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sopejinsunflower · 2 years

Text

Warning: 18+, minors DNI, some gore/violence mentioned, angst

Ch.3: The Love of Hoseok's Life

Hoseok pushes open the bedroom door, quietly and slowly so as to not make a squeak. He spots Jimin first, laying on the bed with his head propped up on one hand. He looks up when Hoseok peeks in.

Ever so gently, Jimin pulls away from you, careful not to pull on the blanket and scooting off the bed inch by inch until both his feet touch the floor. He straightens up, still in his day clothes, and picks up his suit jacket off the armchair. Hoseok watches Jimin’s face in the dim lighting, trying to get a read of which side of him he’s dealing with. The dark look on Jimin’s face tells him enough.

“It’s taken care of,” Hoseok whispers as they pass by each other; Hoseok walking over to the other side of the bed, Jimin leaving. The younger lad only nods curtly before slipping out of the room, glancing back only once to make sure you were still sleeping. In the end, he didn’t get to comfort you much and you had refused both the late lunch and dinner, much to his frustration.

Jimin did manage to make you take three bites of the scones that came with your after-bath tea but only when he almost lost his temper. You had noticed the over-blinking and the fidgeting and the long hard stare that withered your stubbornness away to finally take a bite. But knowing that people died today, one of them just right on the other side of the car door when it happened, only made your stomach twisted and turned.

Hoseok doesn’t get into the bed but sits down on the armchair. He watches you breathing for a few minutes before taking out his phone, eyeing the digital clock. As it strikes midnight, a text comes in. He taps on it and checks the photo attached, a satisfied smirk creeping up his lips. Now, it’s fully taken care of. He forwards the text over to Jin and throws the phone onto the side table. Finally he climbs into bed, wriggles under the blanket and assumes Jimin’s position; head propped up on one hand, watching your chest rise and fall.

Hoseok breathes out long and hard, almost as if he has been holding his breath since he got the news from Jin earlier today. His heart had stopped. He had let Namjoon take the car (and the driver) to meet up with Yoongi, opting for his own black Ducati 916 for ease of commute, switching from his suit jacket to his leather one stashed under the seat. With one loud rev of the twin-engine, he had turned the bike around and headed over where he came from: the Wolfsbane House.

Fucking prick. Hoseok still recalls the way Gia had blubbered and grovel at his feet - his, not Namjoon’s, because everybody knows who holds the axe in the Lotus Sanguis House - and swore on his mother’s name that it was his fault, all his fault, even the hole in his hand because of course he deserved it and Jin had given him such mercy to all but punish him himself on the spot. Hoseok had exchanged glances with Namjoon and after Gia promised a twenty percent bonus in tax revenue to be handed in at the end of the week, they both had left, thinking that the matter had been resolved.

His heart hammering in his chest, the blood boiling through his veins and the hundreds of vile thoughts running through his head of the things he would do to those that tried to harm you right under the Family’s nose, in that one moment, gave him an idea why he’s the Punisher. What fuels his anger is the fact that they took their chance with Jimin, knowing full well the less-than way Giacoma Wolfsbane had always regarded his younger brother. That man would stick his cock in anything that is warm enough. Hoseok had warned Jin about him a long time ago. Now the chance to annihilate them had finally come.

While Hoseok takes pride in his position in the House, he is well aware of your subdued fear of him so he made sure to scrub himself clean and change into sleep clothes before coming over. Could you still smell the blood on him? Would you hate him if the reason for what he had done today was to keep you safe? Jin had warned them all about getting too close but how can he stop himself when one look from you makes his heart skip a beat like a hormonal teenager in the presence of a lifelong crush? The Jade Dragon heiress is the talk of all the Houses since the day she was born. Who can blame him for falling hard?

You move, stirring in your sleep to turn onto your side, facing him, and curling into a foetal position. From Hoseok’s point of view, it seems that you have turned to bury your face in his side. He doesn’t dare to move, wanting nothing more than to stay this way. Your breathing is soft, long lashes resting against your cheeks, slightly fluttering as you dream. You’re always dreaming, he thinks, wishing he could dreamwalk just so he could get a glimpse into your head.

Unable to resist it, Hoseok runs one long finger over the curve of your jaw, light as a feather, catching the tip of your chin. You hum in your sleep, scooting closer and turning your head so now he’s facing you directly. He stares at your lips, small and pouty but red and lush, reminding him of ripe strawberries that he just wants to bite into. But he doesn’t, no matter how much his heart yearns for it. It would be unfair to steal a kiss and Hoseok is all about fair game.

Hoseok has taken lives with his bare hands, torn limb from limb, carved his marks on anyone that dare defy the House, hunt down runners to the ends of the world and dragged them back by the skin of their teeth and yet here he is, lying down next to the only girl he had ever loved, vulnerable, with a bleeding heart that knows he will never be fully accepted. For a man who fights tooth and nail to get things done, he would lay down at your feet and bare his soul if it meant being loved by you.

Don’t count on it, he chastises himself sourly.

After hours of staring at your face, he finally rests on his back, one arm over his forehead as he turns to stare at the ceiling instead. Tomorrow is his one off day, a request he specifically puts in to coincide it with his days with you. When the sun rises in the horizon, Hoseok finally finishes planning out the day. All he has to do now is wait for you to wake up; another thing he loves watching you do. He actually has a long (and physical) list of things he loves watching you do but if anyone finds it (tucked safely in a torn pocket of his wallet), two things will happen depending on who it is: the person will be found dead and unrecognisable, probably at the bottom of a lake, or, in the case if it’s one of his brothers, Hoseok will rather jump off the roof of this mansion than faced the embarrassment.

When seven thirty came and went and you’re still sleeping, Hoseok finally sits up to lean his back against the headboard. He reaches for his phone, making minimal movements as he can, and scrolls through the news to pass the time. All the main news outlets had one thing to report that includes a huge grisly picture of a crime scene that made Hoseok swell with pride and satisfaction. His phone vibrates to a text from Jin: I told you to keep it clean and quiet. He ignores it.

When eight o’clock rolls in, Hoseok is starting to get antsy. He starts moving around a lot more, hoping that might wake you but everytime you stir, you’d go back to sleep. When he can’t finally take it, he props himself behind you, scooting close so he’s spooning you and leans over your head. The summer sun shining in through the curtains is starting to warm up the room and he’s actually amazed that the blanket is still up to your chest.

“Jagiyaaa,” he calls out in a soft whisper, blowing cool air into your face. He runs a hand over your arm in an up and down motion, rubbing you awake as gently as he can. “You’re going to sleep the day away, baby.”

With much anticipation, he watches your nose crinkles as you fight to open your eyes. You blink against the filtered sunlight, your eyes still clouded with sleep. You twist your head upward to look at him, eyes only half-opened. “You’re awfully close,” you comment, your voice heavy and rough, just the way Hoseok loves it, the sound of it arousing something in him. He scoots back a bit, for his own reason.

You shuffle away and immediately throw the blanket off, springing up into a sitting position. Your hair is all mussed up and Hoseok struggles to keep his hands to himself, wanting so much to run his fingers through your soft locks to smoothen it out. He refrains, casually leaning back, using one knee to prop up an arm.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you announce, getting up and padding over to the bathroom. At the door, you turn around and narrow your eyes at him. “And no, that wasn’t an invitation.” You go in and close the door behind you.

Hoseok counts to twenty before he finally jumps off the bed and calmly walks over to the bathroom. He stands there for a second before he tries the handle. Locked. He sighs sadly. “We’re not having breakfast at home so we’re leaving in an hour. Don’t take too long, okay?”

There’s no answer but Hoseok is sure you heard him. He sighs again before leaving to get ready himself and make preparation for the day. You wait until you hear the bedroom door close before you start the shower.

Hoseok’s section of your closet is the one with the most colours and he is the easiest to dress for. He’s not picky and hardly ever complains, unlike Taehyung who is very specific with every piece of clothing you put on, down to the socks. It’s a beautiful summer’s day and a hot one, too, so you opt for a pair of yellow floral belted shorts and a white cami and gladiator sandals to match. You check yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that before pausing, realising that you actually made an effort to dress for him, the way you know he likes it. You shrug, grabbing a pair of sunglasses and heading downstairs with fifteen minutes to spare.

You groan inwardly, disgusted at yourself for being excited to go out with one of your prison masters. Whatever. He’s at least not psychotic and Hoseok’s days are actually pleasant. He plans well.

Coming down the stairs, you can hear conversation coming in from the dining area. Jin is talking.

“...wasn’t clean and quiet at all!”

“Well, I’m sorry you’re not happy with my work, hyung, but I had it done my way.”

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Jin replies angrily. “Doesn’t it occur to you why I want it done quietly?”

“I-” Hoseok stops and glances at you over Jin’s shoulders, to which Jin turns around. You see that Jimin is there, too, standing to the side, looking at the floor with a solemn look on his face, a cup of coffee in one hand.

Jin lets out a heavy breath through his nose, rolls his eyes to the ceiling like he’s collecting his patience and turns back to Hoseok. “We’ll finish this later.” He fixes his tie and walks out, passing by you without even acknowledging your existence. Jimin follows, stopping when he approaches you. His hair is pulled back, eyes hard and serious but, with one finger, he tucks your hair behind your ear, lingering to rub your earlobe. Without a word, he follows Jin out the front door.

“What’s that about?” you ask once you’re certain that the two have left.

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” Hoseok says with a smile. He’s rummaging through a picnic basket before nodding to himself. “Alright, we got everything. Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?”

Hoseok looks up, the smile widening. “On our date, silly.”

You look at the picnic basket. “A picnic date?”

“Something like that.”

You follow Hoseok out to the courtyard and see his personal car, the red 911 Carrera, parked and ready to go, the engine idling. Hoseok is known to love his independence, the one who rarely uses a driver and prefers to go places by himself when the others usually pair up, so he does have a collection of motorcycles and fast cars (not that the others don’t, his is just more impressive). This one is his absolute favourite. This for leisure and the Ducati for work.

With the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through your hair, you almost forget about everything for a moment, enjoying the crisp morning air and the smooth purr of the car as Hoseok takes you away to an unknown destination. For a little bit, you forget about the last couple of days, the gruesome details of Jin’s day and the person Jimin shot at just over your head out the car window. Even the Lotus Sanguis crest on the tall iron gate looks nothing more than just a bronze flower as you pass by it out into the open world.

Hoseok watches you through the corner of his eyes, his sunglasses hiding the fact that he’s even looking. He smiles softly to himself, happy that he can somehow put that blissful look on your face, even for a few seconds. He glances at your hand sitting idly on your thigh and he takes a minute to think about grabbing it and lacing it through his. Would you mind it? Or would you not want to touch these blood-stained hands?

