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dweetwise · 3 years

Note

Deathslinger x doctor or deathslinger x oni? Headcanons or fluff for whichever one you choose, I don’t mind :) (happy birthday to your blog!)

oh it’s been a long time since i’ve written sparkslinger! thanks for requesting <3 i made this as a continuation to my previous fic of them, i hope that’s ok!

word count: 1740

Caleb X Herman: Accidental martyr

Since starting his arrangement with Herman, Caleb had to admit that his time in this neverending hell had become a lot more entertaining.

Whether it was getting roped into questionable experiments, late nights drinking cheap whiskey in the saloon, or his own sporadic visits to the old hospital, being around the doctor was a great way to alleviate the boredom between trials.

Unfortunately, that often came at the cost of Caleb’s sanity.

This moment was a prime example of such an occurrence. After Herman had showed up to their latest encounter with a torn jacket and fresh wounds, Caleb was practically forced to play doctor to make sure the man didn't succumb to his injuries.

That didn't mean he had to be nice about it, though.

“Figures ye’d be cocky enough to try to take the bitch out on yer own,” Caleb snarked.

He attempted to clumsily dress one of the numerous gashes marring the doctor’s shoulders; the Entity’s handiwork, no doubt.

“What can I say? I’m a man who likes to push the limits—shit!” Herman hissed out a curse when Caleb tightened the bandage a little too forcefully.

“Don’t do it again,” Caleb growled, masking the uneasy feeling in his chest with anger.

Herman waved off both the threat and concern with a simple "Yes, yes, now get on with it" and Caleb went back to his mediocre job of caring for the wounds.

Since that first night in the saloon, they’d never talked about whatever this was between them. And that suited Caleb just fine; he was a man of few words, and if anything, he should thank his luck that the blabbermouth he kept for company hadn’t deemed it a subject worth discussing.

Apart from a few snide comments of Herman getting his ass kicked by the Entity, Caleb didn’t bring up the incident again.

And he’d probably have forgotten about it completely, if he hadn’t happened to pick up some spare parts from Autohaven a few days later.

“Are you alright?” Philip asked as soon as Caleb arrived at their designated meet-up spot.

“Just dandy,” Caleb drawled, inspecting the Wraith’s latest haul of scrap from the junkyard.

“You don’t have to act tough, Caleb,” Philip insisted, clearly not getting the hint.

Caleb whipped around to give the other killer a properly disgusted look that he hoped conveyed just how little he appreciating being coddled like a damn child.

“It’s okay; we’ve all been there. I understand,” Philip said, giving a look of sympathy that made Caleb’s skin crawl.

“The fuck you on about, boy?” Caleb spat.

“The Entity,” Philip said.

The Wraith flinched at his own words, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“It… punishes us when we’re not brutal enough or efficient enough,” Philip said, lowering his voice. “And after your leg—there have been rumors, you know.”

Caleb felt the anger bubbling up. Not only did he hate people bringing up his brief time of injury and subsequent uselessness in trials, he also had an inkling of just who had been spreading these specific rumors.

“What kind’a rumors?” Caleb asked.

“You’ve been going to the hospital a lot to treat your wounds,” Philips said. “Herman even had to borrow ointments from Sally, since you’ve been coming in so often.”

Caleb’s eye twitched as he tried to reign his temper. Herman knew damn well that Caleb was insistent on keeping their whatever-it was a secret, yet he seemed to happily gossip to anyone he came across.

“‘Scuse me,” Caleb said. “I’ma need to have a chat with the good doctor.”

When Caleb slammed open the door to Herman’s office, the man didn’t even flinch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t break my furniture,” the doctor merely offered, not even looking up from his book. “I could hear you stomping here from across the hospital.”

“You,” Caleb snarled, grabbing Herman by the collar. “What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Herman said, infuriatingly calm even when face to face with a very dangerous and very angry gunslinger.

“Why does Phil think I’m gettin’ beat up by spider-bitch?” Caleb spat. “Why does Sally know I’ve been comin’ here and you need a bunch’a salve for it?”

“Oh,” Herman said, finally getting his point. “That’s not something you should worry about.”

“Try me,” Caleb snarled, tightening his grip around the man’s jacket collar.

“It might be easier to talk without the strangulation,” Herman countered, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.

Caleb released his hold but didn’t back off, crowding the man against his office chair.

“Then talk,” Caleb commanded.

“Very well,” Herman said. “As you may or may not know, our Eldritch overlord closely monitors our performance in trials. However, if said performance isn't up to par, it isn’t afraid to take disciplinary measures.”

“So ya didn’t fight it, it fought you? That what yer sayin’?” Caleb asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Herman said, still annoyingly secretive.

“So what’s that gotta do with me? And stop fuckin’ horseshittin’,” Caleb said.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Herman paused, as considering how to phrase the message simply enough for Caleb to understand. “There was word of the Entity being more agitated than usual. I concluded it was only a matter of time before it chose you as its target, and as a precaution, I deliberately attempted to draw its ire.”

If Caleb was confused before, he was even more so now. The doctor had… volunteered to be the Entity's pincushion? And for what?

“Why?” Caleb asked, hesitantly stepping back from the man and his unknown motives.

“You’re my patient,” Herman simply answered.

“Oh, like these sorry fuckers?” Caleb said, pointing at a human heart sitting neatly in a jar on the desk. “You wanna cut me up yerself, that it?”

“...No.”

“Then what? Ya get off on bein’ tortured?” Caleb prodded, angry at still not getting a real answer. “Well, what is it!?”

“I don’t know!” Herman snapped, slamming the book shut.

It was the first time Caleb had seen the doctor lose his composure, and on reflex he reached for the empty holster on his hip.

“I’ve spent over a decade studying the human psyche, and I don’t know,” Herman said, moving to stand up. “I have no illusions of morality, yet seeing you in agony over your leg—”

“I was fine!” Caleb rebutted.

“The thought of inflicting more pain on you was simply out of the question. So I offered myself up in your stead, until you were recovered. And then I… just kept going.”

“Hold on,” Caleb realized. “You’ve—for all this time!? It’s been, what, months?”

