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flowerslut · 4 years

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DAY TWO: SOULMATES Rated: K+ for mentions of death. Words: 3,701

When you’re born with a dead soulmate, what more can you do?

THE CORPSE’S BRIDE

Disposing of newborns was far from Jasper’s favorite thing to do. He’d been forced to improvise as the years dragged on, using distraction, lies, and manipulation to lure the doomed vampires to their final resting place. Anything to keep their emotions from striking him harder than physical blows could.

He was finishing up cleaning out their lot—this year’s newborns had been a disappointing crew, not strong or skilled enough to help them gain back their eastern lands—when the strange feeling first took hold of him.

He’d been mid-sentence when he paused, turning to look around at the dark plains, their abandoned shack way off on the horizon.

The newborn he was to dispose of, a mild-mannered man who shook during battle yet had somehow avoided defeat all the same, turned as well, his eyes fearfully raking across the area as well, no doubt terrified that something he couldn’t see had caused the Major to stop and react.

Jasper brushed the feeling away as he turned back toward the man, lifting a disarming hand to give an almost-friendly smack against his shoulder, sending forth a wave of indifference as he led them forward. He couldn’t lead the man too far forward or he’d undoubtedly smell the venom that was seeping into the ground several hundred yards away, and he’d understand where the rest of their new crew had gone.

But it was in that instant, as he was patting Niko’s shoulder, that Jasper saw it, bright against his pale, scarred skin. He froze again, and any air of comfort he’d been carefully cultivating vanished into thin air as shock set in fully.

Niko reacted the same as Jasper, jumping slightly to twist out of the way of Jasper’s frozen arm, his frightened eyes looking from Jasper’s face to his wrist, and seeing the sight immediately.

A gasp shattered the silence, and for the first time since they’d changed him the previous winter, Niko stopped shaking. Instead, wonder filled the man and he stepped closer to examine Jasper’s wrist.

“A soul mark,” he whispered, red eyes wide as he leaned closer—but not too close, he knew better—to look at the tiny red heart that almost looked to be glowing. The man smiled then, still wracked with shock, and turned toward Jasper, “you have a soulmate! I—”

Jasper ripped his head off then, trying to act as quickly as he could to prevent the doomed man from speaking any further. As fast as he could manage he grabbed the remains and brought them across the clearing, tossing the body onto the rest.

He didn’t realize he was now shaking until he realized he couldn’t light the match.

His eyes moved straight toward the tiny mark again.

There was no way he could hide it. And even if he did what his brain was currently considering, and if he ripped the portion of flesh away with his own teeth, Maria would know.

She always knew.

Maria, whose own tiny heart was now a tragic, black color. Her mate—her soulmate—long dead and gone.

Eventually he lit the match, ignited the pyre, and turned to make his way back to the shack at the edge of the horizon.

If anything, Maria would see it, witness his indifference, and be pleased. What better way to pledge your loyalty then to overlook a newly minted wrist, fresh with the promise of true love?

Stomping his way back to Maria, he inhaled deeply, mouth filling with venom as he realized they’d get to go into town and feed now.

What was supposed to be the allure of love when fresh blood tasted so sweet?

————————————

It wasn’t until years later—nearly two decades since the mark appeared on his wrist—that Maria finally commented on it.

They were going over strategy for an upcoming encounter when Maria made a sad noise, her tongue clicking with pity as amusement began to radiate from her.

“Ah, muy triste.”

Jasper ripped his mind off their carefully-drawn map to meet her eyes. He didn’t need to follow her gaze to know exactly what she was looking at.

“Tu amor,” she frowned dramatically, her lip jutting out in a way that made Jasper suddenly angry, “está muerta.”

His eyes fell upon his soul mark instantly, but the red mark was gone. In it’s place, one that was startlingly familiar. A mark he’d seen on Maria’s wrist as long as he’d known her. A tiny black heart; indicative of a dead soulmate.

His soulmate, wherever they were, was now dead.

He forced himself to not care, ignoring the way the universe seemed to shift around him in that instant, and continued planning out their next course of attack.

His soulmate hadn’t mattered to him during their life; he’d be damned if they mattered to him at all dead.

————————————

When Lillian Brandon grew pregnant with her first child, she’d been elated. She’d been married for barely six months when her body began to weaken as her stomach began to expand. It was a hard, unforgiving pregnancy, but Lillian kept her spirits high, too excited about the prospect of a child of her own to care.

Edgar, her husband, wasn’t a warm man. If anything, ‘business’ man could go at the top of the list of words used to describe him. She was sure he had colleagues with words far more descriptive, and far more cruel. But throughout her pregnancy, he pulled back from work, making it so that she never went without so much as a sip of water.

Through the months her body was racked with illness, the pregnancy something her slight frame could just barely handle, and by October of 1901 she knew that it was nearly time.

Two days into the month Lillian’s health took a nosedive, and Mary-Alice Brandon was born into the world.

Born cold and unmoving, suspected to be stillborn, she didn’t cry when introduced to the world. Her eyes calm and open and seeing from her first few minutes. Mary-Alice had all ten fingers, all ten toes, and a tuft of barely-there black hair on the crown of her head.

One thing Mary-Alice didn’t have, was a red soul mark.

The whispers floated through the hospital despite Edgar’s swift demand that her tiny wrest be covered immediately. While other babies born with a soul mark were all the same—small, red, and heart-shaped on the inside of a wrist—Alice’s had been different.

Mary Alice Brandon had been stamped with a full black mark, indicating something that only older adults and those struck by tragedy knew: a dead soulmate.

After Lillian was stable enough to hold and feed her baby, she examined the girl’s tiny wrist, held the infant close, and cried with all of her might.

————————————

It wasn’t until the marks began to appear, that they knew something was wrong. Those with living soulmates enjoyed many features of having a person tied to them beyond what could be seen or felt. Some had dreams that were shared. Others enjoyed eerily similar tastes in food and aesthetics. Lillian Brandon had a cousin who could feel his soulmate’s pain as if it were his own; an experience that was as scary as it was rare.

Alice was four days old when the first mark appeared.

Scar marks weren’t uncommon, but to gain them meant one thing: you had a soulmate, and they were being hurt.

Mary-Alice had been gifted with a dead soulmate from birth. When the first bright purple crescent moon splotch appeared on her tiny forearm, Lillian had almost fainted.

Edgar had been beside himself with frustration, demanding that local doctors and clergymen help fix his infant daughter, using sums of money to ensure the utmost discretion.

But the marks never remained for longer than a week at a time. And by the time the baby was several weeks old, she’d already had a rainbow of marks appear across her limbs, and fade within days.

When Mary-Alice was four months old, the first mark appeared on her face and Edgar swore to Lillian that no child of his would be caught around town with a black heart and a mottled face.

————————————

Lillian theorized heavily for many years, trying to make sense of the marks that appeared and disappeared on her daughter’s skin, despite the proof of her true-love already lost.

It wasn’t until Mary-Alice was a girl, attending school with as much cover as they could get away with under the Mississippi sun, when they grew alarmed.

“He’s out there Mama,” Mary-Alice had smiled up at her mother, her two front teeth missing. “It’s okay. I’m not sad. You shouldn’t be either.”

When Lillian had made Mary-Alice swear to never repeat those words to her father, the girl had frowned, nodded, and skipped away. Her hair was braided down her back, dancing as she moved, revealing a sour yellow mark against the back of her neck.

————————————

When Mary-Alice was eight a group of boys on the schoolyard cornered her. A pink mark that bisected her face in two had appeared in the middle of their arithmetic lessons, causing a bit of a scene and a hefty disruption.

Miss Palmer had dismissed their lessons early that day, unable to control the unruly class, some children jeering, others screaming at Mary-Alice, who refused to even look ashamed at the mark. And when the child refused to move herself to the back of the room to continue on with the school day, the frazzled teacher had sent them all out.

The comments and taunts were routine now, but she hated them all so severely for each insult hurled her way as they circled her, laughing and preventing her escape.

“Off to the graveyard Mary-Alice?”

“How many dead people do you kiss?”

“Enough to try and find your husband?”

“Is it true the morgue lets you check all the arms before they bury the bodies?”

“Aye, Mary-Alice! Old man Kemper’s been dead three weeks now! Maybe he can help you find your husband!”

“Maybe she’s a witch—she’ll show up in a few years with her undead husband still covered in dirt and worms.”

Then, the boy with the lightest hair grabbed her shoulder and turned toward his friends. Alice tensed under his touch. The boy, Wilhelm, always knew what to say to get under her skin, and to push things too far. “Hey, hey. Maybe she is. But maybe he’s deader than a doornail and always has been! That’s why Mary-Alice gets so upset. She knows he’s never comin’ to find her and that she’ll probably die lookin’ for him! There, there, Mary-Alice,” he turns toward her and frowns, patting her shoulder with fake sympathy.

The surrounding boys all began to frown and nod, some of them fake-crying as they called out “Oh, poor, poor Mary-Alice! A husband deader than a doornail! Long dead and gone and never coming ‘round for supper! A dead-man’s soulmate!”

Mary-Alice ripped herself out of her classmate’s grip, put her arms in front of her and charged, pushing her way through the boys who called after her even as she easily escaped their circle. “Be quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet!” She shrieked.

As she ran back home, tears stinging her eyes, they laughed and laughed and laughed.

————————————

Edgar put an end to the girl’s schooling not long after.

It wasn’t until the third day of home-lessons, upon realizing that this was to be a permanent fixture in her life, that she threw a fit.

“It’s not fair,” she yelled at her father when he returned home from work that evening, stomping her foot, her fists curled at her sides. “He’s out there! I’m serious!”

“Enough, Mary-Alice!” her father had bellowed, but when he lifted his hand to physically silence her, the girl flinched backward, out of reach of her father’s arm. “I am tired of these ridiculous ideas! You need to move past this… this soulmate business!”

“But he is,” Mary-Alice pointed to the orange mark on her palm, “he is alive! See?”

“You are to stay home to continue your schooling,” he spoke the words with finality. “Until you can get these wild dreams out of your head and control your rantings, you will remain here.”

And that had been that.

Mary-Alice cried herself to sleep that night. And the next night. And the next.

————————————

Mary-Alice was fourteen when she first saw her father with his wrist uncovered.

Well. No. She was fourteen when she saw the vision of the moment in which she would discover her father’s uncovered wrist.

She would be helping Cynthia prepare for a walk around the block, tying the young girl’s bonnet under her chubby chin, when her father’s form would catch her eye. His back would be to them where he was standing by the door, adjusting the deep brown band he’d always kept fastened around his left wrist.

An act of clumsiness would cause the band to fall to the ground. And he was none the wiser to Mary-Alice’s attentive gaze as he leaned forward, fetching the band to reattach it to his limb.

But in the seconds it took for him to grab the band, Mary-Alice would see the tiny space where a heart should have been, but wasn’t.

It would stun her into silence and she’d force her gaze back down to her little sister, managing a weak smile at the sound of the young girl’s prodding.

Back in the present day, Mary-Alice was still fourteen. The bonnet she would tie around Cynthia’s chin had yet to be purchased. And Edgar Brandon’s wrist was still firmly covered at all times. In the back of her mind she realized that in her strange absence from the present—something that happened more and more often as she grew older—she’d dropped a glass of water, sending it shattering and wet across the kitchen floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to react.

Shock was quick to strike, but betrayal sank deep into her bones, forcing her feet to remain planted.

Her mother had never hid her own soul mark. The white heart indicated that not only did she have a soulmate, but she’d met them. Most couples with soul marks that were together had matching white hearts. She’d even once witnessed, at the market, a meeting of two people. She’d watched, stunned as the man’s red heart slowly turned to pink and then to white, the newly-acquainted couple hugging tightly as the realization struck them.

Now, she found herself stunned at an entirely new realization.

Her mother had a soulmate, whom Mary-Alice had assumed was her own father.

Her mother had a soulmate. And her father didn’t.

They weren’t soulmates.

————————————

The discovery that her parents weren’t soulmates marked a changing point for Mary-Alice. She realized her father would never understand what she was going through; perhaps he was even jealous, she theorized once.

It also marked a point in time where Mary-Alice’s visions weren’t just rare occurrences, but now nearly daily disruptions. She would walk into door frames and stumble down stairs. She burnt herself on the stove and her first reaction wasn’t to remove her hand but was ‘I wonder if he’ll have a mark here’.

She refused to believe that her soulmate was dead, despite what the heart on her wrist said. She didn’t have visions of him. Instead, in her dreams, vague feelings struck her, bringing her hope, comfort, and a feeling so warm and exhilarating she could only describe it as love. She had a vague idea of what he might look like. Tall, she thought. With honey-blonde hair.

He was peppered with scars. He had to be. The colorful marks she still regularly found herself sporting confirmed it. Maybe he’d been ill as a child, or an infant, and maybe the universe had been wrong to mark her heart as greyed instead of full of life. Maybe he lived in a horrible place, around horrible people who hurt him constantly. Maybe his heart was beating, just broken. Metaphorically dead instead of literally.

All Mary-Alice knew was that her soulmate was out there, and that she would one day find him.

————————————

The day they buried her mother, Mary-Alice’s mind was far away.

She couldn’t think about anything except for whoever had Lillian’s matching heart. It was surely as black as her own, now.

————————————

Her first night in the hospital, Mary-Alice laid on her cot, eyes swollen shut from crying, throat raw from the screaming she’d done over the past few days.

The nights morphed into days, and together they formed weeks, and then months.

The treatments grew stronger until Mary-Alice knew that she wouldn’t be herself soon enough.

During one of the last night’s she was lucid enough to recall who she was, she contemplated digging words into her skin. If her soulmate also received marks whenever Mary-Alice was injured, maybe she could send him a message.

That night with a sharpened fingernail she carved the words ‘HELP ME’ into her thigh.

The next day they increased the intensity of her treatment.

The following day she forgot who Mary-Alice was.

————————————

Wandering rainy streets wasn’t something Jasper enjoyed making a habit of. After all, humans stared far more when a person looked out of place.

He wiggled his toes uncomfortably in the shoes he’d recently acquired and ducked beneath the awning of a closed down marketplace. It was Sunday and the humans had all made their way back from their services to their homes. The occasional automobile would roll through the streets but besides that, the area was quite empty.

It was something that didn’t bode well for Jasper. He knew it was wiser to wait until the night to feed, but he was so thirsty that he knew he would have to seek out a hobo sooner than nightfall before his self-control gave way.

A young couple ran past him, their shoes splashing through the pooled water on the sidewalks as they laughed, enjoying being caught in the sudden rainstorm.

Their scent wafted toward him, causing Jasper to take two steps toward them, entirely unintentional. It was when his eyes caught sight of their hands, joined tightly and swinging as they moved, that he was able to pull himself together and grind his feet to a halt.

Two matching white hearts stared back at him, and Jasper felt his chest ache.

On a list of regrets so long Jasper didn’t realistically have the time to even pen such a thing, disregarding the presence of his soulmate had slowly worked its way directly to the top.

It wasn’t something he’d given any thought to when his soulmate had been alive. And it wasn’t until years after that they he gave them a singular thought.

The night Maria had changed four newborns just west of Corpus Christi, Peter’s red heart had turned black. Jasper had been frustrated at the man’s distress for hours, abandoning his partner to the outskirts of town just to escape his emotional state.

When he returned that night, Peter had covered his mark with a torn piece of cloth.

It wasn’t until almost a year later, when he was slated to send Charlotte, a tiny, weak recruit, off to the pyres when Peter interfered.

“Look,” the blonde man had forced his wrist into his line of sight, Jasper smacking it away instantly with a glare. “It’s her, Major. You can’t do it.”

It had taken Jasper a few seconds for the meaning of everything to sink fully into his brain. Soulmate. Peter had had a soulmate. And she had died. But really, she had been turned. And it was his job now to kill her.

“Go,” Jasper spat quickly, not giving himself enough time to think about what he was doing. All he knew was that if the pair didn’t take his advice in the next five seconds, his hand would be forced and he’d have to kill them both.

He didn’t see them again until years later when Peter came back, pleading with him to follow.

And with his red-turned-black-turned-white heart impossible to ignore, Jasper followed Peter, and didn’t look back

Except, of course, to think about his own soulmate.

Peter and Charlotte had been almost eagerly supportive. After all, if they could find one another in their strange little immortal afterlife, what was to say that Jasper wouldn’t find his soulmate? They dragged him from city to city for a few years, and at first Jasper wanted to believe them. Of course, the idea of seeking out others of their kind was an asinine one—Jasper was sick of killing—but discovering that the north knew peace was almost too good to be true sometimes.

He’d last seen them four years ago. He’d grown weary. And their undying belief that he’d still find his person eventually made him miserable. In addition to the terror that haunted him with every hunt, Jasper had been barely holding onto whatever was left of his sanity for a long time now.

During his solitude he thought hard about his human life, wracking his brain for any information he could recall about soulmates, but he found himself coming up short. He couldn’t remember his parents names and faces, let alone whether they’d been soulmates or not. The only thing he was sure of was that he’d been born without a soul mark, given one around the turn of the twentieth century, and then soon after it had blackened.

Lifting his eyes, neon lights across the street earned his attention. It was a diner. Tiny, not-very-occupied. And with a quick decision he realized he could hide out in there until it emptied a bit more—and when the rain let up, he was sure that it would—he could help himself to a meal, and move on from this town.

He took one step into the street, pushing all errant thoughts of soulmates and soul marks straight from his head.

It would do him no good to think of things so hopeless.

