#the pistols brand art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangtangalicious · 1 year

Text

nexus (m) part 2

pairing: ot7 x freader smut: yoongi x reader chp-focus: jjk, ksj, myg

premise: a notorious casino conglomerate, took you in when you were young. you practically grew up alongside their sons; inseparable from the oldest, infatuated with the middle, and engaged to the youngest

summary: accused of murdering your best friend, you team up with a vengeful detective in an effort to uncover the secrets of the family you swore your loyalty to

characters: detective!jungkook, bartender!yoongi, bestfriend!seokjin, ceo!namjoon, fiancee!taehyung, model!hoseok, therapist!jimin

genre: 18+ smut slow burn angst romance thriller mystery eventual yandere casino!au organizedcrime!au arrangedmarriage!au revenge!au

wordcount: 7k

warnings: explicit smut, rough sex, todays theme is JEALOUSY, manipulated consent (emotional blackmail), teasing, manhandling, fingering, dirty talk, breast play, crying, penetrative sex, rough oral (m), power plays, a very sexually charged card game and limo ride, a whole lot of SEXUAL TENSION, jin is a FLIRT, suggested dacryphilia, toxic relationships (jin sir pls u good), petnames--princess, mourning/angst, jungkook is hot and COLD (tsundere), obsessive themes, blackmail, guns, character death (nonrelevant), alcohol, gambling, fear, mention of psychiatric treatment

taglist: @raynom @gimmythatjib00ty @yoshiure @greezenini @victoryscreech61 @tbzhubrecs @namjooningelsewhere @sugarcoffeemochi @jiminie-08 @jinssexytoe @kooookie @only4sana @pinkcherrybombs @taeslarityy @natalie-rdr @mageprincess7 @hopeonysus @bibbykins @sameifnn @shadowmoon21 @juliemae80-blog @gaeguuliii @dvalitaes @satorinnie @fournia @kassandravictoria @jazmine2904 @marslena @iloverubberduckiez-blog @manchuria @btseverafter7 @jamlessstars @doublebunnykoo @you-are-my-wind @toughbook @mini-euphoria @lvrseok @n4mina @imjinvolved @rp171198 @codeinebelle @itsallabouthedetails @btseverafter7 @just-me-and-myselfs @blonde-bummer @hcneybees @babycoffeefire @totallynoanalien @seokjinkismet @itslanaanditssad @rhyperia @sporadicfuryface @azazel-nyx @hani-neko-nee-chan (rest of tags on reblog)

series navi | join taglist | masterlist

The smell. The distinct smell of false hope. Strong enough to cover the heaps of despair and loss which built it. The casino was ever lively—money on the table, green on green. The sounds of hearty laugher audible over the subdued jazz. Behind the polished bar, Yoongi watched over the crowd with caution. A smile painted on his face like art, unmoving but beautiful to those who looked upon him. He’d chat up his patrons, expertly pouring drinks, movements fluid as he created liquored masterpieces. The trust he held, like a chemist preparing a cure. Their lives locked in his palms.

He excused himself, towel thrown over his shoulder. His all black uniform a welcome contrast to his pale skin. Like a shadow he slipped into the back office. Within a small desk drawer was his pistol. A custom model—the five-letter branding so subtle only those who knew would be able to find it.

He held the weight of the gun in his hand. Nimble fingers tracing along it’s contours. The metal was cold to touch—and he hated it. He hated the life he had been thrown into against his will. But he did it for you.

And you hardly knew. You were utterly blind to the leash which held a vigorous hold around his neck. Even on nights where you’d kiss him so sweetly he could almost forgive you.

Ears tingling from the absence of the pounding music, deep-set laugher. Laughter only those with no care in the world could afford. The silence reminiscent of the void in his heart. He loaded the weapon. Locked in the cartridge and stared down the barrel. You’d look beautiful with it stuffed down your throat. But more likely, it would be Jin pointing it down his.

Tucking the gun in his back pocket, his shoulders relaxed.

A window to the casino floor showed a weak reflection. The fear in his eyes still hiding amongst theatrics of bravery. The fear that the Kim heir had beaten into him with his raw fists. The crooked man who you worshipped was a menace. But you worshipped the ground he walked on, and Yoongi simply couldn’t break the spell.

He returned to the bar. Smile wide with charisma. Despite the pulse of the casino around him, the weight of the gun dragged him down. A harrowing reminder of who he belonged to.

Yoongi hated gambling. It was his least favorite thing about you, yet you knew not of the high-stakes gamble he played almost every night. With every strategically poured drink and every charming conversation, he collected fragments of information, forging alliances and defying destiny. With every step, he embodied the dual essence of a bartender and a gangster—making him a valuable piece in Kim Seokjin’s game.

“Promise me something” The night before, you looked at him with so much adoration, he swore he could melt into your touch.

“Don’t fall in love with me. Because I can never love you back”

His lips parted, shocked—breathing in. Met in seconds with a kiss so incredibly hot that he could feel the burn even hours later. His palms immediately cupping your cheeks, lips pressed tight against yours, unwavering. The pain searing with your words made him dizzy. Made him nauseous. You were sickening, addictive and he craved you insatiably.

Deeping the kiss as he tilted your head back more. Eyes shut—lost in the feeling. Everything vanished. There was only him. Only you.

He pulled you in closer—lifting you into his arms. Soft moans escaping but neither of you separated for long. He didn’t want to part. Didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to be consumed by the crippling mess you were. Lips sliding across your jaw—peppering hot kisses down your neck. Your fingers weaving through his hair, guiding him. He gripped your hips gently, knee slotting between your legs.

“Promise me, Yoongi” You exhaled quietly, breath uneven, shaky. “I need you to say it”

Yoongi’s teeth grazed over your ear as he grunted in irritation. Fingers intertwining with yours he finally backed away, meeting your eyes.

“We can’t do this unless you promise” Exasperated, he cupped your face again, thumb tracing your bottom lip fondly. You grabbed his wrist, begging him with your eyes. Your voice was quiet. So quiet he could feel your words without hearing them. Lust burned in his gaze—eyes darkening.

The pain was delicious. The ache burning in his heart. He had never entertained the thought of ever having feelings for you. Never rendered the possibility. He understood the arrangement well. But hearing you say it. Seeing the way you looked at him. The way you kissed him, let him touch you, let him make love to you night after night.

“Yoongi, please” Words had a way of ruining the most beautiful things. Yoongi wondered if he had just stayed quiet, would the pain never come? You began clawing at his shirt, popping the buttons off one by one. Yoongi hissed, tugging at your lip warningly. Blinking at you for a second, he seemed to weigh his options. He lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around him.

Staring at you a moment, everything slowed down. He grew annoyed. Why would you say that to him—you didn’t know him. You had no way of knowing whether or not you could love him so why cut off the possibility? Would it really be so wrong? He would care for you. Far better than any of those Kim bastards ever could, anyway.

“Yoongi” You screamed, back slammed against the wall. His hands hovered over your shoulders, fingers hooked under the straps of your bra. Swiftly he pulled them off, allowing it to fall into a puddle on the floor, his shirt following. Yoongi simply chuckled, pushing two fingers down your throat.

Yoongi pulled his fingers out, smirking slightly at the way your eyes quivered. He slid his hand down your body, under your panties so he could paint your quivering cunt with his wet fingers. He watched you carefully as he drew small, tight circles on your clit. His other hand on your neck, thumb tilting your chin up to face him.

“Yoongi stop” Your voice was tiny, almost afraid. The sound only made his heart pound.

“Fuck no” He growled. He dipped his fingers into your cunt, allowing his palm to flatten as you unconsciously grinded your hips against it. Curling his finger, he pumped in and out of you—your eyes rolling back. His lips going down your chest, dragging your bra down with his teeth till he could round his lips over your tender nipples.

A loud moan left your lips, causing him to hiss. Pulling his finger out he turned you around, pushing your chest against the wall before gripping your panties and tearing them in two. It burned against your skin, a dizzying sensation in your head as you heard the fabric rip. Immediately he pumped two fingers back inside, teeth grazing over your shoulders. His belt unlatched, you felt his hard cock slap against your ass. He pushed you down, bending you over with a hand tight on your neck, holding you steady.

“Who the fuck do you think you are huh? You came onto me, bitch. You don’t call the shots anymore, I do” You whimpered as his thick head pushed in. He lifted you onto his cock, chest pressed up tight against yours—looking nowhere except deep into your eyes.

You sank down so perfectly. Your tight walls hot against his pulsing length. Your legs wrapped around his waist so tight he could barely move. It was emotional, the way you held onto him as he rolled his hips, pulsing into you. Staggered breaths. Sweat on his forehead.

Harder. His hips jerked at the sound of your pussy, dripping out with his every move. Your eyes blasted with lust—lips parted, so incredibly fucked out with pleasure it had him salivating. Pretty little moans as he fucked into you.

Tight. Fast. Lost in your sensation. Eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His lips nipped at your jaw, tasting the sweat glazed over your skin.

“Where can I come?” His voice was hoarse. Low and broken with need. You stilled yourself, sliding off of his throbbing cock until you found your feet and stood. Within seconds you slid to your knees, mouth wide open—eager to please.

He swore you had never looked more beautiful.

He admired your face. Lips swollen, pressing his flushed tip between them, eyes wide with a false innocence. Swiping the drool away from the edge of your lips. You let your tongue wrap around his length, cautiously, exploring across his veins, watching his reactions as you tightened your cheeks around him.

Yoongi’s eyes rolled back, hissing as you began to bob your head up and down. Sloppy, saliva dripping everywhere, the obscene sounds exemplified by you taking him throat-deep, gagging all over. He chanted like a mantra, “Just like that…fuck…just like that”

Both hands on his base, you worked him vigorously, enjoying his throaty moans echoing throughout the room. He bucked his hips, tugging at your jaw as he pushed further down your throat. “Always so good to me”

His hand moved to your forehead, his grip on your head leading you along his shaft, urging you to go faster. He thrusted his hips forwards, forcing you to take him all the way. Fucking your face roughly.

“You can take it, I know you can baby come on” Back and forth, he pulled his cock all the way out, letting you catch your breath before stuffing you full once again. You squealed around him, smacking your lips, pouring yourself into your movements.

Every fiber of his body shuddered as he came, twitching and jerking as he spilled deep in your throat. You licked up every last drop.

He dreaded the silence that followed the beautiful storm. He pulled you into an embrace before you could think too card. Laying you down, peppering you with kisses. Loving ones.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him.

But he wanted to change that. He wanted to fight.

He nuzzled into your neck. Sweet. You blinked back tears. He saw this, growing concerned. “Baby I—I didn’t mean to be rough”

You shook your head, sniffling. “It’s not you I just” The tears spilled down your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart wrenched, reaching to wipe them away. His touch endearing. “I don’t want to hurt you”

Yoongi pressed his lips against yours. Long, sweetly. A tired, exasperated kiss that seemed to say you’re incredibly, utterly perfect.

“I just don’t make promises I can’t keep”

You had cast a spell on him and he was undoubtedly cursed.

The next morning, Kim Seokjin had arrived at the suite. The broad man appeared much friendlier in person than the magazine shoots he had seen him in with his infamous mother. Likely his same age, he was undeniably handsome. Brown eyes that incited mischief, yet with a softness that was almost genuine.

Almost.

You had answered the door, wearing a fluffy casino robe. Unphased when you saw your dear friend. He looked at you briefly, before his eyes shifted to Yoongi who was still in bed.

“Morning princess” Tone was steady, smile evident, but Yoongi could see the irritation in his eyes.