“Fifty-three days, according to my calculations,” Herman said, so matter-of-fact.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers,” Caleb said. “That shit ends now! ‘M not about to let you deal with my punishment!”

Herman was silent, for once, and Caleb could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was a sudden realization that Herman probably felt the same way that Caleb did, a few days ago when he saw the man badly hurt.

Protective.

The anger slowly released from Caleb’s body, and he took a step toward the doctor in a silent peace offering.

“I’ma big boy, doc,” Caleb said. “Been through shit none of yer experiments even come close to. I'm not fuckin' made o’ glass."

"I realize that," Herman said, sighing. "It wasn't my intention to patronize you."

"Pfft, like that ain’t your goal most days," Caleb shot back, the good side of his face drawing into a smirk.

"Well," Herman said with a dry chuckle. "Not in this particular instance."

An apology was left unsaid, but Caleb didn't want one. Still, he kept unwavering eye contact, waiting for a promise that never came.

"And?" Caleb asked when neither of them were budging.

Herman sighed in annoyance, most likely peeved at having been out-stubborned.

"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Herman reluctantly assured.

"Good," Caleb said, and then inexplicably felt unsure about where that left them. "So, uh… we good, or…?"

Herman smiled. He usually just grinned, or giggled or laughed like a psychopath, but now he looked stupidly handsome with a smile stretching over his lips and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Splendid," Herman said.

Caleb could only withstand another few seconds of looking at the damn smile before his patience ran out.

"Get over here," Caleb said, tugging the doctor closer by his lapels and into a kiss.

They didn't do this often, and feeling the warm, chapped lips against his own, Caleb couldn't help but think what a damn shame it was. After the injury to his jaw that felt like a lifetime ago, Caleb didn't think he'd be doing much kissing for the rest of his days, but Herman never seemed bothered by it.

Large hands settled on his hips and Caleb could feel the dormant energy lying underneath, electricity always at the doctor's fingertips. It was absurd to think that their hands, constantly used for killing and more often than not caked with their victims' blood, could be used to hold each other this gently.

Realizing he was getting alarmingly sappy from nothing more than a kiss, Caleb pulled away from the liplock and reluctantly stepped away from the doctor's embrace. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide the reddening of his sickly pale cheeks.

"Alright, now come on," Caleb urged, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Are we going somewhere?" Herman asked.

"Yer comin' to Glenvale where I can keep an' eye on ya," Caleb said. "Don't trust ya not to break a promise."

The words came out harsher than he meant to. Luckily, Herman didn’t appear to take it personally, instead going to grab some of his things without any further fuss.

"If you wanted a romantic getaway this badly, you should have just asked," Herman teased.

"Shut up," Caleb said half-assedly.

Watching Herman pocket a jar of an unknown substance, Caleb suddenly remembered something crucial.

"Oh, one more thing," Caleb said.

"I'm all ears.”

“Tell Sally to keep ‘er fuckin’ trap shut,” Caleb snarked.

He received a fit of maniacal giggles in return, and Caleb realized that the sound that once grated on his nerves now brought a sense of belonging.

He still didn't know what this was between them, but he'd be damned if he let it go.

#dbd fanfic #caleb quinn #herman carter #sparkslinger #dbd deathslinger #dbd doctor #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #request

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bangteamhyuk · 3 years

Text

Got It

Synopsis: (Secret Agent! AU) You sat on barstool inside a strip club. You have your eyes on Kim Taehyung, another mercenary agent like you. You planned it for months. You were hired to intercept Kim Taehyung before he can transport an information that could ruin several market industry. Your goal is to steal his watch. However, you were faced with slight difficulty. You were enjoying his company way too much. Can you resist his charms? You have to try harder.

Warning: Mature Content, mentions of weapon, sexually suggestive conversation, lap dancing, dry humping.

Word count: 3,395

Mood song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wjbY0Tyfr4

“One Bourbon, please” you ordered as you raised your hand to signal the bartender and slowly sat on the barstool. You swiveled from your seat and leaned with your arm on the high table while you wait for your drink.

From your seat you could see men riveted to the girls on the stage, dancing, flying and grinding down to a pole. But your eyes were fixated on somewhere else. You’ve been waiting for this for so long, meticulously planned and watch it fall in to proper places before you could make this move.

You were wearing a tight-fitting midnight violet dress, chest slightly exposed, and the hem ending right above your thigh. When your drink arrived, you shifted from your seat, legs crossed, and your elbow resting from the table as you took a sip from the rock glass. You tucked your hair from your ear when it fell, and you could swear someone was gazing at your direction. It was hard for men not to look at you, they’d be damned if they didn’t.

Well, naturally you’d be attracting a lot of men from your seat, since you are one of the few women inside in a male-catered strip club. You weren’t there for a show, or some woman engulfed with jealousy to see your cheating husband having fun. No, tonight you are an exception. You are there for a purpose and right now he is finally staring at you. Just one seat apart.

“Your first time?” He asked, taking a shot from his glass. He raised his empty glass to indicate the bar tender to refill his drink with a 21-year-old Royal Salute. You raised one eye brow and looked at his direction. “No” you smiled.

“What brings you here then?” he pursed his lips and folded his arms. His eyes now surveying you. “Observing…” your body leaning a bit forward to his direction, not showing one bit of intimidation. “Observing?” he continued, in return he also leaned towards you, not backing out as if taking up to your challenge. “Hmm..” you chuckled, sitting back from your position and being the first one to concede to whatever it is you two have stirred. You sipped from your glass, eyes now looking at the women dancing.

“You like women?” he tilts his head

“I like men more” you replied, as your finger traced the outlines from your glass and you stared back. You faintly saw his spine shake, as if you have roused something from him, piqued his interest.

“What brings you here?” You asked coyly. He just bats his eyes and smiled. Damn, he looked cute.

“Just like any other men, up to no good.” He confessed and grinned. “So, you are here to observe and learn from those women up on the stage? For what? For your boyfriend?” he looked back to the stage and sip from his glass.

“You could say that… but no, I am doing it for someone else, someone I want to attract for the night…” you spoke bluntly, while looking at him even if he was looking at somewhere else.

