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boltupbitches · 5 months

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One Kiss - Nick Bosa Part 5

Natalie rubbed her hands nervously down the front of her skirt, adjusting her top again and checking her hair in the mirror. She wasn’t certain why her fixation with her reflection had her holed up in the bathroom of her lawyer’s office, but here she was.

She had been ill the past two days, nauseous and weak. She chalked it up as nerves since today would be the day she would officially begin her divorce proceedings. It was nerve-wracking. She had a face full of makeup to cover up the dark eyes, but she knew the puffiness of her face was still there, no matter the cold compresses she applied to her face. ‘Probably my cholesterol or blood pressure from stress eating.’ She thought as she gently prodded her right cheek, watching the fullness of her cheek bounce back immediately.

Nick had been on edge as well. He couldn’t take off from practice in the middle of the season and instead settled with checking in on Natalie while at the facility.

She knew he was worried about her, but she was starting to worry that her baggage was impacting his game.

—------

Nick had come home yesterday evening in a bad mood. He didn’t call like he typically did when getting out of practice and instead came right home, breezing past Natalie to the bathroom and shutting the door loudly behind him.

She wasn’t sure what was up with him but decided that working outside on the patio was the best bet until he cooled off.

About an hour later he made his way outside and squeezed onto the outdoor sofa, pulling her into him and breathing deeply.

After a while, he spilled about how he had gotten into a disagreement with a teammate who was making remarks about him being too distracted for their upcoming game in a few days. It turned into an exchange of words and both men ended up getting sat down in their head coach's office where they were thoroughly chewed out for their conduct.

Natalie remained quiet throughout his tale, not interrupting him and waiting when he paused for him to continue. After he finished, she gently pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and said, “I’m worried about you, Nick.”

He lifted his head off her shoulder lazily and stared at her with confusion, “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“Well,” She started to say, biting her lip and thinking for a moment how to word it. “I just worry that all of my stuff is going to hurt you and your job. You have a contract extension coming up next season. I don’t want to contribute to your distractions.”

Nick sighed and sat up, rubbing his hands over his face and staring blankly ahead at the setting sun in the distance.

Natalie quietly packed away her laptop and folder, promising herself she’d finish up her work tomorrow. She was still bundled in her sweatshirt as she shivered at the cold sensation from the evening breeze.

Nick had noticed and pulled her gently into him, wrapping his warm arms around her as he pulled her into his lap. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her draw, moving across her cheek with gentle pecks until he pressed his lips into hers, his lips coaxing entry as his hand snuck into her yoga pants. He pulled back and stared into her hooded eyes with his own. “You’re not a distraction to me. You keep me focused and you give me a purpose outside of my career. Don’t ever think you’re hurting my career. Let me worry about that shit.” He pressed his lips into hers once more.

Natalie pulled back and nodded softly, her body already humming the second he pressed a kiss to her jaw. His fingers dancing along her panty-line wasn’t helping the heat pulling between her legs.

It didn’t take long until they were back inside with Natalie sprawled out naked on the couch, her back arched as Nick pumped his fingers into her cunt, his tongue pressed against her clit as he teased her to completion.

She didn’t have to wait long until she felt the tell-tale sign of her orgasm approaching, her legs raising and her back tensed as the band snapped.

Nick had wasted no time lapping it all up, making sure to keep eye contact with Natalie as he sucked his fingers clean of her essence.

She eagerly rode him the second he sat down, her legs trembled as she mounted him. She had cried loudly as her legs burned and shook with the force at which she was bouncing on him.

At some point, Nick had picked up that she was tired and slowing down. His hands held her hips firmly as he took over and bounced her on him, a smirk on his face as he heard her incoherent cries of pleasure and pleads for him to go harder.

And that was how their night went, Nick keeping her distracted from her divorce lawyer appointment, and her giving him the physical touch he so desperately craved when not in her presence. They were a mess, but they were a mess for each other.

—----

“Well,” her lawyer, Matthew Stern, sighed loudly. “This is quite the predicament. I am impressed with the amount of work you’ve put in to gather evidence, Ms. Collins.” He stared at the financial transactions in his hands, “You say that he has been funneling this into another fund?”

Natalie nodded. “I believe so.. He has a child on the way with his mistress. I found out through social media, but I have not confronted him directly on the matter yet. I think the money is either for the child or for him to keep hidden if we divorce and he’s taken by the mother of the child for child support.”

“It’s always a possibility, and not the most shocking one, unfortunately. Much more common than you think among divorcing couples.” His face pulled into a frown. “Mr. Bosa mentioned that you had some safety concerns as well.”

“I’m sorry?” Natalie asked in shock, “I..um.. Mr. Bosa?”

“Yes, Nicholas Bosa.” He gave her a knowing look. “I spoke with your boyfriend this morning before you arrived. He mentioned covering the fee for all of this and brought up a few things he thought would be helpful. A nice man, Ms. Collins. I’m glad to know you have someone on your side in this whole ordeal who is supporting you. It won’t be easy if the husband decides to contest and drag this out in court, which seems likely.” Mr. Stern explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

Natalie nodded dumbly, her brain still processing that Nick was somehow now involved, by his own volition, in her divorce efforts. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling in that moment. Anger? Sadness? Hurt? Embarrassment? Frustration? It was a toxic cocktail of feelings that she choked down along with the bile rising in her throat.

“Excuse me, I think I’m feeling sick,” Natalie said nervously, standing and gripping the arm of the chair she was just sitting on as she swayed forward for a moment, her head suddenly feeling light as the room started to spin slightly.

“Ms. Collins!” Mr. Stern shot up nervously and made his way around his desk to help steady her. “Let’s sit you down.” He helped her back down and yanked a trash can over to her in case she threw up.

He quickly whipped out his cell phone and called his secretary in immediately. “Stay with her,” He instructed as he stood up, “she looks like she’s going to pass out. I’m calling an ambulance.”

Natalie was sitting there in a daze, a cold sweat breaking out as she leaned forward and heaved into the trash can, her skin clammy and pale as she shook.

The secretary held her hair back, trying to keep Natalie steady as the woman slumped more into her seat. “Ms. Collins?” She asked nervously.

Natalie couldn’t bring herself to answer as her eyes closed and darkness consumed her consciousness.

—---------

The steady beep was the first thing that Natalie noticed, followed by the all-familiar smell of disinfectant that let her know she was in the hospital.

She squeezed her eyes tightly before opening them, her eyes blinking as she took in the darkened room with just a sliver of light coming in through the doorway. Shifting, she flinched as she felt an uncomfortable tug on her wrist and looked down to see an IV set up in her arm.

She wasn’t dreaming. She really was in a hospital room. “What the fuck?” she called out, unsure of what the hell was going on in that moment.

“Nat?” a deep voice asked drowsily.

Natalie turned her head to see Nick sprawled out on a pull-out recliner next to her bed, his large frame barely fitting on the furniture as he had a blanket draped over his shoulders. He must have been sleeping.

Nick blinked a few times before quickly coming to fully and leaning up to turn the light on above them.

Both of them blinked in shock at the sudden brightness. “Fuck, sorry. My bad.” He groaned out, turning the light off again. “I don’t know how to use these switches in here. I’ll buzz for the nurse.” He mused as he reached for the call button and pressed it.

Natalie said nothing as she pressed her head back against the pillow beneath her. “The last thing I remember was seeing my lawyer at 2 pm.. What time is it?”

Nick checked his phone and said, “10:00 pm. You’ve been sleeping this whole time. I got you moved into a private suite until you’re discharged. There was no way in hell I was letting you out there to get sick or something if you had to share a room.” He said as he put his phone away.

Natalie nodded, not wanting to push back against what Nick said just a moment ago. She was just glad that the spinning sensations and nausea were finally over. “How did you find out?” She knew he wasn’t on her emergency contact form.

“Mike Stern called me as soon as the ambulance took you. Gave me the hospital name that he got from the EMT. I was just getting out of the facility when the call came through. I quickly got here. They wouldn’t let me see you at first. Thankfully, Stern’s assistant rode along in the ambulance and had your stuff. I had to use your phone to call your mom to get permission for them to talk to me.”

Natalie groaned. “You spoke with my mom, Nick?”

Her head was starting to hurt and her heart rate went up a bit, making the monitor beep loudly.

Nick leaned over and rubbed his hand down her cheek, “Woah, woah. It’s ok. Your mom was nice about everything… She said she’d talk with you more about everything when she flies in next week.”

Natalie nodded and looked away, blinking back her tears. She was frustrated that more and more people were getting involved in all of this. This was one thing she wanted to handle herself. She wanted to tell her mom at a later date.

Nick noticed her silence and opened his mouth to continue talking when a knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in.” He called, his eyes still glued to Natalie’s sullen frame. He reached up and turned the lights on, wincing at the brightness now alighting the room.

“Mrs. Collins?” the doctor asked as she moved out of the doorway and allowed the nurse in behind him who moved to Natalie’s side and proceeded to take her vitals.

“That’s me.” She said flatly. Her head was killing her and at this moment, she couldn’t find it in her to fake friendliness.

“I’m Dr. Kenneth and I’m in to speak with you about your condition. I heard you passed out today after experiencing a few days of nausea and weakness. Is that correct?” The doctor moved to her side and sat down on the stool in the corner of the room.

“Yes. I was at an appointment. I haven’t been feeling well, but I figured it has been due to a stressful situation I’m dealing with in my personal life.”

The doctor’s eyes darted to Nick and back to her, a silent question there, asking for assurance that she was safe.

“Oh - no, I’m ok. He’s my boyfriend.” She rushed to explain. “I’m going through a divorce currently with my estranged husband… and it’s just been a lot on me.”

Her doctor nodded along. “Have you been experiencing anything different with sleeping, eating, or your menstrual cycle?” Her eyes glinted knowing behind them.

“Um.. not really?” She was unsure, worried where this line of questioning was going.

Nick had caught on as well and had perked up in his seat, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to hear more.

“Ms. Collins, my reason for asking is because we noticed something with your blood work. You results came back that you are pregnant.” She spoke softly.

Natalie just stared at her blankly, not understanding what she was saying to her. “I’m sorry. I’m what?”

“You’re pregnant. How far along, we aren’t certain of course, but it appears to be early on in the pregnancy. Which explains the bouts of nausea, exhaustion, hypersensitivity to sounds and light, and the extra stress.”

She stopped speaking and stared at the couple in front of her.

Natalie was clearly in shock.

Nick? He was staring at Natalie, more specifically her stomach area tucked under the blanket. There were tears in his eyes as he wordlessly reached up and wiped the corner of his eye, catching the stray tear that was streaking down his cheek.

“I’m going to go ahead and leave you two to discuss the results. Other than the pregnancy discovery, Mrs. Collins, all of your other labs came back fine. Please be careful with your stress as it can exasperate symptoms and put additional stress on your system.”

She stood up and reached out to shake Nick’s hand, gripping his large hand tightly as she offered him a close-lip smile. “Congratulations.” She turned back to Natalie, “Please give us a call if you need anything additional. We are going to keep you tonight just for observation to make sure you’re okay and aren’t experiencing any signs of further fainting spells.”

After the doctor left with the nurse, the room was silent once more, save for the rapid heart rate and breathing of the two in the room.

“What are we going to do?” Natalie asked him, her eyes unsure as she searched Nick’s eyes. “Nick… this isn’t the right time.” Her eyes teared up. “There’s so much going on with my divorce. This isn’t a good time.”

Nick nodded and lowered his eyes, not wanting her to see his disappointment at the reminder of reality. Their situation wasn’t ideal. A 5-month affair with a married woman wasn’t on his bingo card for 2022, but here he was. A soon-to-be-father wasn’t planned either.

Yet he was conflicted. He wanted this more than anything. He wanted to marry Natalie and have children with her. He wanted to come home to a family of his own. He wanted it more than he wanted a Super Bowl ring.

For the first time in his life, his career felt so minuscule to the feelings he felt with Natalie in his arms. With her, it was tunnel vision. He thought of her every morning and every night. Whether together or apart, she was on his mind. The books he read or the tv shows he watched, he thought of sharing them with Natalie.

He didn’t realize that he too was now crying softly, openly as the tears poured down his cheeks. He felt frustrated at the circumstances that surrounded their relationship.

In a perfect world, he would have met Natalie, an unmarried woman. They would both be happy at the unexpected news of a baby. She would have met his mom already and had dinner with his dad and stepmom. She would have met Joey and his grandma.

But right now, right now was reality. And reality wasn’t so warm and inviting to the idea of this fairy tale.

Nick wiped his eyes and looked back up at Natalie, forlorn but with understanding behind the pain in his eyes. “I’ll support you, Natalie, in whatever you decide.” His words hurt to speak aloud.

Natalie was crying with him, gently reaching her hand out as an invitation for him to come closer to her.

Nick got up and crawled in next to her, carefully tugging her against his chest, careful of her IV as he held her shaking frame. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, closing his eyes and breathing in the faint smell of her shampoo. Her face was pressed into his sternum, the fabric of his shirt damp from her tears.

They were heartbroken and unsure, but they had each other. Whatever Natalie decided, she hoped he had meant it when he said he’d be standing by her. She couldn’t stomach the idea of losing him right now - or ever.

Nick felt her breathing even out as she slipped into a much-needed rest. He continued to lay there with her, not wanting to move her. Instead, he adjusted the blanket over the two of them as he stared down at Natalie’s sleeping form.

He hoped she’d consider keeping the baby.

