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lilcutieana · 6 years

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Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi)

CHAPTER ONE

Word Count: 8.8k

Warning: triggering, mentions of abuse, blood and drugs.

Rating: 18+

Pairing: hybrid Yoongi x hybrid reader

Genre: Angst/ drama/ smut (happy ending)

Synapse: Min Yoongi, a beautiful and rare snow leopard hybrid, struggling to survive under the care of a ruthless owner who sells him for underground fights and sex. In a world where mistreating hybrids is a natural and where hybrids have been seen as worse than animals and treated beneath humans, would he make it out alive?

Story inspiration: Red Raven

This story is a part of the same AU as her Namjoon hybrid fic (Unspoken ) and continues with Yoongi's story.

also, I’d love to thank @barbika1508 , she’s been a huge help in the editing process along with Raven.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 (final)

Breathing heavy and slow, the pain making my body numb to everything else around me, hands trembling on their hold to the seat of the chair, my extended claws keeping me rooted. Trying my hardest to remain conscious in the backstage room, my body was swaying and screaming for some sort of relief while my owner gleefully counted the money I earned for tonight besides me by the table with a cancer stick in the mouth.

The ice pack glued to my neck did nothing to help alleviate the pain or cool me down, sweat still running throughout my body in rivulets, the threadbare clothes sticking to my body like a second skin. I just needed a shower, some food, painkillers and perhaps a soft bed, all of which were luxury to me, a temporary heaven found only in a hospital. But what I had here, right at this moment, was a heady cocktail of piss, blood and cheap booze scents surrounding me.

With a twitching nose that hurt with every movement, the animal part of me wanted to puke my guts out, yet conversely, the human in me knew I couldn't afford that. It was a battle within that I was slowly growing tired of and just wanted out of this place, somehow, anyhow. I had to keep whatever food I got, down, knowing I only had a handful to survive off of, despite the amount of money I earned. My body was slowly losing its energy, eyes losing its focus and ears ringing, blinking my eyes off the sweat drops that rolled into them, I tried focusing on my surroundings once again.

The whitewashed walls were now chipping every which way, almost making it look like an intricate map of an exotic place. Map to hell I bet. Snickering at my own thoughts, I noticed the many blood splatters here and there and some questionable bodily fluids or whatever those stains were. The underground was truly a sketchy place indeed. All kinds of dealings went under the table. The drinks served here made many people laugh boisterously, and the rest to start showing off how evil they were than the other, like a sick game, showcasing who tops the rest. Sickening humans. Filthy, every single one of them.

The more time passed, the harder it became to ignore the searing pain raising from my ribs and spreading towards my back and thighs. Biting my cheeks, almost making it bleed, I held back from moaning out loud or show signs of weakness. I would never give my owner have the pleasure, of me begging for things or showing how he has broken me. He knew I was well past broken, I knew that too, but I still held onto the sliver of pride I had left. The only thin thread that helped me survive. I had a purpose, and I won't give up till I fulfilled it.

Perhaps it was a muscle strain, the pain being too much to bear, or some tearing of ligaments like last time. Maybe. At least I hoped it was one of the two. I was no specialist to diagnose exactly what was wrong with me, no matter how much I experienced these things before. A bruised body was no good for pets like me, who sold their bodies for quick money. Good thing, I made enough money in the past week to afford spray makeup and cover up the discolored skin. I just had to hold my tongue to not show any discomfort that wasn't caused by whoever paid for my services. Humans were irrationally possessive over things that weren't theirs, to begin with. God forbid I had some broken or shattered bones, I'd be counted useless and thrown away. Maybe that was for the better? Who knows? But what if things got worse than it is now?

My sight was almost gone, eyes blinking closed in exhaustion and maybe, malnutrition too. Everything looked hazy, the energy pills I consumed for the fight wearing off, leaving my head spinning after the twelve rounds of a fight that I went through tonight. The wish to pass out any given time was monumental, yet, the adrenaline pumping through my veins kept me awake. Awake enough to run at any given chance, but the painful truth was, I couldn't. Where would I run to? I was bound by law, to forever be the slave that owed my life to my owner for keeping me safe.

Safe

Scoffing at the term, I spat out the blood that had accumulated in my mouth, from the cut on my tongue and cheek. Almost instantly an answering clap resounded in my ears, making me cringe. While my sight was dwindling, my ears were extra sensitive just as my tail was, that was currently taped to my back for protection underneath the thin shirt that I wore and was itching to be let out of its misery.

It took me a few moments to register, that was no clap, I was being slapped across the face since it had been now turned to the left with the force of the heavy blow delivered by my now glaring owner. But the pain I was already in, had made me numb to the new blow on my left cheek, making me believe for a split second it might have been a clap. What a fool I am. It was nothing compared to what I'm used to.

Smiling deliriously, I winked at him, earning myself a glare. "Watch yourself, Yoongi. You got me ten thousand bucks, but it's not enough to earn my affection." Sneering at me he returned the brown packet into his faux leather jacket with zebra prints and kicked my chair, a sign for me to get up and follow him exactly five steps behind. He was a journalist, my not so kind owner, working the usual nine to five job for a meager salary at the 'The True Telegraph'. Always have the best of stories but never the best of articles to go with it. And every time he failed in his job only to be one up by his other college, all his pent-up frustrations and anger was poured on me, followed by a night full of cheap drinks and squandering money like a trickling waterfall.

My confident, cocky attitude was a front I used when venturing out with him. It was all a mask, with intricate designs, crafted specially to show the world I was strong, yet a very obedient hybrid. Little did they know, I was not strong at all, in any way or form. I’d crumble to the ground if I didn’t have something holding me upright.

"Want me to get some medication for your hybrid, sir? He is the starfighter in our club after all." Drawled the old man from the counter with yellowing teeth and a rotten egg smell about his person making my nose crinkle in disgust.

“Is it free of charges?” Taken aback the man sighed and shook his head. It's not that we were poor, I earned enough money to pay for ten more people to live comfortably. But my owner splurged all that money into gambling. “Sorry, mate, it's not on me to give things away for free, I’m just a worker here.”

"Just as I thought!” With a dry sarcastic chuckle that grated on my ears, he continued with a sneer,”Never mind, pal, I'll take him to the shelter to get checked. Got a couple of friends who'd love to look after this kitty." Being put on the spot like that, I squared my shoulders and glared back at them, yet I knew I was expected to reply and let out a soft non-committal 'yes'. Satisfied, my owner cuffed my hands and tied the leather and spike choker with a leash snug around my throat.

'A filthy cat like you, deserves no place beside me, never forget who you are'

Those words once spoken, will never leave my mind. Making me unconsciously follow behind him at every step of the way.

This isn't the life you call safe. I'm anything but 'safe'. From being passed around as an escort with added 'bonus' to posing lewdly in front of a camera, taping myself get off for the sick pleasures of human females, sometimes, even males and the occasional underground fighting - this - was my life now. This has been my life ever since I was deemed a hybrid ready to be released to the world from the lab, as a rare breed of snow leopard. Vicious when needed but docile otherwise. A good breed to mate with. I was often called into the lab to help procreate new hybrids.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It was so cold even my breath was turning foggy in front of me, nose feeling frosted over, probably pink by now and lungs stinging with every breath that I took. I was shivering in this place, with only darkness surrounding me, for as far as my vision went, even the moon and stars had given up on me. Straightening my ears atop my head, twisting every direction, I tried hard to listen to any semblance of sounds and was met with absolute stillness. No wind, no birds, no insects. The surface I was standing on, was hurting my feet, probably with a temperature beyond the freezing point.

Where was this place?

Slowly, I could water trickling, slowly and calmly, and with fascination saw a huge bluefish glowing a neon blue with pale blue stripes and dark black spots…whale maybe? Swim beneath my feet. I was standing on a frozen ocean? Or was this a lake?

Bracing myself on my haunches, I proceeded to jump on my feet, to try and get rid of the cold floor I was standing on, but just one jump, and it had started to crack with a loud crunch. Startled, I stepped back into a pair of warm hands that braced my fall into the never-ending abyss below. Straightening out, I tried to thank whoever saved my fall, but I couldn't move anymore. I couldn't see who those hands belonged to. I couldn’t even move my head...or body. Even my tail wouldn't swing like I needed it to. I was stuck. On this frozen lake. My breathing picked up, freezing my heart and my hair stood up with gooseflesh on my skin. Just then, the hands moved from my shoulder blades to my neck and something clicked around it. No! I hate collars!

'Don't you like it?' A new voice crooned by my ears, making my tail bristle in fear. Who? Who's there? Show yourself! Glancing down at my hands, they wouldn't move, they're small again. I'm small again? Why? What's happening? A cacophony of laughter raised all around me. They echoed off of the empty space. No, no.

'It's a very special collar, made just for creatures like you.' No. No, please. I don't like collars. I don't want them around me. Take it off. Take it off of me. I couldn't speak. My lips were sealed shut with muffled screams coming out. I couldn't scream out. What is happening to me? I wanted so bad to raise my hands and take it off myself but they won’t move. My hands won’t listen to me.

