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beigehearts · 3 years

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Yandere adult trio: college AU These are drabbles for when they lose their mind and kill the people around you... and kidnaps you

These are going to be a little longer than usual but I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did when writing it (also im trying out the beta version of the new posting system so lemme know if anything is weird)

Sorry this took me forever bro

CW: murder, blood, physical abuse, alcohol

Hisoka

It's getting quite annoying to be completely honest. He just won't leave you alone, constantly flirting and making passes at you. And yet at the same time he makes fun of you and is actually very mean. It wasn't so bad in the beginning but this is just getting out of hand. You made sure he was aware of this. ---- He's looming over you as he corners you against the wall. You refuse to look up at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

While you aren't looking at him, you can feel him looking at you. You already know he has that annoying grin on his face that makes you want to punch him square in the nose.

He brushes his long fingers against your face, making a quiet humming noise. "Are you ready to give up my pet?"

You ignore his words and slap his hand away from your face. "I need to get to class, move Hisoka."

He frowns though you aren't looking at his face. He opens his mouth to say something when someone from behind him calls out to you. "Hey y/n! Are you okay?"

She walks towards you but before she can get involved you shove the man away and huff. What a nuisance. You turn towards him once you're standing next to your friend and glare at him.

"Leave me alone. It's annoying and it's scaring people. Got it?" Before he can respond you turn on your heels and drag your friend down the hall by her wrist just hoping to put distance between the two of you. ---- You're pretty sure you made it clear that you don't want him near you anymore. But by now you know he doesn't give up so easily. One can only hope that he gets bored of you and finds someone else to bother.

You and your friends went out for brunch earlier, and all was well until Chelsea handed you something. She said that she found it in her bag but it was addressed to you, so you put it in your own bag.

You pour yourself a rum and coke and make yourself comfortable on the couch of your shared apartment. All of your roommates went out for drinks but you were too tired to go out.

After taking a sip of the sweet liquid in your glass, you examine the letter you were given earlier. It's a typical white envelope with your name written in pen. There's no address on it or return address so you assume it was just supposed to be handed to you.

You rip open the letter with your finger and pull out the singular loose leaf paper. It's folded in three sections so you pull it open. The handwriting is messy but in an aesthetic sort of way.

Dear y/n, I strongly suggest that you go to class 406B in the technical building tonight. Don't be late or you'll miss the whole party. 10:45 pm - see you then. I almost forgot, if you don't come I have some revealing pictures of you that I can share with anyone I wish to. XOXO

This is the strangest letter you've ever received. It's probably a prank by one of your roommates or friends. You've never sent nudes to anyone so obviously they're bluffing.

Though perhaps you should entertain your friends and go. Who knows, maybe there will be drinks. But you are tired... Maybe you'll just go to bed. You peek over to the time on your phone, it's 9:12 pm. Yeah, you'll just go to bed after you finish your drink.

'bzz' 'bzzz'

Who is texting you so late at night? You sit up and realize you fell asleep on the couch. You wipe the drool off of your face and grab your phone with distain for whoever woke you up.

It's a blocked number.

ur late

Late? Late for what? Your phone displays the time, 11:27 pm. Are your friends really this committed to their prank? They must be trying to get Tik Tok famous or some shit. Well you're awake now, you might as well head over there.

----

The moment you step into the building something seems off. If all of the lights including the emergency lights wasn't enough, the ground seems sticky. Though you can't bring yourself to use your phone flash light to see what it is.

Eventually you find the room 406B in the darkness. The door is closed and no lights are on in the room. It seems as if no one is inside. As you reach for the handle of the door, you notice something on the window of the door. You can barely make it out, but there's what looks like a hand print. You chuckle, this must be a prank.

Now feeling a little better, you open the door and step inside. It's too dark to see anything but you can make out some figures in the dark. It must be your friends thinking they're being sneaky.

You roll your eyes and look for the light switch, finding it and switching it on. You squint at the sudden light, and your eyes begin to focus. Which you wish they never did.

There is blood everywhere, on the ceiling, the windows, the floor, the tables... But that's not the most jarring part. Your friends are sitting in chairs, one of them sitting on the ground against the wall.

There is your friend Chelsea, sitting in a chair with her head tipped down. You can't even tell what color her clothes originally were, they're covered in red, a dark dark red. Next to her is Derick, he's sitting the same way except his head is tipped backwards. His eyes are wide and his face is left in permanent horror- expressing the brutality of his end. You can't bare to look anymore, you drop to your knees and cover your face with your hands.

You scream and scream until your voice is hoarse and throat is raw. You're left coughing while you are drowned by your own tears.

"Are you ready to give up yet?" A deep voice asks from in front of you.

You can't stop the flow of tears as you look up at this monster. He's also covered in blood, and some is splattered on his face. He wipes a thumb across his face in the blood, and brings it to his lips. Sobs rack your body, you can't even make sense of this.

Hisoka squats down so you're face to face and grips your jaw bone tightly in his hand. You can feel the now cold substance being rubbed against your jaw by his fingers and it makes you want to puke.

"I got tired of waiting for you." His grin is nauseating, forcing you to stop yourself from puking.

His nails dig into your skin, mixing your own blood with that of your friend's. He brings his face close to yours and in a gentle but menacing tone he croaks, "Let's stop this childish game, alright y/n?"

Illumi

It's easy to miss things when you're caught up with the rush of classes and friends and love. All of the parties and hangovers are enough to satisfy your needs for entertainment and drama in this boring life. If you didn't fill up your daily life with these acts, you would probably sleep every day away until you fell into a coma.

To put it short, you're a busy body. And busy bodies don't have time to stop and look around at what is happening. For example, how were you to notice the key under your doormat was missing, or how your dresser drawers were left slightly open when you know you closed them before leaving. Noticing these small things are definitely not on your agenda.

It's 10 am, Saturday, and you don't have any classes or work today. You're sitting at the kitchen bar, drinking coffee and chatting with your roommate. It isn't often that you have a free day, and sometimes it is nice to have even if you want to get moving. The sun is peeking through the curtains and the aroma of espresso beans is a delight. It's a bit chilly so you have a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. What a peaceful morn-

'BANG BANG'

Your roommate eyes you when someone bangs on the front door, already knowing the events that are about to take place. She rolls her eyes and stomps up the stairs to her room, not wanting to get involved. You always feel bad that your roommates have to listen to this but you're really not sure how to end it.

You take your last peaceful sip of coffee and call out, "Come in!"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he storms inside and slams the door behind him. Your boyfriend of course is mad about something you've done. He trudges towards you and moves the stool next to you out of the way, and leans towards you so his face is next to yours.

"Are you kidding me y/n?!" He yells in your ear, but you don't flinch because you're used to this.

He rips his phone from his pocket and shoves it in your face after pulling up a screenshot. It's a conversation between you and his friend.

"Can't you learn to shut your damn mouth? This is our business and you have no right to tell anyone about it!" He's practically seething with rage.

You take a last sip of coffee and set your mug down on the counter. You continue facing forward and not facing him. "It's not our business, it's yours. And I asked him if it was true that you were cheating on me." You turn your head towards him while grimacing and mutter, "Again."

Ah but you've just lighted a bomb with your words.

His face has gone red and he looks like he's about to explode. You begin wondering why you were ever attracted to him.

"Maybe if you weren't such a prude! I can't even kiss my girlfriend whenever I want, it's ridiculous. You know full well that you're so... so... Ugh! You know what? Fuck you!"

As quickly as he came, he runs out of the house, slamming the door once again.

You whisper to yourself, "Fuck you too."

God he's such a child, you don't even want to be with him anymore. But every time you decide to break up with him he suddenly becomes Mr.Perfect. "I'm so sorry." "I love you." "Let me make it up to you." And then he does make it up to you only to tear down all of his hard work.

----

It's been a few days since your big fight with your boyfriend. He hasn't talked to you at all but this isn't uncommon for him. You promised your roommates that you would break up with him, not just for yourself but for the sake of their peace and quiet.

You texted him a few times while you were at work but he left you on read. He's so petty. So you text him one last time.

Come 2 my place at 8 tonight, We need to talk

He answers immediately which surprises you.

Can't, flat tire Come to my place

It doesn't make a difference to you where it is so that's fine. You wonder if maybe he's come to terms with the fact this needs to end. Hopefully so. If there's one thing you want him to be mature about, it's this.

Your shift ends at 6:30pm. You drive home, shower, get dressed, eat something and get ready to leave.

You send one last text,

OMW

It's read immediately but there's no response. Well, it's not like you expected much from him anyway. You drive to his house at 7:45 pm, and arrive around 7:58 pm. All of the lights in his town house are on. He's a few years older than you so he has his own house due to somehow being able to hold down a job. With his anger issues it's hard to believe that he can hold onto anything. Damn, he really is an unattractive person isn't he?

You step out of your car and lock it. Now that you're out of the car you realize that it's very quiet. This is unusual for when you go to his house, normally you can hear music or the sound affects of a shitty video game. But it's silent. Maybe he's waiting for you? He must be taking this well.

You step up the creaky stairs of the house, and knock on the equally as creaky door. No response. Maybe he's sleeping? You peek into the mail box and take out the extra key for the house from it. But when you go to unlock the door, it's already unlocked. This is becoming very strange.

You push open the door and peer into the dark living room. It's not too dark that you can't make out the furniture in the darkness. You step inside and shut the door behind you, it's still quiet. Not quiet, absolutely and undeniably silent. You flick the light on and look around again, nothing seems out of place. It's messy, with empty beer cans and bottles on the ground per usual. The stains on his carpet remain untouched, including the vomit stain in the corner.

"Jay?" You call out into the still atmosphere. Nothing. Is he not home? That can't be, his car is in the driveway.

The sound of his old floor boards being stepped on echoes through the house. What the hell is he trying to pull? You look up the stairs, but it's only darker up there than it was down here. He must be drunk.

Each step you take up the stairs, your heart begins to pound faster. Something feels off, this doesn't feel right. This isn't like your boyfriend, he's simple, he wouldn't try scaring you like this. On the top step, you feel your shoe touch something soft. You lean down and pick it up, and raise it up to your face. A pair of thongs that definitely aren't yours. So that's what's happening. He couldn't even pull himself together for one night.

Your pounding heart is no longer caused by fear but anger. He's cheated too many times to count on your hands, but this time makes you angrier than you've ever been. He's never been in bed with another woman knowing that you were coming over. This is fucking ridiculous.

You stomp towards his room and kick the door open. It's dark but you can tell that there are two people in bed. Your vision has gone red, you've never been this angry in your life.

You don't bother turning the lights on, you storm over to his side of the bed and rip the covers off. Just barely you can make out a woman sleeping next to him. You grab his shoulder tightly and shake him violently to wake him up.

"Get the fuck up Jay! Get! Up!" He doesn't respond, you lean down and yell in his ear like he always does to you. "You're such a childish piece of shit!"

He still doesn't move or speak, for fuck's sake. You stomp back to the entrance of the room and flick on the light. You turn around and begin walking back towards the bed, when you're stopped in your tracks.

Everything is red, but it's not your vision anymore. The bed has been dyed red, and his naked body is covered in it. Your mouths falls open but no screams come out. The woman next to him is splayed out on the bed, naked as well. Covered in red. You look down at the hands that touched your boyfriend, they're also red.

You rush over to the bed and shake your boyfriend again.

"Jay? Jay! Can you hear me?" You put your ear to his chest but you don't hear anything. You put your finger under his nose but don't feel anything.

"Hey! Hey! Wake up! This isn't funny!" Tears stream down your face as you pull him to your chest, cradling him.

Your sobs make it hard to speak and your chest begins to hurt. "J-... Jay... This- isn't-" You gasp between each word, "Funny..."

It's only when you hear a noise coming from behind you that you stop to think about what's going on. It doesn't matter to you though, they could kill you too if they wished.

"People are strange." You turn your head to see where the voice is coming from.

It's someone you don't recognize, he's tall, pale, has long hair, and hypnotizing eyes. Your sobs cease for a moment and you hug your boyfriend tighter to you.

"All of that fighting... You were even coming here to break up with him and yet... You're sad that he's gone?" He makes his way towards you slowly, "I've done you a favor, haven't I?"

He looms over you but all you can do is stand there, frozen by fear.

The man grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you violently from Jay. You try to run back to him, but the man pulls you to him, hugging you tightly. No matter how much you flail in his grasp you can't get away from him. You're left sobbing into his shirt, your body limp in his arms.

"Why?" You manage to whisper.

He holds you to him with one arm and pets your hair with his other hand. "You were miserable. He was making you miserable."

He sighs and kisses the top of your head. What is going on?

"Come on, don't waste your energy on human garbage. I'm here, so it's fine." He states it so 'matter of fact'.

"Who?" Is all you can ask, unable to finish your question.

"I guess I haven't introduced myself yet. Illumi is my name." With ease, he grabs you by your shoulders and lifts your face up to his. "Your future husband."

Chrollo

What more could you ask for? You already have easy college classes, fun parties, a good part time job, great friends, and an amazing best friend. Tonight you're going to hang out with a bunch of friends and have drinks at one of their apartments. It's a pretty normal Thursday night, nothing odd about it.

You're waiting for your best friend to pick you up, he's always there to pick you up on the dot. If he doesn't come early that is. You shove all the essentials into your bag and hear a honk outside. Must be him.

But of course you're always tardy. You lace up your shoes and run out of the dorm room, tripping out of the building. He's watching as you stumble towards the car since one of your shoes is already unlaced. When you finally flop down in the passenger seat he shakes his head with a knowing smile.

"Oh y/n, will you ever be organized?" He asks with amusement.

You click your tongue and straighten out your clothes, "Don't ask such stupid questions."

He turns his body towards you as much as possible and pats his lap. You instinctively know what that means. You hike your foot up above the console and put your foot on his lap. He begins tying your shoe, his smile is unmoving. He's always smiling.

"Chrollo, you don't need to baby me." You roll your eyes and groan.

He laughs and pats your leg, signaling that he's done. "If not me then who?"

You swing your leg back over to your side and buckle up. The two of you hang out a lot. Since you're both going to the hangout tonight, you decided to car pool. But first you're going to go get the alcohol. Everyone has to bring something for everyone, that way you guys can get wasted with no qualms.

You plug your phone into the aux and play your shared playlist. The first song that comes on is "The Cult of Dionysus" by The Orion Experience. Something that he added.

Finally you feel like you can relax, it always feels that way around Chrollo. His presence is just, comforting, in every way. You feel like you can do anything, say anything, ask for anything. He's always there for you with no exceptions and honestly you think you may have feelings for him. But it's a question of are you confusing comfort and friendly affection for romanticism. It's just that he's so perfect, he doesn't have a single flaw. Not one that you've ever seen at least. You probably never will see one of his flaws.

You sink into the seat and sigh.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, but quickly looks back at the road. "What's the matter?"

"Oh nothing... Just, everything is good."

He knows you better than anyone, so it's an obvious lie when you say this. "But what?"

Anytime he calls you out, you surrender and tell him everything. "Everything is so great you know." He nods with your statement. "I go to a good school, have good friends, have a good job." This has been on your mind for quite some time.

"Something is missing, you know? The excitement, the... the..." You chuckle and turn towards him and put up jazz hands, "The pizzazz!"

He doesn't turn to look at you but you know he saw you when his smile widens. "I get that. Maybe you just need to step outside of your comfort zone. Do something different."

Do something different? Yeah, maybe that is what you need.

----

All eleven of you are sitting in a circle on the ground, drinking and playing never have I ever. You take a long drink of your Mike's hard lemonade, which is just something to get the night going.

Dina wipes hair from her face and smiles, "Okay okay my turn. So never have I ever.... Uhh." She pops up when she thinks of something, "Never have I ever jumped out of a window."

DJ leans forward and raises an eyebrow, "Okay what kind of window we talking? High up? First floor?"

Dina answers, "Any kind, any kind of window." The majority of you put a finger down which makes the group burst out in laughter.

Your friend Zoey finishes off her bottle and slams it down on the floor. "Let's play something else."

"Like what?" One of your friends ask.

Zoey thinks for a moment, "Like... Truth or dare, spin the bottle. Or maybe eleven minutes in heaven."

Dj interjects, "I think it's seven minutes in heaven, not eleven."

"Oh whatever DJ, they rhyme." Zoey spits back.

Lex answers, "Let's play seven minutes in heaven!"

Of course DJ huffs and rolls his eyes, "What are we? Middle schoolers?"

Guac (which is his nickname) speaks up, "Oh come on, are you shy DJ?"

Finally the quiet Chrollo sitting next to you says something, "I'm not really interested. Right y/n?" He looks at you to back him up.

The group coos at the two of you and someone says, "We get it, you got something going on. The game is just for fun, don't be so serious Chrollo."

Chrollo opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, "Hey, you told me to do something different. Maybe this is the first step."

His face shows betrayal and you feel a squeeze in your heart.

He stands up and glares at the group, "Whatever." He storms out of the apartment, and everyone mumbles to each other. Chrollo has never acted like this so this is quite a shock to everyone.

In order not to kill the mood you speak up, "Alright, let's pull names out of a hat!"

All of you write down your names on a small piece of paper and put it in a baseball cap. Dina pulls two names out of the hat and of course makes it a dramatic event.

"Alright so first we have the most lovely of people..." She looks at the group like a teacher waiting for an answer from her class. "Gracie!" Everyone claps and she stands up in front of all of you, taking a bow.

Dina pats her thighs rapidly, "Drum roll please!" Everyone obeys her, "The next hot piece of ass is y/n!"

You stand up and curtsey, taking Gracie's hand and leading her to the closet. Dina stands in front of the closet once both of you are inside and grins, "Timer starts now kids." She shuts the door on you two and all of your friends cheer from outside.

Here comes the awkward part. It's too dark to see her expression but you already know she's blushing.

You lean towards her and in a low voice so no one else can hear say, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

She shakes her head, and you brush a hand through her dark coils. The both of you giggle when your finger gets stuck in her hair. She leans in for a kiss, but before your lips meet you're interrupted.

The front door is opened and slammed shut, you hear the lock click as well.

"Hey Chrollo, you feeling better?" "What are you doing?" "Holy shit, please, what are you doing?!" "Are you fucking crazy? This isn't funny!"

Something slams against the closet door and Gracie yelps.

"Whoa whoa, we can work something out." They sound desperate "Back up!" You hear a loud thump and then screams. "Grab him guys!" It sounds like people are running around, but soon the screams become not those of only fear but of pain. There are gargled pleas and pathetic whimpers for mercy.

You and Gracie hold each other, gripping onto one another for dear life.

Soon the screams, pleas, thuds, gurgling, all of it ends. The apartment goes quiet and you try to silence your heavy breathing.

There's a loud thud right in front of the closet and then the doors are opened abruptly. There Chrollo is, covered in blood, and you can see the bodies of your friends behind him. Before you can react, he pulls Gracie away from you, slams the doors closed and there's another thud.

Gracie's screams are blood curdling, screeches and cries for help. You try to open the doors but something is blocking it, keeping them closed. As her screams get louder you throw yourself against the doors, trying to push whatever is there out of the way.

Before you can even imagine of getting out, the screams fade out into whimpers, and into nothing.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

You're given no time to think when the doors fly open and you're face to face with Chrollo. He's blocking out the light and his usually neat clothes are crumpled and bloody. You look down to his hands, a sledge hammer hangs from his fingers, dripping with your friend's blood.

"Ch-Chrollo... Please don't." You whisper.

The sledge hammer drops to the ground and he wraps his arms around you gently. "Oh y/n. I would never hurt you."

He's so gentle with you, so gentle. It almost makes you forget what just happened, because he feels like home. "Why? Why did you do this?"

He steps back and grabs your shoulders, he leans down so he's eye to eye with you. "They crossed a line, a line that should not be crossed."

You begin to speak but he grabs your cheeks with one hand and dawns his usual smile, "You don't need them. You have me." He kisses your squished lips as if it were normal. "Right y/n?"

Slowly you nod, you don't need them. If Chrollo says it, it must be true.

"Good girl."

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

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The One With The Merry Little Christmas

Summary: The chill at this year’s Lawrence City Fire Department’s Christmas party has nothing to do with the snow falling outside and everything to do with the Dean and Y/n.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K+

Warnings: Language, implied smut, angst (with a happy ending, no pun intended)

Author’s Note: Ah, can you smell Christmas in the air already? Cause I can! Anyway, this fic was written for @smol-and-grumpy ‘s SuperFriends Title Challenge, The One With The Friends With Benefits, and @janicho88 100 Followers Supernatural Christmas Celebration with, of course, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. These both kind of morphed into the same idea so I decided to combine them. I hope you guys enjoy xoxo and a very Merry Christmas -Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight

Across the small town, snow covered the streets of Lawrence, Kansas, the massive, fluffy flakes continuing to fall as the street lights came on that evening. The town was quiet, the blanket of snow muffling the ambient sound in the winter evening. Just south of downtown sat the city’s one modest fire station. The golden brick building was glittering with red and white twinkle lights, the glow lighting up the street for a few feet in either direction. Music could be heard bumping on the sidewalk from inside the building, its inhabitants sure to be enjoying their company Christmas party.

Inside, the common room was filled to the brim with the entirety of the company and their loved ones. The kids were chasing each other around the bases of the fire poles. A few of the older ones knew enough to jump full force on the metal to pull open the chute at the top, entertaining the younger ones each time the plastic split open, their giggles chiming in with the festive holiday music the Captain had found in his playlists earlier that day.

Food and drink littered the expanse of the countertops. Anything one could have been craving was set out for the group to enjoy. Dean was pouring himself a soda since this was his year to be on shift during the party and he had to behave. The fireman had grumbled about it when he stopped by his best friend’s apartment to drop off the ingredients for her taco dip. The taco dip she had only agreed to make for him if he purchased the product. After all, the woman had already made a few dozen sugar cookies for the festivities as her own contribution this year. She politely reminded him then that he could get as pissed as he wanted next year. Not that her words much appeased the Winchester.

The first responder turned to his buddy and coworker, who was filling another bowl with his famous chili, and held up the red plastic cup with a mock look of disgust, “What is the point of Coke if it doesn’t come with any Jack?”

“A suga’ rush?” The Cajun drawled in his signature accent. Dean snorted, bringing the cup to his lips when the object was snatched from his hand before the two could meet.

“Hey--” he spun on his heel, coming to face to face with his best friend. Her eyes were narrowed as she looked over the rim of the cup at him. “Come on, you don’t want that, there’s no rum.”

“Sure,” the woman wet her lower lip before taking a sip of the soda that Dean had poured for himself.

“Satisfied?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, holding out his hand for his drink back.

“For now,” she admonished. “But I’m watching you, Winchester.”

“That’s hurtful, Y/n/n.” Dean placed his hand over his heart, giving his friend the puppy dog look that he had learned from his little brother. A peak of a smile tugged on the corners of her lips as she looked at him before it faltered once again. Finally, she relented and gave the drink back to its rightful owner.

“I’d say more like rightfully cautious,” the other firefighter chimed in on their conversation, earning an elated grin from the woman standing across from him. Y/n clapped her hands together like a child, her tongue peeking between her teeth as she bounced on her toes. Placing his arm over Dean’s shoulder, Benny added, “Right, Dean-o?”

“You two are incorrigible,” Dean lamented, shrugging his friend’s arm away from him. The pair laughed at Dean’s irritation as Y/n scooted her way in between Dean and the drink table.

Dean internally cringed as Benny chose then to walk away, leaving the two friends alone for the first time that evening. The thing was, the air between the two friends was actually colder than the snow that blanketed the town outside the fire station. He knew that Y/n was putting on a show for everyone in the station since she couldn’t get out of going to the party last minute, which he also knows she would have preferred. The woman was as much a part of their work-family as she was her own family. That was what happened when best friends were joined at the hip for over fifteen years. There was no way she was getting out of going without raising suspicion, and Y/n was too private of a person to deal with answering questions that her absence would have surely raised.

As much as people like to think they know the real woman, she only has ever fully opened up to two people in her life, her mother and Dean. No one else has ever stuck around long enough to try and break down that wall that she had put up around herself. If Dean wasn’t just as stubborn as her he might have stopped trying a long time ago, but he was determined to get to know the real woman no matter how hard she seemed to try to stop him.