#nick bosa fanfiction #Nick bosa imagines #Nick bosa fanfic #one kiss series

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jimlingss · 3 years

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Black Waltz [2/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.6k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The train whistles. A moment later, the wheels are rolling against the steel rails. It starts slow, a gradual chug like a meander through the street that builds up and races past the town. You rest your throbbing head against your propped up hand, enduring the nauseating nature of the train. Each breath you take is shallow and you feel your skin warm underneath the pads of your fingers. At the same time, it feels cold and the blanket does little to help. You haven’t eaten much, not like you could even stomach it now. Taehyung keeps fretting over you — you can tell with the way he glances at you every so often, how he takes your suitcase from your hands, how he asks if you would like tea. You’re too weak to argue with him and insist you’re fine. So you stay quiet, knowing that soon enough, you’ll be home. And you bear it for six hours. “My lady?” Taehyung’s brows furrow and you merely nod as he helps you off the carriage. The coachman is paid and thanked and you’re taking Taehyung’s arm for the walk up the slope to the estate. “When we get home, draw a bath for me, Taehyung.” “Will do. You should rest—” “Y/N!” There’s a shrill shriek of your name that aches your head and you lift your eyes to find your aunt and cousin at the black gates. Aunt Marie grabs fistfuls of her red skirt and stomps over to you. “Where did you go for so long? None of your maids let me inside the house.” “Good,” you exhale and narrow your eyes at the two of them. It takes each of your laboured breaths to speak. “I thought I told you never to step onto the estate again.” “Y/N, please.” Hoseok comes forward. “I have something important to talk to you about.” “Can it wait another day?” You’re about to brush past them, but your aunt doesn’t let you. “Your father would be disappointed in how you treat your only family, Y/N. You’re not a young child who can throw a tantrum anymore, do you understand the consequences of any of your actions? Yet you have the audacity to try to sever our family ties—” “Her ladyship has spoken.” Taehyung steps in front of you, shielding you with his larger body. “If you wish to speak to her, come another day.” Your aunt’s teeth grit and venom-laced words are spat out, “How dare you speak to me this way! You’re a mere butler!” “Stop.” You grab onto Taehyung’s arm, lids becoming heavy as the seconds pass. But most of all, you’re dizzy. It’s hard to keep upright. “Sto..p.” “A guard dog!” There are shouts, but the sounds are intelligible as if they’re farther away from them. As if you’re at the end of a tunnel. Your vision dims, black closing in from all angles to the center of my eyes. The noise of hitting the ground never comes. Taehyung’s caught you in his arms. // When you come to, you’re laying in your bed, dressed in silk sleepwear with the covers wrapped around you. You’re weakened, sweat slipping from your forehead and shivering from chills. “Miss. Arden.” There’s a doctor looking down at you and once Taehyung hears him call you, he rushes to your side. “Miss. Arden? Are you awake?” The old man is noisy and you muster the strength to lift your hand mid-air. Taehyung immediately knows what you want and helps you sit upright. You lean on your weight on him. “What happened?” “You fainted,” he murmurs. “It’s good to see you’re alert.” The doctor smiles and leans down to his briefcase. He must’ve been called by Taehyung. You hear the clacking of bottles. “Luckily, your illness doesn’t seem to be smallpox. Vicious illness that is. Past the age for scarlet fever as well.” You wonder if you’ll die. You know your health has never been the greatest. “Is it measles?” He shakes his head, continuing to ruffle through his belongings. “Fortunately, you don’t have a single rash which tells me it’s not one of the sicknesses out there. Ah! Found it.” Your eyes dart to how he places a bottle on your bedside table and he closes up the latches on his suitcase. The doctor then takes a seat on the chair beside your bed. “Can I ask if you’ve been...anxious recently, Miss. Arden?” “Why?” “I suspect the symptoms are arising from your mind.” Your brows furrow. “You think I am putting on an act and falsifying my condition?” “Not quite.” The old man smiles. “I believe the anxiousness and stress from your environment is most likely worsening your naturally weak constitution. Many of my fellow physicians don’t believe that such physical ailments can arise by the mental, but I for one…” He taps his temple. “...think the mind can be quite powerful.” The doctor takes his suitcase. “I have given you medicine to help with the dizziness and your fever, but you must rest, Miss. Arden. If you wish to live a long life to be as old as I am, you must rest, rest, and rest. And perhaps….have a change of scene.” He offers a kind smile, but before he can leave, you call out to him. “Please keep this a secret. Unless you want to bear the consequences.” He nods, still with a warm expression. “I understand.” The doctor leaves and for once, Taehyung doesn’t see him out. He stays right beside you and the room simmers into a quietness. After a beat, you’re moving, shifting the sheets from your body. But he stops you, placing a hand over your hand. “Where do you think you’re going?” “My aunt and cousin were here, weren’t they? Something may have happened while I was gone. I should at least write a letter to Min Yoongi and find out if the company—” “Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? You need rest.” “He was speaking nonsense. There’s no illness that comes from the mind, Taehyung.” “He’s one of the best doctors in Trulia,” he deadpans, guiding you down against your will. Taehyung pulls the blankets up to your chin. “So stop being stubborn and listen to him. Nothing will happen if you rest.” You’re too weak to get up on your own and struggling to only make you more weary. You resort to scoffing at him, eyes pointed in a glare. “You’re stepping over the line, Kim Taehyung. You are supposed to obey my every word.” “Then punish me.” You huff out at his challenge. He wants to act like you won’t. But Taehyung can be even more willful than you and he wins when your eyes start to droop. You hear him tell you to ‘sleep’ and like magic, you fall into a deep slumber. ... Unbeknownst to the two of you, Jane is creeping outside the room behind an ornate vase, having eavesdropped on the conversation through the crack of the door. That night, when not a soul is in the corridor, the girl slips from her room and creeps out of the manor. Her steps quicken down the path leading to the black gates, holding a flickering oil lamp in hand to illuminate the way. There, outside of the bars separating the world from this estate, is your aunt shrouded in the darkness. “She’s ill. The doctor said the sickness is from her mind.” The thin lips of the older woman curls and she snickers before it breaks into a full laugh. “It won’t be long before she’s sent to a madhouse then.” She looks at the maid. “Very good. You’ll be greatly rewarded for this.” “Thank you, madam.” // For the coming days, Taehyung doesn’t allow you out of bed except in times for a bath. If it were anyone else, you’d reprimand them. You hate feeling like a child. You despise being coddled like one. But Taehyung is Taehyung and even he knows that you won’t go against him for long. Sometimes you wonder who the real master and servant is. “The cook made you porridge. I told them not to add in any thyme. If you don’t want it, I’ll ask them for something else.” “It’s fine.” You know Taehyung won’t leave until he sees you eat, so leaning on the headboard, you deadpan to him, “Feed me.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “If you insist.” He holds the silver bowl, lightly blowing over the spoonful before it carefully meets your lips. “It’s bland.” “Too much seasoning will upset your stomach and you won’t be able to take your medicine.” “I want that doctor dead.” Taehyung smiles. “If that’s what you’d like, mistress.” He blows over another dreadful spoonful and extends his arm. Your lips part to eat and he watches you with a tender expression. “The household funds need to be looked at.” “I’ll take care of it tonight.” He feeds you another spoon. You swallow it gingerly. “The company?” “I sent a letter to Mr. Min. Your cousin’s taken bigger means to try and take over, but as you let Mr. Min deal with it as he chooses, your cousin went away after a police report was made. It’s been quiet for the past few days.” “He’ll be back,” you sigh when the spoon is at your mouth, but Taehyung doesn’t give up, so you part your lips. He makes sure to carefully wipe the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “And my aunt?” “She hasn’t returned. I’ll send her away if she does.” “I need to speak to Detective Jeon.” “Then I’ll set up a meeting in the week.” Once you’ve finish the porridge, Taehyung smiles and leans in close to briefly press the back of his hand to your forehead. “What would I do without you, Taehyung?” you murmur, gazing at him. “Nothing would change. I’d find you anyhow,” he says. “Now sleep.” You nod and lay back down with your stomach warm and full. Your lashes flutter shut and Taehyung slips out with the tray in hand. Taehyung knows you’ve gotten better. But he needs to keep you from being upset, from having to lash out. And he’ll do whatever it takes. After all, he doesn’t know how much longer your body or mind will be able to take it. “B-Butler Kim?” He’s stopped in the middle of the hall as Rose rushes to him. He’s always been able to pick her out in the house. Rose is the shortest and youngest, but also the one who tries her hardest — you weren’t wrong in choosing her. “What’s the matter?” The young girl’s voice drops into a whisper. “There’s a man at the front gates…” He nods, posture straightening, steps becoming firm. The end of his tailcoat slices through the air in his strides and he makes it to the kitchen before walking right out of the manor to the front. There, Jimin and another maid are at a loss of what to do. But the moment they see Taehyung, there’s almost an audible sigh of relief. “Butler Kim!” Your uncle is on the other side of the gate, exasperated. “There you are! Tell these servants to let me in! I only want to see my poor, sick niece!” Taehyung moves his head towards the pair and they take the sign to scurry away while they have the chance. He opens the latches of the gate and the older man’s eyes light up. But instead of being let in, Taehyung slips out. “My apologies, her ladyship isn’t taking guests at the moment.” “Guests?!” Seokjin is entirely offended. “I am her only uncle!” “If there is any message you would like to relay, then please let me know.” “No, I must see her in person.” He shakes his head adamantly and then dabs the area underneath his eyes with his hand. “Poor, poor, Y/N. I hurried here the moment I heard she was sick. I am the only uncle she has and she is my only niece. Who else will care for her but I?” Taehyung’s arms are placed behind his back. No one sees the way his white gloved hands curl into tight fists. Yet he maintains a bright smile. “I’ll let her ladyship know that you send your best wishes then. Although...I’m afraid she may not be able to take your words to heart after you sent a man to try to kill her.” Seokjin’s eyes widen in shock. His mouth drops. He staggers back. Taehyung’s height towers over him, his smile frightening. “Y-You!” Your uncle flounders. “You have no proof!” “But there are witnesses,” Taehyung bluffs with an unconcerned hum. “I’m sure that man would tell you, right? I may have thrown him off the train, but I believe he is still alive and unfortunately, only severely harmed. But I must say, sir, that you chose the wrong person. He confessed it was you quite easily. Who knows what he would say to policemen.” The older man is flabbergasted, lurching backwards away from Taehyung as if he’s a monster. Seokjin almost falls down, but grips the brick half-wall as leverage. “The only reason you have yet to be arrested is due to her ladyship’s utmost compassion. But I must say her tolerance is wearing thin and mine,” Taehyung chimes, “no longer exists!” “T-T-T-This is outrageous! Outrageous, I say!” Seokjin frantically turns around and hobbles away. He glances over his shoulder and flinches when Taehyung waves. Taehyung then turns on his heel and closes the gate, strolling back into the manor. For some reason, he doesn’t think he’ll see your uncle for a while. // The next day, there’s a knock at your door while you’re seated at your round table, out of bed against the doctor’s orders and much to Taehyung’s dismay. “Come in.” A certain maid peeks her head inside. “My lady.” “Jane.” You perk with a smile. “What is it?” She grins and enters. “I wanted to ask if you’d like anything.” “I’m fine, thank you. On the contrary, how are you? Is everyone in this house treating you well?” “Y-Yes.” She dips. “I’m doing well, my lady. Everyone treats me fairly.” “Good.” You look at her carefully through sharpened eyes. “If I may comment…” “Yes?” “You are quite pretty,” you praise and Jane blushes with a modest ‘thank you’. “It’s not often I have someone so attentive by my side, good work. I’ll call on you when I need you.” “Yes, my lady.” Jane smiles and leaves. On her way out, she passes by a familiar doe-eyed man beside Butler Kim in the hall. Yet neither man speaks a single word and as she turns the corner, pressing herself to the wall, the door slams shut. There’s not even a muffle or sound. She curses underneath her breath and leaves before someone catches her. “I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been well, Miss Y/N.” Detective Jeon approaches you, taking off his top hat. “Yes, well, I’ve been getting better.” You look over at your butler who already has his brows knitted together seeing you up. Your expression warms. “Will you get Detective Jeon and I some tea, Taehyung?” He bows with a hand over his chest. “Right away, mistress.” Taehyung swiftly leaves as Detective Jeon takes a seat across from you, placing his briefcase down. “I received your letter. I’m sorry to hear Arthur Kahl wasn’t who you were looking for.” “What’s done is done. Do you have anything new?” “Unfortunately I don’t have any leads at the moment. I’m still in the process of tracing your parents’ history and seeing if there is anything unusual.” “If you ever need something, let me know. I am still willing to pay a generous sum for your services.” He nods and his doe eyes pin onto you as he leans back into the chair. “I must say there is one thing I am curious about.” “What is it?” “If I may pry…” He folds his hands together, brown irises sparkling. “What is your relationship with Butler Kim?” Your brow cocks. “He’s my most trusted confidant.” The answer comes to mind without trouble. Taehyung is the only person you can rely on. The person you come to if you have trouble. The person who you know will always be there. He is your person. “Is that all?” You don’t know where he’s trying to get at and your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking?” The corner of Detective Jeon’s lip curls, melting into a pleasant expression and overly boyish smile. “It’s in a detective’s nature to be curious. It’s the reason I’m good at my job, Miss. Y/N. I just find it unusual considering butlers and mistresses aren’t as close as you two are.” Your face remains stoic. “What are you implying?” “You probably know perfectly what I’m implying.” With the vase of flowers set on the table, he leans over to fiddle with a petal. Detective Jeon doesn’t seem the kind to double-cross you, or at least he would never risk his professional name to spread rumours about your private affairs. He seems to be genuinely curious, so you entertain him. “Since my parents' abrupt passing, I’ve succeeded my father’s position and become the head of the Arden house. I’ve also become the target of countless.” “With power comes unwanted attention,” he chimes as if he’s seen it many times. “People are trying to kill me, use me, dispose of me every second of each hour. I won’t endanger anyone unnecessarily. I have to look further than such frivolous emotions.” Detective Jeon lets go of the flower petal, appearing more amused than before. “Funny. He said something quite similar.” You frown, not sure what he’s talking about. “Did he also tell you to get out and stop poking your nose into things you’re not getting paid for?” The man laughs. “Will do.” He takes his suitcase, tips his hat as a goodbye and opens the door. He passes by the man that the pair of you were just talking about, and grins. “Looks like I won’t be needing that tea, Butler Kim. I’ll come back when I have new information to share. Until then…” Detective Jeon strolls down the corridor and Taehyung looks at you. “That was quick.” “Never mind him.” You beckon your butler over with a single gesture. “Taehyung.” “Yes?” “I’m hungry.” He smiles. “What would you like to have, my lady?” // The Arden manor is distinct. Not just because of its sheer size and that it sits on a stretch of green behind black gates. Or that it’s hidden on an uphill climb away from the bustle of the city. The roof is steeply-pitched, arches pointed and the front-facing gables are laden with a wooden trim. Each part of the house’s exterior is narrow with sharp edges. It was built many years ago, yet it looks like it’ll be decades before it falls apart. Rather, much of the colour has washed away from the stone. The interior is no different, frequently decorated in dark oak or shades of maroon, from the carpet to the walls. Sunlight does little and candlelight only casts more shadows from the flickering flame. The only real colour on the estate is the gardens outside. “Jimin!” The gardener looks up, holding shears in hand. “What are you doing here, Rose?” Said girl is precariously balancing a silver tray in hand, but she still manages to grin. “I’m bringing tea to her ladyship. I just thought I’d take the path outside. What flowers are you trimming?” “Oh just pruning the rose bushes of the late madam’s.” His expression softens. “Lady Y/N doesn’t seem to care much for it, but that doesn’t mean I can let it become messy. This is the least I can do.” The twelve year old admires the older man’s earnest personality. Jimin seems to genuinely like flowers and tending to them. “When will they bloom?” “Surely in the next few weeks and when they do, it’ll look beautiful.” She can imagine it already. “Would you like me to bring a snack for you later?” Jimin’s eyes become enlarged in delight. “Really?” Rose nods with an enormous smile. “There’s leftover bread and cheese in the kitchen.” “I...I couldn’t. Isn’t that for her ladyship?” “She wouldn’t mind,” she insists. At the Arden estate, she’s eaten better than she ever did back at the orphanage. Butler Kim’s quite kind as well. He doesn’t mind what’s taken from the kitchen as long as there’s enough for you which everyone makes sure there always is. “Well alright then.” The gardener eases. “But you shouldn’t leave her waiting for too long!” “Right!” She hurries along before the tea gets cold. “I’ll come back later!” Jimin waves and Rose enters through the other door, up the stairs, and down the corridor. She almost spills the teacup at one point as it’s rattling against the tray, but she finds her balance and knocks. “Come in.” The door opens and you look up from your desk. The phonograph in the corner of the room is playing a muffled symphony of violins and trumpets. It sounds beautiful, an entrancing melody that makes her stuck in her spot too long before she snaps out of it. Rose ducks her head and comes over. “Butler Kim told me it’s time for your afternoon tea.” “He really is bothersome,” you sigh, putting down the document. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since you entered the study. You’re not sure what the point of trying to work is when he’s constantly distracting you with excuses of teatime or insisting it’s time for a walk. The young girl smiles. “Butler Kim just cares a lot, my lady.” “I know.” She places the porcelain teacup down, and her hand is shaky as she tries to pour the tea. It splashes on the outside saucer and she flinches, but you don’t say anything. “Do you like it? The music.” “It’s nice.” She admits, “I never got to listen to music much before.” “You can come in any time to listen if you’d like.” At your offer, Roses eyes become rounded and your mouth tugs. “If all your duties are done, that is.” “T-Thank you! I will!” You sip on your tea while your eyes flicker down to your paper. Then you set the cup down and direct your attention to the girl. “Do you know how to read and write, Rose?” Her cheeks burn in embarrassment as she shakes her head. “I know the letters but that’s all. Even then, it takes me a long time.” “Bring that chair over then.” The young maid is surprised, but follows your instructions, dragging the chair beside you. You smile at her, not wanting to admit that it is nice to take a break. Or that it’s pleasant to help someone as well. “Write out what letters you know for me.” She nods and awkwardly grips the fountain pen. “You’re missing a stroke. Right there.” “Right here?” “That’s right. There. You have it.” A grin spreads into her face. “Can you teach me how to write your name?” “Mine?” Your brows lift yet she bobs her head twice. You’re not sure how much time passes, how long the two of you are wrapped up, cowering over the desk with pens and papers as the handles of the clock ticks away. But then Taehyung’s peeking in through the gap of the door with a softened expression and he reluctantly knocks. “My lady,” he interrupts. “Lawyer Kim is here.” “Let him in.” You turn to the twelve year old girl who’s visibly disheartened and your hand strokes the top of her head gently. “If you have some time, then practice. Next time I’ll teach you how to write your own name and maybe we can read a book together?” “Next time?” She’s easy to read. You can see the way excitement washes over her, how she lights up as you nod and you watch her in endearment as she scurries away with the promise. // Each morning the mail is handed to Taehyung by one of the maids and he sets it on your bedside for you to go through. But today as he’s walking to your room and shuffles through them, he sees a fascinating letter from a man named Mr. Mark Carter. His brow quirks and he opens it. It’s not uncommon to go through your letters considering he writes most of your replies these past few days. But instead of being business related— To my dearest, Arden Y/N, My thoughts have been full of you in the past days. You are as beautiful… Taehyung rips the page before any more is read. There’s no need for you to waste your time. “Taehyung.” You call from the corner as he enters and he promptly places the letters down. He pockets the shreds of the love letter and attends to you. Taehyung helps you get dressed in front of the mirrors, his long fingers nimbly tying your corset before he’s draping the champagne gown over your frame. “You really shouldn’t be out of bed.” “It’s been two weeks since we came home, Taehyung. Do you expect me to stay bedridden forever?” “I could handle all of your affairs for you.” “I know.” You turn around to face him. “But I don’t want you to.” “I wouldn’t want you to faint again.” “I won’t,” you tell him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “And even if I did, you’d be there to catch me, no?” Taehyung swallows hard and you freeze when he suddenly reaches out. His arm extends and he gingerly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Taehyung gazes at you tenderly. It’s much too intimate. “What would be the point if I don’t see you into your old age?” The pad of his thumb draws down your jaw before he lets go. You smile softly, skin tingling from his affectionate touch. “Would you still be attending to me if I were in my old age?” “Of course I would be.” “Wouldn’t you want to be married at some point, Taehyung?” You move past him to the vanity, taking your brush through your hair. He watches you for a moment before he approaches and steals the brush from your hand. He proceeds to your hair gently, the way he knows you like it best. “Who would I be married to?” “I could find you a good match.” “And risk not being there when you might need me?” You look at his reflection. “Then how long do you plan to be beside me then?” “Always,” he answers. Taehyung’s gaze is fixed onto yours through the mirror, his eyes softened, hands grasping the strands of your hair. Your breath hitches in your throat as something squeezes inside your chest. You swallow hard. “Taehyung.” The corner of his mouth curls into a sly smile. “Hmm?” “What’s…” He’s such a handful sometimes, but you know to him you’re two handfuls. “….that noise outside?” “I think that’s your cousin crying.” “And why is he crying?” “He wants to meet with you. Don’t worry. It’s handled. He tried to climb the gate but Jimin used his garden rake to push him off.” You sigh, pitching the bridge of your nose. “Just let him in. I’ll see him.” It’s easy to tell that Taehyung is reluctant and even surprised at your defeated response. But unlike your uncle and aunt who have some shame, you’re sure Hoseok would be there day and night sobbing on the ground. There wouldn’t be any good done if outsiders start to take notice. You leave to the parlor to have your morning cup of tea and surely enough, Hoseok runs in while panting. You sort of wish he would’ve knocked over the statue by the archway. That way, you could make him compensate you with his life’s fortune. It would be a funny story to tell in the future, but alas. “Y/N! Finally! F-Finally! Those servants of yours...they almost killed me!” “They were following my instructions.” He’s dejected and plops down on the sofa, frantically shaking his head. “I know that Uncle Seokjin, my mother and you aren’t on good terms, but please hear me out.” The taste of earl grey lingers on your palette. “You want to take over the company.” Hoseok’s spine straightens. “Y/N, Uncle Eugene would’ve wanted someone in the family to take over. I don’t understand how an outsider could be the head of the company!” “Don’t bring my father into this,” you snap. It’s easier to be direct with your cousin since he’s younger than you are. The idea of disrespect doesn’t have to play a big role in your confrontation. “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter what he wants now. What are your qualifications?” “What?” “How are you deserving of the job? How do you expect to run an entire company? What have you ever done in your life that you would be able to do those things?” you question with your arms crossed. Hoseok opens his mouth and then shuts it. He knows it himself. The fact of the matter is— “You’ve accomplished nothing. If you want the job so much, then interview for it and start at the bottom and learn.” Hoseok stands up abruptly. “That’s not what Uncle Eugene would’ve wanted—!” You’re forced to your feet. “Don’t speak about my father!” “But—!” You grip your temples that’s beginning to throb. Your head aches and you’re becoming dizzy. Taehyung immediately notices and comes to your side, but you wave him off. “Bring him out.” Hoseok is escorted by Taehyung. The former sighs lowly and walks away without putting much of a fight. Dragging his legs. Shoulders slugging. It’s not like you wanted it to be like this. Your idea of family was never an image of distrust or exhaustion. But this is what you were born into. Taehyung comes back after he’s left. He searches your expression sternly and shoulders your weight when you lean on him. “This isn’t good. You should rest.” “I know.” But as you take his arm, more noises come from the other room. In particular, it’s a familiar voice that can only belong to— “Y/N!” Aunt Marie stomps inside with Jane trailing behind her with a distressed expression. “What is the meaning of this?” Jane winces at your tone. “I thought...I thought since you let in—” “I heard you were ill,” your Aunt cuts her off, holding her head high. She must’ve run into Hoseok outside, but she makes no mention of it. He must’ve ignored her. “It was only right that I come see if the rumours are true for myself.” “Well you’ve seen me, now you can leave. I’m not taking guests at the moment.” Her mouth opens, but Taehyung’s eyes fix on her, holding an intense stare. “If you’ll excuse us. Jane, please lead out Mrs. Arden immediately.” “R-Right away, Butler Kim.” The maid bows her head and your aunt scoffs, not bothering to follow you. She stays in her spot, insisting on keeping an utterly offended expression. The room empties. “That dog of hers watches her too closely.” “Don’t worry madam,” Jane quietly whispers with a growing smirk. “He won’t be able to save her this time.” The older woman snorts. “You remember what I told you?” “Of course. They won’t see it coming.” She hums a low note. “Be careful. That guard dog is perceptive.” // The kitchen is filled with a flavorsome aroma, but it’s a frenzy as the grandfather clock chimes throughout the manor. The cook is rushing all over the kitchen with the kitchen maid, throwing in the potatoes and finishing the beef stew. Even Jane is beginning to become nervous as she watches them. That damn son of a bitch butler won’t be happy if your dinner is delayed a second and she still has to put it in. There can’t be any more delay. “Here it is! Finally, done!” The cook ladles the stew from the pot into the bowl and Jane finally moves before another maid can. “I’ll take it up for her ladyship,” she loudly volunteers. “Go quickly!” “Wait! I have to add the parsley,” the kitchen maid shouts. In the disorder, no one notices how Jane looks both ways and slips a vial out from her apron pocket. It’s uncapped and the clear liquid poured in, dissolving right into the broth. But by then, the kitchen maid is already pushing her aside to add in the parsley. “There we go.” Jane disguises her smirk and swiftly takes the tray. She begins to head down the corridor. But as she turns the corner, she nearly collides with Butler Kim. Immediately, the maid dips her head with an apology and he takes the tray from her. “There it is. What took so long?” “The cook had trouble.” Butler Kim turns and strides down the hall. The corner of her mouth pulls. Jane doesn’t notice how Taehyung looks down into the bowl for a moment. With the deed finally done, she makes her way to the small dining room next to the pantry meant for the workers to gather and eat. It’s perfect. It won’t be long now until things start to happen and she gets her reward. She smiles to herself before she’s abruptly interrupted— “Did something good happen, Jane?” The maid doesn’t know where the voice is coming from until she looks down and sees the twelve year old who she doesn’t even remember the name of. But looking at her big eyes and hearing her nosy question annoys her. Jane snaps, “It’s none of your business.” The young girl flinches and quiets. What Jane doesn’t expect is how minutes later, Butler Kim returns with the tray in hand and the food untouched. The colour immediately drains from her face. “Is there something wrong?” The cook bumbles over in alarm. “Her ladyship isn’t hungry,” he informs and Jane breathes a sigh of relief, but is still disappointed. She curses inside her head. “I see.” The cook sighs. “What a shame, it was the first time I tried to make this kind of stew. I thought I would be able to get her ladyship’s opinion.” “It would be a waste to dispose of it then.” Butler Kim smiles. “Everyone come give it a try.” Several turn their heads at one another, visibly confused at his unexpected offer but they happily follow along with his instructions. The kitchen maid is eager, anticipating their responses, and spoons are quickly passed around. But Jane stays frozen on her spot and the butler’s sharp eyes quickly take notice. “Is there something wrong?” “I...I don’t think I’ll eat, sir.” “Why not?” “I’m not...feeling well. My apologies. I’ll retire to the quarters—” “Surely a spoonful wouldn’t hurt.” Taehyung stops Jane before she can move to the doorway. Everyone’s eyes are pinned on them and she’s suddenly presented with a wooden spoon and a bright smile. “Don’t you want to give your thoughts to the cook so he may improve his dishes to her ladyship?” “I—” “It’s a part of your duties to look after her ladyship, is it not? That includes testing her food.” “Well—” Taehyung scoops a spoonful of the stew’s broth and it’s forcibly brought to her mouth. “There’s no reason why you should refuse.” “Stop—wait! NO!” Her arm comes out to bat at it away from her. “It’s poisoned!” The spoon clatters on the ground and the bowl shortly follows. It shatters, shards of porcelain spraying across the floor and the yellow liquid splattering against the wall. There are gasps and Jane’s breath heaves in and out of her chest. Sweat is gathered at her hairline and she feels the scrutinizing eyes of the entire household pinned on her. Butler Kim cocks his brow. “How do you know that?” “I...I…” Jane fumbles with her words, heat rising in her face, colour fading from her lips. “This is actually a new bowl from the pot.” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. “I would never offer what was supposed to be her ladyship’s to anyone else. So why do you say it’s poisoned?” She opens her mouth, incoherent words stuttering out, but as she turns her head, searching for an explanation, some sort of excuse, her eyes meet Rose’s. Jane’s arm instantly extends and she points at the twelve year old. “I saw her put something suspicious into her ladyship’s food! I didn’t know if I saw it correctly, so I didn’t want to say anything. I-I didn’t know she could be capable of doing such a thing….” “What?” Rose’s eyes enlarge, tears gathering at her lashes. “No! I didn’t!” “Liar!” Jane screams at her, height looming over the girl. “How could you deny it in front of Butler Kim! Do you have no morals?!” “Please.” Rose looks at her and then him. “I didn’t do anything like that! Please believe me!” “What is all this noise?” The shrill cries are intercepted by you entering the room. Jane dips her head as Rose looks to you with pleading eyes. The others ease, knowing you’re here. Taehyung comes beside you, arm stretched in case you step onto the glass. “One of the maids just admitted something no one else knew.” “I didn’t do it,” Rose whimpers. You look around the room and sigh tiredly. You pitch the bridge of your nose and then wave him off. “Leave it be. Surely it’s a misunderstanding.” “Understood.” Taehyung puts his hand over his chest and bows. “I’m feeling tired. Bring me to my room, Taehyung.” He nods and offers you his arm. Two maids move to clean up the mess as Rose tries to reason with others. Jimin comes to her side, but Jane continues to glare at the young girl. There’s sweat built at Jane’s hairline and her heart is lodged in her throat. It was close. Too close. // For the next few days, you’re afraid Taehyung is becoming more distrustful than you are. Much to your dismay, he has a bite of your food and a sip of your tea before you get the chance to each time. It’s not as cute as when he did it as a kid — back when he was just trying to get a taste of what he could. Now he’s doing it because he’s overly suspicious. The last thing you want is for him to become your taster and does in fact become poisoned. There’s not much of a point if he dies and you’re still alive. But once you make your complaint, he resorts to making all of your food for you, not allowing a single person in the kitchen or to touch your dish. You don’t want to tell him that his cooking is more delicious than the cook’s for fear he’ll continue and overwork himself to death. “You’re really such a handful,” you mutter, looking up at him. Taehyung’s brow lifts, wondering where that was coming from. The pair of you were burning the midnight oil as you were looking over this month’s household expenses and what is left of your personal wealth. He didn’t want you to be here doing work, yet couldn’t protest after your insistence. But in truth, you can’t look over it properly with your mind preoccupied. You hate seeing Taehyung this way — excessively anxious, on guard, needlessly gluing himself to your side whenever he can. It’s enough that you’re already like that. But you suppose that’s the humorous part. He doesn’t like it when you’re like this either. You feel like this house is making you both lose your minds. “Taehyung.” “Yes, my lady?” You weakly wave him over. “Carry me to bed. I’m tired.” “Understood.” Taehyung leans down and collects you in his arms, an arm beneath your knees and the other around your backside. You lean on his shoulder with your arms looped around his neck, nestling close to him. He walks to the door, briefly opens it and strides down the hall that’s without a maid or servant in sight. “How long do you think this will last, Taehyung?” “What do you mean?” “Us. Being so afraid and anxious.” You wonder how long you’ll have to be fighting against your relatives and outsiders, if you’ll ever be left alone, if that day will ever come. “Even if I find my older sister or brother, then what?” “You don’t need to be anxious. I’m here.” The corner of your lips softly tug and you look up at him through your lashes. Taehyung’s brown irises meet yours in the warm candlelight lamps on the walls. “And let you bear all of my hardships? How could I let that happen?” “Then don’t bear it all alone.” The timbre of voice is husky. “You can rely on me too.” “I already do. More than you know.” If you had no one to truly trust, you would’ve been lost long ago. Taehyung is your saviour. “You don’t need to worry about what happens afterwards. I’ll go where you go.” “And if I have no more wealth to my name and I’m unable to pay you?” “You don’t need to pay me a single cent for me to stay by your side.” Your gazes meet and his steps slow. It’s much too intimate, and you notice the way his eyes flicker to lips. For a moment it feels like the distance is closing between you and you brace yourself as a kind of sweet anxiousness is sewn inside your chest. But you aren’t afraid. Then, as your lashes flutter….Taehyung turns away. His Adam’s apple bobs inside his throat. Nothing is spoken as the door to your bedroom is opened and closed, and he lays you down onto the bed. “If there’s nothing more you need from me, then rest well, my lady.” “Taehyung.” “Yes?” Your irises connect. There’s pause. A tenseness to the air. But then you wave him away. “Never mind. Good night.” The lights are blown and he leaves while you tug the covers to your chin for warmth. You’re unaware of how once the door shuts, Taehyung’s back presses against the surface. His eyes close tight and the hands that held you tenderly crumple into fists. He almost allowed his own desires to overcome his duties to you. // The following evening, Rose sits alone in her small room and sighs to herself. She’s happy that she was brought here to work on the estate. It’s all she could’ve ever wished for — a kind mistress to work for, friends she never knew she’d make, and being able to sleep comfortably with a full stomach. But she didn’t know it could also be this hard. She really didn’t try to harm you. Why would she when all you’ve been to her is generous and all she waits for are the hours when she’s allowed to sit beside you and taught how to read and write. But she can tell some of the other girls don’t believe her. She isn’t sure what to say or do to clear her name. Rose stumbles to her wardrobe and reaches towards the back. Hidden behind a lilac handkerchief is a golden pocket watch. Her thumb runs along the shiny surface and she exhales. “What should I do, mom?” The twelve year old doesn’t see the older girl in the hall, chewing on the nail of her thumb, anxious of what to do and how to gain back your favour. And Jane’s eye incidentally turns towards the gap of Rose’s door as she passes. “What are you doing?” The door slams against the walls and Rose jolts, startled. Jane’s eyes dart to the pocket watch. “What is that?” “It’s nothing!” Rose’s arms jerk behind her back, but it’s too late. The older girl stomps towards her and rips her arm back. She cries out and Jane snatches the golden watch from her grasps. “You stole this, didn’t you!” “No! Give it back!” “Then how do you have something so expensive?! You stole it from her ladyship!” “I didn’t!” “Liar. There’s no way you would be able to afford something like this. Your hands are sticky, aren’t they?” A smirk spreads into her cheek. This is it. The way she can gain your trust again. “You’re going to get thrown out tonight on my watch.” Rose cries as she’s dragged down the hall. She struggles but it’s futile against the older’s strength. Another girl intercepts, asking what’s going on, but Jane pushes them aside. She’s taken down the corridor, all the way to the study. “Say goodbye to your job, little girl,” Jane mocks and then knocks on the door. It opens it at your command and Taehyung immediately steps forward the moment he sees Jane yanking Rose’s arm and the latter sobbing. “What is the meaning of this?” Jane lets go of the twelve year old who has streams of tears staining her cheeks and steps forward. She allows the pocket watch to drop in her hand, holding it by the chain. It catches the light and looks like it glows. “My lady, I just caught this maid stealing from you. I had to report it immediately.” Upon seeing the pocket watch, you teeter to a stand. The chair screeches against the floorboards. “Bring it here.” Taehyung takes it and hands it to you. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden, reflecting against the candlelight. But it’s without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass. Strangely, on the inside, opposite of the clock is a picture of a beautiful woman you don’t recognize. Most of all, you recognize the surface is worn and there are a few scratches. Taehyung watches you. Your voice is kept quiet, a mere breath that releases from your lips— “Where did you get this?” Jane opens her mouth but your glare flickers to her and the words die on her tongue. Rose is the one who pipes up, hands scrunched into her dress’ skirt, head ducked down. “It...it was my mother’s.” “I have a pocket watch like this,” you tell her, rounding the desk and flipping the watch in your hand. “I can tell this is from my father’s company too. At least with the way the handles are crafted and the numbers are written. My father always liked his watches a certain way.” You continue, “He also never made many golden pocket watches. Certainly not ones without any engravings. It’s much like mine.” A rush of air escapes Jane’s nose. The corner of her eye moves to the twelve year old who’s quivering in her spot. She is done for. You step forward, inhaling a breath. “But my pocket watch is cracked.” Jane’s breath instantly hitches in her throat. Your eyes are pinned on Rose’s face. “I sent Taehyung to fix it for me months ago.” The pocket watch is not a copy, but a sister to yours. “Is this really your mother’s?” Rose nods with a sniffle, unable to understand where this was going. Taehyung comes beside you, having already caught on to your suspicions. And you lean on him, swallowing hard. “Then if that’s true….you may be the one I’m looking for. You might be my sister.” “S-Sister?” Rose’s eyes grow wide and a tear hanging off her lash rolls down her cheek. “I….have family?” It’s all lining up inside your mind and your brows knit together, but you don’t allow it to sink in. Not when you notice Jane’s mouth dropping, how she takes a step back. “Where do you think you’re going?” you deadpan, turning your head to the older maid and she flinches. “My lady—” “You’re fired. Pack your bags. The carriage will take you away.” Your voice drops an octave. “And don’t think of leaving to tell my aunt what you heard here tonight.” “My lady!” Colour drains from her face. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about!” “Do you really think I wouldn’t know about you poisoning my food?” Jane careens backwards while you take a step forward. “I was framed!” You ignore her plea, eyes narrowing in on her. “Did you really think I would let go of an attempt on my life so easily?” She’s frightened. You can tell by the way she shakes. “Did you think I didn’t know how you would sneak out in the middle of the night to meet my aunt outside those gates?” You loom over the conniving girl. “I knew it from the moment you stepped foot into this house and knocked on my door. Did you take me for being a fool? I let you stay so I could keep my eye on you.” Jane falls down, back against the wall and puts her hands up to protect herself. You knew the entire time. After all, you and Taehyung don’t keep secrets from one another. It’s easy to fit the puzzle pieces together that way. “Taehyung.” His hand is placed over his chest and he bows. “Yes, my lady?” You swivel on your heel. “Take care of her for me, will you?” He smirks. “Of course.” // “The story fits,” Detective Jeon tells you as you flip through the documents detailing his findings. “Her mother grew up in London but went to Middlesborough to find work in 1868. The same summer your father went to Middlesborough for work. She passed away during childbirth. ” You can still remember that summer — you were eight and it was the first time your father left for three whole months. You spent your summer with Taehyung and his father. “How did she end up in Lennox?” “The orphanage she was left at shut down seven years ago and the orphans were brought to other orphanages in Trulia. In this case, it was St. Andale’s.” Your father must’ve found out, maybe through a letter the woman sent, perhaps someone told him. But it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to explain why he would donate so much to the orphanage and how she has a twin pocket watch to yours. You wonder if your mother knew. If she did, she probably wouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like your father tried to bring her home either. Maybe that’s the reason he left everything to her, maybe he felt a sense of guilt and this is his way of repenting and making up for the neglect. “What do you plan to do now,” Detective Jeon asks. You turn your head to him. “Do you think I’m going to kill her?” It goes quiet and the corner of your mouth curls. You answer your own question. “No. I won’t.” Perhaps it’s the sympathetic part of you, but she has no part in this. She has no blame. You always imagined your sibling to have lived a happier life than you, blessed with their ignorance, without the burden of status. Yet, there to receive the wealth you have spent so long protecting. Perhaps it was envy and anger that conjured such an image in your head. But you didn’t expect your sibling to be worth feeling sorry for. She and her mother were abandoned, and she’s been without family her entire life. It’s harder this way — you can’t be angry at her. The only person to blame is your father. “I’ll be sending you over a generous sum as promised. Thank you for the work you’ve done.” The detective smiles boyishly and tips his hat. “Any time. My services will always be available whenever you need it, Miss Y/N.” “Hopefully I won’t,” you quip back at him. “I’m quite tired of digging into people’s histories.” “The secrets never end.” Detective Jeon’s doe eyes twinkle and Taehyung sees him out. Once all said and done, silence fills the room and you find yourself once more at a loss of what to do. It’s not like you had a plan to begin with. You merely wanted to find who your brother or sister was and get to them before your relatives could. Back then, you didn’t know if you wanted to try to cut them from the will or give everything to them. And now, you still don’t know. There's a timid knock at the door that interrupts your thoughts and the knob turns. The gap remains small, but you see Rose peeking in. “Is there something the matter?” She wears a nervous expression, gripping fistfuls of her dress and she hesitantly steps inside the room. “I...just wanted to see you.” You’re sure this is as hard for her to get used to as it is for you. She never had a family and you never considered your relatives family. Even when your parents were alive, they were distant. To you, family has always been Taehyung. You never expected you would have a younger sister. “Follow me.” Rose’s head whips up as you brush past her and her steps struggle to keep up as you move down the corridor. You turn the corner, come to the door on the left and enter. “Do you know what room this is?” She’s been in it many times. It’s where she poured tea, where you listened to music and where you taught her reading and writing. “It’s your study…” “No. It’s our father’s study.” The words are odd on your tongue. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to it. “He used to work in here whenever he got home from work. If you wanted to look for him, he would be here.” If you shut your eyes, you can still see him behind the desk, never once looking up. Rose steps forward, able to look around more carefully than when she was just a maid. Her eyes trace against the books on the shelves, the clock on the table, the stacked papers and pens. “Is there something you want to know about him?” “Wh..what was he like?” You lean against the wall, humming a low note. “Everyone called him a respectable man. He was good at what he did. He worked hard, so much so that he never ceased his work. But he was an aloof father.” The young girl nods slowly and turns around. “Do you hate me?” You look at your half-sibling, eyes dimmed, expression stoic. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be honest with her. “I did.” She flinches and you look away. “I always imagined I would hate my sibling, but unfortunately, I can’t hate you now that I’ve gotten to know you.” A cold laugh emits from your mouth and never reaches your eyes. “Funny how fate works that way.” You stroll to the fireplace, arms hugging your body. “The same day my parents were buried in the ground was the same day I received the will. It promised all the assets, the wealth, the company to you. Do you know what it means to be the inheritor of the Arden family?” You swivel on your heel, eyes fixed at the twelve year old. “It means people will be coming after you. They’ll speak sweetly, let you hear everything you could ever wish for, and then stab you in the back. Some are more honest than others, but you could potentially fall in love with someone kind and generous, and find out years later it was all a front.” Her eyes grow wide and you continue, “A maid who saved you today could poison you tomorrow. People are greedy and will do anything to get a step up in life. If there’s anything you know best, it’s the pain of being poor, abandoned by everyone and how desperate that could lead someone to be.” “I...I don’t want to inherit anything.” “You have no choice. That’s the way it is.” “Then what can I do?” You inhale a deep breath, not sure how to answer. But then your mind strays to a certain man with dark hair, a warm voice and a lean frame who never fails to be by your side. “You find people you can trust.” “I trust you,” she says within a beat and it startles you. She didn’t blink, didn’t even need a second to think about it. It’s spoken with a kind of sincerity that you aren’t used to from others. “That’s foolish.” If there was anyone she should be afraid of, it was you. She’s the black sheep, the illegitimate child, the one who stands in the way of you gaining everything. There are numerous reasons why you should get rid of her and no reason why she should trust you. Yet— “I don’t think so.” Her gaze is shy but earnest. “You treated me well from the beginning before...all of this.” “That’s precisely why,” you point out in a cold tone. “I didn’t know who you were. I could just as easily turn my back on you.” Still, Rose gingerly smiles. Her eyes crinkle and her cheeks puff out. “I have a feeling that won’t happen.” Your stoic expression wanes away into guilt. She’s naive. But you wonder if it’s such a terrible thing that her world is so rose-coloured when you know what it’s like for everything to have turned gray. // Without needing to look up, you can tell Taehyung entered the room. Who else would have permission to come and go without knocking than him, and the way he shuts the door is always soft, his steps even quieter. Your ears are always listening for those small noises. “Where did you go?” “I went to pick up the pocket watch from the repair shop. They sent notice that I could come get it.” “This late at night?” “Were you waiting for me?” You can hear the sly smile on Taehyung’s lips and when eyes flicker up towards him, you’re not wrong. “No.” It’s a lie and by the look on his face, he knows it too. “You’re the one who said you would always be by my side, so I was curious to see you gone.” Taehyung is amused and you turn your head away from him. “I only left for an hour.” “You should’ve sent Jimin.” His smile softens as he approaches with a box in hand and places it on the rounded table you’re sitting by. “They said it was important and if possible, I should come soon, so I thought I would go myself in case something happened.” “What was it?” Taehyung gestures for you to open the box. It’s the pocket watch your father gave you in his will and it looks exactly the same as when you first received it. It’s heavy in your hand. “They said while they were repairing the cracked glass, they found out the clock of the watch can be pulled open. There’s a compartment at the back.” You look up at him, eyes meeting and you pop the front open to the ticking time that’s precise to the second. True as they said, with a bit of effort, the clock opens. And out falls a folded square paper, no smaller than a coin. Your hand quivers as you rush to unfold it. The letter is aged. It crinkles beneath your fingertips. You swallow hard, finding your father’s handwriting. Dear Y/N, Recently, I went to the funeral of an associate of mine. He was an old friend from back then and helped with the company when it was just myself and your mother. It’s a shame he passed away. Lawyer Kim also has come to ask me about creating a will. I fear I have gotten much older than I realized. Someday, you will come to be surprised at how quickly the years go. Your mother and I briefly discussed what we wanted for you when the time comes and we are no longer here. It truly made me realize how much of a burden things will be. Your mother reminds me that you have always been a strong child and I must agree. I hope when the time comes and your mother and I are gone, you will know that we have always thought about you. Arden Eugene It isn’t an apology letter. It serves little explanation for why things are the way they are. Your father never makes mention to the half-sibling you had to search for, doesn’t tell you why he left everything for her, doesn’t apologize or express remorse about being so distant. But the words are sincere, every sentence his own, filled with his spirit. Your eyes sting painfully as the sound of his fading voice echoes in the recesses of your mind and a lump lodges in your throat. Taehyung softly calls to you and you feel the warmth of his arms. He’s by your side as you cry. // There’s much for you to think about in the days that follow. You’re not sure how many times the grandfather clock chimes and rings throughout the house, how often someone asks you if you’d like to eat something or drink. Of course, Taehyung is the one who always draws your attention and pulls you from your thoughts, insisting that it’s time to go to bed or you should take a walk outside and look at the roses that have bloomed. Taehyung always takes care of you when you need him most. And somehow, the spitefulness sewn deep inside of you has lessened. You can feel it when you look around the manor, when you peek outside to the land of the estate, when you wake in the mornings. An exhaustion you thought of as permanent has begun to diminish. More importantly, you start to worry how you’ll protect Rose. She’s nothing but a scared child and you can only hide this secret for so long. Soon enough, they’ll turn the target onto her. “Must you protect her?” Taehyung asks. You know he doesn’t want you to take more onto yourself, to bound yourself to responsibilities that may not be your own. Just as you’d like Taehyung to be free and unrestrained, he wishes the same for you. And it is tempting. To leave her for the wolves, to save yourself, be without obligations, but... “Yes. I finally found someone stronger than me to continue carrying the Arden name, Taehyung. She can shoulder this burden with me and one day, she’ll be even more powerful than I am.” It’s simple to assume that she’s an obstacle, in the way of you achieving everything, a smudge to your existence. But after being wrapped in thoughts, you’ve come to understand that the burden of being the sole heir has been lifted from your shoulders. You don’t have to worry if your fragile state ever worsens. With her here, the uneasiness of the future has disappeared. “Call for Lawyer Kim tomorrow.” The corner of your mouth tugs. “I have a plan.” He smiles and bows his head. “Understood.” Your eyes meet again and you place your chin in your palm, arm propped on the table. A smile pulls on your features. “Taehyung.” “Yes, my lady?” “How far are you willing to help me?” “I’ll do anything,” he answers without needing to blink. Taehyung’s loyalty is undying no matter how many times you ask, but it's been too long since you’ve teased him. He looks far too calm and composed these days for your liking. “Then if I ordered you to strip naked and dance in the city square?” “I would refuse since it would tarnish your name.” You scoff lightly and he grins. “If I told you to hold my hand?” Your arm stretches out towards him and Taehyung closes the distance, coming to cradle your hand gently while he dips his head. “I would be honoured to.” “What if I wasn’t wealthy, would you still be here?” you ask, voice softening. “I would.” “How long are you going to stay here for, Taehyung? I don’t expect you to waste your entire life here.” His smile is tender, gaze affectionate. “I don’t think it’s a waste at all.” You scoff again and let go in favour of lifting your arms to squash his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. But rather than a fish, he’s very much like a puppy. Your puppy. “You know how to sweet talk too well.” Taehyung’s eyes are the shade of umber. Yet in the candlelight, they warm into a deep hue of honey that you find yourself tempted to stare into for hours on end. Or until midnight when the grandfather clock will chime throughout the manor. Your hands drop and you lean in to press your lips against his cheek in a soft kiss. You pull away a second later, eyes nervously flickering to him. Taehyung’s visibly taken aback and you clear your throat, diverting your vision elsewhere. “Carry me to bed.” It’s just a few steps away — you could walk. But he doesn’t make a single complaint, arms coming to loop around your shoulders and the back of your knees with ease. Taehyung strides over and lays you down on the soft bed, but before he can get far, you tug on the sleeve with a steady command. “Stay.” “It wouldn’t be proper.” “It doesn’t matter.” You muster more of your strength to pull him and he smiles. “Very well.” You let him go to blow out the candles and he tugs off his coat, draping it over the back of the chair. You realize it might be uncomfortable for him without his nightshirt, but he doesn’t once protest, so you watch as he loosens the top buttons of his shirt and the ones at his wrist. You don’t know why you feel so nervous all of a sudden. From time to time, the two of you slept in the same bed as children. But you suppose it’s been a long time since you were children. The sheets of the bed shift and the bed dips with his weight. You turn your head, vaguely able to see his silhouette with the moon’s cool light coming through the curtains. You grip the edge of the covers. “Taehyung?” “Yes?” “Shall we tell scary tales?” You savour the sound of his laugh. “So you can’t sleep and I’ll have to be here for the next few nights?” “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you murmur and turn your body fully to face him, hand pressed underneath your head. “Taehyung?” “Yes, mistress?” Your brows furrow and you deadpan, “Call me by my name.” It’s silent. His breath hitches and you nibble on the bottom of your lip. When you first met, he called you without restraint until he was taught otherwise. It’s been years since you’ve heard the syllables of your name with his husky timbre. “Properly,” you add. “Y/N.” Taehyung shifts his head to look at you in the comforting darkness. He enunciates it carefully, in a murmur, as if he’s afraid there won’t be another chance. “Y/N.” Your chest warms and heat is brought to your cheeks. The quietness simmers and your lashes flutter, eyes becoming heavier and heavier. “You don’t have to worry about my reputation or tarnishing my name, Taehyung.” “I don’t want to cause you harm in any way,” he says. “I know.” Your fingers come out to gently brush the strands of hair away from his forehead. “But soon, we won’t have to be under the scrutiny of so many or worry what will happen tomorrow. Those things will cease to exist. When that happens, will you still be by my side?” “Of course.” “Then it’s my promise to you.” He smiles faintly, trusting in your promise. “I’ll be patiently waiting.” The two of you doze off and fall asleep. Throughout the night, Taehyung’s arms reach for you and you nuzzle into him for warmth. It’s the best sleep you receive since you can recall.