'I'll know everything there is to know, about you, at all times. Look, right here, it has an alarm system that activates whenever someone tries to change or remove it. You won't do that me, will you, kitty?' A new voice. Another pair of hands, feminine now. They were moving across my naked body. I don't like this touch. I'm older now. Don't touch me there. It hurts. I don't like it. Stop touching me. A mouth started sucking marks on my thighs, slowly moving there. I wanted to squirm away, only to be held back my own paralyzed body. Why won’t it listen to me? Laughing manically the voices crowded in on me.

'My sweet, lovely kitty, come to daddy.' No! Not again. A new voice echoed from my far right. I can’t take anymore. How many more people? I don't want to be punished. It's not my fault. Please believe me. I didn't do it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just then another pair of hands joined my body, rough, calloused and old, wrinkly. Yanking my tail, it started inserting something inside of me. Something large. It hurts. It hurts so much. I’m too small. Stop! Please. Please let me go. No. Not there. Please not there....

'Oh? You're hard now baby? Let daddy take real good care, of you'

No! I'll do anything, but not that, Not that, I don't want that. My body can't take it no more. Stop playing with me. I'm not a toy! It's like back in my training days. I’m an adult again. My arms, feet look like a grown man. Still, this hold over my body won’t go. The hands won’t leave me.

'For a filthy kitty, you come so beautifully, let's see if more people will love how much you crave a cock, inside you, on you, you just love it, don’t you? Even if yours doesn’t work' not like this, I don't like it. Save me, someone, please. Save me...Save me... sa-save m-me…

'Aw, don't cry kitty. You look so pretty with smiles. Cry only when asked to. Cry when begging me for more. Be a good kitty, for daddy, won't you?' Yes. Only smiles. I'll be good. Don't hurt me anymore. Panting heavily, I had given up. There is no one to save me. No one who cares. Nobody wants me.

'If you're good, we'll be together forever, just you and me.' Together. Only smiles. I'm not a bad kitty. I'll be good, don't ever hurt me.

'I'll treasure you the most. You're mine'

Okay. Together. Forever. Smiles and happiness. You’ll stay with me, won’t you?

'Mine'

Only yours. You’re a beautiful precious kitty, Yoongi.

Just then, every pair of hands left me. No! Come back. You promised to stay! My body thrummed with renewed energy, I could feel my body now. It was slowly beginning to thaw from the frozen temperature. Blood rushing back into my veins, my muscles were tingling. Slowly I tried moving my head. I could move again? Come back! Lifting my feet, I stumbled and fell. Getting up again, I ran across the ice in front of me, falling on my ass once again. The ice was slippery.

"Come back!" I could speak again! My mouth felt so dry. My voice echoed back to me, but I could hear nobody else. The ice started crunching underneath me. Panicked, I started crawling backward with rounded eyes, bated breath and tears streaming down my face in rivulets. Lightning struck right behind me, making me jump and hide my face on the ground just as the whole place lit up. Looking up, I saw a million red glowing eyes staring me with crazed smiles on their faces. No, they were cameras. Was I being filmed?

Thunder boomed in the distance soon after leading me to sit on the surface, covering my ears and clutching my head shaking it with a plethora of repeated ‘no’s’. Just then the cracking and groaning of the ice increased and it was rapidly coming towards me. I had nothing to live for anymore. Come take me, drown me, make me a part of your vast abyss, never to be found again. Peace will welcome me finally.

Soon enough the ground beneath my feet opened wide, making me fall inside with a huge splash. It was too cold, freezing me in place. I couldn't even feel any part of my body except stinging needles pricking every surface of my skin. Naked. Frozen. Suspended in water.

I opened my eyes to see just that. I was small again. Naked, with tubes running along my body and needles attached everywhere. I was back in a glass cage of the lab to become half a leopard. Just beyond the glass cage were various scenes flashing by. Humans in various white coats moving around, dipping things into my tank and shouting out commands. Vials and beakers of neon liquids passed around and a table full of weird glass bottles, set up in an equally weird fashion. Further beyond, were huge tanks of other animals, suspended in a ruby red liquid of sorts. All inside the ocean with fish and octopus swimming around. People being carried in and out, people screaming and banging on my glass cage. Closing my eyes, I wished death to come sooner and cradle me in its arms. Put me to sleep for an eternity with a single chaste kiss.

With a sharp inhale, I woke with a start, jerking my eyes open and blinking furiously. Rubbing my eyes to get rid of the sticky lashes, I winced when my bruised knuckles made contact with skin. It hurt like a bitch. Sniffing with my nose up in the air, the soft fragrance of freesia, calmed my senses and brought forth a feeling of nostalgia from within. Rubbing my cheeks on the soft,fluffy pillow, I tried my best to get rid of the nasty feeling the nightmare left me with. My mum used to smell like that. It was a nightmare I would rather not live again. All of my childhood memories mixed into one.

Twitching my ears, I tried listening to any sounds. A few moments later, I could faintly make out a feminine voice humming something soothing? Perhaps a lullaby, from far away, the only sound of a living being I could tell. Soon enough my other senses caught up. Heart thumping like crazy, room spinning and my head pounding in immense pain, I’m quite positively certain I was hung-over. Didn’t I get any medicine after all? Where... was I? The baby pink and white ceiling was unfamiliar and swishing my tail around, I could tell, so was the bed underneath me. Feeling clammy and sweaty, I looked around the pillows for the remote and turned on the AC at the lowest setting, sighing in relief once it started cooling me down.

Clutching my head in my hands, I turned sideways and curled in on myself in a fetal position, wrapping my tail around my waist, immediately straightening out with a soft whimper. The pain and memories flashing through my body and mind making me cringe. The fights, the lashing right outside the bar for making people notice I was in pain, then going to the bar limping right behind my owner. Me, trying to drink the pain away and secretly dabbing some alcohol over my cuts, while my owner kept talking to some rich guys. After that? I don't quite recall what happened after ... I tried hard to think, when and how, I got here, only for my headache to worsen.

The pitter-patter of footsteps outside, made my spine straighten in fear of the unknown, despite the calming freesia scented room. It did absolutely nothing to help placate the adrenaline pumping through my veins, preparing myself for a knife yielding crazy cat lady coming at me. Telling myself that it's just my imagination, these things don’t happen in real life, that I'm a professional fighter that knows some good dirty tricks, who was well capable of saving himself if he so wished. I had no bond with my owner, thus making me my own person. All I needed was to be lawfully free. If only I got rid of the collar. Yet this new person, whose home I was in? I had no clue what to expect of them.

The golden doorknob turning made me stiffen up and forget my own whirlwind of random thoughts. I let out a ferocious growl warning whoever was trying to enter the room. Accompanied by a bristled tail, pointed ears and claws digging into the mattress, where I was sitting in a crouch, I’m sure the sight they came to wasn’t the soft leopard kitty they expected. Hissing at the new intruder, I was ready to attack her, whoever she may be. Nobody brings me to a bedroom without ill intentions. A room with everything pastel pink, ivory white, peach, and gold. The furniture was kept to a bare minimum, all wooden with pale pink and peach covers and cushions. The decor consisted of a few floral paintings in golden frames, a couple fake flower vases and walls were all half white from the top that faded into a pale pink at the bottom. This overly girly room was suffocating me. Even the floor was made out of rose-colored tiles. Whoever designed it was an asshole.

I decided to give her a once-over, just to be safe. It would be rude of me to treat them any differently than how I expect to be treated. Like a human first. A good human. She had dainty naked feet, toes wiggling with soft pink polish on the nails, bound at the left ankle, a blinking black metal cuff indicating she was not free, just a slave like me. Maybe the owner wanted to make me feel some sort of camaraderie? With a human? Never. Bad move. Her legs were beautiful, long and wait-- were those bruises on her knees? Looking back closely, I saw other faint yellowish marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. So she was healing. From what? And a tail swishing nervously behind her knees. Wait, wait---- tail? She's not... human? Rage began to stir in my blood. How could they give her so much luxury, yet still hurt her?

She had short cotton shorts meant as pajamas. Growling at her indecent choice of clothing, in front of a stranger like me, I looked into her eyes, but she had them focused on the tray she was carrying. With a tea set and some pancakes shaking like a maple leaf about to fall from the tree in autumn winds. She was scared. Of course, she’d be you dumbass! You totally scared her to bits. I was an alpha male. I had prominent pheromones. Just like her scent. It was highly potent. I judged her too soon. But it never hurts to be cautious.

So, it wasn't me growling, the smell of the fresh pancakes laden with syrup and butter stacked together indicated, it was my stomach. I felt my face become hotter at the realization and her blue eyes met mine across the room, with mirth shining in them. At least one of us is amused. Her eyes. I was transfixed at their blue serene oceanic pupils. They looked so familiar and welcoming. I, however, was ravenous, as declared by my dying whale of a stomach. And wet. I did have a bad dream, and no, it wasn't just my sweat.

Looking at her head for more signs as to what breed she was, I noticed a pair of ears drawn low over her head. Maybe in submission? But her small button nose, upturned eyes, and head tilt declared loud and clear, she was some sort of cat hybrid that smelled distinctly of freesia and something...musky. Sniffing her scent once again by raising my head, instantly calmed my senses but also made me feel something else entirely. A stirring in my groin that was unwelcome. I just couldn't pinpoint what this foreign feeling was, I couldn't compare to anything at all. I felt my vision sharpen and focus on her lithe, petite form and shiver, a very pleasant shiver shot down my spine making my skin tingle and a delicious hum thrum through my veins.