————————————

In a small diner in 1948, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Alice found Jasper, Jasper found hope, and two black hearts turned white.

#jaliceweek20 #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #Alice cullen #jasper hale #ok this is cute I think. if you like squint.#Everything Is The Same But Soulmates Babey!#look guys I did it! a one shot!!!#its almost 4k words but shut UP its a stand alone piece and I'm HAPPY ABOUT THAT

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octania · 4 years

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Bakugo x Reader (Marriage proposal, Extreme fluff)

Short description: Bakugo proposes to you, and you are a former villain.

Extreme fluff, Romance.

Words: 1.1k

___________________________________________________

Bakugo ran as fast as he could through the bushes. The sun was bronze on the horizon, casting its rays through gentle canopy of sakura. The summer breeze carried the petals through the park, giving it the impression of a fairy tale. The only thing that was missing was his princess, the missing piece of his heart, the only thing worthy of wearing a crown. Every inch of his body hurt, he was exhausted, the last mission sucked the life out of him, squeezing the time from his life clock, pushing his body to the inhumane limits...but he didn’t care, he could endure it all, before it was out of spite, now just for these few moments with her.No one will even know this side of him except you. Hell, he didn’t even know he had it in him. A smile from that tired lips, was now shining bright. There she was. Her silky long hair, dancing around her red cheeks under that warm breeze. The two shinny marbles, gazing at his dark red eyes. A spark in his worn out spirit, causing an explosion of memories, moments like this, forbidden moments of their paradise. She was a villain,..was..the key word. But still, people knew about it and judge it, not even wanting to hear her story, not even realizing how angelic she actually was. His angel, his gift from heavens. The scene of their last meeting appeared in front of his eyes. As he ran just like this, not wanting to waste any moment with her, to the hotel room, were the same wide smile and eyes filled with excitement waited. How he carried her the entire night, literally unable to let her go, because he knew the silky touch of her skin is just here for a moment, and then the desert of the world awaits, where sun does not shine. She laughed at him, trying to wiggle herself out of his grip, but it just became more tighter and hungrier.

“I am just going to get some soda for us, like its right here, I can walk on my own for 2 meters, can’t I?” – she giggled, almost slipping from his arms, but he managed to keep her in the air. He took her palm in his, as he gazed at her.

“We are walking without each other for so many miles already...please (Y/N), don’t take from me even a centimeter more, I don’t want to waste any of it..” – Bakugo took her palm next to his lips, pressing them on it, leaving a tender kiss. She blushed, taking his words, locking them in her heart. He could feel her soft hands on his lips already, as he woke from the memory, jumping over the fence, landing in front of her. Her blue dress made her eyes stand out even more, and now he was lost in that doors of her soul, and he wanted to stay lost for life. Her cherry lips tried to speak, but the sound died as they spirits finally became alive, when he kissed her. She grabbed on his white shirt, holding it tight, as he tried to lock his fingers in her hair.

“I..”- a low sound between the kisses was heard.

“I..love..you, God damn it.”- he whispered, not wanting to stop the kiss. He could feel her other cheek getting warm, as his finger was crossing over it, caressing it.

“I love you too.” – she stopped the kiss, pushing her nose on his, making a cute gesture imitating a Eskimo kiss. Bakugo could not help but to melt, lowering the other palm from her hair to the other cheek, returning the eskimo kiss. Suddenly, he stopped, grabbing her on the hips, lifting her up, then laying on the high grass, placing her on top of him. His palms traveled to her waist, as he gently caressed her cheek with his, skin kissing the skin, embracing it all, the flesh and the spirit. His eyelids were slightly closed, opened just enough so he could admire his soul mate. She giggled when his lips touched her nose, sneezing in a cutest manner.

“Did that tickle?”- he asked playfully. If someone saw or heard him , they would never believe it was Bakugo. This was buried inside of cold mountains of his ego, temper and personality. But some shells really do hide a sparkly pearl inside, someone just needs to take their time, find it and open the sell.

“A little..”- she replayed .

“Well, I am sorry for that..let me make it up to you.”- gently as he could, like she was made from glass and could break in any moment, he pulled her on his strong chest, pushing her hair back, revealing her whole face. For a moment he was lost in her beauty, embracing the feelings she woke in him. Letting himself fall into the deep ocean of emotions he never knew existed. Stunned, he leaned closer, hugging her now strongly , protecting his treasure. His smelled her neck. She smelled like roses, making him drunk from it. He wanted her smell, taste and feeling on him forever. He kissed her pale skin on the neck, going to her ear. How could anyone think she is evil. For a moment he got irritated, but it disappeared when he remembered how bad ass she looked the first time they met. How she tried to attack him, taking him head on with no fear, knowing who he was and how merciless he is. He liked that even then when it was a fight against evil. She was hot.

“I know there is no heaven in afterlife... “ –he whispered..looking her straight in the eyes while she was running her fingers in his blonde hair.

“Because heaven embodied itself, and came into this world..”- she didn’t notice his hand was in his pocket, reaching for something.

“And that heaven is you, (Y/N). And I want to spend my life with that heaven.”- she saw something touching her hand, a small cold thing. She looked down, as the sunlight reflected itself in the diamond. A ring. Her mouth opened as she shivered. Her heart was pounding fast.

“Will you make me worthy of your hand?” –he asked, while his face hold an expression of determination, honesty, love and eternity.

“If I am your heaven, you are the only angel allowed inside the core of it..and that is my heart..” She said with a tear in her eyes.

“I will marry you.”-she answered, being hushed once more with a passionate kiss that sealed the promise of love that will last forever.

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fangirlfiction · 4 years

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Born to Die

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Part 4 (of 4) of the Born To series.

Warnings: Angst (did you read the title?), fighting, sadness, death. Mentions of blood, and a kind of descriptive fight scene. The usual for a Lila fic.

A/N: It is here! Part 4 is here! I’ve had so much fun hearing y’all’s reactions and comments. I hope you like the finale, and the time you’ve spent with the Red Widow. I love you all a lot a lot a lot!

last part here // series masterlist

When your eyes open, you realize that it must be pretty early, because the moonlight is still shining through the curtains on the window. You lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, when you hear the soft sounds of a whispered conversation. It takes you a second to make out who it is, but you finally realize that it’s Bucky and Nat.

“...hates us. And she definitely hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t. You saved her life. That counts for something.”

“I ruined her life. Got her boyfriend killed. Got her chained up and yelled at by the FBI.”

You hear Natasha let out a soft sigh, and the sound of a mug being placed on the counter. “You should see the expression on her face when she talks to you.”

Deciding you don’t want this to go on any longer, you let out a yawn, and shift around on the couch before sitting up. Bucky and Nat instantly stop talking, and you stand and wander into the kitchen, smiling at them both as you pour a cup of coffee. Nat catches your eye. “Since you’re up, I’m going to get some sleep. Keep an eye on things for me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She leaves the room and heads back to one of the bedrooms, feet light on the floorboards. You turn to Bucky. “Uh, where are the others?”

“Sleeping in one of the bedrooms. Nat wanted two people up for watch duty.”

You nod, and then you both stand there, drinking your coffee, as the silence stretches long and uncomfortable between you. Bucky abruptly puts his mug down, and points up. “I’m gonna, uh, check on things from up top.”

Before you can reply, he quickly leaves, and you hear him take the stairs two at a time in his hurry to reach the roof. After a minute, you know what you need to do, and you follow behind him. The house is silent, other than the occasional squeak from someone rolling over in bed, or a quiet cough, and you keep your movements silent as you take the two flights of stairs to the attic. Once there, you see a door on the opposite end of the room, and a sliver of morning light dripping through it. You pull the door open and smile when you see Bucky sitting near the edge of the roof, looking out towards the sunrise. As you draw closer, he turns, and you don’t miss the surprised expression that crosses his features. “Can I sit with you?”

His slate blue eyes lock with yours, and you see them soften. “Of course.”

You settle down beside him, and you both watch as the sun begins to climb over the horizon. Other houses in the quiet neighborhood are beginning to stir with the first signs of life, as people rise and ready for their day. After a few minutes of quiet silence, you turn to him. “Bucky, I’m sorry.”

His brows furrow, and he turns to look at you. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“For leaving. I got scared. That’s no excuse, but I was so scared that we were doing the same old monstrous things for a different team and I didn’t want to be that person anymore. And I should have come to you and talked to you, but instead I ran. I ran and I created a whole new persona for myself and I lived the life I thought I deserved.”

He’s quiet for a minute, before he replies, “I’m sorry about Danny.”

You give him a sad smile. “He’s dead because of me. I didn’t love him, and it took the last week for me to realize that. He was good to me for a while, but then I quit racing and money got tight, and we started to resent each other. But despite all that, he didn’t deserve the end he got.”

Bucky nods, and you know that he understands. You swear you feel the air between you change, and you sigh at the light feeling of forgiveness between you. There is still so much that has been left unsaid, but you know that things are going to be okay between you. Not perfect, but okay. You turn to look out at the sunrise again, “So, what now?”

“I think I found Gynacon’s headquarters.” His voice grows harder, “And we’re going to go and make them pay for what they’ve done. After that, you and the other widows are free. Truly free.”

You inch closer to him. “And what are you going to do after you save all of our lives? Go on a long vacation? Throw a party?”

Before he can answer, you feel him tense up. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, when you feel a gun press to the back of your head. Your eyes shift to Bucky, his shift to yours, and you feel your muscles prepare for action. But you both freeze in place when a voice tsks from behind you. “Nuh, uh, uh. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Unless you want all your little Widows to become little Angels in the sky.”

You wince as if the voice slapped you, before you and Bucky are pulled backwards and away from each other. You both struggle against the holds on you, but you stop when you see the man in the suit in front of you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

With a flourish, he replies, “Ah, yes, I never formally introduced myself before. Seeing as this will be the last thing you see, I might as well. My name is Ian McMasters, CEO of Gynacon.”

Bucky struggles against the men holding him, trying to lunge at McMasters. Unbothered, McMasters simply walks over to you, pulls out a gun, and presses it to your temple. Bucky freezes in place, every ounce of fight leaving his body in a rush. McMasters lets out a laugh, "Ah yes, I heard there was something between you two. Though, I must say I'm disappointed. Both Hydra and the leaders at the Red Room said that when together, entire empires would fall by your hands. And yet, here we are, with you restrained, and me in control."

Your eyes meet Bucky's and you recognize the look in them. They are the eyes of Hydra Bucky, cold, calculating, and unfeeling for anyone except you. Instantly, you know what needs to be done, and you let the same coldness take over you. Bucky starts yelling at McMasters, angry and spiteful, and you use the opportunity to scan your surroundings.

Two guys holding you back, three on Bucky. Guess they've never fought a Widow before. They certainly haven't fought the Red Widow. McMasters is still beside you, but his gun is now pointing at Bucky as he yells back. You use this to your advantage.

You lift your leg and kick behind you, landing the kick straight between the man's legs. He drops to the ground with a yelp, and you use the distraction to take out the other guard with a firm hit to the face from your elbow. For a second, time slows down. You see McMasters turn towards you, and you calculate your next movie. As he turns, you lunge at him. As you make contact with him, you hear the gun go off, but you never feel the burn of the fire, and you’re relieved that he missed. Your body collides with his and you both fall to the ground, with you on top. You hear a grunt to your left and know that Bucky is working on his guards, so you focus all of your attention on McMasters. With one swipe, you knock the gun out of his hand and across the room, before you pull back and deliver blow after blow to his face, neck, and chest. Blood blossoms under his skin forming dark bruises instantly, and it spreads across your knuckles and over your hands, making every punch slick.

You feel his energy start to dissipate as your punches land, and he starts to fight back less and less. You lean back and the Red Widow admires her work. You scan his body, searching for any other weapons, and almost smile when you find a knife strapped to his thigh. You pull the knife from the holster and with no hesitation, you plunge it into his chest. As his breath shudders, you roll off of him, exhausted from the adrenaline fueled rage that ran through your body. Bucky runs over to you, trying to check you for injuries, when you suddenly remember the other Widows downstairs. You jump to your feet and take off running, Bucky hot on your heels, and your feet hit the bottom landing at almost the exact same time.

You are relieved to find the other three Widows, and Nat, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by bodies and what appears to be a now dismantled bomb. Their faces are streaked with blood, but you know enough about them to know that it is not their own. You turn to Bucky with a smile on your face, before you feel your knees go weak. Bucky catches you as you start to fall, and with the adrenaline out of your system, you begin to feel the tell tale fire in your blood from a bullet. Bucky’s features are laced with worry as he asks, “What is it? What happened?”

You cringe, “The gun.”

“Shit.” Bucky begins pulling at your clothes, tugging them aside and looking for the bullet, and you wince as his fingers graze over your side. He sees your pain and pulls your shirt aside to reveal a bullet hole. “No, no, no,” he mutters.

He inspects the wound and then whispers, “I have to check the back.”

You nod weakly and he lifts you up to search for an exit wound. When he lays you back down, you don’t miss the look on his face. “What?”

He smiles and brushes hair out of your face, “Nothing, you’re going to be okay.” Then he looks up at Nat, who has been standing nearby, watching with the others. Voice strained, he requests, “Get a Quinjet here, and get it now. And warn Banner that we’re coming.”

She nods and walks off quickly, and he turns to the others. “Get everything packed up, and someone call Steve and let him know what happened. He’ll take care of everything.”

The girls nod and split off in three different directions. Bucky turns back to you and puts on a brave face.”How ya feeling?”

“Oh, wonderful. Not a lick of pain.” You immediately contradict your bravado with a wince. “I’ve missed you everyday since I left. And everyday I dreamed about coming back to you, but I didn’t know if you’d still want me.”

You see tears well up in his eyes, “Of course I’d still want you. That will never change.”

You feel a rush of ice through your veins, and the feeling scares you. “I’m sorry we’ll never get the chance to make up for lost time.”

He shakes his head vigorously, “No, no, no, don’t talk like that. We’ll have plenty of time together. And everyday I’m going to show you just how much I missed you.”

You smile, and fight against the heavy feeling of your eyelids. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

You let your eyes fall closed, and Bucky shakes your face lightly. “Hey, hey, you gotta stay awake for me.”

You pry your eyes open, but let them flutter closed again almost immediately. “Can’t. I’m so tired.”

“I know, but it’s important that you stay awake.”

You say nothing, as you start to fall into the darkness. You hear Bucky speaking to you, begging, as his voice grows fainter. “Please wake up, I love you, please.”

And that’s the last thing you hear before the darkness takes over.

fin

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader #bucky x you #born to series

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writersmacchiato · 5 years

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Ghostbusters | Gerard Pitts {Supernatural AU!}

Summary: Pitts is determined to figure out the mystery of Welton Academy, but a strange encounter at the library leads to more questions. Luckily, Pitts knows someone who can help.

Warnings: you and pitts get freaky in a cemetery...parking lot ;)

{Part One} {Part Two}

___

Now, that was a story for another time. . .

Pitts scrolled through his laptop, looking through the library’s database before signing. He looked annoyed when he turns to you.

“The library doesn’t have any articles uploaded to their website past 1970.” Pitts closed his laptop, picking up his keys, jangling them as he smiles. “So, I guess we’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

The library had an intimidating stature of a building that witnessed the lows and highs of Morin Harbor. It was old. The brick walls were long faded from their red hue, looking particularly dismal through the drizzle. A lone candle lit a window on the second floor, its access always blocked off to the public.

Pitts is familiar with the library, evident in the way he weaves through the towering bookshelves and musty air. He stood at attention in one particular corner, the air feeling stale and sticky on your skin. You watch as his fingers skim the spines of the books, murmuring their names, before he smiles. He hands it to you.

Morin Harbor Census 1957

“We’re looking for the mystery man that you saw. I did some research yesterday but I couldn’t find anything.” Pitts’ eyes are bright as he talks fast. “Which is extraordinary because Morin always has something on everyone. There was once a man who spent a single night to wait out a storm and twenty years after his stay, the locals could still identify a picture of him. Nothing ever leaves Morin.”

“Should we go back? To the Russell family?” You ask, feeling the urge to read up on as much as you could. “I want to learn everything I can about them. What happened.” Why. . .

“The library closes at nine, so we better get to work.”

. .

You barely notice the light slipping over the horizon, shadows crawling over the crooks and nannies of Morin, engrossed in the reports of the Russell family. The constable in charge, Henry James, kept a surprising record of the case for that time period. He had interviews, handwritten notes, and photocopies of the crime scenes (that were omitted, but given written descriptions).

What you found most interesting out of all of the information was an eyewitness account of someone who claimed to have seen James a week after the events took place.

Charlotte Hanson, neighbor of the Russell’s. Eye witness.

Mrs. Hanson: I saw that young boy, little James, in the woods.

Constable James: The woods outside your house?

Mrs. Hanson: Yes. He looked so happy, I heard him singing. That’s why I went outside.

Constable: Because of the singing?

Mrs. Hanson: It was a church hymn all the youngin’s are taught. . .I saw James Russell and I waved at him, and I swear on God, he waved back at me, I heard him giggle.

The mention of James’ giggle has you pausing, thinking back to when you heard something similar in the woods. Looking at Pitts, his attention is entirely on the article in front of him, lips moving as he reads over the page.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

Pitts barely responds, mumbling something that you take as affirmation.

Besides you and Pitts, there is no one in the building except for the graying librarian at the front desk, gazing directly at you over her glasses. The weight of her eyes is heavy on your shoulders as you walk down the aisle toward the bathroom. Its door creaked loudly in protest, getting stuck in the frame before it jammed. Jiggling the handle, a harsh push, and the door still holds firmly shut. You turn to look at the librarian for assistance, but she's gone.