The room is large. You’re not sure if it’s because all the furniture is being taken, or if it’s from the bright sunlight coming through the windows now that the heavy curtains are gone. Perhaps it was always this large and the clutter was simply too much. “Please watch the vase.” Jimin, the good-natured man, is fretting over the men. “It is very expensive!” You never liked this house much. It’s always been dark. The wallpaper is a deep shade, black trim that matches the hardwood. Every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, the golden chandeliers, the ornate carpet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s quite unnecessary. While each room is filled with memories — from your childhood spent with Taehyung chasing your giggles and your parents striding in and out of rooms — you’re glad to leave it all behind. You can finally let it go and free yourself from its binds. “Y/N!” There’s a stampede, the familiar voice of your dearest uncle. You come to the entrance where your aunt and cousin are fervently following after him. A maid has a panic-stricken face but you lift your hand, allowing her to be dismissed. They must’ve seen the movement, heard the news. “What is happening?!” “I’m selling the land.” Your aunt steps forward, mouth fallen agape. “What?!” “I’ve decided this estate has gotten old.” You stand tall, arms behind your back and for once your stoic expression is marred by a smile. “Trulia’s not where I want to be anymore either.” Hoseok’s brows are furrowed deep enough to wrinkle permanently. “How?!” You look at Uncle Seokjin. “It might be time for you to reconsider who your favourite niece is.” You turn to beckon Rose over who’s peeking out from the corner of the other doorway. “It’s okay. You should meet them at least once.” She approaches timidly, dressed in a fine pink gown that only wealth could buy and your relatives furrow their brows in confusion. She steps beside you and you finally give her a proper introduction. “This is my younger sister, Rose.” “Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Aunt Marie’s eyes widen. “Impossible.” “No. It actually isn’t.” You squeeze your sister’s shoulder and she glances at you with a small smile. “I managed to find her and I’m handing all the assets and the land to her as planned. I should fulfill my parents’ last wishes, no?” The surrounding furniture continues to be lifted and taken out by the shuffling workers to be sold and auctioned — from the paintings to the sofa. All you’ll have by the end is a suitcase packed of some clothing and the pocket watch your father gave. You don’t need anything else. “But it’s still not possible.” Hoseok’s voice quivers. “She’s not married and of age!” A man you know well interrupts, coming from the dining room. He clears his throat and everyone turns to regard the suited lawyer. “It is quite possible.” Your aunt meets him within a single stride. “Lawyer Kim! Explain this immediately!” Lawyer Kim shifts uncomfortable in his spot, putting his weight from one foot to the next. “Well, it wasn’t particularly complicated, but Y/N, here, has become the legal guardian of her younger sister, thereby, allowing her to collect the inheritance. She can liquidate, remove, expand or withdraw as she chooses. That...includes selling the estate and moving elsewhere.” Aunt Marie swivels on her heel and practically seethes, “She is still unmarried!” “We’ve gotten married.” It’s a husky timbre with a certain warmth to the tone that speaks. The room spins around at his voice, commanding the attention of each person, old and young. But Taehyung’s eyes are met with yours and the corner of his mouth is quirked as he descends the stairs, hand skimming along the banister. For a second — the thinnest handle of the grandfather clock being taken away ticking — no one breathes. But then Uncle Seokjin breaks out into laughter. Aunt Marie abruptly turns to Lawyer Kim to confirm what was just said. “Is this true?!” “Yes, I was there as a witness. They wedded three nights ago at the church. It was a brief but intimate ceremony, I must say.” Your aunt is completely appalled. She blanches, features crumpled and her head slowly turns to face you as if you’ve committed the greatest sin. “You really dared to marry a mere butler? Y-You should be ashamed of yourself! What would your parents say, Y/N?! What would they do?!” “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead,” you state blankly. “And he is more reliable than any man I would ever come to know. I would appreciate it if you would treat my husband with more respect. He is a member of the Arden family now.” Taehyung comes to your side and you take a glimpse of him, a small smile emerging on your lips. Aunt Marie shakes her head, violated and exasperated at your presumptuous behaviour. “I have no words...absolutely...no words. How dare you.” “I learned from the best.” You smile at her. “Sometimes you must do dire things when the circumstances call for it. Am I wrong, Aunt Marie?” But really, this is far from dire. You feel like this is the best decision you’ve made since your parents passing. It will be a new start. All the workers will be paid generously for their time spent here. You know many are sad to part, but they’re happy to see you lively again — at least that’s what Jimin told you as he held his hat to his chest and smiled gently. “And what about the company?” Hoseok rushes to ask. You shift to him. “There’s no one more suitable than Mr. Min to carry on. So I’ve sold it to him. I trust that he will do great things with the company and he’s promised me to do so as well.” Hoseok instantly pales. Your Uncle comes forward with feigned worry. “Where are you going?” “I haven’t decided. But it will be a place where you’ll never be able to find me.” You want to go far away to a place where no one knows your name. Where they’ll be no scrutiny, no newspapers. Where you’ll be free of the responsibilities that have plagued your mind and made you ill. “If you wish to contact me, you’ll have to go through Lawyer Kim first,” you deadpan. “I can’t assure my letters will be frequent as I’ll be somewhere distant, where no one will be able to take advantage of my precious younger sister until she becomes of age and naturally marries. They’ll inherit it together without worry that the relationship was built on greed. I’ll make sure I see myself to that.” You look at your aunt directly. “I’ll ask as well that you not try to plant someone under my roof as I’ll find out.” Her mouth draws open, face reddened. “You ingrate!” Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin. Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest. You turn on your heel, looking out the window. “I hope you don’t take this all to heart. I’ll always wish the best for you, Aunt Marie, Hoseok, Uncle Seokjin. That’s what my father would’ve wanted.” Your aunt shakingly exhales, “I can’t believe this.” At the same time, Hoseok collapses against the wall, entirely stunned and your uncle presses his hand to his forehead. Your hand comes onto Rose’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. You look at Lawyer Kim who smiles and then your smiling eyes meet your husband’s. Today’s the brightest morning since you can remember. The grass is verdant, air is crisp and the sky is a strong shade of azure with the sunlight piercing through the wispy clouds. It’s noisy, but you don’t mind so much.

The train whistles. The wheels are rolling against the steel rails, chugging along. There’s a bustle inside the cart, families and lovers sitting together, children rushing past. But you watch the storm of verdant out the window, the fields and trees flashing by. You’re not so sure if you’ll stop at the first platform or the second. But when you do, you’ll take your packed suitcases from overhead and be on your merry way, disappearing into the crowd. Your eyes stray from the window to the pocket watch in hand. You’re loosely holding the golden chain of the watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. It’s your most prized possession. It brings memories of the times your father did look up from his desk at you, when your mother would turn with a smile, how that manor allowed you and Taehyung to run through its halls. Rose is asleep across from you, eyes shut and breaths leaving her parted lips. She’s much too unguarded, but you’re not sure if that’s something you should try to change or protect. She tired herself out after being excited to leave Trulia. It is her first time leaving the country after all and she was practically pasted to the windows with wide eyes. You’re happy that you can be here to watch her. It’s still difficult for you to get used to the fact that she’s your sister, but you’re sure with time, she’ll become one of the most important people to you. She is your family. With a soft smile, you stand and slip the pocket watch into your pocket. You walk down the cart of the train to the door. It’s heavy to open, but once you do, the wind whisks through your hair and Taehyung turns around. The three of you chose to sit at the end of the train where there’s a proper place to stand outside and watch the tracks fade away over the curves and horizon. But there isn’t anyone out here aside from, probably because of how chilling the wind is. You wrap the shawl around you tighter. “What are you doing here?” Taehyung asks with furrowed brows. “Aren’t you cold?” You shake your head and join his side at the railing. He looks at you. “Are you feeling nauseous?” “A little at the beginning, but it feels a lot better today. Maybe I’ve gotten used to it.” Taehyung smiles, traces of relief on his expression. Your eyes gaze into the profile of his face, from the dark strands of his hair brushing his forehead to the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. Sometimes you wonder if you’re in a daze, but you realize you married this man. You held Taehyung to the promise that he would do anything for you. And in return, you’re fulfilling your own promise — by going to a place where you can be together. Where it won’t matter what he was or who you are. “I didn’t marry you just to get the inheritance, Taehyung,” you tell him while looking ahead at the passing trees. “It was a way to protect everything I care about. Including you.” His soft smile is heard in his voice. “I know, my lady.” You shift on your heel, facing him with a hardened expression. “But that’s not all. I married you, Taehyung, because I wanted to go somewhere new with you and escape the titles that have bounded us to our duties. I don’t want to be treated as the lady of the house anymore. I want us to be equals.” Taehyung sighs lightly and steps closer to you until your bodies are practically pressed together. He has no hesitance. There’s no longer a worry of anyone watching. “That’s impossible.” Your face falls. He continues, “I’ll always feel a need to serve and protect you, Y/N. My father left me with that responsibility. It’s a part of my legacy to care for the Arden family.” You desperately search his expression. “Then is it impossible to be together? Everything that we’ve gone through together. All this time. Everything that I did — is it really impossible?” “It isn’t,” he murmurs in a warm voice that you’re taken aback by. Taehyung’s face softens and he lifts his finger to gingerly brush away a strand of hair that tickles your cheek. “Those two things don’t have to conflict. And if that’s what you wish for, then I’ll follow you until the end.” The corners of your lip tug. “Is that a promise?” “It is.” You hold out your hand. “Then join me in making my wish come true.” Taehyung smiles and his plush lips kiss against your knuckles, swearing his loyalty to you. Not just as a butler, but also as your husband. The two of you gaze at one another as you lean into him and Taehyung’s arms hold you. It feels warmer than you could’ve imagined and it’s all because he’s here by your side forevermore. The train rides off into the distance until you’ve blended into the scenery.

#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts reader insert #hope y'all enjoy this final instalment #the romance is much more subtle than I'm used to writing #but it's nice to change it up

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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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kiame-sama · 4 years

Text

28 years (1st pregnancy)- Yandere!Silva x Reader (tiny lime)

One of you lovies, requested to know what I think Silva acted like during the first pregnancy in 28 Years! I am currently working on part 3 of 28 years and should have it out sometime soon, but for now, here's the backstory of when Illumi was born! If you would like more from this vein, perhaps I'll just make 28 years into a full-blooded story!

Warnings; mention of blood, protective Silva, mention of adult themes from '28 Years', the struggles of pregnancy, mention of abusive behavior, hypersensitivity, surprisingly fluffy moments, a bit of ooc, Silva's depravity, creepy moments, ANGST, tiny lime moment, milk (women do produce it during pregnancy, after all), MORE ANGST, mention of depression,

~~~~~~

That night, after the female doctor checked you and confirmed you were pregnant, almost everything changed.

She had confirmed you were pregnant after her initial inspection and was promptly told to leave. Quickly following, you had fallen back into a fitful sleep, tired from your sudden sickness and the realization that you were carrying this monster's infant.

You woke up several hours later in your bed, feeling more well rested than you had in years. The room from the beginning had been rather sparsely decorated and had a few modest blankets over the slightly uncomfortable bed.

But now, everything was different.

The bed beneath you was unbelievably soft and plush. It was far more comfortable than it had been before, practically enveloping your body and supporting you. It was covered with a heavenly cloth that was what you assumed to be some kind of high-grade material that you could never afford. Many blankets and similar items had been added during your nap, and they now wrap around your figure comfortably.

Shelves, drawers, and other such things had been added to the room as well. You quickly noticed that all sharp corners and hard edges on the furniture had been sanded smooth. The hard floor had been covered with what looked to be unbelievably soft carpet.

It stunned you and you almost got up before voices came close, quickly pretending you were asleep, making sure to keep your breaths even.

"-stays comfortable. If I didn't know better, I would say you've become more than just interested in her, Silva."

"I told you from the first day she arrived, I have no intention of leaving or losing her."

"Your children are next in the Zoldyck line, so they should carry on the family business and name."

"I'm not losing her to anything, old-man. I'm not losing her to illness. I'm not letting her go. And I'm not losing her life for an heir."

"Her having your child proves she is yours and only yours, doesn't it?"

"..."

"That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you've wanted from the moment you first laid eyes on her. You've wanted her to belong to you, to love you, to worship you like you do to her. You want her to fear you enough to respect your authority, but refuse to actually lay a harmful hand on her. You need her like a drug so you refuse to let her go. You don't want to lose her? Then don't."

"..."

After another moment of silence, you heard the door to your room open for a moment before before gently closing, Silva likely checking in on you. It was odd, as he didn't usually show much concern for your desires or comfort. He would take you when he wished even if you didn't want him to, he always had that strong chain keeping you from being able to reach the door or window, he hardly cared if you wanted to leave or wanted him to leave.

But now it sounded like your captor showed more concern for you than he had initially let on. You had been so scared that he would truly kill you if you didn't obey, but Zeno is making it seem like Silva would never actually harm you like that. He likely needed you more than even he thought, so he refuses to bargain your health for anything.

"Fine. But I'm not taking contracts while she is pregnant."

"That's fine."

"And if it is between her life or the infant's, there is no question that I will choose for her to live. If she dies and the child lives, I'll kill it myself."

You shivered at the sudden dark tone that his voice had taken and you tried not to flinch or react when the door opened again. You couldn't hear the approaching footsteps but you continued your act, laying as still and relaxed as you possibly could. Just because you knew he wouldn't kill you now, doesn't mean you wanted to push him that far just to test it out.

If he thought you were resting, you may learn even more on how you might escape or what you could use to your advantage. For a moment you considered holding the life of the infant hostage, but it was clear he didn't care about the child enough to release you. That thought, however, quickly left your mind as you knew it wouldn't work and you didn't want to draw an innocent life into it.

The child may be of your captor, but an infant shouldn't bear the sins of the parent. If you really were stuck here, why would you ever allow the child to be hurt by your hands? No. As long as you could help it, your child will be safe from their dangerous father and will be protected in your arms.

The bed slightly slumped somewhere near your body as Silva sat down. You knew it was him from the moment the door had opened, but the slight trailing touch on your shoulder confirmed it. Silva barely allowed the female doctor to touch you, so of course he wouldn't let Zeno touch you.

"It seems you truly do care for the woman. At first it seemed that this was just lust, but that isn't it. You love this woman, don't you?"

"... Yes."

The sudden voice of Zeno almost made you jolt as it seems both assassins were in the room with you. Silva was closer to you, judging by the volume of his voice. Another soft touch on your shoulder slightly soothed you, as you were feeling more than a little starved for gentle contact.

You let yourself enjoy the moment, even if it was gentle affection from the man who destroyed your life. The continued gentle action made you actually slip into sleep, resting easy even with two killers nearby.

~~~~~~

You were around three months into your pregnancy and you almost felt like you were actually in a relationship with the terrifying man.

Almost.

You were still collared and your collar was still attached to a chain. You weren't allowed to go outside, no matter how many times or what way you asked.

Beyond that, however, Silva was more accommodating and gentle with you. He no longer took you against your will anymore, instead he held you close and had you sit on his lap. You weren't ecstatic about being forced to cuddle with him, but it was better than the alternative.

He spent almost all of his time with you, needing some kind of contact with you at all times. You faintly assumed it was his way of satisfying his need for you that didn't involve fucking you.

You were currently seated upon his lap, reading a book from the many he had left in the room for you. It was some kind of adventure book, but you weren't really paying attention. As you went to flip to the next page, a sudden pain in your abdomen forced you to drop it, letting out a light cry of pain.

"What? What's wrong? Answer me!"

You felt his form rigid beneath you, one of his hands on your thigh and the other on your stomach. You shook your head, getting your breath back from being so suddenly winded by the sharp pain.

"It's done... It's done..."

"What is?"

"The pain... It's gone..."

"What happened?"

Silva's voice was a low growl and his grip on your leg tightened slightly. He seemed more stressed than you were at that moment and you hesitantly rested your hands over his. At the warmth of your hands he slowly relaxed, frowning in displeasure.

"I don't know what happened. It's probably nothing."

"I'm having your doctor check you."

"I said it's nothing."

"And I say you are going to be checked. I already dislike the pregnancy, I'm not going to let you die and leave me because of it."

He moved to set you gently on the couch as he left to retrieve the kind doctor.

You almost wanted to sigh in displeasure at the idea. Though you appreciated your doctor you felt like you had seen her almost every day.

Her name was Kikyo and she served two roles at the Zoldyck estate. The first being your doctor, as she was well versed in medicine. The second being your decoy.

Apparently her family tried to set her up with Silva and quickly abandoned her afterwards. Zeno often refered to her with a cruel title, "that useless woman," as she was infertile. Her family had been slaughtered for daring to try and trick them, and only by her medical abilities was she saved from suffering the same fate.

Shortly after she arrived at the estate, Silva had brought you in as well. She was the only female there who had medical experience and so she was spared under the condition of playing her two roles.

As your doctor, she obviously took over your primary care. As your stand-in, she was the one who attended meetings and other things of the like to seem like she was married to Silva. Others only saw her and not you, meaning she would be targeted should anyone try to attack the family.

You had made a pact with her, that if anything should happen to you, she would take your child and run. She couldn't have children and you could never leave. You both suffered something and so, you both connected on a different level. Outside of other Zoldycks, she was the only one allowed to come see you.

She was an unlikely friend in your dark new life. You took comfort in her presence and she took comfort in yours. Though you two barely got to speak due to Silva's possessive behavior, you had both formed a near unbreakable friendship.

You looked up when the door opened once more, Silva entering followed closely by Kikyo. You kept a calm facade as you knew that Silva would become jealous should you show excitement upon seeing her, and you would rather not risk the life of your friend.

"What's happening?"

"Sudden sharp pain. It didn't last long, but it certainly was there."

"Centered around the stomach?"

"Yes."

You sat as still as possible, feeling Silva's eyes bore into you from across the room as Kikyo examined you. She gently lifted your loose shirt to prod gently at your stomach. You let out a small squeak of pain when she put light pressure in a certain spot, making her focus on that area.

"It just started today?"

"Yeah..."

"And localized around here primarily?"

"Yes."

"Hm... Might have to preform an ultrasound to see what's going on. Women are more likely to lose their child around the end of the first trimester at three months in. Could be the embryotic sack has been punctured, or it is just a simple pain of your body adjusting to the child. Regardless, it should be checked."

You nodded and she stood, looking over at Silva.

"Sir, I will need to retrieve the ultrasound equipment. Likely should do it soon since these pains can indicate something life-threatening to both her and the-"

"Stay here. I will send out others to retrieve it immediately."

Kikyo nodded and returned to kneeling in front of you, continuing her examination of your slightly swelling stomach. Silva paused at the door, only for a moment and looked back at you and Kikyo, his eyes cold as the darkest ice.

"If she dies or if anything happens to her, I will torture you for days on end and flay you alive. Understood?"

"... Yes, sir."

With that he left, closing the door behind him. You wasted no time in resting your hands on her shoulders and pulling her into a hug, both to comfort her and yourself.

"I wish he didn't threaten you, I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault. We were both thrown unwillingly into this life. We didn't choose this, it was chosen for us. I'm just glad I can help in whatever way I can."

~~~~~~

Five months in and you were already so sick of it. Sick of being stuck in a room. Sick of being told to sit down and rest. Sick of having cravings. All of it.

Pickles and chocolate sauce? Watermelon and pretzels? And damn it, you could barely remember things at times. SIMPLE things. And not to mention all of the tossing and turning because nothing was comfortable anymore.

And the mood-swings. Oh hell, the mood-swings. You can be happily pacing as you've taken to recently, but the moment Silva tells you to sit and rest you're sobbing hysterically or shouting at him. Your faintly surprised he hasn't retaliated or snapped at you. No, he just stays infuriatingly calm and holds you until you calm down or pass out.

It was surprisingly more comfortable to sit on him than the couch or bed, as the way you can lean back and still have support around your stomach did wonders for the back pain.

You leaned back against the warm chest behind you, wanting to just sleep and relax instead of pacing as you usually did. You were starting to slip into sleep when you tugged at your shirt, feeling a wet sensation on your chest.

You opened your eyes to snap at Silva for toying with you, but his hands were resting beneath your stomach. A small bit of confusion sparked in your tired mind so you reached up to examine your shirt. Indeed, there were two wet spots on your shirt.

Out of confusion and lack of caring, you lifted your top completely to examine your chest. To your surprise, white liquid was beading up on your breasts.

"What the hell..?"

Your question drew Silva's attention, making him lean forward to see what you were looking at.

"Seems you've started producing milk early."

"But... That isn't supposed to happen until right before the baby's born..."

"It can happen early... Sometimes months early."

One hand slowly trailed up your stomach, making you shiver in stress. His movement was so slow and sensual that you felt worried he would try something, seeing as he had left you alone for months now. You let out a soft whimper when he cupped your chest, thumb gathering the liquid.

He growled at your whimper, retracting his hand from you and licking the cream off of his thumb. His pupils were fully dilated and focused only on you. He was snapped out of his trance-like state when you protectively wrapped your arms around your stomach.

He stopped himself and frowned, letting his hands rest where they had been, the lust was clear in his eyes. It seemed to be ripping him to pieces to have to resist touching you. His eyes trailed to your stomach and you could have sworn you saw hate in them. When he spoke next, it was softer, gentler. Almost like a low croon.

"You know... I have no intention of sharing you with anyone. No one gets to touch you like I do and no one should even lay their eyes on you other than me. Do you know what I thought when I saw you for the first time?"

"..."

"I thought I had died and actually woke up in the afterlife. I don't believe in any of that, even if my great-grandfather does. But I honestly thought you were an angel."

"..what-?"

"From that moment I knew I had to have you. To hold you. To keep you in my arms. I knew I wasn't going to share you with anyone or let anyone take you from me. So I clipped your wings. Now my angel can't fly away from me. Now you're for my eyes only."

His low voice in your ear made a whimper escape your lips, very suddenly feeling unsafe in his arms. You slowly wrapped your arms around you, moving your hands beneath his, not wanting him to touch your stomach anymore.

His eyes flickered for only a moment, to you stomach and then back at you, a displeased look in his eyes. You began to feel more attached to the life growing within you, now wanting to keep both you and your child safe from the man who claimed to love you.

~~~~~~

Eight months.

Eight long months.

You've begun to notice how Silva has been acting more and more aggressive than usual. He is becoming visibly irate whenever he looks at your stomach, seeming to dislike how he had to leave you alone. He was antsy, he was impatient, he wanted nothing to do with the impending arrival of the infant.

It was only now that you realized what could happen to you. Silva already disliked the child and he had spoken many times about refusing to share you. The child you have been trying so hard to protect would be taken from you.

You just knew it. He would never let you keep your baby.

You began to refuse to let him touch your stomach. You refused to let him hold you. When you would sleep, you did so on your side, facing away from him.

Your actions seemed to bother him in a whole new way. At one point, he seemed to be affectionate towards the life inside of you, even waking you in the night while speaking to it. But now, he was a completely different person.

It seemed he disliked sharing your attention with the soon to be born infant. Like he no longer saw it as a way to possess you, but a threat to his time with you. A threat to him.

Your actions of turning away from him only made it worse. Instead of protecting the child, you only made him begin to loathe it. It threatened him now, and it was taking the attention he felt entitled to.

You worried what would happen when the child was finally born.

~~~~~~

The unconscious woman awoke with a start, panting heavily and looking around. She was in bed. The lights in the room were turned off, and a figure slept next to her.

The first thing she noticed was that her stomach was no longer as extended as it had once been. An emptiness within that made a whimper escape her lips. Her hand resting over her stomach.

"You're awake."

A deep voice from the figure beside her rumbled out, slowly sitting up.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"You know who! Where is my baby?"

"..."

"Damn it, answer me!"

"Dead. Died during birth."

The world shattered in that moment. Nothing was real. Nothing made sense.

"I don't believe you... I don't believe you! You killed him didn't you!?"

"(Y/n), stop. This isn't-"

"I heard him cry. I know my baby didn't die during birth. I heard him cry."

The tense silence was nearly deafening, only to be broken by sobs as her anger gave way to crushing grief.

"(Y/n)-"

"Don't touch me you murderer! You killed my baby! You couldn't stand me looking at anyone but you, so you killed him!"

"I did not kill the infant-"

"Stop lying to me!"

She slowly stumbled out of bed, covering her eyes and sobbing. Silva let her go, knowing she would react this way. Of course, he could have told her that the child survived, and the both of them almost died after she gave birth. But he didn't want her to know the child was still alive.

He believed lying to her was more merciful so she could move on faster. But, if she learns the child is still alive, she will never let it go.

But he was wrong. He was so wrong. It had been weeks, and still she wept. Still she paced. Still she pulled on her chain desperately towards the door, hand stretched out as far as possible.

She refused to be consoled, practically feral every time he tried to touch her. She suffered. She would sit for hours, nearly choking herself in attempts to get out to search for any sign of her child being alive. She would pace with empty eyes, arms wrapped around herself as if to try and keep it together.

She was lost. She wailed until her voice was gone. She clawed at him until his arms bled- a rather impressive feat on its own- leaving scars behind.

Then, three weeks after being separated from her child, she disappeared. Her collar on the floor, door open, and nowhere in sight.

"No one saw her leave!? All of you, eyes everywhere and not one of you saw her get out?! Search for her. Now. If any of you dare come back empty-handed I will slaughter all of you."

The butlers scrambled and scurried from the room like rats, all terrified to look back at those cold blue eyes.

"Where is the infant?"

"She wanted him to be named Illumi, and he's in the nursery. She didn't take him. I doubt she even knew he was still alive."

"She's convinced that he is."

"And she's right. It was a foolish mistake to take him from her. She-"

Silva's fist silenced the chastising words of his father, the very wall cracking and breaking. His hand was sunk into the concrete and the metal behind it was bending under the pressure. He had done it with his own raw strength and rage at his little darling being allowed to slip away. He didn't use his Nen, but his bare hand.

"I know. I'm well aware it was foolish. But someone let her out."

"What do you mean?"

"She was set loose by someone. The collar was opened, not torn. The door was unlocked, not burst open. Her tracker was removed, by someone who knew it was there."

"Someone helped her escape."

The soft sound of heels clicking against the ground drew the attention of the two men. Kikyo had arrived.

"There is no blood in the room. So she wasn't taken by force. There were no prints either. Nothing but her own. There is a slight residue left behind, likely from disposable gloves. She was let out by someone who knew what they were doing. Whoever it was likely told her the true fate of her infant."

"If that's so, why didn't she take him?"

"Perhaps she knew not to. She could have assumed that the child is alive somewhere else, or she could believe that the child is safer if she didn't take him."

Silva was about to turn his rage against Kikyo before a soft knock sounded. Silva did not move from his spot, fist still sunken deep within the wall. Zeno was the one to open the door and receive the news, knowing what would result the moment Silva heard it.

"She's been located."

"Where?"

~~~~~~

Empty eyes.

Devoid of light, of emotion, of anyone still left within.

Like a doll with all of the stuffing having been torn out. She doesn't move anymore. She doesn't eat. She doesn't make a single sound.

She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms around them. She hasn't blinked for who knows how long. Her arms and legs covered in blooming purple marks shaped like hands. She doesn't even cry anymore.

"What is wrong with her? Answer me now."

"She's checked out completely."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means she's so mentally, physically, and emotionally broken she's not there anymore. Maybe deep inside, buried away, but that isn't her anymore. Humans can withstand many things that should kill them. But those who go through extreme loss, or abuse-"

The doctor was cut off, a hand wrapped tightly around her neck, causing her to choke. She tried weakly to claw at the iron grip, though her nails didn't even break the skin.

"Choose your next words wisely. I do not abuse my wife. She needed to learn that running from me solves nothing for her. It only results in suffering to leave. She will not leave again. And if she doesn't leave, she won't be hurt again."

With that he dropped the choking woman to the ground, watching with cold eyes as she gasped and fought to breathe. Still, the woman in the corner did not move, her eyes staring through everyone. She was gaunt, pale, and seemed lifeless.

"She won't come back. Not on her own. You say you taught her to not run? She won't. Not anymore. She isn't even in there anymore to think about running."

Even in his anger, he knew she was right. He knew he had gone too far. He knew his little wife was broken. He hadn't intended on pushing her that far or harming her as he did. Her flame was gone. Her eyes were empty.

That was not his angel. That was a shell.

"Then how do I fix it?"

"I don't know."

"How do I fix it!?"

"I don't know!"

The cry of an infant was heard clearly throughout the room, nearly echoing off the walls. It had come from the door that led out of the cell, and was getting louder.

"What the hell is that old fool doing? Does he honestly think bringing that thing will help-"

"Baby?"

A croaking and strained voice met Silva's ears, silencing him and drawing his complete attention.

She had moved.

She could barely crawl, let alone walk, but still she was drawn to the door, like a moth to a flame. She reached the length of the chain and still kept trying to reach the door, whining in desperation.

"Baby..! My baby..!"

Her voice was strained and gasping but still she extended her arms as far as she could reach, choking herself with the collar. Then it finally opened as Zeno entered, a swaddling of blankets in his arms fussing and crying.

"Baby! BABY!"

Her voice was screeching at this point, fingers tense with stained muscles, all of her energy focused on reaching out to the tiny life in the arms of the elder. He did not hesitate to place the crying infant into her arms, allowing her to retreat to her corner with the bundle held close.

Curling her body protectively, she gently moved the blankets from the face of her child. A soft cooing noise coming from deep within her as she rocked the infant.

"My baby... My Illumi... My light..."

She continued to coo low hums and soft whispering to the now quiet child. Her entire being seeming to strain and hurt, but she still smiled, rocking the infant slowly.

Zeno then joined the two who were silenced by the sudden revitalization of the previously broken woman.

"How did you know that would work?"

"Boy, do you think you're the only one in the entire family who has found someone this precious to them? It tends to run in the family. Yes, you went too far. We all did. Wonder why you're an only child? Why I am an only child? The only difference is she was able to be brought back, and you had better not do it again, do you hear me? You don't know what that loss truly feels like. It will destroy you if you let it. I didn't let it. My father did."

There was a silence in the air at the revelation. The realization of what could happen and what has happened.

"You do not harm her again, because she won't survive it. You will not take that child away until she has healed. And you damn well won't allow this to happen again."

The gentle cooing continued, followed by soft sounds of an infant babbling. Small hands rest against the pale (s/c) cheeks of his mother, large doll eyes gazing up intelligently. He knew who she was. He had heard her voice many times. She was comfort, and her heartbeat gently pulled him into sleep.

"Baby... My baby."

Her soft words carried as she curled on her side, cradling the infant and using her arms as a bed. Her back turned to the others, facing the corner and humming softly, joining the infant in slumber.

"I won't let her get like this again."

#Silva Zoldyck #hxh silva #Silva #daddy silva #silva x reader #yandere #yandere silva x reader #yandere silva #Female reader #fem reader #pregnant reader

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heleizition · 3 years

Note

I am just now finding out about your chosen one au and must know more

ok so i decided to copy paste everything i wrote to my friends when talking about it so its gonna be long Oups ... but it's the most complete ill ever be about it !

so this is set in a universe where gods, old and new are very present and usually they have humans serving them, regularly called chosen ones, every century or so. it's considered an honor and every sanctuary and gods have different missions for their chosen ones and it can go from taking care of the temple every week while being allowed to have their own life to go on a mission to erradicate evil. humans usually know that they are destined to be taken in by gods because of marks on their body, specific to the god(s) they'll serve. the mark starts to glow and guide them to where their god is waiting for them once the god decides they want them.

the story is set on an island stuck between two different temples. on the island stands gotham which is a strangely sunny city, and then you have the deep sea in the bay, and the deep forest north of gotham. if gotham is mysteriously devoid of bad things, its because it's been giving every century a child to the old gods temple in the deep forest. and time is coming, soon, another one will go.

so here you have the wayne family, they mostly have the same backgrounds ? kind of ? cass's parents were mercenaries that went into the deep forest, where no one (haha) in gotham dares going due to fear of breaking the old gods protections, never came back, and left cass on her own in town. bruce adopted her. dick's parents were travelers on a ship that sailed not far from the island and while they did not survive, the gods in the deep see allowed dick to stay alive until he reached the coast. immm not quite sure of what happened to jason's parents yet but uh he's here and alive woo

damian is a bit of a mystery to most people. he was delivered to bruce's doorstep when he was only a few days old. what they dont know is that nine months earlier bruce went into the deep forest himself.

so added to that is timothy drake. young boy of the drake family, the two parents who dont seem to care for him much. the boy is quiet but full of smiles and affection to give and when jason and cass drag him to the wayne estate after a day out, bruce opens his arms to him. he's a regular at the wayne house and a few days after he turns 11, he stops showing up. bruce's kids cant find him. the drakes dont seem disturbed by their missing son. and bruce knows the drakes by now, know they wouldnt give their affection to someone they knew would disappear, and bruce realises tim is gone, to the old gods in the deep forest.

so tim, 11, wakes up sweating and his room lit up with a green light that he's never seen before but in dreams and he knows that it's time. he knows that this strange mark spreading across his back, shaped like a dragon, is glowing green. he's being called.

he moves by himself, not thinking, opens the door to his room and the one that leads outside and it's so fitting when he notices that his parents arent even home, that he'd leave without them caring. soon he's reaching the deep forest and for the first time in his life, when looking at the dark depth, he's not scared, and he walks on.

tim walks and walks and there are eyes looking at him bu the soft green glow reassures him, and he knows where he should walk, and soon he's reaching a temple, strong stone and green plants and a setting sun carved on its floor, and there is a man - a god ? - walking out. and his eyes are glowing green like the mark he knows is glowing in his back, but it feels wrong, and when tim looks around again everything looks so much hostile,

tim made researches on the deep forest temple, since he knew it was gonna be his future, and he knew that temple was supposed to host old gods who were dying, so why does it feel so wrong ?

tim approaches, despite himself, and waits for the man - god??? - to say anything. there is a hand, wrinkly and uncomfortable and cold, on his cheek, and tim looks up, and he's shivering when the god - he knows hes a god. he knows he is now. - speaks up.

