#farm x reaper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gremlingottoosilly · 9 months ago

Text

Horsin' around (Centaurus!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is exiled from his people. You are exiled from yours. Together, you make about 6 legs and a perfect pair. Tags and CW: Size kink (duh), Centaurus!Konig(horse cocks), Konig is awkward, slight dub-con, power imbalance, belly bulge, praise kink, monster fucking. Thanks @kneelingshadowsalome for the prompt! AO3| Word count: 3016

Centaurus are not wild animals. You keep repeating it to yourself as you come deeper and deeper into the forest. You keep mumbling it to yourself as you feel the eyes watching you. judging you. Centaurus are not wild animals even if sometimes they behave like one. Not like you’re any different, any better – you’re a human, invading the sacred forests. You’re a human who is dumb enough to go foraging into the depths of their territory. Centaurus are not wild animals, but you don’t feel that repeating the same sentence over and over makes it sound any more convincing. You feel the danger in the air – with each step you take, with each fallen tree you’re stepping over. With every attempt to simply run ending up not working, you know you got lost. Long abandoned the basket you came with – you don’t recognize a single berry that grows here, not a mushroom or even some edible plant pieces to be found. This place is devoid of animals, of flowers – like something just snatched it all away. Ate it all, maybe. You don’t want to think what kind of creature could cause a migration like this. You don’t need to think though. Because the creature finds you first.

You yelp in a mix of surprise and horror when the arrow flies right in front of you, the skill of the archer is high enough to make the arrow cut down a few bits of hair in front of your eyes. If you were a mere millimeter closer, you’d be dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This much is obvious. You freeze in place, not daring to move an inch when you hear it. Loud, not even bothering to conceal the sound of it – the creature was confident enough that the prey wouldn’t run. Not the creature, you correct yourself immediately. Centaurs are not animals, they are closer to humans than a lot of other monster types – with their strength and warrior culture, you’d say that they are even more humans than citizens of the village who forced you out.

The centaur doesn’t even bother to hide himself from you, concealing the sounds of heavy hooves on the ground or evading the branches that crunched against his body. This is exactly what made you surprised when you understood that instead of a rough, but mostly handsome face that most centaurus tend to have, you’re met with a black hood which only spared two holes for the icy-blue eyes staring back at you.

Is he a grim reaper? An executioner for other centaurus? Would that mean you don’t have to worry unless your lower part resembles a horse?

You take a quick look at your bottom half. Not a horse.

Centaur reapers the gesture, looking at his bottom half too. Definitely a horse.

You decide to speak first, hoping to find words that would work just fine to be your last.

— I am really sorry for intru…

— This is not the sacrifice season yet.

Ah, well.

The people from your village believe the centaurs to be sacred – despite them being monsters they knew a lot about, they were still given sacrifices. Food, some farm animals, especially fatty pieces of meat, and fancy jewels along with some weapons. Centaurus kept the worst predators at bay, herding the wolves to be their pets and sometimes driving deer and rabbits away to the village. They kept you protected from werewolves and orcs – with a meager payment of never touching the sacred grounds.

You just stepped into the deepest, most protected part of the forest. You wonder if you would deserve a peaceful death.

— It’s not. I…I made a mistake.

No, you wanted to be here. When the village decided to drive you out, you thought that foraging in the part of the forest, untouched by humans, would be the most profitable thing. Centaurus won’t take berries anyway, right? But they might just take your life.

— A mistake?

He tilts his hooded head to the side. It’s such a boyish expression, that you almost let go of a nervous giggle. Perhaps, you were going crazy…but the centaur seemed a bit nervous. As seasoned as he looked – with battle scars covering his body and a bit of silver mixed with his ginger fur on the horse part – he seemed almost awkward standing here. Tapping one of his hooved legs like a nervous child. Squeezing the bow in his hands with vigor that made you scared he will just snap it in half.

— I just wanted to take some food.

— Is there a hunger?

— No.

— Humans aren’t allowed in these parts. Why would you go if not out of despair?

You gulp.

— I…am not allowed back.

— Why?

Because you’re a forest witch who will doom them all, according to the village of a horse people worshippers. Because you’re a monster in disguise who keeps straling babies, according to the village that uses the best pieces of food to feed the horse people who can take of themselves just fine, instead of feeding it to the orphaned children. Because you’re a whore who refuses to accept the new type of sacrifices – the virgins of the village as a breeding material for the Centaurus, according to the village filled with people who would gladly push a poor virgin out in the forest once she turned of age, so she could be mauled by horse people.

— We had…mutual disagreement.

You stare at the mighty body of the centaur. You fight the urge to get your hands down his torso, play with its short hairs, and…you were always a bit of a horse girl. Wondering if he is strong enough to lift you up and get you somewhere safe, somewhere far far away from here.

Centaur has this weird, almost boyish tone. Deep and yet, sounds just a bit deranged. Unhinged. Like he is going to maul you any second – and judging by the bow and arrow still in his hands, he might not be wrong. You lick your lips. He stares at them – or at least you think he is. Hood only reveals his eyes and you can already get lost in them. Cold, like the northern sea, Like the snow outside. You thought all mythical creatures were supposed to be warm-blooded.

— You’re exiled then.

He isn’t asking. Centaurus are omnipotent and wise, they should know about human affairs more than humans themselves. You made them into sort of gods – you shouldn’t be surprised that this guy knows way more than he should. Somehow, you still feel safer around him than other humans – and maybe, it’s more of a you problem. Maybe, you ended up eating some of the weird berries and it’s just your hallucinations before you die.

— I am.

He takes a step back. He is big – all of them are, you suppose, but, somehow, he is bigger than he should be. Giant, muscular torso on top of an already muscular and big horse part – he can pick you up, throw you, and break you with one finger, probably. No, definitely. You don’t want to give him a reason to, so you just stay in place. Hoping he wouldn’t deem your trespassing as a matter worthy of a torturous death.

— My name is König, human. Repeat, ja?

The name feels weird on your tongue. Rude, sharp. You don’t want to call him wrong and receive his wrath, so you try your best to repeat this.

— Ko-nig. Ja?

You tilt your head to the side, a curious little bird. Centaur – König, König, König – squints his eyes like he is smiling. You made the god smile. The horse god. The horseman. Just…man. If you don’t look down, where you already see something giant and heavy standing between his horse legs, you could forget that he isn’t a man at all.

Suddenly, you feel light. Suddenly, you feel your legs dangling in the air as you were picked up and bumped into the broad chest. Suddenly, you feel hands everywhere. On your ass, under it, touching your chest, your stomach, trying to get to the best position so you would stop moving constantly and trying to get out. You don’t want to fight him because you’re already in the air and falling right now could result in a broken neck – but you don’t want to be suspended in the air either. You whimper, pathetic sound escaping your lips as you feel calloused hands pressing on your mound. Traveling down your stomach and touching, squeezing, petting your delicate parts.

