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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

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Found Family ||Demetri Volturi x Female!Reader||

Part 2 found here: Baby’s First Christmas

Warnings: Anxiety and panic, mentions of child endangerment

Words: 7565

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt

There are things Demetri never thought he could have, things he had never dreamed would be within his grasp ever again. He has plenty of experience with newborns…just not your kind of newborn.

He was absolutely perfect. You couldn’t imagine anyone better for you than Jeremy. He had always been the sweet kind, the kind that complimented you when he held doors open and gave you his jacket when you were cold, the kind that paid for one date if you got the next. He was a hit with your parents and your friends. You were just so sure about him, more sure than you’d ever been about any of the other idiots you dated throughout university. That was why you were confident it was going to be okay when you missed your period that month, because this baby was Jeremy’s and he was your perfect match, your partner for life, so wasn’t it time to start living it? You’d told him the same night your first pregnancy test came back positive.

You’d never seen a man pack so fast.

Everything that was his in your shared apartment was gone and with no one to fill the space you had been forced to move home. Moving home meant telling your parents you were pregnant and that your baby daddy had run off into the wind, and that had gone down about as well as sticking a fox in a henhouse would. For the past eleven months it had been constant snubs, snide little remarks and complete overreaction to everything you did from your parents. How were you supposed to learn how to be a mother if your own constantly hovered and took over at the slightest perception something was wrong? Your daughter had been in this world for two months and she had most likely been held by your parents more than she had you. The timing of your friend’s sudden job offer was perfect for you.

She had planned a holiday in one of the more scenic cities of Italy, shutterbug that she was, but the job required her to move across your home city post haste. With her holiday deposit on the line, everything had been transferred into your name and the ticket dropped off at your doorstep. Your parents had done their best to convince you to stay of course.

You’re not ready to go on a holiday alone with her.

What’ll happen when she gets fussy on the plane hmm? You think she won’t? How will you handle all the people looking at you then?

We still help you with night feeds, how are you going to do that on your own?

You ignored every single one of their pleas and got yourself and your daughter out of there. The moment the heat and the sunshine and invaded your senses you knew you had made the right decision. Lyra wasn’t sure what to make of the sunglasses you put on her little face, and more often than not she pulled off the wide brimmed hat on her head, which left you in a very cyclical routine of putting hats and glasses on whenever they came off. There was lots of green space in Volterra, and so many beautiful alleyways hiding quaint little shops to wonder about in. Your spending money was limited but it didn’t mean you didn’t splurge on a few treats. Your favourite place by far though had to be the fountain in the centre of the square.

Though it was often bustling in the daytime, come the evenings it was calmer and quieter, cooler to. Laying back in the crook of your arm, Lyra seemed to find the splashing sounds of water and the way the light reflected off of it absolutely fascinating. If you had had a full day she sometimes napped, but when she was awake her little eyes were wide with wonder and she looked between you and the water a lot, trying to communicate with you exactly what she thought about it. You pandered to her of course, rocking her gently as you had a one-sided conversation about how beautiful Volterra was. If you didn’t have responsibilities back at home you could happily see yourself adapting to this slower pace of life. As it was, this small dose of peace in your newfound haven was all you would get, so you decided to make the most of it.

It was one of your last days in the city when you were approached by her. She was Aphrodite incarnate you were sure, statuesque with flawless skin shrouded in shadow, yet her hair couldn’t hide from the sun. No, it caught the beams and threw them back at the world with a dazzling amount of shine that left you utterly awed as she approached you. She looked down at Lyra, plush lips pulling into a smile and revealing perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Buon pomeriggio, hai bisogno di assistenza?” she asked. Her voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, trickling through your consciousness until all other noise simply faded away. You blinked yourself out of your stupor, your brain scrambling to try and translate what little Italian you had picked up over the past week you had been staying here. You could hazard a guess at the last word, and you knew the greeting well enough, but you weren’t sure about the rest.

“I’m sorry, erm, I don’t know that much Italian, Er…erm… non capisco?” you tried. Her laughter was as sweet as angel song, as feather light on your ears as a lover’s whisper.

“I see. I asked if you need assistance. Are you perhaps waiting for someone?” she questioned. Her accent was thick but oddly out of place, seemingly a mix of many different accents mingled into one. It wasn’t unpleasant to listen to however.

“Oh, no we’re okay thank you.” You smiled up at her, squinting slightly in the harsh sunlight. Her head tilted, glossy waves of caramel falling like satin over her shoulder, one strand slipping over the next in a gorgeous waterfall that left you more mesmerised than even her voice could.

“Then perhaps I might interest you in a tour of Castello Volterra? It’s so hot out here, the ancient stone will keep you cool and give you chance to take many more marvellous pictures.” Her head turned, a silent indicator that your camera had taken her interest. Your cheeks flushed pink – how much more obviously a tourist could you be? Lyra had yet to stir in your arms and you glanced down towards her, biting your lip. She’d been asleep for quite a while now and had been safely in the shade of her hat, but a cooler indoor climate would probably do her some good.

“How much?” you asked, cautious of spending your remaining money. She trilled a laugh.

“I’m looking to make up numbers, some turiste dropped out and I have spaces spare.” She waved you off with ease and, well, who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth? It never occurred to you in that moment that you hadn’t even caught her name or asked for a badge; the woman was enigmatic and honestly you were more than a little enamoured so her name seemed quite irrelevant as you hurried to gather your things and walk after her. You left Lyra’s buggy at the front desk with the secretary, your daughter finally stirring some and grumpily making her displeasure known with quiet half-cries and a pouty lip. The rocking movement as you walked and the strange décor of the place was slowly drawing her attention, your hand patting her back while your free one held your camera aloft.

When you had been told you were going to tour a castle you had expected more opulent decoration, tapestries and chandeliers, maybe some plush carpets. At first you had seen what you expected, a grand library decorated in deep reds and blacks with a stain in varnished wooden flooring that came with a ghostly story of blood spilled within medieval walls. You were thrilled, your eyes magnetised to your tour guide as much as they were too any painting or gilded book cover. It wasn’t until Lyra began to fuss and take up more of your attention that you started to notice how…odd, the place felt. The stone walls did little to keep heat in and compared to the outside the castle itself was freezing. Lyra had nestled into her shawl, sharing body heat with you, but you were starting to feel goosebumps pebble your flesh now.

It was not just cold but dark too. Very little natural light entered the castle’s rooms, and on the odd occasion you found a square patch of sunlight streaming through admittedly pretty windows, your tour guide avoided it with effortless grace. The further into the castle you went, the colder, darker and less extravagant it got. Bare stone walls were embellished with little decoration and the warmth in your guide’s voice was now gone, her pace hurried and heels clacking off the stone as though she was impatient to get you to the end of this tour for some reason. You struggled to keep up and quickly fell behind, Lyra’s fussing growing worse as she too started to feel the chill in the air and odd atmosphere. Her wriggling grew more intense and you had to lower your camera to tighten your grip on your daughter, hushing her gently when she began to snuffle, huffing breaths through her nose.

They were signals you knew well. With the nappy bag over your shoulder, you slowed your pace and started to rummage through the contents of the large satchel, producing a cloth for Lyra and settling it beneath her chin as you pulled her upright somewhat, pausing in the corridor to readjust your grip on her lest you drop her. A soft cry escaped her, face scrunching in the build up to something louder when you felt the ominous presence behind you. Turning around you were face to face with a man at least a head taller than you were, dressed entirely in black with dark dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. He radiated something dangerous, made every instinct in your body scream at you to turn and leave him be. Lyra seemingly sensed it to, letting out a wail on demand. In the brief moment where you turned your head to look at her you swore a flash of dark red, the same kind of colour as wine, caught your eye. It wouldn’t have been so strange to you if that flash of wine hadn’t appeared quite high up, at eye level, say.

Lyra was far more important though, her cries cutting off into a gurgle as she spit up just as you had expected her to. The warm vomit splashed onto the cloth, dribbling down as you scrambled to catch it and wipe her mouth. Her screaming grew louder at that, the horrible smell of bile and acid reaching your nose and making it scrunch.

“Keep moving.” The man’s voice was deep. It rumbled in his chest and shook you to your core.

“Is there a bathroom up ahead? Somewhere I can clean her up?” you asked.

“Keep moving.” He repeated, closing in on you with slow, deliberate steps that set your nerves jangling. Holding Lyra closer to your chest you clasped the back of her head tenderly, bouncing and rocking her to try get her to calm. Your daughter was here in your arms, unsettled and in need of your comfort. You had to be calm for her, even if your heart was racing in your chest.

“I need to see to my daughter.” Your voice was firm and left little room to argue, but he didn’t stop moving towards you. Heart leaping into your throat you took a step back, shaking your head and struggling to calm Lyra as you tried to remain firm and not give anymore ground. Your heart raced, a hot flush overcoming you as anxiety made itself present in a sudden, nauseous wave. Why wasn’t he stopping? Why wouldn’t he listen? Couldn’t he see your daughter needed your care? See he was scaring you?

“Keep moving and you can see to her then.” His voice wasn’t comforting in any way and it was difficult to believe a man so intense. He was twice your size and built well, very capable of man-handling you if he so chose to. You had tried to avoid looking, tried to play it off as a trick of the light, but when you looked into his eyes it was plain as day that you had been correct. His irises were the colour of rich red wine, and to your astonishment they only seemed to darken as they stared back into yours with such intensity your thundering heart was all you could hear for a moment. There was no ring around the colourful part of his eye. Nothing indicated that he was wearing contact lenses, but he couldn’t have had red eyes could he? It wasn’t possible…

“I think I better leave. Where’s the exit?” you asked shakily. Something was wrong here, wrong wrong wrong. The corridor was long, not a single door in sight. You could navigate the hallways again right? There had to be an exit somewhere close. Lyra was only growing more unsettled, screaming now at the top of her lungs. People were whispering behind you and the man was growing ever more annoyed, shooting your daughter a disgusted glare as if she had physically offended him with the noise. You instinctively held her as close to you as possible, turning slightly to shield her from him.

“Keep. Moving.” He ground out.

“My daughter isn’t well, we just need to leave! There has to be an exit near here!” you snapped. It was more fear than anything else that had made you snap, desperation more so than anger, but the man seemed to take it as such. He seemed to inflate somehow, shoulders squaring and lips pulling back over his teeth as he stalked ever closer when a pale hand intervened, gripping his arm. Given the way the man flinched, you guessed the newcomers grip was hard. Head snapping to the left, you turned to try and convince our saviour to help you, only to freeze at the sight of apple red eyes. They were the same red eyes, just different shades. He inhaled sharply as he locked eyes with you, his expression somewhat distant for a minute as you tried to make sense of the sudden and inexplicable relief. It was small, barely made a dent in your anxiety in the grand scheme of things, but it lessened some of your nauseous gut feeling to simply lay eyes on this man even if he was clearly a part of this strange tour company.

“Is the little one alright?” he asked. His voice was smooth and rich, the deep bass reverberating through your head. He had the kind of voice you could listen to all day, the kind you could envision being good for audiobooks. Lyra was still screaming in your arms, her wailing echoing back to you off the walls. You bounced her again, rocking her side to side with a shake of your head.

“No, no I need to take her back to the hotel, please, tell me where I can find the exit?” you were almost pleading with him at this point. He nodded slowly, his gaze strangely intense, unwavering and unblinking. On one hand you didn’t mind it; you liked the way he looked at you actually, with a hint of wonder and trepidation, as if you were the thing in the room to marvel at and the expensive paintings on the wall weren’t worthy of a second glance. Given the general atmosphere of unease that you had picked up on now however, his stare also left you feeling minorly uncomfortable. He held a hand out towards you, his arm open and separating you from the man with the dreadlocks.

“Allow me to escort you to a quieter room so you might tend to her needs.” He said. You swallowed thickly, itching to agree despite barely knowing him or his intentions towards you and Lyra. It felt safe, like his waiting embrace was something you could depend on. Getting you away from the strange man had to be your new priority, but could you really trust a stranger?

“Demetri, what are you doing?” your tour guide was back, her musical voice distracting you somewhat from the beautiful man before you. He was made with the finest of nature’s ingredients you were sure, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could have cut steel. His hair was the most beautiful shade of chestnut brown, his stature tall and lean, posture exuding confidence and grace. His smile was dazzlingly white and so very comforting as he ever so gently guided you towards him.

“Escorting the young lady to a room where she might see to her daughter. I will join you momentarily for the…conclusion, of the tour.” He seemed to choose his words carefully and despite how much more on edge that made you, you still stepped into him with a nod. Your eyes were drawn back to your tour guide again, unable to stray too long as her gaze turned somewhat dangerous.

“The child will be cared for as always.” Her voice was like wind chimes and you unknowingly leaned closer to hear it. The man, Demetri, immediately pulled you back and began to lead you down the hall.

“Indeed, by her mother.” He spoke as though she was still stood right beside him, yet you were sure she shouldn’t have heard anything given she was already four steps behind you both. His pace was quick, only slowing when he realised you were struggling to keep up. You could see the way his jaw clenched as Lyra screamed and you tried to shush her again, swallowing past the lump in your throat as your clawed fingers held tight to your baby.