"Excuse me?"

Your voice is too loud, too harsh in the dead quiet library. The air is thick, closing down over your nose and filling your lungs. With a quiet 'hiss' the nearest lamp goes out, leaving you to squint through the sudden darkness. When you re adjust to the change in light, you see the glowing eyes of a young boy directly in front of you. His lips curl into a grin, unnaturally wide on his small face.

"Come play with me." He whispers, giggling after.

The blood in your veins turn cold, heart stopping at the familiar laugh. Without hesitation, you turn from the boy and run to where Pitts is. You hear the boy running after you, the small pitter-patter of his steps, giggle echoing off the walls. It's a dead end. Your heart is pounding. A hand wraps around your wrist and you let out a strangled cry, tugging away.

Pitts looks at you wide-eyed, looking past your shoulder. "What's wrong are you okay? Where did you go?"

"What?" You wheeze out, head racing as you struggle to slow your breathing.

"You were gone for so long...I thought maybe you left, but then I heard you laughing--"

"That wasn't me." You grab on to his sleeve. "Gerard, we need to leave. Now."

. . .

"The same laugh?" Pitts questions from across you, looking equally delighted and horrified.

"It was the same laugh, I'd recognize it anywhere."

Pitts falls into a silence, looking out the diner window. The fluorescent lights illuminate his face, shadowing his features in a way that makes him handsome in a way you hadn't noticed before.

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Yeah. He was so close to me, I could have touched him."

Pitts opens his backpack, pulling out a thick folder. He pulls out a photograph, weathered around the edges.

It's in black and white, a school photo of elementary kids. M. H. Elementary, 1918. Left to right: Crawford, Cindy; Stevens, Daniel; Russell, James.

You look up at Pitts, shaking your head. Tapping the picture with a sigh. “That’s him.”

“You saw him in the woods and in the library?”

“I think I saw him in the woods. I don’t know for sure.” You said. “But I know that I heard his laugh and I heard it tonight.”

“It’s like his spirit latched onto you.” Pitts muses.

“Don’t say that!”

Pitts shrugs, stirring his straw, watching the ice clink against the glass.

“Why me?”

“I don’t know...maybe he wants something.”

“What could he possibly want from me? It’s not like we’re related, my family didn’t move here until the sixties.”

“Don’t yell at me, but—don’t make that face!” Pitts exclaims when you go to interrupt. “Maybe he wants to rest.”

“What?”

“His soul. He was murdered in 1924 and if he’s been haunting the woods all those years, he must be tired. He’s ready to move on.” Pitts said.

“And be with his mom again.” You add, following his train of thought.

“Exactly.” Pitts nods.

“But, how would he do that?”

. .

Madam Krisa, Psychic Medium

It was a small, brick building off the corner of main street. There was a small, glowing sign that read 'open' in front of velvet curtains.

"Are you kidding me, Pitts?" You turn on your heel, arms crossed.

Pitts smiles sheepishly. "We need to communicate with James if we want to get him to cross over. Krisa is legit."

Despite the red flags that spring forward, you follow Pitts inside. You trust him and he hadn't been wrong yet.

The door is barely latched on to the rusty door hinges, creaking loudly upon your entrance. Pitts calls out to Krisa, ringing a bell by the door, taking a seat at the round table in the corner. You follow Pitts slowly, keeping an eye on the front door. The air felt charged in here.

It was a small front room, separated by a string of glimmering gold beads that led into a darker room. A door to the left was latched and locked shut. There were candles of every shape and size on any spare surface, wax dripping down their figures. It smelled smoky and stale, like Madam Krisa often lit up a cigarette.

Pitts looks utterly relaxed, reclined back in the wooden chair. You wonder how often he comes here.

There’s a faint whisper of fabric and then a small croon of a voice that alerts you to her presence. Madam Krisa is a swirl of fabrics and dangling jewelry, all clashing colors that somehow work together.

“Gerard Pitts.” Her voice lowers, void of any indication of whether she’s pleased to see him. “You brought a friend.” She teases the word ‘friend’, drawling it out and letting out a laugh when Pitts squirms.

“We need your help. I think a ghost has latched on to her.” Pitts jumps straight to the point after introducing you.

“Always thinking, Gerard, so much thinking.” Madam Krisa says. “So much meddling.”

“James Russell.”

Krisa pauses, completely frozen, not blinking or breathing for a solid moment. She snaps back into focus, grasping the table, chest heaving.

“You know better than to toss out names of the dead so carelessly, Gerard.” Krisa scolds.

"Why that boy?"

"I don't know, but he's appeared to her twice."

Krisa almost looks concerned as she looks intently at you. "I'm not surprised. Your aura is very bright and welcoming."

"My aura?" You ask.

"It's violet." Krisa said. "Connected to psychic power."

"I'm not psychic."

Krisa smiles. "Anyone has the ability to be psychic, but not everyone can draw the power from within themselves."

"So, a ghost attached to me because I could be psychic?"

"Perhaps. It could have latched on to the first soul it came across." Krisa takes a seat across from you and Pitts, settling her hands over the table. "Why don't we find out?"

The curtains were drawn shut, leaving the room in a dim light from the flickering candles. Pitts holds your hand gently, squeezing it once when you look at him, doubt evident.

"James. . ." Krisa whispers. "James Russell. . .Are you there, little one?"

The clock on the mantle ticks back and forth,

. . .tick

tok. . .

. . .tick

tock. . .

and then it stops. The air in the room goes still, a chill creeping down your spine.

Krisa inhales sharply, eyes closed. "Do you miss her?"

You look at Pitts and he just nods, his grip on your hand tightening.

"She misses you, James. So much." Krisa said. "She wants to be with you again. It's okay to move on. She's waiting for you."

Krisa doesn't say anything more, moving her head back and forth, and then you hear it,

. . .tick

tock. . .

. . .tick

tock. . .

Krisa uncurls her hands, taking a deep breath as she looks to you. "He's moved on."

"That's it?" You said. "It's that easy?"

"Not every spirit is willing to move on, but most are. They just don't know how."

"The movies are so inaccurate." Pitts said. "Thank you, Krisa. Is there anything we can do to repay you?"

"Take this." Krisa moves to the cabinet filled with trinkets, pulling out a worn compass. "And put it in James Russell's grave."

. .

Mist crawls over your shoes, trailing over the headstones and weeds. Fresh dirt and wet grass overwhelm your senses as you crouch down to where Pitts is digging a small hole in between two headstones.

| Maragret Russell | James Russell | Mary Russell |

Standing back after carefully patting over the freshly dug ground, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Maybe when all of this is over, we could go see a movie?" Pitts speaks up, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"Are you seriously asking me out over the grave of a murdered family?"

Pitts shrugs, trying to hide a smile. "This is the worst timing, forget it."

In his car, you almost burst out laughing when the radio turns on and you hear the opening line.

If there's something strange in your neighborhood / who you gonna call?

"Ghostbusters!" You say at the same time as Pitts, finally letting out a laugh. "Holy shit, Gerard. We're ghostbusters."

He lets out a loud laugh, eyes crinkled shut as the warmth of his mirth washes over you. Never would you have imagined becoming so fond of him, but here you are; in the town's old cemetery, in his car, laughing, with your ghostbuster.

"Hey." When the laughter fades away with the songs closing notes, you look over at him to find that he's already staring at you. "I would like to go to the movies sometime. With you."

His smile is almost blinding, but he tries to repress it. "Oh, cool. Cool. Cool."

"Come here, you dork."

You lean across the console to kiss him, hand grabbing the lapel of his jacket to pull him closer. Pitts' fumbles with his hands for a moment, settling on the curve of your neck. He radiates warmth and you sigh against his mouth. You feel safe around him.

"I really like you." You manage to say in between kisses. "Like a lot."

"I can't believe we're making out in my car right now. I've had the biggest crush on you for years." Pitts said.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, I never said anything because you're like, really cool and pretty and smart and funny..."

"I can't believe the sweetest guy in school likes me!" You giggle.

"Meeks is never going to believe this." Pitts mutters under his breath.

"I think they have a showing of Detective Pikachu at nine we could make if we left right now?" You offer.

"Hell yeah."

. . .

"Bullshit." Meeks said.

"It's true!" Pitts argues.

"I can believe a lot of shit that you come up with, but this? No. I'm not buying it."

"We're dating now."

Meeks lets out a laugh. "Good one."

"It's true. Does this hickey look fake?" Pitts pulls down his hoodie to reveal the bruise on his neck, Meeks looks at it unimpressed.

"Bull, and I cannot express this enough, shit."

"Hey, Gerard." You walk into his room, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Hey Meeks. Ready to film my part for the podcast?"

Meeks gapes at you. "How much did he pay you to do that?"

"Nothing?" You said.

Pitts looks smug, arms crossed. "I accept your apology."

"So, it's true? You're actually dating?" Meeks ignores Pitts, looking to you.

"Yeah?"

Meeks starts pulling out equipment. "I should've known. You were a biter in preschool."

"I told you he wouldn't believe me." Pitts pulls you close to him, leaning down to whisper.

"I can hardly believe it myself." You grin. He returns it, going in for a kiss before Meeks clears his throat.

"We, uh, have the podcast?"

"Right."

"Of course."

. .

There was a single candle lit in the room, flickering shadows over Pitts' face. The scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice fill your nose as you settle down next to him. His arm wraps around your waist, hand running up and down your back. He's dozing off, eyes barely open.

The recording for the podcast had gone quickly and it was fun being apart of the dynamic of Oh, Wicked? Pitts had just finished editing the audio when you came out of the bathroom, ready for bed.

"Do you know what color your aura is?" You lift your head off its spot on his chest, peering down at him.

He sleepily blinks awake. "Yellow, usually."

Violet and Yellow. . . .

The candle had flickered out at some point, the chill in the room having dropped several degrees. You curl over to Pitts, only to touch nothing but empty sheets. His absence wakes you up, looking around the room. It's pitch black. The curtains billow out with the breeze coming through the window. At least that explained the cold temperature. Standing up to close the window, you feel a chill run down your spine. The sound of someone breathing fills the quiet of the room, directly behind you.

You turn slowly, seeing nothing but an empty room. Letting out a shaky breath, you reach for the lamp, but right before you flick it on, there's a loud bang as the window slams shut. The glass panes rattle with the force. You see, then, in the reflection of the window, a face. The eyes are dark and hollow, a pale face pulled into a grimace. It points toward the closet. You hear the breathing again, this time hitting your neck. Feeling nothing but terror, rooted to the spot, you watch as an apparition slowly forms at the spot where the face pointed.

'. . .Run. . .'

It comes as a rasp, from thin air, urgent and quivery. Whether it's a warning or a plea, you find the ability to flee out the door. You slam into Pitts', arms crushing around his waist as you hyperventilate.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" The sound of his voice coated in concern has you melting against him.

You know that it, whatever that was, is gone.

"I saw something."

His face drops, stepping to the room, keeping a steady hand on your waist. The room is empty, window open with the curtains flat against the wall. You notice how warm it feels.

"Krisa said this might happen." Pitts said. He drops onto the bed, running a hand through his hair.

"What?"

"She said you had this. . .energy around you, that might attract things to you. Especially after James' latched onto you."

“I'm a magnet for ghosts?"

"Well, more like a lighthouse. They're stuck in the dark and they don't know how to get out, but then they see the light and gravitate toward it."

"To move on?"

Pitts nods, tapping his foot lightly.

"So, I guess we're more like ghost therapists?"

"Sounds lame when you put it that way." Pitts smiles when you do, pulling you down onto his lap. "But, I'm glad we're co-therapists."

You feel a laugh bubble up, forgetting the fear that had gripped your heart only minutes ago.

"Who you gonna call, when you can't move on?"

"My ghost therapist!" Pitts falls back against the bed, holding your hands in his.

"Thanks for being so relaxed about this? I don't know what I would have done without you." You said.

"I've been seeing ghosts since I was like six, so I'm kinda used to it." Pitts said, completely nonchalant. "Oh, and Krisa is my aunt. Did I mention that?"

You grab a pillow to smack him with. "Why didn't you say anything earlier!?"

"No one ever believes me. I was scared to take that chance with you." He fights off your pillow attack.

"Well, buddy, we're in this ghost-counseling together."

"Why am I so attracted to you when you just talked me buddy?" Pitts mutters.

"Maybe it's because our auras complement each other." You grin when he turns pink.

"How do you know that!?"

"Yellow and violet are complementary colors? I just sorta guessed but you gave it away." You said.

"I regret ever having a crush on you."

"You had a crush on me? How embarrassing."

"We're dating!"

___

everything tag @venusstarlight108 @ardentmuse @knivestheresnothingtoit @awesomefaith14 @salladwinston @anchy-bananchy @staygoldponebone @unique05sstuff

dps tag @rctroeras (not sure if you wanted to be removed from all taglists or just the outsiders so let me please xx) @ponyboyvhs

supernatural au tag: @carpe-robin @scribblestarsonthecuffsofurjeans

#dead poets society x reader #dead poets society imagine #gerard pitts x reader #gerard pitts imagine #gerard pitts #dead poets society #dead poets society pitts #dps #pitts #my baby boy gerard pitts whom i love with all my heart #🥺🥺 i am so soft for him #i want to cry just thinking abt him

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Chapter Three

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 8.4k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Hey guys! Here we go again haha. I hope you all enjoy the chapter! I’ve been a little bit absent online these days just because I’ve gotten pretty busy with my classes, but I hope you guys are all doing well! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Eunbyul

“How was therapy?” asked Gaeul as I wandered out into the living room. She held in one slender, tan hand a dry paintbrush, staring with crossed arms at the mural outside my bedroom wall.

She hadn’t seen me home since I left the day before, too busy at work. When I’d arrived home, I’d gone straight to my room anyway and lie on my stomach for as many hours as it took to fall asleep.

“Tell me how you’ve been,” said Doctor Kim the day before, lacing his fingers and resting his stubbled chin atop them.

He was a tall, slender man with a hairline receding into grey and dark brown eyes bespectacled with thin silver frames. Those were the eyes that saw through me, no matter what, since I was eight. We were sitting opposite one another: him with crossed legs on his leather recliner and me on the plush sofa, knees against my chest.

I cleared my throat and glanced out the window beside me, at the swaying trees and the buildings that eclipsed the horizon line. I hadn't been in the city since moving in with Gaeul, not willing to brave the long train ride. But that morning I’d awoken bright and early, making my way to the city bus so I could get to the train station in time.

“I bumped into an old lady this morning,” I said, thinking aloud.

He chuckled, but stopped when I turned wide eyes toward him. “Hm,” he said, more thoughtfully than before as he consulted the clipboard he always held on his lap.

I’d stolen glances at it a few times over the years, but his handwriting was illegible chicken scratch to me. Was that some sort of rule for doctors or something?

“I felt bad, but I felt like the bus driver was waiting for me to move, so I kept going. But I’m still thinking about it,” I said with a nod, letting my eyes wander around his bright, third-story office.

“Why is that, do you think?”

“Because she got off and I never got the chance to say sorry.”

“You wanted to apologize, didn’t you?” he asked, eyeing me over his glasses. “But you didn’t want to inconvenience the bus driver.”

“I guess,” I said, picking at the skin around my nails. I sighed. “I’ve been having a weird feeling these days.”

He cocked a furry brow. “What sort of feeling?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I folded and unfolded my hands. “Like when you’re at the top of a really high place. Like there’s no railing.”

He hummed. “Does that have to do with your move?”

“Maybe,” I said softly as I lowered my legs to sit criss-cross. “But it doesn’t feel like that’s the reason. It feels like something more. Makes me feel really…uneasy. Unfulfilled.”

“Maybe you need to think on it a little more then,” he said with a clinical nod.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Ah…yeah, maybe.”

He nodded. “And your family? They’re doing well?”

I smiled a little. “I’m seeing Mom today. Dad’s working, but he’s gonna come out for dinner, so…”

“Good!” he said, tapping his pen against the arm of his chair. “And friends? Have you made any yet?”

An image of that potter flashed through my mind. Capable hands at the wheel. Cherubic smile. Park Jimin.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, no. Not really,” I began, then sighed. “But I have a few places where I’m starting to feel comfortable. A bookstore and…maybe this pottery shop.”

“That’s great,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like this move was exactly what you needed.”

My heart leapt. Was that it after all? That feeling of wobbling on the precipice? I swallowed hard and gave Doctor Kim a smile. “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I feel…a little bit freer there.”

“Like you got some distance?”

“Mhm.”

“And coming back? Has that made you feel any anxiety?”

I recalled the morning with that woman, how I was already on edge about coming back, about braving the streets of this city once more after finally leaving it behind. But now, sitting in Doctor Kim’s bright white, sterile office… “I feel…okay,” I said with a small nod.

His eyes lit up by a small measure and he smiled, just a little. “Really?”

I nodded. “I’m as shocked as you are.”

He chuckled. “Well…that’s great news,” he said with a nod. “Really great.”

I sighed and patted my knees. “I still feel really bad about that old woman.” I rubbed my forehead with a cringe as I remembered the events at Hyejin’s Books. “I also broke a flowerpot at the bookstore I like.”

He raised his brows. “Oh dear.”

“It caused a scene,” I said, shaking my head. “Everyone was looking at me and the worker said the pot was expensive and…” I paused my quick rambling and took a steadying breath.