“Hey” You greeted him politely. “Did you need something?”

Jin’s gaze was locked on Yoongi. “Actually, I’m here to talk to him” You seemed to pout. “Don’t worry, it’s just work stuff. Give us a minute, okay?”

Reluctantly, you wandered off.

Jin painted another smile on his face, entering the room. He walked up to where Yoongi had stepped out of bed. “Yoongi—right? I’ve heard great things about the tips you bring in”

There it was. The tricky power games that were synonymous with Kim Seokjin’s reputation.

“Yes sir”

Jin grinned at his attitude. “Now, Yoongi. Man to man. Where do you see this” He gestured his hand, “Going?”

Yoongi pursed his lips. He knew getting involved with these kinds of people was always complicated. But he was in too deep. He wasn’t going to give up on you just over some baseless threats. What he really wanted to know—was how the fuck Jin knew where you were? Was this motherfucker having you followed?

“She came onto me, sir”

“Oh I know” Jin chuckled, “She was nursing a broken heart, poor thing. My idiotic brother crushed her, so she’s acting out”

Namjoon. Yoongi recalled.

Jin’s gaze was intense—serious now, in contrast to his playfulness earlier. “I want you to understand something, Yoongi.” He took a seat on the bed. Leaning back, his hair flipped over his forehead. “I’m allowing this. For now.”

“Sir”

“There will be a time where I’ll need you to back off. And you’ll do it, otherwise your dean is going to get an interesting phone call”

Yoongi swallowed thickly. He didn’t like being threatened. How could you live like this? Did these guys interfere in every part of your life?

“Yes sir” He responded, humbly. Jin seemed satisfied.

“One last thing” Jin stood up, brushing the dust off of the lapel of his designer suit. He rest his hand on Yoongi’s bare shoulder. Skin cold to touch. Grip firm. “Hurt her, and I will kill you”

You made your way back eventually, noticing Yoongi’s shifted demeanor.

“Sorry, I know Jin is a lot sometimes” You kissed him, crawling into his lap where he sat, defeated. “He’s just looking out for me. We’re like best friends”

Yoongi scoffed. How naïve could you be? He knew crazy when he saw it, and that man was no friend of yours. He looked at you, eyes softening once he saw how cutely you were grinning.

“I’m glad he approved” You beamed at him. “This means, we can like, actually hang out…if you want”

God, of course he did. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. Interestingly, Jin was welcome to Yoongi after that day. You would bring him along on weekend getaways, Monaco, Bali, Paris and Milan. Jin would be there, occupied by his own vices while you and Yoongi got lost in a honeymoon haze. Sharing your darkest thoughts under the eastern sunrise, to hushed confessions under the northern stars. He learned you. Knew you like the back of his hand. Your quirks, likes, irritations and dreams.

“You’ve seriously never had feelings for him?” He asked you one day. You made a face.

“I’ve only ever loved Namjoon” Ouch.

Yoongi was skeptical. Frankly because Yoongi knew you were in love with him from the way your eyes would light up talking about him. Your memories from childhood, or the intimate laughs the two of you would share. You followed him like a little lamb, adapting his crazy lifestyle and engaging with his elitist friends. And after the glimmering lights would go down, you’d make your way to Yoongi, who was…

What was he?

A dog. You had him on a leash, Jin had him in a cage. He was a mutt allowed to you out of pity, to distract you from the real things that were controlling your life. Yoongi’s job was to give you a semblance of control. A sexual outlet, a shoulder to lean on.

And Yoongi hated you. Hated who you were around Jin and hated that no matter what he did, Jin would be a huge part of your life. Even if he did somehow, miraculously, make you fall in love with him, make you feel for him what he did for you without a doubt—Jin would still have control. Yoongi was useless in his shadow. It enfuriated him. Drove him mad. What lengths would he have to go to get you? What would it take for Kim Seokjin to back the fuck off and let you live your own life?

But your life was never your own. And now here he was, all the loyalty paid off into dust as he tended the bar at your engagement party. It was ridiculous. Did he truly mean so little to you—that he wasn’t even a guest? Let alone the fact that it infuriated him you had to marry one of these twisted, god-awful Kim boys against your will.

In front of him, the man of the hour—the so-called Kim Taehyung, sat with a dirty smirk on his face, eyes drilled onto the pair of die rolling in his palm.

“So”

It was in the job description. Make conversation with the guests. Yoongi had been around long enough to know how to make men like Kim Taehyung feel great about themselves, in more ways than one.

“Been a while since you’ve been home huh”

He set down the shaker, straining the drink mix into a margarita glass with a slight flick of his wrist. Taehyung watched the steady pour of the liquid.

“Absolutely” He smiled, although Yoongi could tell it was fake. “I had to come home. See my family—my brothers. After all,” He flashed his forearm at Yoongi, where the Kim crest was neatly tattooed, same as his brothers.

Yoongi squinted. He knew about the tattoo. He had seen it, both on Namjoon and Jin. He knew they got it after their mother died. But as far as he knew, Taehyung had left at a fairly young age, not keeping in contact with his family. Taehyung hadn’t been around for his mother’s death.

Right? Yoongi pursed his lips. Taking another look, he watched Taehyung carefully. Round eyes, thick lips, small fingers in which the dice rolled.

He looked familiar. Yoongi swore he must have seen this man somewhere before. He knew nothing of where Taehyung had been for the past ten years. According to you, no one did.

“Please excuse me,” Nodding politely, Yoongi rushed off into the storage room. Grabbing his phone, he googled the man you were about to get engaged to.

Kim Taehyung.

Nothing.

Nothing at all—not even so much as a media article on the engagement. No photographs, nothing.

But I know I’ve seen you somewhere.

He went to his own camera roll, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to jog his memory. Would it have been school? The casino? He couldn’t figure it out.

Until he saw it.

A group picture. From a dinner one of his professors had invited him to. There he was—Kim Taehyung.

Except there was no way, Yoongi would have remembered if he met someone with that name. Was he going by an alias? Who was he?

Dialing his professor, he gulped the sour bitterness in his mouth.

“Yoongi? Odd time to be calling—is everything alright?” His professor greeted him kindly.

“Hi sir. Sorry about that I just have a quick question. That dinner you invited us out to…there was another person there who was not a student. Could I know their name?”

His professor chuckled, “Oh, sure. That was Park Jimin—he was a student of mine who now runs a private practice, pretty upscale clients apparently.”

Hanging up abruptly, Yoongi ran back out to the bar.

Yoongi didn’t like anything about it. But he had little time to ponder over it when suddenly you walked in, and he swore his heart stopped.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because it finally hit him. Had he told you everything he held inside? Had he made sure he savored every last second he had you? He couldn’t think. His mind went blank, red with rage—even moreso when Taehyung stood up in front of him and went to go see you.

He watched as he pulled you onto the dance floor—you hate dancing, Yoongi thought to himself. He watched as the man touched you, the lust in his eyes shamelessly evident.

He felt like throwing up. He prayed and prayed that you would stop. He wanted you to get away from him, he wanted you to be in his arms.

And his prayers were answered, as the ceremony was brought to a startling halt.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kim Seokjin”

Yoongi’s eyes darted towards the small ensemble of law enforcement that pushed through the crowd towards you, led by a man in a dark coat. Handcuffs clicked around your wrists and you were being dragged out. Yoongi ran to the entrance before they could take you—reaching out with assurance

“Y/n—listen to me” Your eyes were void of emotion. Frozen with complete and utter shock at the news. “Don’t say anything without a lawyer okay? I will meet you at the station with bail money”

You nodded slowly, but Yoongi wasn’t convinced you had heard him.

You were gone. Arrested. Yoongi spun around to scan the crowd—it was a critical time after all. Where was Namjoon? Yoongi looked on, searching for the Kim heir who was nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed instead on Taehyung who stood in the middle of the dance floor, a small tug at the edge of his lips.

Playing with those goddamn dice.

Jungkook’s mind went blank when he saw you. Breath quite literally stolen from his lungs. Never in a million years would he admit just how pretty you looked tonight. The soft fabric of your engagement dress fell against your body just right. Your face glowed, glitter on your eyes. Diamond choker on your neck—simple and yet dazzling.

Your lips were his favorite. Plump and glossy pout on your bored face. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to tear it all off and ruin you.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He didn’t intend on arresting you in front of everyone. But the vile jealousy that built in his chest when he saw the way your fiancée, Kim Taehyung, sweep you onto the dance floor—he couldn’t help it.

The burning sight of Taehyung’s hands on your waist, face a breath away from yours, lips so close to your neck. The way he looked at you—way you looked at him. You barely knew this man—how could you look at him like that?

He had to stop it. Fists clenching he decided to arrest you then and there. The way your face fell when you saw him was priceless. You seized up at his touch, the soft click of the cuffs around your wrists where your ringless fingers lay limp. Slow, shaky, tears budding in your eyes but never spilling.

Oh how he would love to see you cry.

The moment he had you outside, all hell broke loose. You were livid. Dragging your ankles into the ground like a little brat. Rolling his eyes, Jungkook decided it would be far easier to toss you over his shoulder rather than continue putting up with your antics.

“Put me down you fucking asshole, I didn’t do this!” You screamed, kicking your pointy heels into his back. “Where the fuck is Namjoon huh? Why aren’t you arresting him, if anyone had motive—”

Jungkook suppressed an urge to snap back at you. Setting you down harshly, he pinned you against the side of his car, forearm by your cheek.

He paused, looking deep into your eyes. The rise and fall of your chest calling him closer. You glared at him with such spite. Such disgust. The thought of planting his lips on yours crossed his mind. Put that all that pent up anger to good use.

“Fuck you Jeon Jungkook” You hissed, your hot breath against his cheek. “I’m gonna get you thrown off this fucking case you piece of shit”

“That’s enough” His fingers gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, “Do you really think any other officer in there is going to take on a case to arrest Kim Namjoon for murder? This is my chance to finally tear that stupid family to pieces and I’m not letting a spoilt little cunt like you get in my way”

Jungkook hadn’t realized how loud his voice got by the end. You looked petrified, nodding slowly. His heart squeezed as he could see a tear forming at the corner of your eye.

He let you go. Shit. Your best friend had died. You likely were just hearing about it. Clearly in denial or putting on a brave face for him. For the crowds. Turning away, he opened the door.

“Just get in”

Huffing, you did as he said, slamming the door closed. Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as he looked over at you again. A tear finally spilled from your eyes, causing Jungkook’s heart to jump. Dammit. Reaching nervously into his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you.

His fingers brushed against yours as you took it. Your skin was cold—instinctively he grabbed your hand. You flinched at his touch, pulling away but Jungkook grabbed it again, tightly, pulling it back towards him. His hold unwavering.

“I am sorry for your loss” Jungkook’s eyes softened with something bordering concern. Gulping he released your hand, diverting his gaze. A reluctant blush painting his cheeks.

Jungkook knew you weren’t his culprit. As much as he loathed you, he had no vested interest in your demise. You were collateral damage. Unfortunately for him, the Kim’s had police tucked deep in their silver lined pockets. He had to be careful. Someone was always watching.

Clearing his throat, he put the car in drive, pushing the temperature higher to help you warm up. Turning out of the parking lot, he figured he should try and get some information off record before everything you would say would literally get used against you.

“Where were you last night?”

You scoffed. “You’re not getting a fucking word out of me.”