Standing before me with a breakfast tray in hand and a smile that trembled on her lips. Scared downcast eyes, grey ears flat on her head and a fluffy grey tail with black stripes swishing slowly behind her. Was she a tabby? What was I, a snow leopard, doing here? I would completely ruin her if I were to mate with her. Which assuming was the reason why I was here? Why else a snow leopard, known for breeding, would be in an empty house with a cat hybrid?

Unless... I was supposed to be her bodyguard? Because of my fighting skills. But I doubted she’d be given that sort of luxury. I needed to know what I was doing here, and why. But first, I'd make the most of what I could get from her. It would do me no good to show how scared and lost I felt right now. If only I could manage to keep her intimated, it would be in my best interest.

“Where's the bathroom?" Startled at my normal voice, she raised her head to reveal too wide for her head eyes that looked at me with a small trembling mouth, the stillness of the room interrupted with a single gulp that echoed across the room, she squeaked out, "I'll show you"

Scanning her face, she looked frightened. Pupils dilated and legs shaking. Good. She won't try anything with me. I got up with renewed confidence. This was my territory, and she had nothing on me. Scratching my neck, I lifted my arms in a stretch, realizing with a delay, I had no collar on. What? So I could run away anywhere, at any given time? There must be a catch, and I need her to confirm just that. Passing by her, I was astonished to find out the real reason behind her musky scent. She was nearing her heat and was turned on by me, not frightened. She was holding herself back from jumping my bones. If that's what she wanted. That's what she will get.

"You saved me from two guys, last night, at the bar, I mean. They were trying to molest me in front of the washroom and then you got injured in your head trying to intervene. I...” taking a deep shaky breath and sniffing her nose, she continued at my confused expression, “I never got a chance to apologize or thank you for intervening." Came her soft voice, purring slightly while looking back at me with sincere rounded eyes. She was enchanting, and she knew it.

So I saved her, huh? Explains why and where I met her. Doesn't explain me being here though. She was being smart with her choice of words. Two could play this game. I won't clue her in that I have no memory. Though I'm uncertain about her story too.

"It's nothing. Anyone decent would show the same courtesy, I'm sure." With a nonchalant shrug, I moved past her into the door she had opened for me. Pointedly looking at my groin, she gestured her hands vaguely. "There's the shower and I'll get you a robe. My master smells awful so I will pass on giving you his clothing. We should talk more once you're done." She was cute when flustered. “You’re rambling. It’s kind of cute.” Shit, I didn’t mean for it to come out loud. Cringing at my own fault, I looked up at her to see she was smiling faintly with a pretty peach colored blush on her cheeks. Huffing and patting her cheeks, she smiled big at me.

“Wash mine. And reheat the pancakes. It might take a while for me.” I ordered her sternly, expecting her to leave, but when she didn’t, I understood why. She was stubborn. Rolling my eyes, I added as an afterthought, “Please”. With a blinding white smile, she twirled around and sashayed out the door with a gentle click, leaving me on my own once again, taking away the delightful freesia scent with her. What’s with all the smiling? I’m no kid that needs to be placated with large smiles and warm food. Or…was I?

This wasn't just a bath, it was a freaking room. The left side was all pristine white tiled walls, with a wooden cabinet at knee level and a round mirror attached on top of it. A wash basin at the right of the cabinet and a couple of towels and bottles kept on it. A simple white flower vase and some candles were kept on the surface to not make it look as cold and empty as it felt. Well, it was doing a shit job in making it warm and homey. To further right, the room had slowly merged into a wooden colored theme. The flooring and walls to ceiling it was all browns and beige. The room ended with a huge walk-in shower, right beside it was a bath and a comod, on opposite sides of the shower stall, which was a mini room in on itself.

Finally, alone, I started looking for all the bath products I could find. The cabinet seemed like my only option, and opening it I wasn't even surprised at the assorted collection inside. There were a few shampoos and conditioners for hybrids, some bath salts, lush bombs, cleansers, exfo-li- whatever's and tons of other colorful bottles. She was one spoilt hybrid. I wonder if that was all to gain her forgiveness. Her bruises told a different kind of story to me. Closing my eyes I chose a random bottle, passion flower shampoo. Will do. Then picked up a random body wash and off I went.

I had to check this house for cameras and sound recorders later. Something seemed terribly wrong about me being here, free, with another hybrid. She was tempting, beautiful, seemed smart. But not smart enough to live by herself. I wondered when our owners would be back.

Did…did Namjoon finally manage to free me? I do vaguely remember seeing him inside the bar, wearing a fedora and some silk shirt, looking absolutely ravishing with an equally contrasting dimpled smile that spoke of complete innocence whenever revealed, even to me. I had a basic aversion towards men, being treated as I was since teenage, I just naturally hated looking at men sexually. Yet, there was something about Namjoon, something magnetic and I was not immune. Not completely.

With the shampoo and body wash in hand, I entered the shower cubicle opening the frosted glass door. Except for the door, the room had actual mosaic walls with pebbles on the flooring in muted browns and reds. There was a huge square cheese grater overhead, poking it, I think it was meant to be there. A screen of sorts to the right of me and various knobs and pipes running along what I assume is the shower, with those detachable ones. A place to sit opposite the shower, with a rectangular hole in the wall, perhaps to keep the bottles? I slid them in there anyway. Next to the sitting area, was a tilted handle? What's the point? To keep towels? It would slide off! Humans...

I stare down at the two handles and knobs in front of me with specific colors on them. Red and blue. Since I wasn't given a choice at my owner's place, quickly taking showers whenever i could with whatever knob worked at the time, cold or hot, never something in between, I was confused this time what to choose. Taking a leap of faith, that fires are usually reds and ice is blue, I turned them together. Immediately the screen panel seemed to be calling my name - well figuratively. It was only beeping for me to choose something. I approached it tentatively, with slow steps, scared it would raise an alarm, but also excited at the aspect. Let's push all the fucking buttons, and hope the room doesn't explode. Hey, not my fault nobody explained. Shit..... Was she perhaps waiting here to explain things to me?

The panel was touchscreen. That made things easier. The first button showed typical few playlists named with emotions- sad, angry, hurt, happy, instruments, horny- wow she sure knew what music to play during what. An organized person, I liked it. Wait- why do I care if she’s organized or not. Not my business! Choosing the instruments playlist, I was washed with a serene tune of harp playing a beautiful song. Shower settings were next. Rainfall? Body massage? Showers did that? Choosing rainfall and neon lights- I saw the cheese grater from above actually spouting water like rain. This was so cool! And unnecessary, but I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. The whole place, even the water turned a pretty blue. Stepping in, I decided, I wanted this for myself. One day.

Taking a big dollop of shampoo on my left Palm, I started massaging my head. Slowly detangling my hair and reveling in the amazing aroma of passion flower, relaxing my body and tail swishing about in glee. Just as I had started enjoying the process by scratching behind the ear, my hands jerked back in immense pain from behind my head. Feeling over it with gentle fingers, I realized with a start, she wasn't lying. I had actually bumped my head and now a big lump had formed over it. Clearly, I must have passed out last night after hitting my head, since I wasn't really a big drinker to start with.

Humming softly to myself, a song that I had heard at the bar last night, I started washing, mindful of the many injuries littering my body. Soon I smelled the freesia scent before I heard her approaching me. A series of knocks announcing her presence. I could see her silhouette walking through the door to the mirrored counter and then with a soft huff she kept a huge basket full of things down and sat on the countertop, cutely swinging her legs back and forth.

"Would you mind if I took care of your washing and bruises. I noticed a lot last night and figured it would hurt to bend at awkward angles and get to every part of your body, including the tail." She asked with a hesitant voice like she was prepared for a lashing. Taking pity on her I chose to ease her. If I wanted to take advantage of her, somehow, I had to make her comfortable first. "Why? Can't wait to see me naked?" She laughed out softly and it sounded like tiny bells tinkering in the wind. Good, I didn’t scare her away. I needed her to trust me first. Though, if she saw me as her savior, it shouldn’t be a hard task to do.

"Well of course. You're attractive and I don't see why not." I bet she was grinning wildly from outside the curtain, or maybe, blushing a beautiful pink, after speaking her thoughts out loud. I had to see for myself. Never had I met such a daring girl who despite being scared, still wanted to play with the big cats? I admired her for it. She was incredible and so very foolish.

Opening the door, I raised my brows at her indecent ogling. She sure was checking every part of my body out, in her eyes, I saw no aversion, only admiration. It did well to boost my already huge ego. “I can smell that off you in waves, kitten. Come on in, I could use the help.” Eyes rounded and jaw slacked, it seemed she forgot I was a hybrid too, with heightened senses. She looked at me perplexed, “You need to eat as soon as you’re out and then take some painkillers and antibiotics. I’ll try my best to patch you up.” Picking up what I assumed to be a washcloth, she stripped down right there into her white and red striped underwear and got in the shower with me.