“Remember, that was just one event. That’s not gonna happen every time to go back,” he said with a careful nod. “I know it might be hard, but I hope you go back to the store sometime soon. Sometimes we make things bigger than they are in our heads, you know? But you need to have places that make you feel safe.”

I raised my brows. “Oh…uh, I already went back. The day after it happened.”

“Really?” he asked, smiling again.

I nodded. “I replaced the pot.”

“You did!”

“Yeah.”

He gave me a full grin and nodded, eager. “That’s great to hear!”

I smiled a little. I guess that was a step forward, huh? “Yeah…”

“So,” he said, fixing me with a soft, knowing look. He leaned forward just a little. “Tell me about this bookstore.”

Gaeul eyed me expectantly, her attention assuaged from her previous staring match with the wall. Her long hair was restrained in a sloppy ponytail at the nape of her neck and her eyes, downward turning and too similar to mine to look at too long, were narrowed on me.

She raised her brows, paintbrush trapped between two fingers. “Byul?”

I smiled and nodded. “It was good.”

“And Mom and Dad?” she asked, still watching me as I sauntered toward the kitchen.

I yawned, giving my lower back a scratch. “They’re good.”

“And you?” she asked, scanning me from top to bottom. “Looks like you didn’t sleep much.”

I shrugged and poured a cup of coffee from the pot she left on the counter. “Woke up at four again and forced myself back asleep, but I’m still tired.”

She clicked her tongue and waved her brush at me. “Ask Doctor Kim to prescribe you with some sleeping pills or something!” she called, turning back to the mural with pursed lips. “What good is a therapist if he can’t give you pills,” she said under her breath.

I sighed, resting a hip against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room. “You know I don’t wanna medicate.” She mumbled something unintelligible and continued stewing over her piece. “You working on the mural again?” I asked.

She sighed. “Trying,” she said. “But Bob Ross works really fast…”

“Maybe you’re just a shitty artist,” I teased with a smirk.

She turned to me with her tongue stuck out and rolled her eyes. “Says you.”

“I’m gonna go to the bookstore,” I said, stretching my arms above my head as I sauntered barefoot toward my bedroom once more.

She watched me and popped her hip to the side. “Try finding a job while you’re at it.”

I meant to go to Hyejin’s.

Really, I did.

But somehow I found myself perched at the window of Park’s Pottery, my hands forming a shelf for my chin to rest upon as I watched Jimin work at the throwing table. It was mesmerizing, the subtle motion of his thumbs against the wet clay, the gentle sliding of his palms. I only intended to take a small look. It was still early anyway, and I figured he wouldn’t be open anyway. But it had been several minutes and still there I was, peering inside an open shop window on a busy street, eyes trained on the clay.

“You coming in?” he asked, and I jumped, nearly screamed. I saw a smirk on his lips from his profile as his eyes remained pinned to his work. “Or are you just gonna watch from the window?”

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. I prepared to leave, turning on my heel and never looking back, but Doctor Kim’s words returned to me. Sometimes we make things bigger than they are in our heads, he’d said. But you need to have places that make you feel safe.

So I lingered there in the window, biting the inside of my cheek as I wavered between inside and outside. Likely sensing my indecision, Jimin turned around and raised his brows at me as the wheel slowed down. I clamped my mouth shut and let my head drop. Quickly, I shuffled to the front door and slipped inside, shutting it behind me with a click.

He chuckled and turned his music down just slightly, returning his attention to the clay bowl he was turning. Without a word, he continued his work and I slowly inched toward that lit corner of the shop, careful not to let the toes of my shoes catch on the rugs underfoot.

“Extra stool over there,” he said, sticking out his tongue and furrowing his brow as he focused. He jerked his chin toward the side of the display racks.

I grabbed the wooden stool and set it down on the side of the table, too close now to look anywhere else. “Is it slimy?” I asked, unable to contain myself as he reached his nimble fingers into a bowl of water and clay.

He chuckled. “It’s called slip for a reason,” he said with a soft smile, cheeks rosy from concentration.

“What’s it do?” I asked.

“Helps you form it.”

“What kind of clay is this?”

He laughed, loudly this time as he tipped his head back. He finally met my eyes, though his were half-closed from smiling. “I thought you were supposed to be quiet.”

I stiffened and glanced away, laying my hands flat on my lap and clearing my throat. “Sorry.”

He chuckled and again focused on his clay. “It’s china clay,” he said softly, eyes tender as they scanned his work. “Used for porcelain.”

“And you’re making a bowl?” I asked, watching him.

The small circle of off-white clay, no more than a few inches tall, seemed pliable beneath the weight of his fingers, like it could be anything he wanted it to be with the right pressure. He was laboring over the rim, pinching it between two fingers as he widened the opening.

“Mhm.”

“Are you gonna paint it?”

“Yeah, later.”

“How long does it take to-,”

“Eunbyul, right?” he asked, turning only his eyes up to meet mine. He was still smiling.

I nodded. “Mhm.”

“If you’re gonna watch me, you’ve gotta hold back a little on the questions,” he said with a nod. “I can answer them all when I’m not working.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, recoiling like a scolded child. I took to just watching him silently, but it seemed from the way he began glancing at me out the corner of his eye that that was also going to be a problem. He coughed a little, brows knit as he struggled to refocus on the clay. But I leaned in for a closer look, eyes wide as I watched him mold the base of the bowl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, the wheel slowed to a stop and Jimin was looking at me with soft eyes and messy hands. “Alright, I can’t focus with you watching like that.”

My eyes went wide. “Sorry! I didn’t realize,” I said, waving my hands as if I was surrendering.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Just…you’re a little intense,” he said with a gentle smile.

I flushed and turned away, picking at the skin around my thumb. “Sorry.”

Again, he laughed. “How about this,” he suggested, turning to me properly and leaning on his spread knees. “You reorganize my pottery rack and I’ll keep working. Once I’m done with five bowls, I’ll come get you and we can fire the ones I made yesterday.”

My heart raced and I sat up straight, nodding vehemently. “Sure! I can totally do that,” I said.

He smiled. “And you can still watch, just…not so closely,” he said with a laugh. “Feels like my dad’s watching.”

I nodded and rushed to my feet, wandering over to the racks as Jimin fired up the wheel once more and began smoothing a sponge over the inside of the bowl. I inhaled quick, preparing to ask what that was, but stopped and instead focused on the disorganized array of pottery splayed out on the countless shelves.

“Messy, huh?” asked Jimin from the wheel.

I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of his bowl through the spaces in the rack that separated us. He had finished the first bowl and set it aside on a table on his right. It looked perfect.

I pushed the stray hairs that had fallen behind my ear with a sigh. Cutting off all that hair made it harder to restrain it. “Not as bad as my room,” I said with a hum as I began organizing a few haphazardly places flowerpots.

He laughed. “You’re messy? Don’t strike me as the messy type.”

I shook my head. “I…I’m not really. Not at home anyway. I actually just moved here a few weeks ago so…”

“Ah,” he said softly as the lofi music bumped around the shop. “Why’d you move?”

“My sister lives here and I figured I needed…a change of scenery,” I said with a nod. How was I supposed to tell a stranger about all the events that led me to running off?

“You like it?” he asked.

I smiled a little as I grabbed for a misplaced cup, setting it on the shelf above with the others. “I’m starting to.”

He chuckled and with that, conversation quieted to nothing as he formed art and I put it in its proper home.

After a while with only lofi and the whirring of the potter’s wheel for noise, Jimin punctured the peaceful quiet with a loud, “Done!” and a long, loud exhale.

I jumped and rushed out of the racks to see Jimin sitting with a satisfied grin, leaning back against the wall, a set of five identical, unblemished white bowls to his side. His eyes were shut as he sighed heavily, apron and face and hands a mess with clay in various stages of dryness.

“You did it!” I exclaimed with a grin. I clapped my hands and he joined me. “Was it hard?”

He smiled and walked toward the sink across from the wheel, running his hands under the water. “Not so bad today,” he said, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I needed to get done before nine-thirty so I had time to fire the other ones before opening.” He glanced at me with a conspiratorial smirk. “You ready to see it?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I said, serious as he scanned me.

But he broke the tension with a laugh and shook the water from his hands, turning toward the back door as I trailed eagerly behind. He led the way into the backroom where I stood astounded in the doorway for a few thoughtless moments. Bigger than the store itself, the backroom featured stairs that likely led upstairs to an apartment, several massive kilns, two separate spinning wheels, and a full studio of paintbrushes, dyes, and other decorating materials. It was grand, spacious, windowed with plenty of natural light, practically overflowing with unfinished pottery, and dead hot.

“Cool, right?” he asked with a grin.

I nodded, mouth agape, and followed him through the maze of benches and workspaces to one of the kilns in the back. There sat five dried bowls on a table beside the kiln, off-white and slightly dusty.

“I just sanded these this morning, so they’re ready for the bisque firing.”

“Bisque?” I asked, squinting at the clay as my glasses slipped down my nose a little from the heat. “Like soup?”

“No…it’s the initial firing so that the it becomes more durable and-,”

“Jimin,” I interrupted and he paused, eyes round. “I was joking that time.”

He opened and shut his mouth before eventually settling for a big laugh and a pat on my shoulder, like an uncle. “Funny,” he said, then rested his palms against the kiln. “Anyway, do you wanna do it with me?”

I blinked at him. “You sure you can trust me with that?”

He laughed. “I trusted you with my wares out there, I’m pretty sure I can trust you with this.”

I hummed, mulling it over, and eventually just offered a nod and timidly took the space beside him, nearest the pottery. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

He smiled. “Dust them off and hand them to me so I can put them in the kiln,” he said with a nod. Then stiffened and looked down at me with wide eyes. “Carefully!” he added.

I chuckled and nodded, grabbing one of the bowls and dusting it off with the rag that lay beside it. “You’re really talented,” I said quietly as I worked on removing the dust.

Jimin smiled gently. “I was taught by a master anyway.”

“Your dad?”

“Mhm,” he said. “At a time in my life when I felt really…out of touch, he helped me understand that there are things even I can control in this world. Things that I can shape and change with my own hands.”

I felt my stomach flip and my heart kicked up. Something I can control… “Ah,” I said, realizing my hands had stopped moving. “Here.” I handed him the first bowl and he smiled in response. “You went through a time like that?” I asked, voice small.

He hummed a little. “Yeah. Everyone does, I think. Where you feel like you’re just being dragged along through life without any say.”

I blinked at him as he delicately placed the bowl in the kiln, still smiling. “And pottery helped you get out of it?”

“Well…to a certain extent. It taught me valuable lessons. Like…the fact that nothing’s permanent. If I don’t like a design while I’m throwing it, I can just stop and change it. Made me realize I’ve got more power than I think I do,” he said, pensive, as I began dusting the next bowl.

“That sounds wonderful,” I said with a sigh as I handed him the bowl.

He paused for a moment, staring down at me with a furrowed brow. “You say sad things sometimes,” he said with a nod.

I stiffened. “S-Sorry…”

He shook his head and placed the bowl beside its sister. “No, don’t be,” he said, leaning over the lip of the kiln. “Just…you remind me of myself a little.”

“Really?” I asked, and I couldn’t stop the swelling of pride that rushed through me. To be compared to someone like him…

He returned from the kiln with a smile. “Mhm,” he said, then jerked his chin toward the bowls. “Keep ‘em coming.”

“Ah,” said Jimin once the bowls were settled and the kiln was firing up, wiping his brow a little and glancing my way.

“So what now? How long until they’re done?” I asked, eager as I peered down at the round top of the kiln, still cool to the touch.

Jimin chuckled, patting dust from his hands onto his smock. “A few more days, unfortunately.”

My eyes went round. “Wait, so that’s not the end?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and leading me out toward the main storefront. “The bisque firing is only the first round. Then they’re decorated and glazed and put back in.”

My shoulders fell as we entered the store. “For real?” I asked, dejected.

He grinned. “Well, if you-,” his thought was cut short by the ding of the front door bell.

A throng of people entered, all grinning as they began to peruse his wares. “Sorry, we were waiting for you to open since it’s five after,” said a woman, likely in her forties, with a tight-lipped smile.

I furrowed my brow. “Sorry, I was firing,” said Jimin with a pleasant grin, like the woman’s comment hadn’t made a single dent in his mood.

She bowed her head a little as she ducked into the racks and I glanced up at Jimin with a frown. “Kinda rude,” he whispered to me with a chuckle. “Business is business anyway.” He wandered toward the front door where he gently flipped over the sign, declaring Park’s Pottery open for business.

“You know her?” I asked, following closely behind as he walked back to the register and untied his smock, slinging it over the side of the counter. I stood beside him.

“Yeah. I get a lot of rich regulars who like to buy statement pieces,” he said with an easy shrug. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

I nodded. Even though I understood, something about the entitled attitude left a bitter taste on my tongue. I crossed my arms and watched as the woman turned a pastel blue vase over in her hands, showing it to one of the people who had stormed in with her. The group spent a few minutes wandering about as Jimin and I watched from the register, Jimin smiling and me squinting through the haze of my lenses to see the woman properly.

“You’re gonna scare her away,” whispered Jimin out the corner of his mouth.

I flushed and sat up straight, letting my eyes wander away, towards the front door and the open window. The city and the ocean just beyond. I sighed, arms still crossed, as someone called out from the stacks.

“I have a question!”

Jimin jumped a little before pasting on a bright smile and rushing toward the customer, leaving me to stew by myself at the register. Sighing, I leaned back against the counter behind me, shutting my eyes for a moment. Gaeul was right, anyway. I hadn’t been getting enough sleep the last few days. And, what’s more, I couldn’t remember my dreams. Normally, with the sort of dreams I had, it was impossible to forget them. Especially the bad one. The black room one.

I shook my head and rubbed my temples. If I didn’t remember my dreams, it was probably for the best. And besides, that meant I wasn’t having nightmares anyway.

“Excuse me?”

I opened my eyes and they locked onto that woman, the customer from before. With her dark hair restrained with a stylish pin, she eyes me with a stiff grin, eyebrows high as she held the blue vase on her hip like a child. I glanced around me, hoping perhaps she was talking to somebody else, but she was just…standing there on the other side of the counter. Watching me with pencil-thin brows knitting in concern.

“Did you not hear me, dear?” she asked, saccharine.

I wetted my lips and cleared my throat. “Um, yeah. Sorry,” I said, taking two steps toward her.

“I was hoping you’d ring me up. Seems Little Mister Park is a little busy,” she said with a chuckle.

I glanced over her shoulder to find Jimin talking, all animated hand motions and bright expressions, to two customers in the aisle between the racks, gesturing toward his pottery every few moments.

“Ah…,” I began. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. I sighed and nodded once. I’d worked at a grocery store in high school anyway. I knew how to work a simple cash register. I could do at least that much. “Sure,” I said, opening my hands to take the vase.

She handed it over with a little hesitance, and watched with a wince as I set it down on the counter beside the register. I turned it over to find the price tag, handwritten by Jimin himself, stuck to the bottom. $20. I frowned at the beautiful thing. Long, slender neck good for holding flowers. A subtle gradient that lightened at the spout. Careful, delicate decorations in white at the bottom.

$20?

“Thirty,” I said with a nod, handing it back to her and punching in the amount on the register’s well-worn number pad.

She blinked at me, eyes wide. “I…it’s twenty, dear.”

I raised my eyes to meet hers and cocked a brow. “It’s thirty.”

She furrowed her brows and touched the gold necklace on her clavicle. “Gosh, I think that’s a little pricey,” she said with a pout. “It says twenty on the bottom.”

I nodded. “Yeah, but this is a one-of-a-kind vase. Like a collector’s item,” I said, then hummed and grabbed the vase, holding it against my side. “It’s okay if you wanna browse some more for something cheaper,” I said, raising my brows and staring at her without breaking.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I…well, I guess I can afford it,” she said with a laugh. “Go ahead with the transaction, dear.”

I nodded and slid the vase back toward her as Jimin returned to the register, eyes wide as he watched me taking the woman’s bills and placing them inside the proper compartments. “Oh, that’s-,” began Jimin and I silenced him with an upward glance. He shut his mouth and I handed the woman her change.

“Oh, keep it sweetie,” she said with that same tight-lipped smile from before.

I returned it and placed the leftover change back in the register. “Thanks,” I said, waving as she headed for the exit, corralling her friends behind her.

Jimin peered down at me with a smirk. “You upsold her.”

I shrugged and shut the register. “I didn’t bite,” I said with a nod.

He laughed, crossing his arms with a nod. “Good.”

I glanced up at him and snapped my fingers. “Oh yeah,” I said. “About the bowls…what are they gonna look like when you take them out? Like, do they change color or something? And what’s in the glaze-,”

He laughed and, instead of responding, simply opened the register and pulled out a $10 bill. He slipped it into my hand with a smile. “Here,” he said.

I furrowed my brow. “What for?”

“For helping me out today,” he said. “No free labor at Park’s Pottery.”

“Huh,” I said, smiling softly at the bill. It felt…fulfilling to make my own money again. Even if it was small. “Thanks.”

He smiled. “How about you come back tomorrow,” he said, and my eyes snapped up to meet his. He chuckled. “So you can see the bowls. I don’t wanna explain everything to you.”

Slowly, a smile spread across my face and I pocketed the bill. “Alright,” I said, nodding.

“See you tomorrow then,” he said, ushering me to the front door. “For now, I’ve gotta get to work on some more bowls.”

I blinked at him. “But who’s gonna run the register?”

He laughed, the sound bouncing off the stout walls, as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Starting tomorrow, how about you?” he asked, cocking his brow.