In the grand scheme of things, he supposes that’s is why it was so easy for them to fall into their friends with benefits relationship. One post-breakup, alcohol-fueled night in bed together two years ago had begun the whole thing. It didn’t take them long after they woke the next morning to realize the cliche arrangement could be just what both of them needed. Even still, Dean could count on his hands how many times in total they had spent in the other’s bed.

The most recent of which just happened to be last night. Dean had stopped by with dinner for his friend and the ingredients for the dip he had conned her into making. A few glasses of wine later, as it usually did go, and the two of them enjoyed their time together. But it wasn’t the sex that was the problem, it was the conversation after.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the yuletide gay

From now on

Our troubles will be miles away

Dean ran a hand through his sweaty hair as Y/n climbed from the bed in search of her strewn articles of clothing. She picked up the various garments, throwing them in her hamper as she passed by it and into her ensuite bathroom.

“Why are you so quiet?” Dean’s voice carried across the room and over the sound of the shower starting. He pulled himself out of the bed and slipped on his boxer briefs as he followed after her.

The woman bit her tongue as she tested the temperature of the water. It was only a matter of time before Dean caught on to her charade. Some days she hates how well he knows her. It’s not that she wants to keep secrets from her best friend but it can be downright creepy when he basically reads her mind. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” he questioned, stepping into the bathroom as she climbed into the shower.

“How to tell you something,”

“Alright, you’re kind of scaring me, Y/n/n,”

Allowing the hot water to cascade down her face and body, Y/n took a deep breath before choosing to answer him, “It’s Sean.”

“As in douchebag Sean?”

“Dean, do you have to call him that?” she sighed, having already expected this reaction from him.

“Yes, because he is one. You know what, douchebag is the nicest thing I could be calling him right now,” Dean countered, leaning against the bathroom vanity, his arms crossing over his freckled chest at the mention of that prick’s name.

“He wants to get coffee,” her voice was low, knowing her admission was about to rile up the man on the other side of the curtain. She wasn’t even sure he had heard at first, that was until he whipped the curtain open.

“What?!”

“Jesus!” Instinctively, her hands flew to protect her modesty as her heart tried to escape from her chest. “Dean, what the hell?”

“I could say the same thing to you! Do you not remember what that jackhole put you through over the last year, because I do. He doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”

“You think I don’t know that? It’s just coffee, he didn’t ask me to move in with him?” Y/n spit back, her stance relaxing along with her heart.

“But you and I both know that all it takes is one look at those blue eyes and you’ll be putty in his hands. You can’t go.” The way the last three words came out of his mouth, the definitive tone behind, it them was enough to get her blood boiling underneath her skin.

“Oh, I can’t? Is that an order, Lieutenant?” The title rolled off her tongue, her eyes hardening as she stared at Dean. “Last time I checked you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You know that’s not what this is. Y/n/n, I only want what’s best for you. I don’t want to see him screw up your life again. I was there to pick up the pieces last time and I don’t want to do it again.”

“Well I can guarantee you won’t ever have to do it again,” her voice was low, her words steady even though her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“You know that’s --”

“Get out!” she commanded suddenly, stopping him before he could say anything else. Her eyes scrunched closed, willing herself to not look at her closest friend, the one person she was supposed to be able to count on as he let her down.

“Y/n,”

“I said get out!”

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us, once more

That was the last time the two of them said anything to each other until she walked into the fire station a little over two hours ago. He had to give it to her, she was putting on a good show, even messing around with him like usual. But he could see the truth in her eyes when she looked at him. Y/n was pissed, but most of all, she was hurt.

Dean turned around, leaning against the counter to face her. The woman didn’t acknowledge his presence, instead choose to continue with preparing herself a drink, one with a bit more whiskey than needed, but he wasn’t going to comment on that. “I’m glad you are here,” he tried instead.

“Well, I haven’t seen Sam and Jessica and the kids in a while, I wasn’t going to miss out on that because you are an ass,” she noted, still choosing to not look at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, you never do, do you?” She swallowed thickly, turning on Dean, the flicker of a flame telling the experienced first responder it was best not to stoke the fire. The two of them stared at each other for what felt like minutes to them, when in reality, it was merely a few seconds, the bubble they were in being popped by Dean’s niece running and crashing herself into his legs.

“Uncle Dean!” She cheered, reaching up with her short arms as he bent down to pick her up. He situated the little girl on his hip as she squealed in delight. “Can I have another cookie?” Her tone dropped, the small child looking up at her only uncle from underneath her insanely long lashes.

“How many is that now?” He asked her, the glint of a smirk on his face.

“Uh… two,” she held up two fingers, her argument completely unconvincing.

“Uhhuh, I bet,” Dean grumbled, but he knew in his heart he couldn’t say no to that face. “Okay, one more cookie, but you can’t tell on me to you Daddy. He thinks sugar is for suckers.”

“Promise.” The little girl held up her pinky to her uncle, one of the first things he ever taught the kid because he knew he was a sucker from day one and he was not trying to get into trouble with his little brother over it. Even if it never worked to his advantage.

Dean held up his pinky and wrapped it around hers. He shrugged to Y/n before taking his niece over to the sweets table. In reality, Dean knew the conversation needed to be over, it wasn’t the time or place, but if there was one thing he hated more than anything it was fighting with Y/n. It felt like a piece of him was missing when he couldn’t talk to her or see her, and if he was being honest with himself that kind of scared him. When he became so codependent on her he couldn’t be sure. It just felt like she had always been there, and always should be, right by his side.

Clara tried to steal a second cookie as Dean helped her pick out the first, but he knew he would be in it if he let her get away with that one, so he made sure it got put back. When he turned around to set the five-year-old down, he noticed Y/n was gone. He scanned the whole room and couldn’t find her anywhere in the mix of people.

As suspected, the little girl rushed right to her Daddy, who scowled at his brother. Dean offered a shrug and a smirk as he made his way over to Sam. “Don’t you start with me too.”

“Oh, it’s not me you have to answer to, it’s Jess because she’s the one that has to put her down tonight.”

“Eh, she’ll forgive me, I’m her favorite brother-in-law,” Dean waved off his brother.

“You’re her only brother-in-law.”

“Whatever. Did you see where Y/n went?”

Sam crossed his arms, his brows rising on his forehead, “Looked like she was headed outside.” Dean pursed his lips, two small dimples forming at the corners. “Did you two fight?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, but you are all brooding and pensive right now,” Sam moved his hand in a flourish in front of Dean as he spoke.

“Really?”

“Yeah, what’s going on with you two?” The taller brother pushed for Dean to talk, and he pondered his pros and cons of answering.

“Sean wants to have coffee with her?” Dean said, nonchalant.

“And?”

“And the guy is a dick, she deserves better.”

“Better? Like you?” Sam tried to hide the amusement from his features as Dean whipped his head from where he was staring at the door to his little brother.

“What?” Dean’s voice rose an octave at his brother’s question.

“Oh come on, I know you guys have been sleeping together for a while now.”

“Sam, it’s not what you think,” Dean sighed before running his tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s only happened a handful of times.”

“And?” Sam shook his head, trying to convey his meaning to his brother. “Listen, you guys have known each other for longer than I’ve known Jessica. You spend all your free time together. You are basically a couple which I would say without the sex but we all know you are doing that too, so basically a couple. Why can’t you just man up and tell her how you feel?”

“Cause I don’t know how I feel? It’s never felt like a relationship with her. It’s just always been easy.”

“That’s how it should be, Dean. The two of you are perfect for each other. I think you owe it yourselves to at least try.” Sam urged.

“And what if it all blows up?”

“What if it all works out?” Sam countered. “Every relationship is either going to end in forever or end in a breakup, but that doesn’t mean that you just don’t try. Take the leap, Dean.”

“I hate you, you know that,” Dean grimaced, knowing that his brother was right. While he had never thought of Y/n like that before they slept together the first time, he couldn’t ignore the chemistry they had together. She was his other half, he already admits to that, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t amazing sex. Sam was right, how would admitting anything be different than how they already lived their lives together?

“Yeah, well, I’ll say I told you so at your wedding,” Sam clapped his older brother’s shoulder before running off after his toddler. Dean glared after his brother, he hated when he was right, mostly because Sam loved to say ‘I told you so’.

Through the years

We all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star

Upon the highest bough

The firefighter stalked off towards his locker to grab his jacket before following out the doors that lead to the side of the firehouse. If Y/n went out, that’s where she would be, sulking in the shadows. Cold air swirled in to replace the heat from inside as he opened the door, the rush of it sending a chill through his body. He zipped up the coat as he went down the few stairs, finding her sitting there on the stoop.

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about it,” She sighed when she looked up to see it was him that had followed her.

“Then just listen?” He quirked one brow at her, waiting for her invitation before taking a seat next to her. “I know that you are hurting and I wanted to start by saying I’m sorry. It was never my intent to hurt you.”

“I know that.”

“I just… I can’t stand seeing you so down. Sean hurt you badly and I didn’t want you to allow him to do it again. You deserve so much more than that.” Dean pulled his arms in closer to his body as the chill of the night set into his bones and the snow continued to fall around them.

“It was just coffee Dean, not a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, and I hate that even more,” Y/n looked up then, confusion written all over her features. “Y/n you know that you are the most important thing in my life, next to my brother. Hell, most times you outrank him. When we fight, or you go out of town, it’s like there is a piece of myself missing, I have this hole in my chest that only you can fill. I guess I never really understood what that meant in the grand scheme of things.”

“Dean,”

“You know I love you right?” He cut her off.

“Of course I do. I love you too,” The word rolled off the tip of her tongue like honey. Like it was the most simple thing in the world. Because she did love him, and she had for as long as she’d known the eldest Winchester.

“But Y/n/n, I think I’m in love with you,” Dean held her gaze, his amber green eyes searching hers for the words she had yet to utter. The girl across from him could feel her chest filling with emotion, the confession by her favorite firefighter igniting something long dormant inside her.

“You do?” Tears were threatening to overflow her eyelids, the feeling inside her needing to escape somewhere. She wasn’t in control anymore, her voice cracking with her words.

“I do,” he nodded, affirming his words to himself as well as her. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I just thought that maybe we could give us a chance.”

“Us?” Dean nodded, at a loss for what she was thinking for the first time in a long time. “I like the sound of that, us.” Y/n repeated the words with a snort, a coy smile upturning one side of her mouth. Dean’s breath hung in the air as he waited for her to continue.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Winchester.” The woman shook her head as he sighed, his body visibly relaxing next to her. Dean took his hand out of his jacket pocket, cupping her cold cheek in its warmth. A bright smile lit up her face as he ran his thumb over her reddened nose and down over her bottom lip. “Just kiss me already.”

“Is that an order?” He threw her words back at her, earning a fist to the chest. Her nose scrunched up as she playfully scowled at him. Dean felt her fingers wrap around the lapels of his jacket before she was pulling him to her, their lips meeting in the middle. Both of them were hesitant, this being their first kiss that wasn’t alcohol-fueled or rushed. Dean opened his mouth to her just as the alarm inside the firehouse sounded sending the two of them apart as if they had been electrocuted.

“I’ve gotta go,” Dean silently cursed the universe’s timing.

“Go save lives,” she patted down his jacket against his chest as her fingers unraveled themselves from the material. Dean pecked her chilled nose before getting up and running to the door, pausing as he pulled it open to turn back to her.

“Wait for me?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @suckmyapplejacks @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

#superfriendstitlechallenge #Janichi88"s 100 Follower Celebration #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #alex writes #mine #the one with the merry little christmas

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

2. Mona Lisa

I stay in a two room double on campus which means that I share a bathroom, but the room is my own to do with as I please, within reason.

Typically, I'm milking this privacy for the money to fund my education while simultaneously releasing my sexual tension in the most taboo of ways.

Sighing, brush my teeth and reapply my lip gloss in the mirror. I can feel tremors in my poor peach, she's reminiscing on the good times when she was exhaulted like the queen she is. Men would spend literal hours worshiping her every crevice and pay me handsomely for it.

Four days down, ten to go, I tell myself.

Sex is my ideal outlet for stress relief. It's my interest, my hobby, my reprieve. As you can imagine, I have to change my sheets on a daily basis, but I don't mind that.

Yes, I have brought a number of guys over to participate in certain acts that I'm sure my bathroom mate has heard through the wall. She doesn't look me in the eye anymore though I always speak to her.. and she hasn't done so for the past month or so. I think she's traumatized.

Tickled, I re-apply my sunscreen and change into my grey PINK leggings with matching sports bra, pulling my 360 install into a curly high bun and stretching to prepare for my mid-day jog.

Everyday, I jog through the Main Quad and work up a sparkle, since princesses don't sweat.

I carry a pink hydro flask and I jog as far as I can push myself to go, often ending up at the Oval, a place where students play volleyball and walk dogs. I like to sit out from time to time and watch.

Then I head back to my room and assemble my hygiene kit to take into the bathroom. I shower, cleanse, exfoliate if necessary, moisturize, and redress for the evening.

Today's evening wear is a black graphic half shirt with a gold crown printed on and black high waisted shorts with black platform sneakers from Dolls Kill. I add my gold anklet for mood before turning on my music.

Pretty little bird, pretty little bird

You've hit the window a few times (the window a few times)

You're pretty little bird, pretty little bird

You still ain't scared of no heights

When the spiral down feels as good as the flight

When hating you feels good for the night

When the morning comes, I hope you're still mine

My cellphone rings and it's Natalie, one of the black girls in this dorm. The first day we met, we made a silent pack to stick together, us and a couple others, and months down the road we've stuck to it.

"Back from your jog, Gem?"

"Yes, and I'm looking at my notes so no you cannot borrow them."

"Jokes on you, I took them yesterday when you were jogging and made copies, I'm set."

"You bitch," I tease. "What's the move tonight?"

"Whaaat? You're not busy with one of your John's?"

"Bitch, my legs are closed, my books are bussed wide open," I smile highlighting a sentence in the textbook. I have four exams to take.

Checking a text from one of my subs, Keon, I send a short reply with a 💋. He was just checking on me, asking about my studies.

"Well we're thinking of hitting a party with a few of the black exchange students."

Party?

My book slams shut. I have been extremely well-behaved this week, I deserve a little magic in my life. It won't hurt.

"Who's we?"

"Me, Kayla, Letitia, Kevin, and Chris."

Damn, Chris' fine ass can get it. I want him.

Okay, it's decided. I can finish up here, meet Mr. Stevens at 7 in his office, meet up with Natalie and the crew around 8 and then we'll head out. I can handle a few drinks.

Jumping up, I feel alive again for the first time in four days. I snatch up my makeup trunk and set it on my desk pulling out my handheld mirror.

Light beat. Lashes. Dark liner, heavy gloss.

I release my loosened strawberry curls from the bun letting them wave and fall on my shoulders.

xoxo

Approaching the office suite, I walk through to find that the other offices are already empty. I can tell because of the quiet and closed doors. Mr. Stevens' door is open and yellow artificial light streams into the small hallway.

When I come upon the door, Mr. Stevens is at his desk staring intently at a spread of papers, his gold-rimmed glasses fallen at the end of his nose.

My peach is telling me this scenario could be a problem. Dr. Stevens is a steak and lobster meal and my peach? She's salivating. Crossing my legs on the spot where I stand I knock on the door drawing his eye.

"Ms. Miller. Come in, have a seat."

Quickly, I plop down into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and sling my bag down to the floor beside my chair.

He awakens his computer, typing before reading through whatever's displayed. Then he turns the screen to face me and I'm looking at a layout of of my grades for the class. It's looking pretty good.

"Could be better," I stare waiting for what I came for.

"You're right, it could be. You see, as it stands everything for you is riding on this exam. You could walk away from this class with a high C or a high A. It's really up to you."

I lean forward with my elbows on the desk to look him in his narrow-set eyes.

"Look at my face, Mr. Stevens," I glare for emphasis. "Does it look like I'm down to settle for a high C? What did we discuss in the classroom?"

Again, it's a chess match of stares.

After about ten seconds this time, he pulls his glasses off, folding them gently and sitting them off the the side near the computer. He turns the computer screen back to it's original position and pulls a paper packet from his desk, raising it vertical with the print side facing towards himself and away from me.

It's the exam, I know it. I maintain eye contact.

"This," he pauses holding it up near his head. "If anyone... and I mean anyone.. discovers that you have this... you're on your own. I'll turn ya ass in so fast your head will spin. You will be expelled."

I've never heard him curse before.

"No one will find out, I'll guard it with my life."

"There's one more thing." He lowers the packet setting it away from me on the desk near his glasses. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of you not playing bout your grades or money.."

"Yeah?"

Licking his lips, he leans forward and I sit bolt straight.

"How far you willing to go for both?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I blink in shock. Not good ol' Mr. Stevens! This has gotta be a joke. Mr. Hottie would never sleep with a student, he's far too strict.

"Gemini," he whispers, the name lingering on his tongue in a way that gives me full body chills. How did he know my stage name?

"Mr. Stevens, I think you're mistaken. My name is Phoebe, remember?" I tilt my head to jog his memory. "Phoebe Miller?"

He scoffs, loosening his tie and I'm aware of myself breathing harder.. loudly.

He tosses his tie on the desk between us.

Unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt, I can see his sharp clavicle and a tease of the muscle beneath. My mouth is watering and he leans forward again.

"Let's skip the part where you play dumb and get straight to negotiations. You're a smart girl...Sexy," he whispers.

My eyes widen hearing that word come from his lips. My thighs press together. This isn't a body that can hold back once started up. He's treading dangerous ground.

I lean forward slightly and the corner of his lips lifts in a dark smirk.

I've never seen this man like this.

"I've been to Mickey's. You know, there's this move you do... on that pole... I've seen you do a few times now and I've been wondering every time I see your lil conceited ass in my class... how it would work if you tried it on a dick."

Shit.

He said the magic word! I'm wet. I'm wet! I cross my leg over my thigh and he sits back, standing tall as I look up at him, ready to do anything.

He walks over to the door, closing it gently and locking it. Panting, I watch him do it and then he walks back to his seat, reclining with his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"I have the power to give you an A," he announces. "Right here, right now."

"Oh really."

Oh my fucking god, I'm so wet right now. I can feel it.

"Mhm... I can also ensure that you pass your other classes, no problem," he brushes his shoulder. "BUT."

"But," I breathe.

"I need something from you."

Blinking at his boldness, I can't help the lust that comes to my eyes. This is a fantasy. Shit like this does not happen.

"Yes?" I'm licking my lips, biting them in anticipation. Say it, I beg with my eyes. Say it!

"I want you.."

Yesss?

"..to be.."

I lean in closer.

"So eager," he laughs. "You know, the way you look at me, you remind me of the Mona Lisa. There's a secret behind your eyes and every time I see you... that's what the fuck I see. It's like you wanna fuck me..."

Sitting up again to lean forward, his face is now inches from mine.

"You're going to be my slave, Ms. Miller. My personal.. little slut. Just until the exams are over," he nods.

I have to think about that, but not for long.

"And you can ensure all A's," I confirm.

Smiling, he nods. It's the perfect scenario, I want to cry.

"Deal."

"You can't tell a soul," he whispers coming in closer. His breath smells like spearmint. His lips are centimeters away now and I can't hold myself back any longer, I close the distance meeting his soft lips with mine.

Getting as far as a peck, he pulls back looking away like a man who's just made a deal on something as trivial as a lawn gnome or a piece of patio furniture. There's an unrushed boredom that only serves to intrigue me as he goes through the buttons on his shirt, letting the white fabric fall open to reveal the built muscles I kind of knew were there... but never to this extent.

His skin looks like smooth rum and I want a taste, but he has a deliberate pattern of raised bumps all over his chest and abs. It's not a turn off. In fact, I can think of a few things to do with that.

He smirks as if reading my mind.

Leaning further forward, I'm out of my seat and leaning over the desk.

With my right hand I reach up to touch his right pectoral but snatch my hand back when he smacks it away. I feel the sting. He's heavy handed.

"Did I say you could touch me?" His eyes hold venom.

He sounds like me when I'm disciplining a sub.

"No sir."

"Don't smile."

"But my smile is so cute," I grin watching his wheels spin.

"That's true," he admits with a nod. "But you know what's even cuter?"

"There's cuter?" I tilt my head innocently and he smiles.

"Hm," he chuckles. "...Don't move."

Holding my position over his desk, I remain still as he stands up again, slowly circling out of my view. Behind me, he stands and I can feel his presence. I feel a spanking coming on. I can feel him-

"MM," I squeak feeling the first hit. It's firm, but not too rough.

"Shut up, you've taken worse," he comments and I wonder how he knows because it's true. This is nothing.

Hit number two comes and it's a little bit harder than the first.

"Be gentle," I whisper looking back.

The third hit is double the strength of the last, I feel it and breath out.

The fourth is much harder and I make a sound to let him know I feel it. He hears me because the next swat feels like he really reeled back and it stings. It has me anxious for the next hit.

"I once saw you take a flogger," he breathes and I hear it in his voice, he's getting excited. I wonder if his dick is hard. How big is it? "Who you think requested it," he huffs and the swat he takes makes me hit the desk.. for real this time.

"You're a sub-SSSS," I hiss throwing my head back. "Damnit, okay now," I warn."

"Move your hands."

I don't know.

"Get back down... and move your hands," he repeats firmly.

Hesitantly, I drop them and brace myself on the desk.

"Uh!" I close my mouth and gather myself. It really stings. He keeps hitting the same damn spot, but in the way that tying a rubber band around your finger feels good, it also feels good.

"Take those shorts off..," he mutters. I can hear him breathing and when I look back, he's taking the button up completely off and unbuckling his black leather belt. "Hurry up.. take it off."

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik killmonger smut #killmonger smut #erik x oc #erik killmonger x oc #tales of a masochist

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goobergamer · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”

#wttrw #welcome to the real world #rvb #red vs blue #red vs. blue

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autty0314 · 4 years

Text

If it’s meant to be - Bucky x Reader Ch.3

Summary: Natasha tells you who your soulmate is and what he does for a living; Bucky tries to get your number while seeing you at the mod bar with Natasha

Warnings: Alcohol assumption, mention of drugging, swearing, ( SMUT in FUTURE chapters)

Word Count: 1.5K

I woke up around 11:30 am, so I get up and get a shower. I slowly take Natasha’s arm from around me so I can get up, she rolls over after I move her arm. I slowly get up to the bathroom, I close the door and looked in the mirror. I look like I have racoon eyes, my mascara is everywhere, and my hair is a tangled mess. I look like a hot mess; I start the shower while I wipe off the rest of my makeup and brush out my hair before heading into the warm hot shower. I just need to relax and let the hot water to relax my tense muscles from last night.

“I know who your soulmate is Y/N” Natasha said looking at my all serious, at first, I thought she was kidding

“You personally know MY soulmate?” I asked while trying to read her face. I thought she was kidding; I can see now she wasn’t kidding.

“I’m serious Y/N, I’ll show who he is and what he does for a living. . . you aren’t going to like it.” Natasha said all serious,

“So, does that mean we just need to be friends so I can be with him?” I asked looking her for her answer.

“Yes Y/N, it is.” She started to tear up at the fact that we are just going to be friends and not lovers.

“Okay. . . You know that I will always love you Nat. We can go out tomorrow and we can find him, you can tell me all about him okay?” I said as I stroked her hair, she nodded, and we went to bed.

I finally get out of the shower to come to my room where Natasha was changing clothes into something comfier, I smile as I made my way up to her in just a towel.

“Are you wanting me to make something to eat or order take out?” I suggested as I walked pass to my Chester drawers.

“I like when you cook, hopefully he will enjoy your cooking like I do.” Nat smiles and walks into my living room. I finished getting dressed and head toward the kitchen and start making brunch. After, we ate we starting to watch a movie marathon on documentaries of Mobsters in the late 40s, 50s.

“You know, we should get ready for the bar so we can find your soulmate and tell you about him.” Natasha says looking at me. I smile and get up with her to get ready. I put on this cute sleeveless red dress that fits on curves perfect and has a slit in the thigh area, putting on my black pumps with the red soles. Natasha just out on skinny jeans that are ripped and a pretty purple top. It’s 9:45pm it’s time to head to Attaboy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We got to the bar and sat down at one of the booths where we can see everything and everyone.