God, he forgot what a pain in the ass you could be. Spoilt brat. “Y/n” Jungkook’s voice was stern. “I can make your life hell, or I can help you. And trust me, I’m not someone you want as an enemy”

You chuckled bitterly, “Yeah because otherwise you’d be fucking obsessed with me like you are with the Kim’s”

He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Answer the damn question, Y/n”

“Getting ready for my engagement—which you crashed, by the way”

Jungkook’s tongue rolled against his cheek. “You didn’t want to marry Kim Taehyung, did you?” He needed to know. Needed to be sure you didn’t actually care for that man.

You grinned. “Why, you jealous?”

He looked you dead in the eye. “Yes”

That shut you up. Jungkook bit back a smile as you processed his response. “Enough with the attitude. Who was making you do this—was it Jin?”

You groaned, tugging at your handcuffs in irritation. “No, it was Namjoon.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. That wasn’t true. He debated if he should tell you now or wait until you reached the precinct so you could see it with your own eyes. He had hard evidence that painted Namjoon even more so as the culprit.

Jin wanted you to marry Taehyung.

Namjoon didn’t.

⟶ One Day before the Murder ⟵

The scratch of a record. A soft echo of jazz filled the glass walls as Namjoon stood, staring out the window. The 52nd floor. Looking out at people scurrying in the dark, small as ants, truly meaningless. His employees thought he was given this office, unaware of the blood spilt for him to truly position himself as the inheritor of Kim Enterprises.

Namjoon was forged in the shadows of the charming, alluring Kim Seokjin. And Kim Seokjin was gold—magazines chased him, models threw themselves at him, colleges begged for him to attend. To the world, Jin was perfect. Which meant Namjoon had to ascend perfection.

So he did.

Jin would spend his nights partying while Namjoon would study hard. Seokjin would sleep around while Namjoon ran for miles. Seokjin would get lost in the limelight, drugs, alcohol, sex—Namjoon abstained. He was focused on one thing: he wanted his throne.

The 52nd floor was his right. The cage he had built for himself. Here he was untouchable.

Here he felt, absolutely broken. Alone. Moreso because he had spent the day preparing for your wedding. His heart ached inside his chest. He wanted to vomit. Each time he’d see your name on a wedding card or an article, he felt like he was getting brutally stabbed in the chest.

You probably didn’t know. Of course you didn’t—but Namjoon had grown truly fond of you lately. Jin had moved out at a young age, wanting to freely bring home sexual partners. You and Namjoon remained living at the Kim mansion for a few years now. The two of you had a banter—ever since the night he took advantage of you, he knew you no longer had feelings for him. He had seen the way you changed after that. While he was ridden with guilt, the hurt made you blossom into someone else entirely. You became confident, sexy, and never let a day go by that Namjoon didn’t regret treating you better.

He kept you at a distance because he needed to stay focused, but things were getting too real now. You were getting married.

You were leaving him.

And he only recently admitted to himself that he loved living with you. He loved the way you would bug him while he worked. Loved the way you would throw little tantrums when you couldn’t figure out what to wear, or after a shopping spree you would come home and try on everything for him, ignoring anything he would have to say. He would miss walking past your room to see you lying on your sheets, blanket on the floor, pillow tucked in your hold—sound asleep. He’d pick it up and cover you, admiring your face as he did.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Like a punch in the gut, Namjoon let out a sharp breath. Turning, he faced his college friend, Jung Hoseok.

Namjoon hated being vulnerable. So Hoseok was a great friend to have—because he was hardly ever in town, being a self-made supermodel. He was low risk. Disposable.

“No” Namjoon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hoseok chuckled, seating himself on Namjoon’s desk chair. He was wearing a bright blue jumpsuit—hair a shocking silver white.

“I can’t tell you how many bets I have that you’d fall for her one day. Damn, I’m gonna be rich”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “I didn’t fall for her. I don’t give a shit about her”

Hoseok scoffed, “Mhm, sure. What I don’t get is why this fucking wedding is happening. You’re the heir now can’t you call it off? Don’t marry the woman you love off to your brother, that’s just fucked up man”

There were many times he wanted to tell you the truth. But he had worked too hard to give up his dream for you. When his mother died, Jin had agreed to surrender his birth-right to the company on two conditions.

“In exchange for the company, one of the things I had to promise Jin was that this marriage would happen”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He rubbed his chin, “Interesting. What’s that about?”

Namjoon shrugged, turning back to the window. It was something he often wondered. If Jin cared about you so much—why would he force you to have an arranged marriage? To Taehyung, of all people. Taehyung who none of them had seen for over ten years. Taehyung whose whereabouts only Jin knew. And his mother, of course.

“I don’t know. But I agreed” And he knew you wouldn’t forgive him for that if you knew. He rolled his neck, denying the tears building in his eyes as he thought about you in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle next to him as he let you go. Forever.

He didn’t want your hand to leave his. He wanted to be on the other side. He wanted you to come towards him.

“What was the other condition?” Hoseok’s voice shattered his fantasy.

“He wanted to keep Nexus—Y/n’s mom’s company that my mother got in the will. I didn’t give a shit about it so.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Nexus, huh” He mumbled under his breath. Licking his lips, he pulled out his phone. “Kim Seokjin—just what are you up to you little bastard?”

Namjoon pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it quietly. Taking a quick puff, he exhaled the smoke.

"I can't let her do this" His voice was hoarse. "I can't do this to her. She deserves to choose"

Hoseok rolled his eyes, standing up and walking besides Namjoon. Pulling the cigarette from his fingers, he grinned widely.

"I thought you’re the smart one, Namjoon. Jin's the problem. Get rid of him"

It wasn't as if the idea never crossed his mind. Namjoon hated Jin. Everything about Jin make him want to vomit, and yet, this was a line he couldn't cross.

Could he?

“All in”

Jin cursed inwardly. Your long fingernails traced along the edge of your cards, eyes flickering between your hand and the man in front of you. Dim casino lights accentuating the glitter on your lids, the pop of your lush lips which were grinning ever so slightly. You always looked gorgeous to him but tonight you were something else entirely.

His breath was heavy, palms sweating as he clenched his fists in desperation to keep it together. To keep his hands off. You blinked his way, innocently as if you were unaware of the teasingly low cut of your dress. The spill of your chest as you pushed your chips towards him.

As if that wasn’t enough. You laid your cards down right in front of him. Sliding them across the table. Pair of kings.

Jin didn’t even care. You would always win. And he loved that about you. It was as though you knew his thoughts before he even had them, always one step ahead, reading between the lines. You were a force to be reckoned with ever since Jin first took you to a backroom poker game years ago. With pride he’d observe your nonchalance—sending bratty chaebols running to their mother’s in tears after you swindled them out of their trust funds.

Seeing you at the table was something else. When you were in your element, your eyes would light up with a fierce blaze. With a slight of hand, you turned thousands into millions overnight. But you were never in it for the money.

You were in it for the kill.

“Fuck this, come here” Tossing his own cards aside, he beckoned for you to come to him. He needed to touch you. He couldn’t hold back.

Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into his lap. Your scent was intoxicating. Familiar, and yet addictive. He placed his lips softly against your neck. You giggled, pulling away but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“When did you get so pretty?” His finger trailed up your neck, tilting your chin up. Things had been tense between the two of you. The soft touches, the lingering stares—he was flirting with you. He knew he was, but he wanted to. So badly he wanted to tease you, rile you up and watch you unfold. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to touch you in the shower that morning—something which hadn’t left his mind since.

“I’ve always been pretty” Your response was cocky, as expected. “You’re usually too drunk to notice”

“That” He nipped at your jaw between each word, making you giggle in the process “Is not true”

He allowed his fingers to aimlessly brush against your thighs. He looked at you enticingly, nothing but mischief on his mind. He pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers, wanting to tear the damn thing off. Your hand covered his, halting him in his tracks.

“Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop” He sighed into your skin, tongue licking under your jaw. Your sweet skin was addicting to taste, and it didn’t help that he could feel you trembling in his hold. You were confused, he knew you were. But he could see that you wanted him. He could feel it.

He hugged you closer—chest to chest, feeling the drum of your heart on his. He wanted to fuck you so bad it hurt. He was so sure he had never been attracted to you this way. Of course he loved you, there was never any question about it. But you had been like a sister to him your whole life. Lately he found himself wanting you in a way he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Because you were getting engaged to his younger brother. And he had known that all along.

“Jin,” Your voice was barely a whisper, “Why?” It was a valid question. One he was not ready to answer. His advances had hardly been subtle.

“You said I wasn’t giving you enough attention. So here we are. Just me…” His finger trailed up your thigh, “you” From the table, he pulled out a single card, twisted between two fingers which he slid down the side of your face before pulling it away so sharply, a drop of blood trickled from your cheek.

“And a deck of cards” He leaned in, lips brushing against the tiny cut in a soft peck.

“Stop fucking around Jin” Standing up from his lap, you looked him dead in the eye. “I’m getting married to Taehyung. Your brother, who you love.”

Jin tilted his head in irritation. He absolutely hated being told no, it wasn’t something he typically had to deal with. Frustration boiled in his veins, the confusion so overwhelming it made his head spin.

The reality that he was falling for you. Hard.

He gulped, staring at you. Eyes softening as silence filled the air. He felt choked, throat gripping in anticipation of what he should say next—if he would actually say what he knew you both were feeling out loud.

There was a knock on the door. Instinctively, Jin grabbed your wrist, holding it firmly.

“Mr. Kim, you have a phone call”

The door opened, allowing one of Jin’s guards to walk in and hand him his cell. You motioned to excuse yourself, mouthing the word 'bathroom'.

Jin nodded, pressing the cell to his ear.

“Mr. Kim,”

The distorted voice through the phone gave him chills. His heart pounded through his head, veins pulsing with anger.

“Did you forget about me?”

He glanced at his guard—whose eyes were questioning him with worry. He tensed his shoulders before nodding at his guards softly, indicating for them to act accordingly.

“You’re making this too easy Kim. Shouldn’t leave your most prized possession unattended. I could just snap her pretty neck”

Jin could only hear his own racing pulse. Anxiety gripping his chest with desperation—you couldn’t be in danger. He had no idea the chaos that would ensue if there was even a scratch on your body under his watch.

“Then again, I’d much rather snap yours”

Jin lunged forward, a mere millisecond before a bullet shot through, piercing his guard in the gut. The man fell over, not before two more guards arrived in a panic. Blood began to pool on the dark red carpet. It was almost despicable how the color matched.

Jin felt dizzy, his body acting purely on instinct where his mind simply couldn’t catch up. He could feel a heaviness in his throat, but now was not the time. Where were you—you went to the bathroom—he had to get you out of here— and so he ran. Faster than he ever had. Mind empty except for the need to keep you safe.

Slipping quickly through the hall, Jin rushed over to the bathroom, locked from the inside. He pounded against the door, a sweat breaking across his forehead. What if—no. Don’t think like that.

He shuddered, imagining the worst. Throwing himself at the door, he screamed out in frustration.

“Y/n!” He never used your name. Not unless it was serious. “It’s me, we need to go, now” He paused, catching his breath as he heard the lock click from the inside. The door swung open and there you were, a disoriented look on your face.

“What’s going on—” Without so much as a second thought, Jin grabbed your wrist, pulling you through a back exit—ignoring the blaring fire alarms that went off as he kicked the door open. His guards pulled a car around.

Settling in the back seat with you glued to his side, he barked at his guards “Safehouse, now”

He was trembling. Not even realizing how tightly he was still holding your hand. So lost that he didn’t hear you calling his name frantically—“Jin what the fuck is going on?”

A shaky exhale left his lips at your words. Almost out of sheer desperation he turned, pulling you into his lap where he cupped your face. You were so close. Close enough that he could almost taste the sweat on your neck. You held him, allowing his hands to roam your body in assurance that you were alive. That you were okay.