He doesn’t know that you can see how white his knuckles have gone from gripping the steering wheel so tight as he drives himself deeper into the hole his mind is digging. So many questions bouncing around in his head yet too proud to ask in case you shot him down. Not knowing is sometimes much better than being rejected. At least the fantasies can keep on living.

“You’re going to take off the wheel if you keep holding it like that,” you note casually.

Hoseok’s eyebrows arches in surprise but he relaxes, moving one hand to rest on the gear shift instead.

“So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” says Hoseok, turning to smile at you but you’re staring straight ahead. “By the way, how are you?”

You turn to him. “What do you mean?”

“What happened with Jimin yesterday,” Hoseok shakes his head, sighing, “it shouldn’t have happened. Especially not in front of you.”

You scoff but your stomach feels funny just thinking about it. “You sound like you’re saying what happened with Jin was less bad. Let me tell you, it wasn’t. It was worse. And it’s his fault yesterday happened.”

Hoseok scrunches his forehead. “Well, the Wolfsbane has never been trustworthy. It was a matter of time until they acted out. We’ve been keeping an eye on them for a longtime now.”

“So you’re defending him?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. “You’re defending Jin?”

Hoseok shifts in his seat. “Look, the situation is complicated.”

“What’s so complicated about Jin sticking a knife through a guy’s hand?”

“He touched you,” replies Hoseok curtly.

You remain quiet, gritting your teeth as the memory resurfaces. A shiver runs down your legs as you remember the hot and heavy hand of Gia Wolfsbane creeping up your thigh. A part of you had been glad, hell, even wished Jin had done more that night but another part of you just could never deal with the savagery of this life you were born into.

Your grandfather had been a great leader of the Jade Dragon but he was also a subtle man who insisted that business and home stayed far away from each other. You had never had to witness nor hear anything of their world until you were twelve, the year your useless father took over the reign. He was not only bloodthirsty but sloppy, among other things.

You won’t admit it but the past couple of days triggered things inside you - flashbacks, fragmented bloody memories that you can’t quite put together nor could you tell if it was in the past or something more recent - that you would never talk about with the boys. Some of those warbled recollections still feel raw and haunting, leaving a lingering dread that makes you feel as if you’re being watched. They wouldn’t understand. It sounds crazy even to yourself.

You clear your throat. “Well, did you take care of it?”

Hoseok looks over to you but doesn’t answer.

“Did you take care of it?” you repeat. “Jimin said you would.”

“Yes, I did.”

“How did y-”

“I don’t want to talk about work on our day, jagi,” Hoseok snaps back. You shut up and he instantly regrets it, sighing heavily. Hoseok shifts gears and steps on the accelerator. The whole car ride is silent.

An hour later, you see the glimmer of the ocean first in the distance before you notice that the car is approaching a dock. You’ve only been here once before, with your grandfather as a little girl. He had had a yacht, so huge that, through your three-year-old eyes, it looked like a white castle on water. Your mother had been there, too, but all you remembered of her is the way her long brown hair blew in the wind as she held onto her hat. The memory is so old that you’re unable to even remember what her face looked like as she stood at the front bow of the speeding yacht, staring out at the water.

You come back from that blurry memory to Hoseok coming to open your door for you. You didn’t even realise when the car stopped. Hoseok has an odd look on his face, watching you carefully as he waits for you to exit the car. You can hear the waves in the distance and the smell of seawater. The wind is stronger, too, as it always is by the seaside.

“Are we going out on a boat?” you ask, shading your eyes from the eleven o’clock sun to look out towards the dock.

“Something like that,” replies Hoseok as he retrieves the picnic basket from the nose of the car. He checks inside the basket again before walking ahead of you towards the pier. “Let’s go.” You follow.

It’s a Thursday morning and the dock is quiet except for the sound of water lapping and the constant cries of the seagulls. On a weekday like today, the place is empty of any other humans and the only other living breathing thing aside from the both of you are the damn birds. You follow Hoseok further up to a mid-sized yacht, nothing like what your grandfather used to own but still impressive in its sleek, black coat. To say it stands out on the public dock is an understatement.

Dionysus, read the name on the transom in white parchment font. Doesn’t really suit a boat, you think. Hoseok catches you staring at the name and smirks. “Don’t like it?”

You shrug, taking his hand to step onto the yacht. “Naming boats started hundreds of years ago by sailors as a prayer for a safe journey,” you say as you look around aimlessly. “Kinda defeats the purpose when you named yours the god of wine and…fertility?”

Hoseok chuckles lightly as he undoes the dock line but doesn’t offer any explanation. He proceeds inside the hull, rummages around and comes back out with a cute summer hat. He places it on top of your head, adjusts it a bit and steps back. “Perfect,” he muses to himself.

You hold on to one side of the wide brim, looking up at him. “Kind of pointless when the wind can just blow it away. Unless you don’t plan on going anywhere?”

“Oh, I do,” he says, turning around and making up towards the cockpit. From over his shoulder, he adds, “You better hold on tight to that hat, baby. Don’t lose it.”

You frown but keep one hand pressed to the top of your head to keep the hat in place as Hoseok starts the engine and pulls out of the dock. Once clear to speed up, the yacht lurches forward, seamlessly cutting through the water chasing the horizon. You guess that this is another part of Hoseok that you’re just finding out, that his driving skills go beyond land transportation. From where you stand, watching his back through the semi transparent white shirt he’s wearing, it almost feels like your heart expanded, a tiny bit, the kind of sensation you get when your heart grows just a tad bit softer for someone.

At exactly that moment, Hoseok looks back and you jump, looking away immediately. He shouts something at you but with the wind whooshing in your ears and the roar of the yacht engine, you can’t hear him. “What?” you shout back, barely even hearing your own voice.

One hand on the wheel, he turns around and makes a come here motion with his finger. You climb up the short steps to the cockpit and stand awkwardly next to him. With one arm, he gently coaxes you to stand in front of him, in between his arms, placing both your hands onto the wheel and then his own over yours like some cringey Titanic scene. But it didn’t feel cringey at all, you think. It’s kind of nice and the view forward is much better than looking back towards the dock you came from that’s now nothing but a speck in the distance.

After a while, time spent feeling suddenly hyper-aware of Hoseok’s front to your back, you ask with a chuckle, “So is this how you woo the girls on your list before you throw them off the boat?”

“No one else has been on this yacht,” replies Hoseok but you sense something is wrong. You twist your head up to look at his face and you meet his eyes, cold and distant and for a moment looked darker than usual, almost as if the whites of his eyes were gone, before he blinks and looks forward again. His eyes look normal now but you can still sense the brewing temper beneath the calm facade.

Hoseok speaks after a long silence. “When you’re alone with me, do you ever think you might not go home again? Dead in a ditch or sunk to the bottom of some lake or, in today’s case, sea?”

You’re a little taken aback, not by the question but by the sad, sullen tone of his voice. You shake your head, honest in your answer. “No, not really.” Then, after a pause, you add, “But I do wonder how many have had you as the last thing they see.”

You hear Hoseok sigh from behind you. He eases on the acceleration and puts the yacht on auto-helm and steps back. He takes your hand and turns you around to face him, holding you by the waist, steadying you against the gentle bobbing of the now slow-moving vessel. “Are you scared of me?”

Your forehead creases, suddenly slightly nervous. “Should I be?”

Again, it looks almost like his pupils expand to the point that the whites are barely visible but then in a blink of an eye, they’re back to normal. You wonder if it’s a trick of the light, a shadow, but somehow the curiosity never really takes much hold and you forget about it the moment his eyes revert. “No,” Hoseok says calmly. “Not unless there’s a reason to be.”

He twirls you back around so you’re facing the open sea once more but holds on to your hands so that they are wrapped around your own body. He leans close to your ear and whispers, “Is there? A reason to be scared of me?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as your heart starts to pick up speed. Something about the low tone of his voice is chilling to the bone. You’ve never heard him like this, cold and taunting. You try to rationalise with yourself, telling yourself that it was just a simple question and no matter the answer, Hoseok wouldn’t dare to hurt you. He can’t even if he wanted to, that much you know. Not without Jin’s order.

Hoseok presses himself up against your back, the grip on your hands suddenly too tight. You push against his hold but he doesn’t give. He nuzzles the spot beneath your earlobe. “You shiver every time I touch you. You move away whenever I come close.” His grip tightens with every word and he’s still talking, slowly and deliberately. “People who are scared of me are usually those on my list. They lie, cheat, betray the House and I deliver what’s due. Did you tell a lie, jagi?”

You shake your head a little too aggressively, more in a way to shake away a flying bug near your face rather than denying a question. Hoseok tightens his embrace, pulling on your hands. “Did you cheat on any one of us?”

A sudden spark of irritation starts in your chest, a little offended to be accused of two-timing the seven brothers. With who? Each other? “I don’t even leave the house without one of you brutes with me,” you fire back angrily.

“Brutes, huh,” Hoseok repeats. He pulls you up against him and tilts your body to one side. You turn your head up so that you’re facing him, chin outward in stubbornness, burning eyes holding his gaze steady. “You think we’re nothing but brutes? Is that all we are to you?”

“You’re all just a bunch of narcissistic bullies that enjoy killing or torturing people as a hobby. Especially you.”

Hoseok looks genuinely hurt, his mouth turned down, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. Just as the sadness is carved onto his face, his eyes, however, flashes angrily. He looks like he’s about to say something, something that can sting just as much but his lips won’t part and his heart squeezes at the flicker of fear in your eyes even when you’re holding your own just fine. But he’s angry. He’s angry at your blind and unfair judgement of him, of his family, of their way of life. You don’t understand a thing! If only you knew. If only you knew what they had to do, what they had to sacrifice for-

His lips are suddenly on you, teeth gnashing together and you’re sure that either one of you is bleeding from the strong impact; you can taste the copper on your tongue. Your eyes are open wide, surprised by the sudden attack but his are close, almost squeezed shut. You pushed against his shoulders but you might as well be pushing against a brick wall. You feel his fingers dig into your side and the hungriness of his kiss finally pushes you over the edge of self-control, suddenly kissing him back with the same ferocity, dignity and ego be damned.

Hoseok is quick to take the cue. In one swift motion, he sweeps you up off your feet and carries you down the small steps towards the hull, navigating the stairs a little too well for someone who has his tongue down your throat but that’s none of your concern right now. Right now, the only thing on your mind is how unsatisfying it is to not feel his fingers directly on your skin, like an itch you can’t quite scratch, a nagging feeling you can’t quite soften no matter how much you press up against him. You want more, need more and yet a part of you is angry at him, angry that he could make you feel this way even when you only want to be angry angry. Not this lustful frustration that makes you think about tearing his expensive clothes off.