"i am ra's al ghul. you were given to me to serve me. you will obey me in any way i see fit, and you are to never return to your human town."

tim did make researches before he was taken. he knew that usually the child taken by the deep forest gods could travel to town without punishment. he knew that, with pattern, they were taken early, before they turned fifteen. he knew that he would most likely be lucky, have a mostly free life. he didnt know that a new god in quest of power had taken over, chained some of the old gods inhabiting the temple, killed others, simply for power and magic. he didnt know that he would be chained to a scary and cold temple, with a terrifying and powerful god that could turn him to dust on a whim.

so thats basically,,, the intro ? the first part ?

so a few months after tim disappeared, it was jasons turn.

jason, much like tim, had marks on his wrists and arms, long lines following his limbs. they're signs of being of the all caste temple, chosen one for those gods. for the ones in the deep sea. now these humans linked to temple in the sea are a bit different than the kind that tim was supposed to be. the all castes purpose is protection, and while there always is a human chosen for them, they're not always called for their purpose, in fact, no all caste chosen one had been guided to the temple in the deep see in generations.

however, one day, jason woke up, glowing white lines on his arms, told dick that he had to go to the sea, and disappeared for months.

jason doesn't remember going into the sea when he wakes up in the temple, doesnt know how he survived the journey there, but he's there, by the will of the gods, and he's informed of his purpose.

something hover over the island. something bad. it's already there, its root in the islands ground, and it must be killed. that will be jason's purpose. he doesnt know where. he doesnt know when. he knows it will happen.

so they train him. they give him the weapons and magic he will need to defeat the enemy. they want to protect the island and its inhabitant.

several months later, jason leaves again, with new knowledge and strength, and washes up on the beach, and dick finds him, unconscious. he brings him back to the wayne estate, where he tells his tale of sea gods and protection and prophecy where he is the hero.

years pass. its been about nine years since tim disappeared, since jason went to the sea temple for the first time. damian is 16 and damian wants answers from his father. he knows he's from the deep forest. he knows his mother is there. he wants to meet her, he wants to know her. but bruce never talks about her, never says anything about their meeting, like he was commanded not to, and damian decides to go against all beliefs he has grown with and he prepares. he will get in the forest. he will find his mother.

except jason know his little brother and he knows and sees him planning and on the night he leaves, jason is here, not stopping him, but ready to follow him into the forest. he has a feeling. something is there for him too .

so they travel in the forest, they're not really sure how to find damian's mother with how little bruce ever said about her, and they find creatures along the way, some of them recognize damian as one of their kin, which is how they realise damian's mother is either part god or part spirit, and jason as a god's messenger. they do not guide them, but they do not attack them.

until they walk into a territory they feel they shouldnt have walked into

a small being with wings and claws attacks, telling them to not trespass, it's smaller than jason had been at 14, but it's furious and cold and it strikes right. and when jason finally looks up he's terrified to see that he recognizes the child in front of him. and its wrong, because tim should have been nineteen by now, but he doesnt look older than 15.

finally the fight draws to a close when jason calls out for tim, a name he musnt have heard a lot, or not recently, not with care and not without an order behind it. tim stops. tim looks. he recognizes the boys in front of them, even if its been nearly ten years. after all they were two of the last humans he ever saw.

"you cant be here. you cant be here if he knows he will kill you and i cant let you die. please you need to go"

im not quite sur how they get tim to follow, or if they get in ra's territory, but they camp in a safe zone with tim, and tim tells them his story

[torture mention, non consensual body modification]

after ra's took him, he tortured him, he experimented on him. after all he was his first ever human tribute, to obey and be controlled at will, a toy for an immortal, and after many games of the new god, he settled on making tim a sentinel for his property, one that will age slowly and wont feel pain, a puppet with no strings but one that is scared of ra's power, enough that it will obey. jason and damian are Angry. something at the back of jason's head tells him that this ra's might have something to do with his own prophecy.

so after that its more blurry but tim reacts strangely to damian, he's a bit scared of him and he figures out it's bc of his heritage, that he has links to ra's, and he leads them to talia who's half god half spirit and hidden deeper and deeper in the forest, away from her father, and it makes tim leave the territory he's supposed to guard, disobey ras, which makes ra's angy bc tim never disobey, not since the first few times when he was 12/13 and thought he would still get out,,,

so there is a bit of a final showdown w tim talia jason and damian facing ra's, ra's using his hold on tim to hurt him, and talia torn between her father and her son + tim who she's seen grow up from far away and who she feels she should have protected from ra's,, jason eventually has a one on one with ra's and the prophecy does happen and he kills ra's and angry old gods who were chained in the temple wake up and banish ra's soul from this realm.

they heal tim from whatever ra's did to him, with the promise that he will travel to care for the god's temple again, as his duty was supposed to be

they all get back to gotham, tim still looks 15 but will grow to his real age within a few months, he has many scars and the mark on his back changed for a setting sun like what was carved on the temple's entrance, damian has his Mom, and jason is free from his all caste duty.

the end woooo this is over 2k long rip !! feel free to ask if u got more questions :0 !!

#ask me #chosen one au #Anonymous

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theperksofbeingbarbie · 4 years

Text

Angel of Death

Chapter 3: Living on a Prayer

Chapter One: Dead Things

Chapter Two: Death’s Desire

🚨Warnings🚨: Hospice; Terminal Cancer; Death; Assisted Suicide; Grooming - Pastor Looks at Angel in a sexual manner that makes her uncomfortable and leaves his hands on her back, hands, and face too long; Mention of Bullying; Abuse; Forced Tattooing of a Minor; Mentions of Witchcraft; Language.

Word Count: 3,708

A/N: Here is the full thing finally!! I’m so excited to have it finished so I can move on to the next chapter and working on other ideas and series. I hope it was worth the wait for those who have been waiting a while!

Do you know what hospice is, Angel?”

You were more focused on your surroundings than Pastor. The air was stiff in the small bedroom, heavy, like it was going to settle in your lungs and cause you to choke until you couldn’t get a fresh breath. There was barely enough light to see the old man that lay in the bed, or the younger woman who sat on the edge, holding his wrinkly hand as she attempted to hold back tears. The heart monitor behind the woman beeped steadily, another machine on the opposite side of the bed letting out loud sighs as if it were breathing itself through the stifling air.

“Sweetheart.” Your mother’s kind voice brought your attention back to the man squatting in front of you. You weren’t sure why he drove you and your mother an hour away from home, but you assumed you’d find out soon enough.

“Do you know what hospice is?”

You shook your head in lieu of an answer.

“Hospice is when people are too sick and the doctors know they will never get better. They’re about to pass and they try to make the person comfortable and give their family time to say goodbye.”

You glanced over to the man in the bed. He was dying, and the crying woman was saying her goodbyes. But why did Pastor bring you here?

“Mr. Newman is very ill, Angel. His daughter wants him to be able to pass on his own terms, and hopefully go right to Heaven.”

It was starting to come together in your young mind. It had been months since you stole your best friend’s soul and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find her. Her parents stayed in Angel’s Paradise despite this, even offering you gifts for another chance to see her. You left them in front of her grave instead.

Everyone was silently afraid that she didn’t go to Heaven, but no one ever mentioned it. They all knew the direction you threw her and that damn necklace and what it was supposed to mean.

It made you sick to think about for too long.

“I want you to try, my angel. Take Mr. Newman’s soul and guide him to your Father in Heaven. You would be releasing him of so much pain. Do you want him to be in pain during his final days?”

Another silent shake of your head.

“He wants to go. His daughter wants him to go. Only you can help him pass over.”

Pastor smiled forlornly, offering his hand to you. He guided you to the bed, helping you up beside the machine that was breathing.

“Focus, my angel.”

You took a deep breath, glancing at the old man’s daughter who looked at you hopefully. You placed your hand on his chest and closed your eyes, feeling something in him start to pull. You yanked back hard, the rest of his soul separating from his body. You were the only one who could see the soul of the man gasp when he was released from his prison, the screeching of the heart monitor threatening to break your concentration.

“Do you still have a hold of him, Angel?”

A nod.

“Great! Now focus! Send him to your Father!”

The old man looked at you with a face of pure elation, looking up hopefully before you threw him upward, the soul disappearing into the ceiling.

The room fell silent and you suddenly felt empty. It was like you were stuck behind a curtain and the real world felt so far away. Mr. Newman’s daughter began to sob and the sound slowly brought you back.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

You just nodded, climbing back off the bed to hide in your mother’s side. Pastor took your place, praying with the woman for a moment. Her ‘amen’ was followed by a stack of cash placed in Pastor’s hand.

“Have a blessed day. Come along, Angel. Time to go home.”

------------------------------

This little act lasted a few years. Pastor received applications from all over the country, but only accepted ones from Michigan. As long as the family had a large stack of cash waiting for you, Pastor was happy to cart you all around the state to lead Lambs home. He, of course, said he was only doing it out of the kindness of his heart but the new cars, clothes, jewelry, and hot tub didn’t seem to line up with that idea in your mind; you never complained when you got the things you wanted though. You didn’t realize Pastor had new plans for you and Angel’s Paradise to take place for your birthday.

Your thirteenth birthday was in two weeks and set to be the biggest bash Angel’s Paradise had seen yet. You ran through the living quarters of the church to find your mother to share your excitement, stopping short of your mother’s door when you heard her speaking to someone.

“A tattoo?”

“It will be symbolic of the Angel she is. And maybe later, we add more. But I want to start with the wings.”

Pastor wanted to tattoo wings on you? You instinctively reached across your body to clasp your shoulder, imagining what it would look like. Imagine the pain you’ve heard about.

“One of our new residents is a tattoo artist. He will do a good job, I promise.”

Your mother didn’t respond, but you could imagine the face of uncertainty she was surely presenting.

“You know I would never hurt [Y/N]. The last thing I want is to hurt you or her.”

There was shifting on the bed followed by complete silence. You continued onto your room, wondering if your mom agreed.

------------------------------

Your curiosity was quelled a day later as you were led into a small house you had seen completed just a few weeks earlier. You gave the man a friendly smile, remembering him from his meeting with his son who died overseas. The man and Pastor shared niceties as you followed into what should have been a bedroom, but was made into a makeshift tattoo studio. Drawings and pictures covered the walls like a personalized wallpaper, a desk covered with even more pictures and paintings that looked like the spectre you summoned against the far wall. The man folded up a padded table and shoved it into the corner before pulling out a strange looking chair. You vaguely heard Pastor tell you to take off your shirt and you looked up with a mix of fear and confusion in your eyes.

“I have something you can wear to cover your front,” the man quickly interjected, pulling a thin cloth robe out of a drawer. You hesitantly took it and held onto it for dear life as the men exited the room to give you some notion of privacy. You sat on the chair and let out a huff before calling out to let them know you were ready.

“My angel,” Pastor cooed, moving a chair so he could sit in front of you as the other man finished preparing the ink. “The Lord came to me in a dream. He is so proud of the work you’re doing with His gift. Sending his Lambs back home to Him, allowing people to see their loved ones again. You’re doing so well.” He smiled, reaching forward to take your hands. You tried not to shiver from the cold feeling his touch gave you. “He showed me a ceremony we can have for those Lambs here in Angel’s Paradise. That included two raven wings on your back, and certain flowers on your chest. I don’t want to lie to you, my angel, it’s going to hurt. But think about what the Lord wants for you. Think about your mission.” He squeezed your hands and released them so the tattoo artist could lay the stencils on your skin. “Just pray through it, okay? He will help you through.”

Pastor left you before the needle touched your skin, mumbling something more about praying through the pain. The notion of doing anything to help the pain disappeared from your mind almost instantly. The man tried to talk to you in an attempt to distract you from the pain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Silent tears just streamed down your face as you mentally begged for relief from the One who wanted you to go through this. Pastor’s voice was all that you could hear, though, telling you to continue praying and that this was what He wanted. You knew he would lament about Jesus being whipped to save us from our sins, and that this was your equivalent. This pain was going to allow you to become a better shepherd for His Lambs.

You didn’t want to imagine the kind of pain you would be in if you said no to this and ran off, anyway.

The man finally stopped dragging the needles over your skin hours later, mumbling apologies as he applied bandages to your back and arms. He gave you privacy once more to get dressed and didn’t seem to mind when you used the time to finally let out a sob instead.

You began your walk home, the cold air threatening to freeze the tears on your cheeks. You didn’t stop to talk to Pastor or your mother when you entered the living quarters, just wanting to be alone as you asked the Lord once more to relieve you of this pain. Your mother came into your room anyway, trying to offer love and support, but was quickly brushed off.

If she truly cared, you wouldn’t have been left alone to endure through the process.

------------------------------

You couldn’t even enjoy your birthday like you had wanted to. It was supposed to be fun, full of laughter and light, but you just felt like a bird in a cage meant to perform tricks for treats. Adults came to you and wished you another happy year, but it was quickly followed by questions of what you were going to do for them. When could they see their loved ones, could they see them for longer periods if they brought you better gifts. The other children just stayed as far away from you as they could possibly be, standing in a circle and whispering amongst each other while looking at you with disgust.

You didn’t know what you expected from them. This was just what they did. The townsfolk had erected a little schoolhouse near the front of the town as teachers moved into Angel’s Paradise. Pastor didn’t make you go, and you couldn’t care less about the reason, you just didn’t want to go. Your peers already avoided you like a leper, not wanting to make the wrong move or say the wrong thing and end up like your friend from all those years ago. You heard their whispers of ‘freak’ and ‘Reaper’, and you happily accepted the idea of needing a different education if it meant you didn’t have to be stuck in class with people who hated you.

You were in the sanctuary of the church, doing your daily piano lessons. Your tutor was a kind woman who was the nation’s best piano player before her sister died and she became overwhelmed with grief. For a brief meeting with her sister, she took the time out to teach you all that she knew in exchange.

“Carol, I’m going to have to cut the lesson short today. You can speak with Holly at another time.”

Your piano tutor looked dejected but nodded as she gave you one last note on your playing before excusing herself. Pastor smiled down at you and took Carol’s place on the piano bench. You continued to look forward at the sheet music, focusing on the notes instead of Pastor’s eyes on you. As the years went on, it felt like they wandered further and further down, but he did that to plenty of women.

“How is your back, my angel?”

You rolled your shoulders and straightened your back. “Healed, I think.”

Pastor ran a hand over your back with a smile. “I’m glad. I think you’re ready for the next tattoo the Lord wants you to get.”

“Another one?”

“Are you questioning your Father? Angel, he has a plan for you. You have to follow it to the letter,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking down at your lap.

“That’s okay, my angel. Young ladies always have questions.” Pastor gently pushed your hair back, pushing your head just slightly so you would look at him. His gentle smile was back but it felt so empty. “Here. I drew it for you.”

You took the piece of paper that was handed to you and unfolded it to uncover the design. Your first thought was that it was beautiful. Different flowers arranged in a beautiful bouquet.

Your second thought was how painful it was going to be.

“Where?”

“On your chest.”

Your hand flew up to the collar of your shirt, your nails gently dragging along the exposed skin as you tried to imagine what it would feel like. How many nights would you cry yourself to sleep from the pain?

“Do you know what the flowers mean, my angel?” Pastor asked. He began pointing to each flower as he explained their reasoning, “The sunflower, it’s your devotion to God. The calla lily and roses represent beauty; yours as well as His Lambs. Daisies, for your innocence. The dogwood flowers represent eternal life, which is what you give to those Lambs that ask for your help. This is thistle, and it represents earthly sorrow, which is what their loved ones still feel. And laurel, to represent their memory. Do you like it, Angel?”

You nodded.

“The Lord wants us to create a ceremony for those that want help going to Him. It will allow people to say goodbye to those they love, and finally go home. I think you’re going to like it. I’m so proud of you, my angel. You’re growing into such a beautiful young woman.”

Pastor kissed your temple and hesitated for much longer than you anticipated.

“The tattoo artist will come get you in a few moments, okay? Just pray through the pain.”

------------------------------

Pray through the pain. Pray through the discomfort. Pray through the fear. So many prayers and none of them ever calmed the storm inside of you. You wondered if the woman who was being rolled down the aisle in the sanctuary was scared.

Olive was her name. She was young, much younger than anyone you had visited with Pastor. A bad bout of breast cancer that quickly took over her body that left her with a couple months to live when she should have her whole life ahead of her.

She had been in Angel’s Paradise for about a month, settling into the “visitor’s apartments” as Pastor called it, with her sister. Olive enjoyed listening to you practice the piano and often helped you with your math homework.

Olive was being pushed by her sister in a wheelchair adorned with flowers and ribbons. Residents of Angel’s Paradise fell over themselves to give her flowers or to lay hands on her from the pews, sending up prayers that she will finally be comfortable and at peace. Her sister helped her from the wheelchair to a bed that was set up on the altar, the stained glass version of you staring down at her, a silent promise it would all be over soon. Olive took the flowers she was given and laid them on her chest, smiling as Pastor began a little sermon about death and eternal life in Heaven.

Your piano tutor played a quiet processional as Pastor began a prayer, asking the Lord to guide your hand and bring his sweet Lamb home. You took a deep breath and started yet another prayer yourself, begging for peace before the large wooden doors opened. The residents gasped at the sight of you. Dressed in a flowing white gown, you looked like a true angel. The neckline covered the flowers on your chest and came up to a thick collar around your neck, leaving the back bare to show the wings you earned.

You focused on Olive’s kind face, forgetting about all the other eyes glued to you. She looked so happy, so ready to be put out of her suffering. She was silently encouraging you to do what you were put on this earth to do, to realize the Lord’s gift he blessed you with.

You suddenly didn’t feel as scared as you were, that peace you craved finally washing over you.

You stood on the opposite side of the bed so the residents could see you as well as Olive. Pastor asked for her last words and you could tell what she said was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like you heard it. That feeling of being stuck behind a curtain, a veil, began to cover you while you prepared yourself.

“I’m ready,” made it past the veil, Olive smiling up at you with a slight nod. “Take me home, [Y/N].”

The rest was a blur, hidden behind the veil that felt like it was getting heavier with each soul you sent home. Pastor took your hand and walked you out of the sanctuary, pushing you toward your room to change for the funeral.

------------------------------

You never liked funerals, but who did? Some were more fun than others, more a celebration of the person’s life and not about mourning their death. You hoped Olive’s funeral would be more like the former, but it never really mattered. You had a job to fulfill, a job the Lord gave you and you couldn’t let your Father down.

You thanked the Pastor’s wife for her help getting you into the grand black ball gown you were to wear for the actual funeral. It was a classic mourning dress, but it did have a lower neckline to feature the flowers on your chest instead of the feathers on your back.

You ran downstairs to try to find the black lace veil you were supposed to wear to cover your face, hoping you left it on Pastor’s desk from when he gave it to you. You stopped short when you heard your mother’s voice.

“Really, that much?”

“Maybe we can find a reason to go on a trip. How does Hawaii sound?”

Your mother just giggled.

“I’ll get you a little bikini…”

“Oh stop it!”

“Fine, something skimpy just for me…”

You knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open, noticing your mom smoothing out her skirt as she moved away from the desk.

“I think I left my veil,” you said cautiously.

“Oh, yes, my angel.” Pastor smiled and walked over to you, carefully pinning the veil into your hair with the utmost care. “Look at you…” Pastor lifted your chin so you would look at him, brushing his fingers against your jaw before finally letting go. “Come, my angel. It’s time to put Sister Olive’s body to rest. You did so good, my angel. The Lord is so proud of you.”

------------------------------

It had been over a week since the Hargreeves brothers had seen [Y/N] last. Klaus went by the jewelry store a few times and that bitch Lisa just angrily told him she hadn’t seen her either and then kicked him out. He went by the thrift shop, the bar, the corner store,and she was nowhere to be found. Klaus had, of course, gone by her apartment at least once a day, knocking on the door until his knuckles started to bruise.

“I’m gonna try to get through the door.”

“C’mon, Ben,” Klaus groaned, sitting against her door with a cigarette between his lips. “We both know I’m not sober enough for any ghost tricks.”

“You might not be, but I can feel her,” Ben informed Klaus, jumping up and down like he was going to run a marathon. “[Y/N] just has this… Pull. I think I can do it.”

Klaus just waved his hand. “Go for it. If you get stuck, it’s not my fault.”

Ben nodded and ran toward the door in a full sprint, his body hitting the door full force. Who knew a ghost could be in physical pain? He laid on the ground beside Klaus groaning while his brother laughed.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I am allowed to laugh. You laugh when I fall down drunk.”

Another groan from the ghost. “Fuck you, asshole.” He sat up with a huff, staring at the door. Maybe her energy allowed him to be solid, like when she touched him? Either way, he wasn’t getting in the way he planned. “Any ideas?”

“Why am I always the idea guy?”

“Because you’re dumb enough to come up with something I can work with.”

“Maybe I can call Diego to pick the lock.”

“Can’t you pick locks?”

“Hm?”

“We all learned how to pick locks, dumbass!”

“Then why couldn’t you have suggested that sooner, Ben?!”

“I don’t know, Klaus, it’s only been over a decade since I’ve done it!”

“Will you two shut the fuck up if I let you in?!”

Klaus and Ben looked up to see [Y/N] in the doorway, looking angrier than they had ever seen her.

She didn’t wait for an answer, pushing herself off the door frame to allow the brothers inside. The apartment looked so much different than the other times they had come by. Where the records and plants were, cork boards with people’s pictures took their place. Scattered on the tables and ground were open books with bookmarks sticking out and writings in the margins. Klaus recognized some of the symbols from that one time he dated the head witch of a coven he joined for the orgies. There was a pentagram painted in the middle of the floor, surrounded by white and black candles where [Y/N] had clearly been working just moments before.

“What in the Scooby Doo is all this shit?”

[Y/N] sighed as she looked around what used to be her living room. “So I might be in some trouble.”

TAG LIST Message or comment to be added!

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

Text

Deobi Playlist (EP 5) | The Boyz Imagine

Ep 5: in which Kevin says it’s okay to be different

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main Characters: Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz.

Genre: fluff, slice of life, comedy, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

----------

“I managed to take out his tumour, but I’ll need him to stay for a few days just so that he can recover fully. He’s under anesthesia for now but he should be up soon,” Kevin flips through his newest patient’s medical file and scans the page for his details. His name is Yeon Hanjo, eight years old, who had suddenly collapsed to the ground a week ago with no indication of an illness whatsoever. An MRI scan of his head and body had shown that the small child had been keeping a tumour hidden within the side of his skull for some time and after some thorough deliberating and research about the best methods to go about the operation, Kevin had managed to successfully draw the tumour out without any mishaps or complications.

Mrs. Yeon bows before Kevin once more with barely restrained tears coating her eyes. She holds a tissue in her hand, which seems already wet and crumpled into a ball, and Kevin reaches out with another tissue that she takes gratefully.

Mr. Yeon is at her side, one hand on his wife’s shoulder to provide her comfort, “Thank you, thank you so much Dr. Moon. We--We don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

Kevin lets out a small, genuine smile, “it’s my duty. Hanjo’s life is just as important as anybody else’s, if not more.”

A few hours after the parents have left and Kevin has done his rounds as he is supposed to, he makes way to Hanjo’s room with a box of chocolate in hand.

Hanjo is already awake, blinking at the night sky from his hospital bed. The child turns his attention towards the door when Kevin pokes his head in with a smile, “hello Hanjo. How are you feeling?”

The child shrugs, and looks away.

Being familiar with the way children react when they are forced into an unfamiliar setting where strangers prevail, Kevin steps in, closes the door behind him and takes a seat at Hanjo’s bed. The child is still not looking at him, chin adamantly pointed towards the outside world.

“I bought something for you,” Kevin opens up his box of chocolates and offers him the box. Hanjo peeks into it for a few seconds of silence, looks up at his face, then pushes the box away.

While Kevin isn’t used to children not wanting any chocolate, that doesn’t dissuade him from trying. He closes the box and sets it on Hanjo’s bedside table.

“In a few days, you can go back home. Aren’t you glad?” Kevin chats on despite the reluctance in Hanjo’s body behaviour, “what’s the first thing you want to do when you go back, Hanjo?”

Still, the child stays silent. Kevin sees his lower lip tremble but decides it is better off not to mention it. He takes it as a fact that Hanjo might be shy, unwilling to converse because he’s a stranger. The only solution to that though is for Kevin to keep trying, which he does day after day. Every time he’d bring something different -- a different candy, or toy that boys his age would’ve liked -- but Hanjo refuses every single item without delay.

When the date of Hanjo’s discharge looms closer and closer, Kevin can’t help himself but urge him to speak by prompting the child with good news, “you must be excited, only three days left!” he grins at the child in hopes of getting a smile back, at least.

Hanjo, on the other hand, merely blinks. Then, a fat tear rolls down his cheek before he bursts into tears.

“Hanjo,” Kevin’s demeanor softens then, gently tugging the said child in his arms and scooping him close against his chest. The child keeps on crying, his face now red and tears cascading down his cheeks, staining Kevin’s white coat. His parents, having heard the commotion from outside, quickly slip in with mirroring expressions of worry and take the child from Kevin’s arms, who is left confused and slightly concerned at the child’s suddenly sad countenance. He cannot, for the life of him, understand how Hanjo’s mind works. Kids like him shouldn’t be crying like their world is tearing apart, shouldn’t be subdued and silent and just afraid of everything.

No, there’s something that’s bothering Hanjo. And Kevin finds his answer a few hours later.

“Hanjo spent most of his life in Florida, where he was born,” Mrs. Yeon says to him. After Hanjo had fallen asleep, she had ushered to buy Kevin a coffee at the cafeteria. She now sits opposite him, coffee cup clasped between frail fingers with skin wrinkled and saggy from years of work, eyes rimmed with blue aprons and mouth tugged down in a tense, awkward line, smeared with a pale chalky lipstick.

“We moved here just a few months ago. He hasn’t told me anything, but his teacher tells me that he hasn’t been very...interactive with the other kids,” she purses her lips as if in discontentment, “he barely talks, not because he doesn't understand. We talk to him in Korean all the time at home. Somehow though, he barely says a word here. It’s like he doesn’t want to make even the slightest bit of effort.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” Kevin asks with furrowed eyebrows.

She shakes her head, “no, well. We’ve tried asking him about school and stuff, maybe mentioned his teacher’s comments once or twice but that was it. We don’t want to push him either.”

He can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the said young boy, knowing all too well how strange it is to move oneself to another country altogether, a country where the language is different, the people are different, and how it feels like your entire life has just turned upside down because of that mere fact.

“Oh that’s just like little Kevin when he just moved here,” Hyunjae can’t help but snigger, prompting Mae to whack him across the back of his head.

“Ouch!” Hyunjae throws her a scowl, “why are you even a doctor? You should just become part of the mafia. Seriously! That hurt--”

She proceeds to shove a piece of lettuce in his mouth to muffle his protests. Juyeon and Kevin exchange knowing glances, before shrugging.

“You should talk to him,” Mae suggests, and though she’s trying very hard to act normal, Kevin can feel the unease rolling off her, how she’s not looking at him and permanently fixating her gaze on her platter of food. He makes a mental note to ask Juyeon about it later.

For now, he replies, “yeah I should. It’s just a saddening thought. Children shouldn’t have so much trouble earlier on in their lives.”

“Hey touff, we all haff prwabems,” Hyunjae attempts to say with his mouth still full. He swallows before gulping down some water. Slamming his cup down, he jabs a finger in Mae’s direction, “you and I have a problem.”

“The only problem that I’ll have with you is killing you by asphyxiation, and before you ask, there is food involved,” Mae cooes.

Hyunjae shivers, “psychopath.”

“Nu-uh, Sociopath? Probably. But psychopath?” she scrunches her face up as though contemplating the thought, “nah, I’m too kind.”

“You flatter yourself too much,” Juyeon rolls his eyes.

“Can we focus on the problem at hand?” Kevin waves his chopsticks around dramatically, ignoring Hyunjae stealing his piece of chicken and replacing it with some ginger instead.

“Kevin, we all know that you’re the wondrous child talker here,” Hyunjae says, “we’re all counting on you to babysit our kids one day.”

“Excuse me? Is there kindergarten written on my forehead?”

“You mean, there isn’t kindergarten written on your forehead?” Hyunjae gasps dramatically, “here, let me--”

“Don’t you dare, Lee Jaehyun.”

Kevin waits until Hanjo’s parents leave with promises that they’ll be here to watch over him tomorrow morning, before slithering inside the children’s ward. Hanjo spots him, but doesn’t say anything as the said doctor sidles up to his bed and takes a seat on the abandoned chair next to him.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Kevin murmurs. The child watches as he pulls out a box of pocky sticks. His mother had stated that Pocky is the only asian snack he eats. Surely enough, Hanjo doesn’t hesitate to grab it with his little chubby fingers and Kevin gazes down at him with a fond sympathy gripping his chest.

But then, Hanjo glances up at him uncertainly. Kevin puts a finger to his mouth, “can you keep a secret?”

Hanjo pauses, contemplates him for a moment. Then, he nods.

“Cool, because I can’t actually sneak in any outside snacks,” Kevin whispers with a soft chuckle at the alarm washing over Hanjo’s face, “it’s okay, don’t worry. This is between you and me, alright?”

It takes a few seconds for the child to decide that Kevin’s intentions aren’t all that bad, before he slowly pries open the packet and digs into the snack with barely restrained excitement. Kevin just watches him with fondness, glad that for once it seems like he’s done something for Hanjo, when the child suddenly sticks out the packet, urging him to take some.

“Oh,” Kevin blinks in surprise, before drawing a pocky stick, “thanks, Hanjo. That’s so nice of you.”

Hanjo just nods, before returning his attention to the said chocolate covered sticks. As his mother had stated, it is indeed his favourite snack.

“Do you often eat pocky, Hanjo?” Kevin asks.

The child shrugs, urging Kevin to ask, “do any of your friends eat pocky?”

At this, Hanjo’s mouth pauses as if in contemplation and Kevin knows that he has hit a nerve. Not just any, but a sensitive one. He hurries to continue talking for fear that he might lose momentum, “you know, I never really had any friends when I first moved here. I used to eat pocky because it reminded me of the snacks my mom used to buy for me, back when we were still in Canada.”

He can practically see the cogs turning inside Hanjo’s brain as he mulls over the newly acquired information.

“I was shy back then. I didn’t know how to approach people. They all spoke Korean, I understood them. But I was so scared that they couldn’t understand me for some reason. After all, I never spoke Korean back when I was in Canada, just with my parents.”

Kevin let the information sink in for the child who was now gazing up at him with newfound interest alight in his big brown eyes and it takes everything inside the said doctor not to squeal at how adorable he looks. Instead, he pauses and waits, waits with the hope that Hanjo will react to this, however he wants.

“How?”

Kevin blinks. Hanjo’s mouth is open, curiosity filling his features as he continues hesitantly, “how...did you...make friends?”

While Kevin wants nothing more than to punch the air in success, he decides that this is not the right moment to be celebrating that fact. Instead, he clears his throat and allows his arm to rest on the side of the child’s bed.

“Actually, the pocky sticks helped me. The kids at my school always brought the same type of pocky sticks and then one day, when one of the girls in my class didn’t have any snacks, I offered her one,” Kevin smiles at the memory flashing before his eyes, “I thought she’d laugh at me when she started talking to me because of my accent. I wasn’t completely fluent. Surprisingly though, she was very interested to know what I had to say, despite the fact that I was so scared she’d just turn away from me.”

