course you are.” Hakyeon folds easily with a huge smile on his face, and he opens his arms to you.

But Ravi grabs for you and pulls you out of reach. “That doesn’t mean you’re her favourite, N-hyung,” he points out.

“I wasn’t assuming that,” Hakyeon defends himself.

“Good.” Ravi nestles his head on top of yours and snuggles you deeper into his chest; Hakyeon narrows his eyes.

Hongbin gives a judgey sniff. “Don’t be so clingy.”

“Why not?” Ravi hums, unperturbed, as he angles you away from Hakyeon’s attempts to put his hands on you.

Amused, you let Ravi shield you from Hakyeon, while in the background, Hyuk and Ken giggle madly as they run from Leo. “Yeah, why not, Hongbin-ah? You don’t want me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, noona.”

“Just asking.”

“What, you’d rather I come over and wrestle you away from Ravi?” He snorts.

“No, I’d rather you let the others show their affection how they want without judging them for it,” you reply promptly.

Hongbin closes his mouth around the retort on his tongue and looks away, his cheeks darkening ever so slightly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you,” he says, tone lower.

You have to smile. He’s too tsundere for his own good, really.

A hard jostle against Ravi causes his grip on you to loosen; Ken’s barged right into him, Hyuk hot on his heels. Hakyeon takes his chance to snatch you into his arms while Ravi is pushed into Leo’s path as a barrier by Ken and Hyuk.

“Yah, brats,” Leo says on a pant, glaring at them as they peek over Ravi’s shoulders. He’s got his hands backward on his hips and is bent slightly forward like a middle-aged aunt winded from chasing kids around.

You decide to intervene before he collapses of exhaustion. “Okay, everyone, we really have to clean this place up before the venue staff kick us out. Help me out?”

“Of course,” Hakyeon says, good mood restored now that he’s got you. He brushes his lips against your temple, then lets you go to whip Ken, Ravi and Hyuk into action. “C’mon, kids, time to work. And no, Jaehwan-ah, you are not posting one more photo on SNS.”

You approach Leo, who’s still balefully eyeing Ken and Hyuk while his chest heaves up and down. “Taekwoon-ah.”

He looks around, expression stiff.

“You know it was a joke.” You reach up and slide your hand up the back of his neck.

He responds immediately, relaxing into your hold like a cat being petted. “Hm.”

“No hurt feelings?” you check, stroking your fingers into his hair.

“Mm. No.” Leo’s voice drops a few tones; he leans his head into your touch and, at the same time, drapes an arm around your waist to bring you closer. “Y/N-ah.”

“Yeah?”

You look up in time to see his eyelids drop a little, gaze focused on your face. Your mouth. He tugs a little with the arm around your waist, urging you to rise onto your tiptoes, meet him halfway.

“No, Taekwoon, not here,” you say as sternly as you can, and pull your hand out of his hair.

He lets out a sound that’s almost a whine. “Y/N-ah…”

“Help me clean up, and we can get home faster and do what you want there,” you pitch.

Fortunately that gets through, and he stops trying to get you on your tiptoes to kiss him. “What do you need me to do?”

Ah, helpful boyfriends are the best. You direct him to sorting out the remainder of the swag into boxes, then check on the others to make sure nothing’s going awry.

When you circle back to the table, Hongbin’s still sitting there. “Aren’t you going to put me to work?” he asks sardonically.

You stop in front of him and reach out to muss his coiffed hair. “There’s not much left to do. Want to sit here and get all the tsundere out of your system before we go home?”

“No. N-hyung’s going to yell if I don’t help.” He removes your hand from his hair and then drops his arm, forcing you to step closer with your hand still in his. “Tell me what to do.”

“Okay.” You try to think, but his perfectly-styled hair is just begging to be ruffled, and your free hand instinctively rises.

Hongbin grabs that hand, too, and brings both your hands down, pulling you in even closer. “Noona.”

He’s looking up at you, studying your face intently enough to make you feel embarrassed, and you get the urge to pull back. “Sorry, your hair just looks too good,” you offer as your excuse.

His head cocks. “Does it?”

“Or maybe it’s just you.” You give him a smile.

He tilts his head further. “Just me,” he repeats.

“Too cheesy?”

Hongbin considers for a moment. “No,” he decides. Then he pulls you down to plant a kiss on your mouth.

You wobble a bit when he lets you go, caught off-guard, and a smirky smile curls the edges of his lips. “Clingy enough for you?” he asks.

Before you can swat the smug look off his face, your phone rings. You jump at the sound, breaking apart from Hongbin, and quickly reach into your pocket to pick up.

Hongbin’s peering at the screen almost before you are, bent over to squint at the number. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You step away from him to get some space and answer: “Hello?”

“Y/N-ssi?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“This is Jihun-manager with the venue. I’m just calling to check if the rooms are ready to close up?”

“Oh, yes.” You turn to glance guiltily at the wall clock. “Er, most of them are, we just have one room left. I think it’s Dressing Room B.”

“Okay, I’ll tell my staff to leave that one for last.”

“Thanks very much. We’ll definitely be out before nine pm,” you promise.

As you end the call, you abruptly realize that all six Vixx members are standing around you, focused on you.

“Uh. Guys?” You step back a little, looking from face-to-face.

“Who was it?” Hakyeon asks.

“Who—? It was Jihun-manager, he’s the venue coordinator for this event.”

“You didn’t have his number saved,” Hongbin notes.

“Yeah, we’d only corresponded by email before today.” You frown around at everyone. “What’s the matter?”

Slowly their stances relax, as though some unknown threat has disappeared. Leo’s still eyeing your phone with mistrust, both Hakyeon and Ken are pouting, and Ravi’s rolling his shoulders just a bit, but nobody seems interested in explaining why they’re so het up.

Then you hear Hyuk’s grumble as he slinks back to stacking boxes: “You shouldn’t answer numbers you don’t know, noona.”

…Ohhhh dear.

Are they back to the giving-out-your-business-card thing?

You decide the best way to not test that theory is to get the boys cleaning up as swiftly and efficiently as possible. By quarter to nine, all the boxes are stacked and you’ve gathered all the leftover junk into three ginormous garbage bags. You send Jihun-manager a text to let him know you’re done with the room, then distribute the boxes and bags among the members and head out to the parking garage.

As you’re all waiting for the elevator, your phone rings again.

Everyone turns to look at you.

Warily, you back away from them, keeping your phone screen tucked toward you. “I’ll take this call, you guys go ahead, okay?” You motion to the arriving elevator car.

Nobody moves.

Whatever. With a huff, you turn your back and answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this… Y/N?”

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

“Er, you work with Vixx, right?”

“Yes, I do.” You glance over your shoulder and nearly leap out of your skin: all six of them are right there behind you, straining around their various boxes and bags to listen in.

“Ah, well, I don’t know if you remember, but I was at today’s event and you gave me your card.”

“Ah, did I?” You turn and make shooing motions at the boys. It doesn’t do anything, of course; instead, they just crowd closer until you’re basically up against the wall, surrounded by men and boxes.