You spend so much time without a gentle hand or a soft touch, you can feel yourself dripping on the fingers of a centaur. Embarrassing, yes – but you know that if he were to proceed, you wouldn’t really resist.

And oh, he proceeds.

— They finally send us proper sacrifices.

He mumbles it into your hair, taking in your smell. You’re nice for a human – not scared of him too much, not trying to ran away or fight. Humans are usually just annoying insects under his hooves, but König can feel your face growing on him. Your body, too. Too weird for other Centaurus, never being able to find a proper mate who could take his lack of social awareness, he found himself mounting a human. His tribe would call him pathetic. His tribe would laugh.

Then again, he is the first to get such a delicate little gift. Who is laughing now?

You aren’t crying in his hands, and he is a bit surprised. You smell like a proper mate, like a good bitch in heat just for him – yet, you’re not falling on your knees to present your dripping cunt. You’re just trying to whimper to ask him to be gentler, and he is happy to oblige. Calm enough to listen to you. Ripping your pants apart because this is such a useless piece of clothing – concealing your rich smell from him.

König doesn’t waste any time when he dips his finger across your swollen folds. Playing with the slick running down his wrist, smiling as you are closing your eyes and pressing your head in his chest. He is strong enough to keep you suspended in the air without a care in the world. Weak human, he would have to spend so much time preparing you for him – taking his cock would be a task no sacrifice ever competed before.

König stares at your dripping pussy that is already clenching around nothing just because his fingers are pressing on the hood of your little clit, and he knows you’d be the perfect wife for him. Taking him properly as his mate, moaning as his cum fills you up. he can’t wait – knows that he should, preparing you properly. His hooves are beating the ground in impatience as his fingers slide in and out of your pussy. You spread your legs, moaning louder. Such a filthy whore for him.

— Relax, human. Be a good mate.

— This isn’t what I wa…

— Quiet. Such a good…good girl, Schatz. Will bring me strong children.

— We can’t have sex. It’s im…impossible.

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs, to shut his hand. You only moan louder, knowing that you would accept everything he gives you, and ask for more.

You don’t want to imagine his cock entering you over and over, forcing its way past your walls and making you round and soft with his children. It’s a foreign concept – centaurus shouldn’t mate with humans, it should be physically impossible. Yet, you almost want to try. A breeding mare, made for one and only.

König gets you on…something. It isn’t exactly a natural thing – a pile of stones and trees, perfect height for you to lay your back on, with some soft leaves and animal skins to rest comfortably. His hands support you on the perfect height and you immediately know what he construction is. A mating stand. Probably for other centaurus – but you feel almost fine laying on it too. Almost normal. Your muscles sting as you try to rest your legs and then spread them wide enough for König to stay between them. He is a big guy, after all. He turns you around, on your tummy. Ass in the air, you don’t like not seeing him. The heavy musk fills your nostrils, making you suddenly aware of what is about to happen – you’re wet, spread enough on his fingers, calloused fingertips scrubbing your gummy walls from the inside. He is fingering you with ease, but it doesn’t feel like a man with experience – he is touching and probing like he doesn’t know what he is doing and, honestly, you kinda like it. He is exploring your body with his and you moan, not caring that you sound like a whore. Humans have already abandoned you as part of society – you might as well just take it. — I will prepare you.

— It won’t fit… — It will, Schatzen. You’ll get used to it. — What if I break?

— I will be careful. Trust me, ja?

Even his fingers are a bit much when he enters your body with a third digit. One, two, three – you are about to burst when he is massaging your G-spot, when he is smiling in your hair and gets you so aroused just on it alone. You’re about to cum when he slowly extracts his fingers, deeming your sloppy cunt as explored enough. Your walls are clenching around nothing, a beautiful display of desire – maybe, it was the right call that humanity abandoned you. König looks at the perfect centraius whore on display and he can’t wait to claim you. To make you his.

He is exiled from other centaurus.

You are exiled from humans.

What a beautiful fucking pair.

He enters your body slowly deliberately. Regrets it immediately – you are wonderful. Too perfect to be this slow, being soft with you is torture. Your walls accept him with a stretch, like a warm glove around his cock. Slowly shifting, softening, straddling his cock with each inch he buries in the depth of your warm, weeping cunt. He can’t touch you, as unfortunate as this is – dumb horse body is making it impossible, even looking at you is hard enough on his neck. He wants to mount you properly, but you’re simply too fucking small. Wants to touch your hair, to whisper some encouragement that human women would probably love to hear – but he can only breath heavily and enter you, one painful centimeter after the other.

— T…too much, too much, please, I can’t, it’s… You whimper, you cry, it breaks his damned heart because you don’t deserve this. You need to be treated with care, with softness and yet, he can’t give you that. He wants so much to just put you in his arms and hug you, but that would be impossible. König will give you all the coddling in the world after you’re done. After he is sure that you received all the possible breeding and seed he could gave you.

— Quiet, human. It would be nice soon.

— It’s not…

— Touch yourself, please, bitte. I can’t…can’t touch you. But you will feel better.

Your hand goes between your legs, playing with yourself. Spreading your folds around his cock even more, fingers sliding past your clit. Touching the little button and hoping it would be enough to make you aroused – and it is. Your cunt is a mess of your own juices mixed with König’s pre cum, and you already know that you won’t be walking the next couple days.

König bottoms with a deep sigh, and you feel him in your stomach. Bulging with his giant cockhead, making the outline of his cock visible – you touch it with shock, not understanding how your organs are even in place.

He starts moving and you finally feel it – the burning pleasure setting fire in the pit of your stomach. the excess liquid pouring from your damp cunt, moans spreading from your lips. You never felt this way with a human before – then again, no human cock would ever be able to compete with König. He can reach the parts of your body that you never knew existed, and the mix of pheromones and musk is making you dizzy. Light-headed. You don’t even need to touch yourself more to feel the height of your orgasm, building in as rapidly as König’s thrusts.

In, forcing its way to hit your cervix gently, massaging the sore spots of your tight pussy.

Out, grazing over your inner walls, touching all the buttons.

In again, filling you up with his pre-cum. Moaning loud enough for the whole forest to hear.

Out, dragging you back with him, as you’re still impaled on his cock.

— S…so perfect for me. Scheisse, so pretty… He can’t touch you and it breaks his heart. König goes to praise you instead – words feel awkward on his tongue, but he knows you need to heart it. He wants you to hear it, wants you to fee wanted, entitled. Soft. He smiles when you whimper and moan, milking him for his orgasm. Your cunt is made for him and he wants to spend every waking moment buried inside of it. Gods, you are a perfect sacrifice.