“So, are you going to tell me about how you met my soulmate.” I asked looking at Natasha, she seems nervous.

“Him and I meant a few years before we became a thing, Y/N. He is a very dangerous man; he is the biggest hit man in the Mob. I was told by his friend Sam that the head of the Mob is going to be retiring and they are going to make Bucky the head of the Mob. Your soulmate name is James “Bucky” Barnes. He prefers to be called Bucky.” Natasha says at a whisper so not everyone can hear her, I look at her with wide eyes.

“Are you sure he’ll be at this bar? There are a lot of bars in Manhattan.” I said looking around. I noticed the Bucky looking at me with his two friends I thin by his side.

“Because this is his Mobs bar.” Natasha states, she looked in the direction I was looking at and saw that I was locking eyes with Bucky.

“How do you know that?!” I said tearing my gaze away from Bucky.

“Because I use to work here, that’s how I meant Bucky.” Nat said while sipping on her rum and coke. I looked back over to see Bucky, but he has disappeared, and I started to freak out.

“So, you’re telling me that my soulmate is one of the most dangerous men out there… I am so fucked.” I said putting my hands in my face and groaning. I felt a present coming up to the table, I look up to see Bucky with a sweet smile on his face.

“Hi doll, how are doing.” Bucky asked while looking at my tattoo in my chest. I smile up at him,

“Hello, I am great thanks.” I said blushing lightly.

“Nice to see you again Natasha. Hope you’ve been treating kindly like you did me.” Bucky says smiling a little at her now.

“I actually have been, she’s a sweetheart James, better make sure you keep her safe.” Nat said patting my shoulder. I smile up at her and look back at Bucky who is eyeing Natasha for what she said.

“I will, doll, can I get your number and your name? I’d like to take you out for dinner sometime.” Bucky said looking down at me. I smile up at him and grab his phone and put in my name and number. I smile,

“Sure Bucky, I’d like to go to dinner we can talk more and get to know each other more.” I said looking into his blue eyes. He smiles and excuses himself because someone came up and asked him to come with them a moment. I look back at Natasha with wide eyed because of the interaction.

“He is a sweet to someone he starts to fall for, just don’t ever piss him off. He is the best in the Business. Dating or not, I will always be here for you.” Nat said rubbing my arm, I smile at her and text back Wanda and Peter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky makes in back to the back of bar after talking with Y/N. He smiles at the fact that she doesn’t seem too afraid of him. Hopes that Natasha won’t fuck it up for him.

“Earth to Bucky, are you ready to execute Rumlow for good?” Steve said looking at Bucky. He nods in agreement. They start to plan out when they are going to do it and where.

“Rumlow, he normally goes out to The Rum House on Friday evening with friends. He then walks house alone between 12:53 am and 1:15 am. He makes a call between then. If we can catch him after the phone call, we can kill him then.” Sam said explaining everything to the Mobster, all he does is nod and waiting for them to continue.

“Have we figured out how you guys are going to kill him?” Tony, the Mob boss finally asked Wilson and Barnes.

“We have two way, one; poison him subtle. While the bartender is making his drink, slip some in there and then she’ll serve it. We will just need to distract her, which may be easy since that’s Bucky’s Soulmate.” Sam says with a wink, Bucky hides his face while everyone looks at him with wide eyes.

“Is that true Buck?” Steve asked and all Bucky could was nod his head while he was blushing so hard.

“Yes. . . “ He said looking up at the group staring intently.

“Okay, what is the plan if doesn’t work. What is your second plan?” Tony asked looked at the both of the boys.

“Second plan, is Bucky follows him when he’s alone and kills him silently leaving nothing for anyone to find.” Sam says staring at everyone.

“Okay, lets go with plan one first. We need the rest of this week to prepare for the attack on him. Make sure she is working so you can do this Bucky. I don’t want any screw ups.” Tony says dismissing them. Him and Sam walk back out to the bar, to see if Y/N and Natasha are still sitting there drinking. They come around the corner to see that the spot is empty. Bucky soon got a text from Y/N

‘Hey, sorry have an early class tomorrow morning. I’ll text you my address. It was nice meeting you Bucky.’ Bucky smiled at his phone and send her a text back before heading home for the night.

‘Anytime Doll, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at 7pm. Wear something nice, we are doing something big. Xoxo Bucky’ Bucky sent it and went to bed smiling knowing he is getting to know you more and learn what you did in school.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barns imagine #steve x bucky #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #wanda #peter parker #tom holland x reader

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uncomfortable-writers · 5 years

Text

Lofn’s Blessing - 2 (Ivar x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Vikings

Character: Ivar the Boneless

Persona: Christian!Female

Word Count: 1,052

A/N - Not quite sure where I plan on taking this series but I have a vague idea! If you wanna be tagged just let me know! Love y’all xoxo <3

Read Part One here!

Tag list: @nataliehasgrace, @oh-captain-rum, @poisonous00, @imcreepininyourheartbabe

Ivar swished the yellow ale around in the horn he was holding, a sombre look plastered on his face, his head was resting in his other hand as he thought deeply. His blue eyes stared ahead at the full Great Hall with an empty gaze; his older brother, Ubbe, who was sat near Ivar’s throne eating noticed this. Taking one last bite out of a piece of chicken, he called out to the youngest Lothbrok with a smile, “Are you not happy brother? She is quite a beautiful thing”.

Upon hearing Ubbe’s voice, Ivar was pulled from his thoughts. He chose his words carefully, “While (Y/N) is pleasing to look at...she is still Christian”, Ivar sneered taking a gulp of the bitter liquid. It was like saying the word had burnt him for a foul look furrowed his brows, “The only thing I have to be happy about is the rewards that this marriage will surely bring me”. Hvitserk, who had been listening in, laughed at this, “Surely a marriage to a pretty Christian is better than a marriage to an ugly one Ivar, it’ll make consummation much easier”. Ubbe gave a laugh and shook his head at Hvitserk. Typical of his brother to think with what was between his legs than rather about the bigger picture, Ivar thought. “Perhaps you are right brother, but I am not concerned with that”, Ivar replied.

The loud noises of the Great Hall soon filled the empty silence that had ensued, Ivar went back to pondering his next move and his plans with the land he was soon to inherit when he noticed something wasn’t quite right.

Looking around he motioned for the nearest thrall to come over, “Girl, where is my wife?”, he asked. After greeting Ivar you had asked to be dismissed in order to ready yourself for the evening meal, however that was over an hour ago and you had yet to make a reappearance. He didn’t let the thrall answer, “Fetch me her now”.

Meanwhile, the room you were given was almost as big as your one back in England and although it was filled with your belongings, (which had been neatly placed around the room), you couldn’t feel more out of place if you tried. It didn’t feel right being here and you doubted you’d ever settle in.

“I won’t do it Rose”, you huffed, dropping onto the bed and pouting, “I can’t do it”. Your dark-haired handmaiden quickly came to your side. Copying your actions she sat down next to you, placing a hand on your knee she squeezed it in support , “I know you do not my lady, but you must do it for your father, for England”. This soured your mood even further, “To Hell with my father!”, you spat viciously, “He can burn along with these heathens”. Rose gasped, “You mustn’t say things like that (Y/N)! It’s blasphemous and who knows what they’d do to you if they heard you!”. You shrugged your shoulders, “It would seem God is already punishing me”.

Rose sighed, she couldn’t argue with that point. Still she tried to find the brighter side of the situation, “Ivar is a fearsome leader, he is wealthy and is renowned. He will be able to protect you. You will live lavishly”. You considered her words, “I suppose that is true”. A mischievous smirk graced her face as she picked up your hand, “And you have to admit there is something roguishly handsome about him, his eyes alone are gorgeous, imagine the children you will produce!”. A giggle left your lips, you swatted her away, “And you scold me for being blasphemous? He is still a Viking, Rose. He is a Pagan who worships false gods. I will never accept him as my husband”.

She was unable to reply as a knock sounded on the door, a few seconds went by before it opened to reveal the thrall girl. “King Ivar requests your presence in the Great Hall”, she announced.

“Tell Ivar that I do not feel well so I have decided to retire to my chambers for the evening”, you responded coldly watching as a worried expression took over the servant’s face. She stammered, “I must insist, Princess (Y/N). Ivar will be displeased if you do not fulfil his request”.”Then let him be displeased, you are dismissed”. Rose shot you a look that you knew all too well, you were going to have to listen to a lecture later. The servant girl opened her mouth to speak again but you cut her off, “I said you are dismissed”. The thrall nodded her head and closed the door as she left your room.

You stood up from the bed and walked towards the dressing table, you started to take off your jewellery.

“You shouldn’t of done that my lady, it’s not too late to go”, Rose automatically came to you. “I’m tired, we have journeyed far and I do not wish to entertain these men anymore today. Help me with my dress please”, you motioned to the lace on your back which held the fabric together. Rose sighed, “Yes but things are different here”, she reminded you, “You must do as your husband says”.

Shaking your head at her, you rebuked, “But he is not my husband yet and besides Rose, I’m sure he will understand”.

Ivar the Boneless did in fact not understand.

“What do you mean she said no?”, Ivar seethed quietly holding the thrall’s arm in an iron grip. “S-She said s-she does not f-feel well”, she winced timidly as Ivar brought his face closer to hers. His anger was evident to his older brothers who were watching the scene play out until Hvitserk decided it was time to step in, “Ivar let the girl go. Let your wife rest, I’m sure her day has been long and tiring”.

The King snapped his gaze to his brothers, nostrils flaring he released the thrall, “Get out of my sight”, he hissed. His mood was entirely soured. He bitterly thought about you and your disobedience: Ivar was used to getting his own way, being told no was something that didn’t sit right with him, something that just wouldn’t do and he was planning on making that known to you.

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

Note

I'm always happy to see more of the Peaky Blinders AU. Don't feel like you have to include the Garrison lol - I do just genuinely like Levi, Petra, and the rest that are already in there.

have been meaning to write this lil garrison gang prequel for a while now xoxo

You Should See the Other Guy

Dot Pixis. Gang AU.

2469 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

Dot Pixis fiddles with the glass in front of him, staring at the two empty seats at the other side of the table. As the minutes pass, his frown grows deeper, and he grows more impatient. He takes a quick glance at his watch - half an hour past ten - and grumbles to himself. The woman beside him, Anka, ignores the old man’s mumblings, and instead stares straight ahead at the door where their guests should have arrived long ago. Aside from the distiller, the two are alone in this place. Together, they sit in silence with only the sound of Hannes tending to the moonshine in the fermentation vessel sitting behind them.

“Pour me a drink, Anka,” Dot Pixis says suddenly, gesturing at his glass. “You may have a glass as well if you wish.”

“It’s rude to drink before your guests arrive,” Anka replies, but she’s already heading towards the racks of rum. She selects an unopened bottle without looking and returns, pouring the golden liquor until it almost fills the entire glass. However, she refrains from pouring herself a drink, setting the bottle down instead and returning to her place beside Pixis.

“You’re quite right,” Pixis agrees, but he takes a slow sip of his drink anyway. When he sets his glass down again, it is half empty. He looks disapprovingly at the other empty glasses. “Of course, I’m sure you would also agree that it’s rude for guests to arrive over half an hour late.”

“Perhaps they’ll have a good reason for their tardiness,” Anka says, but she knows this is unlikely. It is more likely that their guests think very little of Dot Pixis and his crew. It’s an unfortunate opinion to have, but it wouldn’t be the first time that people have underestimated the old gang leader.

Pixis merely grumbles, although it’s clear that he doesn’t agree with his second-in-command by his displeased expression. With every impatient glance of his watch, every move of the minute hand is another strike against their absent guests. Another fifteen minutes pass, and Pixis has emptied his glass. Should this meeting ever begin, Anka knows for certain that it will not end well.

There’s a knock at the door, and one of Pixis’ men enters. “They’ve arrived, Pixis,” Mitabi says. He waits for his boss’ command. When he sees Pixis wave his hand, Mitabi nods and proceeds to let the guests in.

Two men stroll in, not bothering to apologize. It could be that they’re unaware of their own tardiness, but Anka believes that it’s more likely that they don’t care. The expression on their faces is far too smug to be innocent, and they don’t bother to greet the old gang leader as they sit down across from him. They sneer at Pixis, believing him a senile old man, and one of them turns to Anka, gesturing for her to pour them all a drink.

Anka only moves when Pixis waves her forward. As she pours the gin, she keeps her eyes on the two guests, a neutral expression on her face. She remembers them from previous meetings that Pixis had held with their gang, although she recalls that they’re merely henchmen. It’s evident that the leader of this particular gang does not find this matter important enough to attend himself. It would have been better if nobody had come.

“You’re late,” Pixis says. He leaves his drink untouched. It might be that he’s had enough alcohol from his previous drink, but Anka believes it’s more likely that Pixis wants to deal with these poor fools first. “We were scheduled to meet an hour ago. Is there a reason for your tardiness?”

“Huh, an hour?” one of the men say, glancing down at his watch. He simply laughs when he sees the time, unashamed at his rudeness. He looks up and grins impishly at Pixis, the expression of someone who hasn’t acknowledged that he’s done anything wrong. Like his partner, he wears a black bowler hat on his head. Anka finds his boyish face and golden curls familiar and recalls his name as Edward. “Were we not supposed to meet at eleven? We were certain the meeting was at eleven, not ten.”

“It was ten,” Pixis says. Unlike the other two giggling fools, Pixis sits without so much as a smile on his face.

“Well, at least we’re here,” the other man says with a wave of his hand. He’s probably barely out of his twenties, if the peach fuzz on his upper lip is any indication of his age. When he takes off his bowler hat, he reveals a head of messy brown locks. Anka would like to say his name is Fred, although she thinks she’s merely grasping at whatever familiar name is available in her mind now. “There’s no point in getting angry about us now. It’s not as if losing your temper will fix things. Let’s talk about what we came here to talk about shall we?”

They must be incredibly bold and incredibly stupid to speak so brazenly to Pixis, although there’s a chance that it’s a dangerous mixture of both. Anka can’t recall the last time someone has ever spoken to Pixis in such a way. She’s sure that whoever had met an unfortunate fate. She’s surprised when she turns and sees that Pixis wears a calm expression on his face. She watches as he takes his glass, holding the top by the tips of his fingers, and swirls it around. He hasn’t even taken one sip yet, but the men across from him have eagerly gulped down their drinks.

“Then let’s talk about more important matters, shall we?” Pixis says, sitting back in his chair. He taps his fingers against the table, watching the two young men carefully. “Last month, the Citystreet Bowlers purchased 200 cases of beer, 100 cases of liquor, and 100 cases of wine from the Garrison Gang. However, the money we’ve received so far hardly covers your expenses. By now, your group should have surely sold enough to pay for at least 75 percent of what is owed, and yet we have received less than half of that money. Why is that?”

The blond one - Edward - tilts his head, feigning an expression of surprise as if this is new information to him. “Is that so?” he asks. He takes another swig of his drink, finishing off the rum. With a lick of his lips, he then says, “It’s true that much time has passed, but perhaps you’ve overestimated the quality of the product you’ve sold us. It isn’t doing nearly as well as you have predicted, Pixis. How can we possibly pay you back when it isn’t making as much as you believe it’s worth?”

Here, Hannes stops his works and looks up from where he stands at the open fermenter, and both he and Anka watch Pixis’ reaction. Rather than looking at his distiller, Pixis continues to look at the two men. The old man strokes his silver mustache, watching the men carefully. After a moment, he says, “A few of my men had the luxury of stopping by your bar the other night, and it seemed that business was well.”

The smile on the brown-haired man’s face falters for just a second, but his companion breezily answers, “There can be more than one reason for a business to succeed. In the case of the Citystreet Bowlers’ new establishment, we were lucky enough to have additional entertainment to attract customers - music, gambling, beautiful women, and the like. Much of our sales are attributed to these other attractions rather than your drinks.”

“Then you should have been able to sell drinks regardless of how good they were,” Pixis says, completely unruffled. He takes a small sip before he continues. “If you’re entertaining your guests well, their throats are sure to get parched eventually. The wine could have turned to vinegar, and they wouldn’t notice at all.”

The man continues to give Pixis his false smile. “We admit that we overestimated the popularity of your drinks. Why can’t you admit it as well?” the man laughs. His glass sits empty in front of him.

Pixis narrows his eyes at the man and his companion. “Tell me what you really think about these drinks,” he says. His eyes flicker over towards the men’s empty cups - all empty save for a drop or two of rum at the bottom of each glass - before his gaze returns to his guests. “Be honest this time.”

The dark-haired man looks nervous, his eyes flitting over from Pixis to his companion, but the man with the blond curls is as confident as ever. The blonde man rests his arm on the table as he leans over, a fiendish smirk on his face. “Frankly, Pixis, your drinks are complete shite,” he says, his words echoing through the cellar. Behind them, Hannes winces at the insult, but the man continues. “You could replace your beer with a bottle of piss, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Is that so?” Pixis asks. His eyes return to the empty glass in front of the blonde man. “Perhaps your palate is not as refined as you think it is.”

The man’s eye twitches. He’s clearly annoyed by Pixis’s comment, but he disguises his annoyance once more with his overconfident smile. “Don’t you believe it’s more likely that your products are poorly made?” He looks around the room - first at Pixis, then at Anka, then at Hannes. “After all, the people you’ve employed here can hardly be called reliable.”

“Enough,” Pixis says. He slams his hand on the table, and the glasses shake from the sudden jolt. The two men look at Pixis, startled, but Anka is hardly surprised. She had watched his anger grow and grow with every word that came out of the blonde man’s mouth. It was only a matter of time before the old man lost his temper. Now that he has, his stern gaze and the fire blazing in his hazel eyes are proof that the old gang leader still possesses the authority and power that he had held in his prime. Even though the two men had mocked and disrespected Pixis only moments earlier, they now shake in his presence.

Anka puts a gentle hand on her leader’s shoulder. “I’m afraid they’ve had a little too much to drink, sir,” she says quietly. It is not so much that she cares about what happens to these men. It’s just too much trouble to clean up afterward.

Pixis, however, isn’t having it. He rises from his seat, his chair scraping across the wooden floor. “On the contrary,” he growls, “I believe that they haven’t had enough to drink.”

“Sir,” Anka says, but she knows it’s far too late.

The gang leader grabs the angel-haired man by the collar of his shirt. It seems that the men have underestimated the old man’s strength, for all they can do is cry out in surprise as Pixis drags the man over to the open fermenter that Hannes is tending to. The man struggles as he’s dragged backward, reaching back and trying to tear himself away from Pixis’ grip, but he’s not strong enough. At least his companion has enough sense to fumble for his gun - a weapon stands a far better chance against Pixis’ fury than bare hands do - but he only has the opportunity to point it Pixis before Anka shoots it out of his hand.

“You bitch!” the brunet hisses, holding his other hand in shock. His head turns towards where he had dropped the gun. He reaches for it, but Anka is much faster.

Anka doesn’t say a word to the man. She simply steps on the gun, trapping it under the heel of her boot. She gives him a withering glare, making it clear that she would crush his head her heel if given the chance. The man has no choice but to watch helplessly as his friend’s head is submerged in a large vessel of alcohol.

Pixis holds down the man’s head, his eyes cold now. At first, the man struggles underneath Pixis’ grip as he tries to free himself, but his movements become weaker and weaker until he gives up completely. Pixis is deaf to the shouts of the man’s companion, and he’s oblivious to the look of alarm on Hannes’ face. His eyes are fixed on the rum that the man is being drowned in. It’s only when the bubbles have completely disappeared from the alcohol that Pixis lifts the man’s head. He raises the man up, his expression full of disgust as the man coughs out all the rum he had ingested. After the man has finished coughing, Pixis throws him on the floor. With his hands in his pockets, Pixis walks over to where the blonde man - his curls once a golden yellow, now a dirty blonde - has fallen. “You’ve insulted me,” he says, his voice gruff. “But far worse, you’ve insulted my gang and their work.”

The man on the floor splutters and coughs. He had once been so confident, but now tears stream down his face. Although he had strolled in like a grown man, he looks just like a boy now. He’s too afraid to even look up at the fearsome gang leader. He keeps his blue eyes on the floor in front of him as he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Get out of my sight,” Pixis says. He watches as the two men scramble away - the brunet holding up the blonde. As the two near the door, he calls, “And tell your boss that I’ll be expecting the money by the end of the week. If he hasn’t paid me by then, the Citystreet Bowlers can kiss their business goodbye.”

The brown-haired man nods frantically before he rushes out the door, half-carrying his comrade with him. Those guarding the doors on the outside look at the two men curiously, wondering what had transpired in the basement, and watch as the two hurriedly leave the building.

Pixis returns to his seat, leaning back in his chair. “We’re done with doing business with the Citystreet Bowlers, Anka,” he says calmly. He looks over at his second-in-command. “You’ve heard of Levi Ackerman, haven’t you? He’s just returned from the war. I hear that his clan is thinking about opening up a bar as well. Look into it for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Anka says.

“And pour me another drink.” He looks behind them, gesturing for Hannes to fetch them another bottle of rum.

Anka raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink, sir?”

Pixis scoffs. “If you think I had too much to drink, you should see the other guy.”

#dot pixis #anka rheinberger #gang au #snk #quietcelt #asks #answered #requests #i loveee pixis #and anka

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xbaepsae · 5 years

Text

to the hilt

“In your mind, you run through a list of different scenarios and outcomes of tonight. Every one of them ends with Jimin at the end of your gun barrel, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun before that.”

[jimin x reader]

genre: criminal/assassin!au, angst

word count: 4.7k

a/n: so, this is a reupload! i just loved this fic too much not to post it again. i did add some things, but the plot hasn’t changed (nor has the ending). if it’s your first time reading it, i hope you enjoy! xoxo

There were many times when you questioned why you decided to choose this profession.

Not that you didn’t like killing people, for a good reason of course, but it was draining and left you without much of a personal life. You didn’t mind that, though; relationships and people were a hassle anyway. Besides, you were good at your job—the best in your division, in fact. Your skills are impeccable. So, you aren’t surprised when you get a phone call at six o’clock on a Saturday morning from your boss, Kim Namjoon. This is a normal occurrence; Namjoon always tended to call you at the most inconvenient hours, ordering you to do something.

You pick it up, sleep still heavily weighing your eyes and voice. “Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“What?”

“I need you to come in as soon as you can.” You groan but tell him that you’ll be at the office in twenty.

You arrive feeling much better than you did earlier, but still tired from being woken up so damn early. A part of you was used to the random calls, but you still hated it. Swiping your ID at the front doors, you walk into the lobby of your supposed building; but after being in this occupation for a while now, you knew that this scene was simply a façade.

Walking to the elevators, you step inside and press the button for the ground floor. After a few minutes, the doors part to reveal a dimly lit passageway. You leave the elevators and walk to where you know Namjoon would be. You vividly remember your first time walking into this space; you were surprised, and a bit terrified, to find something so well hidden in your city. If people knew about this place, who knows what they would say.

“Y/n,” Namjoon greets you the moment he sees you, a coffee in his left hand. He’s standing at a table in the middle of the room, papers scattered all around him.

“Please tell me you have a good reason for dragging me out of bed at this ungodly hour,” you say before taking a seat.

He cracks a smile, “Always.”

Namjoon moves to stand in front of you, picking up a folder. He stares at you for a moment before handing it over. You take it immediately, scanning the contents inside. As you look at each page in the folder, you don’t show any emotion—you don’t want your boss to catch a thing you’re feeling, not that you’re feeling much at all.

“So… what happened with this one?” you finally ask after looking through everything.

“Obviously, as you can tell from the folder, we don’t have much of a record on the guy… but we have some accounts—mostly those who’ve worked with him before and past lovers,” your boss explains. “But if someone ever hands us a case, it doesn’t really matter what the specifics are. We just do it.”

You nod because it was the truth—the details are worthless. If Namjoon received anything from anyone and handed it to you, you did it without question. “What exactly is it?”

You’re asking about the mission; what does he want you to do.

“They want him dead.”