Through your hazy lust-filled mind, you hear him struggle with what sounds like a door, Hoseok kicking it open with one foot and then using his shoulders to push through. It’s only when he sets you down on the foamy mattress your eyes open in slits to first notice the wooden ceiling above. His mouth, nipping and licking, trails down to your jaw and chin and you glimpse what looks to be a bedroom. You can still feel the waves rolling beneath the vessel, even more so now that you’re on your back but the moment Hoseok’s teeth graze the sensitive spot on your neck, all other thoughts immediately get pushed aside.

“Jimin’s hickey is fucking ugly,” Hoseok growls. “Fuck him for putting such a hideous mark on you.”

“Take it up with him, then,” you reply breathlessly, feeling his long dainty fingers fumbling with the latch of your bra. He manages to unclip it but instead of pulling your cami over your head, he slides one shoulder strap down to expose your right breast while his other hand fondles with the other from underneath your clothes.

“I will,” he grunts in between wet kisses down your chest, capturing your nipple in between his lips. He teases with soft puffs of air, butterfly kisses as he hovers his mouth over your tit and you arches your back to meet his mouth. He finally takes you into his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to roll around your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Hoseok’s phone rings, making him pause. After the third ring, he sighs loudly and sits up, taking out the phone and frowning at the screen. He contemplates letting it ring but thought better of it, answering it and putting it on speaker. “Talk,” he snaps, diving down again to latch onto your other breast. You suck on your lower lip to keep from making a sound.

“Hyung.” It’s Taehyung’s voice, deep and silky. “Hyung?”

“What is it, Taehyung? I’m busy,” Hoseok replies impatiently as he peppers kisses all over your chest. He moves down to your belly button, delivering small wet kisses on your tummy as he hooks his fingers over the band of your shorts and pulls it down slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin. He leaves the lace panties on, kissing the insides of your thighs.

Taehyung’s voice comes through again but this time it was punctuated heavily with static noise that neither of us could make heads nor tails to what he’s saying. Only one word came out pretty clearly: news. Hoseok has his head up, frowning so deeply staring at the mattress as he tries to decipher Taehyung’s words. In the end, exasperated, he ends the call and throws the phone to the floor where it thuds heavily.

He goes to trail his lips on your thigh again but you’re a little distracted. “What news was he talking about?”

“I don’t know,” says Hoseok absentmindedly.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something must’ve happened for-”

“Goddammit,” Hoseok huffs angrily, sitting up again. He runs a hand through his hair frustratingly before sliding off to the edge of the mattress. You remain in your position, slightly frozen. Hoseok glances back at you, notices the way you’re wary of him and sighs. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, standing up and walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him that makes you jump.

After a few seconds convinced that he’s not coming back, you fix your clothes and sit up, scooting over the edge of the bed to straighten out your hair. That’s when you notice his phone, face down on the floor. You pick it up, check it for scratches and find yourself staring at your own photo on the lock screen and your heart starts pumping. It’s not a creepy photo of you sleeping but a photo you don’t remember ever being taken, not since you arrived at the Lotus Sanguis House.

You stare at it, tapping on the screen to keep it light up so you can study the details. It’s not a solo photo, either, but a group photo, with you in the middle and the boys, the Lotus brothers, surrounding you. The weirdest thing of all is that in the photo, all of you look happy, beaming and laughing to the camera as if something funny had been said just seconds before the photo was taken. You feel your blood run cold. In the one month you’ve been with them, you’ve never had your picture taken. Scratch that, you’ve never been that happy with them.

You look at the photo some more, really picking at the details when you realise that it’s also not recent. You look to be in your teens but the brothers…they looked just how they are now. The only difference you can see are the hair colours; Jimin with his original black hair, a blond Taehyung, Hoseok in red, and is that Yoongi with the mint hair? What in the actual-

The bedroom door opens again and Hoseok freezes in the doorway, mouth hanging open as if he was about to say something. He looks at his phone in your hand, swallows hard then roughly snatches the phone away.

You stand up, apprehensive by his reaction but also a little defensive from what you just saw. “What is that picture?”

Hoseok pockets the phone, his jaw grinding together. “I came in to tell you that we can have brunch now. I set the food out.”

“Answer my question,” you insist, your voice shaking. “What is that picture, Hoseok? When is that? I don’t remember it being taken.”

Hoseok’s eyes flashes in anger at the sound of his own name and the veins on his neck flexes as if it’s taking him every once of his strength to stay calm. “I said, it’s time to eat.” He takes a step closer towards you, bearing down over you. “One more word from you and I will show you what you have always been scared to see in me.” He speaks slowly, his voice dangerously low, enunciating words that are more than just empty threats. It’s enough to shut you up, he thinks but at the sight of your trembling lower lip, he knows he’s done more than just scare you.

He turns on his heels, no longer able to look at you. “I’m turning the boat around. We’re going home.”

You grab at his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn around but waits. In your head, a million thoughts swim around freely but the one thing you’re most fixated on is the fact that this might change things between the two of you, that Hoseok would stop being nice to you, that he would start becoming meaner like Jin or erratic like Jimin or Taehyung or Namjoon. You had always looked forward to days with Hoseok because it was one of the good ones. As much as you wish you were free, nothing can change your fate and you have to make do with what you’ve been dealt with and Hoseok is one of your good cards and you don’t have much of those. You’re not about to ruin all that with just a stupid picture that could have been photoshopped.

You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you try saying but your voice comes out husky and hoarse. You try again, clearing your throat. “I’m sorry, Hoseokie.”

Hoseok turns around slowly, eyes a little wide yet sceptical. You don’t dare to look up, keeping your eyes on the bit of fabric in between your fingers, gripping tight as if he might slip away if you don’t and he’ll be forever lost to you. When he doesn’t say a word, you finally muster up the courage to meet his eyes, your vision a little blurry now as the tears pool. “I’m sorry for making you angry. Please don’t be angry with me. Please?”

His heart is ripped open at the seams one thread at a time, painfully slowly. The look on your face is enough for Hoseok to imagine what his past prisoners had experienced for being at his mercy. It feels like someone has cracked open his chest and is squeezing his lungs until they burst. With trembling fingers, he reaches out and wipes the tears from your cheek, his thumb lingering to caress your face. In one shaky breath, all the negative feelings left his body.

Gently, like you’re made of glass, he pulls you in, wrapping you up tight in his arms, squeezing you to his chest and letting your tears soaked into his shirt. Your arms hang limply by your side but the relief that washes over you pushes you into another bout of tears. Face squished against his front, you tell him you don’t want to go home yet, you want to stay here with him until the sun sets. Hoseok nods, assuring you that he’ll turn the vessel around only when the stars are out.

Then you do something that Hoseok never, in a million years, would expect for you to do willingly. You step back, look up at him and push up against your tippy toes, only being able to brush up against his lower lip just briefly. A little taken aback, Hoseok stares in absolute surprise that he doesn’t react for a full second. When his brain finally catches up, he doesn’t waste time. He lifts you up by the waist and you wrap your legs around him easily as he meets your lips, feeling the wetness of your soft tongue poking for entrance in between his teeth.

It doesn’t take long for you to be back on your back, this time fully naked, spread-eagled with your arms over your head as you watch Hoseok pull his shirt off as he kneels over you. He fumbles with his belt and you whine loudly, spreading your knees apart as a sign to make him move faster. He rips the belt off, unzips his pants and lets them fall to his knees. His eyes are now locked in between your legs, pupils dilating at the sight of your glistening pussy. He leans over you, nibbling your neck as he uses a finger to massage your swollen clit.

You moan, pushing against his hand. “Hoseokie, please. Touch me more. Please.”

Hoseok looks up from between your breasts, a small smile on his lips. He ventures downward, spreading your legs apart with both hands. He looks up again. “Was Jimin here?”

You shake your head.

“Jin-hyung?”

You nod, pouting. “But he didn’t let me come.”

Hoseok smirks. “Sounds just like him.” He uses his forefinger and middle finger to open you up, further exposing all your folds and your soaking hole. “But don’t worry, baby girl. Let Hoseokie take care of you.”

The sound of your voice calling out his name, the way your thighs shake under his hands, the sweetness that hits his tongue; all of these only make Hoseok strain even more against his own boxer briefs to the point that it’s painful. But he keeps pressing the flat of his tongue against your sopping core, lapping up every drop of your juice, making sure none stains the sheets. He flicks against your clit in slow circular motion just like you like it and watches you writhe under him, legs fighting to close together.

Hoseok sucks on your labias, gently pulling at it with his lips before he shoves his tongue as deep as he can into you, the slurping wet noise loud in the room. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he uses one hand to push down his own underwear, letting himself spring free, sighing at the relief. He crawls up over you, looking down at your scrunched up face, the light sheen making your baby hair stick to your face.

You squint your eyes open, looking down in between your legs to catch sight of Hoseok’s pretty cock. It’s not as massive as Namjoon’s or girthy like Jimin’s, but just the right size and length, like Jin’s. To be fair, you have never actually seen the others’ yet but Hoseok is by far your favourite. Precum leaks from the tip and you wish you could catch it with your tongue. You mewl, eyes on his crotch to send a message but Hoseok catches your chin and tips it up.

“Are you ready to be stretched out from the inside, baby?” he asks softly into your ear. “I want to feel your pussy wrap around my cock. Can I, baby girl?”

All other thoughts immediately get pushed aside as you nod your head meekly. Hoseok pulls back to look you in the eyes. “Use your words, jagi. You know I always want to hear you say it.”

Through shuddering breaths, you tell him what he wants to hear in the sweetest voice you can muster. “I want to be stretched out by you, Hoseokie. I want to feel your cock stretching me out. Please, Hoseokie. Fuck me.”

Hoseok’s eyes are full of lust. He repositions himself in between your legs but then tilts his head. “On your tummy, baby girl. Now. I want to take you from behind.”

You scramble on to your hands and knees and Hoseok pushes down on your back so that your chest and right cheek rest on the mattress while your ass is up in the air. He massages your ass with one hand, rubbing one side up and down as if he’s preparing dough to make bread. His thumb lands dangerously close to your asshole and you wriggle for more touch. Hoseok chuckles, leaning down to kitten-lick your hole while he inserts his thumb into your dripping cunt, digging in to put pressure while his tongue presses against the opening. He’s not an anal person but your reaction is what he lives for.

“Hoseokie,” you whine in that little voice he loves just as much as your morning voice.

“Hmm?” he hums, tongue still swirling on your asshole.

“Please,” you beg, your voice getting smaller. “Cock. Inside. Please.”

Suddenly, Hoseok gets a flashback of a conversation he had with Jin once, not too long ago. Jin had been the first to spend days with you, before the rotation was put in place. Back then, Hoseok clearly remembers how you avoided them all the same way a feral cat avoids human contact. You’d fight and scream and bite any one of them that came too close and never left your room. One day, at work, he had gotten a text from Jimin telling him that Jin had been in your room for three days and there had been no noise except the sound of you crying in pleasure, begging Jin to give you what you want.