He tried not to entertain the thought. To appreciate that you had survived, but his mind couldn’t help but wander as he gazed into your sweet eyes—what the fuck would he have done if something had happened to you?

His eyes shifted from your eyes to your lips. He gulped. He needed you. Tempted to slam his lips onto yours, but instead just breathing you in, letting his eyelashes brush against your face. Holding you in a tight embrace. Tears rolling down his face.

It was as though in that moment, everything became so clear. For a moment he swore that nothing made more sense than you in his arms. You consumed him. You were a fever, he woke up burning, went asleep in sweats—he craved you, like a man on the brink of insanity. If this was love, he wanted to drown in it. He couldn’t breathe—not if you weren’t besides him. You were beautiful, flawed, and simply everything he ever wanted.

“I can’t—”

He choked on a sob, looking at you again. There was more said in those two simple words. Everything he needed to communicate, and he knew you would understand “Princess, I can’t”

The tears fell harder. His walls came crashing down, all he had held back seemed to overflow. The fear of losing you triggering so many pent up emotions that he couldn’t take it. His body trembled.

“Fuck” He cried out in frustration, almost tasting your lips against his own. Fingers tightly intertwined in your hair. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t hold back.

Except he had to.

“Jin,” Your tone shifted. He understood it—it was pleading. Your eyes were wide with confusion, with want. Your lips—your sweet lips, he could only image how amazing they would feel. The world would fade away in an instant and he would be lost in your touch. He would kiss you everywhere. All night long. He would never let go.

His breath was shaky, cutting his desire to cry harder. Letting his eyes fall shut, he pushed you off of him, turning his back towards you. He could hear you scoff and swore his heart shattered. He didn’t want to hurt you. He was equally perplexed at how quickly his love for you and surfaced within the past few days. It had been there all along, but now that you were forbidden, it came pouring out of his every move.

He shook his head. There was no point in starting something that couldn’t be finished. If he were honest with you, you would end up getting hurt in the worst way possible. If you knew all the lies he had told you, all the secrets he kept. All the ways in which he used you as a puppet for his own gain. Jin wasn’t proud of who he was. And surely, you deserved better.

“I’m sorry” The words hung heavy in the thick, disappointing silence. The tension throbbing in his veins as the drive continued on in the dark night.

The second the car pulled into the safehouse, you pushed yourself off of him—jumping out of the car. Jin followed as you began to run—grabbing your wrist before you could.

“Let go of me” You hissed, tugging at his grip.

“No” With a jerk of his arm he pulled you towards him.

Cricked chirped in the dead of the night—there was no living soul for miles. The stars shone brightly through the chilly wind and there you were.

Kissing him.

⟶ Years before the murder ⟵

“Tell me about the dice”

Back & forth. The steady creaking of the bed as the patient sat, curled up into himself. Across the room Jimin sat, waiting, observing. The patient was staring into the palm of his hand. Two red die, rolling around in his palm.

He had been at it for a while, not uttering a single word. But Jimin was trained for this. He was nothing if not patient. He could dig at his patient for hours until he would get them to bend to his will. Persistence, determination, delayed gratification, these things came to him easily.

Jimin cleared his throat, “Nurses are telling me you throw a fit when they try to take those away from you. It must bring you a lot of comfort”

The patient continued to ignore him.

“I understand you are very fond of playing cards” Jimin flipped through his files. “Want to tell me about that? Do you like gambling?”

The patient stilled his wrist, closing his long fingers over the dice. “She gave them to me”

Jimin raised his eyebrows. Finally. He was breaking through to him. He was so close to getting what he needed he was practically salivating. So close to getting all the information he needed.

He set his notebook aside, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at his patient with sincerity. He was careful with the way he spoke, never wanting his patients to feel patronized, judged or scrutinized. He needed his patients to trust him. To confide in him without holding anything back.

“Why don’t you tell me about her, Taehyung?”

⟵|| previous || next ||⟶

series navi | join taglist | masterlist | scream in my asks

thanks for reading you cutie <3 have a great day!

303 notes · View notes

silent-raven13 · 2 months

Text

A new take on Sunflowers!

(AU: No Spider-man powers. Hobie is a famous Punk Star/model/celebrity. He happens to go to an art opening and fell in love with the works and the artist)

"Ehhh!" Miles look at the bouquet of flowers and boxes of expensive gifts. He didn't even settle in his new studio apartment, he saw so many gifts being delivered to him. It was already the next day after the crazy party. Checking on the message card, "To my Sunflower, XOXOXOX, Hobie. 💜🌻🤘🏿"

He felt so flustered that he took the bouquets of flowers in his arms taking a big sniff. "They smell so good." He hums feeling his cheeks warm. The art opening did filled him with surprises, he didn't think he would catch a certain celebrity eyes.

-Last Night-

"Yes. Yes. We're heading there, now." The twenty seven year old punker slouches in the limo being bored by his assistant making calls to their manager. He rolled his eyes, so this is what being famous is like. The constant meet and greets, events, and talkshows. Ugh, the popularity didn't seem to stop because of his own Controversy nature, being chaotic to break anything.

The fans love that from him. His bandmates are meeting him at this art opening he so badly wanted to go. It was a refresher to find something that's his interest, but his agency being on his ass was pissing him off. He wanted freedom! To enjoy his time with his friends.

Now, his assistant is here being observant because the last time he was left alone, he had brawl with some jackass at a bar.

Figures...

He lit up his cigarette being annoyed, a good burn of nicotine will help him. "You're supposed to quit smoking." His assistant said being on her laptop.

"Come on, Mindy. I've been stressed all the damn time. I need this." He inhale being annoyed. "Fuck quitting."

"Then you have to deal with Bruce."

"Fuck him, too."

Mindy sighs before the limo stopped at the gallery called, "New Verse!" It's own by a famous man, who believes in contemporary arts for the diversity artists. Right now, there's three arts presenting their worsts that are upcoming to the art field.

Young BIPOC artists that were born and bred in New York City. Hobie honestly saw one painting on the pamphlet from invite from his good friend, Pavtri. A funny actor that changed the game by his bubbly adorable personality, his girlfriend is one of the artists. Yet, the punker wasn't focus on her inspirational Indian American women with abstract strokes and figures.

Oh no, he's eyes was curious when he saw a powerful, very old school graffiti style with a modern take of using media with bright bold colors and insane texts. The handwritten calligraphy had rough ink with profound words like slurs, then a beautiful black man figure crying. Tears all colorful with small texts inside. So many going all at once that he wanted to see in person. The piece had the sizes about 300 inches by four hundred inches on canvas mounted on wall. He had to see it.

When the limo parked, "We're here." His assistant said.

Hobie got out of the car seeing paparazzis already there to take photos of him.

Great, these fucking leeches

He wore his latest high end outfit; ripped tight black skinny jeans with patches by Farfetched brand, accessories like chains dripping to the side of hips. He wore expensive Prada Monolith and re-nylon black boots, and red laces. A Sex Pistol t-shirt personally shredded, Two belts around his waist, one he's actually wearing on his jeans but the other more for fashion that is slanted to the side. Then his Celine black leather jacket with his own custom touches having spikes and paint on it. His own rebellious style. Then tons of jewelry on him; bracelets from his wrists, necklaces, and diamonds piercings. All top with a very masculine cologne by Tom Ford.

His wicks bounces by every step of his heavy boots as he got out already having his black shades on to cover his eyes. He saw some of the fans waiting for him. "OH MY GAWD, IT'S HIM! HOBIE! HOBIE! WE LOVE YOU!"

"HEY, HOBIE COME LOOK OVER HERE!"

Hobie quickly walks away with a scowl, he tries hard not to ruin his black lipstick by Fenty. All this work to look good and these paparazzis never leave him alone!

Life as a Star

When he finally enters the gallery, he saw a group of body guards being there. It seems there was a lot of famous celebrities around, too.

Great...

He should've known Pavtri would invite more people for his girlfriend. His assistant said, "Oh wow, you can network with these other celebrities. There's Peni Parks, I heard she is famous for her robotics in Japan. Her company release the latest Androids."

"Huh, so we're about to get controlled by the government." Hobie snorted.

"Come on, Hobie. Not this again."

"It's true." He took off his shades to find other familiar faces like Miguel O'Hara, the CEO of Alchemax with a teenage girl wearing a black dress having to look at a painting. A famous man like that likes art? Huh, who knew.

Then Jess Drew, a popular lawyer never losing a case and a very expensive one at that. Hobie had follow her cases, seeing how she went to trial about defamation of character to a famous celebrity.

Petra, a famous three gold Olympic Athlete, she had one her titanium prosthetic leg wearing ankle pants with loafers and tight beige sweater. Her brown pixie hair cut had a shave to the left side showing off her pierced ears.

Then Ben Riley, a famous skater. Noir-

Aye, no way he's here!

Noir is a very popular contemporary artist that causes many controversy on society's politics. One of the most respected activists, too. He would shred his own work in front of auction if he doesn't like the buyer. The man stays hidden with his black mask. Hobie respected that man, too bad his works are out of his price range, if he could get his hands on it.

One popular piece was a Rubik's cube that he presented in a gallery then mix it all up. Then place it on a white pedestal. The price of that work started off two billion.

Bonkers, Hobie knows. But that piece started a massive wave for the hidden artists. Noir seems to know Petra and Ben.

Interesting...

He noticed a popular street artist, activist, and poet name Zero. Kaine, a famous game streamer on Twitch. Kitty, a popular influencer. Peter Parker, a famous American Actor.

So many blokes here!

"Oh, look there's Gwen!" She spotted a familiar Pop Punk singer standing with her own female band, which is her girlfriend drummer, Margo and Silk, a girl who plays the guitar.

"Aye," Hobie was about to go over until, he stops when his eyes caught the art piece he been yearning to see. When he enters the room to find more works.

His eyes on the large piece, he took in every single detailed. "Mindy, luv. Can you please give me wine?"

"Sure thing, Hobie." She went out of the room to leave him to admire the works.

Hobie saw the artists name and description, "A cry for Help! By Miles G. Morales..." He read seeing the materials being made by spray paint, acrylic paint and other stuff. He didn't want to read anymore, so he can try to figure out the meaning of the work.

Taking a closer look, he saw details of Brooklyn, police brutality, drugs, and struggle. Then a light white out line of a man and woman with child that is very hard to see. If you're not paying attention, a person would think it's a decorative add-on.. Then more Corporate brands, then drug names, and money prices. The background of blue shading with imagery of activism. So many things going on that represented the struggle for black people, it touched Hobie. Especially the image of the black man crying.

What surprised him is the soft touch up to imply make up, the figure had a smudge light lip gloss and glittery eyes, his skin cover with light newspaper textures with to-day's and past events of black trans struggles, and racism.

Bloody beautiful...

Mindy came by to hand him his glass a wine, she hums, "Your eyeliner is smudging."

"Thanks, darling." Hobie wipe the tear off his eye, "It's a fantastic piece, innit?"

"It's really sad..." Mindy frowns at the painting, "Crazy how colorful it is. Like they want you to be happy but when you look at it longer... you see the true ugliness of America."

Hobie sips his wine with a nod, "Exactly. It's perfect. How much is it?"

"300k."

"What? So little?"

"He's a new artist in the field. He's been popular through social media, but not in galleries. It's a different wave." She explained.

"Pfft, and he's black?"

"Yeah."

"Figures. Always the black man getting the short end of the stick." Hobie took out his black card, "I'll double the price."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes widen.