Figures. That’s usually what they hire Namjoon and his people to do. You are used to it by now. After finding this detail out, you don’t question anything else and open the folder again. Looking at the small photo paper clipped to the first paper, you stare at the name neatly typed underneath the photo and smile a bit internally.

Park Jimin, you think to yourself, you’re mine.

***

The way that the club smelled made you want to gag.

All you have to do was take a good look around. The huge masses of people—young and old—grinding their sweaty bodies, mixed with the alcohol and lust that hung like an overcast in the air, was disgusting. There wasn’t even anything sexy or sophisticated about the place to begin with. Everything looked cheap—from the rotting walls, to the booths with no cushions. You are almost positive there was nowhere safe to sit. But then again, you assume that’s why people actually came here; not because they wanted a great experience, but because everything was as cheap as it got.

You are a bit surprised that no one has decided to call the cops yet on this dump, or why the cops never bothered to press charges to the place; there currently has to be multiple health code violations. Also, everything that happened here was downright illegal. Then again, it’s not like you really care anyway. You are on a mission—find whoever this Park Jimin guy is and kill him. The task should be easier done than said, especially if he came to a place like this.

With this particular case, and like most cases that Namjoon gave you, you weren’t given a definitive timeline to have the deed done. This was a good and bad thing; good, because you had more time to work with the situation, but bad because you had no idea when you’d finish. Normally, most of your jobs are a few days at most. The longest case you were given lasted a month, but that was because you had to get close to the individual. But with this one, you hoped things could be done tonight.

Honestly, you are tired. All you really want to do right now is go home, drink a glass of your favorite wine, and then go to sleep. But no, you’re here—surrounded by idiots.

To help you run into Jimin, Namjoon tracked his top ten location’s—including the place he lived. But it wasn’t your style to completely ambush the guy; you wanted to meet him by accident. Thus, you donned on your slinkiest black dress and came here. But of course, you didn’t forget your sleek gun, well concealed in your clutch.

You continue to walk deeper into the club until you reach the bar. There are no signs of Jimin anywhere and you hope that you chose the right night to show up. Taking a seat, you wave the bartender over and order a basic rum and coke.

“Here you go,” the bartender smiles, “I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

You flash your widest smile, “Y/n.”

For the next few minutes that it takes you to finish your drink, an easy conversation forms between you and Yoongi. You smile and laugh at everything he says, the entire situation acting as pure entertainment for you.

“Don’t you have other customers to attend to?” you ask, realizing that he’s been in front of you a little too long.

“There are other bartenders you know.”

You raise a brow, “Is there?”

“Of course,” he smiles, “I’d rather attend to you all night, if you don’t mind of course.”

You return the smile, feeling flattered that Yoongi seems to like you so much. The two of you jump into another conversation and he tries to get you to order another drink, which you attempt to decline as best as you can. You planned on being sober tonight. “I don’t think I can drink anymore, honestly.”

“Come on,” he moves a glass towards you, “just drink it.”

But your shake your head, “I’m good, Yoongi.”

“It’s on the house—” Yoongi begins to say, but suddenly stops when he lifts his eyes to stare directly behind you. Instantly, you feel something change and a strong aura fills the air around you.

“If the girl says she’s good, she’s good man.”

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the voice; it wasn’t the deepest voice you’ve ever heard, but he spoke in a slow tone that was both sexy and terrifying. For a moment, you can only look at Yoongi’s face—the way his lips tighten up and eyes narrow. His whole demeanor changes, and long gone is the flirty guy you were just having an amusing conversation with.

“Chill, dude,” Yoongi says, backing up a step. “Y/n and I were just talking.”

Behind you, you can hear the man scoff and take a few steps, “It didn’t look like that to me.”

He takes a few more steps until he circles around to your right, leaning with one arm against the bar countertop. As your eyes focus on him under the dim lights, your lips part slightly at what you see. He is adorned in all black, tight fitting clothes that accentuates his lean but muscular physique. The sleeves of his button up are rolled up past his elbows, revealing veiny arms and silver ring clad hands. You take in the rest of him, from his tousled dark hair to his rather pump lips, and you’re speechless. You only look away when he catches you staring for a moment too long.

“It didn’t look like y/n was enjoying your company much,” he begins again, and hearing your name leave his lips makes you shiver. “She looks uninterested.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know a lady in distress when I see one.” Just like you did moments before, he gives your body a once over. However, unlike your reaction, he’s bold and smirks when his eyes reach your own. He even stretches out his hand, “The name’s Jimin.”

You momentarily tense; this guy was Park Jimin—the guy you’re supposed to kill?

He looks a bit different from his photo; but as you move to your eyes back to stare a little more at him, you realize that he’s definitely matured since the picture was taken. Damn Namjoon for not getting an updated photo of him. And you aren’t sure why, but you place your hand into his. Immediately, he brings your hand up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss on the back. You blush instantly; not expecting for him to do that at all. During this entire moment, from your peripheral vision, you notice Yoongi make a face and then walk away.

“Guess he wasn’t that interested in you,” Jimin says, a gorgeous smile lighting his face.

You shrug, “I think he was just trying to pass time.”

“Or get a little action.”

“That too.”

“So, what brings you to this quaint, little place?” he asks you, taking a seat on the barstool beside you.

You laugh a little, “I’m not sure if I’d call this club quaint, but I’m just passing through. You?”

“I drop by every so often to see what’s new,” Jimin begins, “and you’re definitely the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Just as you’re about to become putty from his smooth words, you remember who you are and what you’re here for. Instead, you smile and play along. “Really?”

He nods, leaning in, “Definitely.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen prettier girls, Jimin.”

“Not a chance,” he moves even closer, only a few inches away from you now.

And you find yourself leaning in the slightest bit, eyes looking into his. You try to figure out what’s going on in his head, you’ve always been pretty good at reading people, but all you notice is how dark his chocolate irises are becoming.

In your mind, you run through a list of different scenarios and outcomes of tonight. Every one of them ends with Jimin at the end of your gun barrel, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun before that. He was hot, and you can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked; and you can already tell that sex with Jimin would be amazing. And just as you’re about to make a suggestion to him, it seems like he reads your mind because suddenly, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is hot, burning your lips, but you want more; you need more. So you lift your lips off of his and trail your lips against his jaw to whisper a few words into his ear. You can feel him smirk against your hair and before you can kiss each other again, Jimin is walking you both out of the club and hailing down a cab.

***

Sunlight streams through the window as you open your eyes, looking around the unfamiliar room.

You move your eyes over to the space next to you, seeing a peacefully sleeping Jimin, and everything from last night becomes fresh in your memory. Biting your lower lip, remembering the way his rough hands felt against your skin—and how he whispered the most seductive words as you reached your high—causes a small smile to form along your lips.

Last night was definitely one of the best sexual experiences you’ve had, probably ever. You can barely recall how many times you came undone, and the way your body aches is the most delicious pain. But you think about Namjoon and your job, and you shake the excessive thoughts away.

What a waste, you think, staring at his handsome face. If you weren’t on a mission to kill him, you would definitely consider spending another night with Park Jimin.

You get out of bed and slip your clothes back on. You move quietly, careful not to wake Jimin up. You grab your clutch, discarded onto the floor, feeling the cool metal of a gun through the thin fabric. And as you turn around, ready to whip out your weapon and shoot, you realize that he’s awake. Your eyes widen, and you tightly hold your clutch close to your chest.

“Where are you going?” His voice is deep from sleep.

And suddenly, you don’t know what to do. “I was… I was leaving.”

“Why?” When you don’t say anything, Jimin kneels on the bed and grabs your hand. He pulls you back to the place beside him. “Stay.”

And before you can argue, or pull out your gun, he kisses you and begins to peel your dress back off your body. Immediately, his hands latch onto your breast and you moan from the sensitivity you’re still feeling from last night.

“Jimin,” you say, already feeling wetness pooling at your core, “please.”

He smirks at your neediness, which you hope is distracting enough. And you get your answer as Jimin pulls your underwear down your legs. As he begins to slide a condom on, you lay back onto the bed and realize that the time is just not right yet.

You’ll get the job done, soon.

***

“How’s the case with Park Jimin going?”

You’re back in that dimly lit ground floor, sitting before your boss. “Good, so far.”

During all of your missions, you always had a mid-point checkup with Namjoon—unless, you managed to get the job done within a few days. Normally, your checkups were quick and he would dismiss you within half an hour. But today, you’ve been sitting in front of him for nearly twice as long and he hasn’t even spared you a single glance. From the moment you arrived, he ordered you to take a seat and started pacing back and forth in front of you. Also, normally, you never feel this anxious around him; you two know each other well and it’s never been like that.

But you can feel that something is off today.

“Y/n,” Namjoon finally looks up at you, “it’s been nearly two months since I gave you his folder.”

Internally, you’re feeling sheepish; foolish that Namjoon is talking to you like you don’t know how to do your job. But you do—you know how to do your job damn well… it’s just that it’s been difficult. You voice this thought to your boss.

“It’s just talking me a little longer this time,” you tell him.

“And why is that?”

You furrow your brows, “Park Jimin is… distracting.”

And you aren’t lying. The last two months that you’ve been around him, he never leaves you with a single opportunity to put a gun to his head. It’s frustrating that you don’t know how to get around him. Just when you think that you can finally move onto the next case, he gives you that look—one filled with lust and sinful promises—and you can’t say no.

“Do I need to assign this to someone else?” Namjoon says. “Perhaps to Jeon Jeongguk?”

“Hell no,” you immediately say. “There’s no way I’m going to let that little punk get the satisfaction.”

Jeongguk was also in your division, and an absolute pain in the ass. Granted, he wasn’t half bad at this criminal-assassin stuff but got way too cocky about himself. You could barely stand to be in the same room as him for more than a few minutes; and if he were to receive your case, it’d be embarrassing.

Your boss laughs, “Good. You are the best, after all.”

“I’ll get this done, Namjoon,” you promise. “Just give me more time.”

Thankfully, he nods and says you can leave now. You breathe a sigh of relief and walk to the elevator doors. You make it five steps before Namjoon calls out your name. Turning around, you ask what he needs.

“I don’t typically give you a time limit with these things, I trust you,” he says, “but I ask that you get this done as soon as you can. I have other files I need you to get on.”

You tell him that you understand and get out of there as fast as you can. Once you’re in the elevator, you bang your head against the metal wall. And once you step out into the lobby, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see a string of new text messages from Jimin.

07:36 PM | Jimin: are we still meeting for dinner?

07:36 PM | Jimin: my place?

07:37 PM | Jimin: actually, i’ll just come to yours lol

07:38 PM | Jimin: i’ll be there in 10

You don’t reply, choosing to pocket your phone instead. Walking out of the building and down the few blocks to your apartment, you suddenly feel a lot of pressure to get all of this over and done with. What is wrong with you, y/n?

This whole thing with Park Jimin has become excessive. Yes, the sex was mind blowing but Namjoon was right—there are more cases to be dealt with. You can’t be dealing with this one forever. So, as you near your apartment, noticing Jimin’s car parked right outside, you decide that tonight’s the night. You’re just going to get it over with.

You take the stairs up to the second floor of the complex and push your door open. Jimin makes himself known to you instantly and captures your lips in a kiss. You instinctively respond, closing the door behind you. And as the two of you move further into the hall, he backs you up against a wall and smiles against your lips, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you lift your lips off of his with a final peck. “Hungry?”

You try to act as normal as possible, just so he doesn’t think something is off about you. And thankfully, he doesn’t seem to. “I’m starving.”

Kicking off your shoes, you walk into your little kitchen and notice that Jimin has already set up everything for dinner—plates, utensils, drinks, and food. You turn around to give him a confused look and he simply laughs. “I thought we were going to cook together?”

He shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Well… thanks,” a smile slowly grows onto your face.

The two of you quickly take a seat on your island barstools and dig into the food. As you take the first bite, your eyes widen with surprise—it’s delicious. You voice this thought out loud to Jimin, feeling really impressed that he made really good food.

“I learned from my mom, so you should thank her,” he tells you, to which you laugh.

“I’d love to,” you say without thinking. And instantly you regret it, tensing up. God, y/n why’d you say that. You’re implying that you’d like to meet his mom. Idiot. “She taught you well.”

“Next time, I’ll make you another dish that she taught me.”

You look down at your food for a brief moment, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach, before looking back at Jimin with a smile, “Sure.”

Jimin finishes eating before you do and tells you that he brought over a movie for you two to watch. And as he goes to set it up on your TV, you finish the food and clean up a bit. While you do the dishes, you suddenly feel his arms circle around your waist. You’re startled at first, before you ease into his embrace.

“I thought you were going to put on the movie?”

He leans his head against the curve of where your neck meets your shoulder. “I already did.”

You laugh, “Okay, well, you can go ahead and sit down. I’ll be there in a minute.”

But Jimin doesn’t move, and only seems to be holding you tighter. “Y/n… can I tell you something?”

“What?” you ask, rinsing a dish and putting in on the rack. He’s quite for a moment and you figure that whatever he had to say, isn’t that important. And then he moves his lips close to you ear.

“I love you.”

You freeze. You stop breathing.

“What?” You shut the water and immediately turn around to face him. Lifting his face up with your hand, you stare into his eyes and feel tears threatening to spill. He can’t love you. Why does he love you? If only he knew why you even crossed paths with him in the first place at all—you’re going to kill him. You’re a killer. Someone like Park Jimin cannot love someone like you.

“I love you,” he repeats his words, bringing a hand up to caress your face.

“Why?”

“I know that we’ve only known each other for a short time, but these last few weeks with you have been the best weeks of my life. I love you, y/n,” he says, and you let a single tear fall. Jimin wipes your tear away, eyes searching yours. “Please say you love me too.”

You shut your eyes tightly, sighing, “Jimin…”

“Please,” he begs, pulling you into a kiss, “please.”

He kisses you harder, pulling your bodies together. You feel yourself giving in, losing yourself in him. Jimin pulls his lips away from yours after a moment, before moving to press a kiss along every plane of your face—your cheeks, nose, forehead, and eyes. He begs you again to say those three little words back to him, and you don’t know what comes over you… but you do, and it changes everything.

“I love you, too.”

***

You’re a fool. An absolute fool.

Another month has gone by and Park Jimin is still alive. But not only is he alive, you can’t imagine your life without him anymore. It’s a scenario you never anticipated to happen when you formulated your plan in that club so long ago.

That simple love confession from him has turned your whole life upside down. Now, you don’t want to complete your mission anymore. You physically can’t bear to think about putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger—you just can’t. It’s absolutely ridiculous and if Namjoon could see you, he would be so disappointed. But you haven’t bothered to pick up any of this phone calls in the last two weeks. The thought of talking to him is too much.

You know that you can’t avoid him forever; eventually, you have to answer his call. A part of you believes that you can just get away with this, but Kim Namjoon isn’t an idiot and he knows where you live. However, you have been thinking about ways to get out of this situation. You’ve thought about running away with Jimin. That should be easy, right? The two of you could just leave and never look back.

“What are you thinking about?” Jimin interrupts your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you smile, pressing a kiss against his lips.

It was nearly noon already, but neither of you have bothered to leave his bed yet. Your main reason is that it’s just easier to pretend everything’s okay here; you two can just be Jimin and y/n. “It can’t be nothing if you look so stressed.”

You move to straddle his hips, keeping him from saying anything else. “I’m fine.”

This strategy seems to distract him enough, and he suddenly places his hands on your bare thighs. He rubs from your knees, up to the edges of your underwear. “If you say so, my love.”

And you let yourself forget everything as you kiss him again.

***

You wake up when you realize that the spot beside you is empty.

Never has Jimin woken up before you. You’re always the first one up—you had to when you were still on that mission to kill him. But this particular morning, you’re alone in bed and his apartment is dead quiet.

Concern gnaws at your insides and you call out his name, wondering where the hell he could be. Before you get out of bed to go look for him, you reach into the bedside drawer next to you and pull out the gun you still kept around. For a moment you wonder if Namjoon got tired of waiting for you to complete this mission and sent someone over. But before you can think more about that, you hear someone enter the room and you shove the gun underneath you pillow.

You look towards the intruder and nearly collapse from what you see. “Jimin?”

There at the door, with a gun in his hand, is the man who confessed his love for you. He’s still dressed in the clothes he fell asleep in last night—a simple white tee and boxers—but the expression on his face is anything but familiar.

“You’re awake,” he says, walking closer to the bed.

“What are you doing?” You stare at him, confused.

The gun spins once, and then twice in his hand. “What does it look like, love?”

You rack your brain for an answer to this confusing image before you, but you come up with nothing. Why does he have a gun? Where did he get that from? In your internal debate, you watch as Jimin steps closer and closer to you.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, but he doesn’t say anything. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Don’t think you’re the only one with secrets, y/n.”

Your heart stops—is he talking about your mission? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jimin merely laughs, but the sound emanating from his mouth is cynical and borderline demonic, “Cute. Are we playing the lying game now? Oh wait—we’ve been playing it since that night in the club.”

“You knew who I was?” you hiss, mentally kicking yourself.

“I’ve always known,” he cocks his head to the side, running a hand through his dark hair that has grown considerably long in the months you’ve known him. “This game we’ve been playing, y/n, has been fun… but I think it’s time to end it. What do you think?”

“Who the hell are you?” you ask, wondering where is the Jimin you’ve come to feel so much for.

“Who the hell are you?” he retorts and then says, “ten.”

As Jimin begins to count backwards, he reaches eight and you pull out your own gun from underneath your pillow. “I should’ve pulled the trigger that morning.”

You aim straight at Jimin, and he does the same to you.

He frowns, “But you didn’t, did you? Seven.”

“I was beginning to fall for you,” you say, brushing your messy hair back.

“That was your first mistake… six.”

A sigh leaves your lips, “Tell me Jimin, did you ever care about me?”

“Five… of course I did, y/n,” he looks into your eyes and you see emotions swirling in them, “I meant it when I told you that I loved you. Every word.”

“So, let’s stop then,” you try to reason with him, “I didn’t go through with my mission because I’m in love with you.”

Jimin doesn’t look away from your eyes, “You know we can’t do that… three.”

“And why is that?” You can feel your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

“Because this is who we are, my love: killers.”

And then all you can hear is his soft voice whisper one before a gunshot goes off.

#armiesnet #bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #bts #bangtan #bts scenario #bts fic #jimin #angst #to the hilt #xbaepsae

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moonmeagan · 5 years

Text

What to Do In Southern Thailand

Thailand seems to be a hot spot on nearly everyone’s bucket list these days, and let me just tell you, those pictures and glass boat video clips you see online are the real deal. Thailand is a b e a u t i f u l country with mountains to the north and unreal beaches to the south.

Known as the land of smiles, most Thai people are extremely kind and have a truly enchanting culture. Most Thai people are Buddhist and you will see wonderfully ornate temples and “spirit houses” (little shrines of houses on a pillar or tabled platform where Thai people show respect to the spirits on the land) all over the country.

When I visited Thailand I spent about two weeks in south Thailand and visited for the “Full Moon Party” which takes place on the beach of Koh Pha Ngan. Here are some recommendations for the cities that I visited:

Bangkok

The capital city and a true hub for the culture of Thailand. Some travelers or tourists like to stray away from the large cities, but I highly recommend spending at least a little bit of your trip in the capital. Small towns and islands have their charms, but the cities are where the true day-to-day culture thrives. This is where the country’s people live and play.

Chao Phraya River

This beautiful river flows through Thailand’s capital city. You can take a boat cruise down the river to gaze at some of Thailand’s most famous temples and landmarks! Bring some bread along to feed the hungry fish.

Grand Palace

The Grand Palace is one of the most famous destinations in Bangkok. Thailand’s royalty used to live in the palace, but now it is used for ceremonies and as a tourist attraction showcasing Thailand’s history and the beautiful ornate architecture. If you intend to visit the palace, be sure you dress for the occasion! You must have your legs and shoulders covered to enter the palace gates.

Wat Arun (Temple of Dawn)

Wat Arun is a very famous must-see while in Bangkok. Its style is very unique compared to many temples you will see in Thailand and it sits right on the bank of the river. Entry to the temple is only 100 bhat which equates to about $3 USD.

Damnoen Saduak Floating Markets

Get ready to haggle down the prices of some unique, and often hand crafted, souvenirs and art. Many shop owners sit alongside a canal outside of Bangkok. You must float through the lively canal on a boat and snag your purchases while riding by.

You will find vendors selling street food (canal food?) from their long boats and exotic animals that you can hold and take photos with (for a fee of course). This is a fun and immersive cultural experience that you will likely not forget.

Maeklong Railway Market

There is a hidden market located unconventionally on the tracks of a train. This is a must-see if you are visiting Bangkok! One moment vendors are selling their goods on the sides of the tracks, dangerously close to the railway, and the next moment they are scooping up their items just as the train passes through. Once the train makes its way through, the bustling market continues as if nothing had happened.

When the train comes through, some of the vendors hand them a snack or juice as the train slowly goes by. The shop we visited let me hand off a Thai tea to the conductors:

Get a Thai massage

For about $15 USD I ordered a traditional Thai massage which included stretches, body weight massaging, and pressure point therapy. It is different from a massage in the states and is a great cultural experience.

Koh Samui

Koh Samui, which is the second largest Thai island, used to be a fishing community and is now a hidden gem for tropical tourism. The locals are very laid back and friendly and there are charming accommodations and resorts on the island.

Samui Elephant Sanctuary

You can’t visit Thailand without seeing some elephants! However, I caution you to stay away from people offering elephant rides in the streets. Instead, check out some ethical elephant tourism at a sanctuary.

I visited Samui Elephant Sanctuary and it is clear that the volunteers and owners care deeply for the animals. They do not offer rides, bathing, or anything else that disrupts the elephants’ natural behaviors.

It was about $100 USD for the day, but it includes a feeding experience for the elephants and an included lunch for you! It is well worth it. I encourage you to check them out if you get the chance to visit Koh Samui!

Mu Ko Ang Thong National Park

This beautiful little island off Koh Samui is a great choice for a day trip. There are many speed boat companies that offer day trips to the island for up to around $100 USD.

It is about a 45 minute boat ride to Ang Thong and once you get there, there is a hiking opportunity, kayaking, snorkeling and a gorgeous beach to lounge on.

Beaches

Koh Samui has some of the most breathtaking beaches. When in doubt, sun bathe it out. The sunsets are to die for and they have amazing little restaurants up and down the coast where you can set up camp and enjoy the view.

Koh Pha Ngan

Just a short ferry ride away from Koh Samu is the party island of Kah Pha Ngan! They are best known for the full moon party and the island basically runs on visitors from all over the world.

Full Moon Party

During this monthly celebration of the moon, 10,000-30,000 people come to Koh Pha Ngan to join in on the epic Full Moon Party. Think neon, rum buckets, and fire dancers.

Everyone is there to have the time of their life and there is no shortage of entertainment. There are all sorts of music, food, and drinks. Also be sure to give the fire jump rope a try! Just kidding- please don’t.

Culture Tid-Bits

No foot fetishes here- Make sure not to show the soles of your feet or point with them. It is considered extremely rude in this culture! Do not prop your feet on furniture and be sure to take your shoes off before entering shops or temples. Feet are seen as low status parts of the body and an attachment to earth which causes suffering.

Bow to say hello- It is customary to put your hands together and bow your head when you are uttering your greetings and farewells in Thailand. It may feel a little uncomfortable at first but you will get the hang of it! This is the most polite way to greet the Thai people.

Dress modestly for temples- Make sure you cover your legs and shoulders if you will be visiting temples. You will not be allowed to enter without the proper attire. BYOTP- Many rest rooms do not provide toilet paper. Carry a pack of tissues in your bag for public restrooms! Many countries also charge for some public restrooms. This is the case for Thailand as well, so carry some small coins!

Sà-wàd-dee!

XOXO Moon Meagan

#Southeast Asia #Thailand #Travel #Cheap Travel

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kenzieam · 5 years

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Druid - Chapter Six

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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******************************************************************************

“Levi.” He stumbles over my name, sounding blown away, almost like he’d just been kicked in the guts.

“Hi, James.” I reply and he winces; from hearing my voice or my use of his given name?