“How’d you do it, hyung?” he had asked Jin.

Jin had shaken his head with a half smile. “She belongs to us, Hoseok. Her pretty little mouth says no but her body will yield to us and only us. And she needs it.” When Jin looked up at him, his eyes looked sad but it was gone the moment it appeared that Hoseok had forgotten to ask about it. Looking down at you now, wet and ready, makes Hoseok feel two ways: one, elated, with his ego boosted to have you begging for him like a cat in heat, and two, a little heartbroken to know that what you’re asking for isn’t exclusively for him, that it didn’t come from a place of love and trust and warmth but more of a need they built into you.

“Hoseokie?”

He jolts from his thoughts and straightens up. He meets your concerned gaze but looks away. Then you pout. “If you won’t do it then I guess I’ll just wait for Taehyung tomorrow.”

Anger spreads through him like electricity at the mention of his brother’s name. He reaches for your hair and without thinking, yanks it backward. You scream out in pain and shock. He leans close to your ear and whisper, “Don’t you fucking dare say another man’s name when,” he aligns himself at your entrance, “I’m about to fuck you.”

He pushes in, not in one motion nor roughly like the way he handled your beautiful hair, but gently and carefully, feeling every stretch of your walls as you take in his length. The initial penetration burns and you hiss against the pain, screwing your eyes shut but telling yourself to relax so he can slide in easier. When his tip finally touches the base of your cervix, you breathe out slowly, adjusting to his size but oh fuck, it feels deliciously good. You feel yourself pulsating around him, moulding to his shape.

It’s tight, Hoseok thinks, grimacing, but so warm and moist. You’re breathing a little heavily and he waits until you’re comfortable. He hasn’t let go of your hair fisted in his hand but the grip is looser now that you don’t even mind it. He feels you flutter around him and he lets out a breathy, “Fuck,” before calming himself. Once he feels you relaxed, he pulls out just as slow as he had come in and pushes back in, biting on his lower lip to not let out any sound so he can hear you make that mmphh sound as you try to be quiet. But they’re on a boat in the middle of the sea and Hoseok has no plans on being quiet.

He pulls out once more but this time he wants to hear you, really hear you. He thrusts in at an angle and you gasp, feeling the jolt in your stomach. Hoseok doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, hitting deep inside of you with strokes after strokes until all you can hear is the sound of skin slapping skin and the wet squelch of your hungry pussy taking him. All he can hear is the breathy aahhnn, aahhnn, aahhnn with every thrust and feel you grow wetter.

Hoseok wraps a hand around your throat, tugging you backward so he can deliver his words right to your ear. “Look at you, taking me in so well.”

You don’t respond, your mouth is too busy making those heavenly noises he loves, knowing that he’s making you literally too weak to be your usual snarky self. His eyes rake your body, taking in every curve, every dimple, every mole that dots your skin, especially the one on your hip that he sometimes places kisses on because it’s fucking sexy. He takes in the way your skin glistens with light sweat, the thin scratch along your back that arouses anger in him, knowing that he can’t say anything about it because it’s definitely from Jin, the way your breasts bounce everytime he lands a stroke and the way your eyes are shut and your mouth hangs open. By God, he loves every inch of you.

Without any warning, his heart is suddenly flooded with so much love that all he wants is to see your face, and instead of fucking you, he wants to make love to you. He doesn’t want this. He wants to show you how much he actually cares and if his words alone are not enough then maybe actions will. His hands are dirty with blood but that’s not something he can change now but you and him, this relationship, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. He can make you see that he’s not just a brute, that he’s more, that he’s capable of love as much as you doubt it.

Hoseok pulls out and coaxes you onto your back. His gentle touch makes you open your eyes a little wider, studying him to see what changed, a little confused. He lays over you, caresses the top of your head, pushing back hair from your face. His eyes are warm, you note, suddenly remembering a childhood memory of your mother handing over a cup of hot cocoa and you would look at the way the mini marshmallows bobbed around on the top. That’s what his eyes are reminding you of now. Hot cocoa.

You watch him adjust and realign himself, pushing in slowly and remaining leaning over you, one hand still on the side of your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer, suddenly aware at how much your heart glows at the thought of being connected in the most intimate way. This killer, this punisher of sins, hands responsible for so much spilled blood and carnage are now handling you with so much…so much…love. Is he even capable of love? Does he even know what it means to love? The gentleness he’s portraying somehow hurts. It feels too much like staring at an oasis when you’re parched in the desert. A fata morgana.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” soothes Hoseok, catching the tears from the corner of your eyes before it falls. “Am I hurting you?”

Yes and no, you think but you shake your head. The tears won’t stop.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Hoseok asks, slowing down, suddenly worried. He’s sure he’s not being rough so why the tears? Is he doing something wrong? Do you not want this? It hit him that, as much as he wants to show you his feelings, maybe he didn’t think about whether you actually consent to this. Fuck.

He’s about to pull away but your legs are still locked together around him. He looks at you, looking a little lost. You sniffle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Please. Don’t stop.”

He studies your face. “Are you sure?”

You nod, your lips turning up into a small smile, a smile so genuine that Hoseok is a little stunned to see. “Keep going, please. I want you, Hoseok.”

Hoseok’s brain takes a few seconds to compute before he finally leans on his arms, staring down at your sweet face as he starts to rock back and forth, his senses suddenly heightened to feel the way you’re wrapped tightly around his cock, the way your pussy clenches and unclenches around him. He watches your eyelids flutter close, your lips parting as you moan and gasp cutely for him. He increases his speed but his forehead dips in the middle as he focuses on hitting the same spot that seems to deepen the wrinkles on your forehead, that makes you squeeze your eyes a little more, that makes your voice rise just slightly. In time, he’s settled into a steady rhythm and you are moaning out his name.

It feels so good, Hoseok thinks, and as your voice grows louder, as your hips start to buck to meet his thrusts, as your nails scratch down his back, he knows you’re close. He picks up speed, focusing on his own build up now, too. He kisses your face, wet kisses that are sloppy and trailing. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Hoseok,” you call out, your fingers digging into his back. “Hoseok.”

“I’m here, baby,” he replies. “I’m here. Can you feel me?”

You don’t answer but your moan is enough, arching your back just as Hoseok’s strokes become erratic. You can feel him growing even bigger, harder and the shallow but fast thrusts help rub your clit against his pubic arch, giving you that final push you need. Hoseok feels the way your pussy clenches tight, taking the hint of your oncoming orgasm to chase his own.

“Not yet, baby. Hold on just a few more seconds for me,” he tells you. You whine but comply, holding off. Hoseok focuses on your face, on how your lashes are still a little wet, your cheeks pink, those pouty lips panting out soft moans as your eyes, those beautiful brown eyes look deep into his. He then focuses on how his cock is buried deep in the one person that he wants to, yet at the same time scared to, show what his actual tainted soul looks like. A few more strokes later, he’s hurtling through to meet you. “Come, baby.”

And you do, calling out his name over his own grunts and stifled moans, his face buried in your neck as he throbs inside you, releasing his load the same time you ride out your highs, wringing him dry in the process. When he’s finished, your pussy is still pulsating around him, gradually growing weaker until you’re both lying there still, sticky with sweat.

Hoseok lay on top of you, spent, his flaccid cock still half inside of you. A few minutes pass by and you realise he’s not moving. You stir a little, a subtle movement to make him move, too, but he doesn’t. He’s awake, that you’re sure of because he’s resisting everytime you try to move his head. Finally, you give up, lying there staring up at the yacht ceiling, holding him in the afterglow as the silence of the vessel surrounds you both. But you realise it’s not an uncomfortable silence. You still hear the water lapping against the side of the yacht, the peaceful lull of the waves beneath you and Hoseok’s soft breathing against your neck.

You let your mind wander over nothing in particular, absentmindedly tracing circles on his back, recalling the way he had looked at you earlier. You’ve only been here a month and this is the fourth rotation with the brothers but you think that Hoseok, against your better judgement and with those same blood-soaked hands, has slowly carved a bigger spot in your heart. You had liked him the least for his position as the assassin/killer of the House and you had been afraid of him more than the others, even with psychotic Taehyung or Jin’s erratic behaviour. You wonder why. What had made you so scared of Hoseok in the first place?

“Are you hungry?”

You look down but you still can’t see his face. “A little.”

Hoseok makes a move to get up. “We should eat. I brought-”

You hold him down. “No, not now. Maybe later.”

Hoseok is silent.

You continue to swirl circles on his back until he finally relaxes, snuggling his face closer under your chin. It doesn’t take long until he starts to breathe more evenly, his weight fully on you. His cock has slipped out and his semen is dripping out, soaking the mattress. But you don’t move, letting him stay like that, not knowing that this is the first time in a long time that Hoseok has let his guard down, feeling safe in the arms of the one person his cold heart has the ability to feel warmth for.

For the first time in his very long life, Hoseok falls asleep.

a/n: ok so MORE dropped today and I'm floored! He's the visual! that bad boy hobi is this Hoseok like wefnsfsjf i'd grovel at his feet fhrifrjfdhfirh ok that's all.

Next chapter: coming soon!

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

Taglist (open):

@effielumiere @mayla548 @cestlabellemort @toughbook @missseoulite @fairygirl18 @seokjinkismet @btspurplesky @em--ilysm

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kmomof4 · 2 years

Text

Hotel Neverland: A New Fic for CSSNS22

Hello everyone!!! I am so thrilled to share my entry for this years @cssns!!!! I’ve had this in my head for a while, and I’m so excited to finally post it!!!!

All the love and thanks to the mods for hosting another FANTASTIC event, @hollyethecurious who helped me get it plotted back in May when I visited, and to @profdanglaisstuff for her beta services and her expert advice on how to make this a little more unsettling, a little more creepy, just a little more all the way around... Thank you all so much, ladies!!!

And finally, to my artist @thesschesthair. Mandy is an ACTUAL SAINT for her GORGEOUS artwork for this fic and I am absolutely BESIDE myself for ALL of it!!! Please go give her heaps and loads of love for her work!!! She did several banners for the fic that I had a hell of a time choosing between, so I decided, why not use them all? And then, at the eleventh hour, she did another piece of work that sent me into TOTAL SCREAMING FLAILING CONNIPTIONS. It’s a bit spoilery, so it’ll be at the end of the fic.

But now, without further ado, here we go!