He turned around and smirked “Must be one lucky guy”.

“Who knows, it might just be you.” you shrugged as you looked away, smirking. You finished whatever that is left from your glass.

“Kim Taehyung” he extended his hand to yours. You looked back and smiled.

“Y/N” you replied.

“Nice to meet you Kim Taehyung” you shook his hand.

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

You already knew who he was. Kim Taehyung.

Your current client, a man named Mr. Ong who holds a seat on an international trade bureau, introduced Taehyung’s file to your office one night. During your study, you found out several similarities you shared him. Both of you are mercenaries, independent agents to whoever have any interest to shell out millions of dollars for a single task.

Both of you had a promising future, but dropped out from school just because. Both of you started early on this underground business knowing that the pay is more than good, in fact it blasphemously outrivaled any other job. Fuck. You roll your eyes. You are pretty sure he gets the same elation after every successful mission. You two must be insane, and that further ignited your pursuit. Nothing is more attractive to you than a man who shares the same ambition, no matter how morally wrong it appears to achieve.

You were tasked to steal an information from him, encrypted to a memory card hidden somewhere beneath his watch, as you were told. Your client insist that it is of great importance, that the market industry of several countries will be in jeopardy if that information is not intercepted immediately. Honestly, you could not care less.

Now that the secret transporter is right in front you, his boxy smile is definitely testing your confounded endeavor and your damn loyalty to the money. You furtively shake your head hoping to keep your mind refocused on the present task. You can’t let your months of probing, studying profiles and building a fake character around the people involved just to get this close to him go to waste tonight.

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

“Oh so you knew my friend Jimin huh?” he chuckles. Finishing his 5th shot of whiskey. He raised his again to gesture the bartender for a 6th refill. “I’m appalled you haven’t gotten under his influence. Typically, women just…” he laughed midway. You didn’t know why, but you did the same. You weren’t drunk just yet, but you somehow already feel intoxicated around him.

“…just are drawn to him. Even when he just breathe, they are instantly swept off their feet by Park freaking Jimin. It’s not just women, even men!” He raised both his brows, clearly surprised.

“Maybe, but I’m drawn more to men who is crazy as me.” You flipped your hair, exposing your neck. “…and he doesn’t quite make the cut” you continued.

You smirked as the sight of him gulped. He took a quick glance from your bare display of your decolletage. Did that surprise him? But you were just getting started.

“What do you mean by that?” he slowly returns his gaze from your skin towards your eyes.

“Well…” you tilt your head bashfully as you stood up and move to a sit right next to him, finally closing the gap.

“I like to make. Bold. Moves. That’s for starters” you bit on your lips trying not flash another smile, as you took his glass from him and downed all its contents empty. He froze. You left him dumbfounded.

You looked at the sight quite proudly, taking control of the mis en scene, leaving him bewildered and vulnerable. It is only a matter of time and patience to have him finally wrapped around your fingers, and you are willing take it slow. Shit. Are you enjoying this way too much?

“Bold moves? I hope you are not revealing yourself way too much. It’s pretty dangerous” he looks away as he asked for another refill you stole from him.

You chuckled as you were holding on to your empty glass, staring blankly at it “Aren’t I? I kind of like that sound” Suddenly you felt his warm palms against yours. You stopped smiling as you turn your gaze towards him, clearly off-guard. “Your glass please?” he demanded as he smirked.

Did he just took over and shift the control of the present situation to him? You jolted at the thought.

“Sure…” you handed your empty glass over to him. He held it for the bartender to have it filled with the same drink he had earlier. “I hope you don’t steal anything from me for now on. I don’t like it.” He said sternly.

“Sorry” you apologized, looking down. You suddenly stiffened from your seat. Wait, did you just apologized to the person who you are supposed to deceive and exploit by the end of the night?

“It’s fine” he snickered. “Women showing regret when they’re wrong, that’s genuinely attractive” he gleamed at his own glass as he took a swig.

You were lost in thought. Confused. What just happened? You never liked the idea nor the feeling of being subordinate. You love being in authority. Men, influential men, you always find them on their knees begging before you and asking for your help. It is the view you glorified, perpetually.

Just how many women can make men desperate without taking off their clothes or pointing out a gun? What you two have is far greater than a human figure or artillery, it was knowledge. Vast one that can possibly create a war if one of you ever fancy. It is the reason why you kept this job.

However, you are confronted by a man who might just be far superior than you are. Have you misjudged him?

“Do you… perhaps find me attractive?” you tried revert the situation with your question.

“I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be.” he replied. He raised his eyebrow

“Sorry for earlier. Maybe I can make it up to you if I show you how remorseful I can be?” you instigated.

“Oh, was it not enough?” he licked his lips.

You shook your head. “I can do better.”

You pursed your lips pointing out to the dancer. “Want me to show you? All free. Well, that is, if you agree..”

“Right now?” he enquired as you nodded.

Quickly, he downed the last of his whiskey. You waited for his reply. “Where can I see this show you were saying?”

“Follow me” you held his hand and left the strip club.

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

As you opened your hotel room, you directed Taehyung to enter first. He was hesitant at first, but your smile softened any trace of doubt from him and finally entered the room.

“Nice room. Quite cozy…” he looked around the ceiling even if there wasn’t anything to see. You closed the door behind you.

“Sit” you pointed at the wooden chair to Taehyung. He obliged, yet his feet were shaking.

“Relax, I’m not going to do an interrogation” You stood behind him, reaching out an arm as you gently pressed your hand on to his lap, assuring his safety. He suddenly quivered from his sit. “We haven’t even started yet.” You chuckled.

He moved his head, as if tickled at the dry sensation of your voice which sits right next to his ears. You pulled out your phone from your purse and filtered through the contents of your playlist. Finally you found it and played the song you’d love Taehyung to hear.

As the first verse fiddled, you surprised Taehyung by dropping down your heel in between his legs from behind while he remained seated. The sight left him paralyzed. Finally, you were back in control.

You brushed your hand on your bare legs from your thigh down to your heel, entrapping him further to you, with your delusive enticement. You needed to put his attention on you, and kept it as long as you could.

