Our Treasure (Jim Hawkins x Female Reader) [COMPLETED]

Prologue

"On the clearest of nights, when the winds of the Etherium were calm and peaceful, the great merchant ships with their cargo of Arcturian solar crystals felt safe and secure. Little did they suspect that they were pursued by pirates. And the most feared of all these pirates was the notorious Captain Nathaniel Flint!"

"Fire!" Flint yells, and instantly the scene descends into chaos as canons go off, people scream and pirates board the merchant ship.

"Like a Candarian Zap-wing overtaking its prey—"

"James Pleiades Hawkins!" a woman cries, opening the door to a little boy's bedroom, making him jump. He slams shut the book, sitting bolt upright and facing his mother. "I thought you were asleep an hour ago," she sighs.

"But mom, I was just getting to the best part!" He protests, picking up the book again. "Please?"

His mother considers him for a moment, then smiles. "Oh, can those eyes get any bigger? Skooch over." She sits down beside her son, leaning over to see the book.

"Like a Candaria Zap-wing overtaking its prey," the narrator continues, "Flint and his band of renegades swooped in out of nowhere."

The gunfire and yelling continue as Flint's crew board the ship, taking everything of value that isn't tied down. Flint goes straight to the largest chest of treasure, simply cutting the lock away with his sword and letting the precious stones and gold spill over the floor.

"And then, gathering up their spoils, they vanished without a trace."

"Whoa..." the boy and his mother chorus.

"Flint's secret trove was never found, but stories have persisted that it remains hidden, somewhere at the farthest reaches of the galaxy, stowed with riches beyond imagination. The loot of a thousand worlds. Treasure Planet."

"Ok," the boy's mother says, closing the book, "blow your nose." She holds up a handkerchief, waiting as he does as she says.

"How do think Captain Flint did it, mom?" the boys asks, climbing atop his headboard. "How'd he swoop in out of nowhere and vanish without a trace?" he jumps from the headboard, landing flat on his stomach and crawling under the blanket.

"I have no idea," the mother says. "Come here you!" she grabs him around the waist, pulling him onto her lap and ticking his sides. The little boy squeals with laughter as she blows a raspberry on his stomach, curling up and wriggling frantically. "Ok," she continues, placing his back against his pillow, "now it's time for this little spacer to go to sleep."

"You think somebody will ever find Treasure Planet?" the boy asks as his mom fishes for a toy under the pillow.

"Sweetheart," she says, holding it up, "I think it's more like a legend."

"I know it's real," he protests.

"You win," she smiles, "it's real."

"Nighty-night, mom."

"Nighty-night, sweetheart." She gets up from the bed, crossing the room and pausing at the door. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Somewhere, on another planet not so far from the boy and his mother's, a little girl is huddled under a much more tattered blanket on a much thinner mattress, reading a much older and more worn copy of the same book. The light from its holographic pages is enough to illuminate the faces of three other children and four adults, each with their own thin mattress and ragged blanket.

"(Y/N), turn that down!" one of the children hisses, "the master will catch you!"

"The rules don't say anything about how late we stay up," she argues, but adjusts the volume anyway.

"No," one of the adults puts in, "but you'll be in trouble tomorrow when you're yawning all day."

"So what?"

The other people all shake their heads, knowing it will useless to try convincing the girl to put down her book. She pokes her tongue out at them, turning back to the story.

"There are nights when the winds of the Etherium, so inviting in their promise of freedom, made one's spirit soar."

The little girl closes the book, carefully stowing it under her mattress and wriggling to get comfortable.

"I wonder what it's like," she whispers into the darkness.

"What?" the sleepy voice of the person next to her asks.

"Freedom." The word is like honey on her tongue.