Fic Summary: A CS story for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer ‘22

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 6611

Tags: CSSNS22, Inspired by Hotel California, Ghost Story, Smut

On ao3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @klynn-stormz @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @gingerpolyglot @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @sailtoafarawayland @justanother-unluckysoul @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @the-darkdragonfly @batana54 @purplehawkcaptain @k-leemac @motherkatereloyshipper @apiratewhopines @killiansqueenofthejollyroger @onceuponahookandswan @meat-pie-with-sauce @cosette141 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @fleurdepetite @hookmecaptain @o-wild-west-wind

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Killian Jones shook his head and looked around, thoroughly confused. He stood in the middle of the lobby of a hotel. The last thing he remembered, he was cruising down a desert highway on his Ducati Superleggera V4 on his way somewhere he couldn’t seem to recall. The sun was low in the sky on his left, bathing everything in hues of orange and gold and making his eyesight go hazy. He remembered thinking he needed to find a place to spend the night, and the next thing he knew, here he stood.

The lobby and common room behind him looked like the decorater had taken tips from the Disney Imagineers responsible for the Tower of Terror ride at Disney World. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs covered everything. Tiffany lamps emitting a soft glow shared space with knick knacks of every description, lending a fussy feel to the room, while overstuffed antique chairs and sofas lined the walls.

Turning to the wide, scarred, wooden counter in front of him, the only thing in the room relatively clean, he found a massive guest register the size of an altar Bible of some Medieval cathedral sitting on top of it. A row of old fashioned keys hung on hooks behind the counter.

Where was he? What was this place? Where was the staff?

A man sat at an old fashioned typewriter, clacking away. His eyes glowed with a barely suppressed mania as his fingers flew over the keys. He had brown wavy hair and wore an old fashioned brown leather bomber jacket that looked old and beat up enough to have actually belonged to a WWI flying ace.

“Good evening, sir,” a perky voice sounded from behind the desk. Killian turned and was met by a spritely blonde with a smile that, while welcoming, seemed to hold an undercurrent of mischievous glee and was just a bit too wide to be natural. “Welcome to the hotel. How long will you be staying with us?”

Killian approached the desk, scratching behind his ear. “Uh, not sure, really.” He looked around again before his gaze settled back on the unnerving grin of the woman in front of him. “I don’t… uh, I mean… I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Or where I was going.”

The woman waved away his words with an air of indifference that was even more unsettling than the grin. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that. You’re not the only one.” She opened the large tome before her and looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, Killian Jones,” he said.

She wrote his name in a small clear script and then turned to the keys, grabbing one off the hook. She lit the candle he hadn’t noticed on the counter and led him out of the lobby and toward where he assumed the rooms would be. As they walked along the empty hallway, he could hear murmuring voices down the other corridors but couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. Snippets sounded like they were welcoming him to the hotel and expressing their hope that he would enjoy his stay. There were no doors that he could see on those other hallways, so he had no idea where the voices were coming from. He glanced around wondering about the thickness of the walls or if there was a hidden PA system somewhere.

They were suddenly in front of a door, and the woman unlocked it and opened it for him. He stepped into the room and turned back to his hostess.

“We hope you enjoy your stay with us,” she said, brightly. “There’s a dance in the courtyard going on now. The other guests gather there nightly after dinner and you are welcome to come join us if you like. Dinner is served at six.” And with those final words, she disappeared. Killian poked his head back in the hall and saw a couple of other doors nearby before withdrawing back into his room and shutting the door. He had no desire to join the dance with the other guests. He’d get a good night's sleep and leave first thing in the morning.

He looked around the room and his eyebrows furrowed in question. There was nothing in the room except a bed and small bathroom. No dresser, no tv, no desk. It also looked like it could use some updating- the paint was peeling in the corner of the room and the bedspread had definitely seen better days. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The clanking from behind the walls when he did, had him hurrying to turn the spigot off before any water emerged from the ancient sounding pipes. He left the bath and moved toward the door, planning on going back to the desk and getting a different room. As he stepped out into the hallway, the door next to his also opened and a golden haired goddess stepped out.

Killian’s mouth went dry as he tried desperately not to stare. Her hair hung nearly to her waist in thick waves that he could just imagine running his fingers through. Her figure was thin, but the tight blue jeans and white tank top she wore showed off the strength in her arms and legs. Sparkling green eyes he could easily get lost in turned to him as she smiled. His mouth snapped shut and he couldn’t help scratching at that place behind his ear that always itched when he was nervous. She turned down the hallway and started to walk away. Killian hurried to catch up with her.

“Uh, hi…” he stammered, as they continued walking.

“Hi.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

She smiled and took it. “Emma Swan.” She walked with a casual confidence that made Killian think she knew exactly who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it, and his heart rate increased with the instant and overwhelming desire he felt for this woman.

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

“You, too. Are you new to the hotel?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he said enthusiastically, grateful for any opportunity to keep talking to the stunning beauty. “What do you know about this place? The lady at the counter showed me to my room, but it could really use some updating and the noise from the pipes when I turned on the shower made me worry that something besides water was going to come out of it. I was heading back to see if I could get a different room.”

Emma’s eyes grew a little hazy. “Yeah, there really is something weird about this place. I can’t put my finger on it. My room is nice enough, but the people here are a little strange.”

“I thought so, too,” he murmured. The bad vibe he’d gotten when he checked into the hotel was completely gone in Emma’s presence. She was making him feel like this might be heaven rather than the hell he’d thought it might be. They continued down the hall comparing notes on the circumstances of their respective arrivals.

“Yeah, I can’t remember exactly how I got here, either,” Emma informed him. “I was heading somewhere…” she shook her head like she was trying to shake away cobwebs from her memory bank, “I can’t remember where exactly, but it was important, whatever it was.” She stopped and looked up at him, her eyes clear and intelligent, and Killian swallowed hard. “I haven’t left because I didn’t see the point when I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going.” Her brow furrowed in sudden confusion. “How odd is that? I just stay here because I can’t remember where I’m supposed to be going? That’s crazy!” Killian watched as the sudden haziness descended over her eyes again. This whole situation was definitely puzzling and edging toward creepy and he really wasn’t sure what he should do about it. One thing he knew for sure, though, he wanted to stay with her.

“So, where are we going?” he asked as they started moving again.

“Oh, the courtyard dance,” she told him. Killian nearly stopped in his tracks.

“The courtyard dance? Why?” he asked, suddenly feeling that anxiousness that had just hovered at the edges of his consciousness since he got here actually creep up his spine. He scratched behind his ear again. “I’m not sure I want to go.”

She laughed lightly and looped her arm into his. He was grateful for the easy camaraderie she displayed toward him, but it didn’t assuage his unease at the situation. It was as if she had completely forgotten her earlier confusion and agitation. “Why not? They’re fun. It’s where you can meet everyone here at the hotel.”

“Are there lots of guests here?” he asked. “You’re the first person I’ve seen, other than the lady at the desk and the guy in the common room with the typewriter.”

She nodded in recognition. “I don’t know who he is. He’s never participated in any of the hotel activities. Always sitting in the corner typing away on that old thing. He’s never spoken to any of us that I know of. As far as how many people there are here, I mean,” she shrugged her shoulders, “there’s not a huge amount, but there’s enough to have some fun with. We have the dance every night and we eat dinner together.” Her eyebrows furrowed again and her gaze cleared. “At least, I think we do…”

Killian took a deep breath as they entered the lobby- empty again, Killian noticed- and Emma led him across the room to the deck outside. The space below was filled with people dancing to the strangest music he’d ever heard. It had a peculiar, other-worldly quality to it, something that reminded him of the Twilight Zone or Dr. Who, although he couldn’t strictly say it was particularly reminiscent of either. And he couldn’t see where it was coming from. There was no band or DJ down on the floor. From where he stood, he could see probably in the neighborhood of twenty to thirty people down on the concrete of the courtyard. The area was strung with fairy lights in addition to the light of the full moon up above and from the hotel itself, making it possible to see quite clearly.

The man he’d seen in the lobby earlier was now down on the edge of the dancefloor, still clacking away on the old typewriter in front of him, still seemingly ignoring everything around him. Killian shook his head and continued to peruse the area.

Two men near the foot of the stairs caught his eye. One was tall and lean with curly dirty blonde hair and scruff lining his jaw. His clothing looked like something someone might wear on a hike or a safari- blue jeans, short sleeved khaki green shirt, boots. He had a wholesome, boy next door look about him, but his eyes looked a bit lost as he looked around like he didn’t know where he was. He stood on the edge of the dancefloor fidgeting, before moving toward the back of the courtyard. He stood there for a few moments before moving agitatedly back toward the stairs. The nerves on the man were palpable and Killian wondered why he didn’t find someone to dance with to burn off some of that excess energy.

The second man Killian noticed was dressed in an oddly ornate fashion- a fancy top hat that flared a bit at the top sat on his head, a dark blue paisley shirt with a black waistcoat over it, and black pants. He stood near the edge of the floor holding his arms out wide with his first finger and thumbs touching, as if he was holding something very small in his hands. He moved his feet side to side in a dainty two step like he was dancing with a child, his eyes red rimmed and a grimace was upon his lips. He stopped moving and climbed the stairs toward where he and Emma stood, seeming to be in some sort of a trance, not fully aware of anything around him. As he approached them, Killian could just catch his mumbled words.

“Where is she? I don’t know where she is. Who is she? I have to find her,” he murmured, before turning and heading back down the stairs again.

Killian turned to Emma and pointed out both men. “Who are they? What’s the matter with them?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s Graham and Jefferson,” she answered him. “You don’t need to worry about them. They’re friends. Come on.”

Before turning to follow her, another man caught his eye. He sat on a throne-like chair to the left of the deck and courtyard on a dais overlooking the dancers down on the floor. He wore a black three piece suit and the gold chain of an old fashioned pocket watch was visible even in the low light. He had straight, stringy, shoulder length, gray hair and an air of disdain clung to him like a second skin. As Killian studied him, the man noticed their presence and smiled. The smile definitely didn’t reach his eyes, or at least, it didn’t light up his eyes like a smile was supposed to. There was a cunning satisfaction, a slow curling of the lips in malicious glee that sent a feeling of foreboding skittering down Killian’s spine. He turned toward Emma to see her descending the stairs to the courtyard. Thankful to take his eyes off the unnerving man to the side, he followed, catching up to her just before she stepped onto the dancefloor.

She turned toward him, holding out her hand, her eyes filled with a come hither look that Killian was helpless to respond to. A slow, cocky smirk spread across his lips as he responded to her unspoken invitation and took her hand, drawing her close. They moved together in a sensuous dance that nearly made Killian light headed as all the blood in his body raced to where they were so closely pressed together. He tightened his arms around her back, holding her closer and pressed kisses to the long plane of her neck, tasting the sweet summer sweat that glistened on her skin. She tilted her head back, granting him more access as a low moan escaped her. Everyone around them- the other people on the floor, the man sitting on the dais, the man at the typewriter- completely disappeared as he danced with Emma. He had no idea who she was, where she came from, or how long this might last, but he did know he wanted everything she would give him for as long as humanly possible. There seemed to be a connection between them that he’d never felt with anyone and her behavior toward him suggested she felt it too. He could only hope he wasn’t imagining all this between them.