You shift your position, and danced in front of him now. Swaying your hips, spreading your legs and dropping down on your heels, shamelessly. You let him watch and do nothing from his sit.

When the song was almost over, you artfully sat on his lap, moving your hips against him as if simulating the act of copulating. It was dastardly obscene, but you are not one bit regretful. In fact, if this isn’t a part of your job you would gladly taken your clothes off for him by now.

Suddenly you felt his growing bulge. You were startled and left flustered, but you got to keep on going. You looked away from him, unsure what to do next, yet he swiftly took your chin to face him.

Earlier, you found this man adorable and full of charm, but now you found yourself intimidated at his gazed and the abrupt change from his face. His expression unyielding. His posture dignified.

His free hand secured your back, while you move not letting you leave a single gap away from him. He bit his tongue and watch you danced. Everything about him suddenly felt fatal and intense.

You didn’t want that. His hands are not supposed to be there. It will ruin your plan. So you pulled out both of his hand placed it above his head. You held on to his wrists. You secured it with your left hand as you unbuttoned his shirt slowly, using your right.

You weren’t choking him, yet you found his eyes shut and his mouth gasping for air. Then it hit you. It’s the perfect chance for you to end this whole ordeal. You brushed your nose on his shoulder slowly moving up to his ears. Lips almost touching his ear lobe.

He let a soft moan.

You whispered sweet nothings against his ears, telling him how good he is just by merely sitting down. You made sure he was so distorted from reality, unaware of the fact that you are beginning to take his watch from his wrist.

“Aren’t good boys the best?” you whispered as you pressed down the pressure point that sends him unconscious. You sighed.

“That was easy huh?” You stood up and fixed yourself from the table mirror. You looked at the watch and smiled. Delighted to find yourself victorious.

You took your purse and tucked his watch inside. “Oh, I almost forgot!” you picked up your phone which you tossed on the floor earlier. Before you left the room, you took one last look at the man.

Has it not been for work, you would’ve asked him out for coffee instead of a private show and a lap dance. It could have led something and somewhere better for the both of you. “Maybe in another dimension, we could have been drinking hot coffee right now, talking how shitty our jobs are…” you shrugged. What were you expecting? You just knocked him unconscious and you were waiting for a reply?

You turn off the lights of the room and left.

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

Upon arriving at your apartment, you began to inspect his watch, looking for the memory card your client desperately covets. You carefully unscrew his watch, removing its contents gently. You finally found the memory card hidden at the back of the plate.

You took your memory card reader device and connected it to your laptop. You opened the folder and found that there was only a single file in it. You checked. It’s a recorded video.

“Hi Y/N. Surprised?” he chuckled. Damn it. You knew you are screwed.

“Well to be honest, I wouldn’t expect you to get this far, but hey, congratulations! Well done! But don’t you think I’m a far better player?” He scrunched his nose while staring at the camera. You snickered. You nodded, showing you’ve conceded. You were well played.

“You see, I always knew one day I might be able to face a tough contender. But…” he looks at his watch on his wrist and then throws an identical one above his face and catch it with the same hand. Dangled it on the front of the camera as if to annoy you further at your defeat. “You always can’t be too sure, can you? Wait…” he fixed his camera and placed it on the floor.

He rolled his pants, and wrapped the original watch around his thin ankle and hid it with his socks and pants. “It’s going to be uncomfortable from now on, but at least I’d be able to sleep soundly tonight” you were baffled at the scene. You were right. You have definitely underestimated him.

“Oh, you were wondering how I knew you before getting this? Well, let me enlighten you. The moment I received this specific job to transport this information from my client to another. I made a point of doing some research, finding who my client might be having bad terms with. Unfortunately, I trickled it down to your client, Mr. Ong. I have him followed by the people I trust. Later on, I found out that he had hired you, so I asked someone to follow you too. Actually, you may have heard of him.” You gasped. No, you shook your head, hoping you were wrong.

He nodded, as if he saw right through you from the screen. “Jimin. Yes, Park Jimin. You see, never underestimate a seemingly naïve man. You never know what’s underneath them.” He looked down to where his original watch was hidden, as if adding more fuel to your growing frustration. It’s funny how you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You actually admired him. His dedication to his job and the extent he is willing to do to get it done, that’s definitely appealing.

“We made it a point that he acts friendly towards you, make it conspicuous that he knows me. I needed you to look for me, follow me, and then trapped you down to where I want you to be.”

Your mouth was left agape. You remembered everything completely. From the moment Jimin introduced himself to you in a coffee shop, and down to taking you out for the evening. One night he insists on taking you home, when you two are walking the streets he suddenly pointed out the strip club, and then shared stories of him and his friend Taehyung who loves to spending time inside it.

How have you been so stupid and gullible, not having any slight idea that getting that information from Jimin was too fast and easy. Things are starting to make sense now.

“I made sure we meet at the strip club. Something tells me you have a knack for dancing…” he winked at the screen. “I always knew you have thing for good men. Good but naughty ones, right?” He nods to himself “Yeah, I also did my research well.” He folds his arms and sat comfortably from his chair. “I hope I convinced you enough to make you interested and keep you from being attracted to me.” He showed his boxy grin. “Aren’t I irresistible? Anyway, I’d also like to thank you. If you haven’t realized yet. I took something quite important from you too.” You froze. What was it that he took away from you?

“Your anonymity, that you hold so dearly.” He was right. Like any other mercenary agents, you desired working in the shadows. Having your true identity known will hold you back, that why you never kept a single person close to you. It’s going to disturb you from work. “Don’t you agree knowledge is very powerful and beguiling?” He looks at the watch from his wrist and pointed something on the side. “If you have been keener, you will absolutely realize that in between the strap of the watch you stole from me have a little device called locator.” Shit! You quickly packed your essential things in your knapsack. You knew what’s coming next.

“I told you, I like women who show remorse if they misbehave. Girls like you should be punished don’t you think so? But, thankfully, I’m quite a forgiving man. I am giving another minute after this video ends, so you can escape. Sorry Y/N, I am also doing my job. I needed more time before you can intercept me again. Maybe, if the time is right. We can have coffee?” you chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. The video ended with that. Asking you out for coffee when the time is right.