“Yes. And… well, I’m interested in learning more about what you do. Your industry, you know. I hope this isn’t inappropriate, but could we chat sometime about your job, and your career, and how you got to where you are now?”

You smile. “Yes, that’s totally fine. Why don’t you send me an email? I’ll check my calendar when I’m back in the office and book us some time.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” The person is genuinely excited, you can tell.

“No problem. Just send me an email, okay?”

“I will! Thank you, Y/N-ssi.”

“You’re welcome! Bye now.”

You hang up, and immediately are bombarded by questions.

“Who was that?”

“Why are you meeting with them?”

“Why are they calling so late at night?”

“It was one of those men you gave your card to, right?!”

“Okay, first of all,” you say loudly, “it was a woman.”

That shuts them up, and you smile with satisfaction at the sudden silence.

“Second, it was a networking call. She just wanted to learn about my job. Nothing even close to a booty call.” You give Hyuk a slanted glance. “I’m good at what I do, and that includes networking, got it?”

“Got it,” Hyuk says, a little sullenly.

“You still shouldn’t answer unknown numbers, noona,” Ravi frets.

Ken gasps a little and looks to Hakyeon. “What if it was just an excuse? Do we have to start guarding Y/N-ah from women too?”

As horror spreads over Hakyeon’s face, you sigh. “No more of this, please, let’s just go home already. Taekwoon-ah, can you press the button?” Because of course the elevator’s long-gone.

Not a minute passes before your phone rings again.

There’s almost an audible cracking noise as everyone’s head snaps around.

“Don’t even start,” you say to them warningly, before answering the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/N?” It’s a male voice.

Ravi’s apparently standing close enough to hear, because he sucks in his breath and informs the others in a whisper: “It’s a guy.”

You ignore their intensifying stares. “Yes, that’s me, can I help you?”

“Well, uh, we met today at the Vixx event, and you gave me your card, and I was actually wondering… I’m sorry if this is a bit straightforward, but do you have a boyfriend?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

Ravi’s staring at you so hard he’s going cross-eyed. In a tense, hushed tone, he asks, “Did he just say… boy… friend…?”

Instantly, you feel the other five go on red alert, stares like lasers.

Ping. The elevator doors part once more.

In a split second, you make your decision. You plunge down the gauntlet of Vixx members, dive into the elevator car and frantically reach for the close button. If you can just get yourself two minutes away from your boyfriends, a two-minute elevator ride so they can calm down and become more rational and realize that you’re not going to say yes to a random person who asked if you had a boyfriend—

SLAM. Leo whacks the closing doors apart with his arm, eyes fixed on you, gaze stormy.

You gulp. “Uh.”

Then he’s pushed into the car by the rest of the boys, who are all now shouting and fighting to get near you.

“Who was that?!”

“Boyfriend??”

“He actually asked if you had a boyfriend?”

“What did you say?!”

“That was totally a booty call, noona!!”

“BOYFRIEND???”

With a sigh, you give up and let yourself be engulfed by six wailing men.

#vixx #vixx fic #vixx x reader #cha hakyeon #jung taekwoon #lee jaehwan #kim wonshik #lee hongbin #han sanghyuk #vixx imagines #eaf writes vixx #eaf original

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asongstress1422 · 5 years

Text

Ripples into Riptides

Zutara Fanfic – Part 8 of Bride from the Water Tribe

Summary: Katara was taken to the Northern Water Tribe by her grandmother; she was to be protected at all cost, for she was the last of the Southern Water. Once they got there, the North refused to teach her trying to strip her of her worth and turn her into what they wanted, a calm biddable healer to birth the next generation. They failed. And so as punishment they sent her to be a political bride to the Fire Nation.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Prince Zuko,” a feminine voice purred, “am I boring you?”

Zuko blinked, snapping back to himself. Lady Zemara, last evening’s absentee dinner partner, sat across from him, her chin rested on her cupped hand as she looked at him expectantly.

“Of course not,” Zuko reassured quickly, picking up his tea and gulping down a hefty swallow. Strong and rich in the morning, his uncle’s personal blend for him. The perfect thing when he spent his allotted time for sleep tossing instead of resting. “Please continue with your story.”

Her lips pouted prettily, sheet of inky black hair pulled back in a high phoenix plume to show off the long line of her neck and to emphasize the cut of her jaw. The day’s hanuf a soft coral that laid perfectly against her skin, embroidered with thousands of olive green dragonflies. A summer cold that was making its way though the palace was the cause of her absence yesterday, the only lasting effects of which seemed to be the always-at-hand handkerchief and a slightly red nose.

Dark eyes remained flat as she slipped back into her tale. She was a swordsmith in the Tamahagane style, a delicate blend of functionality and beauty. It was a topic Zuko could normally listen to for hours but his mind refused to focus on the woman in front of him.

Instead it kept turning to the book that had spent the night on his bedside table. Flora and Fauna of the Fire Nation, the economic cover proclaimed . Meant as a field guide for university students it made for a very dry read with only a few accompanying sketches to break up the monotony of the alphabetical listings. Zuko grinned, remembered how intrigued Katara had with the plants in the garden during their walk. Did she fancy herself a hobbyist after just one walk in the gardens? Whatever had drawn the water nation girl to the volume, it now resided in his pocket waiting for the opportunity to be returned.

“You find it amusing that I injured myself?” Zemara broke in hauntly.

Right. He was supposed to be paying attention to the woman breakfasting with him. “I’m impressed that you were able to hone such a sharp edge at so young an age,” he said pulling out pieces of the partially heard story. Her glare said he was not forgiven so he added a more sincere bit of praise to cut the flattery. “Master’s spend years learning such a craft.”

She preened at the complement as she continued, his slight pardoned for the moment.

With a sigh Zuko shoved all thoughts of the blue eyed woman out of his head. With so many backing the Lady Zemara he needed to focus on getting to know her while he had the chance. A forty-five minute breakfast wasn’t ideal to learn the nuances of a potential spouse but it was what he had so he made the best of it, peppering her with questions but hiding them in polite conversation.

The Lady was up to date with current events, not just in the Fire Nation but globally. Able to ask thoughtful questions and make intelligent replies. She wasn’t rude, wasn’t hot tempered and didn’t complain. Besides some obvious jealousy between her siblings when Zuko tried to bring up more personal matter she marked off several of the boxes on his checklist. All in all, she was nearly perfect.

So it irked Zuko that when a servant came to inform them it was time to meet the other Candidate for their group session he let out a sigh of relief. She was beautiful, cultured, and knowledgeable; all things necessary in a Fire Lady. So why was Zuko so repelled by her presence?

“Why do you frown so, Prince Zuko? Have I displeased you?” she asked, voice like honey and smile just as sweet, as he offered his arm to lead her to the meeting area while he tried to sort out his feelings.

“No,” he smoothed out his features. “Thinking of some business I must take care of before the end of the day.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking of business with a woman on your arm,” she teased, laying her head on his arm and looking up at him with her large doe eyes as they walked.