He spun her out and drew her close again. He nosed at her neck before placing an open mouthed kiss to her pulse point, making her shiver. “Want to get out of here, love?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Come back to my room.” She pulled away from him and moved to the stairs, Killian following closely behind her. As they entered the lobby, Killian noticed a bar area off the common room he hadn’t noticed earlier. Squeezing her hand lightly, he let go and moved toward it as Emma continued on toward her room.

Killian entered the lounge and found a short, rotund man with a red knit cap on his head.

“Good evening, sir,” Killian greeted him. “A bottle of your best rum, if you please.”

“That would be Captain, my good man,” the man corrected him with a genial smile. “Captain Smee, at your service. I’m afraid we haven’t served rum at the hotel since 1969, but may I interest you in a bottle of pink champagne?” He pulled out a bottle for Killian’s inspection and Killian nodded his agreement. He reached for his wallet and Captain Smee waved him off. “It’s taken care of, sir.” Killian nodded again in acceptance and thanks and walked away.

A few moments later, Killian stood before the door to Emma’s room. He took a deep breath and knocked. A muffled Come in, it’s open, reached his ears and he opened the door. This room was very different from his own and much more like what he’d expect for a hotel, although, admittedly, more decadent than any hotel he’d ever been in. The carpet beneath his feet was thick, and as he turned his head to the right, he could see a whirlpool bath and separate shower in a marble lined bathroom.

As he proceeded further into the room, he found Emma laid on a sumptuous 4 poster bed, covered with more pillows than he’d ever seen in his life. The lamps next to the bed glowed with a soft light that only further highlighted her beauty and Killian caught his breath. She was fully dressed, but she was still the most beautiful and sexy woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He placed the champagne on the desk before he dropped it and moved over to the bed as she sat up and looked at him from under her lashes. Not a word was spoken between them, but everything he wanted to know about her and them was clearly written on her countenance. Desire, trust, contentment, acceptance. Love? She was like an open book to him and he’d never take that precious gift for granted. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back and climbed up on the bed, covering her with his body.

He lowered his lips to hers, capturing them gently in a soft give and take that after their dance in the courtyard he never would have thought himself capable of. The feel of her hair as his fingers wound themselves in her soft tresses was like liquid gold pouring over him that threatened to drown him. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips requesting entrance and she opened to him eagerly with a soft moan.

Tongues danced and hands roamed as they kissed. Killian pulled the bottom of her tank top from the waistband of her jeans and his hands found their way to her skin. It was beyond any doubt the softest and smoothest thing he’d ever touched and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough. He cupped her breast and flicked her nipple through the lace covering it as she arched into him, keening her pleasure.

She seemed to melt into him, her body soft and pliable under his hands as he undressed her slowly. He laved her breasts with attention the moment they were exposed to him before moving lower, placing open mouth kisses to her torso until he met the waistband of her jeans. He opened the button and pulled her remaining clothes down her long legs and followed with his mouth. Every moan and cry was a symphony to his ears as he discovered every secret place on her that brought her closer to that pinnacle of rapture. He watched her face as he stroked her higher and higher before burying his face in her neck and sucking on her pulse point as she fell, drawing out her climax. Once she came back to herself, she rolled them so that she lay on top of him and began undressing him.

“My turn,” she whispered, catching his lips in a passionate kiss. Killian’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as she removed his shirt and buried her fingers in the chest hair she exposed. She moved to his neck, placing soft kisses there before marking him as he’d marked her earlier. Killian didn’t think he could be more happy or content than to bear her mark for all the world to see. Flipping them again once she’d finished undressing him, he raised up and searched her eyes one more time.

“Are you sure, Emma?”

“Yes,” she assured him. “Please, Killian. I need you.”

She raised her hips to meet his and he could hold himself back no longer. Mouths meeting with a passion he’d never expected to experience himself, he slid home, capturing her long low moan in his kiss. Giving her a moment to adjust, he began to move when her legs wrapped around him and she pulled him closer, impossibly closer. He didn’t think heaven existed, but if it did, it was right here in her arms. Never had he felt the kind of bliss that coursed through him at her touch. Never had he felt such a connection with another person. Not only physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. There was nothing that could even come close to explaining it. He’d heard the expression, of course, about finding your other half, even if he didn’t believe it, but it truly felt like this woman, that he’d only met a few hours ago, was a part of him. A vital part of him. It was like he had found his home. The place he’d never realized he needed and yet had never stopped searching for.

She shouted his name as she convulsed under him and he fell right behind her into sated completion. Aftershocks shook her as he gathered her close. He kissed her lips softly before moving to kiss each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then the tip of her nose as he slipped out of her and fell to the side. Emma hummed contentedly and turned to him.

Killian searched her jade green eyes as he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close again, touching her forehead with his own.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he told her. “Stay with me?”

Her fingers carded through his hair for a moment before she spoke.

“Yes, Killian,” she murmured against his lips. “I love you, too.”

She snuggled into him, placing her head on his chest like a pillow. Running his fingers up and down her bare back, he fell asleep.

~*~*~

They were awakened suddenly by the loud clanging of an old fashioned dinner bell. The sound was so loud, he really couldn’t tell if it was coming from within his own head, trying its best to crack his skull trying to get out.

Once they were fully awake, only moments really, the cacophony stopped. The blessed silence was nearly deafening. He turned to Emma, her eyes still wide in shock.

“You never get used to that,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“That was the announcement for dinner,” she informed him. “Remember when I told you we all ate dinner together?” He nodded. “That’s how we’re called to the feast.”

“Seriously?” he asked, incredulously. There was no way he was going to endure that again. They had to leave the hotel before tomorrow night’s summons.

Emma moved slowly, but threw a sly smile over her shoulder as she rose from the bed, still naked. The last almost twenty-four hours had been, without a doubt, the best of his life. Spending the night and the entire day sequestered with Emma in her room, with only catnaps really in between rounds, made him feel even more connected with her than he had the night before. Killian reached for her, trailing his fingers down her side, delighting in the feel of her skin before laying back on the bed with his arm behind his head.

He watched as she slowly dressed and he couldn’t help the smirk of satisfaction as he looked at her.

“You might want to get moving,” she informed him with a raised eyebrow. “That summoning will go off again here in about five minutes if we’re not out of the room by then.”

That was all it took to get him to move. “Welp,” he quipped, sitting up quickly, “better get my ass in gear then.”

“And a fine ass it is, too,” she said, with another smirk. He responded in kind and bent over at the waist to give her an eyeful as he grabbed his clothes from the floor.

It only took them a couple of minutes more to get dressed and emerge into the hallway, guaranteeing no repeat of the extremely offensive wakeup call. As soon as Killian closed the door behind them, he heard a pounding coupled with an anguished cry down the next hallway.

“What’s that?” he asked. Emma shook her head.

“No idea.”

Grabbing Emma’s hand, he led them at a run to find where the noise was coming from. When they arrived at the door, he grasped the knob, surprised to find it turned easily. The door swung open to reveal a petite brunette with tear tracks running down her face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried, falling into his arms. Killian turned confused eyes to Emma who just shrugged. He ran his hand up and down the woman’s back as he murmured soothingly to her. She finally looked up at them. “Thank you so much for getting me out of there.”

“Where did you come from?” Emma asked. “Were you trapped? Who put you there?”

The young woman’s blue eyes were wide in fright as she began to speak.

“My boyfriend and I were on our way somewhere…” she trailed away and shook her head for a moment. Killian shot a significant look to Emma who cut her eyes to him in return. “I don’t remember exactly where, but suddenly we were here and this man…” she shuddered this time, “He was here. In the lobby. He gave me the creeps.”

“What did he look like, lass?” Killian asked.

“He had on a suit,” she informed him. “He wasn’t much taller than me, thin, shoulder length gray hair.” Killian nodded encouragingly for her to go on. “He looked at me very strangely. My boyfriend didn’t appreciate it. And then when he welcomed us to the hotel, Will said we wouldn’t be staying, and he laughed, saying he’d like to see us try to leave. He had this look about him that reminded me of a reptile. Like a crocodile. Or a snake. Will grabbed a letter opener off the counter and ran at him. He stabbed him, but he just laughed and then I found myself in the room alone and I couldn’t get out.” She turned her eyes back on Killian. “I can’t thank you enough for freeing me.”

“Of course, lass,” he soothed her, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her into a side hug in comfort. “I’m glad we found you. I’m Killian Jones and this is Emma Swan. We’re on our way to dinner. Won’t you join us?”

“Yes, please,” she agreed. “My name is Belle French. Maybe Will will be down there?” she asked hopefully.

Killian shrugged. “I have no idea. But we’ll help you find him whether he’s there or not.”

“Thank you so much.”

Emma led the way down the hall to the Master’s chambers. Once they arrived, they saw all the other people from the courtyard the night before. Including the man with the typewriter and the man from the dais.

“You!” Belle cried. “What did you do with Will?”

“Oh, I did nothing with your paramour, dearie.” The man’s voice had an oily, slithering quality that made Killian think Belle’s earlier assessment of the man was quite on point.

“He stabbed you!” Belle exclaimed. “I saw him! You should be dead!”

The man laughed. “You can’t hurt me. We are all just prisoners here.” His eyes held a manic gleam in them that made Killian shudder as he looked around at their companions.

Jefferson had a speculative glint in his eye as he looked toward the ornately set table in the middle of the room.

“Maybe Will couldn’t kill him,” Jefferson said, looking first at the table and then back at the man in front of them. “But I bet if we all tried, we could…” He grabbed a wickedly sharp knife from the table and charged the man. Graham and Belle followed his lead, the latter with a cry of fury and anguish, and descended on the man as his cackle rose to the ceiling.

Killian could see his fellow guests were getting nowhere. Blood flowed, but the man just laughed and laughed and laughed. He grabbed Emma’s hand.

“We’re getting out of here, love.” He dragged her behind him until they emerged into the warm summer night. A highway leading nowhere stretched before them. Presented with the choice of following the road or going back inside… It was really no choice at all. “What do you say, love? Want to see where it goes?”

Emma shuddered. “Anything to get away from here, Killian. And as long as I’m with you,” she murmured.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before leading her down the steps to the road. They started walking but after just a few minutes, they could see a familiar shape rise up out of the evening gloaming. As they got closer, Killian felt his mouth drop. It was the hotel. The same one they’d just left.