Steve clears his throat and steps to the side, pulling Nat against him. He eyes his best friend carefully before turning his gaze back to me; something flashes in his eyes, something knowing and he smiles ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you two catch up?” He asks, glancing down at Nat, brow raised. “We’ll take you out another night as thanks, right, babe?” At her nod he resumes his piercing stare, directed partially at me, partially at the leather and denim-clad man shifting uneasily beside his monster bike.

Neither James nor I seem to possess the ability to answer, so Steve continues; I both curse and love his gentle insistence, giving us the push we seem to need.

“Yeah, go have dinner.” He turns to James. “Nat and I are buying Lev’s house, we were just taking her out to celebrate.”

James shifts his weight, leather boots squeaking quietly, a massive hand rasps against the stubble on his jaw. “Brother, I can’t intrude-”

Now Nat’s in on it too. “No, it’s fine.” She looks my way. “Tomorrow night, okay, Levi?” There’s a quiet plea in her eyes. She’s worried about James and I too, and in the same gentle-hearted way as her husband, she’s trying to help us.

I’d be a major fucking bitch if I said no to this, it’s just eating and talking, can I not get through that?

Well, my original plan was to see if the fates pushed James and I together, and the fates have definitely done that.

“Okay.” I murmur, forcing a smile, even though inside I’m shaking with nerves. What if I’ve come to this realization, that I love James and want to start a family with him, and he uses this dinner as his opportunity to tell me to fuck off? I ran away like a brat a year ago and refused to even speak to him, I’d definitely deserve it.

Relief and something else far more vulnerable flash across his handsome face and, for the briefest second, I see the depths of the despair and anguish he’s been carrying and my heart clenches in a mix of shame and tenderness. I never want to see that again in his hypnotic eyes, never want to feel the abject misery he wears like a coat ever again.

Only good times, only happiness.

“Great!” Steve chirps. In a few short strides he’s at James’ side, slapping him hard on the back then turning back to me.

I take a hesitant step forward, swallow past my dry throat. “Any place in particular?” I ask James.

Steve, his hand clasping James’ shoulder, glances at his friend, waiting for his answer.

“How about the Station?”

I nod, unable to stop a smile. “Yeah, that would be nice. Can I meet you there? I drove down.” I point vaguely towards my Subaru. We might be meeting for dinner and to talk, but I know I won’t be able to survive straddling this man’s bike and clinging to his wide, hot body.

He nods, and if he’s disappointed I’m not going to spider-monkey him, it doesn’t show. He jolts again as Steve slaps his shoulder a second time.

“Have a good time. Levi, we’ll call you tomorrow. Trent said the papers should be ready by noon.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Thank you, you guys.” I embrace Nat and get a bone-crushing bear hug from Steve, not missing his breath of a whisper in my ear.

‘Just talk to him Levi, please don’t break his heart.’

Shit, if the Captain only knew my thoughts.

They leave, pulling away in Steve’s massive jacked-up pickup; it’s similar to Thor’s monster truck, but is painted a deep maroon red, almost black cherry.

James clears his throat, reminding me why I’m still standing here. “You don’t have to-” he begins, sounding like a defeated little boy.

Hot shame rises in my throat. Christ, I did a number on him, I need to make this right, I need to let James know how I really feel about him.

“No, I want to.” I turn back to him, reach over tentatively to take his hand. He tenses, eyes darting to me and back down to our hands, before relaxing minutely. His fingers jolt in mine, as if hit by a current.

I felt it too.

“I’ll meet you there?” I glance down. “I’m not really dressed to ride.” It’s true, I’m wearing a boho printed maxi skirt and knotted black tank, a few inches of midriff showing, no matter how much I pull and tug at the shirt.

James swallows visibly. “Sure.” His voice has a noticeably rasp to it.

“Let’s go...?” I half ask, half declare. He’s standing here like installation art and I’d rather be sitting somewhere a bit more private than at public sidewalk when I tell him what is half-bursting from my chest.

He shakes himself loose visibly, and a nervous, embarrassed grin pulls at his adorable lips. “Sure.” He repeats.

He waits at the curb, sitting on his idling bike until I pull out, then falls in place behind me. He’s wearing a full-face black helmet, and it’s slightly disconcerting not being able to see his eyes, so I clear my throat and focus on the road ahead.

The Station is just that. Functioning as a railway station until the mid-fifties, it was converted into a restaurant/lounge not too long after. It’s the most popular restaurant in town, managing to project a friendly, hip vibe even though it hasn’t been renovated in my lifetime. It’s a safe option; not too formal, not too relaxed, especially if we sit on the lounge side.

I park at that end of the building and James pulls his bike beside me. I step out then turn and reach back inside to grab the light cardigan on the passenger seat. Too late, I realize this probably put my ass on display for James to look at and jerk back upright, whirling to catch James quickly looking away. I fumble nervously with it, cursing myself for the slip-up. He’s suddenly beside me, breath warm on my bare shoulder and I fight a shudder of rising desire. I glance silently towards him, see his cheeks are pink, eyes studiously lowered to where his hands help my arms through the sweater.

His touch is scorching and his hands rest for the briefest moment on top of my shoulders after he pulls the cardigan completely up. I’m just about to lean back against him when he lets go and steps past. Stepping up onto the sidewalk, he pauses then turns back to me, holding out his hand with a hopeful look.

His smile when I reach out and accept his proffered hand is dazzling and it makes my heart skip a few beats. He pulls me closer than he probably would have if we were just friends, or if I hadn’t accepted his hand so easily just now. He holds the door open and waits until I walk through.

Although still tentative, he seems to be gaining confidence at my receptivity, leading me to a booth in the corner.

A waitress appears out of nowhere. “Drinks?”

James glances at me. I quickly debate then go for it. “Dirty Corona, please.”

He grins. “Two please.” After she leaves, he turns back to me. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Well, it is the Station’s specialty.” I tease. If it is, it’s only because our senior class first decided to drain the neck of a fresh Corona and refill it with spiced rum before adding the lime and then beat that horse to death, ordering it practically non-stop until the restaurant gave in and made it a regular menu item.

She’s back, dropping two sweating bottles and the shots of rum if front of us then pulling out her notepad. “Have you decided what to eat?”

I glance at James. “Do they still have fish tacos?”

He nods.

“I’ll have those and a side of calamari, please.”

James settles on a bacon cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and I lean forward covertly, motioning him closer. As he leans forward, I grin, feeling a little flirty.

“Are you sharing those fries?” I tease.

His brows lift, obviously not expecting me to be playful. He recovers quickly. “Only if you share the calamari.”

“Deal.” I reply, reaching for my beer. I drain the neck, then pour in the rum. James watches me intently as I squeeze some lime juice into the beer before stuffing the wedge down into the neck. His eyes flick to my throat as I swallow and I feel a bolt of heat.

“So... what have you been up to?” James asks quietly, doing the same to his own drink. There’s a hesitancy in his voice that I ache to relieve. The ease in which we’ve been interacting for the last few minutes has only emboldened me, confirmed my burgeoning hope that we can work, that there was something between us, and still is.

“Honestly? A lot of thinking, a shit-load of tattooing, trying to distract myself.”

Surprised longing darkens James’ gaze and he blinks a few times, concentrating hard on his thumbnail worrying at his beer’s label. He swallows hard but doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, James. I was wrong to run away like I did.” It’s easier to say the words than I thought it would be.

He physically jolts, obviously not daring to hope for such a confession. His eyes dart back up to mine before dropping back to the bottle. His exhale is unsteady. “I wish you’d stayed. We should have talked.”

“I know. I was scared.”

“Of me?” There’s a quiet despair in his voice.

“No.” I chew my bottom lip until it stings sharply. “Of what I felt, being with you.”

His eyes lock with mine and he blinks rapidly; burgeoning hope warring with painful wariness.

I let out a long breath, run my hands through my hair as I fight for the right words. “I had a crush on you in high school, maybe even more than a crush, but I told myself these last ten years it was nothing, that you never had the same feelings. And then, when I came back, and you started glaring at me like I stomped on your puppy, I figured it was because you hated me, or thought I was distracting Thor or something. I never thought it could be because you wanted me.” I pause, swallowing hard before I continue. “When you kissed me in the clubhouse kitchen, it woke something up in me; something I had no idea even existed. After that, Thor’s attention wasn’t what I wanted anymore, but it all happened so fast... I panicked.”

James swallows hard, bottom lip trembling slightly before he replies. “Loved you.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t just because I ‘wanted’ you, I loved you.”

Jesus. But he said ‘loved’, past tense. “Not anymore, though?”

He seems surprised, glancing back up at me with a frown of confusion.

“You said ‘loved me’, not anymore?”

A hint of his old cocky grin, a flash of relief in his eyes. “No.” He takes a deep breath and continues, his voice warm and rough. “Not loved. I love you. I always have.”

Sudden, hot tears spring to my eyes and I can’t stop a shuddering gasp. He can’t, after all the shit I’ve put him through, still feel that way.

He leans forward to speak, only to sit back sharply in surprise when the waitress appears, all but throwing our plates on the table with her near-demented efficiency.

“Enjoy!” She chirps and I wonder if she’s so focused on her job she honestly didn’t realize the emotional miasma she just walked into. She is genuinely oblivious, already turning on her heel to hit another table.

I sniff, managing to rein in my tears and reach for my fork, hesitantly spearing a piece of calamari. I need some time to process James’ words and he seems to realize this. He’s quiet as he assembles his burger, flicking careful glances at me. He looks relieved I haven’t just leapt to my feet and ran out.

“I-” I bite my bottom lip again. “I didn’t know, I didn’t-” I look up, trying to convey through my eyes what I’m having such a shit time forming into words. “You always looked so pissed off.”

“I know.” He replies quietly, food forgotten as he watches me. “I wasn’t exactly obvious. And I was mad, but because you were with Thor and not me, that I’d blown my chance again.”

I think back to his flirty, friendly demeanor as I teased him about piercings, before Thor appeared and wrapped me up in his whirlwind; he had been trying, had been interested; I just hadn’t recognized it. Shit.

He reads my thoughts. “It’s not your fault. I could have said something instead of just sulking, but Thor’s... Thor; he’s like a god or something, women just fall all over him.”

He honestly thinks he doesn’t compare to Thor? That he too isn’t some earthbound god?

“I did,” I admit. “He is charming, but there was always you in the background. I didn’t understand why you were always staring at me, but I never stopped to ask myself how I knew that, if I wasn’t watching for you too?”

A flicker of surprise in his blue eyes, and he’s silent for a heartbeat, contemplating my words. I myself hadn’t even wondered this until recently, how I always seemed to know where James was, what he was doing, even though I was usually firmly planted in Thor’s lap.

We’re quiet for a while, but it’s comfortable; I pretend to be sneaky, snatching a few of James’ fries, and he grins widely, reaching a massive paw over to grasp a goodly portion of my calamari, laughing out loud when I squeak and try to wrestle them back. He relents, but his hand stays in mine and, for a beat, that low-level static charge between us seems to quiet, fall into a contented hum. He’s the first to pull his hand free and return to his food, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

One beer turns into two and, before I know it, the thought that’s been running rampant through my head dodges my filters and tumbles out of my mouth. “I don’t want this to end.” I say as we share the Station’s famous dessert, ice cream and a sinful brownie so decadent and soft, it’s still half batter.

His eyebrows quirk. “What to end?” His voice is low but wary.

Oh well, I’m committed now. “Tonight, we’re done eating, but I don’t want it to end.” Too late, I realize I’ve been holding my spoon too long in my mouth, my tongue curling in the bowl, trying to lick the last of the brownie, giving James’ an unintentional show.

A warm grin lights up his face. “It doesn’t have to; did you want to come over? We could watch a movie.”

I mask my abject delight with a teasing lilt. “Big scary bikers have movie nights? They aren’t out rabble-rousing and partying all night?”

“Not this one; some of my younger brothers, yes; but not me, not anymore.” He grins again. “And what the hell is rabble-rousing? Some Texas thing?” He distracts me for a moment, licking his own spoon with swoon-worthy attention; damn, these brownies are epic.

I snort a giggle, rolling my eyes. “That would be great, James. I just need to book a hotel room and drop off my stuff-”

“You can stay with me.” At my surprised look, he continues. “Not like that, not if you don’t want to. I have a guest room, save you some cash.”

I ponder the wisdom of that. The cash part doesn’t bother me, but are we ready? Not if you don’t want to, echoes in my head. James isn’t pushing me, he isn’t expecting me to share his bed; he’s willing to go slow. I have to admit the thought of cuddling with him on the couch is definitely enticing.

“Okay, but-”

He holds up his hand, correctly interpreting my next words. “No pressure, just friends.”

“Friends.” I agree.

His house is surprisingly homey and comfortable. I expected a full-on bachelor pad, but he’s taken pains to surpass that. Sure, his bookcase is still 2 x 6’s and cinder blocks, and one corner of the living room seems dedicated to an indoor workshop, but if you didn’t know it was an MC President living here, you wouldn’t know by looking around.

A cat twines sinuously around my legs, purring like a chainsaw. I say cat in the loosest terms, it’s roughly the size of a pitbull, it’s tail crooked and one ear chewed. James leans down to stroke it’s head and the chainsaw roar increases.

“Is that a cat or a cougar?” I tease.

James glances back up at me, his grin lighting up the room. “Lilly found him as a kitten but their other cat kept beating him up, so she begged me to take him.”

Lilly? Oh yeah, Steve and Nat’s oldest. “Aww, Uncle Bucky.”

He smirks but I think he’s secretly pleased.

“What’s his name?” I’m expecting something like Harley, or Killer or something else appropriately biker for a cat that reminds me of a short-haired Crookshanks, so I only stare dumbly for a second when James responds.

“Pickles.”

“Pickles?”

He rolls his eyes. “She was four, you’re lucky it’s an actual word; her favorite doll was named Shnork for years.”

I find it incredibly heart-warming, not to mention ovary-exploding that he’s so attentive to his nieces, so willing to do anything for them, even take in their cat and keep its ridiculous name to keep them happy.

Apparently satisfied, Pickles sashays back out, taking his roaring purr with him.

Remembering why I’m here, James snatches the remote off his coffee table and holds it out to me, the TV chiming musically behind us as it turns on.

“I’ve got Netflix, you want to find a movie? I’ll be right back.” He disappears and I busy myself scrolling the menus. I have one queued up by the time he gets back. He’s lost his cut and boots and has pulled on a fresh shirt.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just had to make sure Pickles hasn’t torn apart your bed, little shit’s got some sort of sixth sense for making trouble.”

I snort, amused. “Can I use your bathroom?”

A few minutes later, we’re finally sitting on the couch. My bags are safely deposited in the guest room, Pickles has been pushed outside and James has brought out snacks. We’re sitting close, but not touching.

And, it turns out, not watching the movie.

“Tell me about yourself, Levi.” James asks suddenly, and I realize that, although the movie is barely past the opening credits, he’s been watching me instead of it the entire time.

“Not much to tell,” I evade.

“I doubt that, you ended up in the polar opposite career from your chosen field, you must at least have some interesting tattooing stories to tell.”

I do, it turns out; and James is a rapt audience. His throaty chuckles and outright laughing sends shivers up and down my spine. The movie is forgotten, we’re facing each other on the couch, me cross-legged; James facing forwards, his ankle resting on his knee, upper body turned to face me because honestly, he’s too big and muscular to fit sideways on his own couch.

The stories flow easily, and I’m surprised how comfortable I am talking with James, he’s a good listener and I sense this is more than just him on good behavior, he’s one of those genuine people who actually cares to listen to others, it’s a rare trait nowadays.

Before I know it, the movie is over. “Okay, your turn.”

His chuckles fade and he wipes his mouth. “Mine?”

“Yeah. You must have some interesting stories.”

His gaze becomes guarded. “There’s things I can’t tell you. About the club, and what we do.”

This thought has already occurred to me, many times over the past year. Even when I was with Thor I understood this; it’s called ‘club business’ and it functions on a strict need-to-know basis, and the women around the club never, never, need to know. It used to bother me but, along with my newfound feelings for James is a grudging acceptance of this. I’ve gotten to know the people in this club and have chosen to look past it.

“No, I know. I mean stuff you can. Funny stories; you and Steve growing up.”

He relaxes slightly at not having to explain ‘club business’ further and tips his head back, thinking.

I sit back and listen, letting his words and deep voice flow over me. I’m hard-pressed to think of any other time in my life when I’ve felt this relaxed and content. There’s a strong feeling of safety and security surrounding James and my body seems to instinctively seek this from him, subconsciously yearn for it. I scoot towards him, my heart melting at the wide, surprised smile that greets me in return. James tentatively lifts his arm from the back of the couch, an invitation to move even closer and I don’t stop to think, I just move.

His chest is wide and warm and I can’t help but snuggle closer. He shudders against me, his heavy arm carefully settling on my shoulders. His scent is intoxicating; musk and motor oil and leather, a hint of whiskey and danger and something inside me, something that’s been restless and edgy my whole life, slows and takes a deep breath, settles and curls up to sleep. I feel him drop his head, press his nose into my hair and inhale deep and long, exhale with a barely audible groan.

We’re getting awfully serious awfully fast and, while my body is clamoring for more, I force myself to speak, to redirect and slow us down. I tense when the first thing out of my mouth reaches my ears.

“What happened to your arm?”

Open mouth, insert foot.

If he’s offended, he’s good at hiding it. Instead, he takes a deep, reflective breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “An accident, five years ago.”

I wait for him to elaborate and his hand starts to trace gentle random patterns on my shoulder. It’s all I can do to not start purring like a cat.

“Her name was Daria. The only other girl I’ve ever wanted to put my patch on, besides you.” He continues. “I was trying to get past my feelings for you, start fresh. I, uh... the bike hit a patch of gravel and laid out. It all seemed to happen in slow motion... I tried to control it, keep us, or at least Daria away from this steel post we were flying towards.” He pauses for so long I wonder if he’s going to continue, then starts again, his voice no longer completely steady. “I missed. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and two weeks had passed. I’d hit the post hard enough to literally rip my arm off. Daria was killed instantly. I missed her funeral, closed casket.”

“Oh my god,” I murmur, tears trickling down my cheeks. I never would have asked if I’d had any idea-

“I would have given up, laid down and died if not for the club. They kept me going, kicked my ass when I whined too much. Steve got me into a therapist when shit got bad. I was lucky, and my shrink knew a guy who knew a guy working in experimental prosthetics. In exchange for letting them publish in some medical journal I received their most advanced prototype.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It aches sometimes,” he replies. “The scars itch.” There’s a hesitation in his voice, like others in the past have been repulsed by this. I appreciate his willingness to bare his soul like this.

“I think it’s beautiful.” I murmur, and mean it. I reach across his lap to pull his metal hand closer. He removed his glove earlier and, while he tenses when I first touch him, he lets me study it, trail my fingertips along the plates and up to his wrist. I play with his fingers, measure the span of his palm, marvel at the full inch his fingers reach past mine, at the latent strength in his grip.

I feel his lips press to my hair, then his cheek rest on the top of my head. He doesn’t speak again, and neither do I.

The most unbelievable serenity is flooding my body, spreading through my limbs.

This is what it feels like to finally come home.

I let the steady beat of James’ heart lull me to sleep.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and lev #bucky barnes angst

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Second in Command: Ch. 9

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: M (this chapter especially for sexy times)

A/N: So you know awhile ago when I teased you guys about having written my favorite chapter so far for this fun little story that’s not so little anymore? This is it! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!

This week has had a massive amount of words thrown at you wonderful people, but my little break from the real world is over so while, as long as nothing dramatic happens, there will still be regular updates. Just not as regular, my friends.

I’m now tagging people who have either asked to be tagged or who I know are my wonderful, faithful readers. If you ever want to be put on or taken off the list, just let me know: @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @onceuponaprincessworld @kmomof4 @bmbbcs4evr @jennjenn615

Everything available on ao3 | here |

Chapter Nine:

“Love,” Killian shakes her arm, waking her up from her slumber even though he doesn’t want to. He wants to let her sleep, but he needs her to read the statement before they release it. He’s not going to make such a public decision without her approval.

Together, they said last night. And together they’ll say from now on.

“Emma, darling,” he shakes her again, tapping his hand against her shoulder as his other hand moves the hair off of her forehead so it doesn’t keep falling in her face. Her eyelids twitch the slightest bit before she burrows herself into the couch cushions, a sure sign that she’s waking up. He continues to run his hand against her forehead, along the line between soft skin and softer hair, until she turns on her side, eyelids fluttering open to reveal bright green.

“Is everything okay?” she mumbles, stretching her arm out to aimlessly try to reach for his thigh in the dark.

“Everything’s fine. I just need you to look at something with me, okay? I need you to wake up, sweetheart.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s early, but we’ll go up to bed when this is finished, I promise you.”

Emma ever so slowly rises from her spot on the couch, taking a moment to blink her eyelids to try to wake up and adjust to the light. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

He reaches over to grab his laptop, opened to the document he’s spent the night crafting before, despite his better judgment, indulging himself in another glass of rum. He’s sober now, but he’s damn tired. He needs this whole thing to be put behind him for many reasons, but right now mostly so he can get some sleep.

When he hands the device to Emma, her eyes squint as the brightness and the words register with her, her hand reaching up to rub away the sleep. She doesn’t say anything, but he watches as her eyes flicker across the screen, her face mostly emotionless as her fingers move at the pad of the laptop to finish reading, scrolling back up several times as if she’s double and triple checking the words. He’d be nervous if he weren’t so tired.

“Send it to your aide or whoever and tell them to release it.” “Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s good. It needs to be said. I don’t want to have to hide out for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s going to change things, Emma.”

“Let it. I’m ready.”

He takes the laptop out of her hands, immediately sending the email to all of the people who need it before closing it and taking her hand, pulling them both up to lead her upstairs to their room. He doesn’t bother changing clothes, just slipping off his slacks and unbuttoning his shirt, having discarded his belt and suit jacket hours ago, before crawling into bed and wrapping himself around Emma, kissing her bare shoulder before falling into a sleep that he so desperately needs.

When he wakes up, it feels as if he’s been asleep for years, the light dancing through the curtains feeling more like it’s burning him than anything else. He doesn’t feel refreshed. He might even feel worse than he did when he went to sleep, but that will happen when you were basically up for over forty-eight hours.

“Hey,” Emma whispers, running her hand across his jaw from her position beside him, blonde curls pinned up against the pillow, “you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Bloody tired.”

She chuckles softly, fingers still working their magic against his skin. “That’s the most you’ve slept in awhile. I imagine you feel a tad bit groggy.”

He groans, shutting his eyes for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against his chest, running his hand down her back until it dips under the material of her shirt, the soft skin warm against his palm as he rubs circles over it.

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“That’s still too bloody early.”

“You don’t have to get out of bed, but you do need to wake up so you can sleep tonight, okay?”

He moves his hand from her back and reaches up to touch her hand, stopping her movements and turning his head so that he can kiss her palm. “How are you today, my love?”

She hums against his shoulder.

“I have a headache, and I’m bloated. But that’s more my period starting in a few days than anything else.”

“Do you want to take a bath to soothe the ache? I know they help you.”

“Do you want to take it with me?”

He raises his eyebrow. “Is that even a question?”

When the water is warm, scalding really, and the tub is full, a honey bath bomb that smells like Emma scenting the room, he slips into it, immersing himself into the water and feeling his muscles almost immediately loosen. Moments later Emma slips in with him, nestling herself between his legs and leaning her body against his chest and her head back against his shoulder, her hair pulled up into a bun to keep it out of the water.

So many times in his life this has been an erotic moment, their skin soft and wet and pliant pressed against each other, but that’s not what this is. This is jut a comforting moment for the two of them to have some time to themselves with nothing else beating down on them. He likes to think they’ve earned it.

He’s running his fingers across her stomach, the muscles both hard and soft against his touch when she tilts her head to the side and kisses his jaw.

“Do you remember the time we first did this?”

He presses his lips against the back of her neck and holds them there, content to stay like this forever.

“Aye, how could I forget?”