“Yeah, I’d love that” you chuckled. You can hear the police from downstairs looking for you. If only you have been more careful and overvalued him you wouldn’t be caught in this situation. You scoffed at screen. Looking at it one last second before you closed your laptop.

The smile of the person who just outsmarted you.

You quickly left from your window to run on the roof above your apartment. Suddenly your phone buzzed. A message from an unregistered number. While running you opened it and saw his message. “I had fun. Thanks for the private show ;) Don’t forget to throw your phone. I’d love to see you next time.” You chuckled as you threw your phone aimlessly away. Damn. He was good.

“Kim Taehyung, you got it” you smirked.

Author’s note: Thank you for giving time. I really appreciate it!

#bts fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung fan fiction #Kim Taehyung x you #Kim Taehyung one shot #bts secret agent au #bts fanfiction #taehyung x reader #Kim Taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x you

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kapsbrakclapsback · 6 years

Text

Dreammaker, You Heartbreaker (2/?)

And so the story progresses! Credits forever to @takealottodragmeawayfromreddie for the concept.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152801/chapters/30222513

^link to read on AO3

A handful of days later, when Eddie had received all the keys he’d ever need and his apartment had been decorated by furniture he neither chose nor paid for, Eddie and Richie had another encounter.

It happened in the night, when Eddie was half asleep after the longest phone conversation with his mom to date. An abandoned book was haphazardly hanging at his side, and the lamp next to his bed still shone brightly. His growing sleep was disturbed by a set of loud, quick knocks at his window.

He opened bleary eyes to the faint outline of Richie Tozier, perched on the fire escape, silhouetted by the white light of the moon and clad in a white bathrobe and bottleneck glasses. It must’ve been a vision, or a really weird dream, so Eddie closed his eyes again until hearing louder, more urgent knocking.

He dragged himself out of his bed, trudging over to the window to let him in, even though he wasn’t totally convinced that this wasn’t just a vision sent by god to convince him to change his life. Eddie began to wake up a little, as when he opened his window he was hit by a swift current of cold air, which was intense enough to shock him into stillness, a stillness that was only interrupted by Richie jumping into his apartment. By the time that Richie landed with a dull thud, a little bit worse for wear, Eddie had been sufficiently woken up.

The only emotion he could conjure up was confusion with vague undertones of barely-concealed awe, and he began to close his window as Richie smoothed some of the wrinkles out of his bathrobe and adjusted the (frankly ridiculous) glasses. Eddie could see the outlines of a pajama shirt and silk pants, and only found himself more confused.

"So why grace me with your presence at-" he looked over Richie's shoulder to the alarm clock beside his bed, "11:33 at night?"

"Why else? Some guys just can’t take a hint," explained Richie, brushing his hair back as he looked around. "Nice place, by the way."

Eddie could only offer an incredulous look. He rested against the closed window, arms crossed as Richie began to walk around, his fingers trailing over the tops of tables and shelves as he explored.

"My mom, she decorated it."

"Well send her my love, it looks great," said Richie, continuing his search until he landed on a bottle of whiskey, and he pulled it off of the table, eying it appreciatively.

"I’m not drinking with you, not right n-"

"Mind if I call you Stan? You remind me of him, you’re uptight," said Richie, lost in his own world as he examined the label before putting it down again. Eddie's brow only furrowed further, simultaneously wanting to know everything and nothing at all.

"Who’s Stan?" he asked, slowly and carefully.

"My best friend from Maine. He's my moon, y'know? He's uptight, and likes birds, but I couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He's... away, right now, but when he gets back, the world won’t be ready.," Richie spoke the words to mostly to himself and Eddie didn’t know how to deal with this new, vulnerable side to Richie, the side that wore glasses and had some faraway soulmate.

"You can call me Stan, if you want," said Eddie softly at Richie's turned back, Richie turned, giving Eddie fatal eye contact and a watery smile.

"Want to break some out?" asked Richie, lifting the unopened bottle again.

"I don’t drink," said Eddie, the sentence abrupt and awkward. He had a lot more to say, of course, about the essays worth of negative effects, of kidney failure and alcohol dependency and-

"Make an exception for tonight?"

"Sure. Why not?"

There were many reasons why not, but when Richie passed Eddie his filled glass, the brush of fingertips against fingertips effectively shut his brain up. He held the glass carefully in his hands, looking down at the shiny hardwood floor with trepidation, his mind playing out the possibilities of the way that, if dropped, the glass would splatter shards around the room, and the wild card of pain that it would present. He was spared from his anxieties when he glanced up at Richie to see him settling down in a chair, stretching his legs and putting his feet on the footrest. His ankles were crossed in an unnecessarily glamorous fashion, and Eddie took a prim seat on his bed with a private smile, still not taking a sip of the drink.

"So, what do you do? I’m sure having a hot mom doesn’t take up all of your time," said Richie, still shuffling around and getting comfortable in the chair.

"I write," said Eddie shortly, turning his gaze to the amber liquid that ripples around in his mostly-decorative glass.

"Stories? Novels and shit? That’s cool, man! What do you write about?" Richie said, and his voice was boisterous enough to earn a look from Eddie.

"Not stories, essays. Studies and the like. About disease, mostly. Wrote an essay in grad school about morals in movies meant for kids, but it wasn’t a hit," Eddie punctuated his words with a swig, which was met immediately with a cough.

"Why not? Sounds like a blast to me."

"My... sponsors aren’t much for the touchy feely stuff. They just want me to stick to medicine, which makes sense."

"When was the last time you wrote anything?" Richie asked, his face oddly serious.

"Yesterday, I guess?" Eddie answered, his voice pitched a smidgeon higher than usual.

"Where is the ribbon on your typewriter, then?"

A silence passed, and Eddie wondered, in his hurried scramble of a mind, how he had actually spent the past few days. He didn’t have much of a deadline, he just had to get an essay to his mom about the dangers of sharing food (he always had the oddest prompts) by the end of the month, but that wasn’t going to be much.