Emma looked up at the stone edifice and Killian could see the tears gathered in her eyes. He turned back the other way- the way they’d come from- and could see nothing but the same road they’d been traversing cutting straight through the desert.

“It’s not possible,” Emma cried, burying her face in his chest. “Can’t we just be free from this place?”

Killian held her close and whispered soothing nonsense into her hair.

“Come on, love,” he cajoled. “This can’t be the same hotel. You’re right. It’s not possible. Let’s walk around it instead of going in and see what we can find. Maybe our vehicles are here, since we didn’t see them at the other.”

She nodded and jerkily wiped the tears from her face. He took her hand again and led her around the side of the building. What they found in the back, brought them to a complete and sudden stop.

A graveyard.

And all those who attempted to kill the beast at the other hotel. They stood motionless before headstones with their own names chiseled into the marble.

Graham Humbert

Jefferson Hatter

Belle French

Will Scarlet

Emma Swan

Killian Jones

Killian looked at Emma and at all the others who stood transfixed before the macabre scene.

“I don’t know what this means,” Killian began, “but maybe we can get some answers inside. Come on.”

That seemed to do the trick as they all shook their heads as if coming out of a trance. Killian held Emma’s hand tightly as he led them all inside. The interior of this building was exactly the same as the hotel they’d left earlier. Only this time, there was someone to greet them. A kid. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He had blonde wavy hair, but if the eyes were the mirror of the soul, then this kid didn’t have one. His eyes were black as midnight but held a depraved delight in their depths that Killian didn’t think he’d forget for the rest of his days. And the smile on his face… If the beast at the other place reminded him of a crocodile or a snake, then this one seemed to be the devil incarnate.

“Good evening, all,” the boy said.

There was a collective growl from their companions that Killian heard himself and Emma joining.

“Who are you?”

“Where are we?”

“What the hell is going on here?”

The questions came from all directions and the boy just waved them all off. “Relax,” he told them. “We are here to receive. And only receive.” The gleam in his eye intensified as he turned his gaze individually upon each of them. “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave my Hotel Neverland.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “We can check out?”

“Oh, yes,” the boy assured her.

“That’s it then,” she proclaimed. “We’re checking out.”

Her announcement was met with enthusiastic agreement from their company and the moment they made their intentions known, they could hear a man’s voice from outside the hotel shouting. Killian watched as Belle’s face lost all color as she turned and ran from the hotel. Killian and Emma followed her out the door only to find her caught up in a warm embrace with who could only be Will Scarlet. Will’s name on the headstone next to Belle’s and her response when she heard his voice was enough to clue Killian in to the man’s identity. Tears flowed down her face as he held her close, kissing every part of her face. Killian felt his own eyes fill with tears as he witnessed their heartfelt reunion.

When they finally pulled apart, Belle turned to the rest of them and motioned everyone forward.

“This is my boyfriend, Will Scarlet,” she introduced. “Will, this is Killian and Emma, and Jefferson and Graham.”

“Nice ta meet cha’ll.” He waved at them and then turned back to Belle. “When I got that tosser at the hotel, I found myself here, alone.” He turned to the building behind him and Killian’s eyes widened when he realized it’d been there all along, but he hadn’t noticed it until now. It looked like a 1950’s diner and a sign above the door proclaimed the place to be Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. “Come on in.” He moved his arm in an all encompassing motion and led the way into the establishment.

As they entered, Killian saw the man with the typewriter again, still clacking away, still ignoring everything around him.

Will led them all to a corner booth and they all settled in. As soon as they did, the man at the typewriter approached them with several sheets of paper in his hand. He handed one sheet to each person at the table, except Will. Killian looked down and saw his name and birth date at the top of the page. Next to his birthday was yesterday’s date.

He turned confused eyes up to the man still handing out the sheets.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the man asked him. “That’s your obituary.”

Killian’s jaw dropped as he looked back around the table at his companions, all wearing the same shocked look that he was sure he was sporting, and then at the paper in his hand.

He skimmed over the paper, and as he did, he suddenly remembered everything that had been hazy or completely gone from his memory since he’d arrived at the hotel. He’d been on his way to visit his brother and sister-in-law, Liam and Elsa, in Flagstaff after the birth of their first child. He shut his eyes as he remembered seeing a shimmering light in the distance and thinking it’d be a good place to spend the night and then waking up in the lobby of the hotel. The accident that killed him was still blessedly absent from his memory, but the obit in his hand made clear exactly what had happened to him.

He looked around the table at all the others. They were still reading, varying emotions playing across their faces. Belle laid her head on Will’s shoulder and Killian smiled at them before turning to the man still standing at the end of their table.

“How do you know all this?” he asked. “Who are you?”

“My name is August,” he answered. “And I am the first. This stretch of highway has been cursed ever since I drove my motorcycle off a cliff a little ways down from here in the early 1920’s. Innocent travelers must be and remain very alert on this stretch of road, or else they will die. Any hint of inattention or sleepiness and it’s all over. Because of what I did, I have always remembered and I have been tasked with recording the stories of those who find themselves here.”

He looked around again and saw that everyone was finished reading. Looking at the paper again, he told the others his story. When he was finished, the rest of them shared theirs as well.

Emma Swan was a bail bonds woman chasing a skip to Vegas. She’d been dead nearly a month and had left no family or close friends behind. She turned her soft smile upon him and Killian felt his heart flip as he considered how blessed he was to have this woman welcome him into her heart and her life. Er, afterlife, that is…

Jefferson Hatter had been on his way to the Grand Canyon with his daughter Grace. She had survived the accident that claimed his life several months ago and was now living with her best friend, whose parents were pursuing adoption proceedings since Grace had no other family to take custody of her.

Graham Humbert had been on a hike a few weeks before near the highway when he fell wrong and broke his leg very badly. Out in the middle of nowhere, there was no signal for his cell phone to be usable and no one would be looking for him for another week. Instead of falling victim to dehydration or a wild animal, he’d decided to take matters into his own hands and shoot himself. The restlessness that had characterized his behavior back at the hotel had been because his body hadn’t been found yet. Now it had, and that had been the impetus for him to be able to move on from the hotel.

Finally, Will told his and Belle’s story as he looked between all of them and back at the woman still resting her head on his shoulder with a tender and affectionate gaze. They’d been on their way to Vegas to elope. Her father hadn’t approved of Will, but Belle wouldn’t be deterred. It had been her idea to take off and get married and her father was just going to have to find a way to live with it. But now, here they all were.

August nodded in understanding. “When people in the hotel are ready to move on, they usually wake up enough to attack the beast who oversees the hotel. But whatever the circumstances, they find their way here. They find out what happened to them and are able to choose their happy ending. I’ll be leaving you all now. Enjoy your afterlife.”

As soon as he was gone, an older woman approached their table.

“I’m Granny,” she introduced herself. “Y’all are welcome to stay, but I only have three available rooms.”

Killian looked around the table and then noticed a tall leggy brunette approach them behind Granny.

“I think the two couples would appreciate two of the rooms, Granny,” she said. Then she turned a wide smile on the other two men who straightened up just a bit as her attention focused on them and smiled back. “One of you can have the other room, and the other can stay with me. Unless… you both want to stay with me, of course.” Jefferson and Graham looked at her, then at each other, and back to her again. Killian could plainly see what their answer was before either of them began expressing their agreement.

So began the Happily Ever Afterlife for Killian Jones and Emma Swan, Will Scarlet and Belle French, and Graham Humbert, Jefferson Hatter, and Ruby Lucas.

The End

Thank you for reading and sharing! I’d love to know what you thought! Don’t forget to scream with me to Mandy for her artwork!!!

#cssns22 #hotel neverland #krystal writes #art by thesschesthair

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unprocione · 1 year

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* @shinylugers ︴ continued from 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔!

A GRIN IS BARED, perfect white teeth, ( as blinding as car headlights to a stray deer ) in return to steve's own smile. steve's smile, it's tight, drawn stiffly, like military bootlaces, leon notes, pulled to strain the leather, cut off the blood pressure - up to code, but an expression not up to scrutiny under leon's sharp attention, and familiarity. it didn't surprise him, the kid, too young, had been through several layers of hell, too many. leon can picture, clearly, his own reflected face pulling the same expression, over and over again in the mirror, imperfect every time to his grief. back then, it had been like something had reached into him, and drilled a hole straight through whatever made the expression easy to recall, a lobotomy operation that dug too deep and pierced from his brain to his wounded, festering soul. every memory that summoned a relaxed face was tainted by the spreading stain of raccoon city, saturating everything in his head, like a popped pustule. why do you look so angry all the time, leon? you should get some sleep.

we'll get on like a house on fire, you and i.

❛ i've always been a trendsetter, just knew this look would come back into fashion some time again. they all doubted me, but i knew the truth! people hate what they don't understand, the amount of times someone's threatened me with clippers, pfft, you couldn't count it on both hands. they'll have to burn me as a witch before they touch my hair at this point, they probably wouldn't let me into my own secret agent man office if i got a haircut anyways. ❜ there it is. steve's cheeky smile is marked down as a small victory in leon's book.

it's like a match has been struck and lit, and it doesn't escape leon's notice for a second, the minute the boy in front of him lights up like a sparkler at the sheer mention alone of his heavensent piece of fine machinery. leon's trying desperately not to laugh at the display, straightening up with a playful raise of his brows as steve scoots closer, leon bends towards him conspiratorially - he just can't help himself, leon is more than eager to feed the hobbyist flame, holding the keys just above steve's nose, teasing him.

❛ ..you gonna pass out on me if i tell you it's not on the market yet? ❜ as with most high-class goods, the ducati xdiavel was introduced to the government's personal lots first, then would be filtered down to the pocket-heavy public a handful of months to a year afterwards. leon had been lucky, extremely lucky, to dexterously schmooze through the right channels and charm & sweet-talk, wheeling-and-dealing his way into being able to bring the beauty home. it was a huge expression of good faith to entrust steve to carry the keys, let alone ride her, but even if leon ended up shoulder-deep in the ducati xdiavel for repairs afterwards, he held not a single urge of hesitation. this was his torch in the darkness for steve, and leon wasn't going to douse it for fear of getting burnt.

#» 🌱 ﹕ thread. ─ shinylugers. ╱ steve burnside. ❧#» 🕊️ ﹕ were you bitten or scratched? (ic.) ❧#✦ CLASS ﹕ * light reply.#★ steve burnside. ︴shinylugers. ❧#c'mon man share the skincare routine #hey do u even have a driver's license...?#secret agent man... careful if u keep talking like that i'll have to informally take you under my wing

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encomium-emmae · 2 years

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Mafia AU: A bit of a pre-wedding interlude, but with additional Harald and Leif! I suspect you all will be able to tell what scene in the show inspired part of this chapter... :) (Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 or read the whole story on AO3)

A soft knock on the door brought Emma’s attention away from the ledgers on her desk; she glanced up to see one of the housemaids standing just inside the doorframe, looking a touch apprehensive.