"Yes, I'm sure. I got payed from that stupid Pepsi commercial so I'm winning to buy this at a reasonable price." He said.

"I'll look for the seller. Stay here." She said before going to find them.

Hobie had no problem staying when he can admire this painting. Unaware of a black hooded man standing next to him. "You been looking at this piece for a while, huh?"

"It's a powerful piece." Hobie glanced over to find the person wearing a black hoodie.

"Meh, it's ight." He casually said.

"Are you bloody mad? This is one of the best works I've seen and trust me, I've seen bullshit artists from France, Japan, even the MET." He snorted.

"Gayatri's work is amazing. Zero's installation is freakin' cool." He added, "They are actually showing real struggles as women of color."

"I'll see for myself, but this right here! This is where it's at." Hobie said proudly.

The Hooded man chuckles, "Alright, but take your time looking at the other works." He left with that.

Hobie rolled his eyes but his nose tickle of scents of Sunflowers and tropical shea butter. "Who was he?" He mutter to himself, before going to the next work. The artist made five pieces. In the room there was only four massive works.

It seems Hobie fell in love with the artist, because the second work he loves it even more. It was a massive photo of a black male punker with tattoos, so much piercing on his face and had this scary look with so much spikes and ripples on his clothing. He had intense makeup, but the photo is only black and white.

The figure had a charming smile with his tongue out and wink while he holds a bouquet of sunflowers. The Sunflowers were painted in cartoon like, and there was other paintings of feminine and cutesy imagery. Stickers, and spray painted text. Hobie quickly read the name of the work, "A New Take on Sunflowers: Triptych Part 1 by Miles G. Morales."

Hobie went back to look at the piece, the Sunflowers were brighter almost glowing with youth. "A New Take on Sunflowers... By old Vinny?" He did love this work. He saw how the Punker represented gender fluidity, to embrace their culture yet love the things that aren't represented in their lifestyle. It could also show how someone 'scary' looking have a softer side by holding the flower with care and love.

"Hobie, your bandmates are here." Mindy came back to tell him.

"Be there." Hobie didn't wanna see them when he had these works to admire. The next painting was next to the punker photo. This time the second painting is a photo in black and white of two black women kissing being in the Ghetto of New York. They hold their Sunflowers. They had on weave, bright gold jewelry, tight clothing being so happy to be together.

Now that's love.

His eyes saw the color of the jewelry being the same yellow as the Sunflowers, and more happier texts and doodles around the two. The women had on wedding rings on, celebrating their marriage.

Hobie chuckles, "Cute." He saw the third part of this work. This one is a Puerto Rican mother, how did he know she's Puerto Rican? The massive flag in the background, and the woman sitting while braiding her daughter's hair with a soft gentle smile. The little Afro-Latina smiling at her big Sunflower as it aims at the two. It's a beautiful piece of mother and child.

Shit, why these works are affecting me so much

Hobie felt tears coming down his cheek, he never felt like this before. It's so beautiful and powerful. He needs them. He wants them in his penthouse!

"Hobie?" Mindy asked.

He quickly turns to her with his eyeliner already smudge, "I want all of these. Go buy them!"

"What? Hobie, you can't be-" Hobie glares at her. "Alright. Alright, I'll let the seller know!" She sighs, "Also, Karl and the rest of the band is here. Go say hi!"

"Ugh, fine." Hobie went to find his friends while his assistant went off to find the seller, again. His goal is to find the fifth work.

"Hey Hobs! What up, man?" His best friend, Karl high five him, he's the bass player of the band.

Riri chuckles, "Hey, share the love, bro!" She grins widely being the guitarist.

Mattea nodded, "Hey, Hobie." The drummer of the band.

Hobie gave them a hug, "Aye, mates. How's it going?"

"Great. With all these talkshows and trying to make our own shit, ugh we're exhausted." Riri said.

"Yeah, I released my own beer brand. Crazy, huh?" Karl chuckles.

"My own shirts." Mattea nodded, "We need to be smart because who knows what will happen with this band."

"What do you mean?" Hobie frowns.

"You know, we're all so busy trying to get our name out. It'll be better just in case if our band fall apart since you're busy with movies. Me with modeling." Riri added.

"And life." Mattea nodded.

"That's true. Ugh, we need to support each other. We still need to make our new album too." Hobie groans by this constant work load. "Fucking Bruce."

The rest groan. "Hobie! Hobie! I'm so happy you made it!" The group turns to find Pavtri holding his girlfriend's hand having to pull her with him. She giggles seeing how happy her boyfriend is.

"Hey, bruv. Been awhile." Hobie greeted him, "Luv. Nice to meet you." He holds Gayatri's hand and kissed it being a gentlemen when he wants to.

"Hahaha, nice to meet you, Hobie! I'm a big fan of Spider-Band!" She said.

"Have you seen, my sweet Gayatri's work!" Pavtri asked the punker with stars in his eyes. "Huh! HUH?"

"Oh honey," The female artist giggles, "He's been in Miles' room the whole time. I won't lie, his work is so good." She holds her side shoulder bag, "He even customized my bag. See!"

Hobie's eyes widen at the bag seeing the painting with Sunflowers and cute characters. "What? How? Can he do custom works?"

"Yeah, he does. I gave him one of my fabric works." She giggles, "You really like it, huh? It's moving, right?"

"I need to check it out." Riri said, "First some wine!"

"Same!" Mattea nodded.

"More like a crush." Karl knows when his best friend has a crush, it's very rare but it's obvious to see.

Gayatri giggles, "Really! Awe, you know he's single and ready to mingle." She loves playing match maker, with stars in her eyes being excited. "Zero, can tell you, he's so ready for a new man in his life!"

Pavtri pouted at the punker with fake tears, "Hobie, you promised you would admire my darling flower! My Gayatri's beautiful work! She took these beautiful hands," he holds her dainty hands, "and created this!" He jumps over to an installation of a blue cut out thick papers handing by a thread to show an abstract figure in blue. "All the dates we had to miss!"

"I will we have all the time." Hobie tries to explained then he was yank by Pavtri being forced to look at all of Gayatri's work. He even explain each one of them in great detailed.

Hobie spotted the last work of Miles G. Morales, it's at the end of the gallery on its own with nothing else around. He wanted to go see it, but he had to make his way through Zero's work, too. He didn't mind Gayatri's and Zero's work, they are amazing artist, but something about Miles' work. It got him, he needs to see the last painting.

After going through all his well known friends and admiring Zero's work. He found Miguel O'Hara's daughter gasping at Miles' painting, "Papá! Did you see that painting with the mother and daughter! It's so cute! Does he do custom work?" She asked, "I want one of me and mamá!"

"Alright. Let's see if we can book one." Miguel happily said to his daughter, his whole grumpy mood toward Peter changed when it was his daughter.

Jess giggles, "That Miles Morales is making waves with his work, being new to this game. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, the kid is freakin' good. He actually got some peeps from LA looking at his work. That kid is going to places."

The owner of the gallery is a tall thing black man, "Alright, gather around." Everyone went to see the speech which Hobie cursed himself, he was so close to see the final painting.

He smiles happily, "I like to thank my wife, Jess for support. My good friend Aaron for helping pitch in. This beautiful gallery is meant to bring all young diverse artists to the art game. I hope you enjoyed Gayatri's amazing works focusing on the hardship of Indian American women identity and gender roles. Zero's beautiful installations on her poems and politics of today." The two women artists came up with a smiling widely. "Sadly Miles couldn't make it today but his work focus on the struggles of Black and Brown acceptance in America."

Hobie frowns, he was hoping to meet the artist. Gayatri made it seem he was around. How odd?

"They are the future for young Contemporary artists, we know the field mostly represents a certain group, so I hope to help them achieve their careers with this gallery." He holds his glass of champagne being happy.

Then, a man in black hood came walking past the group surrounding the artists and owner of the gallery. Jess' husband finished, "I hope you enjoy the rest of the opening."

Hobie spotted the black hoodie male carries a bucket of paint, then when the artists and owner moved away. "Hey, what is he doing?" Karl asked out loud spotting the figure.

The figure throws black paint on the final painting by Miles. Everyone gasps even the security was about to go over. "Oh my god! Why would he do that?"

Hobie's mouth dropped in shock, "What the fuck, bruv!" He shouted out loud in anger.

The figure grins widely seeing the security guards being stopped by the owner, he took out his bright yellow Spray paint, and wrote in messy dripping text, "Miles wazz here!" He put down his hoodie revealing his face.

Hobie's eyes widen at such a handsome young man; big honey brown doe eyes, wearing earrings, septum nose piercing, and a bright glowing face. His hair a tapered Afro with a fade. Wait, this is Miles? Miles G. Morales?

"Easy. Easy. He's an artist. This is his installation piece." The owner explained.

Miles let the painting dripped showing how the painting still revealed a bit. "I call this, 'I'ma do my own thing.'" He grins widely at the crowd.

Noir nodded giving a loud clap in approval. The rest of the crowd awed, by the piece looking beautiful with the add on drips and markings. Gwen shouted, "Holy shit, Miles!"

"Wow, amazing!" Pavtri claps like crazy being so excited, "I was filled with so many emotions!" Everyone went back to looking at other works.

Hobie finally got the chance took a look at the painting, "Ruining it, eh?" He saw Miles finished talking to Pavtri, who hugs him before leaving them.

"Is it ruin to you?" Miles stood with a grin, he wore an oversize black hoodie, some tight jeans and black and yellow Jordans.

"Nah, it's perfect. I believe chaos, luv." Hobie grins at him.

Miles giggles, "I bet, you known for that."

"So you heard of me?"

"I mean, who doesn't know Hobie Brown? The lead singer of Spider band." He giggles in amusement, "So, I heard you're gonna buy my works. I'm surprised. I thought my shit would be too much for a celebrity."

"Pfft, I'm a different kind, Sunflower." He sips his wine, "I always love works about black empowerment and to support a fellow one at that."

"Aye, gracias papí." Miles spoke Spanish.

"Ah, so you're Puerto Rican?"

"I'm half black and half Puerto Rican, my parents are over there." He chuckles seeing the punker looking over to find the same woman from the painting and a little girl.

"Ahh, inspiration?"

"They were the reason for my Sunflower series." The artist explained, "Honestly, I was so nervous for tonight because I'm a new comer and being with these amazing artists of New York- Ugh, I can't believe I'm here."

"That's why you doubted your work?"

"Pretty much." Miles admitted, "Funny, you're easy to talk to."

"I'm always listening, Sunflower." He leans over to get a closer look at the artist, "And I listen to the person I like."

Miles felt flustered then giggles, "Haha, funny."

"Oh yea? Gimme your number and let see if I'm playin?" He flirted with a deep voice. Miles didn't know what possess him to hand him his smartphone but he did. The Punker happily type his number into the phone and put his private social media too.

"Text me, Sunflower." He winks at the artist as he handed back his phone.

"Okay." Miles did the basic hey.

Hobie chuckles, "So soon? You really want me."

"No-no, I mean- awe man! I suck at this stuff." Miles pouts.

"Oh yeah? So you want me to be forward," The punker lift his chin up about to lean in, their lips close to almost touching, "Because I can."

"Eh?" MIles' honey brown eyes widen, he didn't think the punker would be this bold!

"NO! My big bro!" A little girl ruffling shoves Hobie away from her brother.

"Billie!" Miles saw his seven year old sister, "Awe, come here." Thank god, because he wasn't ready for a kiss like that. His face felt so warm.

Billie happily hugs her brother being picked up, "Yeah! Only I give kisses to mi hermano!" She kisses her brother's cheek. "Your painting of me and mamí esta may bueno, hermano!"