“Where are we going? Surely there’s a bathroom or something near-“

“Somewhere we will not be disturbed, can you soothe her?” he asked, looking at your daughter with a grimace. You stumbled over your own feet a little.

“I – I’m trying.” Your stammered. He gave a terse little nod, eyes flitting about as he led you down a maze of corridors. By the time you emerged at the top of a flight of stairs you had no clue what way was up and what way was down. Perhaps that was what he had intended. Demetri quickly pushed his way past a heavy looking door made of dark, expensive looking wood; surprise flooded you, and it melted into horror as quickly as it came. A bed, you were looking at an extravagant, four poster bed, a room with a desk and a bookcase and a fireplace. This was a bedroom. Why would he bring you to a bedroom? Was it his? You shouldn’t have followed him. Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined all the horrible ways this once nice trip could turn out, and when Demetri caught sight of them he quickly shut the door with the most pained expression you’d ever seen on a man.

“I mean you no harm, truly, but there are things I am not at liberty to explain right now that you cannot conceive of. Use whatever you require from my bathroom to tend to your daughter but do not leave this room. I beg of you.” The urgency in his voice shook you to the core and your tears spiled over. His room? Why was it so imperative you not leave? What was wrong with this place that it was so dangerous to you you couldn’t leave this strange man’s room? His finger was as cold as marble and just as hard when he wiped the wetness from beneath your eye. You recoiled with a soft whimper.

“Please, just let me-“

“Stay, here. Please tesoro…Per il mio bene.” His finger delicately trailed your jawline before he was gone, the door closed behind him. It was like you had blinked and missed him. Lyra was quieting a little in your arms, though still crying she seemingly had run out of energy, not bawling anymore. You slowly sank to your knees, fresh tears springing to your eyes. You had doomed you both. What kind of irresponsible mother followed a strange man to his bedroom? Rocking back and forth, you shakily stroked the soft tufts of hair on her head, trembling and praying to a God you hadn’t really believed in before now that somehow, you would be okay.

With a quiet sniffle, you wiped your eyes hastily with your hand. Your daughter needed you to be strong right now, so even as you crumbled inside you pushed to your feet and paced towards the large bed, setting the pillows up in such a way Lyra would be securely confined away from the edges of the mattress. With quick, practiced movements, you cleaned her face with a baby wipe and changed her pretty little dress into a loose top and shorts combo, one you had packed for occasions just like this. Lyra wriggled, not enjoying the changing procedure and reaching for you. Maybe she was just as perturbed by the situation to, wanting your embrace, your comfort.

“It’s okay, we’re going to be okay, we’ll be alright baby.” You whispered shakily. You could make no such promise. Time seemed to drag by slowly, seconds feeling like eternity dripping by through the thin neck of an hourglass. Lyra had calmed after a few minutes of you rubbing her tummy, now enjoying the feel of the soft sheets maybe and being in fresh clothes, and her big eyes watched you as you paced beside the bed. It took a long time for you to pause, your mind coming to the shocking and horrific realisation that just because this Demetri fellow had told you not to leave, it didn’t mean you couldn’t.

Dashing to the door, you pushed down on the handle. Relief swept through you when it went all the way, the door clicking open, and with a soft gasp you raced back to the bed to collect your daughter. Her bag was of little consequence, though your purse and phone were so you pocketed these as you picked her up, cursing your old school phone and it’s poor battery life. With Lyra swaddled to your chest again in her shawl, lips smacking and a serious little frown on her face, you turned back towards the door only to find it closing behind the one man you didn’t want to see.

Your heart sank.

“You stayed.” He sounded surprised.

I didn’t mean to you thought hopelessly. Shaky hands came up to hold your baby girl again, Lyra sensing your obvious anxiety and beginning to shift again restlessly. She tried to turn her head, find the source of the noise, but you wouldn’t let her. Whatever he was about to do to her, you silently vowed your daughter wouldn’t see. You would suffer in silence, your lips pressed together in a firm line and your will caging your voice if only so Lyra wouldn’t suffer with you. Demetri held his hands up in front of him but the gesture was meaningless and empty – his eyes were now a vivid ruby red. The brightness of his irises frightened you. Deep down, you doubted he had simply gotten his irises retattooed in the time since he’d separated from you.

“I did, I did everything you asked, now please let us go.” You tried to keep your voice steady but the slightest warble gave away your fear. Demetri’s expression twisted into regret, an ugly expression his godly face somehow made it impossible to look away from, like you were the one who needed to comfort him, as though he was the one suffering and you weren’t.

“Next time you ask me something please, try to make it something it is within my power to do.” He said softly. Tears welled in your eyes, one spilling down your cheek.

“Okay,” you swallowed, “Then whatever you can do, are going to do, please don’t make my daughter watch. She’s so young, please-“you choked, cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as you tried desperately to hold in the sob building in your throat. Lyra let out a noise of discontent and you immediately loosened your grip. Demetri shook his head.

“Nothing is going to happen to you tesoro. My oath was true, I mean you no harm,” he promised, pausing slightly as his eyes flitted to Lyra, “Neither of you…how old is she?” his question caught you off-guard. It was such a mundane thing to ask, given he’d more or less kidnapped you from a tour group to steal you away to his bedroom it seemed out of place almost in the conversation. You swallowed.

“That’s of no concern to you!” you snapped, turning to shield Lyra from his view some. He winced slightly, stepping closer to you.

“Will you let me explain?” he questioned, “The things I wish to tell you, need you to know, are not easy to digest, but perhaps if you know them you might yet change your opinion of me.” He ventured. His voice was casual, as though he was discussing the weather with you and was not trying to beguile you into trusting him. In truth, part of you already did, and that part had made you lean towards him ever so slightly, your ears so focused on the sound of his voice your eyes hadn’t noticed how close he was until he was mere feet away. You backed up immediately, scolding yourself for being distracted by the honeyed words of a pretty man; last time that had happened you had ended up pregnant in your childhood bedroom while your parents lectured you about condoms for three hours.

“And why would my opinion matter to you?” you demanded, cringing when your back hit stone. A window to your right gave you a beautiful view of a garden, a garden with high walls and vibrant flowers and…a disco ball? No…no wait that was…a man? You were sure the outline of a man was quite literally glowing in the sunlight, his skin reflecting the warm rays and turning them into the most beautiful diamonds that scattered along the wall he stood by. As if he sensed your eyes the bulky figure turned his head, and though his features were too far away for you to make them out you were certain he was looking at you.

“There are things in this world you dismiss as fictious but should know are very much real, tesoro.” Demetri’s voice was soft by your ear and you jumped violently, whirling around to face him. His skin did the very same thing. He stood before you, an Adonis carved straight from marble that shone bright in pure light, his room lit up by rainbows that bounced off of the prism of his skin. You reached your hand out without thinking, pure instinct driving you to both fear and question this beautiful man. When your thumb came back glitter free, your stomach churned in silent horror. There was no make up, no illusion of any sort you could see or imagine, so how was it possible he could literally shine?

“What are you?” you whispered. Demetri’s eyes never left yours, his gaze soft and somewhat sad, as if he already knew you wouldn’t like the answer.

“Vampire.” His reply was simple, yet it set off a chain reaction in your head. Every instinct that had screamed at you to run before was now screaming that it had been right and you should run again, but your rational mind scoffed and forced those feelings down even as you tried to put more distance between you both. Vampires weren’t real, and so far he had kept true to his word. Demetri had yet to hurt you, though he seemed plenty ready to lie to your face.

“They aren’t real.” You denied.

“Because my coven made you believe so,” Demetri countered, following you with slow, cautious steps, “Look at me. What man do you know of that has skin like mine? What man has these eyes? Your body knows Tesoro, it’s been telling you all along that I am wrong, has tried warning you that there are differences between us your brain cannot put a name to.”

“Stay away from us!” you warned. He froze in place, letting you put as much distance as you could between you both. With your back to the wall you stared him down, afraid to move for fear he would to. Within a blink he was in front of you, and you were falling to your knees, like he had almost anticipated your obvious collapsed. With the way your knees were knocking together it shouldn’t have been surprising really. He had moved so fast and with such startling efficiency you were left completely in awe of the smooth series of actions that led him to catch not only you, but Lyra as well. She squealed in delight, the first time you’d ever heard her make such a noise, while you could only stare with wide eyes at the man who had yet to take his arm from around your waist. He was busy watching Lyra with his own wide eyes.

“Take her,” he whispered, giving you a little nudge to get you upright, “Take her now, please, before I drop her!” he insisted. You hurriedly made a cradle and accepted your daughter back into your embrace, somewhat spellbound. Demetri had moved faster than any human could, had horrifically red eyes and skin that literally glowed…yet a baby had undone him? There was literal panic written all over his face the minute his arm had curled around your daughter and he looked quite relieved you had her now. You could only stare at him as he carefully guided you back towards the bed. Once Lyra was settled back between the pillows again you sat and listened to every tale he wished to tell you, your mind spinning.

He spoke of where he had come from and how he came to be, your mind reeling as he told you of a far off, sunny land where the Gods had ruled his life before he was given life anew. He spoke of Aro and Marcus and Caius, and the war with Romanians that had ended the slavery of your kind and sparked the dawn of an era of secrecy. He chuckled as you tentatively listed off myth after myth, taking great delight in your obvious amusement that he had been the one to circulate the rumour vampires were weakened by garlic simply because he didn’t like the way it smelled. As impossible as it all seemed, you believed him. Demetri had maintained a respectable distance from you at all times, looking more relaxed and at ease the longer you spoke. Not a toe out of line.

The cadence of his voice had lulled Lyra to sleep, your own nerves soothed by the rhythmic rise and fall as he told his stories with the kind of expertise only extensive practice could bring. The wonder couldn’t last however, not when you remembered there were other people beyond the door to his room.

“Our tour guide…” you trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. Demetri looked regretful.

“Less a tour guide and more a fisherwoman. Heidi is like me, as is the man who dared try to confront you in the corridor.” His eyes narrowed a bit, the memory clearly unpleasant to him. You swallowed, your heart skittering in your chest.

“A fisherwoman?” you questioned, your voice weak. Demetri observed you carefully, looking reluctant to speak now. You were by no means stupid; you had a fairly good idea what he had meant but you wanted to hear him say it. He seemed impossibly perfect and as silly as it sounded, hearing him admitting to this one great flaw might actually soothe some of your own insecurities you were struggling with by just being near him. You were still losing a baby fat after all and the stretch marks…well your skin was not as unblemished as his.

“I think you know.” He said finally. You exhaled in a rush, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“She’s not even a year old,” you whispered, “My daughter isn’t even a year old, and you were going to…she brought us here to…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, squeezing your eyes closed as you thought of the rest of the people in your tour group and the fate they must have endured. There was an elderly couple, Americans you thought, talking of how their history loving granddaughter would adore the pictures they were taking about the place. A young couple of Indian origin you guessed who were speaking their native tongue as they walked arm in arm, their gazes adoring as they stared at each other, a honeymoon couple perhaps whispering sweet nothings and fantasising about the life they were embarking on together.

“We would not have laid a hand on her,” Demetri swore, his voice somewhat cross, “We are not monsters, tesoro. Your child would have been taken to the authorities and given a good home.”

“Without me. You would have killed me and let my daughter grow up, without me.” Your voice was rising in pitch now and you pushed to your feet as the hysteria began to rise once more. Demetri shook his head.

“I would have done no such thing!” he snapped, losing his temper with you for the first time since you’d met. You took a hesitant step backward, afraid now you knew what he could really do but reluctant to leave him so near Lyra. Lyra…so small and vulnerable and still utterly asleep. He took a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Why not? Why would you save us?” you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Your tour group had met a grisly end so why hadn’t you? Why had you been spared this fate? Why did he favour you? Demetri looked saddened again, his entire expression crestfallen, like a puppy who’d been scolded for being too close to the Christmas tree.

“I had hoped you would feel it, that you would know, at least on some superficial level.” He seemed to be speaking to himself, distracted by watching Lyra’s chest rise and fall as her mouth moved, eyelids fluttering. It was your favourite expression on her, the one she wore when she dreamed. For a moment Demetri looked wistful, as though he was watching something he desperately wanted but was out of his reach from a distance too great to cross.

“Feel what?” you groaned, your exasperation now obvious. It was difficult to be afraid now he’d told you everything. It didn’t make sense for him to spare you just to kill you now, especially not now he’d divulged what you guessed was a great secret to you. What exactly did he expect you to feel that you hadn’t already? The whole afternoon had been a roller coaster that left you thoroughly exhausted; fear, anxiety, awe, disbelief, scepticism and more had all been prevalent in your heart today and you weren’t sure how much more it could take.