I reclined against the creaky wooden chair I always occupied at Hyejin’s Bookstore, watching the water and the building windows glitter in the sunlight. Seokjin was the only employee in today, and he looked as nice as ever. Perhaps there was some small comfort in liking someone I knew I’d never be with, because just watching him as he rang up customers or shelved old books was enough to make me feel warm inside.

But as I sat there idly watching the scenery or watching Seokjin which were, honestly, interchangeable in their beauty, he seemed to take notice of me for the first time that day. And, quietly, he meandered over. He smiled down at me, without his teeth but it touched his eyes anyway. And my heart kicked up like a racehorse.

“Ah, uh…,” I said, unsure why I’d opened my mouth in the first place. I let my gaze fall to the table.

He chuckled and sat across from me. “I know you’re the one who left that flowerpot,” he said.

I stiffened and swallowed hard, glancing out the window. “Well…”

“Why?”

I was quiet for a moment. I’d been found out, hadn’t I? Sighing, I let my eyes fall to the table between us. “I’m…also the one who broke the first flowerpot.”

Seokjin laughed, a little too loud for so quiet a bookstore, and grinned at me like I was some sort of character. “So you left it behind and pretended not to?”

I shrugged. “Kinda.”

He smiled. “Cute,” he said softly before standing up.

My heart was really racing now, thumping in my ears like a heavy bass. I could feel myself heating up, and I was sure my cheeks were flaming red by now. And, judging by the way Seokjin was smiling, mischievous, he saw it too. I blinked at him for a long moment, a moment almost too long for my heart to handle, and he broke into another laugh.

“I’m Kim Seokjin,” he said, then tilted his head to the side with a smile. “But if you want, you can just call me Jin.”

“O-Okay…,” I said, avoiding his eyes and busying my hands with random tasks like straightening the hem of my shirt or adjusting where my coffee sat on the table.

He laughed again. “Here’s where most people would introduce themselves back.”

I stiffened. “Ah! Um, I’m Lee Eunbyul,” I said, nodding once.

He smiled and nodded, leaning back to examine me. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope I get to see you around more.”

What more could he possibly mean? I already came in nearly every day…

“Um…yeah,” I said, nodding.

He laughed and gave me a wave over his shoulder and, once I was sure he couldn’t see me, I made a break for the bathroom. Silently, I turned on the water and set it to the coldest setting. I cupped a handful of water and splashed it on my horribly red face, desperate to cool myself down. Cute, he’d said, hope I get to see you around more. What the hell did that mean? Despite the rapid thumping of my heart and the redness that was spreading like paint across my cheeks and down my neck, I couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

And that’s when I heard it.

A sniffle. Just like the other day.

I stiffened and, as quietly as I could manage, I tiptoed down the row of toilets. There, at the furthest stall, the same sneakers on the same linoleum floor. I felt my throat constrict. Being here and hearing it once was forgivable. I could write it off as an isolated moment and walk away without guilt.

But being here twice and hearing it again…

But then again, if they were hiding in the furthest stall…didn’t that mean they really did want to be left alone? What if they shouted at me? What if it caused another scene? What if I couldn’t come to the bookstore anymore? Doctor Kim said it was important to have places where I felt comfortable…

But was my comfort worth more than this stranger’s safety?

I swallowed hard, cast one more look over my shoulder at the sneakers on the floor, and hated myself as I walked out into the hallway, resolving that I’d just pretend I hadn’t seen anything at all. It was probably what they wanted anyway…

I slammed my palm on the table beside where Gaeul sat, munching on a bag of chips. She jumped, eyes going round, and let out a little scream before realizing it was me and clutching her chest. She pulled her earbuds from her ears and lowered her laptop screen, giving me a glare. Smiling, I lifted my hand and revealed the $10 bill Jimin had given me.

“I didn’t even know you were home,” she mumbled, then eyes the bill, raising her brows. “Where’d you get this?”

“Earned it,” I said, grinning as I took the seat beside her.

She scoffed. “Doing what?” she asked.

“I’m gonna work for the pottery shop a few blocks down,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest and watching her face for a reaction.

To my surprise, she broke into a pleased smile and examined the bill between her two hands. “Wow, Byulie,” she said gently, still smiling.

“I don’t know how much he’s gonna pay me,” I said, poking my nail beneath a loose flake in the wood table with a sigh. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to contribute much to the rent-,”

“Shut up,” she said, waving her hand and sliding the bill back to me. “I was never gonna charge you anyway.”

I glanced up at her, fluffing her thick hair out behind her with shut eyes as she fanned the skin her loose white shirt left exposed. “You…why not?” I asked.

She opened her eyes and sighed, shrugging. “I dunno, Byul. With everything that’s happened…I don’t think it’d be right.”

I stiffened a little, eyeing her. “What do you mean?”

“Like…when we were kids, I could write off what happened because I was young and stupid, but after high school I was supposed to be there…anyway, I feel bad, alright? Let’s not dwell on it,” she said, waving her hand and glancing away toward the open window.

I furrowed my brow. “Isn’t that what we always do anyway?” I asked quietly, watching the gaps between my toes as they pushed into the dark wood chair beneath them.

Gaeul sighed, gripping the bridge of her nose. “Byul-,”

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have said that. Just…forget it, okay?”

Her expression wasn’t good. Like all those times Doctor Kim insisted she come to therapy with me. Like she was having those thoughts I didn’t like. Gently, I stood to my feet and handed her the bill once more. She stared at it for a long time, at my hand extending toward her, before slowly, hesitantly, she took it from my fingers and met my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a nod. “But…I want you to treat me how you always do. Treat me normal. That way I can get back to normal.”

She blinked up at me, working her lower lip between her teeth with knit brows, before sighing and shrugging her shoulders. “Alright,” she said, then folded the bill and gave me a tiny smirk. “Although ten bucks isn’t gonna cut it for rent.”

I chuckled and nodded. “I’ll make more. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Please do, Gaeul,” I said, smiling down at her. “Please.”

I awoke on the floor. Or…what should be the floor. For a long, disoriented moment, I didn’t realize I was dreaming. I remembered falling asleep on the couch to old TV shows, but nothing else. Gently, I rubbed my eyes and sighed. But as I did, I noticed someone sitting beside me. It took me only a moment to recognize him and, as I did, the memories returned like a rush to my body. He was already looking at me, smiling softly with his hands between his legs.

“Figured I should wait for you before going anywhere,” he said with a warm chuckle.

I smiled. “Thanks,” I said, taking his hand as he offered it to help me up. “How long were you here before I showed up?”

“Only a few seconds,” Namjoon said, running a hand through his messy blonde hair.

“It’s weird…are we falling asleep at the same time then?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe,” he said with a yawn.

“Shit,” I said, fighting my own yawn. “I forgot me not getting enough sleep means you aren’t getting enough either.”

He chuckled and took a quiet step forward. “I don’t sleep much to begin with,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Tonight he was dressed in a pair of black sleep shorts and a loose tee. I chuckled, noting how pale his thighs were compared to the rest of him. “Hot tonight?” I asked.

He glanced back at me, puzzled, but it only took a moment for the pieces to connect and he cleared his throat, pulling his shorts down a little to cover more skin. “I, uh…I didn’t know I’d have company.”

I laughed. “Hey, me either,” I said, gesturing to my own sad attire: a pair of pilling leggings and a sweater that itched in the placed not marred by holes.

He smiled. “Where to tonight?” he asked, glancing around the darkness.

I thought a moment, slowing my pace to a stop and letting my fingers tangle in front of me. I sighed at my shoeless feet. “There’s a place I kinda wanna see tonight.”

He raised his dark brows. “Oh, sure.”

I nodded and shut my eyes. I focused on every minute detail, every yellowing floor tile, every fluorescent light, every window overlooking the sports field, every tree that waved in the springtime wind, every door that sometimes creaked, every desk. And when I opened my eyes, there it was. I exhaled and leaned back against the desk behind me, staring at the blackboard, recently cleaned with half-circles of white dust arcing across the green.

The room was exactly as I remembered it. The windows, starting at hip-height and extending nearly to the ceiling, the podium at the front of the room, the short desks set equidistant, the polished floor. It was a perfect replica. The only thing missing was the people…

“High school?” asked Namjoon, examining the room.

“My class during my last year.”

Namjoon chuckled and nodded as he came to settle in the desk beside me. “I would have gone here too,” he said.

I smiled softly. “Why didn’t you?”

He hummed. “Moved away,” he said. “I was around nine.”

“Hm,” I said, sighing as I rested my chin on the desk like I used to in school. Always sleeping.

He smiled and joined me, draping on arm over the front of the desk and resting his cheek atop it. He met my eyes gently. “Why’d you wanna come here?”

“Don’t you ever just have the urge to go back to high school?” I teased with a smile.

He chuckled. “Never.”

“Me either,” I said, letting my forehead connect with the wood. I exhaled long and slow. “Just got thinking about some things today.”

“Mm,” he said. He didn’t pry. I was thankful for that. Instead, he gave me a smile. “Tell me about yourself in high school. Would we have been friends?”

I raised my brows and scoffed. “The real question is would you have wanted to be friends with me?”

He chuckled and sat upright, clearing his throat. “I would have.”

I felt my cheeks warm with his words and stiffened, sitting properly and pressing my fingertips together on my desk. “Well…,” I began, then smiled a little. “I had hair to here,” I said, pointing at the small of my back.

His eyes went wide. “Really? I can’t even imagine it.”

I nodded. “Big and fluffy too. Like my sister.”

He smiled fondly and nodded. “Tell me more. Did you do any sports? Clubs?”

I shook my head, still flushed, and glanced out the window at the perpetual blue of the sky, the unchanging tops of green trees. I rubbed my forearm. “Uh, no. I was pretty aimless. Still am, I guess.”

“Hm…”

“I had a few good friends. It was hard at first, but eventually…I trusted them a lot,” I said with a nod. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, expecting it to keep going past where the ends brushed the tops of my hands. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms. “Anyway, I was quiet. Like now.” I sighed. “I guess I haven’t changed much.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

I shrugged. “I guess something did change,” I said, nodding once. “I’d been going to therapy since I was young, so in high school I was finally starting to feel a little normal. Now…I guess I don’t feel that so much anymore.”

“You’re normal, Eunbyul,” he said, then laughed. “More normal than most people I know, at any rate.”

I smiled a little, unable to fight it. “Ah, how’s that ex?” I asked, turning toward him.

He met my eyes with an uneasy chuckle. “Well, uh…,” he began, then sighed and let his head dip a little, sighing long and quiet. He rubbed the back of his neck with one big tan hand and I glanced away, toward the blackboard. “She stayed over with me last night.”

Something heavy in my chest dropped to my stomach and it was a sensation that was defiant and nameless. I turned only my eyes to him and found him still looking at the floor, at his feet. I scanned him from honey-blonde head to big toe. Hunched over at the back with his head lolled forward just a little, chin tucked, hooded eyes low…

He looked like a kid.

I sighed and reached out a hand, giving his broad shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry,” I said with a nod. “Nothing’s permanent anyway. You can still set your boundaries.”

He lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Are you sure?” he asked.

I forced a smile and nodded, letting my hand fall. “Mhm,” I said. “Positive.” I thought a moment, pursing my lips and guiding my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. “You can always go back, I think. Even when you mess something up,” I said, and an image of that broken pot from Hyejin’s surfaced in my mind. I smiled a little and played with my hands. “Even if it makes you feel uncomfortable or scared.”

He watched me carefully and, wordlessly, he reached out a hand toward my face. His fingertips ghosted over the skin of my cheek, brushing against it just enough to send a chill down my spine. My body heated up and my heart thumped in an unsteady rhythm. Eyes wide, I watched him as his own eyes focused singularly on something on my face. What was he going to do?

And furthermore…why was I going to let him do it?

Slowly, his fingers closed around the frames of my thin glasses and he slowly slid them off my face. Smiling, he pulled away and I felt like I could finally catch my breath. He stared at the glasses in his hand, lashes dusting against his cheeks as he focused. He set his lips thin and began pressing the nose pads closer together. So gently I wondered if he was doing anything at all, he pushed them from both sides without bending the frames.

“I wish I knew you in real life,” he said softly as he fiddled with the pads.

I felt too hot, like I needed a minute in the cool air outside. But I couldn’t bring myself to look away. His skin was like amber in the fresh sunlight, hair sitting in little imperfect waves, his features looked sculpted and his hands looked too big, clumsy as he struggled with the glasses. He was equal parts devastatingly handsome and charmingly human.

He returned his attention to me with a smile and carefully placed the glasses back along my nose bridge, pausing to release any hair he had trapped beneath the frames. Still smiling, he pulled away and left my flushed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I just noticed they keep sliding. I told you last time it was the nose pads, right?” he asked.

I blinked. “We don’t remember anything in the morning,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I forgot.”

He chuckled and nodded. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, then smiled at me once more. “Thank you, Eunbyul.”

“What for?”

He shook his head. “For listening to me.”

I glanced away and scratched my forearm with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not just gonna ignore you in here.”

He laughed. “You know what I mean.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Thank you too. For, you know…being here. Helping me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t mention it,” he said, then smiled. “For the record, I think we definitely would have been friends in high school.”

Eager to change the subject, I sunk my teeth into the opportunity he left open. “What were you like in high school?” I asked, staring up at him through perfectly stable glasses.

He laughed. “Take a guess.”

“Popular.”

He laughed again, louder this time, and waved his hands. “No! No, definitely not.”

“Then…?” I urged.

He smiled and turned away so he could recline in his desk. I joined him, but kept my eyes right on his face. It was almost like we were classmates. I allowed myself a moment to revel in it before I had to say goodbye. “I was quiet too.”

I raised my brows. “Huh.”

“Hard to believe?” he asked, eyeing me.

I nodded. “A little.”

He chuckled. “My sister used to tease me for it a lot,” he said with a sigh.

“You had a sister?” I asked, then shook my head. “And she teased you?”

“Well, I was artsy. I liked music,” he said, then smiled. “That’s what I do now. Make music.”

“Really?” I asked, leaning toward him to listen closer.

“Not as cool as it sounds, I promise,” he said with a laugh. “But, uh…yeah. I liked to write lyrics and make little beats on my laptop. So I was usually buried in my notebook.”

“How could we have been friends then?” I asked, thinking aloud. “Neither of us would have approached the other.”

He laughed, and this time it was unbridled, a dimpled smile lingering in its place as he settled back into his seat. “That’s a good point-whoa,” he said, lurching up in his seat.

He didn’t need to say anything. I felt it too. That unmistakable tugging at the chest, like something was yanking me from the inside. I stared at him with wide eyes. “Why was it so fast tonight?” I asked.

He shook his head, eyes darting around the rapidly darkening room. “I-I don’t know,” he said, brows knitting.

“Time…,” I began, fighting the pull. “Probably works different here, right?” I asked, desperate to know who had cut our time so short.

He nodded, obviously resisting too. “Yeah,” he said, then met my eyes and offered a tense smile. “Wish we could’ve stayed longer.”

“Me too.”

There was a wistfulness in his eyes, a tenderness too. He kept smiling. “Tomorrow night I’ll show you something nice, okay?” he asked, nodding once.

I returned it. “Okay.”

“Bye, Eunbyul,” he said, waving.

“Bye, Namjoon.”

4:03. I stared at the clock on the living room coffee table with a frown. 4:03, 4:03, always 4:03. Frustrated, I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the couch below me, kicking the blanket onto the floor where it crinkles against the plastic Gaeul refused to remove. I spread my arms and legs and let my face sink into the plush of the couch cushion. God. Between not remembering my dreams and waking up at this stupid time every morning, I was starting to wonder if I should schedule a supplementary appointment with Doctor Kim…

I sniffled and rolled onto my side, expecting my glasses to slide off like they always did in that position. But, somehow, they stayed perfectly in place against my nose. Gently, I poked the frames, trying to coax them into moving, but it felt as if the fit had changed. Maybe because I’d been sleeping in them lately.

I sighed and shut my eyes. Didn’t matter anyway. I shut off the TV and curled my legs against my chest, bargaining with the god of rest to give me even an hour more.

I arrived at Park’s Pottery at 8:55, standing at the open window for a moment as Jimin worked. I figured 9:00 was the right time to arrive, and coming early might make Jimin uncomfortable. So, instead, I took to watching him like usual, the surety of his movements. I understood, in a brief flash of clarity, what he meant about pottery teaching him that he’s in control. Indeed, it did look that way to me.

A loud honk roused me from my daydream and I turned to see what had caused it. A jaywalking teen in a school uniform was rushing across the street, right across the front of a city bus who gave another honk as they slowed down so as not to hit him. I winced as the kid kept running, throwing apologetic waves over his shoulder at the bus driver.

Thankfully, they made it across okay. I breathed a sigh of relief and adjusted my baseball cap against the glare of the morning sun. Slowly, the bus rolled past me, still gaining speed after braking for the student, and I watched all the passengers in the window as they passed. A young girl and what looked like her mother. An old man with his cheek pressed against the glass, chest rising and falling with sleep. And, in the second-to-last row, a young man whose face was a blur as he passed. The bus was going too fast for me to get a proper look at him. But I’d seen the ends of his honey-blonde hair.

And it was…unsettlingly familiar.

That feeling, the one I’d told Doctor Kim about, returned. Like I was standing at the top of a very high place.

“Eunbyul?”

I jumped and turned to see Jimin standing in the doorway, brows raised and hands a gloopy mess of wet clay. “Ah, hi,” I said, bowing my head.