Insight struct like a rocksnake bite.

She was too perfect.

From her beauty, to the repeated emphasis of the Ohisama family’s backing on his rights to rule the Fire Nation, to her flirting now; it was all a deliberately constructed ruse. Her every action calculated to entice him. Her every word weighed to make him want to hear more.

“You’re right, Lady Zemara,” Zuko said, hiding his groundbreaking revelation behind a charming enough smile. Agni, he hated being manipulated. “Please, excuse my bad manners.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the candidates waited for them in the southern courtyard. They were all making the short trek up to the University District that surrounded the Fire Sage’s Temple of the Mind, the cornerstone of learning in the modern. Scholars from all over the world traveled to study there. It was one of the reasons the palace library was so vast. Students were asked to bring some form of knowledge, be it a book, scroll, or personal research paper, to add to the school. The temple kept the original but the palace got the first distributed copy.

The field guide weighed heavily in his pocket. Zuko clenched his fist, memories tied to why it had been forgotten making his stomach roll. He would return the book and apologize. Except that proved more difficult than anticipated. As they made the journey to the temple when ever he made a move to walk close to the water nation girl another candidates would throw themselves in his path. For her own part Lady Katara kept as much distance between them as wouldn’t be commented on, choosing instead to talk to one of the men in the ring of guards that flanked the party.

As they marched through the main gate, a long figure waited for them on the giant stone steps that led up to the temple proper. Sage Gyatso’s customary long red robe and pointed leather skullcap making him stand in sharp relief against the beige of the monolithic building. There was a quiet grace about that man, who Zuko knew was of a similar age to his deceased grandfather, though the Fire Sage did not look it as the aging Fire Lord had.

Gyayso’s bright eyes looked over the small crowd and they all quieted instantly at his wordless entreaty.

Impressed despite himself, Zuko wondered if the elderly man gave lessons. It would definitely come in handing during council meetings if he could get people to listen to him without having to shout himself horse first.

“My Ladies, Prince Zuko,” the Sage bowed, his voice kind and engaging coming from behind his white mustache. “I am pleased to welcome to the Temple of the Mind. While we go about our tour please keep all sound to a minimum. The temple plays host to students year round and we want to disrupt their concentration as little as possible. If at any time you have a question, please raise your hand and wait until called upon. Also, ask before you touch. Some of the items we store are one of a kind and extremely delicate. When we come to the science wing, this warning because dire. Please head posted safety instruction at all times.” His voice deepened as he eyed everyone seriously before blipping up to his normal cadence with a smile, “now, if you will all follow me inside.”

Skipping up the stairs in the manner of a much younger man, the group quickly surged after him. The way their guide laid out the itinerary, with the possible hint of danger and whimsy, left everyone intrigued to know more.

Before Katara could follow Zuko waylaid her before she could make the steps. The guard she had been talking to early, seeing two of his charges having stopped, paused before going inside. Keeping a respectful distance but a watchful eye.

Zuko pressed the book into her hand. “You forgot this. Yesterday.” With a raised brow she looked down at the item then back up at him. He swallowed. “I wanted to apologize for the way things went last night.” When she just continued to look at him, he fumbled looking for anything to say, not knowing what she was after. “In light of that, I would like to offer you another dinner. With me. Tonight.”

“No.” Tucking the book in her sash she stepped around him making to follow everyone else into the temple.

The guard made to fall into step behind her but seeing the Prince still at the ground level, mouth agape, the man paused to wait for him. He came out of his stupor as soon as the Lady was out of sight, charging up the stairs after her.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Zuko demanded nipping at her heels.

She shot a sour look over her shoulder as she power walked down the halls. “It is a simple enough word, Fire Prince. N-O, no. Noun, a negative answer.”

“What are you reading the dictionary now?” he asked incredulous, one of his steps eating up two of hers.

Katara glared as he fell into line with her. “Some,” she growled putting on a fresh burst of speed to put distance between them when she spied the tail end of their tour group.

Sage Gyatso held the room entranced as he pointed out the towering architecture of the antechamber. “--- blocks were brought all the way from the Great Divide Canyon in the Earth Kingdom back in 17AS. Official complete of the temple was in 93AS but every few decades saw other Fire Lords add their own mark by adding on some small addition or sanctioning repairs that were long overdue.” Seen that the Prince had finally caught up, the guide gestured to him in respect, “Prince Zuko has commissioned an upgrade and expansion to the dormitories that haven't been touched since Fire Lord Kyro’s time.”

There were murmurs of praise that Zuko acknowledged with an awkwardly raised hand and a smile.

Seeing the prince’s shyness the Sage pressed them along coming into an even grander room. “Here we have the Library.”

Zuko had been here countless times but it was still impressive. The central tower rose over a hundred feet in the air. Multi level walkways encircled the area all the way up to the soaring ceiling, hallways branching from each level like spokes from a wagon wheel. Man size windows at roof level let in floods of sunlight at all hours of the day. It had been an architectural achievement when it had been built and even now, four hundred years later, it was awe inspiring.

At the ground level, rows of people sat an angled desks in the middle of the room. The soft scratching of quills and the occasional rustle of paper almost deafening in the hush.

“The Palace boasts a more formal library,” Gyatso nodded deferentially to the prince, his voice soft out of respect for the people busy at work, “but, as this area has the best year round lighting, we also use this area to make copies of books. Students are required to give ten hours a week to community service projects.” His hand wave encompassed the working people, “transcribing is the most popular.

“The books we have here are from all over the world and the first time some of them had ever seen them.” Noticing Katara’s distinct blue eyes in the crowd he nodded at her with a kind smile, “we even have a few water tribe scrolls.” He turned back to the group at large. “If you all want to take a turn about the place, maybe pick out a book or tried your hand at transcribing, please feel free.”

A few of the women broke off in small clusters to go exploring, the rest descended on the prince asking for him for book recommendations or to personal show them around. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw Katara stepped forward to the Sage. One of the students had also seen this as an opportunity to talk to his Master and, with an armful of notes, he intercedes, getting the older man’s input in hushed whispers. As soon as Gyatso noticed her waiting, though, he quieted the young man with a touch on his shoulder and smiled in her direction.

Zuko was too far away to hear what was actually being said but after a few exchanged words he watched as Katara nodded her head in thanks before breaking away, heading for one of the several wrath iron staircases that led to the upper levels. After making his excuses to the several candidates that had congregated around him he slipped away to follow.

There was no way she didn’t know he was behind her. But as she stepped off the landing and into the rows and rows of shelves, the height of which required ten food ladders to reach the top most books, Katara ignored him, keeping her eyes on the little iron markers as they passed. 440, 485, 510.

“Last night, I didn’t mean frightened you,” he finally spoke up when is seemed likely she would continue to pretend he wasn’t there. “That was never my intention.”

“You did not frightened me, Fire Prince,” she said.

“Well, you’re actions state otherwise,” he pointed out, stepping out of her way as she back tracked and slipped into the isle she’d been looking for.