“The mate pull,” Demetri said finally, tearing his eyes away from Lyra to look up at you, “My kind, we feel so much more deeply than humans do. Some people appeal to us so much it sets a bond. Fate has a hand to play in this to of course, making a pair so compatible that neither can deny the other was made for them.” You stomach dropped, mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Without thinking your hand whipped up to slap him, your hand almost breaking on impact with his cheek. His head barely moved, though he did blink a bit in shock, something you had yet to see him do despite the time you spent together. The sharp sound woke Lyra up and she let out an abrupt, piercing cry, startled and upset while you hopped up to shake your hand out with a curse.

Demetri looked absolutely flabbergasted, his head turning between you and your daughter as if trying to figure out which one of you to approach first. His hand reached for Lyra, his lips protruding in the perfect pout as he tried to shush her.

“Keep your hands off of her you pervert!” you cried, hurrying forward to scoop her up and taking a few steps back from him. There was no fear anymore, just pure rage. It boiled in your veins and curdled in your stomach, the intense disgust you felt towards him unparalleled by anything else.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! I don’t care what you are or what your world’s rules are but in mine, you keep your ancient ass hands off of my infant daughter!” you warned. Demetri paused, his eyes widening slightly before he recoiled from you with an obvious shudder.

“You think I – no! Gods no tesoro! Your daughter is not – I do not – it was you! I meant you!” he hurried to amend himself as your glare grew more vicious, and the simple confession made your mind fritz. There was nothing for a moment, a blissful few seconds of pure silence in your head, no frantic thoughts or feelings, just pure nothingness as you tried to comprehend what this gorgeous stranger was telling you.

“You…what?”

“I meant you, tesoro. The moment I laid eyes on you I was sure…do you truly not feel it?” Demetri asked, hesitantly stepping closer. You let him this time, swallowing thickly.

“What should I be feeling? Beyond confusion, there’s…there’s a lot of confusion.” You mumbled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. His lips pulled into the slightest smile, but it quickly disappeared when Lyra let out another piercing cry. Neither of you had seen to her yet and you quickly set to work making sure she could see and hear you as you rocked her, patting her bottom as you swayed side to side. As she began to quieten down once more, looking confused and tired and grumpy with you for the long day you had turned out to be having, Demetri very hesitantly moved closer to you both again.

“Perhaps you feel curiosity, a desire to know me better. You may feel something when I am close to you, that tries to keep you near to me. There are many things you might feel, I could not possibly guess all of them as we all react differently to the mate pull, but I know I feel it quite acutely when I look at you.” He confessed freely, his eyes fixed on Lyra’s head. He lifted his hand, pausing to look at you for permission as his fingers neared her head. You glanced between them, finding Lyra looking at him with big eyes, no doubt confused as to why his eyes were a vivid shade of red while yours were a bright Y/E/C. If Demetri had proven anything to you so far it was that he really meant to uphold his oath, he wasn’t going to hurt either of you.

When you nodded, he ever so gently began to stroke her hair like he was touching the most precious and delicate of diamonds. Maybe it was this so-called mate pull, maybe it wasn’t, but your heart almost burst in that moment as you watched him share such a tender moment with Lyra, a moment her own father couldn’t even be bothered with. He looked absolutely enraptured with her, murmuring soft things in Italian you couldn’t hope to understand with the faintest wisp of a smile.

“Would you like to hold her?” you asked. The thought had escaped your mouth before you could fully process it and it made Demetri pause, his expression twisting quickly into concern.

“I better not, I fear I might hurt her.” he frowned. Lyra’s lips smacked, a slight huff escaping her – she clearly didn’t enjoy not holding his attention.

“I think she might hurt you if you don’t. It’s easy, I’ll show you.” You encouraged. Demetri was still shaking his head when you expertly jostled your daughter in one crooked arm and used the other to start moving his.

“Tesoro I think that I shouldn’t-“

“So long as you remember to support her head it’ll be okay, she’s only two months old, the support is key for her right now.” You explained, already handing him Lyra. There was no hesitation there, not anymore, you knew he wouldn’t hurt either of you. Demetri let out a small, panicked huff as he tried to settle his arms somewhat, relax into letting Lyra fit there. She looked thoroughly perplexed for a moment as he did his best to adjust his grip, head turning to you as if to say ‘what’s with this amateur Mom?’ before she lifted a tiny hand to place it against his chest, snuggling down into the cradle of his arm.

“Is this okay?” he asked. You nodded, unable to fight back your smile. He was adorably flustered, something you were surprised the suave vampire could be. All wide-eyed with awe you had to wonder if this was the first time he’d ever held a baby before. He stood still as stone, afraid to jostle her it seemed as they had an intense stare off. Lyra was the first to break it, a wide yawn splitting her face as her blinks grew longer. You watched her fall right asleep in his arms, slowly perching yourself on the edge of his bed to contemplate everything this meant. Demetri was a vampire, something out of your wildest imaginings, maybe a nightmare even. He had been going to feed on your tour group, on . He had been going to feed on your tour group, on you, but some supposed bond between you had made him save your life instead. Now, he held your daughter like she was precious gold in his hands, whispering sweet nothings to her in a language you couldn’t understand with eyes as doting as any father’s should be.

Did he already see himself that way? The thought made you mildly uncomfortable. He had a lot to prove to you before you’d even consider giving him the title of boyfriend, never mind father. It clicked suddenly, the realisation that your heart had already decided and was waiting for your brain too catch up. Demetri had captured your attention in more ways than one and his world sounded…fascinating.

“What if you stop feeling this pull? Are we in danger then?” you asked finally. Demetri seemed to struggle to tear his eyes from Lyra for a moment, but when his eyes met your’s they were flooded with sincerity.

“Vampires mate for life tesoro…even if I wished to fall for another in the midst of an argument perhaps, I physically no longer have the capacity to. It is you and only you who was made for me.” He vowed, moving at a snail’s pace to carefully sit himself beside you.

“We’re a bit of a package deal.” You pointed out. Demetri nodded.

“It was not expected, that I might find my mate with a child, but I confess I find myself in awe of her. Two months, did you say?” he questioned, glancing briefly at you. You nodded.

“Yeah, yeah two months old.”

“So she will not stay this small for much longer?” he sounded almost sad and you giggled slightly.

“Believe me, the sooner she sleeps through the better.” You lifted your hand to gently run a fingertip down her cheek.

“If you stayed I have no need for sleep, I could see to her in the night with some guidance, but I know I cannot ask that of you.” He sighed. You swallowed, the nerves fluttering in your gut. He was already asking you to move in with him? You wanted to see a red flag but you couldn’t. Demetri clearly wanted to look after you both. Why shouldn’t you let him?

“My parents would go mad.” You agreed hesitantly. Demetri chuckled.

“I shall have to win them over then. A child complicates matters, buys us more time to figure out exactly how we might proceed. She is a blessing, tesoro.” He promised you. Your brows pulled low together.

“What does Tesoro mean?” you asked.

“Ah, it means darling…I may have neglected to get your name.” he admitted bashfully. Your eyes widened, mind replaying all the time you’d spent with him that afternoon. He wasn’t wrong, you hadn’t introduced yourself once.

“It’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. That there, is little miss Lyra.” You told him. Demetri sighed.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful pair…her father must be missing her, no?” he was clearly hesitant to ask and you didn’t blame him. You couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to just…walk into someone’s life, knowing they were made for you and find they already had a child that wasn’t yours. Come to think of it could vampires even have children? You had so much to learn…

“He left the minute he found out I was pregnant…you’ve spent more time with her than he ever has.” You informed him, the bitterness in your voice obvious. Demetri looked upset by that but you didn’t question or comment on it. With slow, careful movements, he gently began to rock her. You doubted he would relinquish her to your grasp anytime soon.

“He is a fool…but I’m not.” He whispered. You smiled slightly, a strange warmth filling your gut. Who’d have thought you’d find your very own Prince Charming while touring a castle?

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x reader #female reader #volturi #heidi volturi #newborn #fluff #so much fluff #you could make a build-a-bear factory with it #single mom reader

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readbyred · 3 years

Text

“Pathetic” Ted Spankoffski x Reader

a gender neutral, reverse hurt/comfort fic

warnings: cursing; mild sexual comments; a very tired dyslectic author

Lately, things haven’t been going so well for Ted. Charlotte broke things off for good and it was far from pretty, the atmosphere was crushing to be honest. And so with time he latched onto Paul more and more, using his best friend as a distraction from his own life and failiures. Unfortunately his companion seemed to be a bit distracted and not very eager to spend time, at least less so than usually. Ted pinned the fault on a crush of his, Emma, one of the baristas at a nearby caffee. She was hot and would be great if onyl she didn’t speak, or at least that’s what he told Paul. His friend didn’t seem to agree for some reason. But that’s how it was, in Ted’s opinion. She always got offended for so many small things and tried to make him out to be the bad guy of every confrontation. But it wasn’t Ted’s fault that their uniform shorts were so short and besides one or two comments were just a given considering how good her and her coworkers looked in them. But she always had something to say, a name to call him or even a complaint to make, if her boss was around. But even then it was all fun and games. Until one day it wasn’t.

It all started “innocently” as he considered it. He spotted Paul using the stairs on the opposide side of the building. Some time ago his friend had stopped using the ones by Ted’s office, for one reason or another. And so they made their way together, Ted trying to get some information out of him as to how things with Emma were. Finally after a conversation more painful than pulling teeth Paul announced that he was going to ask Emma out. It was a big step and it surprised Ted but after some teasing he promised not to blow this. So far so good and it wasn’t until they stood in the line, inside the cafe, that it went downhill.

It was meant to be a harmless comment, he knew Emma found them at least a bit funny too, for sure. Nothing bad, he just asked whet else could she do for a tip if she didn’t want to sing. She already looked very annoyed, he never expected her to appreciate his humour and so he nudged Paul saying that he might give her a different tip if she didn’t want his money. That, for reasons unknown to Ted, crossed the line and Emma whipped around to face them frustrated. She turned to Paul to announce that although she liked him around if his friend was going “to come around only to be a gross creep” then they might as well just go to starbucks instead, since she “didn't go to this shitty job to get harassed”

Ted didn’t even get to say that technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong because Paul who was now done with awkwardly apologizing to his very pissed off crush, dragged him out of the Beanies, furious. They didn’t talk and to be honest Ted started to feel a bit anxious inside, like a child feels when they tip off their parent in public and know what will await them home.

But that was just how he was! A sleazeball, a jerk, a horny bastard at best. He didn’t want to accept that same persona that was now basically his whole self could have gotten him in trouble with his best friend. And he was never a fan of feeling guilty in general so as soon as he realised that Paul wasn’t going to address it he turned to the first person that asked what happened.

It was Bill who questioned the situation first and although he asked Paul what was up the younger man seemed not to be in the mood to talk and so there was Ted, ready to offer his, very objective, point of view. Leaning on the wall of Bill’s cubicle he announced, trying to sound like he didn't care that he obviously did something bad.

“His grumpy barista got pissed for no reason” chuckling nervously he exclaimed glancing over at Paul working on his computer and ignoring him “it’s not my fault she’s so stiff, alright? And there are many more girls than her, it’s her loss, ey?”

No response. Bill seemed to glance at Paul pitifully.

“Oh, come on! You can do better anyways! And as your best friend I-”

“Can you shut up?” Paul didn’t raise his voice but he as well might have, the tone he was using was way worse. He fully turned to face his older coworker, and for a very long time in a while Ted was, in fact quiet. As he spoke however he became more visibly frustrated “Can you finally stop following me around when I don’t want to be followed, trying to insert yourself into EVERY conversation i have and ruining everything with your gross comments? Why can’t you take the hint? We are not friends, you- you’re just this guy, a guy from work that’s just there when no one wants him to and is just too... pathetic for anyone to directly tell him that''

Ted’s face went blank as Paul let out his years worth of frustrations.

Ted often heard those words. “Pathetic” yes, he was familiar with the term more than anyone. It was alongside such titles as “annoying” “sad” “lonely” “disposable” “a nobody” something he heard often. Sometimes from Sylvia who worked on the top floor and had no real fun qualities besides looking hot (in his opinion). Other times from Emma who would be a decent friend if she wasn't so annoyingly ‘horny for Paul’.

Most of the time he said them himself though. It was normal, you know. A truth he accepted without any brooding except for those lonely nights in his apartment where he drank and let his emotions out. But it hurt no less to hear such remarks be thrown at him from someone like Paul. Someone who, despite his flaws seemed to be genuinely liked by people around him and wanted around. But if Paul wasn't his friend did he have anyone else at all? Not only in his job but in general. After all he didn’t have much besides his work life.

In his youth he was a nerdy little kid that quickly bloomed into a bitter, insecure adult, no magical glow up or ‘it gets better after high school” crap. When he got this job sometime after college, still a mess after that happened a few autumns earlier, he thought he found his place.

Even if he never felt very wanted he liked it here a lot. Only now had he realized he might have been the only one to see it as such. Was he just as sad as everyone apparently saw him as?

That moment made him way too conscious of his own existence and choices, it was no longer a matter of convincing himself that it's all in his head now that the truth was out and clear, the words hanging in the heavy air seemingly for the whole world to see.