"Awe, thank you, Billie-boo."

Hobie only rub his nose then sniff. Damn, he almost got to taste him. Shame, but he does like it when they play hard to get. Licking his lips, his eyes yearn for the artist. Something in him wants him. Putting on his charming smiles, "So this is your little sister?"

"Yeah, I am Billie!" The little girl stated, "Who you are? You don't kiss my brother!"

"Sorry, she loves me too much." Miles giggles. "Billie, this is Hobie. He's a popular singer. Hobie this is Billie."

"Hmph," Billie pouted giving a look at the punker.

"She is small. What is she? four?"

"I'm seven years old!" Billie huffs, "I am a BIG GURL!" She hugs her brother around his neck.

"Eck, Billie. Not too tight." Miles almost choked. "Sorry, she was like this with my friends."

"No problem. I love lil sprogs." He chuckles lowly, "Also, how do I book for a custom painting?"

"Oh, on my social I have a link to my studio website and there's a form for custom orders. You really gonna buy another painting from me?"

"Of course." He saw his assistant near him, "Mindy, darling. Have you met the seller?"

"Yes, sir. They are willing to sell all five works." She said.

"Alright, add another one. A custom on from Miles' website." Hobie smirks widen when he saw how Miles' eyes widen.

"Alright, if you wish to purchase it now, we need to go to the owner and have it ready for shipping." Mindy hums.

"Very well."

"Also, we should be leaving soon. You have a recording session tomorrow." She hums.

"Alright. Alright." He winks at Miles being a show off, he lifts Miles' hands up to kiss it, "It was wonderful seeing you. I hope we can meet again... without me buying paintings- perhaps a date?"

Miles' face went super flustered by the punker. He never thought this famous singer would be so sweet, so charming, so damn cute! "Huh uh." That's all came out of his mouth.

Billie side eye at her brother seeing how shy he became. "Lil one, I hope you will protect your brother from untamed men." Hobie smiles at her before handing her a crumble hundred dollar bill.

"Aye, Ayi! Cap'n!" Billie nodded at the tip.

Miles said, "Wait, you don't have to-" Hobie shrugs, "She can buy whatever she wants with it. Anyway, I'll see you later."

"Oh... Okay. Bye Hobie." Miles hugs his baby sister tightly feeling so bashful, his heart fluttering.

The punker left with a large receipt of five expensive paintings. He wave his fellow friends goodbye.

In the limo, he had a big smile on his face thinking about his Sunflower. "Never see you this happy? You really like the artist, huh?"

He sighs lovingly, "Yeah... do you know where he lives? I want to send him some flower." He breath exhale on the cold window letting it fog up, then he drew a crappy sunflower.

"On it." She nodded.

-Present Day-

Hobie chilling outside enjoying his pool after his record session. His Smartphone vibrating, he looks to find Miles calling him. "Sunflower! Surprised you called, miss me?" He flirted removing his dark shades.

"Hobie, I think you send me too many flowers...." He said.

"Oh? Fifty bouquets didn't come to you?"

"Fifty? There's like one, two, three.... forty nine-" Miles stops hearing the door bell, "Never mind, fifty."

"Then you got them all. How about the gifts?"

"Hobie, you shouldn't have sent this- I- It's nice of you for-" Hobie waves it off, "Nah, it's fine. I got money and wanted to spend it on you, Sunflower. Now, that you called- How about a lunch date?"

"Huh? A date?"

"Yup." Hobie sips on his sparkling water.

"Ummm," Miles felt bashful again, "Sure... where-where?"

"I'll pick you up. I know a great place. Also, I might bring another bouquet for you." Hobie happily said.

Miles nodded, "Okay. Do i need to wear anything?"

"I prefer lingerie."

"Huh!"

"Joking. I'm joking, luv. Something you want to wear. Don't worry it's a chill spot."

"Alright, man." The artist bite his bottom lip, "I... I don't do sex on the first date, by the way...."

"Oh? I'm surprised you expected me too." The singer chuckles.

"No, I mean- I'm so sorry that's rude. I just have to always-" Hobie chuckles, "It's okay, luv. I promise I'll give you a kiss on the cheek."

"Just a kiss on the cheek." Now he sounded disappointed.

"Or you want on the mouth with tongue?"

Miles never felt so embarrassed, "Your a jerk, Hobie Brown."

"You seem to like it." He laughs.

"I do actually." His pouty lip more enhance as he listens to Hobie's voice. Something about this punker got him thinking about him. He had a beautiful dream with him and it feels like he known him. Its weird.

"Then, I'll pick you up soon. See you later, Sunflower."

"See you, Hobie." Miles hears him hung up, then he hung up. The artist never felt like this. Touching his lips feeling the cracks of his dry skin, "I need to moisturized! Lip scrub! Look good for him!" He rushes over to the bathroom to get ready.

A special bond formed between the artist and the singer.

#punkflower #hobie brown #miles morales #spiderman #across the spider verse #spider verse #spiderverse

17 notes · View notes

lafemmedefxndom · 23 days

Text

Yet Another Owl House AU

Hi. I'm new here and I'm over a year late to this hyperfixation but I'm exceptionally normal about this children's show, so here we go.

Take this cross between a Swap! and a Redemption! AU.

Premise: When Philip follows Caleb into the Demon Realm, things go initially as well as can be expected between two 17th c. Puritan brothers when one of them has been sneaking off and shacking up with a real-life witch for ages. But when the moment of final, fatal conflict should come for the Wittebane brothers, it doesn't.

Much later, Luz the Human finds herself indebted to the Emperor's mysterious, masked servant, the Hunter, as rebellion simmers on the Boiling Isles.

(Preview of WIP fic under the cut)

"I knew it!" said Luz, swiping leaves and protruding twigs out of her hair. She hopped on one foot to pull off her shoe and shake out a rock, then tugged it back on and whirled to face the end of the brand-new clearing. Smoke swirled from the wake-line of charred brush and branches they had cut through the understory as they crashed.

"I knew you weren't really trying! Before, all those times you should have gotten Eda! And me and King! You let us go, didn't you?"

The stooped figure ignored her. As they knelt, the odd shower of burnt leaves fell on their shoulders; the kaleidoscope network of embroidered glyphs that covered their midnight-blue cloak shimmered, and the debris fell away sizzling.

Luz laughed. "I knew I read you right! Scary, mysterious vibe. Competent enough to keep us on our toes, but then something convenient aaaalways happens that just barely lets us evade your clutches. I knew we couldn't be that smart." She snorted. All the markers of a Secret Good Guy. Even Lilith, for all that she said about wanting Eda to join her in the Emperor's Coven willingly, had never been this intentional about letting them slip through her fingers. Luz bet they even had a tragic backstory. She could even just bet on many artfully-composed layers of internal conflict.

She smiled. "And all this time, to think we were afraid of you!"

Their head did not lift, so much as snap like the flint of an old-fashioned pistol. They stood, turned, and stalked like someone with a great deal of experience in The Art of Intimidation thru Forward, Unfriendly Footwork towards Luz. Despite her sense of triumph, she shrank as they let their full height advantage do the work of Looming with Intent.

For a moment, they stood silent, the brassy, horned mask was still.

"How certain," they said, "are you of your safety at this present moment?"

-------

Aaaand that's all for now! Less than a week in this fandom and this AU has completely taken over my brain. We'll call it The Hunter Belos AU for now. More will come as I'm able to clearly outline the most important scenes. Glad to be here, guys!

#the owl house #toh au #toh aus #toh luz #toh phillip wittebane #luz noceda #philip wittebane #hunter belos au

4 notes · View notes

whisker-biscuit · 10 months

Text

The Lines We Cross - Chapter 7

Bentley Comes Through

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

See you met me at an interesting time And if my past is any sign of your future You should be warned before I let you inside

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

The pit stop turned out to be a tiny store in Nebraska an eight-hour car drive away, sandwiched between a tattoo parlor and a private attorney's office on a quiet street in a quiet town. “Wiseturtle Tech” was emblazoned over the front. Sly stared up at the blocky, faded lettering and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just ask your boss for a new weapon,” he said for the hundredth time since they’d started the impromptu detour. “Seems a lot easier than going out of your way to a podunk place like this.”

“Shock pistols aren’t manufactured en-masse,” the cop admitted. “They’re custom weaponry that only higher ranks like inspectors can have. I didn’t want to ask Barkley for a new one right after he gave me so much expensive equipment already, and it would have taken a while for them to ship a new one, anyway.”

“What about a regular gun, then? Doesn’t Interpol have those?”

“They do…” Her lips thinned. “I just don’t like using them.”

“...Right.” He gave the storefront another once-over, then turned to look at her holster where her broken pistol was tucked safely away. “So, what makes you think some random tech guy can salvage a mess like that?”

“You'll see.”

Inspector Fox pushed open the door to let them both inside. A little bell overhead chimed in response, but no one was actually at the desk to greet them. The counters behind the desk were covered in dismantled machinery – phones, laptops, kitchen appliances, and a million other things Sly couldn’t identify. The one intact computer sitting on the desk had a screensaver of a little green turtle head bouncing aimlessly off the edges of the screen.

There was a wall offering various tech and accessories, so the raccoon wandered over that way. “Great customer service. Really selling me on this place.”

“Oh, shush.” She stepped up to the counter and rang the service bell. “Hello? Anyone home?”

A large pink hippo in a gray uniform shirt poked his head out of one of the back doorways. His eyes widened and a big goofy grin grew on his face as he recognized the person who had called for him.

“Hi Miss Fox!”

“Hi, Murray,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “Is Bentley here? I could really use his help.”

The hippo nodded emphatically. “Yeah! I’ll go get him right now for you!”

He disappeared from sight again, and she gave Sly a smug look, who only shrugged and went back to studying the wall of stuff. It was a bizarre mix, really – half of what was on sale looked brand new, state of the art and built for the latest tech trends, while the other half looked like it had been lifted from a RadioShack in the eighties. Even if the single camera he’d noted in one ceiling corner was just for show, nothing here was really worth taking. Not for his needs, anyway.

There was a clatter as Murray bounded back out from his hiding place, followed by a tiny turtle with giant spectacles and a little red bowtie over his shirt that matched his coworker’s. He climbed onto the chair across the desk from where the cop stood and only gave Sly a brief glance.

“Hello, Inspector Fox. It’s been a while,” he said in the most nasally voice the raccoon had ever heard. “Is your computer having issues again?”

“No. I’m here for something else today.” She lifted her ruined shock pistol and placed it carefully onto the counter.

Bentley’s mouth fell open. “What did you do to it?”

“Work-related. It was overloaded with electricity, but I can’t really share any more details than that,” she hurriedly dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“I can…certainly try.” The turtle picked it up by the handle between two fingers, as if afraid it might explode. “You know, every time I think I’ve seen every way someone can destroy their tech, you always manage to surprise me.”

“I will take that as a compliment!” She shot a glare at Sly when he snorted. “So, how long will you need?”

“A few hours at least. And that’s if I already have all the parts to replace anything damaged beyond repair. Otherwise, it could be anywhere between a few days to a few weeks.”

The inspector grimaced and shook her head. “If you can’t fix it within the day, don’t bother. It would be faster to get a new one.”

“Alright.” His gaze flickered over to the raccoon, who stared back impassively. “I’ll, uh, give you a call when I know for sure what the time estimate will be.”

“Thanks, Bentley.”

As they left the store together, Sly met Murray’s curious gaze. The hippo gave him a smile as wide as he had Inspector Fox, and Sly couldn’t help but give an awkward attempt at one back.