In retrospect, his week had been spent walking through New York, wasting time in shops where he didn’t buy anything. He was launched into a tailspin of questioning, asking himself why he didn’t do the work that he got paid for, why he just elected to waste time. Hell, he didn’t even try to do the work.

"Are you okay? I didn’t want to cause a thing, I was just curious. It’s nothing-"

"I haven’t written anything, if I’m being honest. It’s for dumb reasons. Can we talk about something else?" Eddie took a harsh drink, and was shocked to find the glass empty.

"So, your mom-"

"Let’s not talk about that, either. I would kill for another drink."

"Coming right up," said Richie, pulling up the bottle and moving towards the bed, his own glass abandoned on the table. He sat next to Eddie, a little bit too close. He poured into Eddie's cup, carefully handling the heavy weight of the bottle. The moment was silent, but not in the way that their previous bouts of quiet were.

This one wasn’t comfortable nor uncomfortable, it was just tense. It was an odd tableau, Richie focused on keeping the proportions of liquid to empty space just right, while Eddie's eyes were fixed on Richie's bent head, eyes wide. His lips were slightly parted, feeling their lack of space with a keen recognition. Richie was mostly focused on his task, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose the slightest bit as whisky slowly slid out of the bottle, a thin, careful stream collecting in the cup. Eddie could’ve guess that he was completely oblivious to Eddie's stares, if it were not for the way that, barely visible under the veil of his hair, a blush crept up on the tops of his freckled cheeks.

Eddie smiled a little, and Richie surfaced again when Eddie's glass was apparently to his liking.

Richie rose again and walked over to the chair to grab his own glass, but didn’t sit back down, instead choosing to walk back to Eddie's bed, tossing himself on the foot of the bed, sitting cross legged and a smile on his face. Eddie followed the action, placing himself at the head so his back was on the headboard. His face betrayed his surprise, but he still moved easily, the alcohol beginning to work its way through his system.

"Now it’s a real party," said Richie, breaking out into a lazy, conspiratorial grin as he pushed his glasses up his nose with the hand not holding a glass.

"A true party," repeated Eddie, giving his own grin in return. It was a truer smile than his usual, not the tight-lipped one he gave to his mom, or the polite one he gave to retail workers when he wished them a good day. This was a vulnerable smile, the kind that belonged in lamp-lit rooms and alleyways. He ducked behind it for a second to take a sip of his drink, letting his eyes lower in a facsimile of shame, before raising them again to see Richie's own wide smile.

"You look less uptight when you smile, you should do it more," said Richie and his eyes had become soft and whimsical, and Eddie wondered for a second if Richie was living through some kind of memory. Nonetheless, Eddie let himself get lost in the dreamy haze of it, of the whirlwind of the night.

"Guess I just need more good reasons."

There was another silence, and Eddie wondered for a second if he should lean forward to kiss Richie before catching himself. Richie, apparently unknown to this plight, yawned and stretched, almost spilling the whiskey. With heavy lidded eyes, he reached over to put the drink on the side table, reaching over the suddenly tense Eddie.

"Can I sleep? Here? This bed just seems really warm and I-"

"Sure, of course you can."

Another silence ensued, interrupted by the sounds of fabric on fabric as Richie situated himself on the bed, pulling his bath robe tight as if it was its own blanket. Eddie shifted over, putting his own glass next to Richie's, not bothering to put a coaster down. Richie pulled off his glasses before leaning onto Eddie, who proceeded to put the glasses carefully on the table. He reclined against the headboard, looking down at his fast-asleep almost-friend. There was peace to Richie in his sleep, a peace that seemed to never find him in consciousness. The image was sweet, and it was burned into Eddie's mind when he drifted to sleep himself.

It was an hour or so later when he woke up again, and the lamp was still shining it’s soft, golden light to the room. The sky, still streaming in through the windows, was just a hint darker. The only difference was Richie, who was no longer calm and steady in his sleep. He was now moving as if trapped, writhing around as if trying to break free from something, trying to wriggle out of a dream.

He made noises of effort before he began speaking, his voice hoarse and so utterly terrified that Eddie wondered what was going on in his mind.

"Stan... Stan! Stan, it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s-" Richie rambled in his sleep, and Eddie looked on with a rapturous eye, trying to piece together the dream from Richie's words.

Richie got quiet, before gasping awake, tears in his eyes that threatened to spill out over his cheeks. His body had tensed up into a sharp configuration, and he swiveled his head around with reckless abandon, trying to piece together where he was.

He saw the glasses on the bedside table before he saw Eddie, and threw them on, gathering himself before he was interrupted by Eddie's hand on his wrist.

It was this moment that Richie seemed to properly grasp that he was not simply alone in a stranger's apartment, and it took a few moments too long, but eventually Richie recognized Eddie through his scared fog.

"If we are going to be friends, you have to learn one thing about me," began Richie, wrenching his arm away from Eddie's helpless hold. Tears had begun to leak, leaving tracks that only reflected the barest shine of golden light. He looked embittered and angry like this, like his scars were suddenly visible for the world to see. He stood up, walking to the window and opening it.

Eddie could only sit helpless, frozen in shock at the quick turn of his evening.

"I can’t stand snoops," said Richie emphatically, leaving no room for response as he swiftly leapt through the window and onto the fire escape, moving quickly to his apartment, white robe flying in the night wind.

It took a few moments for Eddie to break out of his shock-still. When he did, he went to close the window, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air, hoping that it would do something to give him understanding. No part of the night felt real, but he suspected that that's how life would always be with Richie in it.

Before closing the window, he leant over the open window, forearms against the cold windowsill, to look at the moon.

The moon shone brightly and blindingly, the unforgiving white beating down on Eddie's bared face. He peered into it, trying to figure it all out, trying to unlock it. He thought of Richie and Stan and the moon, and gazed into its light, seeking a revelation.

He gave up, eventually, closing the window and shutting off his lamp, purposely not looking at his alarm clock as he fell into bed, quickly following into a dark, dreamless sleep.