He smiled and jerked his head toward the shop. “You coming in or what?”

I took one last glance over my shoulder at the bus that was rapidly retreating down the winding street. I could just see its square silhouette. “Yeah,” I said, turning on my heel and jogging toward him.

#bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfiction #namjoon series #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon au #bts au #bts au fanfic #bts series #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts angst #bts fluff

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auroraphilealis · 7 years

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Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) (1/24)

Title: Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too)

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

A/N: ineverhadmyinternetphase: if you follow me for ace/aro fic, this one might not be for you, as it is very much not ace aro. But if you like slow burn enemies to lovers then come right on in. I have to say this is the fic I’m most proud of ever, it’s the first RP that Eliza and I ever did and it’s just a whole lot of fun. It also means a lot to me because it was the first time I ever RPed Dan and I’m really proud of the little thief I created. Also Eliza’s Prince Phil stole my heart a very long time ago. Be ready for a heck of a slow burn though, it’s very long and set in a whole other fantasy world that we built as we went. I hope you’ll all enjoy it as much as I do, it’s been in the works for a very long time but now we’re finally ready to share it with you all and I’m super excited xD

Insanityplays: I’m like ready to cry because this fic is my baby. I literally adore everything about it, spend half of my time thinking about it, and want nothing more than to share it with the world. Truly, Prince!Phil and Thief!Dan have stolen my heart, so please take care of them <3 This was my first ever RP with Julia, and it’s truly what made me fall in love with her.

Thanks so much to @phansdick for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @insanityplaysfics is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(Masterlist) (AO3)

Chapter One

It wasn't exactly an easy life being Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of the kingdom, second only in line to his older brother and rightful heir to the throne Martyn Lester, but Phil Lester had learned to manage. In fact, he'd even learned to enjoy himself, and it helped that his family was a loved one. Their kingdom had been thriving peacefully under the Lester reign for over a hundred and fifty years now, lending them a happy kind of credibility that Phil knew for a fact not many other kingdoms had a chance to enjoy.

Things were good in Morellia. Phil’s father, the reigning King Harold Lester, had always been strong in politics, and he’d long since negotiated peace between the nations at their borders, securing trade and movement agreements to keep everyone happy. The economy was flourishing, and while there were still countless dangers from far away Kingdoms and the dark creatures that lurked in the forests to the North and South of the Palace Walls, war did not loom on their horizon.

The people were happy, and Phil. Well, Phil was happy too. Mostly.

See, while Phil's family was well-loved and largely accepting of their people, allowing their kingdom far more freedoms than was sometimes commonly heard of, this practice was not always a positive one for Phil.

Things were different in Morellia: there were class differences, but they were largely bridged through the work of Phil's father and his father before him, and there was poverty, but no one was tethered by their birth. There were always ways to move up in the world, and there were no laws forbidding or forcing marriage between or out of classes. Instead, Phil's grandfather and father had both married from the common people, and now Phil's brother was betrothed to a woman they’d both grown up in the Castle with. Cornelia’s mother was a long-time employee of the Lester family, and as was due all palace employee’s children, Cornelia had gotten the best education alongside both Phil and Martyn. It came as no surprise to anyone when the two fell in love.

That left Phil the only Prince left in the kingdom unbetrothed, un-tethered, and far too recognizable for his own good.

Since both Phil and Martyn had grown up in a world where it was ordinary for the common people to throw in their names for dating candidacy, and since there was no arranged marriage and therefore no arranged dating, Phil and Martyn had always had the pick of the lot. Only, this had never felt like a benefit to Phil. Instead, it had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, because every time he'd thought he'd fancied a girl, he'd turn around the corner and find her whispering away to her friends about how she only liked Prince Philip because Prince Martyn was dating that other girl, and if she couldn't be Queen, then she'd settle for Princess.

One too many heartbreaks later, Phil had eventually decided to give up dating altogether, never once having even received his first kiss while Martyn pranced about singing when he lost his virginity. Disgruntled and ashamed, Phil had turned his training to the Royal Guard, until, when he'd turned twenty-three, Captain Kregin had retired and named Phil the new Captain.

Loved and admired by his men, Phil had sunk himself in, netting wanted criminal after wanted criminal and making a name for himself slowly but surely, building his reputation until he was more than just a less pretty version of his brother.

In fact, despite his men being sometimes too protective and concerned for Phil’s safety, Phil had almost single-handedly destroyed the entire crime syndicate of the palace city - or at least the thieving network - and nearly the entire wanted list while he was at it. The only name left was the most formidable thief Morellia had ever seen; the legendary King of Thieves, and he was the bane of Phil’s existence.

Love had been traded out for Justice, and now, nearly an entire year into leading the Royal Guard, Phil had finally cornered his greatest adversary.

"Stand down, outlaw. We've got you cornered. There's nowhere left to run," Phil stated proudly, sat atop his horse and unable to help his smug grin as he pointed the tip of his great sword at the nose of the thief the Royal Guard had been chasing for years.

Said legendary King of Thieves was a rugged young man, barely more than a boy really at the ripe age of nineteen, named Daniel Howell. No one knew his true name, though, and only a very select few of his most trusted allies knew to call him ‘Dan’. To everyone else, he was the King of Thieves, and he’d been plaguing Morellia for years.

He hadn’t been alone, either. Dan had gathered a band of thieves about himself, only the best of the best joining his gang, and while their actions were widespread, lately, Dan had been focusing more and more on the capital. Some of the kingdom’s poorest lived there, after all.

Dan hadn’t become known as the King of Thieves for nothing. It had taken a lot for the people to love him enough to give him that title. To the upper classes of Morellia, Dan was a figure to be feared and hated, a story told to children to make them stay in their bed at night. To the poor community, though, Dan had become something of a figurehead, stealing from only the very richest in the capital and then setting up a market in the night where the poor families, orphaned children, and sickly people could come to get food or treasures to sell on the black market.

Whether it was moral or not, Dan didn’t care. He didn’t think too much on justice, didn’t even let himself think of companionship. Even his band of thieves were kept at a distance, and he was seen to them as a distant commander. If they broke his rules and stole from someone who couldn’t afford it, then they’d see and fear his wrath.

Or, at least, they had been able to. In recent months, ever since that abominable Prince Philip had become Captain of the Royal Guard, every single one of Dan’s trusted band of thieves had been picked off one-by-one. He’d tried desperately to keep hold of his structure, to keep stealing and giving to the markets he’d set up at night, but treasure grew more and more scarce as there were fewer and fewer thieves available to steal for him.

Eventually, Dan was the only one left. He didn’t give up, though. The rush of adrenaline that always accompanied stealing drove him to break into one of the richest houses in the capital, hunting one of the greatest treasures celebrated throughout Morellia: the Duchess of Ara’s prized emerald. He'd planned this heist down to the last detail for weeks. Ordinarily, he'd have jumped in feet-first straight away and made off with the emerald ages ago, but his steps had been dogged by Prince-fucking-Philip’s Royal Guard, and they were severely limiting Dan's movements.

Not that he was struggling, because he wasn't. Dan knew how good of a thief he was. He'd been doing this since he was ten years old and had cared for his brother, his stealing having only stepped up after his brother's passing two years later. Dan had vowed never to be poor again, and by hook or by crook, he was going to succeed.

And, for the most part, he had achieved his dream.

Dan had a nice pile of gold tucked away in a cave in the desert near the crown city, impenetrable to all but himself; he’d never shown anyone else its interior. His most prized possessions were tucked away there, the secrets of his past that no one but he was allowed to know. The cave was his home, but he couldn’t stay there as often as he liked. In order to keep on top of such a widespread campaign, Dan had set up several bases in the different cities of Morellia, each filled with trinkets he stole and then used to buy food for each city’s poorest. The base he was proudest of was in Morellia itself, and it was there he was headed - if he could just shake Prince-fucking-Philip off his trail.

The trouble was, Prince Philip seemed to be hell-bent on eradicating thievery from his land entirely (which, why? Couldn't he just let Dan steal in peace?), and he'd set about tracking Dan's every movement until Dan could barely turn around without seeing another flaming Royal Guardsmen on his trail. In the end, he'd grown impatient of waiting, and dove for the emerald anyway.

Which was why Dan now found himself currently cornered in the back streets of the capital, the emerald tucked into his trademark black cloak, and Prince-fucking-Philip's sword pointed in his face.

Dan licked his lips, eyes darting left-to-right. Unfortunately, it seemed the Prince was right - Dan was trapped with his back to the wall, surrounded by the Prince's horsemen while Dan was only on his feet. The priceless emerald he’d stolen sat heavy in his cloak, but like hell was Dan giving it up - especially on his first physical encounter with this Prince who'd been making his life hell ever since he’d taken over the Royal Guard. Why couldn't he just go back to prissy palace life like his brother, Crown Prince Martyn?

Dan had no trouble recognising the man. He'd seen Philip Lester's face in all of the public ceremonies, same as any other citizen of Morellia. Dan had just never really paid attention until now. Prince Philip was young - older than Dan, perhaps, but still young for his job - and his eyes were fierce, the kind that told Dan he may be in trouble.

(He was also kind of pretty, but Dan didn't have time for that right now.

...Who was he kidding, he always had time for that).

"Well," Dan drawled slowly, adopting a languid position with his back against the wall. "I can see why you'd think that, Prince. But we thieves are rather good at finding our way out of tight spots. Though I don't expect you'd know that, locked up in your prissy palace as you are. Do you know anything of the criminal world?"

Phil gritted his teeth as the King of Thieves spoke up in front of him, relaxing against the wall Phil had him backed up against as if nothing was wrong at all, as if he wasn't just on the verge of being captured and tried in the High Court. Phil prodded his horse that little bit further forward, drawing on its reins to pull it up short, and shifted his sword so the blade was glinting just underneath the thief's throat. The thief didn't even blink, his lazy grin and countenance already beginning to grate on Phil's nerves.

Somehow, he'd never imagined the King of Thieves would be quite like this; mouthy and rude. Why he’d thought otherwise, he didn’t know.

"Watch your tongue, thief," Phil growled, unimpressed. "I know enough to know you're all alone out here. Locked up the rest of your friends, haven't I?" he taunted haughtily, that same smug grin from before pulling at the corners of his lips all over again. He just couldn't help it, he was so goddamn proud. Phil Lester, Head of the Royal Guard for less than a year, and he had the King of Thieves pressed up against a wall, dark hood of his trademark cloak long since blown back off the top of his head.

That face was a face that Phil would never forget; dark hair and even darker eyes, warm despite the horrible things Phil knew this thief to do.

"Hand over the Emerald and come quietly, and I might even find you a proper cell to lock you up in," Phil demanded.

Behind him, three of his strongest men sat fanned out around him, blocking off the dark alleyway they'd managed to corner the King of Thieves in, horses panting and snorting in agitation at standing still after such a long chase through the back streets of the dingiest part of the royal town. Phil could hear them clipping their horseshoes against the gravel below them, the sun burning down against the back of Phil's neck. His armor creaked as he pushed his sword that little bit tighter to the thief’s neck as he waited for a response

"I mean," Dan still spoke exaggeratedly slowly, giving himself time to assess the situation. "I could hand over the emerald, sure."

Carefully, Dan edged back a little against the wall, relieving some of the pressure from the blade pressed up against his neck. The silver glinted dully in the lamplights from the street, the night sky sitting heavy with cloud above them. Dan did his best not to swallow - the feeling of cold metal against the bare skin of his throat was far from pleasant.

Dan was not unused to such scenarios, though. He'd become well versed in escaping guards over his nineteen years of life - even if most of the guards he encountered had nothing close to the shining silver armour currently adorning Prince Philip's handsome body.

"Or," Dan continued, deciding to have a bit of fun. He'd spotted a possible escape route - the wall he was leaning against had a good foothold, and led up to the rooftop of one of the city's halls which Dan knew from experience he could scamper across to get back to his base. He just needed to keep Prince Philip talking until he was able to escape.

Phil narrowed his eyes at the thief’s words, waiting for the other shoe to drop, sword glistening dangerously to his own eyes. He lifted his chin, brow furrowed as he watched the thief's eyes dart about the small enclave they'd cornered him in. Phil's horse whinnied, and Phil pulled up on it's reins.

The horses were growing impatient.

"Or...?" Phil repeated, waiting. He didn't want or have time to play these stupid games, wasn't dumb enough to believe that the thief was doing anything other than attempting to stall, and yet he stood there vaguely intrigued, waiting to see what the famous King of Thieves would do.

"Or, I could just keep it." Dan slowly reached inside his cloak, withdrawing the emerald wrapped in dark cloth sitting temptingly in the palm of his hand. Its weight was comfortably heavy, a good strong presence, and Dan could feel his lust for treasure rearing inside his chest. This emerald would look so good next to his collection of precious stones. He could even use it as a paperweight for his more precious scrolls.

Yeah, there was no way in hell Dan was giving this emerald up.

Digging up his bravery, Dan looked up at Prince Philip, sat on his horse, and gave him a slow, arrogant smirk. "Unless you beg for it, of course. I kind of like my time outside your dungeons - you'd better make this good."

"As if we would let you keep the Emerald, Thief," Phil scoffed, rolling his eyes and pressing his sword ever closer to Dan. "And the last thing I plan to do is beg to you." Phli's voice had dropped an octave, dangerous as he bared his teeth at Dan. The emerald was right there, wrapped up in a pretty, dark cloth, and Phil knew, if he let him, Dan would have it stowed away again in seconds - or worse yet, find a way to get away. With the hand holding his horse's reins, Phil dropped them and reached out.

"Give it here," he demanded, and really, that was his first mistake.

Dan was moving the second the Prince dropped his horse's reins.

In an instant, he was no longer against the wall. Instead, he dropped, falling gracefully sideways to avoid the blade still at his neck, using the Prince's new found imbalance against him, because really, did this Prince think he could just let his horse sit there with no control and Dan wouldn’t use that to his advantage?

As Dan dropped into a practiced crouch, his eyes darted around the tiny corner he'd found himself in, and - yes, there - to his right, a tiny little ledge, barely visible, but just enough for his purposes. Dan scuttled towards it in his crouch, listening to the Prince's horse whicker as he moved. He was counting on the animal's desire to get out of this alley to aid him in his escape - after all, horses did not like being kept in cramped places, and especially not by riders who were stupid enough to drop their reins. As he’d predicted, the Captain’s horse shuffled back when Dan moved forward, clearly eager to be out of the alley. That eagerness gave Dan enough space to move, if not escape.

Phil really should have seen it coming. The minute the reins had left his hands, the King of Thieves was dropping into a crouch, causing Phil's horse to startle, whinnying and rearing back. Phil barely kept hold of her, gripping tight to her mane in fear of his safety and hers, the arm with the sword practiced enough in combat that Phil not only maintained his hold, but prevented himself from thrashing out and slashing anyone in arm’s length, including the great thief himself or Phil's horse.

"You're cornered, thief!" Phil crowed as he worked to get his startled and impatient mare under his control once more. She tossed her head, trying to loosen Phil's hold, but his legs gripped her tight around the sides, and though he could not find the reins once more to control her, he did yip at her, using his training to his best ability to calm her down. "Where are you meant to run? Whether you're under my sword or not, we'll not move to let you leave."

Phil kept his watchful eye on the thief as his horse bayed and tossed her head, swinging his sword around to once again point it at King of Thieves nose.

Carefully, Dan edged back towards the ledge, his eyes meeting the Prince's once again as he casually said, “Yes, well, it might look that way to you.” He couldn't yet completely relax - the Prince still had a sword, after all, and even without it being pressed to Dan's neck, he knew he wasn't in the clear just yet. He needed a couple more seconds - one more distraction, one more mistake by Prince Philip, and Dan would be up on the ledge and gone.

The other three Royal Guardsmen were still flanking the Prince, but the limited space in the alley rendered them almost entirely useless - unless Dan tried to run.

Luckily, he wasn't going to run.

At least, not that way.

First things first, though - he had to make sure to keep the Prince just angry enough to still make mistakes. So he looked the Prince directly in the eyes - he'd already seen Dan's face, there was no use hiding it now - and grinned.

Straight up grinned, like he was having the best time of his life, and not edging near a ledge, about to flee.

"So you see," Dan drawled, casually bouncing the emerald up-and-down in his hand, "I kind of don't really want to give this back yet. Got some redecorating to do at home, you know? It'll look perfect near my magnolias."

The thief smiled at Phil, their eyes meeting directly for the first time, brown to blue, and Phil found himself very nearly winded and very much confused.

There was so much in those deep, dark eyes, so much that he couldn’t understand, and it was shocking, to be pinned so effectively underneath them.

Phil watched as the stolen emerald was tossed up and down, and then, he lunged, snarling as the King of Thieves dared to snark and tease him, his smirk damn near unbearable.

That was Phil's second mistake.

In moments, his mare was whinnying loudly and rearing onto her back legs, sending Phil flying from her back as she took off at a stern run out of the alley, taking Phil’s three guards and their horses with her as well. The sound of their baying echoed through the alley long after they’d gone, all while Phil groaned as he hit the ground.

The fall was enough to wind him for a moment, though his armor took most of the blow from his hard landing on the dark cobblestones below. Lucky as he was, Phil managed to keep his head from striking the ground, suddenly feeling rather ridiculous he hadn’t worn his helmet for the chase that day.

It took all of a few seconds for Phil to push himself into a sitting position, but when he did, he found himself left watching as the King of Thieves expertly scaled the wall in front of him and hauled himself up onto the nearby roof, not looking to have any trouble at all.