“Mom and dad were out of town to visit dad’s brother, and they’d left the pub to Will, his first real test as a manager, Dad had said. And we were just so excited to have the place to ourselves after not getting to see each other…”

It had been raining for weeks, the transition from winter to spring not a smooth one, and the two of them had been as frustrated with their schedules conflicting as most people were with the fact that they couldn’t step outside without being splashed with water. But then by some blessing, David had decided to go see his brother in America, and Mary Margaret had decided to tag along with him, leaving Emma behind to make sure that nothing fell apart with Will in charge.

Emma had told him that when her parents left, her mum had told her to have fun and be safe while they were gone, but her dad had given her some kind of cryptic message about not letting people who aren’t supposed to come into the building in. Emma and Killian had been dating for nearly nine months, had known each other for nearly a year at that point, and David could still be unsure about Killian spending time with Emma. They were both adults, but sometimes it’s difficult for a dad to let go of his little girl.

Killian couldn’t be with Emma during the first two nights of her parents’ absence, but on night three, he had two days off of work, so he was more than ready to slip away from his responsibilities and spend time with Emma.

Emma: The apartment door is unlocked, so let yourself in and lock it behind you whenever you get here. xoxo

He does just that, walking through the pub and immediately heading for the staircase, switching the downstairs lock before taking the steps two at a time in his excitement over seeing Emma. It’s been a week, and while not long in the grand scheme of things, it’s the longest they’d been apart since they’d begun dating.

“Emma?” he calls out when he opens their front door and she’s not in any of the obvious places, the living room, kitchen, her bedroom, et cetera. He knows she’s here, though. The doors wouldn’t have been unlocked otherwise. She can be forgetful, but she’s never forgetful enough to risk someone getting into the house when no one is home.

“Emma?” he repeats, dipping his head in her parents’ room to find nothing.

“In the bathroom,” he hears her yell, her voice muted through the walls, “you can come on in.”

He figures she’s just doing her hair or something, but when he opens the bathroom door in the hallway, it’s to Emma sitting in the tub reading a book, the bubbles she had in there having faded away so that she’s on full display to him, his eyes raking over her despite his attempt not to.

He’s already half hard, and he can feel his jeans becoming tighter by the second.

“Hey,” Emma greets, titling her head back and motioning him over with her finger, hooking it into the collar of his shirt when he reaches her and pulling him down until his lips are slanting over hers and her hand is buried in his hair, immediately pulling at the strands so he can get closer to her.

“Hello beautiful,” he responds when they finally pull apart from each other, his breath heavy against hers as they rest their foreheads together. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you being gloriously naked before me?”

Blush used to rise to her cheeks when he’d say things like that, but not so much anymore. Sometimes he misses it, but he likes that she feels comfortable in their relationship.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be here for awhile, and I decided to treat myself, but…if you’d like to join me in here, that would be more than welcome.”

She might not blush much anymore, but he still can. His blood rushing to both his cheeks and his cock.

“Yeah?” he questions, already pulling his t-shirt over his head, ruffling his hair as the material rises over his head.

“Very much so,” she promises, scooting forward so that once his jeans and briefs are hastily removed he can slip in behind her, nestling her lithe body into his embrace, his arms immediately running down her stomach as he begins to press kisses against her neck. Emma’s breath is already catching at the way he runs his tongue behind her ear and the way his hardness is inches away from nestling into her softness.

Fuck, it feels good, and all he wants to do is slide into her and feel the way her wet heat contracts around him. But he knows she’s not quite ready yet, so he continues to tease her skin with his lips as she begins to squirm in his embrace. There’s something to be said about foreplay, the soft, sometimes demanding, touches that work you up until you almost can’t take it anymore, the only relief coming from finally being able to slide home.

He’s distracted in the feeling of Emma’s skin against his lips, the lukewarm water lulling him into a sense of comfort, when she moves away from him, turning her body so that she’s straddling his lap and melding their lips together in a kiss much deeper than the one he gave her in greeting.

Her breasts are rubbing against his chest, hard peaks mixing in with his hair, and he’s missed the feeling of her skin against his. It sets him ablaze every damn time, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it. If he ever does, if he ever tires of the weight of her breasts in his hands or the little whines she makes when he runs his tongue against hers, hot and slick, if he ever tires of the way her breath hitches when they first join together, her muscles contracting against his pulsing length, or the way her face contorts when she reaches her peak, lips parted as her head is thrown back…if he ever tires of those things, he won’t be the man Emma deserves.

“You feel so good, darling,” he murmurs against her lips, lightly biting down on her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “I’m not even inside you yet, and you feel so bloody good.”

She lets out the little noise he loves, a quiet whimper that lets him know she’s ready almost as much as her lifting up on her knees to rest over his length, guiding him to her entrance before sinking down on him, the heat of her walls causing a shiver that runs all the way to his toes.

“Fuck,” she groans, leaning her forehead to rest against his shoulder as he runs his thumbs against her hips, small circles to distract himself from the lack of movement as she adjusts to him. “Killian, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”

He kisses her nose.

“I know, darling. Me too.”

At that, he captures her lips with his and grasps her hips, helping her lift and then sink back down on him without sloshing the water out of the tub. Everything is heightened this way, the sensation of the water swilling around them as Emma’s breasts continue to rub against him and the feeling of her hot quim surrounding him makes him feel like he’s on fire even if he’s underneath water.

Once Emma’s comfortable with her pace, he releases her hips so that he can snake his hand in the small space between their bodies to where she’s moving against him at their hips. He knows the moment he finds her clit with the way she gasps, having to cease the way her hips were thrusting and rest her head on his shoulder.

“Is that good, love?”

“Mhmm,” she mumbles against his skin, and the fact that he’s dissolved her into a wordless mess with just one flick of his thumb against her clit lets him know that she was more keyed up than he had imagined.

So is he.

Not being able to stay still any longer, his hardness painful inside of her, he thrusts up into her while continuously thumbing at her bundle of nerves, changing the speed and the intensity based on Emma’s breathing until she moans “fuck just like that” when he’s harshly flicking against her and slowly pumping himself up into her, both of them teetering on the edge before Emma falls first, his name on her lips as she grips his shoulders, nails digging to the point that he’s sure they’ll leave marks tomorrow.

No part of him minds.

It only takes a few more thrusts, the feeling of her fluttering around him aiding to his cause, for him to fall too, pleasure shooting through him as he empties himself into Emma. He usually only needs a moment to bask in his orgasm before finding his legs again, but today he feels the need to rest his forehead against the crown of Emma’s head while he tries to regulate his breathing and feel something other than the tingling sensation running throughout his body.

“Do you think we can do that all the time?” Emma jokes, falling back from him to rest against the other side of the tub, breasts resting above the water and legs tangled with his. It’s suddenly much smaller in here than he remembers it being a minute ago, the porcelain hard against his body.

“I think it may be a little too loud,” he looks down to the water on the floor, “and a little too messy to be doing this all the time with your parents around.”

“They’re not here this week, though,” she teases, walking her foot up his chest until he snatches it and holds it still against her while he runs his fingers against her ankle. “How long do I have you for?”

The inflection of her voice changes from taunting to melancholy in a matter of moments, and all he really wants to do is hold her when he sees the way her eyes are staring off into the distance, right above his head.

“Two days, and then I’m going to France for a few days for a dinner and some meetings.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead rising from the tub, water dripping off her bare body (damn) before she wraps herself in a fluffy white towel, offering him his own before she brushes through her hair, untangling the strands that managed to get wet.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks later when they’ve both dried and changed into pajamas. Emma’s sitting in the armchair in the living room holding her mug of hot chocolate, only now it’s no longer hot, having cooled as she holds it but doesn’t drink it. When she doesn’t respond, he asks again. “Emma, are you okay?”

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out or act weird afterwards?”

“I promise.”

“Sometimes, or a lot of the time really, I think you’re going to leave me.” Bloody hell.

“That’s not going to happen, Emma. I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I mean, logically I know that. But then I’ll be looking at you, and it’s like Neal’s face will flicker across yours and I’m seventeen again getting arrested for something I didn’t do.”

He doesn’t know what to say, how to handle this, so he just asks what feels right.

“What about today made his face flicker across mine?”

“It wasn’t really his face but his voice…I’m happy, and it still surprises me sometimes. And it’s like he’s nagging at me about how if I wasn’t good enough for a low life criminal like him how could I be good enough for you?”

He’s up in an instant, tossing his blanket aside and taking her mug out of her hands to fold his palm over her forearm. “Emma, my love, I understand how and why you feel this way. We all have our demons, some more present than others, but that particular one is a demon who needs to die.”

“I don’t know if it’s ever going to go away.”

“I know,” he brushes her forehead with his hand, moving the hair back before kissing her stomach through her tank top, lingering above her navel simply so that he can feel connected to her. “And I don’t pretend that I can kill it. That has to be you, but I want you to know that no matter what, you’re always good enough for me. Better than I deserve, really. I love you, yeah?”

“I love you, too,” she confesses without hesitation, the downward turn of her lips reversing into the smallest smile Killian’s ever seen.

“I can’t guarantee that you’ll never be hurt because of me, but if you trust me, you’ll have to trust that I’ll never leave you unless you ask me to.”

She just nods her head and cuddles further into the chair cushions.

“Do you want to eat dinner tonight or no?”

“I can order takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the road. They’ll deliver, and I can text Will to get it at the door.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Once they get their food Emma seems to settle into a better mood, the demons quieting down for a night. It’s nothing new for her to be worried that he’s going to leave her or do something to betray her like Neal did. Some scars don’t heal. We just learn to live with them marking our skin. Sometimes learning that takes longer than you expect, and that’s okay.

“I don’t see his face anymore,” Emma admits, bringing him back to the present where they’re comfortably soaking in the tub at his (their) apartment, her neck resting on his shoulder as she leans back into him.

“Whose face, love?”

“Neal’s. I don’t see his face flicker across yours like I told you I did that night.”

So much like back then he doesn’t know what to say, not sure that there’s ever going to be a right response to something like this.

“Killian, I love you.” She places her hands over his on her stomach, squeezing them. “This time in our life is tumultuous…we’re – we’re going through things, both individually and together, and I absolutely cannot wait to come out on the other side with you, believe me. And I’m not glad that it’s happening, but I’m glad that it’s happening now, where I’m sure of myself and sure of us. I don’t have the urge to run or think that you’re going to leave me when things get rough. And I know sometimes you think we shouldn’t have done everything the way we did, but if we’d done this five years ago, I don’t think I’d have made it. I’d have still loved you, but I don’t think I’d be able to handle all of this.”

He just tightens his hold on her waist and tilts his head so that he can kiss her temple, lingering there and squeezing his eyes shut before speaking against her skin. “I’m sorry for everything, Emma. For every bad thing that’s ever happened to you. I’m sorry for everything that you’ve been going through recently. All I want is to protect you.”

“All I want is to protect you.”

“At least we’re on the same page,” he chuckles as he holds her the slightest bit tighter.

When the water cools, he moves so that both of them can get out of the tub, Emma slipping into his bathrobe while he slides on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, the dampness of his hair dripping down the back of his shirt.

“I’m tired of living in the past,” she admits as she washes her face at her vanity, the white scrub bubbling up on her skin before it’s cleansed off with water.

“I know how you feel.” He runs his hand along her back in soothing circles. “I need to do some work. Do you want to come hang out with me in there or do you have your own things to do?”

“I promised Dad I’d put in our orders for next month because I can do that from here, so I guess I can sit in your office with you.”

They’ve been working for a few hours, Emma having finished and moved on to scrolling through her phone, when the doorbell rings.

“Darling, can you go get that?”

Emma rolls over on the sofa before making her way out of his office and presumably to answer the door. Killian answers a few more emails, calling his aide to confirm some of his upcoming events, and continues to work on a speech for the opening of a hospital wing he’s sponsored. He keeps waiting for Emma to come back so that they can discuss her security detail more and to tell him who was at the door, but before he knows it fifteen minutes have passed and there’s no sign of her.

Curiosity wins over, and he rises from his desk and walks down the hallway, running his fingers along some of the picture frames Emma has put up, until he passes the archway for the living room and sees Emma sitting in one of the recliners, wiping away at her eyes.

“Hey, there you are,” he greets as he walks toward her, only seeing that she’s not alone in the room when he’s fully in the room.

“Hello, younger brother,” Liam greets from his position on the couch, legs crossed with a manila folder in his hands.

“Uh, hi Liam.” What the hell is he doing here and is he the reason Emma’s crying? Killian feels his fists clench and has to reign himself in so that he can at least ask what’s going on before punching his brother. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“If you’d like to take a seat, I’d love to talk with you about what I was just talking to Emma about.”

Killian looks back at Emma for some kind of silent confirmation that everything is okay, and she nods her head as she genuinely smiles, lifting up the right side of her body so that he can slip in the chair behind her and wrap his arm around her waist while she sits in his lap. She pats his leg in a comforting manner before they both look to Liam.

“So what were you two talking about?”

“I was just telling Emma here that I’m sorry for everything that she’s been going through lately, both because of me and because of the press and the people. I could have helped with all of it, prepared the two of you better for it, and I was too caught up in myself and my life to be the person I should have been.”

“How could you have helped with the press?”

Liam holds up the folder. “I’ve been through all this before with Abigail. We might have had different paths to this point in our lives, but we can still help.”

Liam opens the folder before thumbing through a few pages, laying them out on the table. “So this is basically going to be your lifeline,” he begins. “Killian could have gotten most of this from his aide, but I felt that it would be better coming from me because most of this can get awfully dull when you’re reading through it without the humans who experienced it firsthand.”

Emma rests her head against Killian’s and moves his hands to rest above hers, his fingers pressing over her ring.

“And Abigail is open to any questions you have, Emma, but she was feeling a bit under the weather today.”

“Is she alright?” Emma asks, her body tensing against Killian’s.

“Aye, pregnancy is just catching up with her, and she needed to rest. You two will understand one day.”

Liam doesn’t give them time to stew in that comment before he goes on. “So I have some personal tips and tricks in here for how to navigate places without bringing too much attention to yourselves, though Killian is already great at that, but it’ll help you, Emma, to know some protocol on top of what you know now. You’re getting security in light of all of the incidents, correct?”

“Right,” Killian answers for them.

“So you’ll feel much safer because you will be safer. No one is ever going to lay a hand on you again, okay? You’re not going to go through that any longer. We have the ability to protect you, and we want to protect you. Father and I have also decided, as long as the two of you are okay with it, that we’re going to give you the same kind of media protection we get. There will be repercussions for anyone who tries to get interviews spewing nasty information from ex boyfriends or old classmates. What happened with the Neal fellow never should have been allowed, and I’m sorry that you were subjected to that. You didn’t deserve it.”

Killian feels Emma take a breath against him, her body rising and then falling back against his, and the emotions are practically radiating off her body. This is a lot to take in for many a reason, but the fact that Liam is here offering his help and talking about how he’s been working to protect them means more to Killian than he can even comprehend.

Even if it’s late, it’s appreciated.

“Is this all for real, Liam?” Killian questions, kissing Emma’s hair, the scent of honey still lingering there from their bath earlier.

“Yes, Killian. It’s all for real. I’d been working on some of this for awhile, but when I got the alert of your statement this morning before it was released, I couldn’t focus on anything else. This life we live isn’t fair sometimes, most of all with the fact that our personal lives are on display, but it’s unacceptable for people to be treating Emma the way she’s been treated. I realize that’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black from me, but I’m trying. I’m trying for myself, for my family, including the two of you. I’ve wronged you both and even if you never forgive me, which you have every right not to, I’d like to do better by you both.”

“Thank you, Liam.” Emma’s voice is soft, quiet like when she wakes up in the morning. “This means a lot to me that’d you and Abigail are willing to help out. It’s been like I’ve been isolated on an island for two with no way out sometimes, and it’s really helpful to know that there’s a way out.”

“Of course, lass,” Liam smiles softly at her, nodding his head. “I’d like to talk to your parents at some point about how all of this is impacting their business as well to see if we can remedy that.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah that would be great.”

Liam rises from his seat and Killian and Emma do the same, Emma tightening her bathrobe where it was starting to come undone.

“I’m sorry to come over without any notice, but I’m on my way to Vancouver for the week. I didn’t want to leave without at least having a bit of this conversation. We can flesh everything else out when I return, if that’s what you both want. I just wanted you to know that we’re here for you, even if we weren’t at first.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” Killian almost moves to hug his brother, the temptation building like it never has before, but something holds him back from embracing, well, the embrace. Instead he steps forward and places his hand on Liam’s shoulder, squeezing the skin there. “Have a safe trip, okay? We’ll check in on Abigail and Alex. Have them over for dinner or something.”

“They’d appreciate that,” Liam responds, placing his hand over Killian’s on his shoulder, the movement feeling like something’s shifted into place after a lifetime of earthquakes shifting them apart, before removing both of their hands and edging out of the living room. “I’d be best to let you two go. Almost anything you need to know is in the packet, but if you have any questions, write them down for me later, aye?”

“Aye,” Killian confirms as he watches Liam walk out of the room, the sound of the front door closing following soon after.

When he turns back around, it’s to Emma sitting back down in the chair, legs tucked under her and hand back to swiping at the tears that are pooling in her eyes on the verge of escape.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Killian questions, squatting down so that they’re at eye level with each other.

“Nothing, I promise,” her sniffles betraying her. “It’s just been a highly emotional few days, and I kind of feel like I’m experiencing whiplash. But, baby, you just had a moment with your brother. Like, a real live no-hostility-involved family moment.”

“I know,” he whispers. “Was it weird?”

“It was wonderful.”

He stands from his squatting position and leans over Emma, resting his hands against the back of the chair to support his weight as he leans over her to slant his lips against hers, resting their foreheads together when they pull apart so as not to lose the connection.

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?”

“I had an idea.”

He kisses her nose.

“You’re the love of my life too, Killian.”

“Good, now that we’ve got that established, do you want me to make us something to eat before we go through those papers? Or do you want me to make us something to eat and to put those off until the morning and just live in a bubble for the rest of the day? Because I’m kind of feeling like the bubble.”

“I think the bubble sounds like a good plan, to be honest. I really feel like I shouldn’t be reading through important things when I didn’t even bother to put on anything but your robe. Plus, I’m really hungry, and if you’d like to make me some kind of comfort food for dinner, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Good comfort food or your version?”

“My version is good.”

Emma ends up deciding that she wants mac and cheese, the kind with the crackers sprinkled on top, so he’s busy crushing ritz crackers while she sits on the countertop watching him. It’s as he gets the dish in the oven that he comes up with an idea.

“Emma, do you want to go for a drive?”

“A drive?”

“Yeah, like I cook this and put it in a tupperware container and we just drive? Spend some time together and get out of the house without having to worry about anyone bothering us?”

“That sounds like a good plan, babe.”

After Killian’s macaroni and cheese is made and they’ve got some sandwiches and waters to go with them, all packed up into a small cooler bag, they make their way to Killian’s Range Rover, him sliding into the driver’s seat while Emma settles into the passenger side, fiddling with the radio until she finds some songs that she likes before pulling her legs up under her and resting her hand on his thigh as they drive off into the busy streets as most people are coming home from work and they’re trying to get away from it.

He didn’t have a plan on where to go when he suggested they try to get away for a little while, but as he continues to take turns down different roads he realizes he’s driving to Brighton. If they hit traffic the right way, they’ll be able to get near enough to the water just before the sun sets over the horizon. Sure enough, they’re a bit fortunate, and Killian speeds a bit, but an hour and a half later they’re sitting on the pebbled sand of the beach with hats and sunglasses shielding their faces as they eat the macaroni out of the container and watch the orange of the setting sun reflect across the blue of the water.

“This is good,” Emma mumbles, her mouth still full of the noodles, “even cold.”

Killian takes a bite with his own fork, chewing and silently agreeing with her.

“And you can’t beat this view,” she continues, taking another bite.

He looks over at her and the way the sun glints off the curls of hair that trail down her shoulder beneath her hat. She looks beautiful and more relaxed than she’s been in days, and he’s so glad they did this. He must zone out for longer than he realizes because then she’s leaning over and bumping her shoulder into his, taking her sunglasses off so he can see the green of her eyes.

“Hey, you okay?”

He takes her hand and lays a kiss on her palm before moving up the rest of her arm. “I’m perfect, darling. I’m just thinking.”

“Not to be repetitive of, like, our past few weeks, but do you want to talk about it?”

“I think we should go on holiday.”

“Now?”

“No,” he chuckles, bringing her hand to rest in his lap. “I’ve got a lot coming up, especially with all the changes we’re making, and I don’t want to go anywhere that’s not for work until Abigail has the baby. So I was thinking after Christmas.”

“It’s not even October, and you’re thinking after Christmas?”

“That’s not that far way, love, and we have to decide on where we want to go. I’m thinking someplace tropical.”

“No snowy ski resorts?”

“No,” he laughs, “I’m thinking white beaches and clear waters and places where I can watch you walk around with sun on your face and a good margarita in your hand.”

She bumps her shoulder into his again. “So this is all about seeing me in a bikini?”

“That’s a definite perk,” he teases, taking off his sunglasses as the sun has now set and the nighttime ocean breeze is wafting across his skin, “but I think I’d just like to get away with my love in a place where we’re not always being watched. Just you and me. Going back to our basics, so to speak. I think we deserve it. Maybe we can finally go sailing.”

“Do you even know how to sail or is that just something you say?”

“I actually know how to sail, thank you very much. Our parents taught us growing up. It’s one of Father’s favorite things to do when he gets the chance.”

“My father likes to play bar games in his spare time.”

“Aye, and he bests me every damn time. You’d think he rigged the darts.”

“And don’t you forget it, buddy,” she laughs, leaning her head on his shoulder as he releases her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her into him, the soft lines of her body molding against his. “Do we have to go home?”

“Unless you intend to sleep in the car, I’d say so. But we can stay out here for a little while longer, though you’re likely to get cold in just your leggings and t-shirt.”

She sighs against his shoulder, her breath causing goose bumps to rise against his flesh. They stay like that for awhile, just two people mixed among others all across the globe sitting near the water and staring out at the sky surrounding them.

They’re not the only people in the world who are in love, but sometimes it feels that way to Killian, especially later that night, when the sun has fully set and stars scatter across the sky as they pull up to the apartment, Emma’s hand interlaced with his as they make their way to the front door. It’s late and he’s groggy, but that doesn’t stop him from lifting Emma up into his arms, her laugh echoing throughout the hallways as she peppers kisses across his face, only stopping when he has to walk up the stairs.

He doesn’t bother turning on the bedroom lights, letting the light from the lamps outside flitter through the windows, before gently placing Emma on the bed, soft giggles escaping from her as he captures her lips, so soft and pliant and warm, with his own. There’s something to be said for kissing just for the sake of kissing, the feeling it sends through your body, and when Emma gently runs her tongue across his bottom lip, asking for entrance, he gladly grants it, tangling their tongues together in one of his favorite dances. You just have to pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.

He can feel the moment Emma runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck, something of which he’ll never tire, and she keeps her hand anchored there while the other runs up his spine, soft little taps of her fingertips against the bone underneath his shirt. They stay that way for awhile, lips moving together, until Emma’s hand leaves his hair to move underneath his shirt as well, pulling up at the material until he pulls back and tugs it over his head.

She’s lying beneath him as he stands at the end of the bed, her blonde hair splayed out on the white of the comforter behind her. She’s beautiful. Her mouth is ticked up on one side as she whispers a “come here” to him, crooking her finger and encouraging him to move back down to her. He complies, because what else is he going to do when it comes to this woman?

Killian plants a chaste kiss against Emma’s lips before trailing his own over her jaw, the soft whines emanating from Emma encouraging him in his caresses until he finds himself kissing down her clothed stomach, only stopping when she props herself up on her elbows, her stomach muscles contracting, to lift her shirt over her head, exposing the light yellow lace brallette she had on underneath.

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he whispers against her skin, kissing the tops of her breasts as her eyelids flutter closed, his arms reaching behind her to unclasp the lace until it falls loose, Emma shrugging her shoulders so that the straps easily fall off, exposing her glorious breasts to his gaze.