“Well, it looks like we have some time to kill,” he said the moment the doors swung closed behind them. “What’s the plan while we wait?”

She chewed her lip. “I need to figure out which member of the Five to go after first. And you still haven’t given me that evidence yet, Ringtail.”

“I will, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t high-tail it out of that apartment and leave me stranded.”

The two of them got back in her car, and the fox gave him a long, searching stare. “You’re really going through with this, huh.”

It wasn’t entirely a question. He’d let his emotions slip a little more than he’d wanted the other night, and she had seen his conviction because of it. Even so, he’d had a day and a half since then to think over his decision to rub shoulders with a cop – one from Interpol, no less – and although he had plenty of misgivings, Sly still believed it was his best option for now.

He might know where most of the Five were holed up these days, but that would only get him so far on his own. She had resources, and a seemingly genuine interest in seeing justice served, and it would be so much easier to let her blaze through their hideouts and move stealthily in the chaos she created than trying to break in by himself – especially once they realized he hadn’t been arrested like the rest of Muggshot’s goons. The last place they would ever expect to find him was at the side of the cop who was out to bust them all.

And, after seeing how she had miraculously won a one-on-one battle against the bulldog, he almost dared to believe that he’d be safe with her even if they did find him.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered, honest for once in his life, before pulling out the precious information she so desperately wanted. “Here. For your peace of mind.”

The cop grabbed them and began reading immediately. Her lips moved without sound as she did so; it was a small, almost endearing detail that made his mouth twitch just a little bit upwards.

“These are emails,” she finally said in hushed excitement. “Emails between some of the Five. Muggshot, Sir Raleigh, and Mz. Ruby. But…why would he print them out?”

Because they always wipe their communications but Muggshot has the memory of a gnat, he didn’t say out loud. “Probably because he doesn’t know how to tell the difference between print’ and ‘delete’. You’ve met the guy.”

Inspector Fox hummed, only half listening. Her nose was buried in papers. Sly had already read them while waiting on the roof of her motel, and he knew what she was going to find. He pulled the car seat back until it was nearly horizontal, flipped his hood up over his eyes, and laid his linked hands behind his head like he was going to take a nap.

“The most recent communications are between Muggshot and Mz. Ruby,” she mumbled to herself, “from the same day that I busted him. And the ones between him and Sir Raleigh are from two weeks ago. That’s interesting.”

“Mhm.”

“They all seem to be talking about the same thing,” the fox continued, in a slow, thoughtful tone. “Some kind of special package they’d been ferrying back and forth. Raleigh to Muggshot, and then Muggshot to Mz. Ruby.”

Sly stared at the tiny threadbare stitching of the inside of his hood.

“But…” She tapped a line on the page. “It looks like the latter two settled on a transfer date that’s still another week away. Whatever they were smuggling between them, it never made it to the alligator before Muggshot was arrested.”

He was so still he was barely breathing. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I wonder what that package was. These emails are so vague, all I can really tell is that it was probably fragile and priceless, and with all the stolen stuff we found in his penthouse, almost anything could fall under those categories.”

“Well, no use getting our tails in a twist over something they’re never going to get their hands on again,” Sly said, a little curter than he meant to.

She shifted next to him, obviously surprised by his blunt brush off, but then went back to reading without saying anything about it. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the cop straightened in her seat.

“We’ve got locations!” She exclaimed. “The last transfer point was in Wales, and the next scheduled one is supposed to be in Haiti. That must be where Raleigh and Mz. Ruby are hiding out right now. I wonder what kind of awful schemes they’re involved in. Everyone had been speculating that the Five had gone into hiding in some kind of criminal retirement, but these clearly indicate otherwise.”

“I dunno a single thing about any of that, but between Wales and Haiti, I vote we go to Haiti first.”

“Why Haiti?”

The raccoon finally lifted the fabric from his eyes to look sideways at her. “Two reasons. Number one is that Haiti is way closer to the States than Wales is, and if Mz. Ruby hasn’t heard about Muggshot’s arrest by next week, then you have a chance to catch her at the exact time and place she’s planning to make that exchange with him.”

An exact time and place he was going to avoid like the plague if he could help it.

“Number two is that Mz. Ruby has premonition. The longer you leave her out there, the more likely she’ll look into the future, see her own arrest and disappear, or see her partners’ arrests and warn them to disappear. Then you’re screwed either way.”

“That’s true, but –” she paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Wait. How do you know about Mz. Ruby’s powers?”

“Are you kidding? It’s one of the things she’s most famous for besides literally summoning the undead. Just because Interpol has its special top-secret info doesn’t mean some stuff doesn’t reach public knowledge.”

Sly held her gaze without blinking until she backed down with an acknowledging nod. Her wariness was frustrating but understandable, especially because of how she wasn’t wrong to have it.

Just for all the wrong reasons.

“Okay. Haiti, then.” Inspector Fox pulled out a tiny notebook from her jacket’s front pocket and began scribbling down notes as she scanned the printed emails again. “That’s going to be about a long flight, so I need to book plane tickets for the earliest possible flight I can find for two people.”

He must have let something show on his face about that, because she huffed and gave him an impatient look.

“What now?”

“Nothing. I just – I didn’t think we’d be flying.” As soon as it left his mouth, he regretted it. She stared at him like he was an idiot.

“How else are we supposed to get there, Ringtail?” She asked sarcastically. “By car?”

“No. I just…I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to be crappy about it.”

The cop began to open her mouth again, and he just knew she was going to pry into things she had no business knowing. With an irritated sigh, Sly readjusted his seat into something actually vertical again so he could be level with her in more ways than one.

“I’m just not the biggest fan of flying, alright?”

The sharp retort prepared on her tongue vanished in the wake of confusion. “You’re not? How come?”

“Consider it a phobia. It paralyzes me.”

She squinted at him. He met her eyes without hiding anything. The truth was the truth, and he could see her defensiveness easing away as she realized it.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can get you something to help. Over the counter anxiety meds, maybe.”

The raccoon let out an audible snort. “Nothing short of Klonopin is going to help me with that. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Before the inspector could respond to that, her cell phone suddenly went off. She answered it immediately albeit with a sharp glance his way, as if to say their conversation was far from over.

“Hello? Oh! Bentley, thanks for calling back, I – okay. Okay. But you – you can? Great! Thank you so much! Yes, we’ll come back later.”

Sly picked at the seams of his gloves, waiting patiently until the fox ended the call.

“He says most of the damage was in the charge port, and he has the spare parts for it,” she told him the moment she hung up. “But it’s going to take the rest of the day even if he skips the other projects that were in line before mine.”

“All day, huh? Pretty sure we’ll have figured out a route to Haiti way before then. That’s a lot of time to kill.”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Not for me. I have to check in with my superiors about my plan to go after Mz. Ruby first, and get an update on the evidence they’ve been sorting through from the bust on Muggshot. If there’s any new information about his cohorts, I need to know as soon as possible.”

“Sounds…fun.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The cop gave him a particular look that he decidedly didn’t like. “But it’s all confidential, and I can’t risk you eavesdropping on my phone calls again.”

“I thought we’d already established that it wasn’t actually eavesdropping if your boss was yelling so loud I could hear him across the room.”

“Regardless,” she continued, irritation seeping into her voice, “you can’t be around me for that. I’m not risking it happening again.”

Sly sat up straighter in his seat, not liking at all where this was going. “What, so you’re just going to kick me out of the car for the next six, seven hours ‘til you’re done? What am I supposed to do – sit on the curb with my chin in my hands all day?”

Inspector Fox began working her jaw; a tic he was starting to notice meant she was deep in thought instead of merely frustrated. Her eyes drifted up and down his hoodie.

“How prepared are you for a long-term trip?”

And that was how Sly found himself standing in front of a general merchandise store, watching his cop companion drive away, with the two-hundred US dollars she’d handed him in his pocket and explicit instructions to buy everything he needed for travel.

It didn’t bother him that she could tell he didn’t have many belongings to his name – the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes nearly two days after they’d first met had probably clued her in – but it did bother him that she seemed to think he didn’t have any money. It made sense, because to her he was just a civilian who’d probably been robbed and then captured by Muggshot’s men, but it still smarted his ego as a thief.

With a huff, the raccoon entered the store, grabbed a shopping cart, and made a beeline for the aisle with portable suitcases. Then he made a beeline for the clothing section.

It had been a long time since he’d been able to pick out things for himself. Clothes were always a necessity provided for him by the Five, and only when his previous stuff was starting to get threadbare. A few new shirts, and pants, and a pair of shoes if they were feeling generous. The hoodie he was wearing was courtesy of being stuck in stormy Wales for nearly a month before he’d come to Mesa, because as much as Raleigh hated spending money on the “orphan waif”, he hated having to deal with a sick orphan waif even more.

Even with his newfound freedom, Sly found himself following the same patterns he’d been forced to follow for over half his life; three shirts, three pairs of pants, and a single new pair of shoes were all he put in his cart. He only realized what he was doing when he compared the amount of clothes to the size of the suitcase he’d chosen. There was still far too much space left even if he added his backpack and what he was wearing.

That realization prickled his fur and made his cheeks burn, and so he doubled back and forced himself to pick another two of each despite the voice in his head screaming that he was being greedy for it.

Next up were toiletries.

The raccoon’s toothbrush was already safely tucked away in a side pocket on his backpack, something he’d always done just in case there was ever a chance for him to make a break for it, but everything else had been left behind when he’d been unexpectedly forced out of his room. He began pulling things off the shelves at random as he saw them – toothpaste, shampoo, a fur brush, nail clippers, a pack of razors, and so on and so forth. At one point he passed a jumbo first aid kit and added that to the growing pile as well, knowing that if he got hurt, he would have to rely on himself instead of the cop. She probably didn’t even know how to properly pack a stab wound; much less reset a broken bone or build a makeshift splint.

After that…Sly wasn’t really sure what came after that.

Inspector Fox had promised to be back to pick him up in a few hours, but he still had quite a lot of time to kill. He’d already gotten all the essentials he needed, and there was really nothing else to get that wasn’t wasting space and money.

For a brief minute he toyed with the idea of swinging by the pharmacy and swiping someone’s anxiety prescription meds if he could find something strong enough to last him the upcoming plane ride he was already dreading, but quickly nixed the thought. That was a particularly scummy thing to do even with his skewed ideals. He’d just have to suck it up.

He ended up wandering store aisles, looking at things that held no interest or use to him. So many frivolous, stupid things that people bought. Why buy a toaster and a toaster oven? Why get more than one bed spread unless you absolutely needed a new one? Why spend money on three different kinds of the same food?

Muggshot and Raleigh both loved to do things like that. Sly had lost count of how many times he’d watched the frog import wine worth thousands of Pounds a bottle, or the bulldog order glitzy chandeliers to hang from the ceiling of every room he spent more than an hour in. As a kid who had lived middle class until the night his world was shattered, it had confused him. As an adult who had spent the last eleven years surviving off what little he could get, it infuriated him.

At least Inspector Fox didn’t seem to be like that. Her accommodations were cramped, and a little dingy, but he would take it over glittering fakeness any day of the week. Well, except for maybe that shiny red convertible. That thing stuck out like a sore thumb and he very much hoped she’d ditch it before getting any further in this case.

Something caught his eye in the electronics section.

It was a digital camera, small enough to fit in his hoodie’s front pocket, advertised for taking quality pictures for scrapbooking needs and family vacations. SD card and charger port sold separately but at a bargain, it claimed, and the raccoon didn’t realize how long he’d been looking at it until he noticed an employee approaching him from the corner of his eye.