He is coming embarrassingly fast, pumping his giant cock even deeper into your pussy. Filling you up with hot cum that can’t even stay inside of your cunt. Leaking everywhere, you two are making a mess – you breath heavily, not understanding what is right and wrong anymore. Only knowing, remembering the shape of his cock. Pushing in and out, forcing its way in. God, you feel full. And ridiculous. And so, so perfect with his cock slowly starting to pump you again. And again. Konig came embarrassingly fast, but only because this is just the first orgasm in a row. Forcing its way inside, you are overstimulated already – but you will take him, of course, obviously. You have to.

König is going to enjoy breeding a new clan out of you.

2K notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 6 months ago

Text

In The Badlands

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW guns, TW death mention, CW blood, CW food mentions, CW violence mention.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

Amidst the tar blackened smoke, a tall stranger appears, puffs of smoke parting way for his leather clad form. His spurs clinks as he moves past the doorway of the homestead, ashes floating by, coating his long coat and steel toed boots. The leather vest is perfectly tapered on his waist, pierced lips curled around a slim cigarette, as if the heated smoke entering his lungs wasn't enough. The dark hat he wears obscures half of his face, shadows dancing on his jade eyes. Fire light flickers on his skin that glistened with sweat. Flames lick at his feet, the roof collapses just behind him.

As he leaves the ashes of the former home, blood coating his thick leather gloves, crimson mixing in with the gray ashes. Knuckles hurting and jaw aching, the still warm barrel of his gun weighs heavy on his waist. His horse, Buckeye, neighs, as if he was calling him over.

Shifting his weight on the last step of the burning porch, he spots someone waiting for him, clad in leather, an armour perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders. Golden gun strapped to his waist, rifle on his back, the man's hazel eyes reflect the flaming chaos that the stranger left. The dappled horse huffs behind him, hooves trotting in fear, ready to leave his owner in the dust.

Death is visited by an old friend.

The hazel eyed man dips the brim of his hat in greeting, it's enough for the flame kissed stranger to scoff. “Fine evening ain't it, Hobie?”

“It was, then you came along.” He says gruffly, voice hoarse from the smoke clinging to his throat. “What do you want, Miguel?” Through narrowed eyes, thumb pressed closely to his gun belt, Hobie's body says it all, ‘not in a good mood for a conversation.’

Yet, Miguel still stays on the now ashen field, nose itching at the stench. “I have a proposition—”

“‘m retired,” Hobie interrupts, now standing beside his horse, he calms Bucky down with a pat on his snout. His loyal steed knows Miguel well, and Miguel has the right idea to steer clear of his behind lest he gets kicked to an early grave.

“This doesn't look like retirement to me. I keep telling you you're too young for retirement.”

“This was just a favour, prick deserved it.” His eyes grow darker at the mere mention of the newly departed soul that is now having an impromptu cremation.

“This one is also a favor,” Hobie narrows his eyes further, he taps impatiently on the scorpion etched on his belt buckle. Miguel can tell that he's close to shooting him right on the spot. “from me.”

Hobie groans, “can't, busy.”

“Tending to your dirt farm ain't being busy.” Miguel tethers on the gallows at his pointed words. Still, he pokes and prods at the reaper in front of him. “Told you that the land you bought was a dud.”

Hobie gets on his horse swiftly, more than ready to leave his former associate behind. “Can you get on with it, Miguel?”

“Just like I said, I've got a proposition, the reward could really help out your farm. ‘sides, early retirement doesn't suit a man of your talents.” Miguel flicks his eyes over to the house when a large cracking sound almost startles him. Proving his point. The porch collapses, embers and ashes floating away like snowflakes.

“I don't do bounties anymore.” Hobie doesn't spare the destruction a glance, green eyes staring intensely at the man before him.

“This isn't a bounty, it's a find and transport.”

“Since when do you accept those kinds of jobs?” Hobie raises a pierced brow, sweat coating the back of his neck irritably. “Sounds like the gang have fallen on hard times.”

“Since they offered me five k.” Hobie's intrigued, just like how Miguel predicted. “Also, I heard from the informant that your target seems to be sailing from your old country. I'm sure you'll get along well, with your teas and shit. But knowing you, you won't.”

Hobie ghosts his hand over the large scar on his neck, like it still bleeds, like the blood he shed still drips on his calloused hands. “‘m listenin’” Sounds like an easy job, he thought. He's not exactly a novice, so he already considers it done.

Miguel gets on his horse with a groan, he can tell that Hobie is biting his tongue from making an old man joke. “You have to do it alone though, I'd take it but I've got another job lined up.”

“You already had me at five k, stop tryin’ to convince me. But ‘m guessing you have a cut in that five k?”

Miguel chortles, “’course I do, why don't we have a drink and we'll negotiate. I'm sure Riri would appreciate my patronage.” Hobie nods curtly. “First of all you need to take care of your wounds, you're covered in blood.”

Hobie rides ahead. “Not my blood.”

Almost two years of being ‘retired’, Hobie hasn't changed one bit. Miguel smirks victoriously, this'll be an easy job for a man like Hobie and an easy fifteen percent for him.

—

You're hungry, incredibly hungry. Stomach growling angrily, you feel like you're about to pass out from starvation. Two days of not being able to eat a single crumb, and almost a day of not having a sip of water, you're ready to dig your own grave. But you refuse to fall without reaching your goals.

You can't fail.

You already hate it here, the air stinks of horse shit, the roads are covered in mud and horse shit, and now the smell of horse shit has made a home in your nostrils. A week in the west and you're already at your lowest, money gone from a quick handed street child, clothes all ratty because you traded off your silk dress and remaining jewels except for the simple gold band around your middle finger. Hair greasy, and skin sweaty and from the sweltering sun, you're more than ready to leave. But you can't let her win, you cannot let her have the last laugh or your life would end before you could actually live it.

Licking your dried lips, eyes glued to the window of the general store, you take your bandana and wrap it around your face, making it a makeshift mask just like how bandits do. Armed with a six shooter that has no bullets left in its chamber, you find courage to rob the place when no one else is inside, or at least get some canned peaches.

Storming the shop, shouldering the door, the bells chimes as you enter. The man behind the counter yelps at the intrusion, wide eyes staring at you in fear. His hands raise next to his head in surrender, mouth stuttering to stitch together a sentence.

“T-take anythin’ from the register! P-please just spare me! I have children to feed!” The man shakes, mustache damp with sweat.

You're equally terrified. “I–I just need food and water. Please,” you almost chuckle at yourself. “I don't want to hurt you—!”

The bells chime again, heavy boots thud against the wooden floorboards, a breeze entering as the slim stranger wanders through the store. The air in your lungs is sapped away, something in the stranger makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

You and the shop owner stare at the masked man curiously, blinking, you watch as he casually takes two cans of peas. Taking the cans to the counter, he doesn't even spare you a look or cower in fear at the sight of your gun.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks the terrified man. His accent reminds you of the land you ran from, the familiar tone would bring you calm but his mere presence exudes danger.