Her long fingered hands skimmed the spines of books and she walked down, eyes racking the titles. He moved to brace her as she stepped upon one of the ladders to get a better vantage on the higher shelves.

He frowned, eyeing his hand on the small of her back. “Was it because I grappled with you?” he asked, thinking back, as she shifting through a tangle of scrolls. “Because I would like to point out that you started it.”

“Like I said,” she half unrolled one of the scrolls, scowled, then rolled it back up before picking out another one, “you did not scare me.”

“Then why don’t you want to have dinner with me?” If he had requested any of the other Candidate to eat with him they would have jumped over themselves to accommodate him, be them fire nation or earth kingdom. Somehow that made it worse that this particular blue eyes woman was rebuffing him at every turn.

“Because once was enough,” she huffed, jumping from the rung in a dexterous manner and gliding down in a swish of blood orange silk, landing with feline grace.

“Lady Katara,” Sage Gyasto said, suddenly looming at the mouth of the isle, interrupting Zuko before he could continue pressing her. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Unfortunately no, Master Gyatso,” she said.

“Then if I may?” The man scurried up the ladder on the opposite side, using the shelves to propel himself half a row down before climbing nearly at the top. Tucking several scrolls under his arm he retracted his route and slid down the wooden rungs to float to the ground. He offered the scrolls to her with a bow. “Here you are, My Lady.”

She accepted in kind. “Thank you.”

Setting them on a partly cleared shelf behind her she unfurled one. “What is this?”

Gyasto peaked over her shoulder. “That would be Foggy Swamp style.”

“Swamp style?” she questioned, fingers tracing the sketch of the bending mannequin.

“Yes, a small hamlet of water benders thrive in the nearly uninhabitable tracked of land in the southwestern range of the Earth Kingdom.

She looked up at the Sage, her blue eyes brilliant. “May I borrow these?”

“Not these ones I’m afraid. They are much too precious to leave the building.” He saw the deep disappointment in the girls eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Zuko had seen it too.

“What if I,” he found himself say, laying a hand on the pile of scrolls, “take possession of them?”

Gyasto wince but bowed to his Prince, “then I would gladly release them into your care. I only asked they be returned in the same condition as they are now.”

Zuko frowned, confused at the strange request. “Of course.”

Katara turned reaching for the scrolls. “Many thanks, Master Gyatso.”

Zuko slid the scrolls away, a beguiling smile on his lips. “You may looked at them after you have dinner with me tonight. Let’s say six?”

She blinked, spine snapping straight, blue eyes going steely. “So you would bribe me with my own people’s knowledge, that you stole from us, to get what you want.” She huffed a disgusted chuckle, shaking her head. “I should have expected it.” Without another word she turned and walked away, leaving him there with a worthless pile of water scrolls.

What was he supposed to do with them now?

“Ah, to be young again.” Zuko turned to the Sage, mouth still half open. Gyasto returned the gaze with a wry smile. “Would you have me return those, Your Highness?”

“I, uh-- No, I’ll still take them. It’s good to learn about the other nations,” he said to save face.

Gyatso nodded sagely. “Then may I suggest ‘The Birth of Tui and La’?”

“I already know that story,” Zuko said.

“You know the Fire Nation version. This,” he pulled a scroll from his sleeve as if by magic, “is the Water Tribe telling.” The old man set it with its brethren. “I think you will find it … enlightening. If you are ready to carry on, your highness?” The Sage asked, gesturing for the Prince to precede him from the shelves.

“Yes, of course,” Zuko said, slipping the scrolls into his front of his robes as they made their way back to the waiting candidates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, Zuko was in his in-room office tackling the ever present pile of paperwork. He had forgotten about his plans with the water nation girl, having thought she had rather pointedly declined, so it was rather shocking when a servant came to inform him of the Lady Katara’s arrival.

The first thing he noticed was that she hadn't changed her hanfu, the copper fans marching up the blood orange fabric being the same one she had worn to the temple. The second was that she stood just inside the door, arms crossed, looking more hesitant then he’d ever seen her.

All that vanished when she saw him walk in though, shoulders going back and chin up.

He bit his lip against a genuine smile when she made no further move to interact.

“I’m glad you decided to come.” He came up beside her and offered his arm. With an eye roll she sidestepped it, going straight for the ground table and plopping herself in the pillow she had occupied once already. He took his own place.

Digging in the satchel at her side she unearthed a slip of paper and slide it across to him.

“What’s this?” he asked picking it up.

“Your uncle’s note.” There was a snide cadence to her words as she laced her fingers atop the burnished wood. “You demanded to see it yesterday.”

It was written neatly in his Uncle’s hand. Asking the Water Nation Candidate, Lady Katara, to take the recently open dining spot and apologies for any inconvenience that abrupt shift would cause.

“I’m sorry for insinuating I didn't believe you.” Disgusted with himself he flipped the page over so he wouldn’t have his faults staring him in the face any more then the woman across from him would supply. “I hope this second meal doesn’t interfere with your schedule.”

“Does it matter?” she snorted. When he made no reply, she glanced up to see his arrested look. Puffing out a sigh she hung her head as if asking for patients. Sitting up she met his eyes. “No, Fire Prince, you did not mess up my schedule.” Her lips pinched as she continued dryly, “if anything you were the better of the two options for my evening. Now, where are the scrolls you promised me?”

Oh, right. “I’ll get them after dinner.”

Her eyes were as sharp as her fanged smile. “I would like them now.”

Feeling like enough of a heel already, he stood and retrieved them. Sliding them across the table as the servants began ferrying in dishes then quietly departing.

Taking up the duty of host again, he poured both their tea. “I would also like to apologize for how my actions came across last night. I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“Do not flatter yourself,” she chuckled, the sound cold and dark as she took up her cup and sipped. “I have far worse things to fear than you.” Setting down the drink she turned her attention to the scrolls she’d just been given.

"Those are bending scrolls. What use are they to you? I thought there were no female benders in the water nation."

"It is true that the North does not train their women, but this is still apart of my history. It is a part that I would like to know more about."

“I would take it as a great honor if you would eat with me.”

“I already told you I do not like your spicy food.”

“The more I think back on it, the more I remembers that it was Arnook that claimed you liked it in the first place. Why would he do that?”

She shrugged eyes still on the scroll in her lap. “Because he could.”

"I see." And he did. It was strange how those three little words, said in just that way, could change Zuko's fundamental understanding of the woman that stat across from him. Changed her from the blue-eyed girl from the north to a person he could relate with. He, too, had spent his life up to a year ago under the rule of someone who believed he had the right to control him.

Carefully spooning out a couple chunks of chicken that was swimming in an almost glowing orange sauce into his napkin. He felt her eyes on him as he diligently blotted off the sauce til the remaining chicken was only slightly tinted. “The chicken is precooked,” he explained as he worked, “and added after the sauce has a chance to thicken, so most of the heat is on the outside. The spiciness does need some getting used to, especially if you are to be able to enjoy some of the delicacies of the nation. But there are many dishes that have reduced heat versions or even some with no spice at all. But there is something that can be done with the rest.” He then transferred the bits to her plate. “It won't be as hot, but it still might be a bit spicy for someone not used to it.” He set a shallow dish of something thick and white next to the plate. “If you dip it here it will cut the heat even further.” She just looked at him. “Go ahead,” he encouraged.