“I remember the first time I saw you, Emma,” he speaks into the darkness of the room as he runs his thumbs across her nipples, the pink buds pebbling at his touch as Emma whimpers, the sound shooting straight through him. “You were – are so bloody gorgeous, the curls of your ponytail framing your face and the dark of your eyelashes looking down at me as you told me to get my soggy ass out of the booth.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protests, running her hand through the hair at his forehead as he dips his head to lick a flat strip in the concave between her breasts, tasting some of the salt air they exposed themselves to just hours ago.

He continues to move his tongue up her body, over her collarbone, and then up the hollow of her throat until he reaches her lips, pulling away just before she can capture his bottom lip between her teeth. “But you were thinking it,” he whispers against her lips, giving her the barest of touches as he runs his hand over her stomach, splaying his fingers over her navel as the other hand twists her nipple between his thumb and index finger, tweaking it until Emma arches her back off of the bed and into his chest. “You looked so frustrated with me, like how dare I walk into your pub in order to get out of the rain.”

“Shameful, really,” she teases, reaching her hand into his hair and pulling until his lips crash back into hers, forceful and demanding and not at all the mood he’s going for here, so he has to slow her down, tilting his head to gain more access as he languidly kisses her, nibbling on her lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“Killian,” she moans, moving her hands so that they run down his back, nails delicately scraping down his skin until she manages to get her hands on his ass, pulling him into her so that he’s nestled into her hips, the thin material of her leggings and of his joggers not hiding how ready they are for each other, “what are you waiting for?”

“I am romancing you, darling.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She releases her grip on him then, moving her hands to cup his cheeks, running her thumb over the scar on his cheek in the most gentle caress as she gazes up at him with wide, adoring eyes. “You are a wonderful man, Killian. I love you more than anything in the world, and I want you to make love to me tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods against her forehead before he feels her try to move from under him, using her legs to encourage him to flip over onto his back.

As he splays himself there, his legs stretched out while Emma stands between them ever so slowly hooking her fingers into her leggings and pulling them down down down to reveal that she didn’t have anything underneath, her blonde curls beneath the flat of her stomach enchanting him and causing him to suck in a breath. She winks at him then, her mouth forming a goofy grin that reaches all the way to her eyes, and his love’s ability to be both seductive and playful at the same time never ceases to amaze him.

He’s distracted by his thoughts so he doesn’t even realize that she’s hooking her thumbs into his sweats and pulling them down as much as she can before he lifts his hips off the bed to help her out, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor while Emma is busy kissing up his thigh, her hand running up his length and damn that’s amazing.

“Emma,” he moans, trying to contain himself, but the sensation of her lips on his hip and her hand on his cock is too much.

“I am romancing you, Killian,” she teases, throwing his own words back at him, and wow has he come to regret them as she crawls up his body, peppering open mouthed kisses against the trail of his chest hair until she’s leaning over his mouth, her folds teasing him at their hips.

“Your eyes, even blown black with desire like they are right now,” she whispers, circling her hips above him in a way that has him struggling to keep his eyes open, “are the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.”

She touches his face then, running her fingers over his jaw. “I love your stubble, how it’s black with a little bit of red peppered in, and I love when you don’t shave for a few days and it’s full and just the right mix of soft and prickly. I love the way it feels when you rub it against my cheek in the mornings when you’re waking me up or how it feels against the inside of my thighs.”

She kisses his jaw, running her tongue behind her lips, and this is torture. Some kind of amazing, pleasurable torture.

“I love,” she says, running her hands down his biceps as she sits on his lap, right below where he wants her, “the strength of your arms when you hold me, no matter what the occasion. And I love,” she moves her hands through the hair at his chest, “this hair and how it pokes through the top of all of your shirts. I love the ways that your eyes crinkle when you’re truly smiling.”

She rises on her legs and scoots forward, guiding him to her entrance before slowly slowly slowly sinking down onto him, and the feeling of her around him, so tight and warm and wonderful, has him throwing his head back and reaching for her hips just so that he can touch her.

“And mostly, at least for our purposes right now, what I love is the feeling of you inside me, thick and full and perfect.”

At that, she starts to move, rolling her hips against him as her breasts bounce with each movement, and it feels so goddamn good that he can do nothing but look up at her and mutter encouragements as his fingers dig into the skin at her hips, feeling the bone there.

She’s setting him on fire, the slow roll of her hips in the unhurried pace that they’ve been keeping with all evening. But the pace is starting to become more pain then pleasure, so he takes control of their movements, speeding up the pace as he thrusts up into her. She let out a whimper that makes his blood rush out of him, but that’s nothing when she moves to cup her breasts, rolling the already pert nipples with her fingers as she smiles down at him, her hair curtaining her face.

He can’t take being this far apart from her, despite being literally connected to her, so after giving a pointed roll of his hips, causing her to throw her head back in ecstasy, he grabs her hips and rolls them over to change their position, his body encasing hers. The way she clenches to keep him from slipping out has him stopping to mutter a “bloody fuck” against her shoulder before thrusting himself into her once more.

He can tell that she’s getting close, rising higher and higher to her peak, so he releases her hips to grab her wrists, sliding his hands until their fingers are interlaced above her head. He tilts his hips so that his thrusts catch her clit, and he knows he’s got a good rhythm when her breath hitches and her legs wrap around his backside. He continues to pump himself inside her as he nibbles at her shoulder, and he’s aware of the moment she’s reached ecstasy because her moans cease and her lips part as a tiny sigh escapes them.

He can’t help but grin at her, kissing her jaw before snapping himself into her at a furious pace, eager to meet Emma in her bliss. It doesn’t take long, the whole night being wondrous torture that he doesn’t want to end, but it does eventually with him moaning Emma’s name against her skin.

Later they’re curled under the blankets, and he’s running his hand over Emma’s stomach, his fingers dancing across her flesh before ghosting over her still bare breasts and finally landing on her hip. Her breathing is steady and deep, and he knows that she’s asleep, has been for awhile, their day and their love making having lulled her into a slumber while he stays pleasantly awake with the feel of her moving against him.

He’s said it often today, thought it even more, but he loves her so deeply and so truly that sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s like he cannot physically contain it, always needing some kind of physical or emotional outlet. He moves to brush her hair off of her temple before placing a soft kiss there, checking to make sure that she’s still asleep before whispering, “I cannot wait to marry you, Emma Nolan.”

#second in command #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs fic

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tmarie82 · 6 years

Text

Together

Pairing: Damien x MC (Camille Park)

Book: Perfect Match

Word Count: ~1,100

Rating: PG (pure angsty fluff)

Author’s Note: Like so many in the fandom, I was completely devastated after that horrendous cliffhanger finale in Perfect Match yesterday. And I seriously needed some resolution in order to be able to move on. So this little story is something I had to do to help myself cope, and hopefully it will bring some peace to others as well.

Caveat - the entire first section is completely from the book and the storyline belongs entirely to Pixelberry. I take no credit, I just needed to borrow it to set the stage.

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list. You can find all of my fics here - MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~

“Look how beautiful everything is ... how big. There is just so much out there in the world. It’s amazing.” You admire the vastness of the painting, the feeling of being both infinitely alone while also a part of something bigger than yourself. You turn your head to Damien and observe him staring expressionless at the painting. “What does it make you feel?”

He considers the painting, his eyes roaming the image in contemplation. “The way it makes me feel is just ... indescribable.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his last word ... indescribable. “What did you just say?”

...

The chilled air brushes across your cheek, in stark contrast to the warmth of Damien’s lips against yours. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, his strong grasp holding you tight as if he could never let you go. Your mouths and tongues dance until you surface, breathless, to gaze up into his eyes. From the corners of your vision you can see the City of Light surrounding you from all directions, glowing and twinkling from the streets below.

“What do you say we take this back to the hotel?” He says in a low, husky tone that makes you tingle down to your core.

“No. I want you here. Now.” You state in a seductive whisper, your voice laced with lust and demand.

Damien looks a little stunned at your request, pulling back to peer deeper into your eyes. “But ... here?” His brow furrows in consideration and his lips curl down into a pout. Then his mouth twitches on one side.

“Why not? Don’t you want to?” You tease playfully, standing up on your tiptoes to press your mouth to his again. As you make contact, you feel a slight shock against your lips and jump back in alarm.

“What the ...?” You massage the sting on your sensitive skin, then look back up to him to see him motionless with the same expression on his face. Brows furrowed, lips curled down in a pout ... twitching on side. “Damien?” You cup your hand to his cheek, your digits burying themselves in his flesh ... his rubbery, pliable flesh. Your hand retracts in alarm. But as you move away your fingertips pull the skin-like material with them, exposing a skeleton-like maze of metal.

...

“AHHHHHHHH!” You jolt up with a scream, fists gripping the sheets tightly as if you’re holding on for dear life. You feel hot and clammy all over, your nightgown clinging to your back and the sheets sticking to your legs. You try to calm your breathing as you take in your surroundings ...

You’re in your room. In your apartment in New York. You sweep your hand across the bed beside you, only to find the sheets cold and his side empty. You glance at the clock on the nightstand; 3:12am. Your heart breaks a little more knowing he still isn’t sleeping well either.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, a chill running up your spine as the cool air tickles the beads of sweat across the back of your neck. You grab your baggy sweatshirt and pull it over your head before walking down the hallway to the kitchen.

Damien is sitting at the table, his head in his hands and a glass of rum next to a half empty bottle in front of him. You pause in the dark hallway, hidden in the shadows as you watch him for a moment. He sits in silent reflection, eventually picking up the glass and taking a long swig. He pulls it away from his lips, observing the contents as he swirls the liquid in circular motions in front of his face and then drains the remains in one chug. He sets the tumbler down delicately on the surface and reaches for the bottle to pour himself another glass.

You step out into the light and place one hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t look up. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

He shakes his head while his eyes stay focused in front of him. “You?”

“Same.” You pull out the chair beside him and sit, resting your hand on top of his on the table. “I had that same dream again ... “ but you stop yourself, not wanting to relive it again. You pick up his glass and take a draw from it, hoping it will help chase the nightmares away. “You want to talk about it?”

He finally raises his eyes to meet your stare, his face displaying all the exhaustion and sadness lurking beneath the surface. “I’ve already told you everything that happened. It doesn’t change anything.” He sighs deeply. “I just wish we could put this whole thing behind us. Move on with our lives to happier times. Make new memories ...” He looked back down at your hand on his, stroking his thumb over your skin.

“I know, D. I wish for that too.” Your voice falters as your eyes fill with tears. “But first we have to deal with Eros. Together.” His gaze meets yours again, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye. “Together, right?” you plead, brushing away the tear with a gentle swipe of your thumb.

“Yes.” He reaches his other hand up to cup your palm against his lips in a soft kiss before holding it against his cheek. “When I woke up in that dark cell, I was confused and alone. And I thought you were hurt, or worse ... I thought that I had failed you.” He exhaled deeply, staring deeply into your eyes. “And I never want to feel that way again. I never want to lose you again. So from now on, it’s you and me, together ... no matter what.” A faint, reassuring smile surfaces on his lips.

You can’t fight back the tears any longer, streaming down your face freely as you lean forward and pull his face to meet yours in a deep kiss. The world fades away, it’s only you and him, the salty taste of your tears mixed with the rum on his tongue. And for a moment you forget that you were ever apart, ever scared, ever in danger ...

You pull apart and Damien brushes the tears from your face, a look of love and devotion in his eyes. “We should probably try to get some sleep.”

You nod in response. “Are you coming too? Come lay with me?”

He smiles thoughtfully, then grasps your hand as he stands and pulls you with him. “Of course. Together, Cami.” You follow him, your petite hand enclosed in his large one, down the hallway to your room. You lay down beside him on the bed, his arms wrapped around you as he nuzzles his face against your neck. You hear his breathing slow and his body relax as he gradually falls asleep.

You lie awake for a while, your mind still wandering. You reflect upon the events over the past few months and say a silent prayer of thanks that the universe has brought this man back to you. The real Damien, flesh and blood ... holding you close, by your side. Your friend, your love, your partner. And for the first time in a while, you feel hopeful for what the future has in store.

END

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @simplyaiden-blog @mfackenthal @lizeboredom @walkerismychoice @boneandfur @laniquelove @choices-fanatic @diamond-dreamland @mariamatsuo @the-everlasting-dream @mrs-walker-nazario-levine @kamybelen-blog @butindeed @enmchoices @drakelover78 @kamilah-sayeed-xoxo @parkerattano @asprankle @innerpostmentality @jadedpixiescribbles @crookedslimecreatorpasta @choiceswreckedme @debramcg1106 @mymandrake @alesana45

#i needed to write this for me #damien x mc #damien nazario #perfect match #tmarie82 fanfic

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iputastickeronmycarrier · 4 years

Text

『𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕐𝕠𝕦』:| chapter 2: 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 |

Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

From busking on the streets to serenades in bars, Y/N has watched them all. A journalist by trade, she spends her most recent nights writing in her journal in the glow of neon signs in hidden places as she scours the city for upcoming artists for her new editorial. The hunt for local artists leads her to the dimmed lighting of a bar where she meets Jeon Jungkook, an alluring singer with a voice that drips with equals amounts of anguish and innocent wonder. In the hushed corners of busy rooms and under cascading gradients of moonlight, Y/N comes back every Tuesday and Friday to see him perform where she discover there may be a more important story unfolding between them that's worth following.

-continuing series-

Follow me on Wattpad

xoxo, Gossip Girl

*Namjoon: I stg Y/N...you better NOT be late. I will *not* wait for you again to watch the new My Hero Academia episode[7:12pm]*

*Namjoon: But, also liiikeeee, love you or ~*whuteva*~”[7:12pm]*

*Namjoon: Oh, can you bring home more of those spicy crackers? :)?[7:14pm]

You roll your eyes as you duck in under the doorway of Stamper’s, already a forearm deep in your backpack as you claw-arm for your journal. It’s busier tonight than it was on Tuesday. There is raucous, drinks pouring, booming laughter and the neon sign is particularly prominent as it sporadically emits bright light in blinks.

A group of people your age are leaned against the wall and each other while playing billiards. The pool table is worn down with a tattered green top from use and the cue sticks are scuffed but when you're drunk enough you can’t tell the difference. Thankfully there is still seating which you take advantage of. With a quick nod to the bartender, you wiggle into a booth and scrawl out “Joon crackers” on the first empty page you have.

A gaggle of girls who are clearly on a bachelorette party bar crawl flit around the room with each other, taking pictures.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” a girl starts as she gathers all of the members of what you assume is the bridal party in a semi-circle. She struggles to fix her sash that reads “Maid of Dishonour”. “First of all, Seo-Yeon,” she chokes up, “We just love you so much,” she continues while dabbing under her eyes with a wet napkin that 14 seconds ago had a lukewarm beer bottle sitting on it as the girls around burst in a sea of “aww”s and lean against her lovingly. “I can not believe that you are getting married tomorrow,” she struggles to talk as the one you assume to be the bride, Seo-Yeon (as she is wearing a massive sash that reads “Same Penis Forever”) is fanning her face with what appears to be printer paper size cardboard cutout of a man that has the most intense washboard abs you’ve ever seen in a g-string to keep her tears from smearing her makeup.

“You guys,” Seo-Yeon starts with intermittent sniffling, “are my best friends and you know that just because I’m going to be, like, married, or whatever,” she pauses to flaunt her engagement ring by wiggling her fingers and the girls squeal in excitement, “nothing will change! So...let’s get wasted!” she yells as her bridal party screeches in approval and all lift their drinks. One of her bridesmaids, who wears a sash that reads “Shot Queen”, slams her empty glass on the bar table and digs into the cleavage of her dress, yanking out a small stack of hot pink index cards.

“Alright, bitches!” she yells while waving the cards in the air. “Let’s play Porn or Polish! You all know the deal--I read it and you guess if it’s the name of a nail polish OR,” she takes a deep breath and steadies herself, “the name of a porn film.” They giggle in excitement. “So...My Vampire is Buff? Porn or Polish?” she coyly asks while batting her false eyelashes at each of the girls who are all wide eyed and looking around as if searching into the ether for the answer.

“What do you think? Porn or Polish?” Jungkook questions leaning down into your ear as shudders tingle down your spine. “And what does “Joon crackers” mean?” he asks in a half-hearted snicker. You whip your face in the direction of his voice only to be met with a set of doe eyes that are way too close and make the room spin slightly. You frantically try to compose yourself by breaking eyesight.

“Definitely a porno,” you say with a nervous laugh, looking back at him. Jungkook’s eyes darken as his face turns into a smirk.

“How do you know? You've been watching a lot of porn lately?” he jeers. Your eyes roll back so severely you worry you might detach your retinas. Before you can clapback, he bites his lip and continues, “Let me know when you start to see your brain.” You swat at him as he shrugs his shoulders in laughter and recoils. “Can I sit with you?” he sighs, satisfied with his own sense of humor.

“Yikes...Here’s the problem with that,” you playfully respond with a wry smile, “I’m actually here waiting for someone to conduct an interview with me,” you suck your teeth, “and you’re kind of in the way…so...” Jungkook’s hand flies to his chest with splayed fingers feigning astonishment.

“You know it is so crazy you say that because I’m actually here,” he pauses quizzically as if truly confused, “to be interviewed. Wait… are you Y/N?” he asks in faux confusion. Giving up the facade, he exhales through his nose in amusement and sits himself down across from you.

“Oh, we have jokes today I see,” you flatly respond but a smile plays on your features.

“He looks happy today. I can see it in his eyes,” you observe quietly, wishing you could write it down as the only thing on your blank page is still “Joon crackers”.

“Are you performing today?” you inquire, taking in his visage. He runs his hands through his freshly fluffy locks and surveys the bar as he begins to bite at his lip. Your stomach starts to feel like it’s somersaulting when his eyes light up in animation as he meets gaze.

“A nervous habit,” you mentally jot down.

“Later, yeah,” he responds. “But not yet. Stamper will wait for the Porn and Polish Crew over there to depart to their next spot,” he mutters under his breath as his face contorts into a small smile. “In the meantime, do you want to get a drink?” There is a silent, fuzzing whirr in the expanse of you two like static noise. He’s looking at you with a seemingly innocuous smile but you still catch the intense stare he’s burning into your eyes. You stare back owlishly, flitting over the sharpness of his nose and jawline and the softness of his freckled bottom lip. Is he baiting you? What’s his endgame? What do you have to lose?

“Sure!” you nonchalantly respond. He perks up, surprised by your response and starts to scoot out his seat.

“Requests?”

“Surprise me.” With a cocked eyebrow and an impish grin, he saunters away. As soon as he disappears from your line of sight, you slump down into your seat, face starting to flush with nervousness of what’s to come. You don’t drink often and when you do, you’re a very cheap bar date. You only have a few minutes to compose yourself.

“I need a plan, I need a plan, I need a plan,” your brain skitters around, trying to find a single course of action while all of your anxiety is thrusting down on you and every movement makes your muscles rife with inertia. You suck in a deep breath through your nose and exhale out your mouth and repeat the action several times like Joon taught you in your younger days.

You used to suffer from chronic anxiety attacks. On a semi-frequent basis, Namjoon would find you rocking back and forth in your dark closet, head in your hands as you wailed in continuous waves of grief, hot tears running down your face.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Am I going to die? It feels like I’m dying,” you would cry between gasps for air.

“Of course not, Y/N, but it’s okay if you feel that way. I’m telling you it’s not true but where you are in your head is valid. You know this happens and you’re always okay, right?” He would lovingly whisper as he scooped you into his lap. You would sputter and bury your face into his shirt. “Right?” He would reiterate, gently cupping your face and you would shakily nod your head. “Now breathe, Y/N. We’re going to do it together, okay? Breathe in,” he would start and take a deep breath. You struggled to inhale as your chest labored and shook. “Exhale,” he continued while pushing his breath out his mouth. Repetitiously, you slowly could match his breathing as he continued to rock you in his arms, smoothing down your hair. “It’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay.” As your breathing became more even, save a few quiet hiccups and sniffles, he would take your face into his hands, looking into your puffy eyes. “You know I’ve got you, right? I’ve always got you, yeah?” You would nod and lean into his chest as he continued to cradle you. “Always, Always, Always, ” he’d whisper before pecking a kiss on the top of your head.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I hope you like rum and coke,” Jungkook says cautiously, popping back into focus. He hands you the filled highball as if he’s presenting a peace offering. You concede. “By the way...My Vampire is Buff? Definitely a porno. I had the gift of overhearing the bridal party wrap up their escapade,” he chortles. You both look at each other and giggle as the party surges out the doors and onto the streets. Seo-Yeon’s makeshift fan--the sad cardboard cutout of the washboard abbed g-string wearing man-- is left on the floor. “By the way…”he hums as he slides back into the booth across from you, “I told them to leave that cutout for you because you were really interested in taking it home,” he whispers that dissolves into silky laughter and his bunny-esque teeth are revealed in his grin. Your mouth falls gape with a gasp and you reach out to swipe at him. “Kidding!” he cackles with his hands up in innocence as if trying to plead not guilty.

“Whatever,” You hiss but it contains no ire as you smile. A beat of silence fills the expanse between you as you lock eyes. Pulling his lips through his teeth, he exhales in a small laugh.

“What?” you demand.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” he looks at you with wide, attentive eyes. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, now looking away with a sheepish grin and exposing his face profile for you to take in. The angle of his jawline is so sharp he could cut diamonds with it and it tenses with his smile, making your stomach turn. His sloping neck exposes the honey tinted skin hiding underneath his shirt, black of course. The dark, growing baby hairs peer out from what used to be an undercut and they seem flat against his neck in the summer heat that even the bar cannot help anyone escape. It isn’t until after his gaze zeroes back in on yours that you are thrusted back into existence.

“So…” he starts, drawing out the ‘o’, “Did you bring more questions?” His fingers are clasped on the edge of the table, fiddling them on the surface.

“Oh my god, duh. The entire reason I’m even here. Do you even know how to do your job, Y/N?” You internally groan to yourself.

“Yeah! Actually, I have a few,” you say, flipping to another page in your journal with a master list of questions you ask the artists you interview. You precariously flip past the pages that contain to what an untrained eye appears to be professions of what clearly is a crush. Finally, you thumb your way to the right page and open the journal wide.

You skim over the questions. You didn’t always use the same questions for every person, so with one hand holding the drink he ordered (and she’s a strong drink) and one gripping the a pen, you multitasked between sipping and putting stars next to the questions you were going to ask. As you study the sentences, combing over them to make sure they are the ones you are going to ask, you take a moment to surreptitiously peek at Jungkook, who is keenly watching you. He has one elbow resting on the table with his face cupped into it while the middle finger of the other hand traces slow circles around the smooth mouth of his highball. You swallow hard watching his languid movements and double down on looking at your questions.

You cling to the first question you starred. “What’s your music inspiration?” He leans back, swirling his drink in his hand, enrapt in thought.

“Do you want the interview answer or the real answer…” he muses.

“Can I have both?” you coyly suggest, doing what you think might look like batting your eyelashes as you feel the warmth from the drink starting to hit.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ out and looking at you with a cocked eyebrow. You roll your eyes, flitting your hand over the table.

“Okay, next question, then,” you say in a huff. “Do you sing in the shower?” you ask with a chuckle as the end of your pen finds its way pinched between your front teeth. Jungkook’s breath audibly hitches for the slightest moment before he coughs and takes sips of his drink.

“Who doesn’t?” he asks back, arms out.

“Right? That’s exactly what I say!” You enthusiastically reply, hands flailing up to either side of your head..

“Like...you’d have to be a freak, honestly,” he continues. You guffaw at his joke as in the recesses of your mind you become starkly aware that you are teetering on the dangerous ledge of drunk.

“Okay, okay, okay. Real questions,” you assert as you hitch one leg up on the booth and lean against the wall so you can stretch out your legs. “What’s your creative process?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Jungkook’s face goes blank like he was sucked into a vortex. His passive gaze alarms you as you try to self assess if you asked a bad question. The question is the equivalent of lobbing a ball in baseball; it’s always a home run hit. But Jungkook’s face falls, wrought with anguish like he took a heavy blow to the chest. He sighs deeply, looking at you with heavy eyes and just as you are about to skip over the question, Stamper walks up.

“Jk, you ready?” he asks, head nodding to the top of the bar where a small stage is set. Jungkook snaps back to reality, blinks several times as he draws in a deep breath of air, and nods. He wordlessly gets up, giving you a slight glance before walking to the stage.