Dan was up the wall in seconds, the emerald stashed away inside his cloak once again. He could feel the ragged material billowing out behind him as he scaled the wall with practiced movements, the ground dropping further and further away behind him. He could hear horse's hooves thundering away and couldn't help but grin - his plan had worked perfectly. The Royal Guard was gone. For a second there, with the Prince's blade at his nose, Dan had felt a moment of doubt.

He’d made it, though. As he always did.

When he reached the top of the wall, Dan pulled himself easily up onto the nearest rooftop - which he thought may have been the city library, though he wasn't sure as his sense of direction had been a bit turned around when he was being chased across the city. Either way, he should be able to find his way back towards his base safely enough from these rooftops.

Dan sat back on his heels, carefully reaching into his cloak to check on the emerald. It was heavy in his grip, warmed by his flesh and racing heartbeat - these sorts of chases always got him going.

He slowly rose to his feet, doing his usual check of his surroundings, and it was only then that he noticed the Prince still in the alley below him - horseless and completely backup-less, probably for the first time in his entire royal life.

Gritting his teeth, Phil pushed himself to his feet, not bothering to look behind him; he knew his men were gone, carried away by their runaway horses.

Leaning over, eyes never once leaving the proud thief above him, Phil picked up his sword.

He wasn't at all surprised when the King of Thieves turned up on the rooftop, cloak billowing out behind him once more, and found Phil standing below him.

For a moment, a brief expression of surprise flashed over his features, and then a smirk spread across his lips, an expression that made Phil's fingers clench hard around his sword handle. He could feel himself aching to follow after the proud man flaunting himself above Phil if for no other reason than wounded pride, but he did no such thing, instead choosing to glare up at the thief he’d been chasing for months now.

Dan blinked. He'd expected the Prince to run, but no - his horse must have thrown him, or he'd jumped off in some misguided attempt to capture Dan himself. Either way, Dan was slightly impressed - it took guts to stay alone in a dark alley in this area of the city. Now, the Prince was standing there glaring up at him, and he cut quite a figure - burly in his shining armour, his sword still in his palm, and those eyes - the depths of those blue eyes, so pure and certain. He looked like a knight straight out of one of the history books Dan loved.

Dan was pleased. The Prince was still down there, and Dan was safe up here - he could afford to play some more.

"What was that about me being cornered?" he teased lightly. Just because he could, Dan adopted a dramatic stance atop the roof, his cloak billowing out behind him, the emerald still visible in his grip.

"From where I'm standing, Prince Philip, I think you may need to reassess your situation. I highly doubt you can stop me from all the way down there." Dan allowed himself another lazy smirk. "I'm rather enjoying the view, actually."

"I found you once, King of Thieves, I'll find you again," Phil gritted out, watching as the thief posed above him, flaunting the way his hips jutted out smartly, the way his cloak billowed about him proudly. There was no man like the King of Thieves, and Phil would not soon forget his face, his demeanor, anything about him really.

Those eyes would haunt his dreams.

There was a rugged handsomeness about him as well that kept Phil's attention, but he would shove those thoughts aside for now, use them to his advantage when he needed them, and try, try not to let his anger and pride get the better of him next time.

But that was easier said than done, and as the King of Thieves taunted Phil once more, he dropped his sword, quickly flinging away the armor on his body. It would only weigh him down more.

"Don't be so sure of yourself. You think I got to be Head of the Royal Guard without proving myself? Why don't you keep standing there and see what happens?" Phil growled, throwing away his chest plate last of all and marching towards the very part of the wall the King of Thieves had used to scale up to the rooftop he stood upon now.

Phil's chest was heaving, and he knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't seem to help himself with this man, this man who had proven a formidable foe that Phil vowed to himself to one day take down.

Dan's brows shot up when the Prince began removing his armour right in front of him. The man had to be insane, right? He had to know that Dan had scaled a near-impossible wall, the handholds barely visible. Dan had no trouble, but that was because he'd been making such escapes since his very earliest childhood. What hope did a prissy palace Prince have?

Not that Dan was complaining about the view, mind. He couldn't help the way his eyes trailed down Prince Philip's chest as he removed the last of his armour. There were muscles rippling under there - Dan wondered if his strength came anywhere close to Dan's own.

His brows rose even higher when the Prince approached the wall. This guy had to be kidding, surely? He must know that Dan wasn't exactly unarmed (the three daggers concealed about his person were old friends), and yet he was climbing up towards Dan without any protection other than his own strength.

This man had guts. Dan was having to do a very quick character reassessment of everything he knew about Prince Philip.

"I mean, I'm sure you Royal Guardsmen have trained very hard," Dan replied slowly, deliberately making his tone as patronising as he could, "But are you sure you want to risk this, Prince? You're coming up to my world now."

Phil was trembling with anger now, teeth gritted and muscles bunched, tensed as he tried to hold himself back. Was this thief still taunting him? Did he still have the gall to tease Prince Philip Lester, the man who'd just stripped away his armor, thrown his sword to the floor, and was threatening to scale a wall to reach him?

Some part of Phil, the deep, intelligent part of Phil, knew that this man, this King of Thieves, was being patronizing on purpose, trying to rile Phil up, trying to bring Phil down to his level, and yet, that didn't stop him, didn't slow down his anger in the least. In fact, it only fueled it until Phil was letting out a low growl of frustration and throwing himself at the wall, one foot catching hold of a small ledge that Phil was convinced Dan had found to haul himself up in the first place.

Phil hadn't been lying, and Dan could tease and mess with Phil all he wanted; the Royal Guard were trained, and trained hard. Phil knew how to scale a goddamned wall.

Dan knew he should probably run, but - and he hated to admit this - he was fascinated. Fascinated by this Prince's gall, his determination. He had to watch how this played out.

"I admit, your determination to catch me is impressive," Dan continued smoothly as he slid the emerald back inside his cloak. It was lined with pockets that were never empty, always filled with stolen coins and other precious jewels. "I'm actually quite flattered. Are you lavishing your attention upon me, Prince? Should I be blushing like a pretty maiden?"

Dan stood on the balls of his feet, tracking the Prince's every movement. Carefully, he reached down into his left boot and slid out his little dagger, the blade wickedly sharp. Should the Prince actually manage to get up the wall, he wouldn't find Dan unarmed.

"Perhaps you should be, thief. I'm certain this is the most attention you've had in years. When was the last time you laid in bed with a women?" Phil gritted out, his hands and feet finding hand holds and ledges aplenty nearly on instinct as he scaled the wall, unable to watch the thief above him as he went, but certain he wouldn't move. The drive and anger in Phil kept him going until he reached the top, and then he was scrambling, reaching into his belt to pull free a very small, very fine dagger he'd had since he was a boy.

It took one quick bound to land Phil on the roof with Dan, and he moved instinctively away from the edge, driving Dan backwards as quickly as he could.

Phil didn't want either of them to die, tonight.

Dan should probably stop being surprised by Prince Philip right about now, but really, the last thing he'd expected was for the Prince to scale the wall almost as easily as Dan had. A tiny flicker of doubt crossed Dan's mind - this was the second time he'd underestimated the Prince, and a third time could see him killed. Or at the very least, captured. The Prince was too fair a man to kill him without good reason.

Thankfully, Dan had no such qualms.

He dropped back into his crouch when the Prince's head appeared over the wall, the dagger feeling natural in his hand, but then the Prince was up and moving towards him, forcing Dan backwards.

Dan was light on his feet, his movements sinuous as he allowed the Prince to move them away from the edge of the roof. This could work to his advantage - Dan had the whole network of connected rooftops at his back. If he really needed to, he could flee. He knew this place like the back of his hand, whereas he doubted whether the Prince had ever been up here before. Dan had the advantage in this world.

"I'm afraid women don't really do it for me," Dan answered the Prince's baited question easily enough with another slow smirk. "Now, handsome princes, on the other hand..." Dan slid easily to the left, circling Phil slowly, like a wildcat stalking its prey. "That's a whole other matter. I could destroy you, Prince Philip. What do you say? Willing to risk chasing the King of Thieves himself?"

The King of Thieves was quick and light on his feet, crouching low and bounding backwards almost faster than Phil could keep up. Phil had always been heavy on his feet, kind of bumbling even now despite his training, and so he was forced to hang back, watch his feet, focus on not falling off the roof while the thief did not face those challenges.

It hardly mattered, though. Phil had proved his point: that he could match the King of Thieves, and that he would never give up.

His eyes went wide the second that the thief started teasing him, and he blanched, taken by surprise as the King of Thieves came onto him in the most balant, unexpected way. Phil faltered, turning and trying his best to keep Dan in his line of sight, following him and matching his movements as carefully as he was able. Still, he knew the thief was unmatched here; Phil had been stupid to try and follow him into his own world.

It wasn't helping that Phil's head was still kind of spinning from the flirting, either.

"I can't tell whether you're coming onto me, or threatening to kill me, but it seems almost unfair that I'd fall to a man whose name I don't even know," Phil quipped back, trying not to let his shock show. He knew the King of Thieves was only trying to catch Phil off guard, but still. Flirting was something he was accustomed to, sure, but he’d never liked it, always far too aware of its falsehood. So Phil reeled around to distract them both, and stalked towards the thief, watching him jump back and grinning at his almost shocked expression from Phil's calculated but surprising movement.

Oh, this Prince was just precious. Dan was completely taken with his bumbling movements, with the shocked way those blue eyes widened when he realised what Dan was suggesting. Prince Philip was clearly out of his comfort zone here, and Dan used that to his advantage, stalking him with fast, easy movements.

Until the Prince suddenly strode towards him unexpectedly.

Dan scurried back, unbalanced for half-a-second before he regained his control. Momentary surprise could be deadly in this kind of situation, but Dan was too well practised to be afraid. He was toying with the Prince more than anything, knowing he could flee any time he needed to.

And oh, was this Prince fun to play with.

The thief was quick to recover, fumbling for less than a second before his nimble feet righted him once more, but Phil hardly cared, still glowing with pride a little to know that he'd done that. He'd pushed the King of Thieves, nearly thrown him off his feet. Phil had learned how to combat nimble fighters with his own weight and strength, but it was difficult on a rooftop that Phil didn't know the way the thief did.

"Are you asking for my name, Prince?" Dan looked at him from under his lashes, smirking. The Prince was slightly shorter than him, but much burlier, thickset as opposed to Dan's more wily, catlike form. Dan was still taller, though, and he reckoned he could take this Prince if it came to it.

"Unluckily for you, I refuse to give out private information until I've been wined and dined a bit." With that, Dan was moving again, too fast to track, until he was suddenly at Phil's other side and breathing directly into his ear. "Maybe someday, if you're lucky."

And then Dan was backing away again, retreating to the far edge of the rooftop. When the time came, he could jump across to the next building and be on his way - he doubted whether the Prince was agile enough to follow him, but well, he'd underestimated him before. He could be wrong again.

The chase came to a head, then, with the thief poised and ready to bounce away while Phil stood across from him, eyes narrowed and feet flat to the ground, solidly keeping him in place. The thief, however, wasn't acting as if his life was on the line here, not the way Phil had expected, and he was thrown completely out of his comfort zone by the thief lowering his gaze to stare up at Phil from under dark lashes.

Who blessed that man with long lashes? His eyes were heated, a molten brown that seared through Phil. His heart thumped hard in his chest, surprised and caught off guard.

He hardly had a chance to blink, and then, quite suddenly and frighteningly, the thief was behind Phil, his mouth and breath hot against the shell of Phil's ear.

Resolutely ignoring the sudden rough beat of his heart, Phil took a wild swing behind him, but Dan was gone, and before Phil knew it, he was stumbling backwards, having to catch himself on roof tiles as his childhood dagger skid down and clattered to the dark cobblestones below. Phil's body remained crouched low while the King of Thieves bounced about on the balls of his feet across the way from Phil.

The escape route for him was clear, the fight over and dealt with, and Phil knew he was at a loss.

Dan watched with bright eyes as the Prince swung for him helplessly, only serving to let his dagger fall down onto the cobbles below. Dan tutted slightly. "See, mistakes like that will only get you killed. Or lose your best weapons. I bet I could teach you so much more than your precious Royal Guard."

Phil's gaze never once wavered from the thief's, especially now that his final weapon was gone. Largely defenseless and with nothing left to fight with but his fists, Phil could only watch as his foe taunted him from far away, eyes narrowed darkly.

Phil grit his teeth at him, launching upwards so he was on his feet, but the thief didn't flinch again the way Phil wanted him to, and he was willing to bet it was because the King of Thieves had an escape route in mind. He always had an escape route in mind, and there was no doubt in Phil's mind that the thief would be able to move far faster than Phil ever could across these rooftops. It had been hard enough to catch up to him on his horse.

"I would never join you," Phil scoffed, tossing his head at the very idea of a thief teaching Phil anything. Still, the anger boiled hot inside of Phil's chest as he watched this thief, this petty criminal, this outlaw, taunt him and mock him, stance proud. “But I’ll always be willing to chase the “great” King of Thieves," Phil mocked, ignoring Dan's flirting and teasing altogether to answer a question he'd posed earlier. "Remember, I found you once, thief. I'll find you again."

Dan could tell the fight was over. The Prince wasn't going to chase him - not across the rooftops without his sword or his dagger, armourless and defenceless. Dan allowed himself a glimmer of pride, though he didn't let his guard down. After all, the Prince had made him stumble before.

"You're welcome to keep trying, Prince." Dan crossed his arms, cloak billowing behind him, the dagger still in his grip glinting dangerously. "If you dare. Maybe I'll even set up a little trail for you. Make no mistake, though - my comrades you've already caught were small fry. I am the true King around here."

The arrogance in Dan's tone was almost unbearable even to himself, but he wanted to challenge this Prince. He wanted him to keep chasing him. He wanted to see those deep blue eyes studying him again, trying to hold him in place.

Dan wasn't held very easily, though.

"Until next time." And then, just because he could, Dan gave a florid bow - a mockery of the action usually given to one of the Prince's station. The glint of the emerald was just visible inside his cloak, teasingly close but still out of reach.

"Mark my words, thief, I dare you to leave me a trail! I won't rest until I've got you behind bars!" Phil growled, lurching forward again as the thief bowed mockingly, revealing his recently acquired emerald to Phil once more, and then he was gone, leaping across the way to the next rooftop and bounding agilely across until he disappeared into the quickly setting sun.

With a loud, frustrated sigh, Phil turned his gaze up to the sky and cursed himself for letting the King of Thieves escape from his grasp.

He'd come so close. The man wouldn't get away from Phil again.

It took a good few minutes for Phil to get back down from the wall he'd scaled and collect his armor and sword, thankfully unbothered by the citizens of the city. Finding his prized dagger took quite a bit longer, as Phil was weighed down and too bulked up by his armor to move about the floor easily. Once that was done however, and all of Phil's belongings were tucked back upon him once more, he finally set off to get back home.

There was no point in looking for his men or their horses. They wouldn't have been dumb enough to go anywhere but back to the castle, probably having assumed the King of Thieves was long gone and Phil on his way back himself.

They weren't technically wrong. Phil had known before he'd scaled that wall that he had no chance of catching the thief on his own; at least not on the rooftops of the city he knew so well. Phil's thief - and the fact that Phil was beginning to think of the King of Thieves as his at all was not something he was going to dwell on for long, because obviously it was just because capturing the man had become something of a matter of pride for Phil and nothing more - knew the rooftops, small crawl spaces, and the underground of this city far better than Phil himself did.

But not for long.

Phil planned to learn. Phil planned to find any and every excuse possible to become just as good, better even, than the petty criminals his Guard faced, but more than that, Phil wanted to be better than his thief.

The King of Thieves. Well, they'd see just how long he remained the King at all around here.

Dan bounded away across the rooftops with a cackle that he was sure would float back to the Prince. All in all, Dan thought he'd come out pretty well from their first exchange. His dagger was still in his hand, the emerald tucked away inside his cloak, and he hadn't even needed to resort to one of his backup weapons. Meanwhile, the Prince had lost his horse, his sword, his armour, and his dagger, and still had to let Dan get away.

Needless to say, Dan was feeling pretty proud.

He scampered across the rooftops as naturally as anything, spending more time up here than he should probably admit to. Seeing the city from above was always something special, and Dan liked to sit at the edge of the rooftops with his feet hanging over the gutters, watching the people below him go about their daily lives.

Dan’s home was up on the rooftops, too, at least when he was staying in the capital.

He trotted across the giant roof of the library, his footsteps silent, his cloak a shadow flaring behind him, and leaped neatly across to the next building: the Royal Guardhouse.

The same Royal Guardhouse where Prince Philip had an office.

Dan bit back a little laugh as he swung himself under the chimney to the little nook he’d made for himself, proud that he’d never once been caught by said man here, just over his head. Inside were a couple of blankets and various stolen trinkets from his time in the city - it had been a couple of days since he’d returned to his desert cavern. As such, gold glinted from hidden corners as he settled himself in for the night.

The emerald Dan placed carefully beside his pillow, watching it with a thoughtful smile. Getting it had been more difficult than it should have been, but it also led to him actually speaking to Prince Philip for the first time. The Captain of the Royal Guard certainly lived up to his name, but Dan had still beaten him. He’d be gloating over that for a while.

He hummed happily to himself as he cooked up some broth over a small fire, finally safely back in his base for the night. In the morning, he'd get back to his cave with the emerald, and then set about making a trail for the Prince. Because Dan had plans for that Prince. No one challenged Dan and got away with it.