Hesitance clear in her movements, she set aside the scroll and picked up a chunk with her fingers and dunked it in the paste, drowning the small bite. Quickly as if to stop herself from reconsidering she screwed her eyes shut and popped it in her mouth, chewing quickly. Once … twice…

“Oh,” her eyes popped open and she just let the flavors sit on her tongue. The spice was just enough to hint at and added perfectly to the chicken. The white stuff was some kind of milk base, whipped thick and chilled. It was fantastic. She quickly ate another piece.

“Do you like it?” Zuko asked, amused simply by watching her enjoy.

She nodded, mouthing her last piece. She looked at her empty place with something painfully close to longing.

Smiling he picked up the bowl of saffron rice.

“I had a sister,” he shared as he scooped some the the rice onto her plate and picked up another dish to serve her. “She was thirteen months younger than me.”

Katara paused in shoveling food into her mouth to look at him as if he grew another head. “Yes, I know.”

“Her name was Azula,” he continued, serving himself as well.

“I know,” she said again. “Why are telling me this?”

“Just talking. Giving you information to get to know me in hopes of getting the same in return.”

She looked suspicious. “Why?”

He was at a loss as what to say to that. “It seems like the thing to do.”

Her head tilted to the side. “What if I do not want to get to know you?”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “Then why are you here?”

She raised a brow and picked up the scroll that was in her lap.

"Oh, right," Zuko snorted with a self deprecating smile. "I bribed you."

An awkwardness descended over the table. Katara fiddled with her fork staring at her plate. “Sokko. My brother. Older.”

“There,” Zuko said cutting into his komodo-rhino steak. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Something in her tone triggered him and he asked softly, “why?”

“Because the fire nation killed him and I’m sitting here eating with its prince.” Each word was punctuated with a controlled stab of her fork as she speared more and more food on its tines. “Is that enough ‘getting to know you’, Fire Prince?” She shoved the full utensil in her mouth as if to keep herself from saying any more.

She wasn’t angry. There was anger in her voice, yes, but it was deeply banked, leaving only deep barely held together sadness in its place. Zuko set his on utensil down and sat back. Her pain made the air hard to breath. “I’m sor--”

“Don’t.” She cautioned very softly, scooping in another bite. “I do not wish to talk about this any more.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, licking dry lips.

They finished the rest of the meal in near total silence.

#bride from the water tribe #bride of the water tribe #mine #fanfic #zutara fanfiction #zutara #my fanfiction #part 8

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sad-af1121 · 6 years

Text

Blind Love: Part 1/2

Summary: When revealing true feelings for the one you love is too late and the only thing left behind is pain. (Best friends AU) Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2128 Warnings: Angst, heartache, language- verbal abusive relationship, cute fluff A/N: Based on the song Love is Blindness (yes the title of the song and fic are similar fam 👌), this is part 1 of 2 for @asirenscalling writing challenge! Enjoy and hopefully I’ll have part 2 written up by the 20th or by the end of this month :’) Feedback is welcomed 💜

You’ve known Lance since middle school, riding the bus together and fooling around with things you weren’t supposed to in science class. You’d never forget the day when he saved you from face planting on the playground platform. Your shoelace had gotten caught under someone else’s foot, resulting in your downfall.

However, Lance caught the back of your shirt in time, yanking you up from gravity’s attempt to hurt you. Clinging to his arm for dear life, you remembered how scared you were to open your eyes, waiting for the impact. But it never happened, Lance made you sit down as he mimicked the recess overseer's nasal voice while petting your hair. When a giggled escaped your mouth, Lance pulled away and you opened your eyes to see his piercing blue one’s squinted in a warm smile. As if time stopped on purpose, you could’ve sworn your heart fluttered in your chest, doing 20 summersaults all in one go. Yet that moment was quickly taken away when your name left his lips, snapping you out from your trance. He was running away from you before looking back to shout out “you’re it!” Grinning, you ran after him in attempt to get him back.

But you forgot to tie your shoelace again.

As time went on, Lance wasn’t like the other kids, always striving for the best at a young age and getting what he wanted, even if that meant he had to work twice as hard. Determination was written in his DNA and so was competitiveness. Back then, popularity didn’t matter that much, only if your scooter went faster downhill and you bet your money that Lance’s scooter was the fastest on the block. He won every round and bought ice cream for everyone who participated. Thank Mrs. Miller down the street who paid Lance $10 every day just to walk her dogs.

Lance had your back and you had his. You two made an agreement if there was ever a problem that might jeopardize your friendship, you’d talk it out first before anything else happened. Luckily, that method helped a lot throughout the years of your friendship because the Tuckers didn’t make your bond any easy. They pushed and pushed Lance until he finally got the memo that he’s meant for more. Guiding him to gymnastics and taking away his free time to practice. He was taught that he had no weakness, that it was an illusion that pulled him back down to the ground rather than rising to the top. And his focus was in being the best all his life. You were split between Lance and what his parents wished for him, so you tried staying away as much as possible.

Nevertheless, Lance Tucker wasn’t going to let that happen, not in a million years. “What are best friends for then, Y/N?”

He stood by your side no matter what, was a shoulder to cry on, and a comfy cuddle buddy on movie nights. You were his wingman and so was him for you during college. After your careers started booming, you always made sure to see each other once a year or more if destiny allowed it. Love kept your relationship strong and nothing was going to tear it down. Nothing.

Even if that meant betraying the love gods because you couldn’t resist falling in love with Lance. There was a side you only knew and the world was given just a glimpse of how amazing that man is. It was as if he was afraid to share who he was, who the real Lance Tucker was. He was a different person around you, in comparison with others. Not once did you complain about his decision to keep certain things to himself, you wanted him happy despite it all. He was home and you were his heart.

“Did you send him the right address this time? I don’t need a whiny Lance walking through that door.” You laughed, placing the salad bowl on the dinner table before stepping away to look over the masterpiece you put together for tonight. “I want everything to go perfect, baby.”

“I did, would ya stop worrying? I told him it was a joke. Who knew he’d actually drive to the post office and think that’s where we live.” Joe says softly, kissing the side of your cheek. He wraps his arms around your mid and pulls your closer, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“Lance can be gullible. He’s probably got a lot on his mind with the new training he’s being put under. It’s like a whole other level of stress for him.” You sigh, leaning your head against your boyfriend’s chest.

“I’m sure Nicole is taking good care of Lance and being there for him. They’re like the cutest couple ever and still going strong after 3 years, Christ. I hope we get that long.”

Furrowing your brows together, you turn in Joe’s hold, playfully punching his arm. “Ow!”

“Are you having doubts about our relationship, mister?” You question, cocking your head to the side while crossing your arms. Your heart dropped to your stomach hearing that and you couldn’t give away that it did, taking Joe’s words in amusement.