“I’ll do that." Nodding at her, I watched her silently close the door then trapped her to it, with both hands beside her head, her back against my chest. I could feel her heart beating faster than a racehorse. Her scent becomes muskier, and thicker, "You know, It’s kind of awkward me being the only one naked.” I chuckled by her ear, reveling in the Goosebumps that raised on her skin, littering tiny kisses on her shoulder, then resting my chin on it. Tilting her head towards me, her lips so close to mine, she looked straight into my eyes, for a few moments, everything seemed to still, our souls connecting. Then, shaking her head, getting out of whatever spell she was in, she stood straighter and proceeded to take a generous amount of body wash on the washcloth and walking behind me, started with gently scrubbing behind my neck and slowly moved towards my tail. “I know it’s awkward, but trust me, its best this way around.”

Her being almost naked and so close to me, made me see all her bruises up close, and I was not happy about them. I’m used to seeing hybrids all around me, and in worse condition, but something about her brave yet gentle nature, that contrasted with each other, made me want to protect her. Keep her to myself. I had bred with humans and hybrids alike but never came across one I genuinely cared for, or wanted anything more than a sopping cunt to shove my cock in, then get the money I was being paid. I needed, I craved a warm body. I detested the cold of the nights, of being alone in this world. I had to have somebody telling me they wanted me. Me, who was broken, me, who had no value, me, who didn’t have looks, and me, who wasn’t talented in anything. I needed to know I was wanted, I was needed, even if for a fleeting moment. And if I did well in bed, be it, man or woman, they always praised me, told me how good I was, and wanted more. That was twisted, and I knew it, but there was nothing I could do more to fill this gaping hole in my heart.

But there was something distinctly calming about her, that made me want to hide her from the world, keep her for myself. To feel more humane, to feel more connected to the animal in me and to feel loved, cared for. Despite my rudeness, she was willing to show compassion towards me. I was willing to do anything for her, even if I didn’t have the luxury for to make wishes. One day, I’ll repay her, anyway I can. Make sure she’s happy, even if it's only a little happiness, I’ll make that happen.

Her touch made my muscles loosen and I was back in the lab again, with my mother cleaning me one last time before letting me be experimented on. A sharp tug at the base of my tail shook me from my memories and with a grateful smile, I kissed her in one fell swoop. At first, she was startled, but then slowly relaxed into my arms and let me explore her mouth as I wished, with slow torturous strokes that coaxed out the most delicious of moans out of her. Separating from her with a tiny nip at the corner of the mouth, I looked at her fondly, the both of us panting heavily, for now, her pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a healthy red and skin glowing like never before. She was mine, and now she even had my scent on her. I couldn't be more proud.

No. This wasn't what's supposed to happen. What was I thinking? I'm not drunk anymore. I should act rationally and not let my other head do all the thinking for me. I'm not a horndog, it's time I stopped acting like one. But that was hard, her pheromones were affecting me, she, herself, as a person was affecting me. I wanted her and knowing she wanted me back was making it almost impossible to give her up. She was right to assume being naked in front of me would be dangerous. But it was her body that wanted mine, a stronger cat, at his prime, however, did she, want me? Is that why she distanced herself. Is she having second thoughts? Is that it? Wouldn't be the first time someone's rejected me. But it hurts.

"Hey, come back. Don't over think anything. I'm okay. You'll be okay." Her words angered me even more, at this point, I didn't even care if she could read my expression or smell it in my scent. It was growing foul with all the anger and frustration piling up. Trying not to blow up at her, it's not her fault, I fisted my hands and gritted my teeth. The claws had elongated, digging into my skin, reminding me of the here and now, to maintain composure. Somehow, she noticed, she saw my struggle, and like a foolish little girl, instead of leaving me alone like she should, she slipped her fingers over my fists making them loosen and slowly held onto them, entwining our digits like lovers, that we never will be.

She lifted herself on her tiptoes and pecked my lips tentatively. Seeing my eyes darken with lust, then slowly kissed me this time, erasing all self-doubts I had. It was slow, gentle coaxing of her lips on mine. Like a soft caress of flower petals over my lips. I wanted more, so much more, but let her have this soft, delicate moment of sweetness and innocence. "I want you, Yoongi. But not now, you're injured and I know, it's not pleasant when injured. I don’t want you to go through that. Not now, not ever, not with me. We need to talk first too."

She was right. We had a lot to talk about. Nodding my consent, I let her slowly turn me towards the shower, with her arms around my neck and bodies meshed together, we walked backward, with her guiding me staples by step. I wonder when I started trusting her. I never lost my cool, my control like this. We stood under the rain like drops of water washing away the fatigue, hurt and doubts. Though this nagging feeling remained buried in mind. Why was I acting like a child when it comes to her?

Gazing quietly into each other's eyes, with a hint of a smile on our lips, something connected, and it made our hearts beat as one. I loved this new feeling, whatever it was, and by her sweeter scent could tell she thought so too. I didn't want to leave, I wished this little serene bubble of safety and calmness lasted forever. Me, cocooned in her arms, just like now. I would die a happy man and have no regrets.

No! I couldn't think like that. Why was my mind plagued with these thoughts? They belonged to happily mates, not stubborn, broken strangers like her and me.

Mates.

We were mates. That's what the feeling all this time was. The leopard and its kitty. But it's impossible. How could a snow leopard have a cat for a mate? We were completely different species, what kind of joke was fate trying to play on me? Horrified, I separated from her with a faint push. Choking back a sob, I yanked at my hair in frustration. Why?!?

Stumbling backward, I held onto the slippery tiles behind and looked at her helplessly. She was equally panicked, her eyes glazed over in astonishment, lips open halfway and throat bobbing in a stunned expression. Was she scared of me now? Does she see how dirty and worthless I am as her mate? Where do we go here from now? We could never be together. Two hybrids cannot survive without an owner. I needed to calm down and think things straight. We weren't even free to think of spending our lives together. Who knew how much longer I had till the truth of my being here was revealed.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at the shower panel and walked straight towards it. Confused with multiple options, I just punched the wall next to it, wincing at my still tender knuckles from last night. They were bruised as is, they'll be swollen and bleeding anytime now. I'm useless. I can't even operate a shower, how am I to care for a mate. Yanking open the shower door, I stepped outside and added as an afterthought, hoping she won't reject me. Then I truly won't have anything to live for anymore. "I need help with first aid. Please" my voice cracked midway, revealing how vulnerable I was. Fuck it. I'm done pretending. I just can't anymore. I'm so tired of everything and the hangover isn't helping either.

Shutting the door after her, I sat at the counter and waited for her to come. Getting a towel from top of the counter, I wrapped it around my head and taking the second one, I wrapped it around my fluffy tail. I'll have to groom that later to not look like cotton candy. Soon, the shower stopped and she came out with the bottles in hand. "Let's get you patched up then."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The pancakes were soft, delicate and had just the right amount of sugar. I hated too much sugar in anything. She didn't overdo them, yet they had a crunchy edge that I loved to nibble on, the butter and syrup just the right amount making even the most boring of breakfast item seem heavenly. Or was it because my mate had prepared it thinking of me?Eating out of fancy China plates and silverware was a good distraction from the chaos in my mind. With a clear head , it was better to think straight and have rational thoughts. Everything made sense now. Why I clinged to her scent, why everything about her seemed so perfect and why I wanted to own her, protect her, be protected by her.

Even her absence was making me antsy. With a smirk, I forcibly stopped my feet from shaking by keeping a hand over it. I was a mess, a complete, idiotic chaotic mess, and she was the calmness I needed to put my mind at ease. She didn't complete me, no. I was a whole complete person. But she did made it better. That's what having a mate is like, a pair of socks. A single one is still a whole sock, but a pair, would serve the purpose better, look better, feel better. You could mismatch them with others, but nothing feels as right as having them paired with the one they were meant to be paired with. She's the one meant just for me, as I am with her. There's no better option, there's no better match, we belong together. But-- what if luck goes against us? What if, it's all just a beautiful lie? Does she even know what a mate is? Will be ever be together past this day? How much longer do I have with her?

Banging my head on the heavy and too-big-for-two table surface, I rested my head sideways. The fresh fruits chopped in shapes of stars and flowers , kept neatly in a crystal bowl directly in my line of sight. As healthy as her breakfast choice was, I was still very much a carnivore and craving some meat, even a simple bacon would do. Or some beef jerky. She was a cat, surely she had meat cravings from time to time. I had let my nose guide me here, after she so very gently, handled all of my cuts and bruises. Every time I winced in pain, she kissed me, to the point I winced purposely to get kisses from her. We both knew I was just pretending at this point but didn't care anyway. The painkillers she made eat had started doing their job, they were numbing the pain and making me drowsy, but the hunger within had yet to be sated. She must have some kind of secret meat stash...

But what if.... everything worked out? Hadn't I suffered enough as is? Wasn't it time for my life to show some kindness?

Getting up with renewed energy, I went looking for meat and fish among the huge assortment of cupboards in the modular kitchen that was too fancy for even the president to own. In contrast to the floor upstairs in pinks and peaches, that was solely meant for my girl, this floor was rather darker. With muted browns, midnight blues and black, the whole floor seemed rather a boudoir, magnificent even. The ceiling was ivory white, the walls a dark shade of blue and the flooring was black tiles. I loved the color theme, it suited me, had some warmth to it too. Every furniture was wooden and screamed royalty. Various portraits of a man in his late twenties, early teens, as a kid were portrayed with a girl that looked strikingly similar to my girl minus the hybrid features. As the kid grew older, perhaps in the recent few years, that girl seemed replaced by the hybrid, I now knew.