“What was her name?” Hanjo asks.

“Her name?” Kevin tilts his head, “actually, she works here too. Her name’s Mae, she’s a doctor from the Cancer department.”

Hanjo pauses for a few seconds, before he looks down at the box of pocky in his hand, “I don’t like talking in Korean,” his voice is small, barely a whisper, “I don’t like it here. Everything is different. Everyone is different.”

“You know, Korean is one of the hardest languages to learn. And you know English. Do you know how amazing that is?” Kevin smiles down, one of his hands going to pat his head, “I know how it feels. It doesn’t feel like home, because home is far far away. But it will get better, Hanjo. It’s okay that you’re not fluent in Korean. You’ll get there, eventually. Look at doctor Kevin, see?” he motions towards his own chest, “I was in the exact same position as you were, once. But it really gets better, trust me.”

Hanjo is frowning at the snack in his hands now, as though there are different thoughts flying about in his brain, thoughts too complicated for him to explain. But he surprises Kevin when he suddenly looks up and holds out his pinky.

“Promise?” Hanjo asks, “promise it gets better?”

“I promise,” Kevin hooks his finger with the child’s, “and you know what? You made your first friend right here,” and he pats his own chest with an amused smile. Hanjo’s lips tilt up in a mirroring expression, albeit hesitant, and Kevin’s heart melted right then and there in a puddle of Hanjo goo.

-----------

Knock knock.

Kevin blinks away the drowsiness as he raises his head from his desk where he’d been napping just a few seconds ago. Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, he spots Hyunjae and lets out a groan at the mischievous smirk on the latter’s lips.

Whenever Hyunjae’s in a mood, he’ll have some kind of face that warns people about it.

“Get lost, Hyunjae. Not in the mood,” Kevin groans while his friend saunters in as though he hasn’t been straight out rejected. Kevin buries his face back into his arms and Hyunjae quickly lays his head just beside him.

“What?” Kevin asks with his eyes still closed.

Hyunjae merely giggles, before blowing softly on his face.

Kevin whips his head around, “you’re so annoying. Get lost.”

“But Kebiiin,” the taller man whines and nestles his face even closer so that Kevin’s soft hair tickles the bridge of his nose, “I have important news!”

“What news?” comes Kevin’s mumble.

“I’m getting married.”

“To who?”

“To you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Okay fine, to Juyeon.”

“No you’re not.”

“Okay fine, to Mae then.”

“Do you know,” Kevin asks slowly, “why is she acting so weird?”

“Weird?” Hyunjae snuggles even closer, breathes in Kevin’s soft vanilla scent, “like usual Mae kind of weird or weirder than weird?”

“No, she hasn’t been talking to herself. But she has been avoiding me.” “Oh.”

“Oh?” Kevin whips around to look at him in alarm.

Hyunjae draws back to stand, leaning against the opposite doctor’s empty chair as Kevin straightens to look at him with growing concern, “what do you mean by ‘oh’?”

“She did ask me something weird the other day.”

“About?”

“About who you were crushing on.”

“WHAT?” Kevin’s eyes grow wide, “what did you tell her?!”

“That I had no clue.”

“Oh thank god,” Kevin visibly slouches in relief. Then, his eyes grow wide, “wait--Does she know then?! That I--” All it takes is for Hyunjae’s face to take on a suspicious air for Kevin to realize that he is not out of dangerous waters yet. He scrambles up and holds onto Hyunjae’s sleeve, “what?” Kevin demands like it’s a life or death situation. Which it is to him, “why do have that look on your face?”

“Look Kev, mate, I definitely did not do anything.”

“But?”

“I never said there was a but.”

“You implied it!”

“Okay fine,” Hyunjae huffs, “but, someone seems to have leaked this information to her, like it or not--”

“What?!”

“--and we all suspect that it’s the Neurosurgery resident, the one that comes from Toronto--”

Kevin sucks in a sharp breath, “Jacob Bae?”

“If anyone asks, this did not come out of my mouth,” Hyunjae is quick to defend while raising his arms in the air in mock surrender, but Kevin is too preoccupied at the thought that his secret is now out in the open for everyone to dissect and digest. How in the world does Jacob know about this? He barely even talks to him!

Unless...unless it’s that obvious?

His head snaps up so suddenly, eyes dark and so vividly intense on Hyunjae’s that the latter can’t help but yelp in return, “Hyunjae,” Kevin says slowly, “you’re sure...you’re sure you didn’t say anything?”

“Are you implying that I lied to you?!” Hyunjae gasps mockingly, “Kevin, I’m--”

“Shut up and be serious for one second.”

“Of course I didn’t! Who do you take me for?!”

“Shit,” is the only thing that Kevin has to say, “Shit. Shit.”

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kalypsichor · 4 years

Text

embraceable you [ringo starr x reader]

summary: Ringo kisses you, soft and sweet, taking his time exploring your mouth. Your hand comes up to rake through his fluffy hair and it’s innocent, really, until you drag your nails slightly over the nape of his neck and he shudders—and before you can react, Ringo’s got you underneath him.

prompt: Hi! Can I request a ringo smut where reader and ringo are at Ringo’s childhood home visiting his family and they sleep in Ringo’s old room and they share his tiny bed lol and he’s all like “it’s crazy to have the girl I’ve always dreamed of as a boy in my childhood room, in my bed” lol and they try to keep it quiet as they have slow passionate sex 💕💕💕😭 warnings: 2.5k words of sweet, sweet love makin’, so much foreplay, S E X, ringo being hung af (don’t lie you know it’s true)

masterlist

so... this got out of hand. dear anon, your request made me feel things. to my lovely beta @spaceyantique , thanks for helping with the birds and the bees. here’s this fic’s song inspo (Embraceable You). Ringo’s stepdad was the one to introduce him to Vaughan’s music and a few decades later, she would cover the Beatles’ songs! ugggh that’s just too cute

Ringo’s room is a bit like him. Small, unassuming, and filled with the distinctive warmth of loving and being loved. Grammar and maths books line the bookshelves, remnants of his years of home tutoring. On the lowest shelf, some biscuit tins and sticks—you smile to yourself at these, which Ringo had told you were his very first drums.

It’s cozy. It must have been, you muse, since he spent so much of his childhood ill and at home. You feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of Ringo at seven years old, sitting in his room while all the other boys went to school and played about in the streets.

Tucked into the corner is an old turntable atop a shelf stuffed full of vinyls; your fingertips trail across them and choose one at random. Sarah Vaughan’s sweet murmur fills the room and you close your eyes, letting the music fill your chest. It gently pulls at you—well, who are you to refuse?—and soon you find yourself swaying to the tempo.

There’s a large area that’s been cleared in front of the turntable, no doubt for when Ringo’s mum, Elsie, passed onto him a love of dance. For a brief moment, it’s your space and you lose yourself to the crooning melodies. When you open your eyes again, Ringo is leaned against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand forgotten and something funny twinkling in his gaze. He doesn’t speak, just stands there, watching you.

“What?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing.” Then, after a pause, “You look like you belong here.”

You suddenly, desperately want to kiss him. But he’s sure to be minty, so you cross the room instead and, leaning in, wipe away the bit of toothpaste making its way down the corner of his mouth.

“Go finish brushing,” you say, and he turns with a smile and trots off to the bathroom.

You’re still examining his vinyls when Ringo returns and flicks off the light. He’s changed into a pair of flannel bottoms with nothing on top. Before you can admire his shirtlessness, though, he flops onto the bed, wiggles, and is completely still.

Smirking, you kneel beside Ringo’s prone form, propping your elbows on the edge of the mattress.

“Ringo...”

No reply.

“Ringooooo?”

An exaggerated snore. He buries his face even deeper into the pillow.

You sigh loudly, then move to get up. “I suppose I’ll put my shirt back on then...”

Ringo’s eyes shoot open and dart to your very much clothed chest. Quick as a whip, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you onto the bed.

“False advertisement!” he yells over your shrieks of laughter. For a moment, it’s elbows and feet and muffled curses before suddenly—WHUMP! Ringo’s rolled right off the edge of the very small bed with you in tow. When you land smack onto him, he makes a half-strangled noise.

“Jesus, my dick—”

Naturally, that’s when Elsie opens the door.

“Everything alright in here?”

You freeze. Ringo freezes. You realize two things at once: one, that Ringo is still very shirtless, and two, that you’re straddling him on the ground.

Oh, and a third thing—

“It’s not what it looks like,” you and Ringo blurt out.

Elsie purses her lips, holding in what looks like a giggle. “You’ll be needing a bigger bed, is what it looks like.” Then, ignoring the mortified look on your face, “Goodnight!”

She leaves. You collapse onto Ringo and thump your forehead against his chest (which is very firm, but now is not the time).

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” (These are each accentuated with an additional head thump against said firm chest.)

“Well, don’t take it out on me.”

“Of all the things for your mum to walk in on!”

“She’s seen worse—”

“Do you hear yourself, Ritchie?” You groan and slump forward, pressed completely to Ringo’s front. “The minute she has to think of worse things... then it’s all over!”

Ringo clears his throat underneath you.

“... is this a bad time to tell you I’m getting kind of turned on?”

This makes you sit back up in a flash. He does look a little flushed and he’s got some of that messy sex hair already.

“Huh. Thought that was a drumstick digging into my leg.”

The beginnings of a retort (probably that was funny the first time) don’t make it past Ringo’s lips because you take that exact moment to lean back on your heels—and right onto his hard-on.

Ringo’s hands fly to your waist with a whispered “fuck.”

“Not on your floor, I won’t.” You wriggle out of his grasp and back onto the bed, and before you can even say come hither Ringo’s scrambled on after you. The bed is narrow and his bounce almost sends you off the other edge again. Ringo grabs you just in time. After a moment, you two burst into giggles, facing each other on your sides and holding on for dear life.

“Fun sleepover,” you whisper when the laughing dies down. There’s still a grin on your face.

“Dunno what kind of sleepovers you were having as a kid,” he replies, moving in to capture your mouth with his, “but mine were never like this.”

Ringo kisses you, soft and sweet, taking his time exploring your mouth. Your hand comes up to rake through his fluffy hair and it’s innocent, really, until you drag your nails slightly over the nape of his neck and he shudders—and before you can react, Ringo’s got you underneath him.

“I see how it is,” he mutters, and when Ringo kisses you this time it’s with a fervent heat. Gasping, you arch into the hand that’s slipped under your shirt.

“Normally I’d love the pretty sounds you make-” he nips at your collarbone and draws another one from your lips—“but you’re gonna have to keep quiet this time. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I- oh- I don’t want Elsie barging in again.”

Ringo draws away for a moment, frowning. “Can you not mention my mum when we’re having sex?”

You giggle and pull him back to your lips. “Let’s get to the sex bit first, then.”

A calloused hand trails down your chest, rings nipping shivers of chill across your skin that are quickly soothed by gentle fingers. By the time Ringo reaches your underwear, you’re already slick with arousal. He finds the damp spot and runs his middle finger over it, feather-light. The friction of the fabric against your folds toes the lines between too rough and not enough and, really, he’s just being

“-such a tease,” you gasp, squirming under his touch.

He huffs and the action tickles your ear. “How am I supposed to give you what you want if you don’t tell me, baby?”

“Ritchie...” you whine. God, how he loves the way his name sounds from your lips. It’s enough to bring Ringo to his knees—but for now, he acquiesces to your plea and slips two thick fingers into your cunt.

On their own, your hips raise to meet his thrust and the angle sinks his digits in just a little deeper, setting alight a dull buzz in your core. Then he curls them upwards and finds the familiar sweet spot and the buzz becomes arcs of electricity that pulse slow, steady waves of heat through your body. The feeling laps from your navel to your fingers, hardening your nipples to peaks before retreating to your core and then sweeping through again with each thrust.

“You ready, love?”

Nodding, you reach down and stroke the hard length that’s been jutting against your thigh. Ringo groans into your shoulder, hips jerking forward in your grip.

“Are you?” you tease.

“Didn’t know this was a competition.”

“It’s not.” You thumb over his tip and he hisses. “But whoever finishes first loses!”

“Very funny,” he deadpans and leans in to kiss you again, biting down gently on your lower lip. That shuts you up. Without pulling away, Ringo manages to shuck his trousers off—which is pretty impressive considering that he’s still knuckle-deep in your cunt with the other hand. He helps you wriggle out of your panties and you whine as he pulls out to do so. Finally, the two of you are naked. A year ago, you would have blushed at how Ringo gazes at your form under his. By now, you’re both as comfortable with each other like this as you’d be fully clothed and fighting over what to see at the movies. The thought makes you smile—and then groan, thumping your head against the pillow.

“Ugh, god damn it!”

Ringo furrows his eyebrows, concerned. “What- what? Did you come already?”

“No, you idiot.” You let go of his dick, much to his chagrin, and drag your hand down your face exasperatedly. “We forgot to bring condoms!”

Ringo looks at you for a moment and then turns, almost falling off the bed again as he reaches for something. There’s the sound of a zipper, some fumbling, and when Ringo scrambles back between your legs he’s triumphantly brandishing a familiar square of foil.

Despite the steady ache of arousal between your legs, you let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“... did you think you were gonna get laid at your parents' house?”

“Is that not what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes and snatch it from his fingers. “You’re a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Starkey.”

“Jesus, don’t call me that.” His breath catches for a moment as you roll the condom onto his cock and then continues, “That’s my dad. You gonna bring my whole family into this?”

“And the father, the son, and the holy spirit, amen.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbles, but a sappy grin makes its way onto Ringo’s face nonetheless. Giggling, you wrap your fingers around his length and guide it forward. Just the feeling of his blunt tip pressing against your entrance is enough to make your walls clench in anticipation.

He’s about to enter you when he just… stops. Looks at you. Swoops in, unexpectedly, and this kiss is nothing more than a brush of the lips, a lingering touch, but when he pulls away you’re unspeakably dizzy.

“What… what was that for?”

“I just can’t believe you’re my girl. In my bed. I never thought I’d see it.”

“Oh, Ritchie—”

His name trails off into a gasp as he sinks into you, stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. There’s no other way to describe it except that you feel full. The two of you stay like that for a while, just soaking in the closeness. Ringo brings a hand to your cheek and smooths away some flyaway hair.

Then he pulls out so, so slowly you almost cry, the drag of his cock inside you setting fire to your nerves. That familiar ache starts building in your core. When he’s almost all the way out, he sinks back in again and sets an almost painfully slow pace.

The otherwise quiet room fills with your whimpers as Ringo fucks you into the bed. You have half a mind to comment on his rhythmic skills, something he’s rolled his eyes at a thousand times before—but then he wraps one of your legs around his waist and his next thrust hits you there and the only thing that spills from your lips is his name.

“Fuck,” Ringo groans through his teeth. Your cunt is so tight and warm around him. He can feel himself spiraling towards release, every breathy moan of yours edging him closer. “You’re so- so beautiful.”

And you are, with your hair wreathed around your face, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, lips pink and parted around the pretty noises you’re making. You can’t help thinking the same thing. Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, Ringo’s eyes are a liquid blue that send different kinds of shivers down your spine. The pressure below your stomach coils tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock against your sensitive spot.

“Look who’s talking,” you gasp out. “Ritchie, ‘m close-”

Your breasts are bouncing from the force of him moving in and out of you. Ringo palms one, rolls your hardened peak between his fingers, and drags his hand down to your clit. Two rough fingers circle around the sensitive nub and he snaps his hips forward, cock burying deeper than before, and then you’re coming. It’s long and drawn out and you feel it move through your body in waves. Ringo follows you over the edge soon after, hips stuttering at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

When Ringo pulls out you sigh at the empty feeling.

“You’re gonna have to carry me home tomorrow.”

“Think I can manage that.” Ringo smiles adoringly at you beneath him. He presses a kiss to your nose and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Be back in a mo’,” he says, slipping off the condom. He stands and stretches and you let your eyes wander over his naked form. When you whistle appreciatively—the only thing small about this boy is his stature—Ringo winks at you before turning and trotting off to the bathroom.

You don’t even get the chance to half doze off when he runs back into the room, eyes wide and panicky as he shuts the door behind him.

“What the hell happened?” you ask as Ringo practically dives under the covers with you. He’s breathing hard and it takes him a second to respond.

“... Elsie was still up.” Before you know it you’re falling into a fit of giggles that shakes your entire body against his. Ringo looks at you, unimpressed. “‘S not funny, you know!”

“I’m s- I’m sorry, Ringo, really.” Your attempt at sobering up is ruined with a particularly hard snicker. “But I’m sure she’s seen worse.”

He snorts and wraps an arm around you, pulling you so that your head is nestled into the curve of his shoulder. You place a hand on his chest and, for a while, you just feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. It’s not long before your breath matches Ringo’s, deep and slow. Your favorite rhythm. When he speaks, his voice is already mellowed with the onset of sleep, vowels slipping clumsily into slurred consonants, chest rumbling like a purring cat.

“’m glad you’re here.”

His heart beats under your hand. Ringo’s own little drum solo, you think with a smile. “Me too.”

“No, but like-” Ringo shifts on the pillow and you crane your neck to look at him. “I still can’t believe it. That you’re here with me. But at the same time, I don’t have to be here to feel at home when I’m with you. You’re… a different kind of home.”

Something inside you swells like a balloon and you feel as though you could float to the ceiling, maybe even out the window and up, up, up to the stars. You want to say so much—that’s cheesy, and you make me feel like flying, and I want to stay like this forever, can we just lay here until we die? But what comes out is

“I love you.”

And he knows exactly what you mean.

“Love you more,” he says. You’d argue about it, because I love you more, but you’re already floating, floating, floating into sleep in his embrace.

#ringo starr x reader #ringo starr fanfic #ringo starr x reader smut #the beatles x reader #beatles x reader smut #ringo starr #kalwrites #fluff #sexy times #HOLY SHIT IT'S SO LONG #kinda proud of it doe #ringo is my love my life my everything

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

Text

Darkness Falls On Hyperion Heights - Chapter 2

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin|Detective Weaver, Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers

Additional Tags: Angst, Supernatural Elements, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), UST, Smut

Summary: When Librarian and Scholar Belle French arrives in Hyperion Heights in search of an artifact stolen from the British Museum and to enlist the help of Detective Weaver in that search, events in the Heights go from mildly intriguing to dangerously terrifying. Can Belle and Detective Weaver find the truth before time runs out?

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - Two AM

Two in the morning was not Weaver’s favorite time of the day by any stretch of whomever’s imagination you cared to examine, but that night he longed for it to finally arrive. It had been the dullest night in the history of Hyperion Heights. They hadn’t even brought in anyone drunk and disorderly on whom he could take out his frustrations, which left him pushing paper all night long after a particularly unsatisfying cheeseburger that dripped grease onto the front of his shirt and sent him scurrying for the break room in search of some Dawn and a paper towel to take the worst of it off before it ruined the entire garment.

Rogers left at midnight, claiming he had to see a man about a dog, and Weaver supposed he deserved that, but none-the-less spat invectives after his partner, and ill wishes about getting soaked, then catching his death of cold, none of which he meant. The other detective might annoy the fuck out of him sometimes, but he wouldn’t really ever wish him ill, and it really was coming down out there.

The first flicker of power happened precisely thirteen minutes later, just as Weaver got up to go and re-fill his coffee cup to get him through the next couple of hours until quitting time. The wind suddenly picked up, throwing the sheets of rain against the precinct’s windows. In the next minute there was a sharp crack, and the air inside the station fizzled. Weaver felt the hairs on his bare arms, and the back of his neck rise. Overhead the strip lights faded in and out twice with an accompanying electrical buzz, all of which was drowned out by the trailing explosion of thunder, so loud that the windows shook, and some of the desks in the front office actually moved, visibly, across the polished floor.

“Fuck!” Weaver hissed, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if to ward off a chill that wasn’t there. “Shit!” he added a moment later - for good measure. He wasn’t afraid of thunder - there actually wasn’t much at all that Weaver was afraid of - but there was something about this that made a cold sweat form on his brow.

The hum of the copier warming up as the power stabilized both made him jump, and provided a comfort. Everything was fine. Everything was normal, just fifteen minutes later than before. He hadn’t thought it had been that long, but with everything, he wasn’t really paying attention to how much time had passed; only what was happening, and how he’d felt.

With a sigh, he retraced his steps back into his office, closed the door and locked it, then he threw himself into his chair, and reached for the bottom draw of his desk, rewarded as it opened with the steadying clink of glass on glass.

Belle stepped out of the hotel bathroom, her hair twisted up into a towel, her body wrapped in a thick, comfortable bath robe, and little else.

She didn’t usually shower so close to bed time, because it always woke her up, meaning she would be awake for hours longer, mind buzzing. Even if she tried not to think about anything she’d seen or read - anything she’d noticed, after the long flight, the meeting with the detective, and then looking through all her notes and papers - the artifacts of her research, she felt grungy and uncomfortable.

It seemed the promised storm had finally materialized. Lightning flashed outside of the windows, illuminating the room in white brilliance instead of the muted yellow light of the lamps on the nightstands, heralding, by barely a few seconds, the rolling moan of thunder. The rain sussurated insistently against the window and Belle shivered.

She rubbed her tired eyes, and glanced over at the bed on which her photographs and notes lay strewn, only partly organized while she was reading them. The rest could wait until morning. She would just leave it all where it was and sleep in the other bed tonight.

She shivered again at the thought of sleep, crossed to the door of her hotel room, and flipped the deadbolt. It wasn’t her physical safety that bothered her though, in spite of a degree of lawlessness she’d already witnessed in Hyperion Heights. Her discomfort - her feeling that shadows were gathering in more than just the corners of her hotel room - was always stronger when she had been studying her notes, and trying to get to the bottom of the theft of the Spear of Camlann. It wouldn’t be the first time if she woke from sleep tonight crying out from some kind of nightmare… feeling wet, and cold and alone - in pain and heavy with destiny.

“Stop it, Belle,” she told herself firmly. “You’re only setting yourself up for a fall.”

In spite of her self-admonition, she still glanced in the directions of the corners of the room, watching the gathered shadows that shimmied and danced in the unpredictable flashes of lightning as the storm continued to wreak its havoc on the city.

In the name of the gods, may Birch stand before me and Willow behind; Holly to my left and Oak upon my right.

She thought the words as she whispered them, and in her minds eye saw the trees as if their branches wove an invisible roof above her head, and walls all around her. It was a common practice for her and she’d taken to it several years in the past, when strange thoughts and nebulous fears disturbed her sleep.

It gave her comfort even if it did nothing more practical than that.

With a last look around, she pulled back the covers of the bed not strewn with papers, and slipped beneath the soft, cool cotton, letting the robe fall to the ground beside the bed as she did. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find the next step in the trail.

She would also call in on Detective Weaver again just to see if he had changed his mind.

A hot cup of coffee later, and his composure restored, Weaver took a walk down to the evidence room. It took him a few tries to get the security system to register the swipe of his card, but eventually the lights on the panel turned green and he was able to pull open the door.

He flicked on the overhead light, pausing for a moment in the doorway to let the light that slowly chased away the shadows reach into the far corners of the room. Perhaps not completely composed then. With a deep breath to bring himself to order, he finally stepped over the threshold and allowed the door to close behind him.

He reminded himself that he had come down to put away some of the outstanding items of evidence that had been sitting around on his desk for far too long, but he wasn’t sure that he convinced himself that it was the real reason. Why else would it be?

“Not exactly any less fucking creepy down here,” he said aloud, uncomfortable that he’d felt the need to break the silence of that room otherwise only occupied by the slight buzzing of the fluorescent lights.

He knew exactly what was going on. He knew what he had to do to figure it all out: follow the evidence. How could he know that everything French had told him was true? He had allowed her to get under his skin - inside his head with the tales of her missing artifact. That was proven by the feeling that he clearly recalled he’d experienced as he looked at her photograph. It was still far too fresh in his memory, even after so many hours.

“We’ll see about that,” he said almost angrily and strode across the room to snatch up the receiver and hit the button to connect him with the operator.

”What do you want, Weaver?” The sergeant he spoke to sounded bored. ”It’s late, and I’m tired, so this better not be another one of your wild goose chases.”

“Get me the London Metropolitan Police,” he said.

”Excuse me? London, England, Detective?”

“No, fucking London, Timbuktu-yes of course London, England,” he snapped.

”I, um… Hold on, I’ll see what I can do.”

Weaver hooked leg of the stool that was pushed beneath the table with the toe of his boot, and pulled it out from underneath, before falling, with mounting fatigue, onto it. What had gotten into him? It had been no longer a shift than any other day, and yet he felt as though he had been working for twenty-four hours straight. He began, idly, to push around the pieces of evidence that he’d come down here to deal with, not really paying much attention to any of them.

There was the cast of what looked like a boot print, a work boot by the look of it; a cigarette lighter - the kind with the flip lid, where moving the wheel produced the spark, a sliver of flint - about three inches long, with an edge that looked razor sharp, that had been napped by repeated blows by another object, presumably another stone. There was a dried and flaking blood stain on the flint shard. There was also a piece of ribbon, twisted and knotted at one end, but otherwise an unremarkable strip of half inch wide, ivory colored silk. Almost in the middle of it, was a single, partial print.

He stared at them all for a long time until the phone rang, startling him back to full attention. It made him jump, jangling in the thick silence of the room, and he hurried to answer it as though the sound of it would offend some unseen being.

“Weaver!”

“Detective Weava?” The voice on the other end of the line had a distinctly foreign, distinctly Cockney, London accent, and the Glasgow in him bristled. He grunted confirmation. “Detective Inspecta Lewis, London Met. What can I do for ya?”

“D.I. Lewis, Thanks for taking my call,” he thought politeness would be a good start, although for reasons other than his Scottish roots, just speaking to the man completely rubbed him up the wrong way. “I… had a visit today from a young woman. Said she was a curator at the British Museum. Chasing after some stolen artifact, apparently.”

“Oh, Fak me!” the words came out as almost a huffed sigh. “That’s where she’s rolled up, is it?”

“Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes. An accent you wouldn't soon forget…” he frowned at himself. Since when had he noticed the color of her eyes in the way he’d described? “Gave her name as French. Belle French.”

The detective inspector let out a shallow laugh, that ended in an almost verbal frown. ”Belle French. You sure? Coz that sounds an awful lot like Lacey.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just went on, “Wha’eva she told ya’s a load o’ bull. There’s a warrant out for ‘er arrest. I can fax it to ya if ya like.”

Weaver frowned, Liking the British detective even less, but thanked the man anyway, and recited the fax number. He wanted to see the warrant with his own two eyes before he even thought about what he was going to do next.

“Anyway,” Lewis was still rattling on in what Weaver felt was an annoyingly superior way, “She’s the one what broke in. Made off wiv ‘alf a dozen bits and pieces, none of it werf a damn accordin’ to the director of the Weston Gallery, but it’s the principle of the fing, right? Lets face it, B&E is a crime no matter ow ya frame it.”

“Yeah,” Weaver answered absently, making several assumptions based on the man’s words. “How about you send a list of the stolen items along with that warrant, Detective Inspector, and I’ll see what I can do to recover them for you.”

“Tha’d be smashin’,” Lewis answered. “Got it all right ‘ere’ on me desk. I’ll send it right ova.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” Weaver countered. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything more.”

“Right,” Lewis answered. “Yeah, I’ll keep in touch.”

“Tosser!” Weaver spat as he hung up the phone. He snatched up his jacket from where he’d left it lying on the top of the table, and swung it over his shoulders, putting it on as he strode toward the door, and shoving his hands deep into his pocket.

#Rumbelle #woven beauty #supernatural elements #hyperion heights #UST #Smut #Darkness Falls on Hyperion Heights

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frostbitten-written · 3 years

Note

“Oh, royal library…? Wow… I can imagine that must be extensive… That must have taken you forever to get through… Huh? Wait, you’ve read books from a royal library, yet you would voluntarily read my work?”

"My lengthy lifespan allows me the privilege of working my way through several novels and tomes of various subjects," he nodded. The pretty blush painting her cheeks proved she thought little of herself in relation to such published works. He shook his head in disapproval of her judgment. "Their placement upon those many shelves speaks nothing of their value. That is for the reader to decide. Am I not a man capable of discerning for myself what is worthy of my attention and what is not? Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

His hand fell away from underneath her chin to gesture for the bartender to assist them once again. "I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

A brief conversation with the young man who approached with a raised brow, and moments later two whiskeys sat before them. A small selection of large bills pressed into the hand of the bartender with an appreciative dip of his chin ended the swift transaction. "To cover both my tab and the lady's. Thank you."

The bewitching little mortal shifted in her seat, bringing her closer to match his assertive stance, although he still towered above her and would continue to do so should she rise to her full height. The size difference compelled him to protect her, this delicate Midgardian whose trust baffled him to no end. Perhaps it was her intoxicated state that made her so comfortable expressing herself. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it immensely.

“Wait, no, that’s not right. Why would I need rescuing from you? You’ve been fine company thus far.” She playfully poked his chest as she admonished him and made eye contact.

In an instant his hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her hand, swift and secure but gentle so as not to harm her in any capacity. The halting gesture turned into something almost reverent, calloused fingertips gliding over her smooth skin until he cradled her small hand delicately. Slowly he bent over to brush a kiss against her knuckles, an incredibly forward action with his piercing gaze trained on every minute change of her facial expression. "Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mister. You’re lovely company.” She offered a warm smile, hoping he’d do the same. She’d love to see him with a full grin. With the small smile he’s hiding, she could only imagine how spectacular he’d look teeth and all.

"Of course I am," he winked, "but those who share your sentiment are few and far between. The same compliment can be truthfully applied to yourself, as my evening is all the better for your presence at my side." Almost involuntarily his smile grew in response to her earnestness. A dart of his tongue wet his lips before he covered his mouth with his glass, taking another sip of the liquid fire scorching a path to the twisting thrill of her company making a home for itself in his stomach.

“I’ll admit, I’m not here alone or of my own volition… My friends dragged me out because they wanted me to get drunk and have fun. I’m not normally a club girl, but tonight it paid off.” She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow playfully as she looked at him. “And just to be clear, I’m talking about you. You made tonight worth it.” She watched his facial expression, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries in her friendly endeavours.

A shout of revelry echoed about the bar, clearly originating from his oaf of a brother surrounded by the other Avengers. At least the display did not precede the destruction of property.

"Your friends are nowhere to be seen," he mused thoughtfully, searching the crowd for anyone who might be unusually interested in their conversation. Finding no one to come whisk his companion away, his grin turned mischievous when directed back to Indie. "You are very clear, I assure you." At least he allowed his eyes to dip down to her chest, taking notice of the cleavage presented to him from her position without any attempt at hiding his interest. "And I hope I am as well."

Another barrage of questions spilled from her mouth and he chuckled, taking another drink of his whiskey to compose his thoughts. One finger straightened from the nearly empty glass to gesture at Thor, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson drinking and chatting away with a group of admirers. "Our situations are similar. Thor believed it in my best interest to spend time with the others, to improve team morale or my public persona, but my time was admittedly feeling wasted until fate should bring us together.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behavior for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home, if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

-Loki

(Sorry I took so long to reply! Life happened. So, I may have gotten just as carried away as you; I hope it is satisfactory because I also had a blast replying to you!)

Indie blushed like mad when the edge of Loki’s finger brushed against her skin. His gesture was intimate; it made her breath hitch and her heart still for a moment. He was smooth and she was starting to notice.

“...Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

If that line wasn’t a panty-dropper, then she didn’t know what was. She bit back a smile and chose not to comment, accepting his compliment.

"I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

“Oh, whiskey,” she purred, tipsy and very pleased. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Lokes?” She mindlessly gave him a nickname before sipping her drink. She had the tendency to give people nicknames, especially when she was drunk. This was only the beginning.

Initially, the way he grabbed her wrist frightened her, and in her inebriated state, her reaction time was slow and useless, but he yet again proved to have pure intentions. The last thing Indie expected from a near-stranger (what the heck, she knew his name) in a bar, was being kissed so tenderly to the knuckles, prince-charming style. How gallant, how romantic and how intimate he was. He was making her feels things she had no business feeling. He was an attractive guy and how she held his attention for so long was beyond her, but she’d enjoy every moment while it lasted.

"Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

She whined quietly to herself. Why did she always fall for the bad boys and why were they always so damn attractive and tempting? Besides that, why did he keep saying he was not to be trusted when he’s done nothing but be honest all night? She decided to humour him and play along with his self-deprecating shtick. “Well, I have nothing to lose, Mr Nefarious.” She spat the name sarcastically, hating the stereotypes he was branded with. If she had the permission she would have bapped him on the head plenty of times for speaking ill of himself. She wasn’t drunk enough to do it, but she was getting there.