And to be fair he had no arguments against the claim, because how sad that was to consider his coworkers, coworkers that apparently hated his guts, the closest people he had?

Because sure, Bill was stiff and boring but there was a certain dose of fun in their usual banter. Sylvia always knew all the gossip from the office and wasn’t all that bad at times. Melissa was always fun to hang around and even brought him lunch on a few ocassions. Even the intern that joined merely two months before, (Y/n), was someone he accepted as a friend. Not to mention Paul and Charlotte, two of the closest people he had, both of which didn’t want him around. And from what Paul said no one else did either. He had no reason not to believe it.

It took him only a few seconds to get it together when Paul finished.Ted always had a habit of getting very obviously defensive when his ego was hurt.

“Okay, whatever!” he shrugged angrily “Well, it’s not your problem then! I know when I’m not wanted”

He made his way to his office, away from Paul and Bill and all those people who he considered to be his friends.

The whole day was a bit messy, ever since (Y/n)’s foot stepped into the office they were sent on endless errands by their superior, Mr Davidson. Whatever happened up above in the chain it created one hell of a mess in the documents and so (Y/n) along with Melissa were the busiest they’ve been in a while.

Hence when they finally found time to get some well deserved coffee most of their friends were on their way back to CCRP.

That led to a lot of confusion when after stepping onto their floor they were met with an unusually tense atmosphere. They must have missed something important, they thought.

It wasn’t a long time ago when they joined the team and they never felt like the new person they were and all the efforts at staying purely professional faded with first friendships. And as much as they tried to,they became fond of their coworkers quickly. And so the current mood around them concerned (Y/n).

This wasn’t snooping around, they told themselves approaching Bill to ask what was up. He was a nice man, older than them and equally unskilled in the tech field but overall a very sweet man. If there was something to be concerned about he’d tell them for sure.

The day was almost over, one hour was left until Ted could go home and drink himself to sleep. But for now he just sat in his chair, staring blankly on the screen of his computer displaying a familiar black and orange webpage he was unusually uninterested in, mindlessly squishing his old and used up stress ball. The busiest hours were over and all files seemed to finally be back in place and safe and so he didn’t have much more to keep himself busy with.

He was angry, upset and hurt. Already keeping so many negative emotions inside, those new ones threatened to spill over the edges of the walls he built over the years but so far he managed to keep it together as much as he could.

And that’s when someone knocked on his door.

“What?” he sounded just like he felt, his own voice betraying him greatly. The person on the other side must’ve taken it as an invitation because soon they revealed themselves to be (Y/n). It wasn’t the last person he wanted to see, sure, but it was only because he didn’t want to see any of them equally. Maybe Paul a bit more than the rest “What do you want?”

“I heard what happened and-” they began, watching him carefully. Ted felt even more miserable under their gaze, truly pathetic and judged with his emotions on display. But there was no more space left for him to push them further down and ignore.

“Great, you came here to tell me how much you hate me too, or what?” he scoffed giving them a bitter look “Because I ‘acted like an asshole’?”

“You did from what I know” they responded. It wasn’t something he didn’t expected to hear but he felt even worse hearing it come from (Y/n). They were someone he had his eyes on for some time but never got to try anything. First, because he was with Charlotte and, as much of a jerk as he considered himself to be, he would never forgive himself for being just like Sam. Later when she ended things it was just too painful to jump back into ‘his game’ as he called it. As he always believed, he wasn’t able to fall in love. He did so once in college and never again. It was easier to believe than to face his fear of rejection and not being enough again. Sure, he didn’t exactly love (Y/n) and even if he could do it at all he probably wouldn't, knowing them for two or three months tops. Those sorts of feelings though, weren’t distant at all and their arrival was, at this point, almost inevitable. And so to hear them stand against him, even if rightfully so, hit him in a way he never anticipated. Hence his confused expression when they added “But I came here to check on you, you’ve been locked in here awfully long...”

“I was busy” he barked back quickly returning to his defensive tone. They sometimes asked him things like this one for no apparent reason as to why would they want to know that. He never fully gave in, only sometimes in passing throwing one or two passive-aggressive remarks referring to his situation with Charlotte and such.

“Bullshit” they raised their eyebrows looking down at him. If it wasn’t for the fact he felt anything but up for joking he’d point out how unusual it was to hear them curse. Unamused they added, awaiting his response “Your screen reflects on the glass behind you. So?”

“’So’ you can leave” with Paul’s words still vividly playing in his head he avoided their gaze. The possibility that they thought of him so lowly seeming very overbearing and terrible all of a sudden “I’m fine, alright? So what else you came here for”

“You know acting like this never worked on me, right?” they took the seat opposite to him, still acting very unbothered by his aggressive demeanour, maybe a bit impatient.

“And why do you even want to know that, huh? I mean really, (Y/n), I know you’re new around here but you really don’t have to kiss ass to-”

“Get over yourself, will you? If you’d like to know I was worried” their frown was gone almost as soon as it appeared as they went one, seemingly letting their words fall from their mouth freely “And yeah! You cross many lines, I’m not surprised Emma was mad, whatever you said to her. But you’re still someone I care about, as a person. And you’re not that bad most of the time, you know?”

“If you really want to have a place to stay over the weekend it wouldn’t hurt to ask more nicely, you know” Ted jumped between acts and masks, desperate to find one strong enough to hide whatever that was that made his expression soften.

“Look, I came here on my own but if you want things to go back to how they were you’ll really need to drop the act” they sighed, gaining a bit more of a serious tone.

“And you tell me that? It was Paul who decided to call me a lonely pathetic asshole” Ted knew well only one of those things actually came from Paul but if there was even the smallest possibility to have someone disagree with what he and others thought of him he’d gladly take it, even if it wouldn’t be honest. But what was more pathetic than fishing for a surely insincere ‘oh no, you’re not!’?

“And he regretted it right after, I spoke to him, really. I’m not going to try to make you shake each other’s hands and apologize, you can do that on your own if you want to. I’m just saying you both screwed up, there isn’t one person to blame”

“Okay, (Y/n)” he sighed “That’s cool of you to try and be moral like that but I don’t need to talk or make up with anyone so you either want to cheer me up my way or you can get back to work”

He let his eyes travel up and down their body freely, assured by their earlier statements and a bit relieved that they didn’t share Paul’s opinion. He looked back up when they stood up, torning to the door. Just before he could mentally curse himself out for ruining it they stopped.

“Tell you what, it’s Friday. I’ll make something up to get out of softball practice and we can go grab a drink” they said grabbing the doorknob “That’s the closest I’ll get to doing it ‘your way’. What do you say?”

“Wait really?” it was rare to see him truly surprised like that but it was the last thing he was expecting to come from them.

“Yeah, I can show you a cool place” they smiled walking out and turning back for the last time “come by my desk in an hour and we’ll be good to go”

The door closed leaving him alone again in a much brighter office.

Ted felt a small smile form on his face, a geniuine one too. Things were awful and he didn’t even want to think about how (Y/n) made him feel or how awkward things were going to be in the office from now on. But even if nothing was alright yet, it seemed that he was getting a bit closer to ‘okay’ and that was more than enough.

tag list:

@stopgettingonmynerves

@joeycupcakerichter

#tgwdlm #tgwdlm x reader #ted spankoffski x reader #tgwdlm ted x reader #i need sleep #tgwdlm ted #x reader

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destiniesfic · 3 years

Photo

132 Hours, Chapter 2:

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Read chapter 2 on AO3 or read below:

This is the shape of my nightmares:

My sister Taryn and I are thirteen years old, sick and miserable. We’ve just endured our first heats and stayed home from school for a week with doctor permission. Even now, we feel residual awfulness: headaches and sore muscles. Heats are painful when there’s no one to help you through them, and obviously we’re too young to mate. We sheltered in our rooms, and our adoptive father briefly hired an omega nurse to tend to our high temperatures and help us wrap up in blankets, so at least we felt safe and cocooned.

Everybody knows why we missed school, and they whisper about it behind our backs. Even before we presented, our designation was obvious. The rest of our class—the rest of the school—is alpha kids, and the ones in our year have all started growing out of their baby fat, shooting up like wheat stalks. Taryn and I are only barely taller than we were last year, our cheeks are still soft, and we are gaining weight in our hips and chests. Everything about this is awful. Nothing is fun.

We are outside for gym class. The alpha kids, growing into their bodies, have a lot of extra energy, so they need to spend time circling the track or tackling each other in games of capture the flag. Taryn and I will join them until we get tired, but if we show signs of flagging, we’re benched. Omegas aren’t as sturdy. Omegas break.

Today, the teacher is more generous. During our game of capture the flag, she simply mandates we play defense, guarding the precious flag, and abstain from running around with our classmates. It’s boring, but fine. We get to talk to each other while the alphas tussle among themselves upfield.

Except a few of them are “on defense” today too—the alpha elites, too lazy or too important for gym, who can slack off. As the only two omegas on school grounds who aren’t staff, Taryn and I are categorically beneath their notice, but we know every member of the clique by name: Locke, the son of a wealthy consultant who’s never home, always traveling; Nicasia, whose mom is a senator; Valerian—nobody knows what his family does so we all kind of assume it’s crime; Cardan, the youngest of six heirs to the most absurd family fortune this side of the Rockies.

Already, they are taller than us, stronger than us, looking unfairly sculpted in the autumn sun. Already I am aware of how we are different.

Then the wind blows past me, picking up my hair. And the scene changes.

The first thing I notice when Cardan unexpectedly strides toward me is that he smells amazing. He smells so incredible that I goggle at him for a second, baffled by how I somehow didn’t notice this about him before. I feel a clenching in my stomach and the urge to do something, although at the time I don’t know what. And then, while I am paralyzed by his scent, he gives me a hard shove for no reason, knocking me off-balance.

I land on my backside, an embarrassing but safe place to land, padded with muscle and fat. Our adoptive father always taught us that it’s better to land there than anywhere else, better to suffer a little humiliation than to crack your skull open or shatter your ankle or wrist. It still smarts, but at least the only thing bruised is my pride.

Then Valerian throws his head back and laughs. “That’s where she belongs,” he crows. “On her back, like a good little omega.”

Nicasia thinks that’s hilarious. Locke raises his eyebrows, blinking at us with large, tawny eyes. And Cardan, the instigator. Cardan just sneers.

That sneer has haunted me. I’ve seen it countless times since then. He starts holding his nose when he passes me in the hallway. Whenever I get complacent, he makes sure to whisper in my ear that I reek. He and his friends seem to find it more fun to bully the alphas smaller or weaker than them—omegas already know their place, after all—but that does not protect us when they’re bored, or when said alphas further down the food chain need to take out their own aggressions.

I think they thought it would break me.

They couldn’t know it would do the opposite.

---

“Jude?”

I open my eyes to a darkened room, and groan. I feel vaguely like I’ve been run over by a truck, then the truck stopped and someone picked me up and threw me in the back of it, and we proceeded to drive down a very bumpy road. In other words: like shit. My head throbs, and when I try to sit up, the world spins and I flop back over.

“What happened?” I mutter. Everything is greyish and blurry. Dim light seems to be filtering in from somewhere above my head and to the left, but there isn’t very much of it. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes and squint at it until I stop seeing double.

There’s a relieved sigh from somewhere past my hand. A male voice. “You’re okay.”

I make a second attempt at sitting up and am more successful this time. My shoulder scrapes against a wall to my right, so I lean into it. The light source I clocked before is a small window, longer than it is wide, set high up above me. And on the other side of the room, sitting across from me, sits the dark shape of a boy, or a man, or someone caught eternally in between those two things.

Cardan.

I blink at him. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, you too.” Cardan rubs his eye. He isn’t sneering now. In fact, he looks worse than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is messy—which is nothing new, people are doubtless running their hands through it all the time with how perpetually tousled it seems—but there are circles under his eyes and he looks pale. He’s also bleary-eyed and squinting a little. He doesn’t seem to have any visible injuries, though, although jury’s out on whether that’s good or bad. I’ve often thought he could stand to get pushed around a little more, instead of always being the one to do the pushing.

“I gave you the mattress,” he says, gesturing at what I’m sitting on. “There was only one.”

I look down. I’m indeed sitting on a mattress. There’s no linens, but someone has thrown a slightly scratchy blanket over the lower half of my body. I peer around, dread sinking in as I begin to grasp the severity of our situation. “Oh, fuck.”

“I think it’s ransom,” Cardan volunteers. “I mean, I really can’t think of anything else it would be.”

I hug my arms to my chest and say the thing drilled into every omega’s brain since they’re old enough to wander off from their parents. “What about sex slavery?”

“Yeah, there’s not a huge demand for alpha men on the black market. Although…” He looks down at himself and smirks a little. He’s built like a classical sculpture and he is well aware of this fact. “Can’t blame them if they decided to make an exception.”

It’s impossible to think he’s making a joke about this, not when it’s actually a thing that could happen to me, a possibility that my stepmother Oriana warned us of ever since she married Madoc and inherited his adopted twins. Sex slavers looking to snatch up omega girls became our bogeymen.