“W-what?” The mustachioed man trembles. You just stare, arm aching from how you hold the heavy gun.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” your breath stops when he finally acknowledges you. “When you rob a place, you don't tell ‘em that you have no intention of hurtin’ ‘em. You just lost your advantage, fear is your main weapon, not your gun.” His jade eyes bore into your skull, you swear you feel the heat of it like you're stranded in the desert. “Which doesn't have any bullets by the way.”

The moment he says it, the shopkeeper cranes his neck quickly to a fumbling you. Quickly taking his rifle behind him, you run before he could even aim at you. A shot rings out in the small building, the bullet lodged in the back doorway where you fled.

“Grab her and I'll reward you!” The man yells at the stranger.

“How much?” He stays in place, casually leaning on the counter, watching your form get smaller and smaller as you run with all your might.

“Ten bucks!”

The stranger cracks his neck, groaning at the relief. “Fine.” Running after you, with his longer strides and full stomach, he's already behind you. “Stop runnin’!” It doesn't sound like a warning but he intended it to be. The sun bares at his back, quick drawing his gun out, the silver barrel shines as he aims at the ground.

The bullet whizzes past you, nicking your ankle, warm blood soaking your shoes. Yet, you still do your best to run. You can't be caught, you can't go back. You cannot go back to the life she planned for you. Limping, trailing crimson on the dusty ground, you feel his heavy presence right behind you.

“You gonna make this harder for me?”

“Yes! Leave me the fuck alone!” You continue to bolt away, but the man casually catches up to you with only a few strides. You smelled him before you felt his hand on your shoulder. Sweat, leather, and tobacco, a scent you've gotten all too familiar with in this new world you've fallen into. But there's a whiff of something you're familiar with. Something you've almost forgotten.

He grabs your shoulder back, but you're still too fast, taking advantage of your adrenaline. Bolting away, he takes his lasso from his belt, with a practiced hand, he swings it and the rope hits its mark, your legs, hemp wrapping around your knees with a slap.

You hit the ground face first, dust on your face, and sand in your eyes. The stinging pain on your chin and nose makes you groan, tears welling up, and blood trickling down from your nose.

The almost silent footsteps getting nearer has you scrambling away. The stranger takes your shoulder, trying and failing to bind you.

Fighting back with a swift kick on his chest that doesn't even faze him, you slap him away in futile. “Stop–! Fuckin-!” You two wrestle on the ground, dust flying all over, nose itching at the particles. You bite his arm, he flinches before he wraps his gloved hand around your wrist, pinning you down. The rough leather is hot against your skin. “Ow! You– stop! ‘m not gonna hurt you!”

“You fucking stop!” Your free hand grip the bandana hiding his face. His legs trap you in between them in retaliation. “What did you say back at the store? Fear is your main weapon, not your gun?!”

“You're bloody butchering it—!” With one strong tug, you take his black bandana off, revealing a familiar face.

You gasp breathlessly, frozen in place. His name falls on your lips, a name you've only whispered before you fall asleep like a prayer murmured to whoever was listening.

“Hobie?”

Hobie's heart stops, now he notices your eyes, those eyes he once loved to stare at endlessly. Eyes that he's fond of, eyes that still hold his promise. With trepidation in his chest, and the ghost of pain around his scar, he gingerly takes your bandana off. Your face greets him, he imagines a scowl on your pretty lips, but instead of hate, he sees relief. A beaming smile on the lips he's all too familiar with, the same lips he'd kiss everyday for two years.

Death's carefully plastered façade falls.

You're his target, the same person he told those three words to a thousand times before when everyone told him it's not meant to be. You proved them all otherwise. The same person he once loved all those years ago, before he faced death himself.

“Y/N?” His voice breaks with the mere utterance of your name. A name that has been tattooed in his mind ever since everything came crashing down. Ever since you two tempted fate too much, and he alone faced the consequences. The scar around his neck proves it all.

Your grin gets wider, and you feel like the luckiest girl alive. Hobie feels like he lost a thousand dollars in poker.

“Hi.” You could only muster, the hands that slapped him away now hold his face carefully, fingers tracing all the new scars and marks on his skin. “I finally found you.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

178 notes · View notes

cherrsnut · 10 months ago

Text

Hostage - Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous // Next

Chapter 2

The television was on. Very important Capitol hosts, by which Mr Flickerman was included, were wrapping up scenes of previous Hunger Games. Talking about their ‘favorite’ moments, arenas, and even victors.

You were sat on an armchair, your gaze fixated on the scene playing out. Two boys, fighting in a game of death. The hosts never mentioned their names, nor from which district they came, but the bloody moment when that year’s victor was messily cutting the other’s throat paralyzed you. The cut was done from an odd angle, and you murmured a curse when you saw the adrenaline of survival almost decapitate his victim. You cringed your nose and eyebrows, and with your surgical knowledge, you could bet your finger that, that Tribute could have been killed in a cleaner, faster, and more painless way.

You didn’t notice just how your air had been trapped against your throat. So when you released it, your chest felt emptier and cleaner from the bloody mess the hosts were laughing and joking about.

“Ok so, we need to prepare for the Games” Scarlett, the pinkish escort of District 4 appeared from behind you two, grabbing the remote and turning off the screen. Two more people trailed behind her, an older woman with uncontrollable silver curly locks, and a man all too familiar, especially to the civilians of District 4.

“But first things first. Let me introduce you to your mentors. This is Mags” Scarlett pointed at the short elder impatiently. Mags simply smiled brightly at the two of us. “You needn’t me to tell you, I know you already know. But still, I introduce you to Finnick Odair” To this Finnick turned up a smug smile with a silent chuckle rumbling just beneath his Adam’s apple.

Sacreltt went to sit at the crown of the large table. She was impatient and too upbeat, just like a kid waiting in line to ride a rollercoaster for the first time, it sickened you. You went to grab a chair, not before giving another glance at the victor from your District from two years ago. His bronze hair shined with the sun that started to set through the transparent clear window.

Scarlett called for tea to the nearest Avox girl. Specifying for English tea, with exactly two spoonfuls of brown sugar, and for the drink to be scalding hot. Then she grinned and looked at you and Vito again.

“Alright, babes. First things first, tell us about yourselves” Scarlett slightly tilted her head to the side. You noticed just how her makeup was still intact. It was rather simple compared to the other Capitol civilians you had seen. A pink tint with a golden shine added onto her lips, with an eyeshadow of the same hue. A purple eyeliner, as a means to contrast colors, curved around her eyes with the added cat tail coming off the corner of her eye.

You and Vito looked at yourselves, wondering just who to start with. Vito was the first to speak.

“Well, my name is Vito.” he seemed nervous, or perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the question.