“That’s a really nice camera,” the deer said, giving him a smile perfected for customer service. “Are you interested? I can take it out of the case for you.”

Sly looked at them, then at the price tag. Two-hundred dollars with all the added accessories. He had nearly four-thousand from what he’d swiped from Muggshot. This would barely put a dent in that. But it still made him hesitate.

Greedy little thing, hissed the voice in his head, a familiar croak with a British accent. Always asking for more than you deserve.

“Yeah, actually, I am interested,” he said louder than necessary, ignoring the weird look the employee gave him as a result. “I’d love to buy it.”

What was he even going to use a camera for? No idea. But it shut up the stupid voice in his head for the time being and that was all that mattered.

When Inspector Fox pulled up to the sidewalk twenty minutes later in her dumb fancy car, Sly was waiting for her with a mostly-full suitcase, turning the camera over and over in his hands. She helped him load his luggage into the trunk alongside her own and all the strange cop stuff she had – was that a jetpack? – and appeared to be distracted by something that she didn't share.

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” She suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

They ordered takeout and ate in her car instead of inside, at her request. It was quiet for a few minutes as she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

“How’d your check-in go?” He asked after a while, surprising them both that he was the one to break the silence first.

“Good. It was good.” She hesitated. “They haven’t found anything useful for my case, though. Just stuff to help put Muggshot away for a very long time. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“’S fine. I’m not really interested in all that cop mumbo-jumbo, anyway.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be.” There was another heavy pause as she studied him.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Sly…” The use of his first name made him tense. “Did you…”

The inspector stopped, took a deep breath, and steepled her fingers together. The look on her face was pinched and intense.

“I think we need to clear the air before this goes any further.”

Sly slowly brought his fork down from his mouth and eyed her cautiously. There were only a few things that would warrant a statement like that, and all of them made him nervous. “Uh, okay. You have something specific in mind?”

“A few questions.”

“Ask away,” he said, leaning back in his seat as nonchalantly as he could manage. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay. First question, then – you said you didn’t live in Mesa. Where do you live?” Before he could open his mouth, she gave him a sharp look. “Honest answer, Sly. I want to know.”

The raccoon tapped one finger against his thigh, thinking for a moment. “Honest answer? I don’t have a place.”

Her brows furrowed together in an expression he couldn’t read. “You’re homeless?”

“I mean, I’d personally describe it as ‘between homes’ right now, but…yeah. Essentially.”

The strange look morphed into something that he definitely recognized as pity. He would have challenged it if not for wanting very much to keep his cool as she worked through…whatever it was on her mind.

“But you don’t live in Mesa.”

“Nope. Was just passing through. Really unlucky timing on my part, I guess.”

“Fair enough. Second question – do you have any family you could go back to?”

Sly blinked. “No. I don’t.”

“Any living relatives at all?” She pressed. “People who will worry about where you are or what happens to you?”

“Does it look like I do?” He snapped, tail curling around his ankle. “What’s with the twenty questions all of a sudden, huh? Having second thoughts about this whole thing?”

The cop held up her hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to dredge up anything! I just wanted to make sure this is really something you want to do.”

“I’ve already told you twice that it was.”

“You did,” she conceded. “You’re right, you did.”

“What’s this really about, Inspector? You were just fine this morning and now it sounds more like you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get me off your back. Did –”

A thought occurred to him.

“…Did you tell your boss about this deal of ours? Did he tell you to ditch me, or persuade me to quit?”

She shifted uncomfortably, clearly called out, and a spike of icy fear shot straight through Sly’s heart.

“What did you say?” He demanded. “What did you say about me?”

“Nothing specific,” she was quick to say, watching him in that very peculiar way again. “I told Bar – my superior that I had found a civilian consultant who could help me get to my next target faster than expected. I didn’t tell him your name, or your species, or anything else. But I had to tell him I was traveling with someone, Sly!”

“Why? Is he your dad? Got a curfew you gotta follow, too?”

“He’s my boss, Ringtail. I have to be transparent in this profession or else no one would trust me. I know you have a weird – thing about the police, but I promise you I didn’t share anything that you didn’t consent to.”

He had most certainly not consented to being put on Interpol’s radar, but he kept that rebuke clamped down under an angry locked jaw. He should have expected this from someone like her; of course she would be as by-the-book as possible. The raccoon folded his arms and pointedly stared out the front windshield.

“What did he have to say about your little escort?”

“To do a background check on you and make sure you knew the danger you were getting into,” she told him. “So here I am, trying to do both before dragging you out of the country on a wild goose chase.”

He wondered if she’d tried to do a formal search on any raccoons named Sly. If she had, he knew without a single doubt that she would not have found anything.

“You want a background check? I’ll give you a background check.”

“That’s not –” she started to say, but he cut her off hard.

“I have no living relatives. My parents died when I was young and I’ve been on my own ever since.” He pulled his forged passport out of his backpack and flashed it just enough so she could see what it was but not the full name on it. “I can travel globally anywhere I want. You can do a search on me but you won’t find anything because I don’t have a criminal record. I don’t have any ties to any family, or friends, or anything in this country, so you don’t have to feel bad about ‘dragging’ me along.”

“Sly –”

“And since you’re wondering how I got those emails – because I know you’re wondering – I got them well before you saved me. I went snooping around in Muggshot’s casino while he was clearing out the locals and stumbled onto them right before those mutts you met came across me. They decided that I needed a full tour of their handiwork of the city since I obviously wasn’t scared enough of them and they were too fucking stupid to actually search my backpack because I gave them all the money I had on me when they demanded it.”

Inspector Fox was staring at him with wide eyes. He kept his chin held high.

“Well?” The raccoon challenged. “What do you have to say to that, Inspector?”

Her body seemed to catch up to her brain, because she suddenly leaned forward and locked her gaze with his, searching for deception. He didn’t even flinch.

“…Okay,” she finally conceded, backing down both physically and mentally. “Okay. Thank you, Sly. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, but I appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important if we’re going to work together for the foreseeable future.”

It was a foreseeable future he was already starting to regret, but he wasn’t ever going to let her know that.

“Yeah, well…I’m just glad you’re satisfied. It’s not every day I spill my guts like that, especially to –”

“To cops. I know.” She finished for him, and there wasn’t as much annoyance over the barb as he would have expected. “You’re starting to get predictable, Ringtail.”

“Am not,” he grumbled, without quite as much bite in his voice. The confrontation had drained all his energy and left him tired more than anything else. “So did you get a flight planned out, or were you too busy gossiping about me?”

“Yes and no. I was mostly setting up hotel accommodations and making contact with the local Haitian police so we could jump right into work once we get there.” She checked her phone. “We’ve still got another hour to kill before Bentley estimated he’d be done, so there’s plenty of time to look at flights.”

“Great. I can’t think of anything more fun than that.”

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

At 5 PM on the dot, with a route established and a flight to catch the next day – which Sly was pointedly not going to think about until he absolutely had to – the two of them reentered Wiseturtle Tech to see Bentley putting the finishing touches on the now-fixed shock pistol. Murray was sitting on a stool nearby to watch him work, idly swinging his legs and making the seat rotate back and forth.

Both employees looked up at the jingle of the doorbell, and both waved. Inspector Fox returned the greeting while Sly just nodded his head.

“I’m almost done, I swear,” the turtle mumbled as he went right back to crossing wires. “I just want to be sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Take your time,” she replied. “I’d rather you triple-check everything than rush a job.”

Her eyes trailed over to the wall of tech, then to Sly, then back. She grabbed his hand very suddenly, startling him.

“Come over here,” the fox said, leading him towards a row of simple flip phones. When he looked between them and her with a raised eyebrow, she sighed as if greatly inconvenienced. “Pick out a burner phone.”

“Why?”

“Since it’s clear we’re doing this together, we’ll need a way to communicate in case we ever get separated, and something tells me you don’t already have one of these.”

He gave her a flat stare, but she carefully avoided looking at him or any aspect of his appearance by gesturing to the electronics instead.

“Go on. It’d make me feel a lot better if I’m going to take you with me.”

Rolling his eyes without any heat behind it, the raccoon picked the cheapest one he could find. The thought of picking a more expensive one since she was paying for it popped up for about half a second, but he squashed it right away. There wasn’t any point in taking advantage of her generosity and potentially making her resent him.

Greedy, hissed Raleigh.

Sly gritted his teeth and practically slammed the phone onto the counter, making Bentley jump and Inspector Fox give him a disapproving look.

“I’ll take this one, please,” he said to the hippo, who had scampered back to his post as an actual employee so he could ring them up for their charges.

“Is this your first ever phone?” Murray asked, sounding strangely excited about the concept.

“Maybe,” he answered warily, watching out of the corner of his eye as Inspector Fox pulled her wallet out while Bentley handed her the fixed shock pistol. “Why?”

“Can I be your first phone number?”

Sly swiveled to look at him, confused. “Uh…why? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Well, sure, but – I mean, the first number in your phone should be someone you can rely on, right? And you can always rely on us to help, no matter the problem!” The hippo started playing with his hands, gaze dropping to the ground. “And – and it’s just…you seem like a really cool guy, too.”

That was…not anything he’d expected to hear at all. Sly blinked, completely caught off guard by the compliment and its sincerity, and didn’t immediately respond.

“...Sure,” he finally said, if only because Murray was starting to wilt like a dying flower as the seconds ticked by without an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

He doubted he’d ever call the guy, or even remember he had his number, but there really wasn’t any harm in letting him plug it in, was there?

The hippo beamed at him, wasting no time in doing so, and then passed the phone along to Inspector Fox, who deftly did the same thing with her own number.

“There.” She handed it to him with a smile. “Now we’re both all set.”

Sly watched her set her fixed weapon back into its holster, and thumbed the new device that was now hiding in his hoodie pocket right next to the camera. “Guess we are.”

“Thanks again, Bentley! And you too, Murray.” The fox waved goodbye to them, and this time the raccoon did the same.

“Bye! Don’t be a stranger!” Murray called after them enthusiastically. His turtle coworker watched them go with a pinched, pensive brow.

The moment they were outside, Inspector Fox pulled her pistol out to weigh it in her hands. She seemed satisfied by whatever she felt, because it went right back where it was supposed to without any further fanfare.

Sly watched her, still feeling the weight of the phone on his person. He’d never had a phone before. He’d never needed one before.

“Okay,” she said, turning to him, and all the levity she’d shown in the tech shop disappeared under determination and anticipation. “Next stop: Haiti.”

“Right.” He could do this. He was ready for this.

“Right after a six-hour flight.”

“.......Right.”

Or maybe not.

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

A/N: Transitional chapter is important but still a transition. Hopefully a cameo by our favorite boys makes up for it!

A few notes on this one: 1) I did not mean for Sly to get so hostile near the end there. It was just supposed to be Carmelita questioning him to put her many misgivings to rest, but he apparently decided to take it personally and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise lol.

2) I've always had the headcanon that Sly enjoys photography either because of or separately from doing so much recon. It's such a neat hobby and I feel like it fits his introverted nature. We'll just have to see whether he uses the camera in this verse.

3) It was very fun (and kinda sad) to think up what life might have been like for Bentley and Murray if they had never crossed paths with Sly. While I do think he's the glue that pushed them all together, it's still very likely that the more "mundane" versions of them may have still built lives working with each other. Here specifically, Bentley is the tech guy and Murray helps him with deliveries and heavy lifting. Even so, they've both always felt like something was still missing...

Once again, thank you for reading!

#sly cooper #carmelita fox

10 notes · View notes