But the odds are that Cardan’s right: it’s probably ransom. I imagine people would do and have done worse to get their hands on a fraction of the late Eldred Greenbriar’s billions.

But I say, “Maybe someone finally got tired of you being annoying as shit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Feeling mouthy, are we?”

“Fuck off. This is your fault,” I accuse, wagging a finger at him. “You did this.”

Cardan blinks at me. “What, you think I kidnapped myself?”

“Not literally.” I slump back against the wall. “Although it seems like something you would do. You love attention.”

“Ah, yes. All of the attention I am getting from you in our cozy eight-by-ten cell. I’m just soaking it in.” He pantomimes splashing water on his face. “Great for the skin.”

“You’re in a playful mood.” But of course he’s feeling better than me. He would have needed a larger dose—of the chloroform? ether? they used on us to get us here—but he also would have bounced back quicker. Everything about alpha biology is kind of extra like that.

“I joke a lot when I’m nervous.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I am actually freaking the fuck out.”

“Oh, great.”

“I do have water, though. Thought that might interest you.”

I sit up a little straighter. “God, my head is killing me. Yes.”

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Instead of getting up, which I think for a moment he might, he rolls the half-empty bottle of water across the floor and over to me. It bumps against the edge of the mattress and I have to lean over to grab it, which nearly makes me hurl then and there. The water helps, though. It’s room temp, but even a mouthful makes me feel more like a person.

“It’s not drugged,” Cardan calls. “Surprised you didn’t ask in advance.”

I flip him off. After I’ve drained the last of the bottle, I let myself just breathe, counting backwards from ten in my head. There are many warring emotions vying to tip me over the edge of a panic attack, but I can’t let them. I have to get out of here.

Cardan flicks at a bit of dust on the floor. When I am on three, he interrupts my mindful breathing. “You realize that, technically, we have now swapped saliva?”

“Ew.” I throw the empty water bottle at him and am annoyed when he catches it effortlessly from the air. “Could you be, like, useful for once in your life?”

“Sure.” He leans forward and lowers his voice, like he’s afraid someone might overhear. “There are three of them. One’s a woman, I think the other two are men. The only one I’ve seen is tall and white and barely spoke a word to me. He dropped off the water when I was still groggy.”

That is useful. Dammit. I frown. “Designation?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t get a read on him. I think they might be using maskers for their scents.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I exhale. “Tall” doesn’t have to mean alpha—my sister Vivi, who’s shorter than me, is proof enough of that. But it doesn’t sound good. “Any idea where we are?”

“I don’t think we’ve left Long Island. I don’t know for sure, though. We could be in Jersey for all I know.”

“Right.” I sigh again and rub my temples. “Okay, so ransom. Ransom. You could technically pay the ransom yourself, right? You’re over eighteen—”

“I’m twenty.” When I blink at him, he clarifies, “Repeated sixth grade, remember? And I just had my birthday in July.”

How could I forget? My life wasn’t exactly blissful before he came along, but it definitely got worse when he got bumped down to my year. “Okay, you’re twenty, and your dad died last year. So you’ve got your own money now.”

Cardan raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Real considerate.”

Now is definitely not the time to quibble over manners, but I manage, “Sorry, I guess.”

“Don’t be. He was a dick.” I glare at him, but he ignores me, patting down the pockets of his skinny jeans. “Huh, you know, when they took my phone and my wallet, they must have also taken the special checkbook I keep on me just for hostage situations. Think they’d accept Venmo?”

“Very funny.”

“But the real issue here is that I can’t touch my trust until I turn twenty-one.”

I wish I could say that didn’t interest me, but it does. Sure, Madoc has money. He’s a ruthlessly efficient attorney with killer instincts, and, among other prominent clients, he’s represented Cardan’s dad and both of his older brothers at one point or another. But he’s not among the alpha ultra-rich. Private helicopter rich. Secluded island rich. And I’m nosy enough about how the point one percent of the one percent lives. Anyone would be. So I ask, “Why’s that?”

“Why did my dad do anything?” Cardan folds his hands behind his head. “To make my life difficult, I guess. It was probably to ensure I wouldn’t embarrass myself by buying and crashing seventeen Porsches in a row. Give that frontal lobe time to develop. He’s not here to say. Anyway, Balekin’s the trustee. Maybe there’s some clause about life-threatening emergencies.”

Balekin is Cardan’s oldest brother, but thinking about siblings makes me wonder, with a pang in my chest, about Taryn. What had she done when she and Locke couldn’t find me at the party? Had she panicked? Had she gotten home safe? I don’t want to think about Madoc because he’s probably freaking out in a big way, a side of him I have only seen once before, the last time someone threatened me. It’s more likely that he’ll tear the kidnappers limb from limb than give into anybody’s demands. I hope Balekin has a more level head, although given his reputation for throwing massive parties, I am not counting on it.

“Right,” I say. “So they’ll hit up Balekin for the money?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Honestly? He might have staged this himself to get at the trust, or more likely my stake in the corporation. In some ways, I think it’s better for my family if I disappear.”

It surprises me to hear him say that. “Wouldn’t—that would be a huge scandal, though?”

I don’t say what I think, which is Don’t they love you? But there’s a pretty big age gap between Cardan and his oldest siblings. They could be practically strangers for all I know.

Cardan just shrugs and looks gloomy.

“I don’t think they planned on getting me, too,” I say quietly. There’s only one mattress in the room. One bottle of water on hand for when Cardan woke up. And anyone who thinks they can extort “Mad Dog” Madoc is definitely biting off more than they can chew. But that curdles my stomach, because if Cardan hadn’t chased me down the beach, I probably would have woken up in my lavender canopied bed, safe. Probably with a killer headache from overstimulation, but safe. As safe as I can ever be.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, which doesn’t help me feel any better. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, Balekin better pay up in the next forty-eight hours, or we need to figure out how to get out of here. Otherwise we’re going to have problems.”

“We are?”

I swallow. I hate that I have to spell it out for him. But I keep my voice even, casual. “Unless you’ve got spare heat suppressants on you.”

Cardan looks dumbstruck. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Shit, no. I must have left them in my other jeans with my hostage checkbook.”

I feel myself blush, which is ridiculous. Unregulated heat cycles, messy and inconvenient as they are, are nothing to be ashamed of, as everyone says. Just a quirk of biology. Just the way I am. There’s even a group of pretty radical omega activists out there fighting to destigmatize unregulated cycles, citing the damage that suppressants can wreak on the body. Except my designation is going to be pretty problematic if I’m locked in this room with Cardan for reasons other than societal stigma.

To be honest, it’s already a problem. The room is probably ten feet long, not long enough for us both to lie down across from each other without curling up to avoid touching. I am already hyper-aware of his presence, the nervous drumming of his long fingers, the terrible urge I have to run my fingers through his already messy curls. It’s just chemistry, but if it’s bad now, it’ll be about eighty times worse for both of us if I go into heat.

And if any of our captors are also alphas…

I shake myself all over. I can’t go down that road. I’ll never pull myself back. I’ll just curl up in a little ball and then it’ll be up to Cardan to save us, which, no thank you. “Yeah. So, one way or another we have to get out of here.”

Cardan goes pale. “Jude, I—”

“So we assume nobody’s coming,” I continue. “Use the next twenty-four hours to figure out as much as we can about the people who’ve taken us and where we’re being held, and the next twenty-four to escape. That’s the plan.”

“That’s a reasonable plan,” he says, vaguely startled.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. You were valedictorian, of course you have a plan. Just, uh, my mind went totally blank when you pointed out you’d—”

“We don’t have to talk about it, okay?” I snap. “I assume you want that just as much as I do.” Which is not at all.

The way he pales further tells me I’m not far from wrong. I mean, he’s always made it clear how much he’s hated my scent, the way I look, the fact that I get better grades than him. He hates pretty much everything about me, because I am an omega and he is an alpha, and that means he should be on top of the world and I should know my place.

I massage my temples, trying to clear my head. “No, we’re going to get out of here before that happens.”

For reasons I can’t pretend to understand, that seems to reassure Cardan. He nods and unfolds his arms, letting his head fall back against the wall. His eyes close. “Okay.”

I am surprised that he seems at all willing to trust me, but I suppose he is pretty low on options. That’s his mistake. Already I am thinking of what a relief it will be to leave him behind, even though I know that, morally speaking, I should be formulating an escape plan for the both of us. Besides, abandoning Cardan to his fate wouldn’t really solve any of my problems. But I wouldn’t have to face his sneer anymore, wouldn’t have to wonder what it would take to convince him I have earned my place when the answer is clearly “Nothing, ever.”

“I just have to figure out how,” I mutter under my breath.

Cardan cracks one dark eye open to look at me, but I ignore him, staring up at the little window. There has to be a way to crack this place open like a nut, and if there is, I’ll find it. There is no other option but this, no other way but out.

I refuse to believe otherwise.

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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bangtanlalaland · 4 years

Text

falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now → Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

— Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to follow up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just- Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,” He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue… Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

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twiistedgalaxies · 3 years

Text

Genesis: Chapter 11: The Search

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

“Where were you?” Tomura asked stiffly, knees drawn into his chest and back resting against the metallic back-bars of the bed. He held onto his own legs like a life-line. His steel gaze was on Hisashi, but he knew his eyes were distant. Relentless agony over several days does that to a person.

“I got you your medicine,” Hisashi said awkwardly, depositing the crinkly prescription bag at the foot of the bed.

Tomura was unimpressed, “Where’d you get the money?”

His brother blinked, “I had some stashed away in case of an emergency, with how ill you’ve been I figured now would be the best time to use it,” he scratched the back of his neck in a pale imitation of nervousness, “it took a while to get your prescription filled, sorry.”

A bitter taste flooded Tomura’s mouth. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid, he knew his brother was probably lying to him. Before the incident with Bruce, he would have overlooked it, overjoyed that he’d get some relief from his own body. But after seeing the preeteen’s whimpering, curled form, he knew it had to stop before someone else got hurt. Hisashi looked like a mess, far more than he should have for a simple trip to CVS. His curly white hair stuck up in odd places, soot clung to his left cheek, and a nasty looking cut was crusting on his forehead. Even worse, one of his jacket sleeves was completely missing.

“What happened?” Tomura asked, yawn drawn out of him, chronic illness wearing him thin. It was a lucky thing that most of the kids and staff were preoccupied with class, otherwise he wouldn’t have been the sole witness to his older brother crawling through the church window like a home invader.

“I got mugged,” Hisashi said smoothly, “With how hard it is to get medicine these days, someone probably saw me leaving the pharmacy. I fended them off of course, but they got a few lucky hits in.”

Tomura had seen his sibling fight before. No one ever got in lucky hits. “Why do you keep lying to me?”

The teen had the audacity to look puzzled, tilting his head to the side like a kicked puppy - a strange look on someone so tall and gangly, “I’m not lying to you ‘mura, do you really not trust me? After all I’ve done for you?”

He was too tired and sick for this shit. Tomura laid on his side and pulled the thin, cotton blanket over his head. Footsteps echoed through the room as Hisashi migrated to his own bed and rummaged through his things. He knew he should be grateful, but not knowing what his brother was up to, the terrible things that could be happening under the teen’s veneer of protectiveness, made him ill. At these thoughts, Tomura felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He pulled the blanket tighter around his body.

Hisashi sighed, “At least take the medicine I got for you. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Fine,” Tomura grumbled, poking his head out from under the covers.

“So you can be reasonable!” Hisashi tried to tease as he measured out his brother’s dose. Tomura scowled, feeling his nose scrunch up as if he smelled something rotten.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Hisashi huffed, “I even got you your favorite drink, see?” The teen held out a strawberry Ramune soda. Tomura perked up at that, but quickly reigned himself in. He was still angry at his brother.

The bed creaked as Hisashi sat down at Tomura’s side and passed him the medicine and soda bottle. The preteen stared at the beverage for a moment, before trying, and failing, to open it. Damn EDS, this wasn’t worth another dislocation. Hisashi must have noticed his struggling, because he quickly snatched the bottle from his hands and easily popped the marble inwards. The teen handed him back the drink and ruffled his hair.

Tomura popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with one gulp of his soda, wincing at the carbonation but still savoring the sweet taste. “I didn’t know they had these at CVS,” he said.

“I was surprised to see them too, I guess the pharmacy has gotten a lot more cultured,” Hisashi replied with a quirk of his lips.

They fell into an uneasy silence, Tomura gazed into his bubbly pink drink, not wanting to look at his older brother. His left hand wandered to one of the many raw patches that had bloomed on his skin over the past week. What on Earth had his brother gotten himself involved in?

“Are you mad at me?” Hisashi asked, Tomura didn’t need to look up to see the frown coloring his voice. Yes. He was angry, angry that his brother couldn’t trust him enough to tell him what was going on, angry that he was always kept in the dark, sheltered from what was going happening until it leaped up and punched him in the face. The anger was a simmering, burbling thing, caged in the space between his ribs and diaphragm. His grip on the Ramune tightened, knuckles white.

Tomura swallowed, “Go get changed, you look homeless.”