“I work with my dad on my family’s prawn farm” he looked up at shyly Scarlett, and you had to focus on not getting distracted by how he nervously peeled onto the skin next to his fingernail.

“My dad, he trained me to be here…” Vito suddenly declared. Leaving you speechless, and questioning as to why he kept it hidden for so many hours. This changed many things for this year’s Hunger Games. And maybe, District 4 would claim another victor this year.

Scarlett’s eyes sparked up in excitement, and she clapped twice without realizing it. You were glad she was at least, happy about one of the Tributes since it's not like you could offer much more.

Finnick eyed Vito for a second before asking. “Your dad trained you?” a passing curiosity crossed his eyes almost playfully. Just then you could truly take in the treasure of a man he was. Sitting across from you, you could see his facial features quite well.

The tan of his skin perfectly complements his blonde hair. The way his cheekbones were so prominent it highlighted his eyes if that was even possible when his eyes were so green and lively like nature itself planted a seed, and a forest grew in the summer breeze inside. And still, it almost seemed hypnotizing just how you wanted to trace your fingers across his cheek, then down to his thin lips that were stuffed with the beautiful color of candied pink. His clean-shaven face revealed the otherwise cute face he had. Not hard looking or intimidating, but soft, and just like his eyes. He reminded you of the summer under the silhouettes of maple trees, of warmth and refreshing sunlight.

“Correct. He used to tell me about how he used to train, and how he wished to have gone to the Hunger Games. I guess he wanted me to live his dream” Vito explained, a perplexed look on your face very much visible to the rest of the people present.

He didn’t add anything else, and you forced a few blinks to take in what he said and try to comprehend as much as you could. Your eyes left to stare off into the wall for barely three seconds, with the only conclusion that some people didn’t deserve to have kids.

“What about you, birdie? Who are you?’” Scarlett spoke in a more reasonable calmer tone than before. But you still struggled to understand the people you are sharing a room with. None of them seemed to be the least concerned about what Vito just said.

You were more lenient with the victors, especially Mags. You supposed it wasn’t great seeing so many Tributes you mentored, just to be brutally assassinated in the arena, and you supposed she’d already seen her fair share of wild parents stories, all with with questionable parenting skills. And Finnick probably was still succumbed to what he had to go through two years ago.

But why was Scarlett so nonchalant about it? It was rather bitter having her in your surroundings at almost all the time. It wasn’t exactly that she was completely indifferent, but she was excited to see one of the most God awful things in the world, laughing along to the cruelty that many children were subjected to, an you would soon join into that statistic.

However, you knew you had to get used to her behaviour sooner or later. Even when everything seemed so nauseating, and you knew it was bad when you could taste the bile coming up for your throat. God, you hated this.

So you ignored your sentiments and carried on. Because now taking pity on the way he was raised was not the right moment. Not when the both of you had been thrown into the same deadly game, when anyone’s background means absolutely nothing to spare your life.

Even if you hate to admit it, Scarlett was right, we need to trace a plan, and we only have a day to take a look over every card we were setting on the table.

“Well…” You started. “You probably already know this, by my name is Y/N L/N. I’m fifteen and I’m a doctor” You took a sneaky look over Scarlett, seeing her energetic face come back, and you retracted a bit. “Well, kind of. I work at a herbal shop. It's just a lot of fishermen get injured during the day, they normally come in when they need immediate care” you explained.

“Immediate care?” questioned the escort’s sparkling eyes. You internally sighed, you could already predict this was going to be a prolonged conversation. Over something that woudn’t be much of use once you’d be dropped off in the arena.

“Yeah.” you confirmed, but you furher continued. “For instance yesterday, a group came rushing to my shop because one of them had slipped and fallen on the deck, hitting his head in the process. They were logically concerned when he wouldn't wake up, even more so when a big bleeding cut appeared from his head” you recalled. If it meant this talk would help in any way, you give away the details of your former life. Still knowing there was barely a chance for you to survive, you still played along the planning game, even when you’d already convinced yourself of your eventual doom.

“That’s a pretty big injury, you can take care of that?” now it was Finnick speaking, his gorgeous face directed at you. It was something being in the presence of someone whose beauty was ethereal, but them speaking to you was a bigger milestone. Your heart thumped hard, and you cursed at yourself for just how embarrassing you were being. You took a mental note, one which consisted of berating yourself infront of the bathroom mirror. It was fine being attracted to someone; it was fine to walk by someone and to instantly be charmed by you. But all in its context, yours was exactly of that in a few remaining days of your death penalty would be finalized. You were going to die.

You supposed then you mind must’ve churned itself. You already accepted this fate. You might as well give yourself the privilege to internally comment about someone’s looks, you at least had that last bit of freedom to do that, right?

“Of course. I also can take a look for infected wounds, just like finding antidotes to poisons. I especially like that one” You told him with a small smile appearing. Oh god, that smile. Right there and then was the evidence of his popularity in the Capitol.

You had to bite your tongue before any of your senseless thoughts spilled all over the table for everyone to hear your most inner provoking thoughts.

Then again silence to your gratitude. The only sounds of the railing echoing against the bullet train. You went to look over at Mags, and noticed just how quiet she was throughout the whole planning, and you supposed she fitted into a more calming human prototype, one where her peacefulness enhanced her rather ‘listener rather than a speaker’ personality type.

She realized your gaze on her, and she returned it with a small smile. With a continuous electric reaction that zip zapped it ways until it reached her gliting eyes.

That warmth her embraced you in stuck with you, and you coudn’t help but find her especially so meltingly cute. All the wrinkles were in full display, and it taught you that even after decades of experience, and traumatizing memories of setting foot in the arena, you could still smile just enough that Heaven’s doors would open up for you without further doubt of your light as feather soul.

But even in her gentle smile, and pure eyes, so pure it was easily to compare of that a riverbank flowing down a green mountain. There was still something behind her skull, a lurking darkness swimming in bitter water.

“I think I know why you look so familiar” Finnick changed to a new topic of conversation. He looked at you pointedly, scanning your every pore and mole hidden along your skin. And he nodded once he made up his mind, a sly smirk coming up to his lips. This had to be illegal.

It wasn’t fair just how easily it made you so jumpy, and you hoped and begged to whatever entity, whatever you were feeling wasn’t reflected on the mirror of your body.

“I’m pretty sure you bandaged me up once, I remember going to an herbal store when I was younger when I cut myself with a fishhook,” he said. His smile should absolutely be prohibited for being under some sort of national scale threat, because the way his eyes landed on yours with that slow creeping smile made your heart trip hard… several times. But then you had to keep reminding yourself. Stop. Being. Weird.