Chuckling, Joe grabs your left hand, bringing the back to his lips as he kisses there gently, his emerald green eyes landing on the princess cut diamond ring on your finger. “Of course I don’t, future Mrs. Martinez. I’ll love you till the end of days.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from creeping on your cheeks as you bashfully pull your hand away and smirk, forgetting about before. “Good. Or else you’re asking for trouble.”

“You’re so cute.”

“And you’re so full of it.” You amuse, pecking his cheek. When you pull away, you notice you’ve forgotten to get the drinks from the basement and your guests would be there any moment. “Hey, can you get the beers from the fridge downstairs. I completely forgot to get them.”

“Yeah, I’ll get them. Don’t miss me too much!” Joe says, hurrying to the basement and disappearing down the stairs.

You met Joe in your freshman year of college, studying in the same science and health field but he was more for physical therapy and you in Nutrition and Wellness Studies. Lance was also studying the same thing as you which turned out for the better since his main career is to help train other Olympians and make sure they’re fed and physically trained right. You stayed in touch after college and fell for Joe overtime, deciding to pursue a relationship with him and knowing Lance wasn’t going to be with you. He never showed interest and liked girls that were the complete opposite; he had a certain type. You couldn’t mope around and wait for Lance to pick you. It was time to move on.

As much as your heart didn’t want to.

“You’re a fucking idiot. Why can’t you ever get anything right?” Nicole hisses, glaring out the window as Lance makes his way into the car.

“For the last time kitten, Joe gave me the wrong address. I should’ve paid more attention-”

“Well, no shit Sherlock.” Nicole spits, clipping in her seat belt. Lance shut his eyes, sighing deeply to calm his aggravated nerves, not wanting to have another argument with her. It was taking everything in him not to kick Nicole out the car and break up, but she’s all he’s got now. “I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t be upset with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

He was met silence, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. Lance would do anything in the world to put his life on pause so he can figure out where things were going wrong. To the world, he had the perfect life: a hot girlfriend who “loved” him more than anything, a striving career that had a hefty paycheck, and a best friend who he can get lost in. Never craving to leave the pool he’s been sunk in. But he felt a gap missing and couldn’t quite understand what it was.

“Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Lance jerks, gripping the steering wheel when the car comes to a stop. Looking to the left, Lance scans over the little white Ranch home with a purple porch swing on it’s right. “She actually got one.” Lance chuckles to himself, a gentle smile craving along his lips. He remembers the debate you two had about the odd little porch swing that soon became a reality. You said it was your personal touch and every house on the block would know that’s your home. Lance bet his money with Joe that you weren’t going to have that since it was antique-ish and you’d forget.

Yet you proved him wrong, like so many other times.

“Look,” Lance says, turning in his seat. “We can’t argue how we usually do and let’s try not to, okay? Y/N said this is an important dinner and I have a feeling they’re gonna tell us something big, so try to be civil with me, please?”

“Alright. Now let's go! I’m starving.” Nicole whines, throwing her head back. Lance chuckles again before leaning forward, pecking her lips. “Attagirl.”

When Lance arrived, you hopped off the kitchen counter and ran to the door, pulling it open to jump into his arms. “Oh my God, you’re here!”

“Hi to you too, spider monkey. Never gets old.” Lance laughs, catching you in his arms and walking in to admire your new home. “Holy shit, this is nice. Needs some work in the front but it’s do-able.”

“Excuse me? My house is perfect.” You argue, leaning back.

“It’s beautiful, Y/N. I love the porch swing.” Nicole says.

“Thank you! You see, I ain’t the only one who likes it.” You raise a brow to Joe who playfully rolls his eyes and nods.

“Yes, my love, you’re right. It’s an eye-catcher. Now, should we eat?”

Everything was going the way you planned it, noticing Lance and Nicole were smiling more than they usually did. You were glad things were getting better with them and hoped they’d stay together, knowing how much Nicole makes Lance happy. He was radiating, and this made you content.

“Alright, you two. Spill it. What’s the big news?” Lance says in mid-chew, eyeing you and Joe.

Snorting, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before setting it back down onto your lap. “You still haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?” Lance hesitantly laughs, his browning knitting together and forming creases on his forehead. A knot begins to form in the pit of his stomach, giving him a not-so-good feeling about the next few words that are going to fly out of your mouth.

As if your nerves weren’t already wrecked, you prepare yourself again, taking slow steady breathes and taking Joe’s hand in yours, a bright grin casting your features. “We’re engaged!”

“Wh-what?” Lance stuttered, alarms going off in his head, his stomach coiling into itself.

Why did it feel like he was losing you when you’re right in front of him?

“Oh my god! When did this happen!?” Nicole squeals, scooting her seat closer towards the table to get a look at the ring that fitted perfectly around your finger. You excitingly bring your left hand in view, smiling brighter than the day Joe proposed. The twinkle in your eyes made it impossible for Lance to even look at it, bothered by the news.

“Isn’t it too early? I mean, it’s only been a year and a half. And you guys just moved in together…” Lance debates, clenching his fists underneath the table as his eyes lands on yours. He sees you look down, pulling your hand back, your lips forming into a pout. He didn’t mean to sound harsh but couldn’t hold back.

An awkward minute passes by and Joe begins to bounce his leg. “Yeah, but I love Y/N and she loves me. We’ve known each other for more than a year and a half and that doesn’t change anything. I’d be marrying my best friend.” Joe says, placing a hand on your thigh.

You look up at Lance, watching his jaw clench. You already knew he was starting to get jealous and didn’t want the two to argue over something so little.

“One of your best friends, honey.” You giggle, trying to make the atmosphere less uncomfortable.

“No, I get it. But being friends and being each other’s partners are two different things, Martinez.” Lance states, leaning back in his seat as he grabs his beer, taking a full swig of it.

“Lance,” You whisper loud enough for everyone to hear and look up.

“I’m pregnant.”

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(tag list is open)

#lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x reader fic #lance tucker x reader angst #lance tucker fic #lance tucker angst #lance tucker the bronze #angst #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fic #ascwritingchallenge

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rebelminxy · 5 years

Text

EVERGARDEN-Chapter 1

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Alessa Clyde (NoVa) x Dean Winchester

Word Count:3306

A/N: Aesthetic was made by @riversong-sam and beta done by @bees0are0awesome thank you for being awesome people! Super late posting but had a busy day so here is the next Chapter of the series!

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

“C’ mon Winchester! Can’t you drop the price a little lower?”

“No can do. Do you know how hard it is to come by these parts now-a-days? And to make them last longer than a few months? No, one hundred thousand gold and we can call it a day.”

Dean stared the soldier down, arms crossed and showing that he would stand his ground. The soldier stared back for a few seconds before letting a breath release between his lips, looking down at the trade screen in front of him. He sighed and pressed the “accept” button, sending Dean the amount of gold that was on the screen. Dean smiled and handed the arm over to the soldier, trade completed.

“This arm better not give me any more problems, Winchester.”

“I swear on my life that it should last you for a year. Any small repairs needed, will do them for free.