-@~*^*~@-

The rest of the day was spent with Tomura staring up at the ceiling, and reading the few comics he owned for the dozenth time. He was bored. Hearing Hisashi get berated by the matron for sneaking out didn’t really count for entertainment. Even though he was irritated at his older brother’s deceit, he still didn’t want him to suffer. Belatedly, he realized that because Hisashi had been given intensive cleaning duty for the next week, his brother would spend his own birthday cleaning out the kitchen’s drip pans.

Tomura turned onto his side. The medication helped. A lot. He was still in pain, obviously, and whenever he sat up too quickly he was overwhelmed with dizziness, but it was better than hurting so much he couldn’t think. Or a violent cacophony of color sparking under his eyelids when he was hit with another wave of anguish. Yay chronic pain. The church bells rang, signalling the end of the school day and causing Tomura to wince at the loud noise. It didn’t take long for his peers to flood into the room. His bed creaked as two people sat at his side. He fluttered open his eyelids.

“Hey,” he croaked, greeting two of his friends. He noticed the tense look on their faces and felt his eyebrows knit together. Something was wrong, “Where’s Emrik?”

Finn and Jonah exchanged glances. Finn turned a dull gray-blue, “We don’t know, he’s been missing all day. We tried to ask Mr. Stewart where he was but couldn’t get any answers.”

Jonah harshly gripped Tomura’s bunched up bed sheets, “The matron said he got adopted, but that’s crap. No one wants to adopt us.”

Tomura swallowed, he could see why. Mutants weren’t exactly popular right now. He was surprised that they were even able to talk to Mr. Stewart, he usually avoided the defective like a plague. “I could try to help look for him,” he suggested.

Finn raised an eyebrow, turning yellow with surprise, “Absolutely not, especially with how sick you’ve been the past several days.”

“I’m feeling better today!” Tomura protested, “Hisashi got me some medicine and I can probably at least walk. I have my braces.”

His friends looked at eachother again, having a silent conversation. He really wished they’d stop doing that. “Fine,” Jonah conceded, “But we’re staying with you. If you get hurt your brother is going to kill us.”

Finn shuddered, “Definitely would kill us.”

“When’s the last time you guys saw him?” Tomura asked.

The duo seemed to mull it over for a second, “When we were playing Sorry! last night,” Jonah answered, “I remember whooping his ass at the game.” Tomura felt a pang of jealousy at being excluded but shoved it down, now was not the time.

“I think I saw him when we were heading to bed, he seemed to fall asleep with the rest of us,” Finn said, hand on his chin, eyes pointed upwards.

“So he must have disappeared this morning or last night,” Tomura finished for them, “Hisashi was out late last night, I’ll have to ask him if he saw anything.”

“What was he doing, by the way?” Finn asked, “The matron was ripping him a new one at lunch, I think the people all the way down in Mexico could hear her.”

Tomura rolled his eyes, “Apparently he was out getting me my medicine and got mugged.” Jonah shot him a disbelieving look. In a silent reply he shrugged, making a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. Tomura sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, biting the inside of his cheek as his body screamed in protest, “Just let me get dressed and get my joint braces on and we can head out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jonah replied, “just try not to die on your way to the bathroom. I’ll pin the blame on Finn of course, but-”

“Hey!” Finn yelped, indignant, before lightly smacking his friend on the shoulder. This escalated into playful roughhousing as Tomura got up.

-@~*^*~@-

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon combing the once-church grounds, only resting when they had dinner, and immediately setting out to search again. The sun was setting when Tomura was looking up into the bell tower’s scaffolding, which was cast into a beautiful orange glow.

“This is a terrible idea,” Finn said, nervously hugging his arms to his chest.They were on the second floor, which housed the staff. It was normally barred to the orphans, and almost every room was locked. Tomura was surprised they were able to get up the stairs in the first place.

“Shut up Finn,” snarked Jonah.

“What if the matron catches us? Or worse-”

Tomura scanned the scaffolding, he felt a smile on his face, “I think I know how to get up there.”

“You mean how I’ll get there,” Jonah replied.

Tomura ignored him and moved a potted plant off of a table that had been pushed against the wall. He reached up for the first part of the scaffolding, testing to see if it would hold his weight. It probably would. Probably.

“We don’t even know if he’s up there!” Finn protested, face pinched with worry.

“Well,” Tomura started, “I don’t think he’s up there either, but maybe going up somewhere high will help us see something we wouldn’t from the ground. I saw it in a comic book once.”

Jonah rolled his eyes, “Just try not to hit the bells, we don’t need all of LA coming down on our heads,” he paused, “Besides, I want to go up after you.”

“You’re both being stupid,” Finn hissed, reddening as he did so, “What if you fall?”

Tomura shrugged, “It’s not that high up.” Finn looked like he wanted to scream.

He began to climb up the bleach-white scaffolding, pausing whenever it gave a dangerous creak. A grunt slipped out of his mouth when he leaned on his arm wrong, sending pain shooting through his body. It nearly caused him to slip, but luckily he was able to regain his balance. Finally, after what felt like ages, he reached the top and propped himself up on the opening, legs dangling out over the slanted roof.

“Wow,” Tomura breathed. It was beautiful. The rolling, golden hills of Los Angeles gleamed with the light of dusk. Distant car lights filled the main roads, making them look like gleaming candy canes. The various graffitied factories that filled their little industrial district bellowed black fog from their smokestacks that wrapped and joined together in the sky. The golden hour cast everything in shades of pinks, yellow, and red, and he found himself unable to take it all in, even though their neighborhood was far from photogenic.

So absorbed was he in the view that he nearly fell off of the ledge when Jonah called up to him, “Do you see anything up there ‘mura?”

Oh, right. He was supposed to be looking for clues. His dark eyes scanned the area around the orphanage grounds. Tomura frowned. “I don’t see anything weird!” he called.

“Well then let me-”

“Actually,” He said, cutting Jonah off, “I think I see a cleaning company van parked on the side of the road, you think Matron Abra is finally cleaning this place up? I’ve started naming the cockroaches that live in our room.”

“Ew,” Finn blanched.

“That doesn’t help us find Emrik,” Jonah huffed, “Now climb down from there, I want to see.”

Tomura made his way down, feeling his stomach drop when he saw just how far up he climbed. Oops. No wonder Finn was so worried. His feet landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. Wordlessly, Jonah began to climb up the scaffolding, taking a slightly different route than he did.

“What was it like up there?” Finn asked, his voice a low whisper.

“It was nice,” Tomura replied, “Are you sure you don’t want to go up there next?”

Finn shook his head, “I’ll leave the climbing to you guys, I’ve never liked heights.”

“Yeah, I don’t see anything,” Jonah called down to them, “I thought you were just blind but I guess this is a dead end.”

“Where do you think Emrik could have gone?” Tomura whispered to Finn.

“I don’t know,” the boy replied, “Maybe he really did get adopted.”

Jonah climbed down to the floor besides them, “No idea, but if he did get adopted I doubt they were doing it for good reasons. Maybe it was the man the Matron has us see sometimes?”

Tomura tilted his head, giving the reptilian a quizzical look, “What man?”

Finn blinked with surprise, “You guys don’t see him too? Must be a mutant thing.”

Jonah gave him the side eye, “Anyways, whenever we’ve been acting up too much the matron has us see some man in a lab coat for a check up and to run some weird tests. It’s nothing really crazy, just uncomfortable.-”

The boys froze as the stairs creaked behind them. Jonah quietly swore.

“Run?” Finn whispered.

“Run.” Jonah agreed.

The trio fled down the hall and shoved themselves into a dark janitor’s closet. It smelled terrible, like excrement mingled with barely used cleaner. Jonah and Finn quietly bickered and Tomura shushed them as footsteps tapped down the hallway towards the preteens. Panic seized his throat as he remembered the potted plant abandoned on the hall floor. A click of porcelain on wood.

“Well that’s odd,” he heard the matron murmur. “Is anyone there?” she called.

Tomura tightly gripped one of his friends’ hands. They were clammy with sweat. The floorboards creaked as she paced up and down the hall, doors clicking and groaning as she looked in various rooms. Silently, he prayed that she wouldn’t check the closet, that she would just pass them by. She stopped in front of the door, heeled shoes casting shadows through the sliver of light underneath it. His heart dropped in his stomach as the doorbell slowly turned. This is it, he thought, this is the moment we’re completely screwed.

The church bells rang, signalling curfew. The matron walked away from the janitor’s closet and went down the stairs, probably to corral the other orphans. Tomura let out a sigh of relief.

“I told you so,” Finn muttered, though it came out as more of a whimper. Jonah thwacked him upside the head, causing him to squeak with surprise.

A/N:

Unfortunately, it looks like Tumblr’s new post editor (that’s currently in Beta) might have a character limit added to text posts. Hopefully that’s not carried over onto the final release, but if it is chapters posted on here will just be AO3 links. Until then, I’ll just do what I’ve been doing! I almost didn't put a chapter out today, but I managed to get everything finished in the knick of time, thankfully. I might (?) take a week long break because school is burning me out, but it depends on how I'm feeling. Zoom University is exhausting, lmao. As always, feedback is appreciated!

AO3

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hookedonapirate · 4 years

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Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

Posting this a day early because it's my day off. I have the next chapter done, and in the meantime, I'll be working on The Princess and Her Sultan for those who have been patiently waiting and because I miss writing for that universe.

I have to warn you, this chapter is a bit absurd lol, but it's fun, I promise. And the end of the chapter will give you a hint for what's to come in the next chapter.

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available on: AO3 I FF.N

Chapter 6

Hans forces a tight smile on his face and hesitantly shakes Killian’s hand, obviously embarrassed he’d invited her to his hotel room. His features contort in pain as if Killian is gripping his hand a little too tightly.

Killian loosens his grip, apology flickering over his face. “Sorry, mate, sometimes I forget my own strength. I once tapped a bloke in the nose and broke several of his nasal bones.”

Unmistakable fear shows in Hans’ eyes and he quickly rips his hand from Killian’s tight clutch and spins around on his stool, returning to his drink and chugs it down.

Emma is still recovering from the initial shock of Killian coming over to… what, rescue her? Or stake his claim even though she’s not his to claim? She’s not entirely sure, but she plays along, flashing a sarcastic smile. “These heels are killing my feet. I had to sit down.”

Killian moves behind her and places both hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently as he sweetly kisses her temple. Her entire skin warms from his touch. “Well, how about I give you a good foot rub when we get home, hmm?” he murmurs in her ear loud enough for Hans to hear as Killian kneads his fingers into her shoulders.

Emma has to swallow the moan rising in her throat as his decadent, silky voice penetrates her ear and his firm hands give her a momentary dose of heaven.

Holy fuck.

He’s not even doing anything to her, and she’s completely turned on. She’s not imagining his hands on her achy feet, giving her a good, thorough rubdown. Certainly not. “Mmmm, that sounds amazing, babe.”

He grins against her earlobe, causing a shiver to skate down her spine. When he removes his hands from her shoulders and extends one to her, she feels the loss of his warmth. “Until then, are your feet rested enough to dance?”

Emma slips her hand in his, interlaces their fingers and stands up, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way.”

She looks over at Hans to catch his reaction as they walk past him, holding hands. Even from behind, she can tell he’s sulking.

When she realizes Killian is actually leading her to the dance floor, panic rises in her chest, and she tugs on his hand to stop him. “Wait, are we actually dancing?”

Killian turns his head around to look past her and nods. “Aye, love. Hans still has his eyes on us.” His jaw twitches as he shoots daggers at him. “Or rather, his eyes are still on you. So it’s best we keep up the ruse.” He moves again, pulling her through the crowd.

“But I don’t know how to dance,” she confesses, slightly ashamed. Her cousins took dance classes when they were younger and loved dancing but Emma mostly stuck to her books and simply listened to music rather than danced to it.

When they reach an appropriate spot on the dance floor, Killian stops and pulls her to him, placing her free hand on his shoulder and his open palm on her back. “There’s only one rule, love.” His eyes lift from their joined hands, and a breath escapes her when his face is only inches away, those baby blues boring into hers. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma’s heart flutters as their bodies are pressed closely together. A hint of a smile curves her lips as she follows his lead, and soon they’re moving with the rhythm of the music like they’re at a fancy royal ball. But somehow she manages to replace her smile with a small scowl. “I didn’t need a dashing rescue, you know. I can take care of myself.”

He smirks knowingly. “I don’t doubt that, love, but I was saving you from getting scolded by the bride for causing a scene at her wedding.”

Emma wrinkles her brows in confusion. “Causing a scene? What scene?”

“Oh, come on, Emma, you were about two seconds away from giving that bloke a bloody nose.”

“I was not,” she argues defensively.

He lifts both brows. “Oh really? Because it sounded like he was inviting you back to his hotel room. If I were you, I would’ve kicked him in the bollocks.”

“With the way you were staring at him and had that death grip on his hand, I’m surprised you didn’t. Talk about causing a scene,” she scoffs. “By the way, a nose only has two bones, not several.”