You needed to think straight, freezing your heart and mind. If you could you’d punch yourself, and open your eyes at what was at stake here. A few more slow breaths and you’d be able to consume yourself with reason, at least you tried to convince yourself of that. But it was hard, the screaming helplessness surrounding you like a heavy poisonous fog, choking and hurting you with the sole purpose to remind you it was just days away for you fight for your own survival; and then, Finnick was the whispering thoughts. He was the only thing taking you out from a self-absored battling arena, almost like a human stoned oasis. You never has spoken to him, at least not that you oculd recall, but if it meant a pretty stranger would be the one to distract your distressing thoughts, then so be it.

“How old were you though? Edna never let me touch her things until I was nine. Which quite frankly never stopped me from using it behind closed doors…” Finnick chuckled at that last comment. He was slowly removing the bitter taste left on my tongue with his sweet presence. But to you, it was beginning to be a little too much. Having his attention was considered a precious treasure in itself, and you weren’t blind as to why. The way he had some sort underlying flirt in his normal talk was starting to put you on edge. His very own voice was just like caramel that melted in your tongue, and there was no dial it tasted just like high-class pastries.

The very moment you realized that this was in his nature, you were able to calm down slightly. There was no point getting internally worked up when he didn’t mean anything further other than to make conversation. A sigh of relief escaped escaped your mouth.

“Is that so? I suppose it must have been Edna then…Edna was it?” he trailed off with a more relaxed smile. Yup, you were confident to state that his entire being was a nuclear weapon, and you should fear the day they’d try to put him in use, because you were sure all of Panem would be doomed.

It was increasingly becoming harder trying to talk to someone in a noirmal conversation with your running mind.

“Very much correct” You leaned back against your chair, to try and find a more comfortable spot. Vito gave an odd look at the exchange of words given between me and the victor, the very same you plasmated earlier. One of indecipherable shock, and you coudn’t blame Vito for the way he was feeling.

“I. Just. Had. The. Best. Idea” Scarlett stood up, she looked like she was talking to herself in her usual loud manner. Her abrupt pauses were very much loved and used in everyday form by the people in the Capitol, they simply loved that sweet exaggeration they coudn’t get over. “No one will see this coming,” she exclaimed in excitement, and unlike her she mumbled her words out. “Y/N, the Healer of our Capitol’s Darling” She made a movement with her hands, just as if displaying the front title from a big article, and every word that left her mouth, the more she fell in love with your marketing strategy she just came up.

“Well, actu-” you tried to put out a single sentence. But Scarlett’s ideas were much louder than the what hjappened in reality.

“If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes” She went to walk away, presumably to her room. So happily she was one step away from dancing around the salon car to her sleeping chamber.

You exhaled a sigh, not in the mood to refute Scarlett, so you let her go on with her planning.

“Well, as long as I gain sponsors, I suppose it’s alright for me then” you absentmindedly talked. You felt a yawn crawl out of your mouth, so you went to cover it while rolling your eyes to the window. You were pleasantly surprised to find the beautiful view of the night. The moon and the stars shone across the sea, painting an alluring picture over it.

“You tired? Maybe you should head back to sleep?” Vito’s voice is concerned. You looked at him, still in a slight trance from the yawn, and smiled briefly at him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine”.

Just then, the red clothing of the Avox came into view. She was carrying a ceramic tray, traced with golden line art. Placed on top, where the cute tea cup along with the teapot and and a differently designed cup for its special use of storing sugar cubes. You concluded the ceramic products were all bought as a designed set.

The large teapot had a trunk of that of the elephant you have only seen in adventure books targeted to children. You respected the artist’s innovative cheeky drawing on it. Many types of birds, which reminded you of the representation of the higher class of society, things like peacocks and cranes showing their beautiful feathers, all in the shimmering brushstroke gold. The five teacups followed suit with the same design.

Along with drinks though, the Avox seemed to bring an extra treat. Two layers of plates hung, and above were many pastries you’d never thought you’d be able to digest. Your eye had caught one shortcake specifically, one where the top was filled with freshly cut strawberries, glazed over with molten sugar, its provocative appearance rumbled your belly with eagerness.

Then after placing everything on the table, the Avox gave a knowing look and walked off with the tray, presumably to the kitchen, or perhaps to knock on Scarlett's room and give her the requested drink.

Your attention was back to the contents of the table. Not wanting to come off as rude, but very impatient to try them out. You looked over the people’s faces. Vito was reclined against the chair, a gloomy expression on his face, and you didn’t need to ask to know why.

So you stopped. And while your belly was moaning for that sugary treat, you ignored it. A sensation similar to guilt washed over your chest. You supposed you wished you felt like him, to be worried about the arena. He felt like he was being skinned by the tumultuous thoughts of his, and tlhough differently, you understood that emotinal pain. However, what set you and Vito apart was that since stepping your foot on the train, you had been accepting your impending death seantence.

Perhaps you hadn’t truly taken in the situation, maybe the idea you were going to fight in the arena was so disorienting, your psychology couldn’t fully comprehend it. It hadn’t connected the wires, and once you’d be face to face with the rest, you’d probably sink and drown in remorse for not taking this situation as you should have.

The sleepless nights you’ve been having since the first Reaping you attended left you wondering if you’d be trapped in this hunting competition. Maybe you exhausted your brain with so many different scenarios, that it had simply got used to the idea of your death.

Just maybe that’s why you took more importance of the delicious snacks you’d never imagined you’d taste, because this is more of a shock than the Games itself. And you could imagine for Vito, who has family and friends beside him, it was much harder to take in. Because for you, the only thing you were leaving behind were just physical, instead of Vito, which were the built relationships he created long his nlife. The memories, the feelings, and the what could’ve been in the future with their company.

You touched his shoulder, rubbed it slightly to get his attention. His dark-as-coal eyes roamed to yours, worried traces evident on the wrinkles he formed. He didn’t say much else, and he found himself being unable to utter a word, not knowing what to say. You gulped down nervously.

You didn’t quite know what to do in this type of situation. You normally would scurry off and cry alone, but that was because you were used to your lonely life. Edna was your only friend, even adopting as a grandma figure over the decade you had spent together. And even so, she wasn’t a very sentimental person, and you were unable to read off her emotions. Naturally, you eventually learned that side of her, and you kept repeating to yourself you didn’t need anyone to comfort you, that you were just fine to deal with yourself.

But for Vito it must be different, he grew up in with people surrounding him. When you climbed up the car that led you to the train, you were able to catch fragments of his family. His father was there along with his mother, a baby in her doting arms. Three little girls, all with the same hair color as Vito's, waved him goodbye, with tear-stricken eyes and red cheeks.

He always had someone to talk to when needed to share something, and even if he didn’t, he was used to the physical comfort you lacked.

He looked away, staring off to the nightly ocean. You forced yourself to be that source of comfort that his sister must have provided him, because his pitiful expression was simply just too much for you.