#it (2017)#reddie #fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kapsbrak

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delicrieux · 7 years

Text

RIVALS [ peter quill x reader ] 0.1

a/n; i wrote a ficaroony because i love peter quill and he deserves more appreciation and also every problem in this story would be solved if the two would just express their feelings /sobbing

summary: Some things are just obvious from an early age: you and Peter were meant to get along no better than a cat and a dog. And not the modern spin on a cat’s and a dog’s relationship either (none of that Disney fun-loving BS). No, we’re talking about that good old fashioned thirst for blood, spite and rivalry.Only that your situation really was Disney like. Which is ironic, since you’ve been raised to spit in anyone’s face that even mentions the name ‘Starlord’.

words; 2,427

warnings: a bit of swearing

0.2 MASTERLIST KO-FI. WRITTING CHALLENGE!

i need your help!

The current state of the ship and its crew can be described in one word: bored.

Whiskey. In Terra it’s high noon but no one really counts space hours so why the hell not? Peter Quill sits idly drinking by his cluttered table, trying to drone out the occasional buzzing and clatter and the piercing sound of squeaky metal by clogging all of his senses with alcohol. There isn’t a particular reason to indulge in daytime drinking festivities, but there simply isn’t anything better to do so he had helped himself to a glass a little while ago. He has finished three in total. Now he sits silent, his mind sometimes drifting out of these cramped walls of his beloved spaceship, branching further and further into the unseen horizon and onto a lonely planet that is just waiting to be looted. His fingers tap of the table and he shakes his head again: that stupid fucking clanking!

Gamora’s lips tighten into a thin line as she continues to keep a close eye on the ship’s monitor, making sure it steers in the right direction. Which really is just a waste of time since it seems like the whole Galaxy has taken a day off: no sudden storms, no space police, not even an asteroid astray. The captain’s chair, though comfortable, grows stiff after a while of not moving. Her arms fold over her chest and she shifts from leg to leg. Her eyes drift back and forth from the processor to the map dully, as if trying to find any bit of excitement in the task. Or anything, really. She shuts her eyes painfully. The clanking is more annoying than usual, that’s for sure.

But where is it coming from? Too close, the only human-like figures think in union. Rocket had dismantled and re-made his makeshift bomb for possibly the tenth time (in counting!), and while yes, he has the silent pleasure in knowing he’s getting on the crews nerves, not even this activity can satisfy the impeccable feeling of absolutely NOTHING happening. He figured making an explosive out of a hairdryer will surely occupy his mind for at least until something interesting happens, but so far not even a message from anyone (the message really doesn’t have to involve cash or danger. A simple ‘hello’ from a long lost friend sounds more exciting than this). And so he sits and fidgets with spare parts, his mood never spiking from ‘mildly entertained’.

No one really knows what Groot is up to, but from the occasional exclamation of his name echoing from somewhere in the ship, the crew breaths out a sigh of relief: Groot is still here. Maybe it’s not even a sigh; they just take a collective breath since the air-conditioning is broken.

Suddenly, a big red dot appears on the map and approaches at an alarming rate. Gamora blinks, jumping from her seat and slamming her palms on either side of the map monitor, surprised that on such a lazy day there is something moving their way at an incredibly fast pace. Her eyes bore into the distance; in the blankness and the occasional shimmer of faraway stars she notes the object swirl and fall from her field of vision. She narrows her eyes – is it a ship?... Her further questions are cut short by the beeping. This calls for the whole crew’s attention.

0.82 Yellow Stripe is requesting to dock.

“Oh no,” Gamora barely surpasses a jerk as Peter’s voice ring just in her ear, “no no no.” in one swift move she is nudged out of the way, “Where is the deny-cancel-delete-forget it ever happened button?”

“Friend of yours?” Rocket inquires. Peter snorts.

“More like arch-nemesis.” He mumbles, about to press the big red button as in ‘No, go away’, but Gamora beats him to it and with all her force pushes the friendly green one that simply states ‘Invitation accepted!’.

“The hell did you do that for?!”

She stares at him, her palm refusing to leave the safety of the green glossy surface in case Peter decides to claw at her fingers, “Look, nothing has been happening. Zip. Nada. If your arch-nemesis, as you put it, decided to suddenly drop by something has to be going on. Something we’re not aware of.” Silence. “People like that don’t just pay a visit out of the blue.”

“Yeah, or maybe she just came to finally murder me.”

Gamora smiles, though it’s hardly affectionate. Her eyes sweep the weapons stocked in one of the closer lockers, Rocket holding his hairdryer-explosive and lastly Groot curiously sticking his head out through the door to see what the commotions is about. Finally, she returns to Peter, “I think we got you covered.” The chilling tone of her voice leaves no room to argue and the ship falls quiet. Peter finishes his glass. Gamora loosens her grip on the button as a heavy ‘dunk’ rattles the whole spaceship. Groot and Rocket tip-toe closer just in case of combat.

This continues for a while. The air tension filled, growing in anticipation and curiosity with every new sound the 0.82 makes as it docks. A cloud of cold smoke leaks from the doorway Groot entered minutes ago and the team shares a look – is this really happening? Rocket tightens his grip on the explosive, though seeing as Peter seems anything but alarmed, disturbed, or in any other way ready for danger with the capital D, he merely raises a brow and slumps his shoulders. The way this is panning out, it seems no fight is going to break out. Rocket’s previous excitement on testing out the bomb grows bitter and he curses under his breath. If anyone heard him, no one said a thing.

“Jesus Christ!” A female voice rings out from the other room, riddled with disgust and Peter can’t help the smirk that grows on his lips. He raises his glass to take a triumphant sip but remembers it’s empty. Awkwardly he sets it down on the console, ignoring the amused look Gamora sends him.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Boots with a metal hilt, the only girl in the crew notes as her arms fold over her chest and she stares impatiently at the doorway, trying to paint the picture of this arch-nemesis. She is pretty sure Peter was joking when he said so, but still, knowing him and his pelvic magic she might just be another pissed off ex- girlfriend. These thoughts plague her and she is even more curious than before. Something falls in the other room and another yelp escapes the captain of the small yellow ship. Finally, the short statue of the mystery woman appears in the doorway—

Human, is all Gamora registers as she takes in the delicate glow of the shorter woman’s skin in the bleak lighting of Peter’s spaceship. A bead of sweat runs from her temple and gets lost somewhere near her jaw. And an angry human at that. Her face is scrunched; gloved fingers soon dig into her thick black rimmed googles and slide them off. Pair of (color) eyes meet hers for the briefest of moments she looks at Peter, “You are sick.”