“They’re here, ma’am.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma replied with a nod, watching as the girl quickly slipped away and disappeared down the corridor. With a steadying breath, she rose to her feet, smoothing out the small creases at the front of her trousers.

Everyone was slightly nervous this morning—including Emma, it seemed—for they were expecting a visit from the new head of the family, along with several of his men. This time, though, they were not coming as enemies to sit down at a negotiating table, but as fellow members of a newly unified house. They had conquered, and the time had come to take stock of their conquest.

Unsurprisingly, Edmund had refused to stay, declaring that he had no interest in watching the men of the Knýtlinga stroll around as if they already owned the place. Instead, he and Godwin had headed in the direction of the garage, where their motorcycles were kept. Edmund took great pride in his vintage Ducati and over the past few months, he and the capo had begun taking long rides up and down the backcountry roads, often racing each other along the winding asphalt paths. The purpose of today’s ride, though, was clearly not pleasure; it was avoidance, pure and simple.

But as much as Emma was irritated by his petulance, a part of her understood. Yellow and purple bruises still ringed his eye, a visible reminder of what he had lost. He was still angry and disappointed, unable to accept his new position in the family. In that sense, she was not entirely disappointed he had made himself scarce; absent, he would not be able to say something impolitic or upset any of her delicately made plans.

She made her way to the foyer and through the front door. Outside, in the circle drive, Canute and several men were just stepping out of their cars. Most of them she knew by now, including the two who had been seated next to her at the dinner. They were dressed in dark, slim-cut suits, although she was certain both were well-armed underneath their jackets. For his part, Canute was entirely in black, both suit and shirt, gold cufflinks peeking out from the bottom of his sleeves. All of them looked fully prepared for business and Emma hoped she did not appear too casual: aside from her capri trousers, she had worn a sharp white button-down and a sky-blue jacket that she knew complemented the color of her eyes.

From Canute’s admiring glance, however, it was clear he had no objections to what she was wearing.

“Emma,” he said, turning from her to the men behind him, “may I introduce Harald Sigurdsson and Leif Eriksson.”

Both men were of similar height and build, bearded, with wavy, light brown hair. But there were subtle differences: the one on the left—Harald—was more classically handsome, with lively dark eyes and an easy smile, while the other—Leif—was a touch quieter and more observant, as if much of his time was spent within his own thoughts. The ambush, Emma recalled, had been his idea, and Canute had trusted him enough to put it into action.

“Welcome,” she said. “I remember you both from the dinner, but it’s good to put names to faces. Canute tells me you are men that can be relied upon. I hope that will be true for this new united house we are building.”

Harald grinned widely and Emma instantly understood. If Leif’s central asset was his clear-eyed gift for strategy, then Harald’s clearly was his charm, his ability to cast a warm, enticing spell over whoever happened to be in his path.

“We hope so, too. And now that your families are finally at peace, the focus can return to business—and expansion.”

“That is our goal,” Emma replied. “And part of why you’re here today: the first step towards merging these two houses. Of course, I’m sure you will both want to speak with the family’s head of security, if only to learn more about the current threats we’re facing and the measures he’s already put into place.”

“Is he not here?” Leif asked, green eyes glancing back and forth over the drive and the front of the house.

She smiled knowingly. “He’s probably still in his office, pouring over your background checks. I’m assuming there are a lot of redacted pages from a number of national security agencies.”

Harald turned towards Canute, then clasped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “I like her. I can already tell she’s going to keep you on your toes.”

Emma escorted the men of the Knýtlinga into the house, directing a member of the staff to show them around the property and then to accompany Harald and Leif to the head of security’s office. Once they were gone, she planned to speak with Canute separately—his new leadership of the family would require a much more in-depth knowledge of their finances and she had already asked the accountants to draw up a summary statement to share with him.

When it came to the question of the private offshore accounts, she still had come no closer in deciding what to share. Eventually she would, of course—they were going to be married, and she didn’t want any secrets between them. But some part of her was still not ready to divulge something she had closely guarded for so long, and there was the worrying chance he might be upset that she had not said anything sooner. Perhaps she would just wait until after the wedding; what man wouldn’t be happy to learn that his new wife was in possession of a literal fortune, one that now also belonged to him?

In her study, Emma wasted no time pushing aside her ledgers until she found the slim folder containing the financial statement.

“Even before the war between our families began, we had been struggling,” she told him, observing him closely as he glanced over the document. “The conflict only made things worse.”

“If your men are not bringing in revenue, perhaps replacing them with some of mine would help.”

She shook her head. “The problem is not the men, it is the way we are doing business. For many years, we were stuck in the past, the old ways of making money that we had relied on for so long. A decade ago, I helped convince my husband that we would benefit from finding new sources of income, things that were less traceable and with greater opportunity for profit.”

Canute sat along the edge of her desk, his gaze steady and direct. “You saw the chance to adapt.”

“But we could not fully. Not while my husband was still alive. Back when he became head of the family, it was a different time—there were certain ways of operating. We are in a new world now.”

He nodded, with an expression equal parts warm and appraising. Emma felt her cheeks warm with the realization that he had barely taken his eyes off her since they came into the room.

“What do you propose?”

She leaned closer, pointing out the second document in the folder. At first glance, it might have looked similar to the summary statement, but the accountants had played no role in its creation. It was entirely hers.

For the last few days, Emma had been working on it, amassing a detailed strategy for investment and asset-building. Some of it was entirely above board—real estate and commercial development, venture capital, delving into cryptocurrency—and some of it decidedly less so, but they were all ideas she had been considering for some time, and with this new change in the leadership of the family, many of them suddenly seemed possible.

She watched him as his eyes skimmed over the pages, the lines on his brow deepening in thought.

“You came up with all of this?” he asked.

“I’ve had a few years to think.” Emma glanced down at the document and then back at him, deliberately flashing her blue eyes. “But I believe it could be enough to change the fortunes of this family—and of yours as well, now that the two are fully joined.”

It was clear by his expression that he did not miss the deeper connotation of her last two words.

“I agree,” Canute replied, the heat in his gaze unmistakable. He closed the folder, placing it on the top of her desk. “Later we can talk more about how you plan to implement all these ideas.”

“And for now?”

His grin was sharp, hungry. “Perhaps you might take me through the rest of the house. There must be some favorite corner you’d like to show me.”

Emma offered him a small, obliging nod—his request had been impromptu, but at that moment, she knew exactly where they could go.

Together, they made their way towards the back of the house and then down the tiled stairs into the bottom floor. Mostly it was an area for entertainment—her husband’s children from his previous marriage had hosted extravagant sleepovers and parties for their private school friends, making use of the screening room and the game room with its pool tables and the two-lane bowling alley. Beyond that, in the furthest reaches, kept behind a locked door and plenty of soundproofing, was their destination.

Once inside, she switched on the overhead lights, illuminating a long row of individual lanes separated by partitions. Beyond them was a wide space enclosed by concrete walls and, at the far end, a handful of paper targets in the shape of human silhouettes.

“You have a firing range in your house?” he asked, sounding slightly impressed.

Emma’s smile was coy. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Canute chuckled, then began to walk down the row of lanes, stopping behind one close to the center. On the shelf in front of him sat a pair of safety glasses and a case with padded ear muffs.

“Do you shoot much?”

“Some,” she said with a small shrug. “What my father taught me.”

Emma’s father, were she to be entirely honest, had taught her almost nothing. He had been very good at having children—eight by her mother and another three by his various mistresses—but terrible at raising them, handing that chore off to the women in his life who were more accommodating than he deserved. Emma had been the eldest daughter—and as fate would have it, the prettiest—and therefore destined to be a pawn in his schemes of allying himself with a powerful family. Besides an independent streak a mile long, the only thing he had given his children was the gift of his own favorite pastime: knowing how to fire a gun.

“Do you want to practice?” Canute asked.

Emma arched a brow. “Are you offering to show me?”

In the end, she accepted his unspoken invitation, walking down to where he stood, then slipping off her jacket and rolling the cuffs of her sleeves up to her forearms. Canute reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a Smith & Wesson 9mm, presumably the same one he had shot Streona with a few days earlier. He flipped the safety and then placed it in her hands, moving to stand behind her as he wrapped his arms around hers and extended them out towards the target.

“Shoulders back, face straight ahead,” he told her, pulling her closer towards him, his breath warm along the top of her ear. Emma could feel the solid strength of his chest against her back, the heat of him through the fabric of their clothes; were it not for the loaded weapon in her hands, she would have been tempted to spin around and quickly press her mouth to his. His voice lowered to a rough whisper, sending a shiver down her spine. “Set the target in range.” His palms slid down her wrists, covering her hands where she grasped the gun. “Breathe… and then fire. Shoot in between breaths to keep yourself steady.”

Stepping back from her, he reached towards the shelf for the glasses and the ear muffs, gently putting both into place over her eyes and ears.

Emma turned back towards the target, raising her arms and setting her sights on the middle of the silhouetted figure. Without a pause, she fired four shots in rapid succession, feeling the slight recoil of the gun in her grip each time she pulled the trigger.

Switching the safety back on, she set the gun down on the shelf and tugged the ear muffs down around her neck. With a quick press of the button beside her, the paper target began to move closer, finally stopping a few feet away.

There were four holes, all striking the dead center.

Canute stepped closer, his dark brows raised in surprise as he stared at the target.

As he stood in stunned silence, she sidled up alongside him. “Remind me again how I need to shoot between breaths,” Emma purred, her tone arch, the dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I can’t be certain, but perhaps I’m not the one who should be practicing.”

He began to laugh, a deep, rich sound she realized she was becoming increasingly more fond of.

“Harald was right. You are definitely going to be keeping me on my toes.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Not at all,” Canute replied, as he slowly wrapped an arm around her waist. “I am very much looking forward to it.”

He pulled her towards him, reaching his other hand out to cup her jaw. For all his size, he was so gentle with her, thumb tracing softly against her cheekbone, lips warm and teasing as they brushed against hers. It was so easy to become lost within his touch—within the desire-filled depths of his eyes—and tempting enough to want to remain there, and never be found. And it was clear she was not alone in feeling this way, based on how he was tugging her close, her hips now pressed to his, and the growing demands of his mouth.

“How long before you need to rejoin Harald and Leif?” she asked breathlessly.

Canute smiled, lips curling widely against hers. “Let them wait,” he growled, as he picked her up and set her down atop the waist-high shelf of the firing lane. Finding a space between Emma’s open thighs, he began to fist her shirt in his hands, his mouth searching for hers once again. “Like you said, I need more practice.”

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