The soldier smiled at Dean and thanked him, walking out of the shop with his newly fixed arm in place. Dean watched as he ran over to the other soldiers dressed just like him, huffing at the men in uniform.

“You know you didn’t have to charge him that much,” stated Sam from his perch behind the counter.

Dean turned to face his younger brother, giving him a look of “I-don’t-give-a-damn” before moving over to stand next to Sam. Sam was working on an eye, trying to give it a better upgrade for his brother.

“You know, my eye still functions, Sammy.”

“Yeah but you can do with a better one since that one’s usage limit is almost up. Plus, why did you charge that guy so much gold? We aren’t in dire need and you have enough parts in the back to have repaired that arm without a problem.”

“C’ mon! He’s part of Hadron! Those guys are always rolling in gold with the taxes they charge so I think I am in my right to put down a hefty fee.”

Sam looked up from his work, his face showing how serious he was on the topic.

“He’s just a kid, probably 16. He is fighting in the frontlines, risking his life for the rest of us. The decent thing you could have done is lower the price.”

“They get it good everywhere else. Free food, free-living and gold galore. And you can tell by his stats he hasn’t been to the frontlines at all. Probably just a guard in the city to control the people.”

“Still….”

“Still nothing Sam. The Knights of Hadron have it easy. It’s been two friggin years and they’re still guarding the entrance to the Tree, and all they’ve cleared are the first two levels. If they would let other players at the Tree or surrounding areas we could have already cleared out the game and gone back to our lives--our lives before this hell. If it weren’t for that message we received that night, we could have died in the chaos.”

Sam sighed, not able to argue back. Dean was right. Once the Knights had taken over the entire country, they made it clear only members were free to what surrounded the Tree and the levels inside. Any other player, pro or not, was off limits. Plus, they had never figured out who sent them that message from that night.

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

“Dean! Sam! What do we do?”

Sam looked over at his brother, the fear etched in his eyes. The crowd around them was going wild, people trying to figure out what was going on. That’s when both brothers received a message.

“Who the hell would be messaging us right now!” Dean yelled as he pulled Charlie and Kevin closer to him.

Sam opened the message and noticed it didn’t have a sender name nor an avatar image of the sender. There were only a few sentences.

‘Get away from there now. The military is on their way and it would be best you hide before they capture you. The government wants all players to be captured and interrogated, so run as far as you can and find a cave to hide out in. Be patient and wait for my message to let you know everything is in the clear.’

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

“If it weren’t for that message and the one after, we would have been killed by the government,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, but also, don’t come and argue how we need to be fair to those Knights,” Dean continued. “If I really wanted to admit it, I think they are using this as an excuse to keep control. Ever since they threw the government out the way, they have made it hard to make a living with all these taxes and taking the best for themselves.”

“I just think we have to take it easy on the young ones. It’s weird how they are now accepting teens into the ranks, being that before they were strict on entry. Now, anyone can be part of Hadron,” Sam replied, turning back to his work.

“Yeah but not everyone is dumb enough to join. Rumor has it, they are using the newbies at the frontlines to avoid more loss of the best fighters. Pawns. I swear if they are, Hadron really needs to be taken down.”

Sam huffed his agreement, focusing on his work.

“By the way, gonna need to you put that on pause and head over to Garth’s farm. Charlie is waiting for you there to get some more parts she collected from the Wasteland. Plus, Kevin has some herbs and stuff for his potions he left from his last trip out there so gonna have to bring that case back.”

“Dean, even if I leave now and run it, I’ll barely make it there before nightfall,” Sam exclaimed as he looked up from his work in annoyance. “I can’t come back tonight, not when they implemented a curfew because of the PK-ers roaming the roads.”

“That’s why I want you to go now so you can come back tomorrow instead. Stay by Garth’s and come back with Charlie so we can finish fixing the other orders we have.”

Sam sighed, wishing Dean would give him a break.

“Look I would go, but with the backup, we have on order right now…”

“Fine! I get you don’t want to see Lisa but you will have to accept the fact Garth has her working there because he needed the help.”

“I don’t care if she’s there, I just hate the fact every time I go, she clings onto me.”

“Can you blame her? You promised she could move in here and you got along with her kid. Not many are like that.”

“Yeah but wasn’t expecting her to want more than what we had. We agreed just sex and I would help her out with her kid every now and then.”

Sam smirked at his brother’s comment. Dean continued his playboy ways even in this wretched world. But for Dean to commit, even in this world, it would be impossible.

“Alright, let Garth know I’m on my way.”

========================================

It has been two years since the night of the Takeover. The first night, the government sent out an alert to the military to round up everyone in every state and get them to the closest city to keep everyone under control. Player and non-players were separated at capture, players being interrogated by the military. For three months, everyone lived in fear of the unknown. And because the government had no clue what exactly was going on, they began to kill players, under the ruse that it was to find the culprit, blaming players to somehow be part of the problem.

But, not everyone was having it. The top five players united and fought against the military, only to find that guns and cars were no longer an option--anything other than the human body that was connected via chip was no longer working. So, the top five began to take more players under their wings and an uprising began; eventually, the group won against the government. One by one, high government officials that agreed to the killing of players were punished by death. The rest were taken and locked away. Once the usurpers gained control of every state and city, they took on the title as Knights of Hadron, recruiting top players. Eventually, their numbers grew large, their soldiers taking over cities and towns. Only the main five had power above everyone else, and they ruled with an iron grip.

But even with the protection of the Knights and their worry of reaching the top of the Tree of Knowledge, there was a problem they could not control. PK-ers--or player killers. These were men and women who took pleasure in killing the innocent, torture and watching their chip light go from green to red. These were dangerous people, mostly those that escaped prisons and high-security mental health facilities. The PK-ers hunted mainly at night, which caused a strict curfew to be set into place. No one currently knows how many PK-ers were out there, only that if you ran across a group of them, you knew for sure you were dead.

========================================

Sam made it to Garth’s farm right before sundown, glad his horse was fast enough for the long ride. Garth lived outside the town of Lebanon. The five of them moved into the small town they found when they were on the run for the first three months. The brothers were able to set up a parts shop and eventually become weapons dealers, repairing body mods and weapons alike. Garth purchased some land right outside the small town, raising cattle for meat and a farm to grow fruits and vegetables. He sold his items at Kevin’s potion store which was next to the Winchesters shop. Charlie kept mostly to traveling and obtaining things anyone might need, giving the guys what they wanted and selling the rest for gold.

Sam stayed the night at Garth’s, catching up with Charlie’s travels and getting a few food items from Garth. Once the sun broke the horizon, Garth and Sam prepared a cart with two horses and loaded up everything that had to go back to town. Charlie climbed up on the cart’s seat next to Sam, holding onto the box of herbs Kevin had asked for and they rode off, heading back to town.