The fact still remained that the Prince had made him stumble. Plus, he'd chased Dan halfway across the city and all the way up onto a rooftop, which showed guts that Dan kind of admired. Dan was itching to see what the Prince could do on safe ground in his comfort zone - just how much of a challenge would fighting him be? Would he prove a match for Dan?

Not that Dan was afraid of losing. He just wanted a challenge, and Prince Philip was the first interesting opponent Dan had met in years. Or possibly ever, if things carried on the way they'd started.

Of course, Dan was only interested in the Prince because of his skill at capturing criminals. It would be interesting to have a challenge for once. That was all. It had nothing to do with the way Prince Philip’s eyes had shone a pretty, stormy blue in the moonlight, or the way he looked like a knight out of a history book in his armour and great broadsword.

No. Dan was just interested in having a challenge.

So Dan set about making a trail for the Prince. He stepped up his thieving activities over the next several weeks, suddenly stealing more frequently and brazenly, targeting some of the richest families in Morellia. The capital city was wracked with fear of this King of Thieves who would show up anywhere at any time, rob the good citizens of their prized possessions, and then disappear into the night again with his black cloak flaring. Dan was loving every minute of it.

Even if he did get cocky. He needed to grab Prince Philip's attention, after all.

#iwritephanthings #phan rp #phanfic #phanfiction #snowbunnylester

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loztezas-little-world · 5 years

Text

Memories of Hope

This is a little short story I wrote for Christmas. It’s a little long, but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy.

......

When I awoke – for, I suppose that is the most accurate description – I was looking at the evening sky. Clouds passed slowly across my vision, gold outlining their ethereal forms in the fading sunlight. I stared for a time, for how long I’m not sure. I just sat there, gazing. It began getting darker, the light falling away. I rose above the clouds, pushing through the wet cotton until I saw nothing but a sheet of lavender. I turned west and beheld the sight.

Its power washed over me, stretching from endless sky to endless sky. The sun. It was an eternity away, yet its authority was known and feared in every corner of the world. How long has it been since I looked at it so plainly? Since I gazed at its majesty? It seemed so long since then...

Time. Yes. How long was I asleep? How much has changed? I looked down, and wished to see the ground.

And so, I did.

I burst through the clouds and the ground spread out beneath me, just as expansive as the sky. It was a city filled to the brim with concrete boxes, with massive towers of glass and steel reaching for the clouds, and roads of asphalt crisscrossing throughout them all, keeping them in nice, straight lines. It was beautiful. It could not compare to nature’s own work, descending as it was on the horizon, but it told of man’s ingenuity. Their power to create.

After a few moments of staring at the city in the fading light, I noticed it was snowing. White covered most of city, and chilly breezes blew, though I did not shiver. It was wintertime. As I drew near the ground, I saw more signs. Stark trees, foggy windows, and people walking around wrapped in heavy clothes. They were moving briskly, eager to escape the cold. A memory scratched at the back of my mind. This time of year was special. Significant, somehow. I hovered lower, now level with the people walking past. They couldn’t see or hear me, for I was apart from them. Not some higher being or made of greater substance, just… apart. I watched the people as they walked past, oblivious to me. Most of them held bags or boxes in their arms, entering and exiting vehicles and buildings. As I passed each person, I could feel a warmth from within them, a sort of collective radiance. The kind of warmth that goes beyond physical feeling. The kind that comes from a soft smile, a loving embrace, a genuine laugh. I could feel it wafting around in the air, an intangible thing to be felt, not seen. Its presence had something to do with the time. I must remember what it was. I had floated down a ways off from the heart of the city. I looked to the grey towers in the distance. I would find my answers beneath them.

In a moment I was there, minuscule underneath the giants. To think, humans could build such massive structures and actually make use of them. These times must be truly special indeed. I looked around, taking in the sights and sounds of a busy city. Vehicles filled the roads, businesses lined the streets, people walked every which way in a continuous stream. I stopped by a small shop and looked at the goods it had on display.

There were various different things on the table behind the glass. Miniature lighthouses and domes made of ice, tiny snowmen and children wrapped in coats, wooden nutcrackers and polar bears. There were quite a few that depicted a large man dressed in red and white with a long, white beard and a red hat. I believe I have seen him somewhere before. Perhaps around the city. But, what caught my attention was in the very center of the table. It was a ceramic scene of the inside of a barn. There was a man and a woman bending over a child in a wooden feeding trough filled with hay. Three old men in expensive clothes stood off to one side, and a boy with a small drum on the other side. An angel hovered over the whole scene. In front of the group, there were words engraved into the floor of the barn. It was a phrase that I had seen a couple of times in the city, but I could not fully recall the language. After a few moments it came to me. It read, “Merry Christmas”.

I finally remembered. The holiday most associated with the winter season. Christmas. I never really cared much about it. It just wasn’t extremely important in the past, and the people had more pressing things to worry about. At least, I think they did. However, it seems to have become quite popular in these times. I looked around the city once more, noticing again all the Christmas-related decorations hanging about. As I moved to a busier part of the city, I came upon a large square locked in by buildings. I was surrounded on all sides by red, green, and white, and the word “Christmas” appearing in every possible form. There was a choir of about 30 people standing on a raised stage, singing beautiful songs I didn’t recognize. They were near the middle of the square, in front of a great, decorated tree. After a few moments of standing with the audience, it was apparent that all the songs were Christmas-themed. However, the people loved hearing them. Smiles were on every face and a wave of general contentment was washing over them, emanating from the choir. I moved past them and looked at the massive tree. It was about thirty feet tall, adorned with various balls and bells and statuettes, with sparkling ropes and glistening cords wrapped around its entirety. All manner of color and light covered its surface and shined from within, contrasting with the evening, giving it an otherworldly glow. It was quite the spectacle, and dozens of people came to marvel at it, to point and look and smile. It was a happy sight and I was happy to see it.

And yet, something bothered me.

It sat in the back of my mind; a minute, yet definitive, sense of uneasiness. I had felt it when I passed the people on the street, when I looked at the toy shop, and when I listened to the choir. And now, as I stood beneath this massive, beautiful tree surrounded by smiling people, I felt it again.

It frustrated me. I looked around, searching for its source. It was an irritating thing, like an itch you couldn’t scratch, or a pebble you couldn’t get out of your shoe. I couldn’t really ignore it, but I also couldn’t get it to go away. I moved away from the tree towards another part of the square, where there was a man dressed in red and white sitting in an ornate chair. He was surrounded by gift boxes of various sizes, from about a six inches tall to five feet. Life-sized reindeer decorations were attached in two columns to an empty large sleigh on one side and modestly sized tree towered behind the chair. It was a very pretty scene, if not a bit too flashy. However, I could instantly tell that the only truly real thing in the entire exhibit was the man in the chair, or rather the man hidden under the fake beard and costume.

I stood by and watched – a little more than concerned – as a line of children took turns climbing into the man’s lap to answer his questions. He would ask them, in a comically overdone voice, what they wanted for Christmas and the children would excitedly begin to list the names of what I assumed were toys and games. Then the costumed man would give a vague answer and a smile and a wink and the children would jump off to run to their waiting parents so that the next child to take a turn.

In all honesty, I’m not exactly sure how to feel about the whole charade.

However, the children all left smiling and the parents left satisfied, so all is well I suppose.

Despite the show of overt childhood innocence, the same uneasiness was in the back of my mind. I couldn’t understand it. I could feel the joy from the children, the sense of endearment from the parents, the satisfaction from the false Santa. And, still, it all seemed so off.

I was preparing to leave the square in hopes of escaping the obnoxious feeling, but a certain child’s voice caught my ear. It was different from those that came before it. It lacked the bubbling excitement of a child pleading for gifts. It was quieter, humbler. I moved a little closer to hear the child’s words.

The child, instead of yelling out her wishes like the rest of them, cupped her hands and whispered her request into Santa’s ear. I heard her soft voice easily. It said, “I want Dad to come home for Christmas, and I don’t ever want him to leave again.”

I couldn’t help but smile. That single wish outshone every other thing I saw before it. I could feel her words pass like a warm breeze. The uneasiness left me for a few moments in the light of the child’s selflessness. However, not long after she hopped off and ran to her mother, the uneasiness returned, disturbing the peace I was enjoying. I sighed as I moved away from the square, above the snow-laden streets. I don’t remember feeling this particular uneasiness before. But, then again, I don’t really remember much from that time. Whichever time that was.

As I surveyed the city, the feeling persisted. I watched the vehicles move about filled with presents. People in their homes setting up decorations and preparing dinner with family members. Couples strolling about, cuddling close for warmth.

Smiles on all of them. All of them thinking of others and spreading happiness. It all seemed right to me, so what was wrong? What was so special about that girl? Her selflessness? Her innocence? Her love?

Those answers didn’t seem right. It was something else. Something subtler, I suppose.

While musing to myself, passing through the air above the city, I was suddenly struck by a wave of something that made me shiver, but not from the cold. I looked down into a dark alleyway. It had no light and no one had come to clear the way, so snow was beginning to pile on the sides. However, that wasn’t what caught my attention. What did was the cut cardboard box leaning against the side of the wall, and the crumpled form that lay beneath it. It was the source of the sudden feeling that came over me, but not the same as the one prodding the back of my mind. This was a different kind. Sharper. Fouler.

Despairing.

I lighted down in front of the makeshift shack, snow piled on its roof, weighing it down. The man laying beneath was crumpled in a ball, only the slight rise and fall of his form told me he was still alive. The jumbled mass of blankets and clothing made it impossible to determine where the man’s head was, but that didn’t matter right now.

What I felt from this man was terrible. It was the antithesis of the warmth I felt before. It was cold and consuming, but not sinister. It made me feel the cold that I had been able to ignore. I now noticed just how icy the gusts that blew through the city were and how cold the snow was beneath my feet. It pierced through to my very soul, and I shuddered from within. I looked down at the man at my feet, wondering what kind of life could’ve led to this. The feeling continued to grate at my skin as I knelt closer, not sure what I hoped to accomplish. I reached out and touched the top of the blankets. It was so cold it burned, but I stayed my hand. I felt responsible, strangely.

“I’m sorry,” I said, confusing even myself.

Suddenly, the blankets stirred. They unfurled to reveal an unkempt, dirty face looking at nothing. I watched in surprise at the coincidence, for I have no bearing in this world. He shouldn’t have felt me.

The man’s eyes searched around lazily for a while, looking for what I wasn’t sure. I removed my hand and his eyes focused on mine. I held his gaze. In that moment, I saw.

His eyes were blackened iron.

They used to be honey.

They used to be filled with light and warmth and joy. But, it was distant, now. So very distant. Between that time and now was shadow and loss and silence. They grew with time until they overwhelmed him. They had taken everything, yet stolen nothing. All that was left were those eyes. Nothing else.

And, just like that, the moment passed. The man’s gaze shifted away, looking for nothing again.

I stood. There was nothing for me here. No light. No warmth. No hope. I was not welcome.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. I turned to go, wanting to feel the warmth of Christmas again. Wanting to leave this alley of shattered dreams. But, a voice stopped me. The man’s voice, hoarse and grating. To normal ears, it would’ve sounded like an incoherent groan. Not to me. I heard it clear.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

I turned back to look. The man had retreated back to his first position, disappearing under the blankets and clothes.

I stood for moment, staring at him.

Then I left.

As I moved away from the alleyway, my attention wandered. I couldn’t remember a time I felt such potent despair, such a disregard for life. I sickened me, and even though the alley was now very far from me, I could still feel the cold on my skin.

To think, something like that could exist on a day like this. The square filled with light and happiness was not even three blocks away, its warmth noticeable even from a distance, yet that one poor soul smothered it all. Now moving over the city, I noticed more of the same in other parts, even parts I had passed before. How had I not noticed it? They were subversive, hidden away in buildings and coiled around people, reigned in as if in an attempt not to disturb the joy of the day for others. But, now that I had felt it, it was impossible not to notice. Was this the source of the uneasiness I felt? This covert despair hiding within the hearts of men and holed up in places where they couldn’t be seen? I wasn’t sure. It made sense, at least.

I shook myself. There was little to be gained from pondering on things beyond my control. I could only hope that things will turn for the better and leave it at that. It is Christmas, after all.

On that note, I decided to delve a bit more into this Christmas business. I left the city behind, flying quickly westward. Evening turned into night as I moved away from the sun. I kept going until I found another large city. I stopped and gazed at the sight.

Thousands upon thousands of lights outlined the buildings and the streets. The lights rose up in the center, scattered on the silhouettes of dark towers, and cascaded down as the buildings became shorter and shorter. I looked up at the clear sky. It seems the people have learned how to steal the stars from the sky itself, and place them wherever they pleased. Even so, it was beautiful. I aimed for the heart of the city, towards the bottoms of the tallest buildings.

Immediately, I was bombarded with light. Now that night had come in earnest, the lights of the city seemed to burn brighter. Instead of the colors of Christmas in decorations around me, I was surrounded by lights of all kinds. The sides of buildings flashing with red, white and green; great flat surfaces featuring Christmas-themed moving pictures; hoards of people moving around with individual lights in their hands and on their heads, laughing and yelling to each other. All the people were smiling and there were groups singing and dancing. There were many stalls lining the streets, selling food and trinkets to those that passed by. It was as if this entire part of the city was caught up in some Christmas festival. To most, it would’ve been a lovely scene. Not to me.

I was cold.

The uneasiness had grown in discomfort, demanding my attention. This festival, as joyous as it was, had a problem. I looked around at the overwhelming sights and sounds and people. It all seemed out of place, incorrect for some reason. The light and warmth I felt here was different from the last city. It was emptier. It was there just to be there. A thing meant to draw the eyes, not the heart.

Of course, the people didn’t notice. They were too focused on other things. Too distracted.

I left the festival, feeling disheartened. Was I any closer to finding my answer? Would I ever be?

I floated through the city taking in the sights. Christmas was everywhere. In every light, in every window, in every eye. All reflecting that red, green, and white. All so empty.

I entered a brightly lit, wide, warehouse-like building with two floors. It had smaller sections inside branching off on both floors, all filled with different things. In the middle of the building was a great, decorated tree, not much unlike the one I saw before. And in front of the tree was another Fake Santa set up almost exactly like the one I saw before, presents, reindeer and all. However, instead of children lining up to sit on Santa’s lap, they were all sitting down in a semi-circle as Santa spoke to them. They were all listening very intently, bent forward in attention, their eyes wide with interest. I decided to listen in.

It wasn’t all the interesting. The Fake Santa was telling a story about a reindeer who became famous after a life of being shunned because the cause of his ostracism suddenly became useful. I decided to listen a bit more. It’s not like I had anywhere else to be.

Then the Fake Santa asked the children “What is the meaning of Christmas?” Several hands shot up. The children gave answers like “Giving gifts!” or “Being with family!” or “Making dinner!”. I smiled at their simplistic innocence, but I was curious to know Santa’s answer. After a while, he quieted them all down and spoke.

“Those are all great answers,” he began, “and all very true. But, Christmas is about more than all that. It is about the connections you make with people and remembering to treat each other with love. A time where all different types of people can come together and enjoy life as one. Christmas has stopped wars, you know! I’m telling the truth!” Then he proceeded to tell how Christmas caused a truce during World War I, if only for a day.

I turned away from the False Santa. His answer disappointed me. It’s not that it was bad, because it wasn’t. There was lots of truth in it, and it was a good thing to tell children. But, something about it bothered me.

I was beginning to think I would never truly understand this holiday. My mind drifted back to the girl whispering in Santa’s ear. When she spoke, the uneasiness left. Her warmth and light was the purest I had felt all day. I had to find her again. She held my answer.

I left the wide building, shooting up into the night sky. I looked eastward and searched for the girl. I took my memory of her and whispered it to the wind, pointing it eastward. It carried as swift as the gusts themselves, searching for its source. It only took a moment to find her, and another to arrive where she was.

I appeared in the living room of a small house. There was a single couch against the wall and a television sitting across from it, a rug in between them. The lights were off, save for the decorated tree in the corner of the room, spinning slowly. Compared to the other trees I had seen, this one was laughable in comparison. However, there was more to this tree that what you could see. To me, it shone brighter than all three of those trees combined, because it was decorated with something that no one other than myself could see. It made me smile.

The girl I had searched for was sleeping on the couch beside her mother, both cuddled underneath a heavy blanket. I could tell they were the only ones in the entire house, but it was filled in a different way. I crossed over to them, feeling their very souls. Memories danced before my eyes. A mother and a daughter, hand in hand, running and jumping through an empty house. Hanging up pictures, playing games, crying to movies, doing each other’s hair. I couldn’t help but smile.

Another memory popped up. The mother and daughter, sitting on the same couch they were sleeping on, staring at man in a picture. He was in a military uniform, smiling with the mother and daughter.

There was movement outside the house. A car had stopped in front of the house. A door opened and closed. Heavy footfalls crunching in the snow. I knew before he even opened the door.

The man from the picture, uniform and all, was now standing in front of the open door, watching the sleeping mother and child. He gently closed the door not wanting to wake them up. He slowly crossed into the living room, taking careful steps. I almost laughed at the sight. A giant of a man, crouching almost comically, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I decided to speed things up. I came here for a reason, after all.

I brush against the sleeping child’s soul a little, rousing her.

I could say that her screams were unnecessarily loud.

I could say the man’s tears embarrassed him.

I could say the mother scolded her child for jumping on her father like she did.

I could say that I wasn’t satisfied with what I found in that small, dark house.

But, I’d be lying.

#writing #fiction #original #one shot #christmas #short story

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