“Healthy, actually.”

“You have serious issues, Peter. Did any of you see the engine room? Docks? No one? No one bothered to shine a LED light? Seems like a Picasso painting—“ Peter clears his throat loudly.

“(Title).” He addresses her. The woman, now dubbed as (Title), contemplates on whether to continue to describe her recent appalling findings or skip them entirely and never put on her goggles again. Her expression falls neutral and before Peter can say anything else, she leans onto the doorway and lowers her voice.

“Quill.”

His shoulders slump, “C’mon, it’s not that hard. Starlord.”

“No fucking way am I calling you that.”

|*|

When the initial disgust melted off you found yourself almost comfortable being in such a…unique spaceship. Unique is the only nice way you could put it without offending Peters feelings too much. Introductions flew by in a flash, one moment you were casually calling Peter everything your mind could come up with instead of Starlord, and the next you were pulled closer by the curious raccoon and his tree friend. The two of them flashed you a smile: Rocket and Groot! For a moment you were surprised that they have a higher mental capacity than a goldfish. You had yet to meet people/aliens/creatures that tolerate Peter and can form a coherent sentence. Lastly you shook hands with Gamora, another reality grasping companion that is female and hasn’t slept with Peter. That trivia earned a pleasant ‘Oh!’ from you. With that you moved on.

There is one particular room in ‘Starlords’ spaceship you always fancied, even after the two of you broke apart. It doesn’t have a name, nor do many go down here as you realized with a quick look through your googles. The walls are made of thick glass that opens the view of the whole universe, a lone boardwalk being the only surface that can hold your and his weight. Your feet teeter over the edge and you look down: the black abyss of space illuminates the edges of your shoes. The buzzing of the motors fills the silence. It’s always silent when you go down here. The occasional footsteps from up above draw you out your thoughts of the good old days when you hated Peter’s guts less and he tolerated you more. History is a tricky thing: whilst it is important, it’s unchangeable. Your parting of ways was inevitable, especially because of his eccentric taste and your strict morale code clashing fiercely on many occasions that almost led to either your or his death. Neither of you felt badly about it.

Except now, maybe. You aren’t sure yourself. You had taken off your gloves and left on a table near a whiskey bottle that much you recall. Your bare fingers grip the metal edge you sit on, shoulder slumped, deep in thought. Through the crown of your lashes you gaze at him – he is staring straight ahead, relaxed, slightly dazed perhaps, as the verbal fight the two of you engaged in long forgotten. A soft blue light illuminates his features and you trace them carefully, trying to remember each detail with striking precision and faintly searching for the boy you knew that long ago. Same home planet, taken by the Yondu Ravager Clan and raised by it too. In the back of your mind you make a side-by side of little Peter, dressed in his pirate gear and trying to operate a gun you had constructed under the strict eye of your kidnappers, and the young adult that sits within arms-length. You find no resemblance between the two. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they are completely different people. Then again, the last time you saw him was roughly five years ago, maybe even more.

Disappointment. Is that what you are feeling? Emotions mix and blur, just like the vast outside creeping behind these large windows. You swing your feet, a childish habit, and Peter snorts with an amused shake of his head, “Strange for you to shut your mouth for once.” You don’t take offence to that. You don’t take offence to anything, but don’t reply either. You tilt your head downwards again and stare at your feet, an action he notes and raises a curious brow, “Yo, (Title), you okay?” He asks lighthearted, leaning in just enough to be close but still minding your personal space.

It feels different somehow. When you first landed this, all of this, was an unpleasant mystery and you were beyond irritated to have made such a long and tiring trip to see a person you didn’t even want to talk to. Now, here, in the secure company of just the two of you the mood shifted drastically: from annoyance it went to heavy mixed feelings you don’t want nor are ready to voice. So instead you shrug and crack a smile. “Not really. Seeing you again is never pleasant.” There’s a tad of truth to every joke, as there is to lie, and while yes, seeing Peter again has raised some long forgotten spikes of emphatic brother-sister feelings, your sudden change from playful to serious isn’t entirely to do with him. He waits for you to continue and you are almost surprised that he doesn’t crack a stupid one-liner as a failed jab at your brooding. “I bet you know that I didn’t come here because I miss you.”

Ouch, he wants to say, but doesn’t. He nods. You continue, still not lifting your head up, “Finding you was…tough. Save me the story of running away and what-not, I don’t care. I didn’t come here to relish in old memories.” Yet you explicitly asked him to talk here, in your favorite place, despite anywhere being okay. You ignore this fact and any that fallow along with it and swing your legs again as if that would help you focus. “You have a good team. Not good good, but, you know…Good.” Your throat runs dry and a spike of nervousness sparks in your chest, going all the way to your fingertips. You gaze into his eyes, feeling your heart jump when your gazes connect in the dim lighting, “I need your help.”

The weight of your words is heavy, and though your request is quiet and reserved he knows you’re desperate. You would go to someone else, to anyone else, instead of him if it was whimsical or within your power. A spurge of pride. He can’t help but smirk. You frown, “Yeah yeah, c’mon, laugh it out, you won’t let me hear the end of this yada yada, I know.” You wave him off.

“I’m going to hold this against you forever.”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” The blankness returns to your face and he knows you’re back to being serious, “Do you…Do you remember the Carnic incident?”

“You mean when you ‘accidentally’ blew up a model spaceship? Of course I remember. It’s on my highlight reel.” He ponders for a minute how this is relevant, “You we’re banned from—“

“-Entering Terra territory.” You finished for him, the same heaviness returning to your voice as it grew quiet again. A note of pain strikes your features and Peter leans out taken aback. Turning away from him you are quick to compose yourself.

“My mom died. I want to say goodbye.”

TBH

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