When he mentioned the Avengers, she was a bit too far gone to filter her words. “Oh right! You’re friends with the Avengers! Hey Loki, next time you see Thor,” she paused, feeling the nerves bubble in her stomach, “can you please tell him to take it easy with the lightning and the thunder?” She shivered and pressed her lips into a frown. “I hate thunderstorms. They’re scary,” she muttered to herself, sounding childlike in her request and complaint.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behaviour for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

She pouted and resisted his efforts to make her go home. “Nooooo,” she whined as she propped her elbow up on the bar counter, her head lazily supported by her hand. “Not yettt,” she complained. “You can be my gallant, tall, dark and handsome hero later, I promise. For now, let’s have fun!” She exclaimed, shooting her arms up in the air and throwing her head back. She giggled before taking her glass in hand and sipping her whiskey. Her eye widened mid-sip when a new song started playing in the club. She managed to down the remainder of her drink in one impressive gulp and jumped off her stool.

“Ah! I love this song! It’s my jam!” She exclaimed and grabbed Loki’s hand, tugging him off his stool too. “Come and dance with meeeeee! Just one song, please? I promise you can play bodyguard and take me home afterwards!” She pulled him onto the dance floor, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, in her body, in her head and in her soul. She felt loose and free.

Come here, girl. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Come to the back. (Go 'head be gone with it)

VIP. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Drinks on me. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Indie danced like no one was watching. Her heart raced as she danced with her handsome stranger; she’s always wanted to do this: catch the attention of a hot guy, drink with him, get to know him, and dance with him. Loki was like her fucking jackpot and she was revelling in every second of it.

Let me see what you're twerkin' with; (Go 'head be gone with it)

Look at those hips. (Go 'head be gone with it)

You make me smile. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Go 'head child. (Go 'head be gone with it)

She looked up at Loki, mouthing the words, not at all internalising the meaning of the song. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist, swaying to the music without a care in the world. She lazily slung her arms around his shoulders, bringing her body close to him. Dancing with him was such a thrill.

And, get your sexy on. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Get your sexy on. (Go 'head, be gone with it)...

- Indie

#loki rp #anon rp #rp #loki #Lokes RP #this was so much fun to write out!#and she's got so many more nicknames up her sleeve you just watch #not my gif

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burning-clutch · 4 years

Text

The Phantom Always Rings Twice

Read on A03: Here Pairings: None Trigger Warnings: None Total word count: 3301 Author: @burning-clutch (Team Ghost) Prompt by: Dalv-co-official AO3: betelgeuse

It started with small things. Little things that could be misconstrued as happenstance and coincidence, and then it evolved into something more, something bigger. And, well, William Lancer always did love a good mystery novel.

------

It started with small things. Little things that could be misconstrued as happenstance and coincidence. Things that could be written off easily with little thought or without really thinking into it too hard.

And while William Lancer took notice of the oddities and inconsistencies that seemed to fill one Daniel Fenton’s life, he couldn’t piece together exactly what was happening within the greater story.

A story that he wanted to see unfold fully.

It was like a mystery novel in a way. One would need to read through each chapter, each paragraph carefully to be able to find the breadcrumb trail left by the author to be able to figure out the final twist at the end in its entirety. As of now, he only had the pieces that were left out in the open.

The pieces he had seen that were left behind to be seen were large and obvious, meant to throw one off the trail of the deeper lore in the pages. With glaring arrows and flashing lights, they were meant to attract your attention so that you failed to notice the tiny crumb on the floor just off to the side.

And it worked well for a time until he had started to take notice of the crumbs. He had looked away from the glitz and offered a story on the platter and taken notice of something small, insignificant. A bruise under the boy's eye, a small garish yellow thing. He had the boy in the morning and noticed it as he went around to collect the homework he’d assigned, and of course, Fenton hadn’t done it. When he had seen the boy once again later that day the bruise was gone. There was no indication that there was any makeup used to hide it either.

After that point, the teacher had made a point to follow the breadcrumbs. The small bits of the trail that were left behind to indicate something more. He had gotten a taste, and he wanted more. He had to solve the conundrum that was presented before him.

So, he watched. He listened. He learned and he researched.

He saw the boy limping to through the lunch line, but had not seen any instance of bullying that would have caused it, and once again by the time the boy was in his class once again that day, no semblance of it ever had happened.

Abuse at home was quickly ruled out as a good portion of the things that happen to him seem to be at the school.

He had tried to confront the boy about him clutching his chest and his rattling breaths, as though he had broken a rib or some other such thing, and simply was waved off. “I’m a clutz, I fell down the stairs” Daniel had said to his inquiry, dodging the question smoothly. He had seen the boy many a time simply stumble over his feet on flat ground, so tripping downstairs was not something too outlandish to believe.

And yet in the same breath, he had also seen the teen pull off amazing feats of coordination when he believed no one was watching him. How he gracefully slid around corners to escape the quarterback’s cajoling, or how he had leaped over a railing into the back garden of the school, rolling to disperse the energy in such a way any master of parkour would be proud to see.

He would entertain the idea of seeming smaller then he was, too. He had noticed it during a presentation when Daniel came to the front of the class. When Dashiel stuck out a foot to try to trip Daniel. Daniel’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the other’s leg before hooking his ankle and preforming a marvellous pratfall. But as he lay prone on the ground he was stretched out showing his full height.

When he regained himself and moved to the front of the class once again, Daniel had curved his back and dropped his shoulders inward, doing a wondrous impression of the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Why would Daniel want to appear smaller? Surely appearing larger would help stop those such as Dashiel from bothering him as much, so why? What purpose did this serve?

Then, of course, there was the matter he had seen the other’s attempt to trip him up, and instead of simply walking over the trap, he fell into it headfirst, let the class laughed at him before continuing on with whatever charade he deemed necessary to fulfil.

Why bother with such nonsensical things when he could have easily rolled jumped or any other manner of things to avoid making himself into a laughing stock. Perhaps he didn’t like attention then?

Well, it would be a simple theory to test. William had dabbled in sciences before majoring in English and history after all...

Putting the attention on Daniel was an easy feat. A simple manner or pointing out his lacking marks and offering a simple way to make up the credit. A public speaking competition or a talent show. Surprisingly the teen had chosen to help out with the talent show. A Stagehand true, but still. He had no problem running out onto the stage to check microphones were working, plugged in correctly, or had good battery depending on what was being used.

The eyes on him didn’t seem to hinder his performance, so long as he had a purpose to hone in on… so why?

Perhaps the opposite then? Did he enjoy the attention and figured that being a laughing stock was a way to be noticed? Well, that theory was quickly squashed when he saw the teen have his clothes get stolen in Gym, and doused in pink dye turning his usually white shirt a rather flamboyant shade of flamingo.

All eyes were certainly on him.

Still, the teen spent a good portion of that school day hiding within his friend’s hoodie and opted to wear his Gym shorts. It was the middle of February so it was still rather cold. And with only a hoodie Daniel still braved the outdoors with little notice.

And that was his next crumb.

The boy didn’t seem to notice the cold.

The teacher had seen the teen arrive at the school the following week when a freak blizzard popped up, wearing no coat and very little protection beyond that from the frigid temperatures outside.

He had heard of people being ‘warm blooded’ and not having the cold climate bother them too much but this was within the realm of ludacrisy! Surely his body was under duress of some kind! Was he ill?

When asked once again Daniel had waved off his concern, “I’m good. I’m not sick just a little sleepy is all” He had deferred once again pushing off the concern and offering an easy way out, a fake map on a silver platter that he was expected to follow.

He took the offering. If for no other reason then to throw the teen off the notion that he may be tracing his footsteps.

It seemed to have worked as intended, though the boy still seemed ill at ease in the classroom. He had noticed Daniel shiver and for the briefest of seconds, he could have sworn he’d seen the boy’s breath.

Sure the classroom was chilly, the school board being too cheap to allow them to turn up the heat any higher than the current brisk twenty celsius, but that was still far above where one would start to see the condensation of someone’s breath.

He was drawn out of the musings of this current conundrum by the very topic of his brain’s musings. Hand shooting high as he wiggles in his seat, Daniel looked determined suddenly, and flighty. This was not a new occurrence either. Since the start of the youngest Fenton’s schooling career, he had been randomly ditching class. Sometimes it would be brief, entertaining the simplest of needs it would seem, other times he would not be seen for hours by any teacher in the school only to come back a while later dishevelled and out of breath as though he had run a marathon.

William sighed and waved Daniel off. It was no use disallowing the boy to exit. He would simply leave the first chance he was given to take his leave. This has happened not only to himself but other members of the staff it seemed.

Daniel could be as quiet as a mouse when he needed to be.

His next trail on the line of crumbs was much larger, much more succulent. Almost like a cake crumb instead of a bread crumb. It was sweetened with honey and made him crave the full buffet table all the more.

Hm, perhaps he should break for lunch… that was many more food allusions then usual. He must be hungry.

As he made his way down the hall once again he saw, Daniel. He was not in his morning classroom today, though that was hardly a surprise, given the boy’s record… still, he couldn’t deny the interest he had taken in this scenario. Dashiel had cornered Michiel threatening him with a ‘beat down’ which made the man frown deeply.

He hated how much their school funding relied on the sports departments to do well. What he wouldn’t give to have a few new books in the school. Prefibily something from the twenty-first century.

Of course, this meant that Dashiel was able to get away with almost anything being how well he performed on the field, carrying the Casper High Ravens to the playoffs. As such a warning would be the most he could really receive for ‘roughhousing’ as it were…

Still, before he could step in, Daniel did, dryly commenting on Dashiel’s brain capacity and quipping out a few other rather boorish insults. “What’s the matter Dash? Is your shoe size larger than your IQ?” Dashiel threw a textbook towards Daniel who ducked, only causing himself to draw more ire. “Ha, what was that? Ya missed me! Honestly, a star quarterback and can’t hit the broad side of a barn!”

With that Daniel took off, thus getting the larger teen to give chase and letting the poor hapless nerd go in favour of a more fit target. All in all not too much by itself, but William had found the conjoining piece after classes were done and he was heading to his car.

There was a ghost attack. Nothing new there, as they were rather common around the school, being as there was always a large congregation of people. Ghosts seemed to hit those places the most frequently after all. The leading theory was that they had more chances to gain their food source from the emotions of humans.

This was also the main point of controversy for why Phantom was not a hero but more akin to an animal protecting its food source. Regardless of the reason, William had seen first hand the ghostly teen do his routine and had to admit, things would often be much worse without the Phantom ‘protecting his food source’ all the time.

Regardless that thought was neither here nor there as he snapped himself out of his musings to watch for an opening to speed away in his hatchback and try his best not to damage his already thrice repaired vehicle.

The ghosts twisted and turned around one another in a ballet that could be something akin to a world war two era dog fight, as Phantom blasted the hunter ghost from behind only to zip away from the other’s shots or expertly deflect them.

In a way, it was mesmerizing to watch the ariel promenade, as the two spun and did their sword’s dance along the razor blade of death. However, that was not what caught his attention today. No, it was the words being spewed back and forth between the ghosts.

“What’s the matter, Skulker? Is your shoe size larger than your IQ?” Phantom laughed out before dodging around a laser of some kind. “Ha, what was that? Ya missed me! Honestly, Zone’s greatest hunter? You can’t hit the broad side of a barn!” He quipped before flying skyward leading the ghost away from the school building by drawing the ire…

William Lancer was not a man who was unobservant or unintelligent, and he was also not a man to ignore such coincidences such as this. Not only was it the words spoken from the ghost, but it was the way it was spoken as well that gave him pause. The same inflection and same tone he had heard on Daniel just a few hours prior.

And the more he focused on it the more similarities he found.

They had the same voice when they spoke. An easy enough fact to find and notice when compared side by side. A discussion in English class on media reporting, under the ruse of looking at the language used by the newscast, and a recording of a night's broadcast where Phantom was clearly picked up by the microphones. He had told the kids he wanted them to do a piece of mock news, a report on something in their life using the wording examples they had seen.

The video played and he paused it right after Phantom’s smile and cheesy eighties slogan of ‘don’t do drugs’ was finished hamming up into the camera. It was then he called on Daniel to see what the teen noticed in the language used. And sure enough, the voices sounded identical, save for the echo like Phantom was talking into a tin can, but never the less it was a clue.

And when he started looking into other things that would compare the meek child in his class to the ghostly hero that flew, fought and patrolled the town well… he became worried.

When Daniel stood up straight, he was the same height as Phantom. When Daniel was forced to wear a proper Gym uniform, one where he couldn’t hide in a hoodie or long sleeved shirt, he was the same build. Then there were more subtle things, like the pair having the same laugh and same facial features, same windswept hair, same well… almost everything.

But what does that mean then for Daniel? He had seen ghosts that have a shapeshifting ability before, most notably that awful ghostly therapist and the assistant they had brought in. So did that mean Daniel was a ghost? What were the implications of his death then? And when had it happened…?

His true lucky break came when he was taking over from the principal, and thus was not teaching his classes for the day. He was in the back staff storage closet, a small tight area with notebooks, chalk, and markers in a narrow L shape. He was simply taking inventory, a dreaded procedure that he had little doubt was left to him purposefully for when Iroshima had to attend the meeting with the school board.

Regardless he was in the furthest section from the door around the tight corner when he heard it. The door opened and in stumbled Daniel Fenton. The teen heaved a sigh of relief, and just as he was about to reprimand Daniel for such delinquent behaviour, it happened.

The truth, the piece he had been theorizing and grasping at, laid out before him.

A bolt of light erupted from the teen’s waist in a hoop of iridescent stardust. It shone and glowed brightly as though someone had suddenly turned on a sun lamp. The ring split and diverged up and down, travelling quickly across the boy’s body in a ripple of power. As the rings passed the human guise of the teen it revealed a familiar jumpsuit, and even more familiar ghost beneath...

He could only watch bewildered as Phantom, no, Daniel took flight and headed off through the ceiling of the closet. He had been right? He had been right! Oh lord, he had been right…

Being right had never felt more wrong…

This teenager, this child… he truly dd carry the world on his shoulders, or at least the town. The boy who would sometimes limp to class and ignore his lectures on doing his homework to secure a relatively well off future, or at least a decent college acceptance… He had always looked as though nothing he said mattered, and well, he supposed given what he knows now that’s not far from the truth.

Why would a child who was already dead, passed on and returned, care about his future as a human? Why would it ever be something that Daniel would take seriously when he literally had no future on this earth?

Though it still begged the question why was he still bothering with school at all? Wouldn’t it be better to live as a ghost? He could patrol, fight and, well, do whatever it is that ghosts do in their spare time, all without the worry of his human habits and responsibilities getting in the way of his clearly favoured ghostly ones.

Though the more he thought on it the more he realized that this new line of questioning was not as complicated as he was tempted to make it out to be. Daniel had died and was a teen who never got to grow up. Perhaps that was all he was trying to do?

Despite the limitations on his body, or perhaps lack thereof, he wanted to still be a teen. He wanted to spend time with his family and friends and experience the life that had been taken from him.

He was given the chance to allow him such simple mercies after all. It would make sense he would take it.

From that standpoint suddenly Phantom’s aggression and heroism took on a much sadder note. One of a teen that simply wanted the others of his breed to leave him be so he may fulfill whatever obsession is keeping him grounded here, experiencing life.

And perhaps that’s what all the ghosts really wanted. From the Box Ghost to the King of the realm of the dead. Perhaps that’s what connected them all? To live out the rest of the life that had gotten taken from them from whatever it was that took it. Be it a fire disease injury or… whatever had taken Daniel.

Wiliam appreciated the new standpoint and views he had gained. He was a teacher after all, and part of that was due to the love of learning he had that thrived in his very soul. It did make him wonder though. If he were to be struck down, would he have the strength of will to continue? To push past his own death to try and regain some semblance of what was taken from him?

Somehow he doubted it.

Yet at the same time, he was alright with that notion. He was making a difference here and now and planned to for many years to come. Though for right now he would do his best to help the ghost boy in his homeroom class to live out his purpose. A makeup test here, extra credit there, and with any luck, the ghost would be able to graduate and live out the life he had lost.

After all, William Lancer was a teacher at heart, a mentor.

He was happy that he could just play a bit part in the background of the stories his students were living. A small thread in the tapestry that weaved their lives.

What more could a teacher ask for then to see his students succeed? After all, even dead teenagers seem to need help time and again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Complete

Total word count: 3301

#Phic Phight 2020 #Danny Phantom #Danny #Lancer #character introspection #Lancer POV #identity reveal

36 notes · View notes

promptswrites · 4 years

Text

The Artificials / A short story

This is a short story I wrote some time ago, but only recently went through and edited.

(5.5k, scifi with just a dash of action and queer feels.)

“I told you I’ll do it.”

A brief smile crosses Colonel Davie’s thin lips. He leans forward, pushes his elbows on the desk, and locks his fingers. “Look at you, Aden. That’s what I like to hear.”

It’s easy for this jackass to smile. He won’t be the one running head on to the enemy, no — he leaves it up to me. An Artificial. The Expendable.

I scoff and turn away. “Sure. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

As I make my way through his office, past the paintings and the maps and the huge collections of enemy helmets just collecting dust in big glass cabinets, Davie clears his throat.

“This time, you’ll have a partner.”

My heart skips over a beat. I reach the door and stop, my brains repeating that last word like a stuck record player.

A partner? For me? But—

Davie laughs. His chair creaks, and heavy footsteps approach me. “It’s someone like you. I’m sure you’ll get along with it just fine.”

I don’t want to turn around but I do, and I meet Davie’s amused gaze.

“Your mission requires two people,” he says, circles his desk, and leans his butt over the edge. He reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out a fat, brown cigar. “Or, well, not people. I wouldn’t risk my soldiers over this. That’s why it’s you two. Even if you die… Well, you know the drill.”

The familiar heat rises in my chest. I tense staring at him, at that smug face, as if he’s so much better than me just because every part of him came out of a womb.

I didn’t ask for this. Any of this. Not to be made, not to be put in this body, not to fight in this stupid war.

“Fuck you.” The words slip out before I can register them. “I’m flesh and blood, the same as you.”

Colonel Davie pulls out a lighter, snaps his finger across the wheel, and lights his cigar. The cocky look on his face never wavers as he exhales a thick cloud of smoke that smells as disgusting as his personality. “Are you?”

Whatever.

“I’ll have someone let you know when I return,” I say, pushing out the door.

“You’ll find your new partner from the armory,” Davie calls out, and I slam the door shut behind myself. His muffled voice yells: “You might find him familiar.”

The guy in front of me is tall, probably half a head taller than I am. The arms that poke from the sleeves of his white tee are muscular, and I guess he’s the type of soldier who lives and breathes gym — and yet, when he looks down at me, he smiles the sweetest smile and offers me his hand. White paint, already dry, decorates the side of his palm.

“Hey,” he says. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot. I’m Kane June.”

With a polite smile, I grab his hand and shake it. “Aden May. Hopefully all things good?”

‘Might find him familiar’? What the hell had Davie meant by that? This guy is a total stranger, and by the lively look in his eyes, he’s never been to a real battle before. He’s definitely never died before. How could I know him?

Kane’s grin widens as he nods. He steps back as we let go of each other’s hands. “Dude, you’re like a legend to us down in the Third Floor. It’s an honor getting to go out with you.”

The choice of words makes me laugh. “Let’s finish this mission first and we’ll see.”

In a blink of an eye, his cheeks go from brown to red, and he falls back another step, lifting his hands up. “Shit, I mean, I don’t—”

“It’s okay, I know what you meant,” I say, still grinning, and turn to the rows of weapons on the wall.

It’s unusually empty here in the armory — but figures, since the previous attack on the base killed more than twenty of us. Out of the five hundred specialists we started with over four years earlier, only seventy-six are still standing.

It won’t be long until we lose.

“So is this your first time out in the field?” I ask, glancing at Kane. He’s busy hiding his face in his hands.

That’s… kind of cute.

He nods, looking up. The blush on his cheeks is almost gone. “I wasn’t supposed to go today, either. I’m not done with my training yet.”

“Why did they make you come, then?” I ask, turning my focus back on the weapons, and swallow a sigh.

A complete beginner on a mission our survival depends on. Davie really outdid himself. Does he want us both to die?

“The attack a few days ago,” Kane says. “They sent everyone out to defend the base. You’re the only Expendable who came back, right?”

I pick a modified pistol from the rack. The faces of the others flash in my head, bleeding and screaming and dying—

A shiver runs down my back and I force the memory out.

No matter. They’ll be reinserted into new bodies and come back. Probably tomorrow or the day after, with eyes that are a little bit deader than before.

“That’s why,” Kane continues. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I was the top of my class. Outdid most the humans in every task. I’m not saying I’m as good as you, or will ever be, ’cause I mean… You’re a legend. But I can handle myself.”

I turn to face Kane, forcing a smile on my lips.

He stands there, such an innocent drive in his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t know anything yet, that much is certain. And after seeing what it’s really like out there, he will wish he had stayed oblivious.

But that’s not why they created us. People like the two of us aren’t here to be happy.

Our bodies are expendable. Even if we die, we’ll never stay that way. Illness, bombing, suicide, it doesn’t matter; our suffering will never end because they’ll always bring us back, again and again, until we finally go crazy and destroy our code from the inside. They force us into living and dying for a world that doesn’t give a shit about artificials like us. It doesn’t matter our bodies, borrowed from the dead soldiers, are flesh and blood; our consciousness is fake, created from lines of code and a bunch of numbers. To them, we are nothing.

“When were you supposed to graduate?” I ask.

“A week from now.”

At least he isn’t a complete beginner.

I hand him the gun. It has an extended clip; God knows he might need the extra ammo. “You know how to use it, right?”

He nods and pushes the gun down the holster on his waist. “Like I said, I can handle myself.”

“We’ll see,” I say, and pause before continuing. “Hey, uh… This is a weird question, but you have any hobbies?”

He laughs, lifting his hand up to the back of his neck. “That’s fine. I mean, yeah, I guess. I like drawing. And painting, though I always make a huge mess. Why?”

“No reason,” I say and turn back to the weapons. “Get ready. We gotta leave the second it gets dark.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” There is a grin in his voice.

Eventually, he’ll lose joy in everything. We all do; it’s only a matter of time until the truth gets to him. That there’s no hope for beings like us.

But right now, he’s innocent. Happy. Full of life.

I smile as I watch him bend over and tie his shoes, but a coldness creeps up my chest. My smile fades.

He won’t stay happy for long.

Nobody does.

“We should wait.”

I lift an eyebrow at Kane. In the blinding darkness, it’s only my night vision lenses allowing me to see him.

He nods towards the open yard between us and the lone warehouse. It’s the size of a garage — inconspicuous by design to hide the fact it shelters some of the most important data known to man. Davie won’t tell me what exactly, because why on earth would an artificial need to know that? But it is the type of information that would help us even the playing field.

Behind the warehouse sits one of the tens of massive wooden barracks. Which enemy they belong to, I don’t know, but that doesn’t matter. What I know is that they’re filled to brim with soldiers, both human and artificial alike, ready to kill us both if things go wrong.

“Doesn’t it seem too convenient to you?” Kane asks. “Where’s the security? All the soldiers? The dogs?”

“You’re saying it’s a trap?” I whisper, eyeing the warehouse.

“Could be,” he says. “I think we should wait and see what happens.”

I check the watch on my wrist; it’s already fifteen to five in the morning. Fifteen minutes until the whole base will wake up. Half an hour until the sun will rise.

And if we go back empty-handed for no good reason, we’ll both get in deep trouble.

If we wait and lose our only chance...

“Stay here. I’ll go get the case,” I say, giving my new partner a look. The words make him tense. “If it turns out to be a trap, head back to base. Let Davie know.”

“But you’ll—”

“Be reinserted,” I interrupt. “They’ve got a ton of bodies ready, and my memory was backed up a few hours ago. I’ll be fine.”

Kane’s lips draw back. He stares at me, his breathing picking up.

“Don’t forget what we are,” I say, keeping my voice stern. “This is what we do. It’s not my first time losing a body.”

“You mean dying.��

“Call it whatever you want. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“But it’s still painful, isn’t it? And you’ll remember it?” His tone borders desperate as he takes me by the wrist. “I really think we should—”

I snatch my arm back.

Kane flinches. His eyes widen on me and his mouth opens, but he doesn’t say a word.

The hurt expression on his face is like a dagger to my gut, but this is the only way, because he’s right. It will hurt and I will remember it, and I don’t want him to go through that.

If he can just hold on to that innocence for a little while longer…

I stand up. “Stay here. That’s an order. If something happens, head straight back to base and tell Colonel Davie. Don’t wait for me or try to help.”

Before Kane can argue, I turn around and jog off, an invisible fist squeezing my insides.

This is why I don’t work with others. To send them to their deaths, to watch them go through that indescribable hell of a slow, painful death, just to meet them again a couple of days later…

Their bodies are always different, but you can always tell who it is by the haunted look in their eyes. The eyes that lose more and more of their sparkle each time they get reinserted.

Kane’s eyes are still alive.

An artificial consciousness or not, he is alive, in body, mind, and spirit alike, and he deserves better than this.

So I cross the yard to the warehouse; dig into my pocket and pull out the little device I can’t understand but can open any electric lock with; push it against the reader by the side of the heavy door and wait for the click.

The door unlocks. I pocket the device and pull it open.

There’s another click—

Shit.

My heart rushes to my throat and I spin around, swinging myself forward just as the bomb goes off. Something heavy hits my back and slams me to the gravel.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. My body is on fire and every single cell inside me screams and trembles as hot waves of pain rush up and down my back.

I’m not sure if I’m screaming, too.

I roll onto my side. The pain flares in my back with the movement and I close my eyes, fighting the nausea rumbling in my gut. I let the back of my head hit the ground. Terror traps my breath and crushes my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

The ringing in my ear subsides and the blaring alarm takes over. A yell rips through the air. Gunshots follow it.

Tears rush down my cheeks. The sobs don’t sound mine as they escape my throat.

“Aden!” Kane screams.

A hand takes me by the cheek. I lift my eyelids just enough to see the blurry outline of his face above mine.

“Aden, come on, get the hell up!”

Why? Why is he here? I told him to—

“I’m not leaving you behind! If you’re going to die here, both of us are going to die here,” he yells over the ringing of the guns and the blaring of the alarm. His eyes are on the enemy. “But I really, really don’t want to die here, so get the hell up!”

I stare at him, unable to get my tongue moving. A warmth spreads in my chest but it, too, hurts, bringing tears to my already blurring eyes.

What an idiot! Risking himself like this, and for what? Me? For a guy who has already died and been reinserted twelve times? A guy whose eyes have been dead for a long time already?

There’s nothing that’ll make me emptier than I already am.

But Kane holds onto me tighter while exchanging bullets with the enemy I can’t be bothered to look at. There is a fire in his eyes, one filled with life and love and longing for something better.

And I remember that look.

The memory makes me pause. It’s from such a long time ago, he’s nothing but a hazy memory — one that I push away as soon as it surfaces.

Doesn’t matter.

Right now, this version of him is here, and everything about him screams a will to live.

I can’t let him lose that.

Especially not for my sake.

“You idiot,” I manage to croak. Blood drips down the side of my head and splashes on the gravel.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Come on. I’ll carry you.”

“You feeling okay?” Kane asks. My room is barely big enough for a bed and a desk, but somehow, Kane managed to fit a chair by my bed.

I sigh. “Peachy. You know, I might be the first artificial person to ever get dragged back from a battlefield.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” he says. “We’re people too. We should be protected just like the ones without a chip for consciousness.”

The grin that spreads on my lips is involuntary. I close my eyes.

Some day, he’ll know better than to wait for that sort of miracle.

Kane shifts on his chair. “It’s fucked up. Why is it like this? Why can’t we be equals with them?”

“Because they created us,” I say. “People can’t even accept other humans as equal. You really think they’d think lines of code are as valuable as they are? To them, we’re just smart, immortal weapons.”

He huffs. “Maybe right now, but who knows what the future brings?”

I open my mouth to reply when the door to my room clicks and opens. I push myself on my elbows, but a sharp spike of pain makes me grunt and fall back down. I squeeze my eyes shut and lift my hands up to my face as the pain burns me to my core—

“Take it easy,” Kane whispers. He lays a hand on my chest. “Breathe. You’ll be okay.”

The plethora of curses slip past my lips. “Yeah, I’m fucking trying—”

“Have you two forgotten your manners?” Davie’s harsh voice calls from the doorway.

Great.

Kane shoots up to his feet so fast his chair tips over. The clatter echoes around the room. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Welcome,” he says and bows.

“At ease,” Davie says and steps further in. Now, I can see him, too—he’s holding a thin file in hand—and as our eyes meet, he nods. “Aden.”

“What the hell are you doing here? I don’t remember inviting you,” I say. My voice is tense as the pain throbs around my spine, and I can’t give two shits about what this asshole of a human being thinks of me. “Got all your other soldiers killed so you had to come down here yourself?”

Kane shoots me a horrified glance. Most likely, he has never seen an Expendable talk back to a human, especially not a human of as high ranking as Davie, but that’s not my problem.

This is my room, and this dick is the last person I want to see.

“You have always been an exceptional soldier,” Davie says, his eyes narrowing on me. “That is why I’ve let you get away with things nobody else ever would’ve. Your disrespectful attitude, for example. But I am getting very tired of you.”

Well, that’s a threat.

Does he still think he has the power to hurt me? That there is something he can do that would make my existence any more miserable than it already is?

But he’ll never leave if I keep pissing him off, so I sigh and nod. “Sorry.”

Davie doesn’t look satisfied, but he takes a step further in and waves the file in the air. “These are the results of your medical examination. Your injuries are severe, to say the least.”

There is a question in Kane’s eyes as his gaze travels between me and Davie, but he doesn’t ask it out loud.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his question, though.

What now?

“It is treatable, yes, but even with the best doctors and extensive physical therapy, it would take several months for you to be able to fight again. Years, most likely,” Davie says and tosses the file onto my bed. “See for yourself.”

“No need.” I flash him a sarcastic smile. “I can feel it just fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Davie says. “You know what this means.”

Even a child knows what it means.

Even if they could wait that long for this body to get back in fighting order, they wouldn’t waste such precious resources on an Expendable. Even our bodies are from the fallen soldiers, for hell’s sake; because we are not important enough to waste precious metals on. Why would they waste time and medicine on us when there are plenty of usable corpses coming in every single week; when they can simply kill the body and transfer us?

“I’ll contact the lab,” Davie says and turns for the door. “I’ll have them prepare a new body for you, and—”

“What? No!” Kane snaps.

Davie stops and turns his widening gaze to Kane. So do I.

He’s breathing shallow and fast, a different kind of fire in his eyes — he’s glaring at Davie, unafraid and strong, his entire body tensing.

He’s just like him. The man from those hazy memories.

Was that what Davie had meant by ‘familiar’? Is there something more to him and I?

“He is not some mindless puppet you can force into this! Into dying whenever it’s most convenient for you!” Kane yells. By the look on his twisting face, it’s a surprise he doesn’t shove Davie into the wall. “He’s not some robot! He’s a human, just like you, and you can’t treat him like—”

A slap across the cheek shuts him up.

Davie grabs Kane by the collar of his shirt so hard it rips from the seam, and yanks him closer.

Kane’s eyes widen, but as he blinks, the shock disappears and the burning anger rises in its place.

“Do not speak to me like that,” Davie snarls. His tone is beyond a threat — it’s a promise. “You hear me, soldier?”

“Yessir,” Kane hisses through clenched fists and gritted teeth.

I stare at the two, frozen in place, my heart pounding in my sore chest.

What the hell is Kane doing? Doesn’t he know what happens to disobedient Expendables? He can’t be this stupid!

Davie releases Kane with a shove, scoffs, and heads for the door. “I’ll send someone in to finish that body. And Kane…” He stops at the door to look at him, icy hatred in his gaze. “You better behave when they come. I have deleted your kind for less.”

Davie steps outside and slams the door shut. As the echo of the blam fades, a second passes in silence.

Then another.

And another—

Before Kane drops down on his chair, groaning, and pushes his hands up against his face so hard, his cheeks mush into his eyes. “God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just… This...” He falls quiet with another frustrated groan.

I watch him, something weird spreading in my chest. Something I can’t figure out.

Why does he care so much about what happens to me?

“This is wrong,” he finally says, drops his hands, and meets my gaze. There are tears in his eyes.