The ride was a silent one, both keeping an eye out just in case someone tried to rob them. After an hour’s ride, something in the trees caught Sam’s eye, making him motion a signal at Charlie to keep her eyes open. It was daytime, so Sam assumed it might just be a gang trying to rob the cart. It was until he looked in front of him and saw someone standing in the middle of the road wearing a black hooded cloak. Sam pulled the reins on the horse for a full stop, Charlie already had her hand on her rapier.

“Excuse me, but we need to get through!” Sam yelled at the figure. “Could you possibly move out the way?”

The figure kept its stance, reaching for the hood and lowering it, showing his face to them. Sam and Charlie gasped at the sickening smile plastered on his lips. He shoved the cloak out the way to reveal a sword in hand. Charlie and Sam looked at each other and immediately pulled up their screens to change into their armor. A small flash of light surrounded their bodies and they were fully clothed in silver armor.

“I would suggest you move away fucker or we will move you!” Charlie screamed at the guy who still hadn’t moved.

“Sam,” she whispered when the man suddenly walked his way towards them. “I don’t think he is a regular robber.”

“Of course he isn’t, girl!”

Sam and Charlie turned to look behind them, a woman standing a few feet away from the cart. She wore the small black cloak and her hair pulled back. The only problem was that her clothing was covered in dry blood, and what looked to be a red handprint etched on her face.

“Now, be good little children and get off the cart. If you do as we say we promise your death will be quick.”

That’s when Sam noticed that they were surrounded. Out from the tree’s and high grass, many in the same black cloaks appeared from the shadows. Sam knew it had to be more than 20 around them, wondering how he and Charlie were going to get out of the situation they were in.

“PK-ers,” whispered Charlie.

“We prefer the term, cleaner. We clean this world from the weak, or for a price. And right now, that cart looks like it can give us a hefty price.”

“Let us through and we promise not to report you!” Sam exclaimed, hand on the hilt of his axe.

The group surrounding them burst out in laughter, causing Sam and Charlie to look around confused.

“We have no fear of the Knights! They have no care to be out here!” the woman screamed at them, her eyes bulging. “Didn’t they recently pull back their troops back to the Tree to try and raid the third level? No one can save you or the measly town ahead. Now, remove your weapons and give in, or we will make your death linger!”

Charlie pulled out her rapier as Sam pulled out his double-edged axe from its hilt. They stood on the cart ready for an attack.

“Fine, be bratty children. KILL THEM!”

The group suddenly charged at the cart, pushing and shoving at it to unbalance the two. Another grabbed hold of the horses and started stabbing the poor animals to death, causing the cart to lean forward. Sam and Charlie jumped off, tackling part of the crowd down. Charlie swung her rapier in an arc above her and Sam. They stood back to back, waiting for someone to attack. All they could see was wicked smiles around them.

“Well, Sam, if this is how we go out, want to say it was great knowing you.”

“We aren’t dying this way, Charlie. Not today.”

Before Sam or Charlie could lunge forward to attack, three arrows suddenly went through the three men that were stalking towards them. Everyone turned to where the arrows came from, whence two more shot out, each killing a mark. Then, a loud whistle was heard, followed by the screams for four men jumping out from the top of the trees. They immediately went into fight mode, stabbing and slashing at the PK-ers. Sam and Charlie took the moment of distraction to start attacking those around them. As they were defending themselves, more arrows flew out the shadows of the trees, each hitting a bull’s eye in the middle of a PK-er’s head, killing them instantly.

Sam was right about one thing, the group of PK-ers was bigger than they thought. One would go down and another would run out the shadows. Sam was fighting a PK-er when he got hit from behind with a sword. Luckily the attacker pierced Sam’s shoulder, but his life light was almost hitting red from the other blows he had received. Sam could see the blinking red before his eyes, afraid that this really would be the end of him. That’s when he saw the red cloak spring forth from the trees, stabbing the PK-er that had his hands-on Sam. With a flash, Sam was free from the grip of death, his red light still flashing as he watched the red-cloaked figure kill the PK-ers around them quickly. It didn’t take them long; they were quick on their feet. Each attack they made was an immediate kill, the light on the PK-ers going from green to red in a heartbeat.

After what felt like ages, Sam heard the last lingering death cries, then all was silent. He then heard Charlie yelling his name, her hands on him as he kneeled. He wasn’t sure when he got down to his knees, he only felt Charlie healing him with a potion. Once he saw the green light, he gasped for breath and started coughing.

“Sam, oh god, I thought I lost you!”

Sam looked up to see Charlie on the verge of tears. He smiled at her and pulled her into a hug, patting her head to calm her down.

“I thought…. thought I lost you….I…I didn’t know…how I was….was going to tell Dean,” she cried out between the falling tears.

“I’m here, I’m alright,” Sam whispered in comfort.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that two of their saviors were untying two of the remaining horses to the cart. Sam moved from Charlie and held her hand, keeping her close.

“Thank you for saving us, but there is no need for the horses. We can…”

“Orders from the Mistress to give you the horses so best not deny her.”

Sam looked at the men, noticing their attire.

“You are part of the Knight of Hadron,” he whispered.

“Sorry for not getting here sooner. We received word PK-ers were in the area and got here as fast as we could. Our Mistress was fast enough, thankfully.”

That’s when Sam looked behind the men. Only a few feet away stood the other two soldiers with the red-cloaked figure. He couldn’t see her face but assumed that was their ‘Mistress’.

“May I speak to her, thank her for saving us and the town?”

“No one speaks to the Mistress unless she allows it. And right now, she wants to continue moving.”

Sam looked at the soldier that spoke up, noticing the slight jealous tone in the man’s voice. Sam didn’t listen though, making his way towards the red-cloaked figure, pulling Charlie with him. The soldiers made a move to stop Sam, but he was faster, moving out the way. Once he reached the cloaked figure, he got down on one knee and lowered his head.

“I want to thank you for saving us. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have survived such an attack.”

The cloaked figure only turned slightly to acknowledge him. She then turned to walk away, but Sam didn’t want her to leave just yet.

“Please, join us on our way to town. I would like to thank you with a warm meal and any repair work you might need. You can even get your two horses back once we are there, so you don’t have to walk.”

The figure kept walking, as if not listening to him. So, Sam got up to his feet and stared the figure down, yelling out.

“Please, my brother would love to thank the person that saved us as well. We can even repair that leg of yours!”

That made the figure top in its tracks. It turned to face Sam and a gust of wind blew through, causing the hood to fall off. What Sam saw took his breath away, causing his grip on Charlie’s hand to tighten.

Her coffee brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, a few loose strands and surrounding her round face. Plump lips painted bright red, her cheeks were slightly pink, probably from the fight they just had. But her eyes, they shined a bright blue like a clear ocean on a sunny day, her long lashes making her eyes look large and innocent. She stood there, staring at Sam as her eyes dropped down to his hand holding Charlie’s. Her eyes then went back up to meet his and she spoke.

“I guess we can make a small stop to rest up and get some repairs done.”

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@coffee-obsessed-writer

#supernatural fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam x ofc x dean #ofc (original female character)#sam winchester x ofc x dean winchester #gaming #augmentedreality #ar #fantasy #futuristic!au

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