“I know that, but judging by the scared shitless look on his face, he either didn’t know or didn't care,” Killian chuckles.

She tilts her head slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “You weren’t jealous of him, were you?”

He almost laughs. “Jealous of that wanker? In order to be jealous, I’d have to be threatened by him. But he’s not capable of snagging someone of your caliber.”

Emma’s eyes widen in bemusement. “Someone of my caliber? And what caliber might that be?”

“I told you, love, you’re the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever met.” He leans closer to whisper in her ear. “And you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Her face flushes as she cocks a brow. “So you’re saying you are capable?”

Blush paints his cheeks, his lips giving into a smirk. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

She doesn’t comment, and instead just stares into his eyes, which she’s beginning to think is a monumental mistake because she soon gets lost in those forget-me-not blues. Everything else around them disappears as they move across the dance floor, and all she can see is this gorgeous man who seems to be just as intrigued by her as she is by him. “Thank you,” she manages in a breathy whisper, her eyes still locked with his.

His pointy ears actually perk up. “What was that? I don’t believe I heard you right because it sounded like you were actually thanking me instead of yelling at me.”

She laughs. “That's because I was. You were right, I was two seconds from either punching Hans in the nose or giving him a swift kick in the balls. So thank you for stepping in... and for saving me from that asshole.”

He chuckles and lifts his hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re very welcome, love.”

The song ends, and the DJ plays something slow, but Emma has to admit she’s not ready to let him go yet. And she can tell he feels the same. It’s written all over his face. Which is confirmed when he releases her hand and wraps both arms around her waist. She curls her hands around the back of his neck and is so close to him, she can feel his heart beating against hers. She has to admit, he is very charming. Any woman would be a fool not to notice. Guilt stabs her when she recalls the mean things she’d said to him earlier, which definitely weren’t true. “I’m sorry for what I said before about a woman having to be either naive or desperate to fall for your charm.”

To that, he pulls back slightly, astounded by her apology. Then his brows furrow. “Did the bartender spike your drink?”

She giggles in his arms. “No, it was just… it was harsh… what I said.”

He smiles warmly. “No need to apologize. I came onto you a little too strongly.”

She scoffs playfully. “A little?”

He blushes, his smile widening. “Okay, a lot too strongly.”

“Not as strongly as Hans,” she points out.

“That’s true. Now there’s a guy you’d have to be either naïve and desperate to date.”

Emma nods in wholehearted agreement.

Killian breaks their trance to look over her shoulder. He smirks and whispers in her ear. “Don’t look now but we have an audience.”

Emma glances behind her, seeing Anna, Elsa and Ingrid staring at them and smiling, obviously enjoying the show; they might as well be watching a rom-com while munching on popcorn from one of those giant movie theater tubs.

“I told you not to look,” he chuckles.

She turns her head to face him again and laughs. “I’m glad we could entertain them.”

“Aye. It’s not even our wedding and yet we seem to be the stars of the show for the moment.”

She nods and stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out how they hadn’t met before. She’s heard about him, and he used to live in the same town as her, but somehow they had never crossed paths.

“What, love?” he inquires, noticing her staring at him thoughtfully.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, you’re just… you’re a mystery to me. I can’t figure you out.”

He cocks a brow, intrigued by her statement. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you act all cocky and smug, yet the way you were dancing with Camila was…”

“Was what?” he asks when she doesn’t finish her sentence.

“It was freaking adorable,” she admits with a smile. “You weren’t trying to impress anyone, you were just being you.”

He shrugs. “I’m good with kids. What about you, love?”

“What about me?”

“You seem so confident in your own skin, yet I look into your eyes and see someone who’s emotionally armored. Like you’re trying to protect yourself from something. Perhaps someone?”

“Oh really? You can see that about me?” she asks with an amused grin.

“You’re somewhat of an open book,” he says with a confident smirk.

“Or maybe you’ve just heard my back story.”

He chuckles. “You caught me.” Killian takes her hands and steps back, spinning her around and dipping her. She loses a breath as she looks up into his eyes. “I’ve heard we’re opposites, but we’re actually not so different, you and I.” He brings her back up and draws her into his arms again.

“Oh? And how’s that?”

“I grew up without parents as well.”

Emma’s heart tightens when his eyes darken with sorrow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “But how does that make us similar?”

“Because we both know far too much what it’s like to be alone.”

She knows he’s not only referring to losing his parents but also his brother. She wants to argue and tell him she’s not alone, but who is she kidding? She lost one of her few friends, and the only guy who’s confessed his affection for her is a psychotic killer. Well, she can’t say he’s the only guy because while Killian hasn’t announced he has a crush on her through an anonymous card, she can see how attracted he is to her. She can see it in his eyes. In fact, she wonders if she laid one on him, would he kiss her back?

Emma’s eyes fall to his lips as she ponders the thought. Her gaze flickers back to his, and she loses a breath when she catches him staring at her lips. She wonders what his mouth tastes like, wonders what it would hurt if she kissed him just once. Her eyes return to his mouth and she leans in, aching to feel those pretty lips pressed against hers.

A drum roll draws their attention to the center of the room, and they separate, looking to see what’s going on. They were so lost in their own little world and forgot they were at a wedding.

Anna prepares to toss her bouquet to a group of eager bachelorettes who shout and jostle for the best position to catch it. Emma wants no part in the bouquet toss, but Elsa seems to disagree when she grabs Emma’s hand and pulls her toward the group.

“Come on, Em, you’re single too!”

When Elsa releases her hand, Emma slinks to the back of the group and can’t wait for this to be over with. She looks over at Killian who’s gazing back at her longingly, and she can’t believe she almost kissed him. Well, she can—he’s fucking gorgeous—but at her cousin’s wedding? In front of all the guests? What was she thinking?

Anna tosses the bouquet behind her, and all the bachelorettes—except for Emma—spring for it. But Anna's throw is much stronger than expected and the bouquet goes far above their heads, aiming directly at Emma, and ends up in her hands after she instinctively catches it.

Damn it.

Emma holds it up, forcing a smile as the other ladies scream in excitement. She glances at Killian, who is laughing with Kristoff and drinking a glass of what she assumes is rum based on the color and what he'd ordered prior. Her eyes move to Anna who squeezes her into a hug.

Next, a chair is placed in the center of the room and the single men are called to gather around as Anna sits down, grinning from ear to ear. Emma stands off to the side, her eyes dancing between Killian and the newlyweds. Suddenly she’s nervous again, her heart pounding erratically against her breastbone, and she forces herself to look away from him to give her attention to the bride and groom.

Kristoff gets on all fours and pushes back Anna's skirt, his hand moving up her leg before his head disappears under her dress. Anna is squealing and blushing profusely, the crowd erupting with giggles and chants of encouragement. In a quick motion, Kristoff is out from under her skirts, his teeth pulling the frilly white garter down her leg and over her heel. When he stands up, he slingshots the garter over his shoulder toward the bachelors, and while the men aren’t as enthusiastic as the ladies were, Hans springs for it.

But when he misses it and falls to the floor, the man behind him—who of course happens to be Killian—lifts the garter into the air, grinning like an idiot as everyone cheers. His eyes find Emma’s through the crowd and he tosses her a wink as he twirls the garter belt around his finger. She responds with an eye roll and smiles at him, her cheeks warming with blush.

The next thing she knows, Emma is being prompted to sit on the chair as she holds onto the bouquet, and Killian still has that stupid grin on his face as he makes his way to her, holding up the garter belt. Emma bites her bottom lip, anticipation coiled in her gut.

The DJ plays Pour Some Sugar On Me as Killian circles around her like an animal circling its prey, eagerly awaiting its meal. When he’s behind her, he bends over to whisper in her ear. “I have to warn you, love, I’m a biter, too.”

Emma gulps, quite certain she knows his meaning.

Killian appears in front of her, and as he kneels on the floor, she extends her right foot to him, her heart suddenly pounding in her ear. She’s relieved when he uses his hands to pull it over her stiletto, and her skin tingles when she feels his fingertips on her ankle. Then he steals the air from her lungs when he gets on all fours, takes the lace of the garter between his teeth and starts dragging it up her leg with his mouth. Emma’s cheeks are on fire so she briefly buries her face in her hands, laughing in embarrassment as everyone whistles and screams and snaps photos. But the sounds and flashing lights are quickly drowned out because the man who’s moving up her leg with his lips and warm breath brushing her skin demands all of her attention.

Fuck.

She clenches her thighs together, trying not to envision his face in her lap for other reasons. He gets the garter belt past her knee, but then it gets snagged by her dress. So, with both hands, he pushes up the offending material and moves his face to the side of her outer thigh for a better angle, his hand brushing her other leg as he brings it back to the floor to use only his mouth again. She can’t imagine what this might look like to the guests. Well, she can, and she hopes the young ones aren’t watching. She can’t seem to take her eyes off Killian’s to check though.

The garter gets caught again, so he lifts her dress once more using his hands. His face inches closer to where she is definitely imagining him to be right now and with one final drag, he gets the garter where he wants it—mid-thigh—and backs away, taking all of his warmth and intoxicating scent with him. All the men are cheering for him, and he grins and blushes, his eyes locked with hers.

~*~

Killian hadn't meant to take it that far. When he caught the garter belt, he hadn’t planned on using his teeth—he was certainly envisioning it—but he knew it was definitely too much. If he weren’t working on the case and if she weren’t a suspect, and they were just two guests at the wedding, he would still be intrigued by her. He would still be attracted to her. And yes, then he wouldn’t have thought twice about using his teeth. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. But when she sat in the chair, biting her bottom lip, her eyes glinting with anticipation as she gazed over at him, he almost lost himself and consequently threw all rational thinking out the window.

When he’d whispered in her ear, he’d seen her flush and heard her gasp. When he’d knelt down in front of her, he’d witnessed those luminous green eyes sparkle, those pupils dilate as she offered her foot to him. He could feel the heat radiating off of her. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist using his mouth to drag that dainty piece of lace up her leg. Every inch of her was so extremely sexy, even her unpainted toenails were sexy, he had to use all the willpower in him to not touch her. And when he accidentally grazed his hand over her leg after he’d pushed the skirt of her dress out of the way, his heart rate sped up. But somehow he’d managed to place the garter belt around her thigh without completely molesting her.

The first part of his plan had been to crack open her shell, make her feel more comfortable with him, and now he’s afraid he’s screwed that up. And David of course was quick to point that out. While Emma was surrounded by her cousins and other females, probably commenting on Killian’s performance, David was pulling him outside and giving him an earful about how he should’ve let someone else catch the garter belt and how he definitely shouldn’t have used his mouth. David was so furious, Killian was sure he would send him back to Port Lavaca, but Killian assured him his behavior wouldn’t affect the second part of his plan. In fact, it would probably make it even more possible. David muttered a “You better hope so,” before storming back inside, pouting.

Killian downs his fourth glass of apple juice as he gazes across the room, his eyes connecting with hers. She blushes and looks away as she’s chatting with Elsa. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about him if the way they keep glancing over his way is any indication. He would definitely put his money on it.

~*~

“Okay, spill it, Emma. And don’t leave anything out,” Anna encourages with a big, toothy grin, her eyes glinting with intrigue.

Emma's eyebrows furrow. “Spill what?”

“Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looks across the room, and Emma follows her gaze, seeing Killian on the other end of it as he's drinking another glass of rum.

“You mean, Killian? What about him?”

Anna sighs dramatically and looks like she's about to burst.

“Is it true, you two are a couple?”

That question was from Elsa, who's just as eager as her sister to expunge the juicy details. Well, maybe not quite as eager, but still very interested.

“No, of course not,” Emma answers, her eyes wide with shock. “We just met.”

Anna’s eyebrows are knitted in confusion. “But my husband said Killian was your boyfriend.” Anna blushes and giggles. “Oh my God, it feels good to finally be able to call him that! My husband, I mean,” she clarifies, as though they didn’t already know who she meant. “But back to Killian, why did Hans yell at my husband for not telling him you were already taken?”

Emma frowns at the mention of that creep. “Oh that. Killian told him he was my boyfriend because he saw Hans making me uncomfortable. He was trying to save me from punching Hans in the face and ruining your wedding.”

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet,” both cousins gush.

“By the way, who invited Hans?” Emma demands sharply. “He invited me to his hotel room, and before that, I made it very clear I didn't even want to engage in conversation with him.”

Anna’s eyes go wild. “He did what?!” she gasps. “Oh no, that is not okay. I told Kristoff we never should have invited him.” Fueled with anger, she spins around, lifts her skirts from the floor and marches over to Kristoff, who’s chatting with the groomsmen.

“Anna, wait, I don’t want to make a big deal about it,” Emma calls after her, but her auburn-haired cousin ignores her and continues her trek. Emma sighs and turns to look at Elsa who’s always been the calm, rational one of the two sisters. At any rate, she can’t say she’d be sad to see Hans kicked out.

“I’m so sorry about Hans. He’s such a creep,” Elsa comments before sipping her punch.