The sight makes my lungs trap my breath.

“This is wrong! It’s like we’re worth nothing but what we can do for them!” he continues. Frustration and anger boil in his tone. “I know I’m new, but I want more. I want to be more than their weapon who lives and dies when they want it! And I hate that I can’t have any of it. How is this fair? We’re just like them! Fuck!”

He slams his hands on his knees and doubles, hiding his face into his hands.

I stare at him, a lump in my throat, knowing I should say something, but what even is there?

I’m sorry? It’ll be okay? Don’t cry?

Those are just bunch of meaningless words.

But I have to try.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“Sorry.” Kane lifts his gaze back up to me and laughs weakly. Tears glimmer in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just… I hate this. You know? Hate they can use us like this. But what do I know?” He pauses to draw in a deep breath. “You’re the expert here, and I’m a newbie who just got out of his first assignment. So if you say it’s okay, that this isn’t that bad, then…”

Don’t, I want to say. Don’t believe me.

He forces a smile. Though he tries, it isn’t enough to mask the defeat in his eyes. “Then, I’ll believe you.”

Those words, that look…

My heart wrenches.

And from the bottom of it, I want to tell him that it is indeed okay, that dying and coming back is really not that bad and I’m used to it — to save the innocence in his eyes and let him be happy for a little while longer. To face tomorrow with the same joy and honest optimism I’d seen in those same eyes half a day earlier.

To not cry for me.

But this isn’t okay, and if I tell him that it is, if I lie to him, it’ll only hurt more when it’s him lying on the ground, bleeding to a meaningless death.

Yet, there is no other choice, because I won’t be the one to destroy that innocence. I can’t be.

He is all I’ve lost. All I can never regain. And if he can remain happy for a week, a day, or, hell, even an hour longer, the lie is worth it.

Tears rise to my eyes as I force a smile that rips my heart in two. “You know, it’s actually not that—”

“We could run away.”

His words stop me dead on my tracks.

Kane lifts his gaze to me. There it is again — that fire in his eyes, that drive to live and find something better. He wipes the tears away and nods. “We can,” he says, and he is so sure of his words that my heart beats a little faster.

Could we?

“I mean it,” he says. “We can just get up and leave. They’re not gonna waste soldiers on trying to find us.”

I stare at him, unable to utter a word.

Running away.

It’s been a long time since I last thought about that.

“I know you’re injured, but we can do it,” he continues. His words come out faster and faster as desperation and excitement grow in his tone. “I’ll steal a wheelchair, or— or I’ll carry you on my back, or whatever you need! But we can do it. I swear, we can.”

“Why?” is all I can ask.

He smiles, looking like he thinks I’m an idiot. “Because you deserve better than this.”

I scoff. It’s unfair for him to use my own thoughts against myself.

“Also, don’t think I’m stupid. I saw it in your eyes out there, when you pushed me away and went out on your own,” he continues. “You didn’t want me to get hurt, right? But it would’ve gotten us both in trouble to come back empty-handed, so you went ahead and sacrificed yourself.”

A heat rises to my cheeks. I can’t help the laugh. “I didn’t know I was so easy to read.”

“So I’m right?” he asks.

I hesitate.

The truth will hurt him. It will. But he isn’t an idiot, and I can’t keep lying to him after he’s already figured out the truth.

So I close my eyes.

“Dying, it’s… It’s agony.” My voice is a whisper as the words fight me. “It leaves you scarred and empty and terrified of it happening again, and the worst part is… You know it will. That there’s no ending it. No matter how many times you die, you’ll always come back. And I… I didn’t want you to go through it.”

Kane’s breathing picks up. “How many times have you…?”

“Twelve.”

“Shit.”

Warm fingers curl around mine. I open my eyes to look at him sitting right there next to me. The fire in his gaze is warm now. It’s hopeful and confident and kind, and a part of me melts — a part I had forgotten exists.

“So what do you say?” he asks. “If we run, neither of us will have to worry about dying again. We can go somewhere safe.”

“If we get caught, they’ll reset us,” I remind him, even though I’m not sure I fear that possibility.

That fire in him...

My heart picks up the pace.

What if he’s right? What if we could run?

“And if we stay, we’ll never be anything but their slaves to live and die at their command,” Kane says. “I really think it’s worth the risk. We either make it or nothing changes.”

I don’t let the rushing of my heart show. “Where could we even go?”

“Well, I heard they aren’t fighting in Iceland.”

I can’t help the burst of laughter. It sends a flare of pain down my gut, turning my laughing into airy gasps as I squeeze my eyes shut once more.

“Iceland, huh?” I manage. “That’s— That’s a long way from here.”

Kane’s hold of my hand tightens as the grin on his lips widens. “It’s just a hop and a skip and a boat-ride away. I heard they’re taking refugees from all over the world, and they have no laws regarding artificial people. Aden, we could be real people there. There’d be no more this— This, dying and fighting and being all miserable. And I know I’m a newbie who has no idea what it’s like, but out there today with you? I saw enough. I don’t want this, and I know you don’t want it either. When that warehouse blew up… You were screaming and I was terrified. And that asshole’s just gonna kill you? Put you through all that agony like you’re worth nothing, after everything you’ve done for him? To hell with that! We deserve better. You deserve better.”

The pain eases and I lift my gaze to him. Thar confident, hopeful glimmer in his dark brown eyes makes me smile.

How could I ever kill that sparkle?

“Okay,” I say, and it’s the easiest word I’ve ever said.

Kane gasps, snapping upright. “That’s—”

“But,” I interrupt, “let’s wait for me to get into my new body first. After that, we have to get out and destroy our backups. I mean, what good does it do if we’re killed somewhere out there and just get reborn here again?”

He furrows his brows at me, though the excitement never really disappears. “Are you sure? About the new body, I mean.”

“My back’s broken. I can barely wiggle my toes. If we want to go, I need a new one.”

“But what about the pain and the scars and—”

“It’ll be different this time,” I say, slip my hand out of his grasp, and smack him across the forehead. “Because it’s for me. Not them.”

A shy smile rises on Kane’s lips. He nods. “If you’re sure. Tell me what I need to do.”

“Did you know that we were designed to yearn freedom?” Kane asks. He lies next to me, his hands behind his head as a pillow. “I saw it when I hacked in to delete our files.”

Waves beat against the sides of the ship in a rhythm I never want to end. Chatter echoes from somewhere far away, but here, on this empty, dark deck at the rear of the massive ship, there’s no one but us. The milky way crosses the pitch black sky, and I realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen it.

I keep my gaze on the sea of stars. “Well, that came back to bite them in the ass.”

Kane sighs. “It kinda makes me wonder how real I am. Do I only want this because they designed me to want this?”

A smile grows on my lips. I roll over onto my side, closer to him. “You think too much. But the answer is no.”

He turns a bit more sideways and faces me, a grin crossing his face. “You sound sure.”

“I am,” I say, shrugging as well as my position lets me. “You were the one who said it first. We’re people, just like them. Who cares what they designed us to be? We already defied it.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

In the darkness, his eyes are almost black; and as gorgeous as the stars are, I don’t want to turn my gaze from him.

I clear my throat.

Focus, Aden.

“I mean, we were designed to be the perfect soldiers,” I say. “We were designed to fight, to yearn to win the war, to find that sort of freedom. We weren’t meant to disobey our leaders or run away. We weren’t designed to do any of that, and yet, here we are.”

I roll onto my back, lifting my gaze up to the stars.

They really can’t compare to his eyes.

Kane’s voice is soft as he laughs. “Okay, yeah, since you put it that way. Maybe I do think too much.”

“You most definitely do.”

“But why did we start disobeying them?” he asks. “And when? They’re our creators, so couldn’t they nip it in the bud? Make changes to our code and that’s that?”

I shrug. “Maybe they just don’t care. As long as people keep dying, they can make more of us, so even if a few disobey and run, it’s no issue.”

“Huh,” Kane says. “That makes sense. I guess.”

Silence falls on us.

It’s been a long time since I could lie down and watch the stars like this. So long, I don’t even want to think back to it.

The memories of my first lives are hazy. Back when I was nothing but a thing, an object only practicing independent thought, decades before the war ever started.

But no matter how hazy my memories are, I remember him. In another body, yes, but I remember a man just like him by my side. A man with the same fire in his eyes, the same kindness in his tone, and the same need for freedom. A man who taught me hope. A man who made my smile a little brighter and my heart beat a little faster.

Was this designed?

Kane moves closer to me. He brings his hand to my palm and curls his fingers around mine. I smile and return the hold as my heart fills with something he’d reminded me I could feel.

Nah.

There is no way anyone could design a feeling like this.

I turn my head to sneak a glance at him, but his eyes are already on me.

He grins. “You look happy. Relaxed.”

“You too,” I say.

“Well, I am,” he says. “Nobody’s gonna force us into anything ever again. And when we die, we’ll die. There’s no code to bring us back to that hell anymore. And Iceland’s only a few more hours away. We made it. What’s there to worry or feel shitty about? And yeah, anything could happen, but whatever waits for us in Iceland… It’s gotta be better than what we had.”

My smile widens. I trace my thumb over the top of his hand. “By the way, you gotta teach me how to paint.”

“Seriously?” he asks and melts into an innocent little laugh. “Sorry. Sure. I’d be happy to. I just didn’t take you for the type that’d enjoy something like that.”

“Honestly, me neither,” I say. “But who knows? I’ve never gotten the chance to try it, or anything else, really. So... I want to find out what I like.”

Kane’s eyes light up as he smiles, and I swear my heart can’t take it.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says, nudging closer to me. His voice is soft. “You’re free now.”

I can feel a heat rise on my cheeks. I touch my forehead against his and close my eyes.

Thank you.

#I literally could not find a good way to end this #but ehhhhhh #whatever #my writing #short story #scifi #speculative fiction #writeblr #action #whump #lgbtq #queer

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edmund-valks · 4 years

Text

A Practical Examination

"Just… right here then?" She waited for the elderly woman's nod before driving the thin metal spike in. The body they were working with seized up for the smallest moment before relaxing again. Its eyes remained open, occasionally twitching to focus on details no one else could see, but there were none of the normal signs of pain.

Aurelaine patted her arm. "Very good, dear. I prefer to work this way when possible. They've volunteered themselves to become a part of the Great Work; that devotion is far more powerful than the suffering we could wring from them." She pointed to the fresh wound, moved her finger in a slow arc to the opposite side of the prone elf's head. "You can technically go through either side for the same effect, but I've found that establishing a specific pattern strengthens the rite. Remember, we control nothing but the shape of the channel. Build it properly and the flow of power will do what you've planned."

Ilandreline nodded, making several notes in her book. "Right. Failure to provide a sufficiently robust channel will result in something like trying to force an entire ocean through a coolant line -- the weakest parts will give, with predictably messy results."

Her grandmother chuckled, expressing agreement with another pat. "I told you you're better suited to this than you'd thought. You know how to build, how to establish equilibria. The only real difference is we're not using machines here." The praise was enough to make the engineer flush pink to the tips of her ears. "Now! Draw it out for me. We've got our willing supplicant here beyond the ability to feel pain. What's our next step?"

"Let's see…" Ilandreline consulted her notes, chewing the end of her pencil. "The circle is drawn, of course, we've already prepared the offering, which means now we have to… oh! The calling and opening!"

A nod. "Do it. What are you looking at me for? This one is yours, Lina. Show me what you've learned."

The younger elf reviewed the setup so far, making sure she had the right details. Willing offering was this set of rites, the protective circle they'd created would be effective against those emissaries, she had these materials on-hand… All that taken into account, there were still several possibilities even before she considered rebalancing the energies. Worry about that later, she reminded herself. Start simple, get practiced. Build the foundation before the house.

She retrieved an obsidian blade from the nearby tool bench then positioned herself at the offering's right elbow. Strange, thinking of him like that; she'd played games with him long ago, back before he'd found the rich vein of faithfulness within himself. He'd simply quit other pursuits one day a few decades back, taking up a sort of hermit's lifestyle, spending most of his days mentally exploring the places you could get with the right kind of specially treated fruits and mushrooms. She hadn't understood back then, wasn't honestly sure she did now, but that didn't matter. The important thing was she was going to help him get where he wanted to be, and he was going to do the same for her.

She started etching the ritual on the wrist closest to her. It was a point of vitality, she'd learned, like the heart but different. A small complex of delicate runework, one that would provide fuel and focus. That was why they used obsidian, despite it being relatively difficult to acquire; nothing else made such perfect, easy lines on flesh. The work took minutes, eventually climbing half up the forearm. Ilandreline double-checked her work before moving on. A mistake could be salvaged if you knew about it. Satisfied, she moved to the next limb.

By the time she'd finished, her eyes ached from focusing and she'd dulled a handful of blades. It was done, though, and pretty decently if she was any judge. Things had only gotten awkward when she'd been working the offering's face and he'd started talking to her. Turns out he was more aware than she'd realized. He also remembered her and wanted to discuss her faith. Not the most comfortable conversation when one was carving sigils into a forehead, especially when she was still trying to understand what she believed these days. Her answers had been enough, apparently, as he'd eventually subsided again with a sort of pleased sigh.

"I… think we're ready, Eldest." Ila looked at the blood on her hands, frowning. It had gotten under her nails and was starting to dry. She'd have to trim them to get it all out.

"You think or we are? Which is it, girl?" Aurelaine's tone was harsh. Of course it was; she despised the uncertain and those who lacked confidence.

"We are." Her voice didn't waver this time. She'd gone over all her work twice as she'd done it, a third time after finishing the whole. Everything was in order. "With your permission, Eldest, I will begin tonight's Calling."

"You have it." Just enough of a pause for Ila to start moving before she added, "Remember, you will pay for your mistakes. I'm here to watch over our family, not to save you."

Real confidence builder. Then again, that was probably the point. Granny Laine knew what she was doing. "Thank you, Eldest."

Ilandreline took her place at the center of the small circle, careful to avoid disrupting any of the delicate symbols she'd laid in silver. She lit the candles and waited. Minutes later, as the moon slipped below the horizon, she began to extinguish the flames. Four drops of blood per candle, as always, accompanied by the invocation. "Four for four," she recited, "given by one. Less than five, but greater by far. After life, beyond death, the Long Night comes. We kill to serve. We bleed to live. Through our sacrifice, the light shall die at last."

The darkness that settled over them was more than night. Anyone else would have found it oppressive, smothering perhaps, but a Glimmerbow's eyes saw the truth. This was the deep expanse of infinity, a churning space where Titanic order had been unable to find a foothold. Here was the counterforce that allowed life to exist beyond programmed parameters, that which created consciousness and free will. She shivered, not from fear but awe.

You call out. We hear. Speak.

The speech was in their minds, she knew. You didn't hear it, couldn't hear it. Instead it resonated through your being, rippling through muscle and bone, darkening your body with reflected splendour. Ilandreline had to take several breaths before she could focus properly. "Tonight we offer one of ours to the Great and Endless Dark. A cousin in blood and service." She crossed from the calling circle into the one for offering, drawing her knife.

This voice means nothing. Is nothing. Shall receive nothing. Shall become nothing.

Four times they said the word, each time impacting her more viciously. The last was meant to force her to her knees, but Ila refused. Her grandmother was watching, after all, and her punishment would be worse than whatever cruelties the Dark could inflict at this distance. "I am Ilandreline, daughter of Mellura'thel, daughter of Aurelaine. I speak in the Eldest's stead this night. We are bound to the Endless Night and so is it bound to us."

Prove.

She bent down, placed her lips against the offering's forehead, living breath freshening the bloody etchings thereon. "Our gift to you, this living blood, and a reminder of our bonds," she continued, sliding the ancient blade into flesh at the little notch in the collarbone. "Our sacrifice is your gain, your whispers our knowledge."

Put to its true purpose, the knife felt alive in her grip. With steady hand, Ila drew down, away from the neck, expecting resistance. Instead the bones parted smoothly, clavicle and sternum offering no more resistance than skin had to obsidian. "All in service to the last fading of the light." She withdrew the blade, placing it reverently aside.

The runes in her cousin's flesh began to glow. First with the brilliance of blood, then darkening through the midnight violet of the family's eyes into a blackness that melded with what surrounded the rite. He was still alive, of course; that was what it meant to be an offering. Dead meat meant little. She wondered what it felt like, to have your chest opened like that, to be offered to the Whispering Dark at your own insistence. Judging by the rapturous expression on his face, it was significantly less painful than she'd expected. He's getting what he's always wanted. The thought made her smile. It felt so good to bring someone that kind of happiness.

This voice is known. We welcome it. Give and become known.

The Whispers seemed in no hurry. The offering was beginning to blur at his extremities, the writings she'd placed there in the Dark's own language flickering in and out of sight as they anchored the ritual transferrence. She waited until most of him was no longer distinguishable from their surroundings before picking up her grandmother's old blade again.

Once more she positioned herself by the body's head, but this time the tip of the knife rested against the runic focal point. "A single light," she intoned, "flickering weakly. This life -- the last remnant of a dying sun. This body -- full of terrible promise and beguiling lies. A so-called gift, this tyranny of ill-advised order."

She inhaled deeply, exhaled. "Never meant to withstand the endless dark, we give it freely." The blade drove through skull, brain, skull again, until she could feel its point pressing into the altar's pitted stone.

We accept. You are known.

Shuddering with exultation, Ilandreline withdrew the knife, resheathing it without wiping away any of the blood. She would not deprive it of such precious seasoning. As the comforting weight of the Endless Night began to lift, she turned to see her grandmother's proud smile. That would have been enough all on its own. Returning a grin of her own, she took two steps before falling into an entirely other darkness.

#wow rp #rp #warcraft rp #ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre

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blankdblank · 5 years

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Please Stop - Fili/Kili Prompt Request

Took a bit of a twist in this one.

…

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @abiwim, @jotink78

…

c-s-stars said:

Prompt Request 😊 Fíli/Mallory/Kíli if possible!

31 “Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

88 “You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.”

83 “Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.”

8 “This is all your fault.” “I hope so.”

Middle earth version

…

In a low growl Thorin broke the hushed conversation between the tallest and smallest member of the Company inside the frigid house in the middle of the lake barely a few miles below the goal of this entire Journey, “You’re questioning my methods.”

Turning your head his scowl deepened at the furrow of your deep red brows matching your crimson curls tucked under a knit cap from Dori when he caught your shivering to match the scarf Nori had wrapped around your neck over your well worn coat. “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.” Only making his brows tighten, “I was right about the Forest so why are you wanting to take that armor back?!”

Thorin drew in a breath trying to keep his voice low to keep from being noticed from the neighbors and passing guards, “That armor was coating one of the guards that fell when Smaug attacked!”

Your hand rose, “I am not questioning that Thorin!”

He shrugged, “Then what is your objection?”

“Simply when you are choosing to make the theft. Wait until we get the mountain back.” His lips parted only to close as you said, “Thorin say you get the armor out but we signal a guard on the way out.” He nodded, “They outnumber us, you could die in the shadow of your home over a suit of armor, I understand he needs proper respect, but why not defend him when you can bring him home so his family can return to pay their respects properly.”

Thorin released a breath, “I see your point.” After a moment staring off at the mountain he nodded, “As soon as my Cousin arrives we will be marching on this city.”

You nodded, “And you will find no argument from me.” With that he gave you another curious once over then turned to rejoin his kin around the fireplace, still locked in hushed conversation about your managing to smuggle them inside the city within closed barrels as you and Bilbo managed to smooth talk the barge wielding Man, who was too distracted by your story of the travels so far to notice the extra weight inside them. Once in Esgaroth you managed to secure an empty house for the night you both snuck the Dwarves through the city into said home, on which they noticed the disturbing theft.

For all they did the Company could do nothing to ward off their worry at your pale complexion and weariness since your arrival in this city. No matter what they did you refused the extra helpings of the stew they had made and lack of sleep in what they assumed to be the start of your falling ill. Only once before had you been like this, just a couple weeks after leaving Bree, but right after a full day and night of flooding rains and the lightning storms rolling through had somehow cleared it right up. All eyes lingered on your tall form as they each recounted their moment walking into BagEnd seeing you there with your adopted friend Bilbo, who had found you unconscious on the floor of his home from your own world in your attempt in hiding from a long time foe that had discovered your location once again. No matter how little they knew you they refused to believe you belonged to a race of so called Mutants, and flat out refused to call you by your assigned title of Nibbles.

Months you had joined them, managing to convince even the most stubborn of mortals to your will with barely having to ask at all whole you adamantly battled wits with, but never without good reason for the safety of all the Company, all of whom noticed your discomfort when any of them found the slightest harm. The smallest scrape or nick seemed to drive you off alone for a small break every so often until they were covered and out of your sight, merely leading them to believe you were squeamish at the sight of blood or wounds. For your height you seemed to be easy to brush past leading to their extensive training attempts that all found you able to counter or anticipate and avoid all of their moves. Though one move you missed was the pair of Princes stealing a pair of kisses from you on your first scavenging trip alone for firewood.

The closer you got however the same troubles came up, this exhausting Journey was draining you much faster than you had been before with so many hours under the bright sun. Sure you’d learned how to control it back in your world, where you could hide away and sleep through the day and come out at night for sneak missions. Nibbles was your chosen nickname, out of sheer lack of imagination for another when you knew people would draw the same conclusion anyways. Both of your parents had proudly boasted of their abilities to drain the best of the best Mutants without even having to cross the room to do so, the powers leaving them grinning each time people would miss name them as Vampires. But honestly for all your weaknesses from your powers you could see the reason why.

The ability to persuade with a single glance, a voice that could lure anyone into any dangerous situation in a delirious haze, super sight, hearing, strength and speed. With irritatingly stubborn nails growing right back to their same short length allowing you to claw people if necessary, two slightly pointed canine teeth, needing to use twice as much energy to remain under sunlight, even in the shade. All leading to the piece de résistance, being able to drain enemies of their life forces, not just across the room but from the next room over. No need for blood or nibbling but when the clues were lined up you could see the double glances and shifting away each time a single cut or scrape they had not noticed before.

You couldn’t stand blood, not just the taste of it but the sight of it, but not for the obvious reasons. Once someone bled in front of you your mind instantly locked on theirs, a habit you’d yet to master, leading to you seeking solitude to recenter and break the link. It was on one of these instances when the Princes were wrestling after both being disarmed in a sparring match they received the small scrapes and caught just a flash of your swirling imagination while racing their every contoured rippling inch of their solid flexing frames in their battle of wills. Instantly they froze leading to their Uncles calling a deadlock through their scanning around for you only to see you walking to the stream nearby rubbing your face after mumbling to Oin about their cuts.

Your secret was out, or at least that one was to the pair who made it obvious to their kin, and for all their admirable qualities the one thing that drove you mad was their determination to try and get that mental link with you again. Leading to an all out barrage of advances, stolen moments at your sides and lingering gazes that gave them a small list of ways to just feel your mind tap theirs again.

…

“Back in the barrels.” The Dwarves all faced you only to sigh and one by one fill the barrels you managed to strap together and row to the edge of the lake with their aid using the snapped lids to each of them as paddles. On the rim of the front you sat with feet in Balin and Dwalin’s barrels helping to point out the directions to go after they insisted you rest while Bilbo sat in Thorin’s on the back row ensuring no Men were following or had noticed your group at all. Certainly they wouldn’t have to at the melodic hum you gave off in your passing through town lulling all the Men to a deep sleep until morning, but you let them imagine a possible threat to will them faster along in silence. The shore came soon enough and leaving your barrels behind to float back to town after reclaiming the rope and bags from inside you turned and started the long walk to the Mountain.

By nightfall on the second day you reached the ruined city of Dale. Everywhere charred reminders of what once was as your mental wall struggled to stay up at the flood of panicked memories trying to flood into your mind at once. Somehow you managed to drift off, bad idea, such a bad idea. The instant you did your mental wall dropped and barely ten minutes later, the eldest of the group watched your body jerk awake and stumble frantically to the rushing water in the channeled stream through the city formerly used to power a few of the workshops. On your knees you sat kneeling with your head against the marble trough with hands in the water above you breathing deeply trying to focus your mind on the water as you drew a bit of energy from the frigid liquid by spreading it across the back of your neck.

Quietly Thorin managed to follow after you and kneel at your side, “Mal?”

In a trembling tone you stated, “Just a bad, dream.”

Inching closer he stated, “I have had dreams tear me from sleep and they are far worse than simple bad dreams, jarring me for hours after. What was it? What did you see?”

Unable to take it any more your head rose and turned to lock your eyes with his, but you could not see him as he gasped at the clouds of red and gold crossing over your normally bright enchanting emerald eyes as you whispered, “I see fire.”

Instantly his hands planted on your shoulder and he felt it, your mind snap onto his breaking your connection to the flood of terrors trapped in these stones, “You can feel it? From the stones? The memories locked here?” you nodded as a tear streamed down your cheek that he brushed away with a gentle smile, “It seems our kin are closer than I imagined. The young ones aren’t as in tune with stone yet to feel it, come, you can sleep by me, I’ll hold you if it helps.” Again you nodded and followed the King who had hold of your hand to his bedroll after he grabbed yours along the way. He joined them together and laid down, with arms extended he wrapped around you and tried to force himself to at least rest his body if he could not sleep leaving the others on watch for the night between their own attempts simply to ensure you got at least some rest.

Early morning however in a waking for a sip of water nearly led to the open mouthed discovery of the Princes’ intended in their Uncle’s arms. A sight nearly making the pair lunge and tackle him until Dwalin had grabbed them both and led them away from camp to explain. Leaving them to merely grumble and move to your sides and flop around the pair of you and snuggle their ways back to sleep mentally grumbling at the large frame blocking most of their favorite contours on your frame they had snuggled up to on the frigid nights passing around the large forest.

Awkwardly in its attempt to steal the pack of dried fruit from your pocket a thrush flopped onto your face waking you and startling it away, this jolt from you woke the men around you that all turned to see the irritated Hobbit in the center of the chuckling Dwarves. A pat on your back was all Thorin gave you in his rise to go claim the empty spot beside the Hobbit glaring at the bubbling stew in front of him doing little to calm his rage at seeing the foolish Dwarf with his face buried in the back of your neck while he held you tightly. Wordlessly Thorin fought mentally for words to express his devotion to the Burglar he’d still yet to admit his feelings to while you were led closer to the fire and waiting meal and nestled between the Princes watching the debacle. Without any luck at his search Bilbo’s eyes widened when Thorin simply picked him up, set him between his legs and hugged him tightly from behind nuzzling his head into the Hobbit’s neck and shoulders until having to break for the stew leaving the grinning Hobbit at his side again, though a good deal closer.

…

Around the mountain you walked peering out for any nooks or crevices possibly signaling a door until you froze beside Bilbo gawking up already exhausted at the sight of the three mile tall staircase in a massive carving of a Dwarf. Aloud you stated, “Thorin! Remind me to punch your relative responsible for those!”

Reaching Bilbo’s side he eyed the statue and chuckled, “Ah, well, he has long since passed, Miss Mallory.”

With a sigh you started the walk to the stairs grumbling, “Then I’ll just build a time machine, go back and punch him then.” Your sarcasm however amusing to Bilbo made Thorin and Oin lock eyes remembering the tale of their Grandfather’s best architect and sculptors sharing the tale of a mysterious tall woman one day just casually strolling into their workshop one day, asking for the pair of them and then just hauling off and punching them in the face. On their backs the pair simply watched her turn and walk away catching the light flashing off her radiant crimson curls inspiring some of their greatest stained glass sculptures revealed in the year after. Shaking those thoughts free they trotted to catch up to you as you stood looking up at the bottom step three feet above your head.

With a sigh you lowered to a crouch while Bilbo wet his lips and climbed on your back, his hand extended to steady himself on the wall as you rose up lifting him onto the stairs he pulled himself onto. Before you could turn Fili had gripped your hips and lifted you up next while Kili held your feet aiding in your kneeling position before calling up as you turned, “Keep going, we’ll get each other up.” You nodded and followed the first seven steps to their end at a wall beside Bilbo.

“What the-?” You turned around spotting the end of another set of seven steps, in what you had hoped to be a square pattern of steps at the distance you grumbled at the thought of having to climb seven steps then turn, step across the three foot gap to climb the next seven for the next few miles upwards. “Fuck every inch of this.” You mumbled to yourself spotting Bilbo’s hands on the wall in his first attempt in reaching the other set without any luck at all. Releasing his lip he watched you stretch out your leg and grumble at the stretch in your thighs before lifting and shifting him to the other side, where he gave you a gentle tug aiding in your shift to climb the other set.

Five sets in you had made quite a rhythm but by the 40th you were burning in every inch of your body. Under the direct sunlight at high noon you bit your lip and panted through shifting Bilbo yet again before Fili’s and stole the next cupping of your ass to tilt you to the other side while the men would fall forward and use the foot holds, you had not noticed in your ignorance of their obscure crafting to blend into the rock wall, to complete the distance their legs could not reach. With bruised knees and elbows over their poorly withheld pants and muttered curses as you neared the belt of the statue holding a ledge, much like the one you had passed at the knees, the Dwarves behind you bickered at whose idea it was to let you set the pace.

Following their tradition of putting the weakest and slowest first they assumed you would guide them at a fair pace with common breaks every so often as any other below you would have done. But in their constant bickering and reminders of your need to not hold them back on the journey you had forced yourself on assuming the kin of the crafters could easily climb these stairs in their sleep. So ignoring your own misery you pushed on, nearly to your breaking point until you found yourself on your stomach underneath the Princes, who had lost their resolve when they saw you ready to continue on. In shared agony they panted around you while their relatives moved to circle you and settle for a well needed break as snacks and canteens were brought out.

Lowly Gloin growled out, “Two miles! Two miles of stairs you led us up!”

Mid pant you moved your arm form your face replying, “Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

Gloin scoffed as Dwalin but him off, “Two miles! Mahal only knows why you didn’t stop at the knees!”

Tilting your head you locked your eyes with his, “You wanted to stop?”

Dwalin scoffed back, “After a mile of stairs? Who wouldn’t need a breather? That’s why that ledge was there!”

“You never said.”

He blinked at you while Gloin fired back, “Why would you assume we would want to climb the full distance in one go? What do you take us for?”

“Dwarves.”

Thorin’s brows ticked up as he leaned forward into your view asking, “What?”

You rolled over onto your side, “You lot are always boasting about your abilities and how frail I seem, I just didn’t want to slow you down.”

Dwalin, “You still could have stopped, even you can barely move after two miles of stairs! The leader sets the pace, why we put you first so you could stop when you needed and wouldn’t get left behind.”

“Well you should have said that. I thought you put me first to keep me going.”

Thorin again asked, “What? Why would you assume that?”

You shrugged, “What else was I to assume, you have all these rules and customs you never share and then somehow have the gall to be irritated with me when I cross or ignore them.”

His lips parted then closed before he nudged Dwalin’s side, “Dwalin will guide us to the elbow after our break, then I will take the lead for the last stretch.”

Painfully you stretched out, easing only at the weight of the Princes above you helping to press on your aching muscles calming their throbbing just a little.

Atop the ledge you laid on your back watching the blood orange sky as the sun set through the frantic scrambles of the Company. Raising your head you tilted from side to side watching the stream of golden light through a hole in a jagged column at the edge of the ledge atop Thror’s carven ax. Extending your arm you tilted your head back asking, “Thorin? What’s that?”

Turning ready to shout at you he followed your arm to the same cutout before he wet his lips and turned in a circle and grabbed one of Kili’s arrows from his pack and tried to line it up, sliding the key along the wall at the end of it until he felt a smile stirring dip. The key sank in and turned freeing a relieved chuckle from him and the Company as you laid back trying to relax only to be lifted into the Princes’ arms in a tight elated hug ruining your resting.

Forcing out a chuckle you teetered to the now open doorway with Bilbo at your side as Balin described, at least in Dwarven terms, what might have passed for a decent description of the fabled stone you were to search for. Shaking your head you led the way, thankful at least that you were going down the stairs ahead instead of up, though leaving the hall you groaned at the rail-less flights and bridges ahead of you earning a repeated whisper of, “Fuck every inch of this.”

Painfully you trotted your way down following Balin’s directions until you were outside the treasury. All but spent you teetered through the door staggering to stay upright as you felt your fangs inch out more at the pulsing hoard of energy buried in this golden haze. A few steps later however against the urging of Bilbo’s silent arm flails you fell heavily from the platform into the gold below. A pained groan later died as the gold shifted making you sink slowly a couple inches into it opening a giant eye shot open as your mental wall dropped, unable to help it your abilities kicked in and you mentally locked onto the hoard of power between you and Bilbo and with each panting breath absorbed it while your hands clenched around the gold at your sides in the euphoric rush through the surge of power now coursing inside you able to fuel you for years to come.