My girl? Since when was she mine? I had yet to claim her, or she--- had yet to accept me as her mate. I was getting ahead of myself. I should let her do the explaining. Though I think, this story is something not meant to be heard this early in the morning. I didn't even know her name! Yet somehow she knew mine. It was a scary thought but somehow, deep within, I wasn't intimated by it the slightest.

The kitchen was daunting. The first time I came here, I was guided by my nose sniffing out the pancakes and focused on scarfing it down. But now that the initial hunger was taken care of, I craved some milk and good old meat. The various black cupboards and drawers spread across the walls made my task hard, but I instead focused on the huge double door fridge that could easily for four of me. There had to be something I could microwave. Opening the fridge I was shocked to see some cartons of milk, a few veggies, some eggs, ham, cheese, and bottles and cans full of liquor. Shaking my head in dismay, I noted I'd have to have her buy grocery. And soon.

Picking up the ham, I checked if it was okay for me to cook it. If she, a hybrid can cook for me, surely I can too. The stove top had a weird way to operate it. Rotating the knobs on the front, I saw it light up on its own. Back in my temporary home, we had to use a matchstick, it was not the safest but the only way I knew how. This was far easier. I was startled by the whirring of an engine above. Sniffing at it I noticed it was some kind of automated chimney. Well, that's convenient. At least I won't be sprayed by water at the slightest amount of smoke. Finding the pan hanging from a hook in the opposite wall, I chopped up some ham slices with a random knife and set it to fry. Since I didn't know how to control heat yet, it was at highest possible setting and was cooking way faster than I was used to.

Feeling something slowly move alongside my waist, I was startled and jumped a feet in air, hurting my forehead in the process. Turning around with the knife in hand, I was ready to attack whoever when suddenly I registered the same vanilla scent from the body wash I used and a distinct freesia undertone followed by the telltale giggling that I've come to adore in the span of an hour of knowing her. Keeping the knife away from the two of us, I pouted at her. "Hey, don't laugh at me. I was busy cooking for us both." Still snickering behind her hand, she tilted sideways to see the flame and immediately turned it the opposite way and with a few clicking sounds, it was at medium setting. Huh. So that's how it's done. "You were about to burn them to a char, Yoongi"

"It's unfair how you know my name and I don't even know yours" Smiling brightly, she winked at me saucily. "Wouldn't you like to know" and twirled around to the cupboards on her right and took out two glasses, keeping then on a coaster, she then speed walked to the fridge to take out the milk carton and pour it in our glasses and handed one to me. "To finding the best mate"

She really was something. Shaking my head, I played along and clinked our glasses together. "To the most beautiful mate". Seeing her blush so deeply, and knowing I was the reason behind it, made my chest swell with pride. She had accepted me!

“So, about that talk......”

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 (final)

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfics #bts imagines #bts reader insert #bts hybrid au #min yoongi #kim namjoon #suga #min suga #hybrid bts au

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poeticsandaliens · 7 years

Text

A Pirate’s Life for Me Ch. 3

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11405793/chapters/25777692

A storm was brewing over the port when Scully left the Blue Baron. It rolled in like the kraken, with the pale arms of lightning and a decisive rumble. On a whim, she scooped up a hat one man had dropped in his rush to escape Davy Jones. She must look ridiculous, she realized, wearing trousers, her brother's far too large shirt and coat, and a pirate’s hat. But truly, if she thought about it, this entire night had been ridiculous, refusing to conform to reason, instead dwelling comfortably in the fictional and absurd.

As a child, she would not even have considered the idea of chasing after a pirate or boarding a stranger’s ship. Her father’s passing had shaken her; every night for years she would stand on the cliffs outside her house, hoping to see her father and dreading the day she might see a skull and crossbones flying on the horizon. Meeting Mulder had shifted her perspective—his stories of pirates were upbeat adventures, filled with a gritty, flawed heroism more authentic than tales of knights and lost princesses. She hardly believed them; after all, he spoke of curses and the undead, but she’d begun to consider—perhaps a pirate was simply a person, who like every other person on this Earth, could choose good or evil at any fork in the road. How ironic that it was Mulder held prisoner upon a corsair’s ship and she stowing away with Davy Jones.

Scully spotted Stella Gibson's distinctive silhouette stalking decisively through the streets of Los Barriles. Lonesome and light-footed, Stella appeared taller than she truly was. The dark seemed to stretch her, mask her human shape and transform her into a walking shadow. Though Scully could hear her own heels click ominously as she fought to catch up, the pirate’s boots made no noise against the loose cobblestone, nor did the saber she used as a cane.

It gave a whole new meaning to ‘silent as the grave.’

As Scully approached, Stella gave no clue that she was aware of her presence, though Scully was certain she’d heard her footfalls as soon as they’d left the tavern. The bird on Stella’s shoulder cooed and ruffled itself, and Stella raised one spectral hand to smooth its feathers back into place. It was odd—with the the same hand that could so easily threaten Hell upon a stranger, she the owl’s back with surprising tenderness. She was neither a warm living soul nor a cold corpse, evidently trapped somewhere in between.

What had she done to earn herself the curse of Davy Jones? Scully still couldn’t shake the sight of three bullets cutting into Stella’s chest, the gross emptiness of the tunnels they left in her flesh. She couldn’t help but stare at the scar above Stella’s right breast and wonder if the weathered woman before had truly cut out her own beating heart and buried in a box, and if she had, what had driven her to take on such a curse?

What had she mentioned to the barman, about bad luck— It depends on who you ask. Did the endless limbo between life and death sway her in the slightest? She seemed to contradict everything Scully had learned of living creatures—their bodies, their decay in the steady march of time, their innate fear of the dead and of death itself.

In one night, Scully felt her perception of reality shatter.

She quickened her stride until she was beside Stella. The pirate reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of crushed lead pieces.

“I believe these are yours,” she said. “If you can find a blacksmith to re-shape them, they will fire again easily.”

It was only after Scully took them that she realized what they were: her bullets. The three bullets John Jack had shot into Stella’s body. She clapped her hand to her mouth and for a second or two considered throwing them into the street behind her. She was more terrified to see them crushed and clean than she would be to see them bloodied and lodged in Stella’s sternum. At least then they would abide by the laws of nature.

Instead, she tucked them into her pocket. “Would you really have brought John Jack aboard?” she asked. “The man you let go, would you have sailed him to Hell like you promised?”

“Not in the strictest sense,” said Stella. “Though had he rushed at you again, I might have killed him. In the end, Hell is only inescapable if you make it so.”

“You let him shoot you.” It seemed a foolish thing to say in hindsight, but it wasn’t everyday Scully saw a woman shot three times walk away unscathed.

“So I noticed.”

“Why?”

Stella hummed softly. “When you’re cursed for all eternity, you find amusement where you can. Not to mention—I wanted no one in my way nor in yours, and the name Davy Jones tends to inspire fear.”

“You’re plenty disconcerting without the name.” The owl alone had unnerved Scully at first, fascinating as it was. Looking into an owl’s eyes was like staring into the Underworld, witnessing your own weaknesses and learning the day you will die. They carried a spooky wisdom about them unlike any animal Scully had encountered. Stella was much the same.

“Did it hurt when he shot you?”

Stella stopped in her tracks and angled her body toward Scully. The bullet holes had turned to fresh white scars, less visible than the slice where her heat was—or should have been. “Just a pinch,” she said. “Like a little crab clinging to my skin. If you put a knife through this—” she held up her hand, “—it might hurt a little more. But in truth, I have nothing to be hurt. I am shy of a body but hardier than a ghost.”

Scully cocked her head. She could see no pulse in Stella’s neck despite the breath escaping her lips and misting the air between them. “You have no heartbeat.”

“Not here, no.”

“Can I see?” She hoped she was not overstepping boundaries, that Stella had not perceived her request as hostile or invasive. Scully was simply the type of person who wanted to prove everything for herself. To her relief, however her question was perceived, Stella seemed unruffled. She took Scully’s hand and pressed it against her chest. Scully felt the roughness of old and new scars, the jutting ridges of Stella’s collarbones, the silver chain hanging loosely around Stella’s neck. But no heartbeat. She drew a sharp intake of breath—for some reason, this was what she needed to believe Stella’s claims. A shiver ran the course of her spine, Stella’s ice cold skin chilling her body.

Frightened and unwilling to show it, she snatched her hand away from Stella’s chest, where above the deep cut of her shirt, an absent heart failed to thump in rhythm.

Scully chewed her lower lip. What must it be like to feel a chasm where your heart should beat? How would it feel to be half woman, half phantom? But those seemed like answers she could only understand with experience, and she had no desire to put herself in Stella’s shoes. She couldn’t settle her curiosity, but at some point her questions were bound to cross an unspoken line. She wanted, more than anything, to ask what had driven Stella to take on the Flying Dutchman, but she was uncertain whether Stella would be willing to speak of the matter to a woman she’d only just met. And supposing she got an answer, she was even more uncertain whether she’d still want to leave port with Stella after hearing it.