“I hope this isn’t strange-” you cut yourself. You got reminded of the way Philip comforted Emi earlier that day. And as he looked up to see what you meant, you got up from your chair and leaned against him. A quick peck over his creased eyebrow while you hand found stability from his jaw, your index finger pressed over his cheek. You never saw his look of surprise, and if you did it would probably make you turn back and awkwardly sit back down on your chair from embarrassment. But you didn't, so with your chin resting on his shoulders, you pushed him further into your embrace. Your arms wrapping around his waist.

You didn’t say anything, and you obligated your body to relax from the physical touch you had avoided for so many years, for his sake. Because Vito was the one who mattered right now, and not your foreign feeling.

You closed your eyes. Your arm brushing passed to hold the nape of his neck. “Everything will be alright” you whispered into his ear. Even though you were copying everything Philip said to his sister, you still meant every word from your beating heart.

He wrapped his arms around you, and in doing so he pressed himself more into your body, in an attempt to hide himself from the rest. His tanned hands went along to grab your shirt from your back. His breaths were becoming shakier, and in some instances you felt him hiccup into your shoulder, whilst also trying to control his ragged breathings. You drew circles around his back for more added comfort, tickling his back with the phantom touch of your fingers slowly flowing around the body of his back.

“You’ll be fine” you whispered again, brushing his ears with the warmth of your breath. You slightly removed yourself from him, finding more room to untangle yourself from him. You noticed how his grip on you had become stubbornly stronger. But you didn't mind. Not when you hand crawled up to his hair and cupped the back of it. Your fingers laced with his onyx hair. You faced him, giving him another peck of his cheekbone. And you found yourself with the salty only tears could make, no matter how salty the sea may be, you let his pure tears flow down your taste glands and welcomed it into your stomach.

He hadn’t cried much you realized, maybe just two tears, one for each eye. And while you brushed his head, you felt his breath deepen and exhale, trying to calm himself down as well.

You stood up, your fingers planting over his jaw and nape. Tilting his head upward to you. You could see the shine of his tear river going down to his cheek. A small smile, one you hoped to encouraging, all the while you dried his tears with your thumbs.

His eyes locked with yours, traces of humidity on his lashes as he looked up at you. A shining sclera evident with the way the light bulb reflected on his eyes.

“I’ll make sure of it. '' Your smile widens, showing just slightly your front teeth previously hidden by your lips of affection.

You traced a few messy hair strands behind his ear, and he leaned deeper into your hand’s touch. He suddenly got stuck to you. He missed the warmth your body provided him, how hidden from everyone he felt, and how it made him feel like a little child being protected from the world’s cruelty.

His head was pressed against your chest, and you only chuckled, a few tones lower than your usual voice. You pet his head, sliding from the crown of your head to his neck, just to put it back up, and repeat that move over and over again. You closed your eyes, and a closed-lipped smile appeared in your features, forgetting the upcoming Games. He needed you to be strong for him, and today, you’d protect him from whatever threat lurked behind the dark corners “I promise” you gave him an oath with the very intention to keep it.

The victors sat across from them looking at the two Tributes. Mags looked over at Finnick, and just repeated what you had just done, she placed her hand over his shoulder. She grabbed onto it tighter, her look reflected on his green eyes. Mags closed her lips and eyed him more intensely. Finnick’s frown was present, and he interlocked his eyes with his mentor. She gave him a small smile, and slightly nodded at her, reassuring she needn’t be as concerned about him.

Finnick played with his fingers as he watched the both of you. He just felt something break seeing the both of you, like the only line that kept him sane, was suddenly cut and he fell to a dark abyss, one filled with the monsters he dreams about. He gulped down hard. And something in him wished for your empathic arms to wrap around him. He for once wanted to feel small and well taken care of, he wanted your words to help him cope at night. But he regretted how that could be disturbing for eyes of others, he was your mentor, and you were a Tribute who was most likely going to die soon anyway. He lamented just then, just how many souls, as clean as the white feathers of doves, would be taken for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Mags kept her gaze on the child she had started to consider her only son. She felt troubled over him, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty she couldn't erase his fragile and hurt soul.

Previous // Next

Heyaaa, hope you're having a wonderful day bestiess. I hope you're liking this Hostage so far. Just wanted to say two things

I could start preparing a Taglist for you all if you want to of course <3

Second, the next chapters are going to be DEEP, like a lot of emotional turmoil, so ye, be prepared.

#finnick #finnick odair fanfic #thg fanfiction #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg finnick #thg x reader

111 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

Switched Sides - End || Lloyd Hansen

Character: Lloyd Hansen x former Hitman!FemaleReader

Summary: Y/N L/N quit her job as a hitman to take care of her nephew after her stepbrother died. It’s been a year since she became a good aunt to her nephews, and she wants to keep it that way. But her quiet life got disturbed when her former boss asked for her help.

Warning: Nothing.

A/N: Reblog and any feedback are much appreciated.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Last Chapter.

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi please 🥹

In the warm sunlight with the birds chirping in the peaceful morning. Inside the bedroom, there are two people on the bed. They were still sleeping since they were exhausted from last night's activity.

Lloyd woke up first while you were still lying beside him. It’s rare. If this happened a year ago, you wouldn’t still be here. You would leave in a second after you use his body. It never crossed your mind about relationships since you prefer to be alone.

That’s why he still didn’t believe you could be a parent.

You're the most daredevil person he has ever known. You're not afraid of death.

If there's a reaper in front of you, you probably asked the angel of death, "What took you so long?"

That's why you're the deadliest hitman at the agency. The code name Antarctica fits you. When you were on a mission, your expression never changed. You are cold and deadly. You're not afraid of anything since you have nothing to lose. When you left, everyone felt the differences. Even the head of the agency was regretful for letting you go.

This is the reason why he approached you. The agency wants you to come back.

Lloyd thought it would be easy, but when he saw you, Mark, and Kendall together, he realized it would be difficult.

He sighed heavily, his hand gently stroking your back, and then he kissed your forehead. "Do you like your nephew that much?"

After he said those words, you suddenly open your eyelid and look at him. Lloyd swore he almost got a heart attack.

“Yes, I do.”

You would go crazy if something ever happened to them.

Because you realize your nephew is the reflection of your brother. Every little thing that Mark and Kendall do it's the same as your brother. The way they sleep, eat and get angry.

You didn't realize you missed your brother that much until the last time you saw him lifeless inside the casket. The little brother who always followed you around never complained when you could only give him a boiled pumpkin for lunch and dinner.

Back then, both of you were poor, and you worked on child labor at the farm. The farm owner always gave you any vegetable before it turned rotten. The only veggies that could fulfill your hunger were pumpkin. And the habits stayed. One time on the mission, you and Lloyd were hiding in the safe house. The location was the city's outskirts, and it was near the farm. Living near the farm brings you back. You didn’t realize you ate a lot of pumpkins until Lloyd pointed that out.