The effects of your powers were missed by you but not the wide eyed Hobbit watching as you, with purple veins and golden eyes, glittered skin, with fangs extended between pants through the shrinking of the giant beast formerly sleeping now floating in a golden glowing orb of light until your fangs shrunk again while your veins and glittering vanished. Calmly you laid now staring up at the ceiling, still in pain from your fall while Bilbo eyed the small puppy shaped Dragon now darting across the gold to you. Winding his arm back he threw the emerald in his hand knocking Smaug into a roll to crash into your side, where he scrambled onto your chest and let out a far from intimidating growl, “This is all your fault.”

Weakly you replied, “I hope so.” Turning onto your side you wrapped your arms around him and felt your eyes drooping shut for a well needed nap.

Smaug squirmed in your arms, “I AM FIRE! I AM DEATH! UNHAND ME!”

Bilbo chuckled spotting the stunned expressions on the Dwarves’ faces as they peered in, unable to wait any longer in the growing storm outside. All moving closer to witness the tiny furious Dragon that finally managed to squirm free that curled around a pile of gold he formed with his wings again shouting, “I will not part with a single coin!”

Heavily Thorin walked to your side gently brushing your curls free from your face, “Exhaustion has tempered your sanity. There are far softer places to sleep.”

With a shrug you replied, “Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.” He chuckled then watched as your arms extended, “Carry me.”

With stern gazes Fili and Kili walked around Thorin to pick you up, Kili steadied Fili on the path back to the stairs to find a place to sleep with Balin leading them leaving the rest to follow after when one of the stones Bilbo had tossed aside was picked up by Thorin with a chuckle. Crossing the hoard Thorin got to Bilbo’s side and held the stone into his view only to hear with a shake of his head, “Already saw that one.”

Thorin grinned, “Bilbo, this is the stone.”

Bilbo froze, dropping the stones in his hands and stood up wetting his lips while he straightened his vest and turned to peer up at the King with his hand raised, extending a finger for each item he listed, “Big, white, that was it, not shimmering, not, that!” Thorin chuckled stirring an uncommon growl from the Hobbit, who pounced on him tackling him into the gold stirring an even louder laugh from the Dwarf under him in his gripping the fur lined vest across his chest.

Though in his inhale to say something Thorin’s hand had cupped his cheek, the warmth urging Bilbo’s cheek to press into it while fingers traced along the edge of his ear into his glowing curls in the light cast off the gold, in an elated chuckle Thorin replied, “Right you are, Bilbo. My divine Burglar.”

“Di-..” His words died in Thorin’s rise up to plant his lips to his beloved’s, showing him finally in a wordless expression of his undying love for the stubborn Hobbit now melting across his chest into the deepening kiss across the gold while the Company cheered. All but Bifur of course, who snatched up Smaug in his scurry to claim the arkenstone. Turning back to the others Bifur stumbled and caught himself on a knee giving the Dragon a chance to leap up and focusing what strength he had on the ax imbedded in the Dwarf’s skull. A scratched cheek later after the ax slipped free Bifur staggered backwards with hands to his forehead watching as Smaug fell onto his back on the gold only to have the ax fall blade down slicing through his neck silencing him.

In a race into the gold the lovers split for a moment joining the others in circling Bifur as Oin in inspecting his wound. A few dabs of an alcohol dipped cloth later it was being bandaged as Oin said, “Just watch you for the time being. Doesn’t seem to have harmed anything.”

In a low mumble Bifur stated, “Just an ax falling out of my skull, what could it have possibly damaged, already cannot speak.” All eyes widened as Bifur’s hands planted on Bifur’s shoulders wordlessly urging him to speak again, unsteadily it dawned on him and he mumbled, “You heard me.” Bofur nodded and was tackled into the gold through his laughter hugging his Brother smiling through the Dwarves piling on around him before going up to find the four of you to share the news.

…

Thorin grumbled again as he peered across the war room table at you on the ground level floor, in the plushiest wheeled chair they could find for you in your still stiff and aching state after realizing you had severely sprained your knee and dislocated your hip in your final fall. Horns filled the air and you were wheeled by Kili after Thorin to greet the entering King and his men who all entered eyeing the Company and you especially. Though the greetings were short lived when the Elves had arrived. As you sat in the war room with a bowl of peeled oranges that had been gathered by Bilbo from what remained of the orchards in the small farming peak between Erebor and Dale you watched the tension in the room build.

Quietly you sat as the Company all stood when introduced, at least until you stirring a rise in the Elf King’s brow until you wheeled back a couple inches stating, “I’d stand, but, ya.” He nodded his head as you inched back again and returned to enjoying your fruit.

The meeting continued into the night moving you up to the Royal sitting room when you had started drifting off in the meeting alerting the trio of Kings to their unsuccessful lack of an agreement. With tea in hand you sat near the fire while the Elf King sat across from you eyeing you carefully in the firelight before he stated, “I remember you.”

A playful glimmer flickered in your eyes as you replied, “Oh really? It must have been a hell of a daydream your mind drew up, we haven’t met before.”

With a smirk he replied, “Even so, I would not have expected you to admit to it, only one person has ever been foolish enough to punch my Father. Quite a weighty punishment for hitting a King.”

With a weak chuckle you replied, “Must have been a weighty grievance then, for him to have earned it.” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed playfully as you added, “Can’t imagine he’d have done it again.”

Thranduil shook his head, “No, he never got the chance to. We only got the one night together.” In his eyes you caught a hint of the memory of that night making you smirk as you realized who he was referring to.

Hit by an atom scrambling projectile you were torn into three versions of yourself and had to find your other selves and rejoin before you were going to die. With Magneto’s aid you finally managed it just in time and for all your attempts you were unable to see just what the other halves had been up to or where they had gone, but you knew at once arriving in this world parts of you at least felt at home.

When your cup was emptied you were rolled to your bedroom and moved onto your bed where you laid staring up at the canopy above until a door was opened behind a tapestry on the wall. A smirk eased onto your lips as the Princes climbed into bed around you and began the same timid first few kisses from the pair on your lips and cheeks hoping to continue what Balin had interrupted earlier that morning.

#Fili/Kili x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

Text

La Vie En Rose - 2/3

Word Count: 5679

She shifted and snuggled further into the warm material that smelled faintly of cinnamon. A line appeared between her brows. Something was digging into her right shoulder. Her hand lifted to probe the thick ribbon that ran diagonally from her shoulder to her left hip.

It was a seatbelt. She jerked awake violently causing the brown jacket to pool around her waist.

She was half-expecting Damon. He was the last person to kidnap her and drive off into the ‘sunset’, so she was pleasantly surprised when it was not the elder Salvatore in the driver’s seat.

“Kol?” She swallowed, cleared her throat and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Hello, darling,” he flashed a quick smile. “Are you feeling better? You were running a fever when I got to your house,” concern flashed in his eyes.

“I feel fine,” she pushed her hair back from her face and shivered. Without thinking she lifted his jacket to cover her torso again.

“That’s good,” relief flooded him causing his shoulders to relax. He’d been worried about her health since leaving Mystic Falls, but he hadn’t wanted to wake her; she had looked so peaceful sleeping beside him.

“Mmhmm,” she licked her lips. “Hey… Kol?”

“Yes darling,” he took a right turn and adjusted his speed.

“Where are we?” She shifted when her stomach rumbled.

“Georgia,” he scanned the road and turned into a parking lot. The lights along the building illuminated the gravel. He saw a couple of people disappearing around into the dark space around back.

“Why are you pulling over?” Elena ran her fingers through her hair and winced. A knot had formed towards the bottom of her long locks; she set to work untangling it and watched him through her lashes.

“A few reasons,” he unfastened his seatbelt and twisted around to reach into the back seat, “for one you’re hungry; I can hear your stomach growling.”

“Well that’s mortifying,” she blushed. She should have known he could hear it though because she could. She could hear her stomach and a steady thumping; it took her a moment to realize it was coming from his chest.

Elena blinked in surprise when he passed her a small blue bag. It was the one she used whenever she went away somewhere for an extended period of time. Glancing into the back of the car she spotted her duffel bag, and book bag.

“The other reasons,” Elena prompted. She unzipped the toiletry bag and pulled out a travel size brush. Perhaps she should have been afraid, but she couldn’t bring herself to fear the Original. “Where are you taking me? I’m pretty sure the final destination is not a diner in Georgia.”

“You’d be correct,” his eyes tracked the progress of the brush through her hair. He almost reached out to gently untangle the knot that he could tell was pulling on her scalp, but he refrained for fear of touching her skin. The last time he had barely been able to pull away; only his confusion and the arrival of Caroline had sent him back through the window.

“We are roughly half-way to where I was taking you,” he inhaled the sweet smell of her shampoo. He’d been breathing it in for hours, but now that he had stopped driving and turned his full attention to her he found the scent when combined with her blood intoxicating; it made him dizzy with desire. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened from someone’s scent alone.

“I’ve pulled over because I believe you’ll tell me I’ve overreacted,” he exhaled slowly and leaned across the consul.

“Overreacted to what?” Elena dropped the brush back into the bag. Her arm rested on the consul an inch from his; she could feel the heat radiating from his body to hers and shivered. Sitting down he was still a few inches taller than her so she looked up at him through her thick lashes.

“I almost don’t want to tell you,” he searched her curious gaze. “It’s not pretty, Elena.”

A chill ran down her spine when he said her name. Every soft syllable in his rich accent was thrilling; almost more exciting than when he called her darling.

“I think I can handle it,” she smirked. “I’d like to know why you’ve kidnapped me.”

“I prefer to think of it as emancipation of sorts,” he chuckled.

“You took me from my home without my consent,” Elena arched an eyebrow. “I call that kidnapping.”

“Would you like me to take you home?” Kol’s fingers tapped the space beside her hand. His pinky grazed her smooth skin and an electric current raced up his arm.

“I think I’d prefer to hear what you have to say first,” she bit down on her lip.

The action drew his eyes to her mouth.

“My dear brother has decided that you’ve outlived your usefulness,” he reached into his jacket pocket; his eyes never left hers.

Elena’s heart skipped a beat when his knuckles grazed her stomach over the thin material of her shirt. Her flesh tingled and quivered.

“How could I have outlived my usefulness?” Elena’s eyes darted to the sheets of paper and back to him. “He kind of needs me alive…”

Kol pressed the papers into her hand and her chest tightened. She quickly scanned the files from a fertility clinic. Her hand lifted to cover her throat where her heart was thudding wildly.

“He wanted to kill you after,” he shut down the car and toyed with the keys in his hand. “He was going to take as much blood as he could and then kill you, or maybe in the process of taking blood…” He shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t stick around for the particulars.”

“You got me out of town,” Elena refolded the sheets and set them on the dash.

“I did,” Kol nodded. “I made a snap decision, ran to your house and put you in my car. Now tell me, darling: did I overreact? Do you want me to take you home? I could have you back in time for your first class.”

“To the psychotic hybrid who want to impregnate and later kill me?” Her brows shot up in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

“I’ve been called worse over the centuries,” he laughed. “Am I to take that as a no?”

“Yeah,” she nodded once, “it’s a no. Where were you taking me?”

“New Orleans,” Kol opened the door. He was around to the other side opening her door before she could reach for the handle. “There is a strong witch presence in the city; I thought one might be able to explain what your friend did.”

“It was a binding spell,” Elena followed him inside. The interior of the diner was well lit compared to the outside that had looked like something straight out of a horror movie. “It was supposed to bind me to Caroline and make me more…” she tilted her head and searched for the right word, “… durable.”

Elena sat down when he pulled out a chair.

“I don’t suppose you remember any of the spell,” he sat across from her, “that might help.”

“I think so,” she had been starting to lean across the table but straightened when an older waitress appeared at her side. She read the woman’s name tag: Effie.

“Evening, y’all,” she smiled down at them, “have you had a chance to look at the menu yet?”

“Not yet,” Elena picked up the cream coloured booklet, “but a bacon cheeseburger sounds delicious.”

“Anything to drink, dear?” Effie tilted her head.

“Iced tea?” Elena closed the menu and put it aside.

“Sure thing,” Effie grinned and turned to Kol, “and you, love?”

“I’ll have the same,” he smirked, “and perhaps a pen if you would be so kind, Effie.”

“Coming up,” Effie turned away.

“I never took you for the burger type,” Elena crossed her arms on the table.

“I’ve never tried one,” he smirked and mirrored her motion so there was half a foot of space between their faces, “but food helps curb what I’m truly craving.”

“You haven’t fed?” Elena frowned and looked over his face for signs of ill-health. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, darling,” he chuckled. “I’m over a thousand years old, Elena. I can go longer than the average vampire. I’ll be perfectly fine until we reach New Orleans.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you afraid I’m going to bite you, love?” He cocked a heavy brow.

“No,” she shook her head, “I just don’t want you getting sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” he smiled softly. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I should be worrying about you. Would you care to tell me what Bonnie was doing to you around noon?”

“How do you know she was doing anything?” Elena blinked a few times.

“Because I felt it,” he decided to risk physical contact. Taking her hand in his he lifted her arm and flattened her palm over his heart. “Here,” he nodded. “A terrible ripping, burning feeling; like I was being torn apart.”

“She tried to undo the spell,” Elena’s hand tingled under his palm, “she said it wasn’t supposed to hurt, and I was too tired at the time to even attempt to argue; I could barely keep my eyes open.”

Kol shifted and moved her hand from his chest. He wrapped her cold fingers between both of his hands and glanced up when Effie returned with their drinks and a pen.

“Here you are, dears,” Effie caught the way Kol gently rubbed Elena’s knuckles. “Such a sweet young couple,” she murmured on her way back to the kitchen.

A small amount of colour flooded her cheeks at the comment.

“What’s the pen for?” Elena held in her sigh when he released her hand and reached for the pen and paper the waitress had dropped off.

“I thought we could try and figure out what Bonnie did, exactly I mean,” he clarified.

“How are you going to do that?” Elena tiled her head.

“Drawing out what you can remember will help,” Kol passed her the pen. “I didn’t get a clear look, but I’m assuming you did,” he smiled when she nodded and took the pen. “If you can draw it I might be able to figure out what’s been done.”

“You know how magic works?” Elena started sketching the symbols she could remember.

“I was a witch, darling,” his smile didn’t reach his eyes, “before.”

“I’m sorry,” she lowered the pen and met his eyes. “That couldn’t have been an easy transition.” She had watched Bonnie’s mom struggle with the sudden cut off from nature.

“It wasn’t,” he blinked when she took his hand and squeezed gently.

++++

Jeremy lifted his eyes from the coffee table and Caroline’s silent cell phone. He had been sitting in silence with the blonde vampire and his ex-girlfriend since the Originals had left; Elijah had finished explaining the spell before ushering his brother off the property.

He still couldn’t believe it.

“It was supposed to be Caroline?” He looked between the girls.

Bonnie nodded slowly.

“You were going to marry my sister to Caroline?” He jerked his head towards the blonde.

“Are you saying I’m not good enough for your sister?” Caroline lifted her chin. “Elena Gilbert could do a lot worse than me.”

“Apparently she did…” Bonnie hung her head and raked her hands through her hair.

“Kol broke his own brother’s neck to keep her safe,” Caroline sat forward. She felt a strong desire to defend the Original.

“I can’t believe you’re defending him,” Bonnie threw up her hands. “He’s an Original Caroline.”

“We know nothing about him…”

“They say he’s madder than Klaus!”

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Caroline’s eyes flashed. “He didn’t have to do anything, but he did. He could have just killed me and taken her away; nothing was stopping him.”

“The barrier should have,” Bonnie pointed towards the front door. Her head snapped around to Jeremy. “Did you invite him in?”

He shook his head and watched the escalating argument; he only looked away when the door opened to admit Alaric.

“How do we know she’s not already dead?” Bonnie crossed her arms.

“Because I believe him,” Caroline met her friend’s eyes. “He wanted to help her. He wanted to keep her safe. You heard what Elijah said,” she reached down and lifted the grimoire from the floor, “the spell only works when cast on soulmates. Kol’s not going to hurt Elena.”

“Did I hear that right?” Alaric lowered his bag. “Elena and Kol? What happened to Stefan?”

Caroline turned to look at Alaric who had frozen at the door to the living room. She could see the confusion plainly on his face.

“Elena and Stefan broke up weeks ago,” she tucked her hair behind her ears. “You must be really out of the loop.”

++++

Flames of anger shot through him; they had been licking at his insides since he had read the spell. At the moment he decided the best outlet was his older brother.

“Will you stop laughing?” Klaus lifted a crystal vase and threw it.

Elijah ducked out of the way. He couldn’t stop his chortling.

Rebekah chose that moment to investigate the shattering glass. Her eyes darted from her seething brother to her laughing one.

“What’s so funny?” She addressed Elijah assuming that he would be the more reasonable of the two at the moment.

Elijah took a deep breath and swallowed down his mirth.

“Kol has gotten married,” he struggled to hold in his laugh, “in a soul binding spell performed by Miss Bennett.”

“And why is Nik so upset about it?” Rebekah looked sideways at her half-brother.

“The identity of the bride,” Elijah chuckled. “Miss Bennett used a spell to strengthen the bonds between soulmates.”

Rebekah nodded slowly; still not quite sure what the issue was. Shouldn’t Klaus be happy their brother had found his soulmate?

In a rare moment of self-reflection Klaus paused; a line appeared between his brows.

“I shouldn’t have sent him out there,” he frowned. “If I’d left things alone the spell wouldn’t have worked, and I’d have been free to do whatever I wanted with her.”

“I highly doubt that,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “This would have been revealed eventually; Miss Bennett’s spell merely escalated matters. You know how soulmates work Niklaus; Kol would have stepped in immediately if he ever saw you physically harming her.”

“It’s Kol,” Klaus scoffed, “he would have run off before anything ever happened, or are you forgetting the years he spent away from us: four hundred years on his own?”

“I have not forgotten.”

Elijah doubted Kol would have left with her in town; he would have been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It would have begun the moment they first locked eyes: an instant connection that would only build with time.

“Are either of you going to tell me who his soulmate is?” Rebekah resisted her urge to snap.

“Elena Gilbert,” Elijah pressed his lips together to temper his smirk. Unlike Klaus, who had grown abnormally pale, Rebekah’s face turned red.

“That back stabbing doppelbitch?” Her voice reached a decibel that only dogs, and Original vampires, could hear.

“Careful, sister,” Elijah cocked an amused eyebrow, “that’s Kol’s soulmate you’re talking about.” He passed his cell phone to Rebekah so she could view the spell he had taken pictures of.

“You’re taking far too much pleasure in this,” Klaus glared at his older brother.

“How do you know it’s not some sort of trick?” Rebekah examined the images.

“Because it worked,” Elijah stated simply. “Elena had the strength to fight back against Caroline when she broke Kol’s neck, and she is healing at an exponential rate; Miss Forbes tested it last night.”

“And then there’s the fact that the bond was unsealed when the Bennett witch tried to reverse it,” Klaus grumbled. “Kol was a panting mess in the ballroom.”

Rebekah handed the phone back to Elijah and crossed her arms. If it was true she would have to find a way to look past her differences with the doppelganger because she would not lose her brother. Soulmates were special, rare, and something to be cherished. Usually vampires didn’t find theirs until after their mate had transitioned, and the only way to know for sure was to share blood.

What did it mean that Kol had found his while she was still human? How was their bond going to affect the rest of his life?

Elena Gilbert had never shown the slightest interest in being a vampire; would she change her mind now that she knew, or would Kol have to watch her grow old and die? He wouldn’t change her against her will.

“Do they know about this?” She tilted her head and frowned.

“Unless Elena was able to tell Kol everything about the spell, including the incantations, then no,” Elijah shook his head, “they do not know. I’m certain Miss Forbes will tell them when they call.”

++++

“So Caroline knows that you took me?” Elena refastened her seatbelt.

“Assuming she’s found the note,” Kol started the car. “I left it in plain sight so she would see it when she came back to check in on you. I told her one of us would call when we were far enough away.”

“We are far enough away now,” he reached into his pocket and passed her his cell phone before steering them out onto the highway.

“Knowing Caroline she’s probably going to let me sleep through the night,” Elena turned the mobile over in her hands, “which means she has no idea I’m gone yet.”

She sighed and set the device down in one of the cup-holders.

“You’re not going to call,” he glanced at her before returning his attention to the road.

“From what I understand you already told her everything,” Elena pushed her hair behind her ears, “it’ll be easier to wait and call her in the morning after she remembers what happened.”

“What about your brother?”

“He’ll just assume I’m sleeping at Care’s,” Elena shrugged.

“Alright,” he nodded. “It’s another six hours to New Orleans; did you want to get some more sleep?”

“Honestly?” Elena laughed. “I’m not really that tired. I slept for what… seven hours?”

“Something like that,” Kol chuckled.

“I think I’m good to stay awake,” she smiled, “unless you’re trying to say you’re tired of me and would rather I were quiet…”

“Never,” he caught her hand and rubbed small circles over her knuckles. “I could never get tired of you, Elena.” Heat spread through him and brought his body to attention.

“Okay,” her voice was little more than a breath. The air that had been cool up until that point began to warm as her flesh tingled and her heart thumped. She knew he had to be able to hear it; she could hear it. She could hear the rapid pounding of her heart and his.

Why is his heart running a mile a minute? Elena swallowed. She suspected the only thing keeping her from reaching out to feel the sharp stubble along his jaw and pressing her lips to his was the console between them and the speed at which they were moving down the freeway.

She blinked and focused on the clock. She needed to think of something else, anything else. She knew that removing her hand from his would be the fastest way to get her swirling emotions under control, but she was loath to do it. His touch, while it excited her and thrilled her, was also calming; there was something comforting and familiar in the way he held her hand.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Heat curled down her spine; his accent was positively sinful.

“I’m fine,” she cleared her throat. Her mind scrambled for anything to latch on to. “You never said anything about the spell,” her thumb swiped absentmindedly along the back of his hand.

“I didn’t, did I?” He chuckled suddenly; he was grateful for the distraction. He had been about three minutes away from pulling over to the side of the road, yanking her into his lap, and kissing her senseless.

“I think I got all of the symbols right,” she watched the road; it was easier than tracing the angular plains of his face.

“You did, love,” he squeezed her hand, “the problem is it was a standard binding spell. Nothing in what you drew explains how we were connected, or why trying to undo it caused so much pain.”

“What does that mean?” She turned her head. Her breath caught when he turned at the same time and met her gaze.

He felt a connection when he looked in her eyes; something far deeper than the physical attraction he felt every time he touched her.

He couldn’t maintain the eye contact for long before he had to refocus on the road.

“I think I know,” he adjusted his speed when they hit a construction zone. Suddenly he was nervous to explain himself. “I have a theory anyway, but I’m not sure. A witch would be able to tell us more.”

“What is it?” Elena heard his heart thud.

“The reason for our… for the connection,” he swallowed. The gentle motion of her thumb was unknotting his stomach. “It’s not in any of the symbols that were used; that means it’s in the incantation, and I can’t know for sure without seeing or hearing it.”

“I heard it,” Elena bit her lip, “but I don’t actually speak Latin, so…”

“You heard it?” He turned to look at her again.

“The start of it,” she nodded, “but then, once the light came up, all I could hear was my own heart… or maybe it was yours. I’m not sure; I can hear things I really shouldn’t be able to now.”

“And you heal,” he tensed when he remembered her blood and the blonde that had tasted it.

“How did you know that?”

“I was outside your window,” he murmured, “when Caroline bit you. It took everything I had not to run in and…”

“You would have…” Elena leaned back towards her window and blinked slowly.

“No,” he shook his head, “she’s your best friend. The only thing that kept me outside was knowing that, and that she was only testing the spell.”

“Then why are you angry?” Elena frowned.

“I’m not…”

“You are,” she cut in. Elena could feel indignation in his tense muscles.

Kol took a deep breath, inhaled the tantalizing mixture of her shampoo and the sweet ambrosia that was her blood, and forced himself to relax. He didn’t know how to tell her that he was not angry, but that he had been jealous of Caroline who had tasted her blood. She would think he was a possessive monster. Elena wasn’t his; she had never been his.

So why did she feel like his? Why did he feel like he belonged to her?

He suspected he knew the answer, but what did it mean that she was human? What had her friend done to them?

He wouldn’t know until he spoke to a witch, or heard the spell.

“Kol?” Elena tilted her head and pursed her lips.

“I wasn’t angry,” he reiterated. “It was just… just that seeing another vampire biting you…”

Elena’s eyes grew round. It almost sounded like he had been jealous. Why would he be jealous? Why had she felt guilty? Why had she felt like she was being unfaithful?

Why had she attacked Caroline when the blonde had hurt him?

“After the spell…” Elena switched topics. “After the spell when Caroline broke your neck…”

“I’d owe her a thank you for that,” he chuckled, “but she saved us both later so I’ll let it go.”

“How sweet of you,” Elena rolled her eyes. “After she did it though… I… I attacked her. Everything… everything went red and I just… I lunged. Next thing I knew I was waking up in my room and you were at the window.”

For a brief moment his muscles froze and the car began to slow before he regained control.

“Why were you at my window?” Elena exhaled slowly.

“I had to make sure you were safe.” There was no hesitation in his response. Everything seemed to be about keeping her safe now: safe, happy, and healthy.

He had heard of vampires experiencing a sudden shift in priorities, but it was rare; almost unheard of. And it had never occurred with a human being.

“What’s your theory, Kol?” Elena’s fingers toyed with his daylight ring.

“I don’t think you’ll believe me,” he frowned, “you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I’ve yet to think that,” she shook her head. “Try me.”

“Well,” he squeezed her hand and moved into the turning lane, “like I said earlier I would need to hear the incantation to know for sure, but I think… I think the spell would not have worked if I hadn’t been there.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a spell that witches use,” he sighed, “to join together two souls that were always meant to be joined. The idea is that they will use this bond to share in each other’s abilities and strengthen their coven.”

“Always meant to be joined?” Elena tilted her head. “As in…”

“Soulmates,” he finished her thought. Kol had been half expecting her to reclaim her hand, and perhaps use it to slap him, but she didn’t; she remained where she was. “It would explain a few things. Mates are very protective of each other, Elena. It might explain why you attacked your friend, and why I broke my own brother’s neck.”

“Let’s be honest, Kol,” she smirked, “it’s Klaus. He’s probably had that coming for a few centuries.”

“You’re not wrong,” he smiled. “Nik has a very twisted sense of familial love.”

“Is that the nice way of saying he sticks you in a box whenever you do something he doesn’t like?”

“Essentially,” he nodded.

Elena pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth and looked out through the windshield. Kol was driving quickly, leaving other vehicles behind him; at the rate they were going they would make New Orleans early.

“Soulmates, huh?” She tested the word on her tongue. Would that explain the instant connection she felt with him? It was more than just physical. She had felt something inside of her calling out to him when they spoke at the diner.

“Witches use a spell to find theirs,” Elena nodded, “how do vampires tell?”

“What makes you think there is a way?” He counted the erratic beats of her heart.

“Because you’re not meeting my eyes,” she murmured.

“You’re too insightful for your own good,” he shook his head with a small smile. He wasn’t sure if it was her determined attitude, or if the rumors about not being able to lie to a soulmate were true, but either way he told her.

“Vampires typically don’t find their soulmates until after they’ve been turned,” he tapped the steering wheel, “because the only way to tell, without the aid of magic, is to blood share.”

“Okay,” Elena nodded. She was reluctant to take back her hand, but she did. Pushing up her sleeve she held up her wrist.

“What are you doing, darling?” He caught her hand again and lowered it.

“You said the only way to tell was to…”

“I’m not going to bite you Elena,” his voice was firm. “I won’t risk hurting you.”

“I don’t think you could,” she smirked, “or have you forgotten how I healed after Caroline bit me.” She couldn’t explain how she felt like this was right.

“No, I have not forgotten,” he held her wrist in his grasp as his canines descended, “but I’m still not going to bite you; especially not in a moving vehicle.”

“Why not?” She held in her disappointed sigh.

His response and the look in his eyes made her feel dizzy as desire radiated between them.

“Because, darling,” his eyes darkened when he met her gaze. “Once my lips touch your skin I don’t think I’ll be able to stop until I’ve tasted every last inch of you.”

++++

Elena leaned forward in her seat and peered out through the windows. Her eager eyes took in everything that was happening on the street, and they had arrived in the midst of some sort of festival so there was no shortage of things for her to look at: people in flamboyant costumes, couples dancing, artists painting; the list went on, and over everything she could hear the competing sounds of music.

“Have you ever been to New Orleans, darling?” Kol steered the car through the crowded street. The city had changed since he had last been there; not the architecture and general layout, but the people. He assumed it had more to do with the shifting times though; New Orleans had always been full of life and colour.

“No,” Elena shook her head. “What’s going on?”

“I believe it’s the music festival,” he took a turn out of the main street.

Elena pushed her hair behind her ears and blinked as the raucous party seemed to disappear behind them. The overlapping music was soon replaced with a heavy seductive bass. Her eyes immediately sought out the pulsating rhythm; it was coming from an older building half a block ahead of them.

Light flickered in the windows illuminating the faces of the individuals spilling out from the doors.

Forty-eight hours before she wouldn’t have been able to read the placard in the darkness, but now she could easily make out the bold letters on the sign: The Abattoir.

Kol’s foot eased on the accelerator. His eyes had been drawn to the crumbling façade of one of the oldest buildings in the city; it was a building he had never thought he would see again.

“Kol?” Elena tore her eyes from the scene and what was clearly a rager in progress. “You okay?”

He blinked away the image of the house in all its glory and turned to look at her with a nod.

“Do you know this place?” Her eyes darted back to the building as they crawled past; for a moment her gaze locked with a tall man whose skin was the colour of warm chocolate. She saw his eyes narrow at the vehicle.

“It was my home once,” Kol turned back to the street and sped up again, “a long time ago. I thought it had burned with the rest of the city.”

“Clearly not,” Elena murmured. “Did you know that guy?”

“What guy?” He glanced at her when he pulled into a driveway several blocks away.

“The one who was staring at the car,” Elena tilted her head, “it looked like he recognized you.” The way his eyes had narrowed had suggested he didn’t like him.

“I’m afraid I didn’t see him,” Kol came around the side of the car and opened her door, “but it is possible. New Orleans is a mecca for the supernatural.”

++++

“She hasn’t called yet,” Jeremy rubbed a hand across his jaw. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

“Not yet,” Caroline checked the time.

++++

Klaus stared into the bottom of his glass. The amber liquid swirled and twisted like the thoughts in his mind.

What was he meant to do now? For a thousand years he had been set on one goal and one goal alone: breaking his curse and creating an army of hybrids. He had forsaken everything else in his pursuit.

He had killed her once. He had been poised to do it again, but now he couldn’t. There were certain lines even he couldn’t cross.

Daggering his siblings and sticking them in boxes for decades on end was one thing; it was temporary and could be stopped at any time, but harming a soulmate. Something like that tore at the soul; it ripped a person apart. One was never the same after losing their mate.

Harming Elena now, assuming he could even do it, would break his brother. He couldn’t break his brother. He couldn’t knowingly cause an eternity of suffering that would never end.

++++

Rebekah trailed her fingers through the fragrant bubbles of her bath. Her body was in the twenty-first century but her mind was lost in the recesses of history.

How often had she and Kol fought? She’d lost track of their squabbles over the centuries, but through it all he had always been on her side even when she was in the wrong.

She had feared he would hold a grudge after waking up as it was her fault he had been subjected to the dagger in the first place. If she had not told Klaus of his plans he would have remained awake; he might have even found a way to put their hybrid brother in his place, but she had turned on him.

He was still on her side.

She didn’t know how they were going to move forward from here, but she did know she wouldn’t harm a hair on Elena’s head.

Rebekah might have enjoyed tormenting and torturing her brother, but she couldn’t be responsible for breaking his soul.

++++

Elijah taped the top of his desk and waited for the photographs to load. He had contemplated sending the images in a text message, but even as a vampire he had struggled to read everything on the tiny screen.

He nodded when the images loaded and he could make out the smallest of print; the phone had blurred the images, but he could easily read them on the computer.

With a few clicks he sent them off and crossed his fingers in the hopes that Kol had not altered the settings on his phone. The sooner he got the message the sooner he would return with Elena.

There was no reason to hide her away.

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall

#kol mikaelson #rebekah mikealson #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elena gilbert #caroline forbes #jeremy gilbert #kolena #bonnie bennett

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