So instead, she pressed, “You didn’t steal your ship then, like you told the barman.”

“No, the Flying Dutchman comes with the curse. The heart, the ship, the infamous name, it’s a packaged deal.” Stella quickened her pace as rain began to fall in the thick, heavy droplets that only accompany the fiercest gales. The once-distant thunder cracked and rolled overhead, and Scully’s hat only kept her so dry.

“Then are you a pirate?” she demanded, pulling her hat tighter to keep the wind from carrying it away.

“Yes, I am a pirate, though I fall far from Philip Padgett’s sadistic breed of piracy.” For the first time since they’d left the comfort of the Blue Baron, Stella tilted her head to catch Scully’s eye. “You ask a lot of questions, Dana Scully. When we raise anchor and break out of this storm, I expect you to answer some of mine.”

A sudden gust of wind nearly swept Scully off her feet, and she gripped Stella’s shoulder for balance. Lightning forked like the tongue of a sea serpent over the bay, lighting up the entire port before them for a brief second. It was enough time for Scully to take in the nearly empty docks, and she realized that only one tiny ship was still anchored that did not belong to the Royal Navy. Everyone else must have left in a hurry to escape the Dutchman, which Scully noted was nowhere in sight.

“You don’t see the Flying Dutchman,” said Stella beside her. “No worries. It comes only when called.”

“You should call it then,” Scully huffed, jogging slightly to match Stella’s pace. She wasn’t much shorter than Stella, but the other woman’s stride seemed unnaturally brisk. “I see lightning and unnerving waves and a dock I’ve no desire to be standing on when the brunt of the storm hits.”

The patter of rain turned to a steady pour, seeping through Scully’s clothes and rolling down her back. She shivered and drew her oversized coat tighter. As they approached the docks, pot-bellied old man raced the other direction holding his hat to his head, a bottle of rum in his hand. “Fools!” He shouted as he passed them. “The Dutchman is raising Hell upon us! Flee the port!”

A weary sigh escaped Stella’s lips. “I swear, for every misfortune that befalls these men, I am to blame. Downed by the ghastly Dutchman, drowned in Davy Jones’ locker, there are a hundred ways to die in these waters, and somehow they’ve all been attributed to me.”

Scully couldn’t help it. She stifled a snorting laugh as two more men ran from the port and back to Los Barriles. A lightning strike in the bay illuminated Stella’s harsh silhouette, and Scully laughed harder, wiping spatters of rain from her eyes. Men running for their lives, citing the deathly name of Scully’s new travelling companion, the drama of their departure from the Blue Baron, Stella’s less than noteworthy complaints in lieu of deaths, frenzies, and mobs. The used bullets in her pocket, clinking together as she walked. Another bark of laughter escaped her, and Stella’s lips twitched.

“We should hurry to the ship, find you some dry clothes” Stella said, but there was an amused glint in her eye. She raised her arm and turned to the owl. “Go on,” she urged, wobbling her shoulder until it took off and disappeared into the night.

Scully stopped to catch her breath. When she lifted her head, salt water stung her cheeks. She couldn’t tell whether she was choking on laughter or sobs, whether she was dazed or entertained or shattered by the last few hours. Likely all three. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed, “it’s such a strange night.”

Stella made no response, only placed a hand on the back of her soaked coat and gave her a gentle nudge forward. “Time is of the essence,” she said softly. “I only have so many seconds ashore.”

Scully nodded, still giggling, and again they picked up the pace until they stood at the end of Los Barriles’s only sturdy loading dock. Grey waves crashed against the pier, spraying bursts of salt and foam into their faces. Scully could see no ship on the horizon, save a small fishing boat anchored just down shore of them.

Scully wrinkled her eyebrows. “Is the Flying Dutchman invisible, as well?” she mumbled, only half joking.

“Wait here,” instructed Stella. As she glanced again at the moon her voice sounded like a too-taut violin string. “Hold this, please.” She passed Scully her coat and feathered hat, now soaked in the rain, and before Scully could utter a word of assent or protest, jumped into the water.

“Stella!” Scully shouted into the waves. "Are you mad!" One would have to be mad to swim in this weather. Or in Stella's case, she realized, nigh unkillable. She wrinkled her nose sourly, hugged her arms to her chest, and waited.

Stella’s head surfaced at the foot of the dock, her blonde hair plastered to her face beneath a red bandanna. The waves bubbled before her, like a witch’s cauldron, and Scully backed away from the end of the dock, her hand on her pistol. The ornate hull of a boat broke the surface, followed shortly by its body and a set of six oars. Water splashed out of the rowboat, and as it bobbed on the massive waves, a candle lit upon it hull, burning even through the rain.

Stella swam toward her and with some effort, climbed unceremoniously into the boat, which held itself upright and floated just beside the dock as if by magic. Or, Scully supposed, actually by magic. Stella held out her hand. “My belongings?” she requested briskly. “You look as though your hands are full.”

Scully handed her the hat and coat, which she rested in her lap. Then she held out her hand again. “Climb aboard.”

“What a majestic ship.” Scully took Stella’s hand and stepped into the wobbling boat. She froze as her knees shook in the uneven waves and only sat down in a moment of calm.

Stella fitted her hat firmly back over her head. “The Dutchman is not able to withstand such shallow waters.”

“I know how ships work,” Scully muttered, her teeth chattering in the rain. This storm had brought with it a front of cold air, and soaked to the bone, Scully could hardly feel her fingertips. Stella looked unbothered, if a bit rosy from her impromptu swim. Seawater pooled at the pirate’s feet, sloshing around the dinghy as the rain collected, and sealed to her like a sleek second skin, her thin shirt revealed angular shoulders and toned muscle.

“Do you now?” Stella inquired slyly. She pointed to the bucket. “Empty the water.”

Assuming the order was directed to her, Scully cocked her eyebrow and crossed her arms, opened her mouth for a retort, but to her shock, the bucket filled itself and began dumping rainwater over the side. “Thank you,” said Stella. “Now, to the Dutchman.”

The six oars at their sides began to row, propelling them out to sea with the force of twenty men. Scully put her head in her hands, squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could manage, tried to drown out the sounds of thunder and creaking wood and oars rowing themselves through the rough water. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen asleep in the carriage on her way to Los Barriles and her imagination run wild whilst she dozed?

A wave broke over her head, soaking her face once more. She shook off her hair and collected herself. If she were being honest—and this concerned her even more than the supernatural forces surrounding her—she didn’t want this to be a dream.

As the dock disappeared from sight, and only the lights of Los Barriles indicated their bearings, Scully heard a rush beneath them like a river current in spring. “What is that?”

Stella shot her a wan smile. “That, Miss Scully, is the Flying Dutchman.”

A ship erupted grandly from the ocean as if putting on a show, its sails opening and ropes reaching for their dinghy to bring it in. Their rowboat was pulled toward the massive ship, and as it slowly lifted them aboard, Scully took a long look at the notorious Flying Dutchman now looming over her. Its sails glowed an eerie silver in the fog, and just as the barman had told her, countless crabs and barnacles clung to the auburn wood of its flanks. Coral sprouted just below one porthole and seaweed hung like a curtain over another. Carved into the hull, a wooden woman poised her sword and shield for war.

“Hoist the colors!” Stella called aboard, and Scully watched, awestruck, as the skull and crossbones raised itself until it flapped desperately in a merciless wind, just above the crow’s nest. A white dot appeared on the front sail, and Scully realized it was Stella’s owl perched comfortably, waiting for its companion.

Stella climbed aboard the ship first, then reached a hand down for Scully to follow. “Welcome aboard.”

She took Stella’s freezing hand and stepped onto the deck of the Flying Dutchman. To her surprise, it was completely dry, stable, and freshly polished to boot. The ropes stored their lifeboat along the ship’s starboard flank, draining it of any remaining rainwater. Scully heard a resounding creak as the ship’s wheel spun them Northbound, and three more sails opened above her head. Her mouth hung open, her eyes following the interactions of the Dutchman with itself like a stranger overhearing the conversations of long time friends.

“Let’s get you warm,” said Stella, guiding Scully off the deck as sea spray splattered the rails. She tossed her coat over her shoulder, then pointed to the wheel. “Set course for Triton’s Arch. Bear the weather; make detours if you must. Don't duck beneath the surface with Miss Scully here on board.” She pointed to the sails. “Be efficient,” then tapped the deck with her boot. “Don’t fire without my permission. Fetch me if there’s any trouble.”

She strode toward the Captain’s cabin just below the upper deck and beckoned for Scully to follow. Hesitantly, Scully ducked beneath the stairwell and into the cabin to find candles alight wherever Stella stepped and a young fire crackling in a surprisingly warm hearth. A massive, empty dining table took up the center of the room. She saw Stella’s coat laid out by the fire and followed suit with her own.

Before Scully could say a word, Stella stripped off her pistol and holster, sword and scabbard, and finally her wet shirt. Scully’s mouth fell open—she was not so much scandalized as taken by surprise; innocence and modesty were the most desirable, womanly traits back home, and Stella Gibson’s muscular back possessed neither. In fact, she found she liked that about Stella—how she casually flouted society’s bounds without a moment’s thought. She supposed pirates did not have the same overblown sense of propriety and self-denial as upstanding citizens, and she was coming to appreciate it.