He takes a seat on the stool, smiling a smile out to the audience that leaves his eyes vacant, lifeless.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says emptily, knowing the audience doesn’t care enough to see through the facade you are witnessing feet from you. “I’m Jeon Jungkook, thank you for being here. I’m actually just singing one song tonight, I hope that’s okay,” he says quietly while adjusting the microphone length to match his height.

The first pangs of the piano keys reverberate through the bar as all other noise vacuums out, leaving only the deep timbres of Jungkook’s voice:

Full of loneliness This garden bloomed Full of thorns I bind myself in this sand castle

The notes hit you like a freight train, ripping you back into sobriety. You can’t help but stare, resting your head on your arms on the table and watching him. He isn’t looking at anyone and you can’t see him, like him, Jungkook. His physical form is singing into the audience but it’s like he is absent.

Where did you go, Jungkook?” you listlessly whisper to yourself, rocked by the strife in front of you. The juxtaposition of the person who is on the stage singing and the boy who just moments ago was bubbling with laughter across from you is gut wrenching. You see a deep rooted wound rising out of Jungkook’s frame and out through his voice. Eyes closed and holding his body together, he painfully echoes out:

Maybe back then A little Just this much If I had the courage to stand before you Would everything be different now I'm crying That’s disappeared That’s fallen Left alone in this sandcastle Looking at this broken mask

He heaves his chest, eyes fully open as the words leave his lips:

And I still want you

The note draws out over the hushed crowd. Jungkook takes a breath and looks into the crowd. He bows his head. “Thank you, thank you so much. I hope to see you all next week,” he says with a small smile that still leaves his eyes void of any signs of life. He steps off the stage, walking right past you and out into the empty street. You scramble after him, rustling things back into your backpack. You give Stamper a look and he waves you on, knowing you will pay for the drinks the next time you see him.

As you stumble onto the street, you whip your head around looking for Jungkook. You catch his form, already a block away, headown and slouched over with his hands in his pockets.

“Jungkook, wait!” You breathlessly call after him. He keeps walking. “What happened?” you try to keep pace with his strides. “Can you talk to me,” you ask in desperation, “please?”

He stops in his tracks, as if he’s waiting for you to catch up. When you reach him you stand in front of his form; he’s shaking and breathing ragged breaths with wild, red rimmed eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you get too close..

“My creative process?” he chokes out. “My creative process is I can’t stop getting my heart broken,” he blurts out. “I can’t stop myself from creating my own pain,” he stutters. “I’m just a chasm; ravaged,” he yells, arms thrusting out into the air. “And this is the only thing I’m good for. This is the only thing I can do so people actually see me,” he whimpers, swaying to the side of a building as he crumples to his knees, burying his face in his hand and starts heaving deep sobs. It’s just you two, on the empty astoundingly empty street. His tears drown out the whirr of the surrounding neon signs easily.

“How is this the same Jungkook?” you wordlessly ask yourself, with eyes wide starting to sting with small tears.

You recognize this behavior. You recognize this image and silently pray you only do it as well as Namjoon. Your backpack drops to the ground with a thud as you slowly walk to Jungkook’s side and crouch to his level. His shoulders are violently shaking as the wails continue to echo.

“Jungkook? Can I touch you? Do I have your permission?” you whisper, feeling pricks on your skin as you wait with trepidation, unsure of what he will say.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he sputters and continues to rock himself. Your heart contorts and you wipe the corners of your eyes with the back of your hands because you are looking at a reflection of yourself. The way his posture hunches and hyperventilates while tears spill from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks is a feeling you know well.

“We’re going to breathe. I’m not going to touch you but we’re going to breathe together. I know that where you are is such a painful place. I can see you’re in the chasm you talked about and it’s dark. I know what it feels like to be lost in that anguish. It’s paralyzing,” you say in a hushed tone laden with empathy. “But we’re still going to try to breathe. It’s going to be okay because I’ve got you, okay? We’re going to inhale,” you take in a big, deliberately slow breath. “And exhale,” you breathe out through your mouth. He gurgles as he tries to fill his lungs with oxygen which exacerbates his tremors and tears through his chest. “Try again, breathe, Jungkook,” you inhale and hear the smallest intake of breath. “Out through your mouth,” you repeat. He shakily exhales and your heart picks up. “Holy shit, is this working?” you question. “Yes, Jungkook, again,” you lead repetitively as his wails dissolve into quiet hiccups. He finally lifts his head up, eyes bloodshot and face misted from tears. Even in the throes of his pain he is unbelievably beautiful. He rubs the remaining wetness from his eyes and lets out a sigh that allows the remainder of his anxiety to escape his body. He props himself up on his knees and drags his hands through his hair before leaning back to rest against the brick building. “Sorry,” he sniffs, face laden with shame. Your heartstrings tighten to the point of bursting. You want to take him into your arms, cradling his head against your chest, and help carry his heart that feels so heavy. You feel entrenched in his aura with no desire to escape the waves he emits that magnetize you to him. You want to say that he doesn’t need to suffer alone and that shame thrives and festers in the shadows when it can’t be seen by the world and you want to bear witness to all of his facets. You want to take his soft face in your hands and fervently press your lips upon his.

But you don’t.

“It’s okay,” you sigh with a simple smile. “Always, always, always.”

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pocket-anon · 7 years

Text

The Long Way Home (1/10)

OMG, it’s finally here! I started this story in 2015, back when I was writing for pleasure with no intention of ever sharing any of my work publicly. It fell to the wayside when I finally got around to joining the fandom and began writing fic formally, and it wasn’t until the opportunity to do the Captain Swan Big Bang came around that I remembered I had it and decided to try to flesh it out and turn it into a completed work. 7+ months later (after a LOT of consternation and whining and “Why did I ever agree to do this?”) it’s HERE. And I’m SO relieved that it’s done, LOL.

Special thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and the amazing @lifeinahole27 for their help and patience with me, to @clockadile for lending her sword fighting experience, to @ladyciaramiggles for her feedback on early drafts, to @phiralovesloki for heading this year’s CSBB and fielding my questions, and to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader. Thanks also to everyone who took my nerdy little survey on nautical terminology in fic (yes, that was for this project), and those of you that sent me words of support about it.

Lastly, deepest thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for giving feedback on early drafts and providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - please be sure to go show them some love!

Thanks to you all for reading. I hope you enjoy. XOXO

Find it on AO3. Nautical terms glossary here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance & Adventure. Rated E.)

Warnings: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

“Captain! Captain!”

The sound of pounding feet approaching the door to his quarters causes the gentleman in question to lift a heavy, dark eyebrow, even as his gaze remains on the leather-bound inventory log he’s hunched over with the ship’s quartermaster. The Jolly Roger is preparing to pull into port at Vicarstown, and he always prefers to finalize the list of supplies they need to acquire at a stop prior to docking. It would go better without interruption.

“Captain!”

He gives a long-suffering sigh and drops his head resignedly, his weight pressed forward on his right hand. “Yes, Mr. Smee?” he drones.

Having been waiting for permission to enter, his slightly pudgy first mate flings the door open, the bearded man’s features twisted into an anxious grimace. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but a ship’s been spotted in port.”

He looks up sharply. “Who?”

Smee swallows and licks his lips nervously. “Blackbeard.”

A muscle twitches in the Captain’s jaw as he considers this information. It’s not welcome news, to be sure, but there are worse things. Prominent pirate crews like his and Blackbeard’s do not always do well in close quarters, but while their last encounter just under a year ago was tense, no one died. There’s no outstanding beef between himself and the other captain (that he’s aware of), and frankly, the Jolly sorely needs this stop to resupply and to refill her coffers with the sale of their most recent spoils.

“Do we continue in, Captain?”

The Captain’s steely blue return stare is resolute, his expression bordering on a scowl as he straightens. “The Jolly does not turn tail for anyone, Mr. Smee,” he snaps. “Particularly not for that lout. But inform the men to remain on guard, and assign extra hands to stay behind on watch. No strangers are to be allowed anywhere near the ship, understood?”

His confidence seems to reassure his first mate, who accepts the orders with a hasty bob of his head. “Yes, Captain.”

As Smee pulls the door shut behind him, the Captain turns and retrieves a sharpening steel from the drawer of the small desk in the corner, running it in practiced strokes along the tip of the polished metal hook that sits where his left hand once was. He signals the wiry quartermaster to resume their discussion with a curt nod and hums acknowledgement now and then as the other man talks, even while his thoughts remain elsewhere. A less experienced captain might view the presence of the other ship as an opportunity to poach her best crewmen or plunder her loot, but he knows there’s truly little to be gained by starting a feud with a loose cannon like Blackbeard. The more prudent course is to simply remain alert and hope, for once, for an uneventful visit to port.

* * *

Maggie, a plump woman with graying red hair, plasters on a smile as a large group of bawdy customers pours into her tavern – pirates, by the look of them. Her suspicions are confirmed when their leader, a tall man with a curly black mane, matching beard, and a tricorn hat brings up the rear. Maggie winces inwardly at the sight of him. She doesn’t turn paying customers away unless they get out of hand, but it’s nearly happened with Blackbeard and his crew on more than one occasion. Pirates, on the whole, tend to be an unruly lot, but Blackbeard and the men he generally chooses to sail with are some of the worst of the bunch; it’s no feat to think of half a dozen other crews she’d rather have at her tables.

Maggie urgently seeks out her newest serving girl in order to shoot her a look of warning. She took the young blonde in only six weeks ago, and unless the poor thing is even unluckier than they already know her to be, it’s doubtful she has any experience dealing with Blackbeard or his crew. Not that the girl would recall such an encounter, having mysteriously appeared in the middle of their little port town with no knowledge of her own name, much less any other details of her life. Dubbed “Swan” by one of the tavern regulars as much for her prickliness when harassed as for her enviable beauty, the girl’s entire past is one enormous blank to her, and it’s anyone’s guess why.

Their eyes meet across the tavern, and Maggie watches Swan survey the new crowd with appropriate apprehension before the girl nods back her understanding. One thing that’s been fairly clear from the start is that Swan has good instincts that make her quick to read a situation and adept at dealing with aggressive drunks who want her services to include something other than bringing them food and libations. Maggie prays those instincts serve her well tonight, because between Swan’s physical charms and Blackbeard’s reputation for causing trouble, things could get ugly very quickly.

* * *

It seems a small miracle when the first hour passes without too much fuss. The pirates arrive famished and sober and more focused on addressing both those maladies than stirring up trouble. Though most of them openly leer and make the usual assortment of lewd comments, no one does more than pat or pinch Swan’s ass, offenses that she does her best to ignore.

Nevertheless, the tension grows as the hours creep by. Some of the men depart after eating, no doubt heading for the brothels, but half a dozen remain behind, including their captain, a man with glittering dark eyes whose lingering gaze abrades her skin worse than the rest. Perhaps it’s simply the obvious authority he wields over his men, but there’s something far more intimidating about him than the others, and she does her best to avoid eye contact and keep out of his reach. Nevertheless, the rum continues to flow, his stare grows increasingly lustful, and by half past ten, she knows by the lascivious curve of his lip and the increasing harshness of his laugh that it’s only a matter of time before he does something one of them is going to regret.

The shoe finally drops a short while later. He calls her over and invites her to share a drink with him. She politely demurs, saying that she has other customers to tend to, but he jovially waves off her excuse and rises partway out of his seat, grabbing her skirts as she moves away and yanking her down on to the bench beside him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” he rumbles gruffly, his kohl-lined eyes slightly glassy. “There’s only one answer to an invitation from a pirate captain.”

Lips in a thin line, Swan fixes him with a scorching glare that causes some of the men behind him to look nervous. To her utter frustration, the Captain himself seems unfazed as he continues to gaze up and down at her assets. “Still pretty sure it’s some version of ‘no,’” she retorts, springing off the bench. She gasps when his fingers close around her wrist.

For a drunken fool, he still has decent reflexes, and his coarse laugh is menacing as he rises to his feet, staggering only a little, and hauls her over none-to-gently. One beefy hand clamps tightly around her narrow waist, pinning her shoulder to his chest, and he chuckles lecherously as he buries his face in her neck, his acrid breath surrounding her and the sensation of his tongue on her pulse point tempting her to scream. “Come now, girl,” he growls in her ear. “Let me show you a good time. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their pleasure with the legendary pirate Blackbeard.”

He moves to paw at her breast, and Swan lets out an angry snarl and tries to wrench out of his grasp. Her free hand flails to his chest to push him away and lands on one of a trio of short knives the Captain wears girded to his torso. With a grunt, she yanks it free, flips it to adjust her grip, and whips the blade up against his neck, nostrils flared and chest heaving. “I’ll pass,” she hisses through her teeth.(*)

It takes Blackbeard’s rum-soaked brain a moment to catch up with this turn of events, but he stills and slowly pulls his face back from her golden curls, eyes rolling sideways to lock warily onto the blade pressed firmly to his skin.

“Perhaps you’d best unhand the lady before she gives you a shave, Blackbeard.”

They both look up to see an amused-looking man walking toward them. He’s rakishly handsome, young and tall with short dark hair, three days of scruff on his chin, and blue eyes. Clad like a man with money, he wears black leather from head to toe, his long, heavy duster swaying gently as he walks, a heavy silver buckle, clasps, rings, and chains glinting in the firelight. He holds his head high, his swagger and the hand poised casually at his belt helping to camouflage the threatening square of his shoulders and the deadly weapons on his person, and Swan realizes with a small start that the curved silver hook he appears to hold in his left hand is actually a replacement for the hand itself. Whoever he is, Blackbeard’s men obviously recognize him and do not attempt to get in his way.

The interloper stops a sword’s length from them and smirks. “I’d hate to have to circulate the news that your throat was slit by a tavern girl using your own dagger.”

“Hook.” Blackbeard sneers, though his eyes remains fixed largely on Swan and the blade. He reluctantly releases his grip on her waist, exhaling when she pulls away and the steel leaves his skin. “It’s dangerous to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, boy.”

Hook gives a dark chuckle. “Yes, you’ve demonstrated that quite nicely.”

With Blackbeard’s attention now occupied elsewhere, Swan silently backs up, her heart drumming furiously against her ribs as she keeps the dagger held at the ready and makes a beeline for safety.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Hook watches the barmaid slip away, quick as a shadow, to the far side of the tavern with Blackbeard’s weapon still in hand. She finds refuge behind the counter in seconds, and he satisfies himself that she seems unhurt even as Maggie rushes to fuss over her.

“The girl is lovely, but she seems like more trouble than she’s worth,” he remarks to Blackbeard. “Best let sirens be.”

His rival growls, swiping a hand across his neck resentfully and checking his fingers for blood. “I get what I want, Hook.”

“If you want a knife in your belly rather than a roll in the sheets, I’d say she’s happy to give it to you,” he replies cheerfully, allowing himself an admiring glance toward the bar. “But no sense risking your neck for something easily got elsewhere.” He steps closer, arching an appraising eyebrow. “Unless,” he drawls with a wicked grin, “you can’t afford more willing company?”

“Watch your tongue or lose it.” Blackbeard grunts testily and knocks back one last shot of rum before pointedly tossing a small bag of coins on the table. “There’s never a day my coffers don’t put yours to shame.” He barks at his remaining crewmen that the brothels await them and stomps toward the door and out into the night without so much as a look back, his men trailing in his stormy shadow.

Thankfully, the girl is nowhere to be seen as they make their exit. The palpable tension in the tavern eases and the din swells back to normal levels when the heavy oak door shuts behind the last of them. Hook inhales deeply, chin tipped slightly upward, and snags Blackbeard's money before going to the bar to pay his greetings to the tavernkeep.

She meets him with grateful eyes and pushes a full bottle of rum in his direction. “On the house, Captain.”

He favors her with a wide grin and tosses her the little satchel. “Think nothing of it, love. My evening will be much better without having to share space with that bloody fool.”

Maggie chuckles and goes back to draining a cask of ale into tankards. She cocks her head sideways at him. “You must be in a generous mood tonight to bother talking him into leaving. I hear the two of you never hesitate to cross swords.”

He harrumphs. “The bastard’s no challenge when he’s drunk. Plus I’d hate for you to have to wash blood from your walls when time’s better spent making food and ale.” He pops the cork on the rum with his thumb and takes a healthy swig, humming appreciatively at the sear of quality liquor down his throat. “With a little luck he’ll leave your new girl alone now,” he mutters.

Maggie arches an eyebrow, a discerning glint in her eye. “I’m sure Swan’ll be glad of it,” she replies coyly.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward at the odd moniker. “Swan?”

“That’s what we call her. Poor dear appeared in Vicarstown over a month ago without any memories; just woke up in an alley with no idea how she got there. Doesn’t even know her own name.”

He leans forward, frowning. “Really. Injured?”

“Or cursed.” Maggie shakes her red curls with a shrug. “Nary a trace of what did this to her, but she’s good help, smart as a whip, and easy on the eyes, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so I took her in.” She sets another brimming tankard on a tray with five others and wipes her hands on her apron. “Have a seat, Captain. I’ll send her along with these presently, and we’ll see if she’ll indulge your curiosity.” She winks.

Hook gives a courtly bow as he backs away with rum in hand. “I do so enjoy your hospitality, Maggie.”

True to the older woman’s word, several minutes after sitting down with his men at the corner table he favors, Hook spies the girl’s golden head coming toward them. To her credit, she no longer looks shaken by earlier events, managing a pleasant, professional smile. It’s no mystery why Blackbeard wanted her; she’s easily the most enchanting creature he’s seen in months, if not years. Lustrous blonde hair spills in loose, thick waves around her shoulders, firelight dances across graceful high cheekbones and a perfect nose, and long, dark lashes frame her big, mossy-green eyes. She’s slender with curves in all the right places, and though not dressed as provocatively as many barmaids he’s met, she cuts quite the figure in her tight-laced russet bodice and dark blue petticoat, with more than one man at his table regarding her (and the swell of her breasts) with interest.

She navigates her way toward them bearing her tray of drinks and sets it down on the table with a murmured greeting. “Hello. Here you are. Now, would you all like food, more drink, or both?” She listens intently as the men begin ordering, intelligence obvious in those lovely eyes. Then she turns her gaze fully upon him, her expression going solemn. “I should thank you for earlier, Captain.”

Something about her sincerity causes him to feel almost shy, but he acknowledges her thanks with a tip of his head. “Yes, well, I’ll have you know your quick thinking deprived me of a dashing rescue.”

His words cause her to smile – this time a real, gorgeous, self-satisfied smile that reaches her eyes and causes his throat to tighten. She shrugs, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. “Sorry. The only one who saves me is me, I guess,” she says with a slight blush.

He chuckles. “Tough lass.” He holds out his hand. “Captain Killian Jones. They call me Hook.”

“They call me Swan,” she returns. Her palm is soft as it slides into his rough one, but the handshake she gives him is confident and solid.

He turns her hand over and presses a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles before letting go, enjoying the way the color in her face deepens. “So I hear.”

The next few hours are something of a blur to him as he spends it eating and drinking and playing dice, all the while trying his best to keep from openly staring at the Swan girl as she goes about her work. She’s a delight to watch – graceful, observant, efficient, and savvy when it comes to handling the rougher clientele. Her fierceness doesn’t end with her encounter with Blackbeard – a grin tugs at his lips each time she uses a baleful stare or a sharp quip to put a presumptuous man back in his place. She’s fascinating, this woman – a bright jewel in a dingy setting – and so he passes the evening stealing glances and keeping one ear open for the sound of her voice.

It’s just after midnight when the tavern quiets, most of his men having gone off to the brothels or back to the Jolly to sleep off their well-fed, drunken stupor. Even Maggie has retired upstairs to her apartments, leaving Swan behind to see to the stragglers, most of whom are dozing at the tables.

“Are you not joining your men, Captain?” she asks while gathering dirty dishes from a nearby table.

Hook looks up at her from the supply purchase list he’s reviewing and smiles. “Why would I do that when the company here is so much more interesting?”

She rolls her eyes, but even in the firelight he can discern another subtle flush in her cheeks. “‘Interesting’ is hardly the right word. I don’t have any stories to tell.”

He hums noncomittally, seeing her modest comment for what it really is. “Maggie mentioned that. You’ve no memories at all?”

Swan appears only half-surprised that he’s been told of her situation. There’s a split-second before she folds her lips ruefully and shakes her head. “None.” With an apologetic smile, she carries the plates back to the kitchen.

Hook stares into the fire crackling in the hearth, all of the nightmarish memories that occasionally still haunt his sleep – memories he’s spent decades trying to drown in cheap drink and loose women – coming to mind. “What is that like?” he asks quietly when she returns, running a finger around the lip of his rum bottle absently. “To not have any memories?”

She pauses and turns to survey him, and he gets the sensation that she sees deeper into him than he wants to let her. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. It feels as though he’s just showed his hand. But his unease is replaced with elation when she sighs and sits down at his table.

“It’s very strange,” she answers, her face honest. “Empty. I don’t know who I am or where I come from or how I got here, whether I have a family, what my life was like...” She gives a sardonic laugh. “It’s unnerving.”

Her sad eyes make his heart twinge, and he studies her thoughtfully. “Well that’s not true; we know some things about you, Swan.”

“Oh, so you’re a pirate and a fortune-teller?” She tosses him a dry look, a delicate eyebrow raised.

Hook grins at her sarcasm and shakes his head. “Just experienced. I’ve traveled the realms for a long time.” He reaches across the table and gestures at one of her hands. “May I?”

She blinks, surprise giving way to dubiousness, and considers him for a long moment before finally acquiescing and gingerly setting one of her hands in his. He tries to ignore the tingle that shimmers down his spine and the uptick in his heart rate that comes from her touch, pointing at her upturned palm with the tip of his hook. “Look. You have a few calluses, but not enough to suggest a life of hard labor. The color of your lovely skin in the heart of this summer suggests that either you came from a northern country or you spent most of your time out of the sun,” he continues, thinking aloud. “The way you speak also rules out half a dozen lands I can think of.” He smiles back up at her. “See how this works?”(*)

She’s leaning forward now, the skepticism in her eyes fading as she swallows and nods. She glances at her hand in his and pulls away, clearing her throat and rubbing her palms together self-consciously with pink in her cheeks. “That’s, uh, that’s actually pretty clever.”

Hook curls his empty fingers. “Well, I didn’t get to be a pirate captain on my good looks alone, you know,” he quips, flashing a rapscallion’s grin for effect.

She laughs and chews on her lip in a way he finds endearing. “Anything else?”

He shrugs. “Well, I think it’s obvious that you’re not from anywhere near here, or someone would have recognized you by now. No one could forget a face like yours, I assure you.” He winks, savoring her recurrent blush, and his finger taps the table as he continues to muse. “Have you tried looking at maps? Perhaps something might look familiar.”

Her eyes light at the suggestion. “I hadn’t thought of that, but there are maps over at the bookshop. I can make a trip there tomorrow afternoon.”

He scratches behind his ear. “You know, I also have a very large assortment of maps on my ship which will cover many more lands than what you’ll find at that shop,” he volunteers. “Perhaps you’d like to come aboard?” He lifts his eyebrows hopefully.

This earns him an incredulous sideways glance.

“For the maps, Swan,” he says, feigning innocence with a boyish grin.

“I’m sure.”

His heart falls when she gets to her feet, but his disappointment is tempered by the way her eyes dance.

“I’ll try the shop first, thanks. I think there’s one thing I can tell you about myself, Captain.”

He arcs an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She hums knowingly. “I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you’re hoping I am.”

He chuckles, letting her words sit between them for a moment before rising and pressing a handful of coins into her palm to cover his bill, marveling again at the softness of her skin. “Perhaps,” he says softly, dipping his nose so it’s inches from hers, “you don’t know what kind of girl I’m hoping you are.” He savors the nervous flutter of her long lashes and her failure to pull away this time, and he grins, stepping back and giving her a military-style bow. “The Jolly Roger will be in port at least until Friday. I hope to see you again soon, milady.”

Swan watches him retreat with wide eyes. She licks her lips and swallows. “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Swan.”

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#csbb #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #cs ef au #captain wench #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #my writing #the long way home #captain duckling

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