You and your brother didn't have a good childhood. Since you can't return the time, you want to give Mark and Kendall the best childhood.

"I've been living my life like a walking corpse. It doesn't matter to me if today or tomorrow will be my last day."

Being a hitman, you need to kill your feelings and emotions.

But you regained both when you saw Mark and Kendall at your brother's funeral. The way Mark protects his baby brother is the same as when you were kids. Suddenly, you remembered when you and your brother could only be silent when the parents were fighting and arguing.

You don't want that memory to happen again.

That's why you volunteered to be the guardian for Mark and Kendall. You want to provide them with the best childhood.

"I do love them. They're the reason why I want to wake up and live every day."

When Lloyd heard that, it confirmed his guess. You’re not coming back. He wants to say he doesn’t like it, but you’ve made your choice.

He lifted the blanket and then stood up from the bed. "Let's go. Bruno had left me hundreds of messages."

You were taken aback seeing him being disappointed. It seems like you made a mistake. But you don't know why.

Both of you walk together to your apartment. When you arrived at the building, Lloyd whispered to your ears, "The stalker has been following us. I'll get him."

You didn't feel threatened. "Don't do anything. Meet me at the park once you get him."

Lloyd nodded and left.

The moment you arrived at your apartment, Bruno opened the door. Heartbreak crossed his arms. "You're late."

You shrugged your shoulders. "We got a surprise attack last night."

"Bullshit. You spend the night with him."

You scoffed and headed into the room. You saw your nephew drawing on the kid's table.

"I hope they're not trouble you."

"They're good kids."

Mark and Kendall were used to babysitting. Their father works as a detective and always goes home late at night.

"Where's Lloyd? I thought you came here together."

You got closer to Bruno and whispered, "He noticed I have a stalker, so he went to catch him."

"Oh. We noticed that."

You raised your eyebrows. "We?"

Bruno clicked his tongue. The secret finally got out. He went to the coffee machine to make coffee. "Well the reason why we came here is to bring you back to the agency."

He poured the coffee into the glass. "I'm not supposed to say this, but he missed you."

"Lloyd?"

"Well, both of you are the best duo and could finish a difficult mission in a short time without being stabbed or getting shots. Since you left, he chose to work alone."

'Ring.'

A phone call from Lloyd: "I've found him. It's just a kid."

"A kid?" You thought you heard wrong. You immediately ran to the park.

When you arrived, you saw Lloyd sitting on the bench while the other person kneeled.

Lloyd noticed you. "I think you should talk to him."

You looked at the kid who was wearing an oversized hoodie. No wonder why you don't feel threatened. He's just a teenager.

You got closer and leaned down "Why did you follow me?"

The teenager lifted his face to look at you. "I want to apologize to you and the kids."

"Me? Why?"

"It's because of me the detective got exposed with the drugs and he lost his life. I'm so sorry." He bowed his head to the ground.

You have learned about your brother's death. He was investigating the drug case, and he met the drug addict. When he went to one location, he was exposed to fentanyl and inhaled it. He got overdosed, and the help arrived late.

The teenage sobbing, "I got sent to rehabilitation, and when I got out, I wanted to apologize, but I'm too scared to face you. It's because of me the kids lost their father.

When you hear his explanation, you want to punch him. But you can't do it. Your brother would be disappointed. The reason why he joined law enforcement is to help people.

You squared down at the same level as him. "Stop feeling guilty. At least you apologize and admit your mistakes. You have stopped doing drugs, too. My brother would be proud of your effort."

After you said those words, you could see the teenage face brighten up a bit. Seems like your words ease his burden. He is still young and has much time to fix his life.

You share an encouragement to the teenager before you and Lloyd go back to the apartment.

While walking together, he grabbed your hand. "That was disappointing. I was expecting you to gage his eyes out and pull his finger nails."

You giggled. "If I were still a hitman, I would do it. But now, I must be a good role model for my nephew."

Lloyd hummed and kept walking.

You notice him sulking; he could be childish sometimes. "I'm sorry, Lloyd. I'm going to stay."

Lloy stopped his foot."I understand."

You were silent until you said, "But I will be here for you, and they like you."

Lloyd stopped again. But this time, he looks at you with a smile. "Don't use them to get me."

"Mister Hansen!"

Lloyd heard the familiar voice. He looked up front and saw Mark running towards you while Bruno carried Kendall.

With his little leg, Mark runs faster than he holds Lloyd's legs.

Lloyd looked at you and sighed. "I'll come and visit when I have the time."

5 years later.

"Left, right, left, right."

"More passion, more energy."

Three males are running together. They're jogging at the same pace.

Lloyd in the middle, Mark on his right, and Kendall on his left. This jogging is for Kendall. He's joining the marathon for this year.

His cancer treatment went well, and his body accepted all the medicine. He became cancer-free when he was five years old.

"Always keep your pace, and be confident at the race Kendall."

Kendall looked up and nodded. "Okay, Dad."

Lloyd hummed happily when he heard that. It never occurred to him would be called by that name.

It happened after he put the ring on your finger. After three years, he decided to retire from being a hitman and join you.

The four of you became a complete family. It's quick for Kendall to call Lloyd as dad, but Mark doesn't. He still calls him uncle or mister. But if he mentioned Lloyd with his friends or teacher, he would "I will ask my dad first."

After the training, three of them go home. When they opened the door, a delicious aroma filled their nose.

They saw a variety of food plates on the dining table.

Lloyd is always greeted with this warm picture after he marries you.

You were putting a spoon of sugar into the pot when you saw them, "You guys got back early."

Mark unties his shoelace. "The sky darkened, and it's going to start raining. Mister Hansen doesn't want mud on his shoes."

Lloyd shook his head; he ruffled Mark's hair. "You and your brother go take a shower before eating."

"Okay." Both of them answered together and ran to their room.

After the kids were gone, Lloyd joined you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You felt his mischievous gaze before he kissed you.

You never thought you could have this life before you didn't want anything. This was before you met your brother again, and Lloyd suddenly appeared by helicopter.

The moment they appear, your dull life turns to bright. You weren't prepared, but with them, you could do anything. The world is yours, and you're not alone in it. It's a gift, a blessing, the best gift of all. And it's yours to keep.

-The End-

Thank you so much for reading and following the series. I know the ending seems rushed, it's because I have no more idea how to continue the story.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Last Chapter.

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi please 🥹

Taglist:

@sabrinaselina55, @magnificentsaladllama , @cherrybubblebullet @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters , @bagoffeelings @darkofimagination, @starsofcloud, @thatzolagirl, @distancedss, @mswgtsd @chibijusstuff

#chris evans characters #lloyd hansen x reader #switched sides series #soft!dark lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen #the grey man au

167 notes · View notes