When Stella turned around, Scully averted her eyes nearly on instinct, then lowered her hand slowly as Stella casually spread their clothes before the hearth and placed her pistol on the table. Stella was unembarrassed, Scully realized, so why should she be? Beneath the garments, they were all just skin and bone and battle scars. Still, she did her best not to stare. Not only was Stella uncommonly beautiful, but in the orange candlelight, old scars made themselves visible on Stella’s torso like ancient runes in the process of fading forever. Bullet holes in one side and out the other, what looked to be stab wounds from various swords, the distinctive line of a tenacious jellyfish running along her side. How many scenes like the Blue Baron had she walked out of unscathed?

“It looks tough, doesn’t it?” Stella shot her a half-smile, and Scully couldn’t tell whether it was proud or bitter.

“Yes,” Scully said. “How many times have you been struck with such a blow as to kill a man?”

“I don’t count when I can hardly feel it,” replied Stella. “Over time, the wounds fade to scars; the scars fade to nothing. I only get one day ashore every ten years. My deeds and presence rarely make men happy, and... well, you saw what I did at the Blue Baron.” She shrugged ever so slightly. "Pirate's life."

Scully wondered if Stella was the hero of those stories, or the villain, or both. “Was today your one day ashore, then?”

“It was.” Stella disappeared through a small door in the back of the room.

“I’m sorry then,” Scully called, “that your evening was interrupted.”

Stella reappeared carrying a slip, which she handed to Scully.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Before tonight, it's been quite a dull time. It’s a rarity to have the company of a living soul aboard the Dutchman, even rarer that such company is welcome.” It would be horribly dull to be here alone for ten years—seeing the ship come to life, it occurred to Scully only now what the barman had meant when he said 'in the company of only the dead.' Stella had no crew beyond the ghost-manned ship itself.

Stella pulled a dry shirt over her head, and the scar on her chest disappeared once more. Once more, she looked alive, young, fully human. “To be honest, I was surprised you came," she said with a wry smile. “Few young pirates have courage to board the ship of Davy Jones. We're a superstitious lot, after all.”

Scully pulled the slip over her head. “Thank you, but I’m not a pirate. My father was a Lieutenant in Royal Navy.”

“So was mine,” said Stella with an air of finality to the subject. “Doesn’t change what I am.” She sat down at the head of the dining table, and setting her extravagant hat firmly back on her head, tapped the wall of the cabin. “A meal for two, if you will?” she asked the ship politely. She turned to Scully. "The kitchen will be a little while."

The ship rocked in a particularly large wave, winds howling outside their cabin. A crack of lightning lit up the window, and thunder clapped over them like a monster rearing for battle. Inside, candles flickered but did not go out.

#Television: The X-Files #television: the fall #scully x gibson #xf fic #dana scully #stella gibson

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vizkopa · 7 years

Text

Celestial (FallenAngel!Doflamingo x Reader) CHAPTER 4

Chapter 4: Restless Skies for a Restless Mind ~

A howl of wind interrupted your reading and you sighed as you snapped the book shut. For the last two days, the skies had been threatening a storm that never seemed to come. The wind raged and the thunderheads growled in the distance but the ground remained dry, the air charged with static and heavy with a humidity that promised rain but refused to follow through. Your eyes drifted to the window for the hundredth time that day to look out onto the forest, a silvery fog hanging low and heavy over the trees. To say you had been distracted by it lately was an understatement. Without realising it, you would often find yourself staring off into the dark woods, thoughts inevitably drifting to the fallen angel who had turned your life upside down. You wondered what had become of him in the days since he disappeared into the trees. You couldn’t quite say you felt guilty for not offering him your hospitality, and to say you were worried about him was a gross overstatement, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was hungry, if he got cold at night. If he was lonely.

You wondered if he was still even out there. It had been almost three days now. You recalled the storm the night he had left, the voice in the thunder. Had those been words of forgiveness or a condemnation? You set the book down beside the others, none of which had come anywhere close to abating your curiosity. If anything, they had spawned more questions than answers, ones you found yourself Googling on your phone in the dead of night when your mind proved too busy to sleep. You missed your laptop. The computer repair technician had told you it would take at least a week to order in a replacement power supply, so until then it was all papercuts and eye strain—a most inconvenient way to conduct research. You looked out onto the forest again and an unwelcome thought entered your mind—not for the first time. There were only so many books you could read, so many pages of the search engine you could scour before all that was left were unhelpful titles like Your Guardian Angel and You and ilovebeingchristian.com. But out there, just beyond the tree line… You had your own virtual Pierian Spring practically at your doorstep. A wealth of knowledge straight from the horse’s mouth. But… ‘A little learning is a dang'rous thing; / Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring…’ You shuddered, one hand lifting unconsciously to your throat where a fading red hand print still marked the delicate skin. To throw yourself into that world so recklessly—for there was no other way to do it, it was all or nothing—would consume you, surely. But you could not bear the uncertainty, the ceaseless buzzing in your head that could only be quieted with the answers your sought. You needed to know how it all fit into your world view, and if it didn’t, you wondered whether you had the courage to cast aside everything you knew to accept this new world that had been so rudely thrust upon you. And lastly, were you prepared to face the possibility that you might not come out of this alive? You took a breath and exhaled heavily, eyeing the pistol on the table in front of you. Would it be enough to protect you? You caressed the smooth metal. You’d always hated these things, but now you refused to let it out of your sight. It was all you had in the face of this impossible enemy. You tucked it into the waistband of your jeans. It would have to be enough. Fuck, I must be crazy… You stood and gathered up your coat, throwing it over your shoulders as you strode out the back door and across the yard before you could change your mind. You stopped when you reached the edge of the trees, legs trembling ever so slightly. Suddenly there was a whole lot more to be afraid of in the darkness of those trees. If angels were real so were demons and monsters and everything else that went bump in the night. But your angel was the scariest of them all. You swallowed hard. Was your curiosity really stronger than your sense of self-preservation? You stepped into the trees. Yes, yes it was. You knew you were most likely crazy and ‘curiosity killed the cat’ and all that nonsense. But you couldn’t stand the thought of living the rest of your life never knowing the truth behind the biggest debate in history: was God real? The woods were in twilight, the weak grey light from the murky sky above doing little to penetrate the forest canopy. The air was so thick and humid it almost felt like you were underwater, the usual creaks and groans and bird calls from the pines muted and distant. Your phone chimed loudly in your hand and you jumped violently. It was Nami. She had been texting you all morning and you had been adamantly ignoring her. You switched the phone to silent and continued on, clutching the device to your chest. At least if you went missing they could find your body by tracking the cell phone signal. That was a morbid thought… There was complete silence as you approached the clearing where you had first found the angel, your boots making barely a sound in the fallen leaf litter. You thought that strange and looked down to find a layer of soft, wispy grass carpeting the forest floor, tiny flowers scattered through it like little yellow stars. Bewildered, you reached the edge of the clearing to find not the destruction in which you had left it, but quite the opposite. Where the ground had previously been scorched bare by the impact, grass and flowers had sprung up from the blackened earth, blanketing the clearing in green and yellow and pink. It grew thicker as you approached the centre of the clearing—the crater—which appeared to be where the growth had originated. Destruction breeds creation. You peered over the rim of the crater—now filled with wildflowers and more of the soft, springy grass—and gasped at what you saw. Dophiel was seated at the very centre, legs crossed with his hands resting lightly on his thighs, his back turned to you. He looked like he hadn’t moved in days, clothes hanging limp and dirtied, and fallen leaves dusting his shoulders and tangled in his hair. Tiny tendrils of rose vine had grown around him, clinging to his toes and legs, but the thorns did not seem to hurt him—they didn’t even seem to be able to penetrate his skin. The vines embraced him almost lovingly, and it was then that the thought entered your mind that maybe this man was more like the angels of scripture than you had originally thought. No truly evil being could bring about a scene full of life such as this, surely. Maybe you had misread him. Those thoughts were immediately dashed when he spoke, his voice as cold as you remembered. “I thought we agreed to never lay eyes on each other again,” he growled, though his words lacked their usual venom. He sounded weary. “I—” You cut yourself off. You had been about to say you had been worried about him, but the sudden pressing need to not seem weak in front of him overcame you. “I was just checking to make sure you hadn’t died. Didn’t fancy having to explain that to the police.” “Police,” you heard him say softly, as if testing the word on his tongue. Then he addressed you again, louder this time. “I’m fine. You can leave now.” You shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, reluctant to just leave him there in the middle of the woods. “You sure you’re not hungry? You could use a shower too; I can smell you from here.” You could hear him gritting his teeth. “I do not need to partake in such mundane rituals.” His words were punctuated by a loud groan and it took a moment for you to realise it was his stomach growling. “Oh, really?” you replied with a smug smile. “Because it sounds to me like you might need to.” “You are mistaken.” “If you’re worried I’m going to think less of you for giving in to human urges, you should know that I can’t possibly think any less of you than I already do.” He remained silent. You sighed. “Listen, I know you hate me and, personally, there are a lot of things I’d much rather be doing than babysitting a psychopathic angel, but if you don’t come inside and get something to eat right now, I swear to God I will drag your stubborn ass there myself.” He turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. You shifted awkwardly again, fidgeting under his cold gaze. “I did it once and I’ll do it again.” “Fine,” he snapped. He clambered to his feet, vines and leaved falling away from him, and staggered, almost falling to his knees. It was only sheer determination that kept him upright, teeth gritted through the pain of the blood rushing back to his muscles. “What’s wrong with my body?” “You haven’t moved in three days. That’ll take a toll on your muscles, mundane or divine. Combine that with not eating or drinking for three days… If you were human, you’d be dead.” “Hmph. Humans are so fragile.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re one to talk. Without your wings or your powers, what are you?” He only glared at you. “Best get used to being human, Doffy. Looks like Dad’s not going to unground you any time soon.” The angel growled low in is throat—a warning. You made sure to give him a clear view of the handgun at your hip, a warning of your own that he was in no state to take you on and win. You breathed a discreet sigh of relief when he deflated and, at your gesture, he followed you reluctantly from the woods and back to the house. His bare feet made hardly a sound on the forest floor and you had to periodically glance over your shoulder to be sure he was still following you. He’d make a good hunter. That’s what Dad would say. Once home, you immediately busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the cupboard and the fridge to prepare lunch. You glanced up to find Doffy standing at the threshold, glaring suspiciously inside. “Do you need and invitation? I thought you were an angel not a vampire.” He shot a withering glare your way, and lifted his foot to step over onto the tiled floor of the dining space. You stopped him. “Uh-uh! Wipe your feet first, they’re filthy.” Another glare, but he did as he was told and wiped his feet off on the doormat. It didn’t make any difference—you knew it wouldn’t, his feet were positively caked in mud—but you found it funny so you said nothing, pursing your lips to stop the laughter from bubbling over. “Sit,” you said, gesturing to the dining table. Doffy didn’t move. “You’re playing a dangerous game ordering around an angel of the Lord.” You sighed exasperatedly. You had to remind yourself that you had brought this on yourself. “Please sit. I’ll make you something to eat.” He sat without further complaint. Five minutes later, you set a plate down in front of him. He eyed the sandwich on it suspiciously, gingerly lifting the top piece of bread to observe its contents. You turned away to fetch him a glass of water and when you returned, he was still staring at the food, a look of distaste plain on his face. “What, you want me to cut the crusts off or something? I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Silence. Your phone buzzed incessantly from the benchtop behind you, but went ignored. Not the chatty type, are you? “Please tell me you know what eating is? I’m not going to mime it for you.” “I know how,” he snapped. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it,” you said airily. “I’m going to find you a towel. Your… divinity is stinking up my house.” You could feel his glare on the back of your head the whole way down the hall. You smiled to yourself. Maybe you were playing a dangerous game by teasing him, but you found yourself enjoying it all too much. Besides, as long as you had your father’s gun, Doffy was harmless. Until he’s not… You pushed the unwelcome thoughts aside and continued your search for the spare bath towel. Upon returning to the dining area, you found Doffy’s seat empty and his plate clean, and your fridge wide open as the angel rummaged through it in search of more food. He pulled out a Tupperware container full of leftovers that had been in there for God know how long and cracked the corner of the lid to smell its contents, lip curling in disgust at what he found. “If you’re still hungry, you’ll have to wait until dinner.” He looked up, startled then angry. Until then, he hadn’t known you were there. This seemed to disconcert him slightly, as if he wasn’t used to being caught off guard, then his expression returned to that perpetual glower. He placed the container back in the fridge and slammed the door shut, snatching the towel from your arms as he brushed past you. “Second door on the left!” you called after him, and a moment later you heard the bathroom door slam shut. You followed after him, listening at the door. You had a suspicion that, despite looking like he knew what he was doing, the angel really had no clue how any of this worked and was just too proud to admit it. It was a wonder he hadn’t choked on his sandwich. “You have to turn the tap to the left,” you said after a full minute of silence from behind the door. He didn’t reply, but a second later you heard the tell-tale squeak of the taps and the water begin to bubble forth. You received no expression of gratitude, not even so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Only silence. You just hoped he didn’t manage to drown himself somehow in the tiny shower tub. That would certainly be a feat. You sighed and left him alone to find him some clean clothes. Nothing you could find amongst the long forgotten items left by previous boyfriends would come anywhere close to fitting across the angel’s broad shoulders, but anything was better that letting him walk around stark naked. Not that you would complain about it. But it would be incredibly distracting and you couldn’t guarantee that you wouldn’t do something you would later come to regret. You blushed as you let your thoughts wander to how that would work with an angel. He certainly seemed physically capable of it—he was no Ken doll down there, that’s for sure. And from the stories, if they were to be believed, angels were at least capable of producing offspring with humans. Slapping your cheeks lightly, you pushed the thoughts aside. It had been far too long since you’d been intimate with anyone, but you were not going to break your dry spell for just any attractive man who fell from the sky. Especially when said guy was a massive jerk. The sound of the doorbell pulled you from your sinful thoughts and you hurriedly fanned your flaming cheeks. You didn’t get visitors often. The house was just slightly too far out of town for people to make the effort most of the time. You made your way to the front door, passing the bathroom with shower still running, making sure your tucked the handgun safely into a draw in the entrance hall before reaching for the doorknob. Its presence at your side would be looked upon unfavourably, especially in a small community such as Starfall, where the crime rate was so low people regularly left they’re doors unlocked. The door swung inward to reveal a very pissed off redhead and you almost closed it again right then and there. Nami pointed a finger at you accusingly. “[Name] [Last Name], You have a lot of explaining to do!” “Nami, now is not really a good ti—” “Don’t,” she growled, “give me that. I have been texting and calling you all morning, what could be so important that you can’t even pick up the phone?” You struggled to form a coherent answer. Excuses were never your strong suit. “Well, uh…” She held up one hand. “Save it. Unless you have a certain human biology teacher naked in your bed right now, I won’t accept any other excuse.” Your face must have betrayed something because her eyes widened and she looked past your shoulder to the living room, cocking her head to the side. “Is that the shower I hear?” Then she looked back to you. “You little minx,” she said with a grin. “No! That’s not… I have a relative staying over, that’s all.” Nami raised an eyebrow, pushing past you just as the sounds of the shower fell silent. “You’re a terrible liar, [Name],” she called over her shoulder as you closed the door behind her. “I know when you’re—oh!” You didn’t like the sound of that. You entered the kitchen to find Nami gawking at a very wet and very naked Dophiel standing in the door to the hall. He stared back, ignoring the small puddle gathering around his feet on the tiled floor. You slapped a hand over your face, trying not to think about the way the droplets of water slid over the planes of his stomach muscles. “He’s… European,” you offered weakly. “They’re a little more, uh, casual with nudity there.” “Uh-huh, sure,” Nami said absently, biting her lip as she looked him up and down. You looked between the two for a long moment then decided there was too much ogling going on. “Okay, thanks for stopping by, Nami. As you can see, I’m a little busy today. Doffy, please go put on a towel.” You took Nami by the arm and tugged her away in the direction of the front door. She let you pull her along until Doffy was out of sight, then she turned to you, blocking your hand as you reached to open the front door. “You expect me to believe that god in there is related to you?” she hissed. “I wouldn’t say he’s a god,” you muttered. “And yes, my cousin, actually.” “Do all your cousins look like that? Because if so, I want an invite to your next family reunion.” “You can’t be serious?” “Oh, I am. I mean, if you were hitting that, I wouldn’t even be mad that you never even called Law.” She looked at you pointedly. Your heart sank. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. Doffy’s visit was, uh, sudden to say the least.” “That’s okay,” she chirped and you were caught off guard by the sudden shift in her mood. “Because I called him for you. You,” she pointed her index finger at you, “have a date on Friday.” “What?! No, Nami, I can’t—” You reached for her, pleading. “No more excuses! He’s picking you up at seven.” She danced out of your reach and out the door. “Have fun!” And then she was gone. You shut the door behind her with a resounding click and leaned your forehead against the cool wood. “Damn it, Nami,” you groaned. Turning around, you jumped violently as you came face to face with Doffy, his bronze pectorals barely an inch from your nose. He smelled like your shampoo, and you had the sneaking suspicion he had slathered it all over his body from the potency of it. He had wrapped a towel around his waist at least, much to your relief. “Jesus, Doffy, don’t do that.” He didn’t apologise. “You should not have let her go. She knows of my existence; she should be destroyed.” “What!?” you cried, panicking. “No! She doesn’t know anything, I promise!” The angel eyed you suspiciously, but seemed satisfied by what he found because he nodded. “Good. Keep in that way.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s find you some clothes, huh? Can’t have you flashing every visitor I get.” He said nothing but stepped aside to let you pass. Your skin prickled with his eyes on you and your cheeks burned with the memory of him standing there in the hall, water droplets clinging to every groove of his perfectly chiselled body… You were beginning to think letting him into your home had been a huge mistake.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

#one piece #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #reader insert #xreader #alternate universe #angel!au #fallenangel!doffy #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #angst #romance

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