Emma dismisses Elsa’s words with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” A slow smirk pulls at her lips. “So tell me, what exactly is going on with you and Killian? And don’t you dare say 'nothing'. He just used his mouth to get the garter belt on you when he could’ve easily used his hands. And you were…”

“I was what?” Emma asks, trying to contain the smile threatening her lips.

“You were pretty into it,” she teases, swatting Emma's shoulder.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe he's a little cute, but as I said, we just met. I know nothing about him, except that he’s cocky and a compulsive flirt.”

Elsa nods in agreement. “You’re not wrong about that, he can be cocky but in a charming, boyish sort of way. And yes, he can be a bit of a flirt, but he’s mostly bark and no bite.” She laughs at her own remark. “Okay, well as we all saw, he is a little bit of a biter.”

Emma flushes at the comment and wonders if he’s a biter in the sack because she definitely wouldn’t mind it if he were. Not that she plans on getting him in the sack. Because she definitely doesn't. She snaps her eyes shut briefly, chastising herself for having those thoughts.

“But don’t worry, I won’t badger you about him.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmurs before imbibing her water. She thinks about it for a moment though. Elsa knows Killian pretty well, so this might be an opportunity to find out whether she's wasting her time on him or not. She wants to say she’s not even considering the possibility of dating him, or anyone for that matter, but Elsa can easily squash any or all of Emma’s musings about the man. “So, tell me…” Emma gnaws on her bottom lip, deciding on the right question.

Based on Elsa's knowing smile, she seems to be onto her. “Yes?”

“Is Killian a good guy? I mean honestly? You know I don’t date because I have my trust issues. So am I just wasting my time by lowering my guard around him or—”

“He’s a great guy, Emma. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. I’ve spent some time with him, and we were pretty close before Liam died. He can be a little rough around the edges and hot-headed at times, but he’s honest, has a good heart and can be very sweet. We had a rough patch for a while but now I hope we can be close again. And I know it’s difficult for you to open up, Emma, but you can’t keep people out forever. Besides when is the last time you’ve gone on a date and just had some good old-fashioned fun? You work so damn much, I bet you can’t even remember.”

Guilt rises in Emma’s cheeks, and she nods, considering Elsa’s words. “You’re right. It’s been far too long since I've been with a guy. But he hasn’t even asked me out. How do I know he’s even interested?” She already knows how ridiculous the question sounds when she asks it.

Elsa lifts a brow that says, really, Emma? “With the way he was dancing with you, giving you those doe eyes and the way he put that garter belt on you, do you really need any more proof that he’s completely into you?”

Emma sighs. “But how do I know he doesn't act like that around every woman he meets?”

“He doesn't, only with women he's interested in. And that's rare for him. He caught the garter at mine and Liam’s wedding, but he didn’t use his teeth, and the bachelorette was much more flirty than he is with you. It was more of an obligation for him then,” Elsa ends the statement with a smirk. “But with you, I could tell—hell everyone in the room could tell he was into you.”

Emma laughs, her cheeks flooding with blush. “Okay, okay, I get your point. So... I should just ask him out then?”

Elsa’s face lights up in excitement. “Yes, you should!”

Emma inhales a deep breath, her heart pounding at the possibility of approaching him. She doesn’t really have a plan yet, but maybe it’s better to just wing it. No, on second thought, she has to have a plan. “Women can ask men out, right?”

“Are you kidding? Yes, they can! Go for it, Em,” she chants encouragingly.

Okay, here goes nothing.

Emma turns around and straightens her shoulders, determined to march over to Killian. Instead, she freezes, her eyes widening in surprise when he’s standing in front of her with a drink in his hand. His hair is carelessly disheveled, his eyes are a dull shade of blue and he’s still wearing his jacket, but his tie is hanging loosely around his neck and his dress shirt is halfway unbuttoned, allowing a patch of dark chest hair to poke out. He's obviously been drinking a little too much. But he still looks delicious.

“Hi there, love,” he greets with a smirk, his words slurred. He stumbles forward and Emma grabs onto him and catches a whiff of him. Okay, he’s been drinking way too much.

Her eyes sting from the smell of rum as she helps over to the nearest chair. “Easy tiger, I think you’ve had too much to drink.” As she helps him sit in the chair, she glances at Elsa, her cousin’s features donning a mixture of concern and apology.

“He doesn’t normally drink this much.”

Emma looks around, seeing the kids on the other side of the room playing and running around.

“We should probably get him home. I don’t want Camila or his nephews to see him like this,” Elsa says in a worried tone.

“I’m fine, really.” Killian lazily waves off her words and tries to stand, but almost falls over again before Elsa and Emma catch him.

“I guess I should take him home. Will you watch Camila while I’m gone?” Elsa asks her.

“Why don’t I just take him?” Emma suggests. “You should stay and spend time with your sister before she goes off on her honeymoon.”

“But you don’t have your car with you,” Elsa points out.

“Did he drive here himself?”

“Yeah, he came in his truck.”

“Okay, so I can just drive him home in his vehicle and catch an Uber home. Where’s he staying?”

Elsa shakes her head. “I’m not sure. A motel I think.”

Emma kneels in front of him like she’s speaking to a child. “Where are you staying, Killian?”

“Wherever you want me to stay,” he drawls with a cheeky grin.

Emma rolls her eyes and reaches into the inside of his suit jacket, searching for his wallet.

He smirks. “If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.”

Emma can’t help but blush, his face inches from hers as she grabs his wallet. God, he’s wasted. Rifling through his wallet, she finds a key card from Pinn Road Inn, which is on the other side of town.

She informs Ingrid what’s going on, and after she hugs the newlyweds and wishes them a fantastic honeymoon, she and Elsa help Killian to his truck and buckle him up in the passenger seat. Elsa apologizes profusely as though she’s responsible for her brother-in-law, but Emma waves off her words and hugs her goodbye. She promises to have lunch with her and Anna after the honeymoon and climbs into the truck.

The drive to the motel is mostly silent until Killian suddenly starts cursing like a sailor. She looks over to see him pulling at a thread that's hanging from the cuff of his jacket.

“Don’t pull at it, you’ll ruin the jacket,” Emma warns, returning her eyes to the road. “Just take it back to the haberdashery you got it from.”

“Royal tuxedos, my arse. More like royal crap,” he bleats, reclining in his seat to reach into his pants pocket.

Too late.

Glancing over at him, she sees him using a Stanely knife to cut off the string. Her eyes widen in horror. “Don't do that, you'll—”

Killian’s groaning in pain, his left hand is covered in blood and the blood is dripping all over his suit.

“...cut yourself,” she finishes with a sigh.

A/N: So you probably have a lot of questions about what exactly is up Killian's sleeve, but I promise that will be covered in the next chapter. And yes, I couldn't make either Emma or Killian a doctor without injuring the other one at least once and having some doctor/patient scenes. I promise Killian will be in good hands though :-)

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

#cs ff #captain swan #beyond a reasonable doubt #my fic

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banalbones · 4 years

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The Petite Prince: Chapter 6

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8

Chapter 6: The Prince’s Plan

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan have finally found him, no one is pleased with Patton and Patton just wanted to give Roman some brownies.

Words: 2510

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, arguing, falling, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2

________________________

Patton was glancing around Remus’s room when the ceiling fell in, two figures with it. Two figures who were…

Logan and Virgil?

Logan and Virgil!

And Remus was watching them, a hysterical grin on his face.

And then… a child?

Patton was really confused.

It looked to him, and it’s face crumpled.

It then let out a small “Wha?” and began shrinking rapidly.

Is it regressing? And why did it seem so sad when it saw me? And who is it?

Regardless of who the child- well, now the baby- was, Patton needed to help it! He rushed over to the baby, only to be stopped by an arm barring his way.

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him,” Remus’s voice snarled. The grin had completely faded from his face, leaving only a stormy expression in its place.

All I wanted to do was give Roman brownies. What is happening?

___________________________

Remus grinned madly as the left brain boys fell through the ceiling, screaming their heads off.

Hehe… imagine if their heads actually fell off.

“Why hello there! Enjoy your trip?”

Virgil looked up and whacked Logan on the arm, whispering something to the logical side. Logan’s head whipped towards him, his expression something Remus couldn’t quite place.

“Wha?”

Remus turned his head towards his baby bro, grinning wider.

Then he saw Patton.

The grin faded from his face immediately.

The Duke looked back towards the smol one, and saw him growing smaller.

What?!

It was Patton. It had to be.

Remus moved closer to the even littler prince, before seeing that the moral side was doing the same.

He whipped his arm out, stopping the dad from getting any closer.

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him,” Remus snarled.

Like hell was he going to let the cause of this extra regression go anywhere near his brother.

________________________

Virgil screamed as the floor crashed beneath him, arms flailing madly.

He landed in a heap in the rubble of the floor (ceiling?), with Logan sprawled out beside him. He then spotted a bewildered looking Roman sitting on the floor.

“Why hello there! Enjoy your trip?”

The emo turned his head, looking for the source of the voice, and found Remus. He whacked Logan on the arm.

“Logan,” he hissed, “Remus is here. And so is Roman. He kidnapped him!”

Virgil was aware that that wasn’t the only possible thing that could have happened, but it was the first thing that his (admittedly shook up) mind came up with, and it was the thing he decided to cling to.

At least the bean seemed to be okay.

“Wha?”

Virgil heard the small, adorable voice of the petite prince and once again turned his head to see him regressing.

Wait, regressing?!

What was the cause? Regression only happened when sides were feeling too many bad feelings, or when they were overwhelmed.

Was Roman feeling overwhelmed?

Was he making him feel overwhelmed?!

And then Virgil saw Patton.

Now, Virgil loved Patton, he was like a father figure to the anxious side, and he had always been there when Virgil needed it. But at this moment in time, after hearing all of what had just happened with the dad, snake and prince, his feelings were changing.

And fast.

It was obvious that Patton was the cause of the beans re-regression, and so when he moved towards the small royal, Virgil was ready to jump up and shield the precious child-or baby.

And then the trash gremlin flung out an arm to stop the dad.

Was he… protecting Roman?

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him.”

Maybe Remus wasn’t as bad as he first thought.

______________________

Logan, though he would never admit it, screamed, as he fell through the floor.

Ow.

Wait, where am I? I can’t see. Why do I have to be blind?

The logical side looked around, seeing a few wall shaped blobs, and then a figure in red and white.

Roman?

Maybe the miniature prince could summon him a new pair of glasses.

That would be nice.

Logan was saw caught up in his thoughts of longing for clear eyesight that he missed the voice speaking to him.

Then he was whacked on the arm.

Once again, ow.

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice hissed in his ear, “Remus is here. And so is Roman. He kidnapped him!”

That doesn’t seem entirely probable.

But Logan still looked up and gazed around until catching sight of a green and black blob. It wasn’t moving much.

That really doesn’t seem likely.

“Wha?”

Well, Roman is definitely here.

He looked back to where the red and white blob was, and saw a bright teal one move towards it, only to be stopped by the green and black one.

“Hey!”

Was that Patton?

“Stay away from him.”

Logan decided that something bad was happening, and closed his eyes.

It would be much easier to deal with this if I could see.

Seriously, having less than 20/20 vision was annoying.

_________________________

“Wha?”

Roman wasn’t sure what was happening. There were too many big people! And they were getting bigger!

Roman, in the back of his mind, knew who these people were, but he couldn’t- he just couldn’t! Not now, anyway.

Then the loud noises started.

The big people were shouting at each other, most of them at the blue one.

Roman didn’t know why, but the blue one made him sad.

Sad, sad, sad.

Tears leaked from the miniature princes eyes, his lips wobbling as he held back full on sobs. He didn’t want the big people to shout at him.

But then the shouting got louder, and he couldn’t help himself.

He let out a loud wail.

The shouting stopped almost immediately.

Oh no.

__________________________

Virgil was getting mad.

Both he and Remus were trying to keep Patton away from the bean, but the moral side kept on arguing back.

“You’re the one who’s making him so upset!”

“How? I don’t even know who he is!”

“He was five before he saw you, he was getting better!”

“Well I’m sorry I wanted to give Roman brownies-”

A loud wail sounded throughout the room, and the three realized their mistake.

For in trying to protect the petite prince, they had caused him greater harm.

I made the bean cry.

I…

Holy crap what have I done?!

______________________

Logan heard the cry of the red and white blob and made his way towards it. He was now 93% certain that the blob was Roman, and that he was crying, and that crying wasn’t good.

The other three sides had fallen silent as soon as the wail sounded, so Logan decided that he was the only one who should go near the child.

Logan knelt down next to the small royal and picked him up, causing the cries to stop. The prince was a lot smaller than he remembered. What had happened?

…

A small hand reached up and whacked his face, before tapping the logical side’s nose.

And suddenly, Logan could see!

The familiar weight of his glasses on his nose was surprisingly comforting.

The same small hand from before whacked his face again, prompting him to look down.

What in the name of god…

Why is he a baby?

Logan knew that the younger the age of regression, the more intense the ‘bad’ emotions, but a side growing younger whilst already regressed? That was unheard of.

“What the fuck did you guys do?” Logan asked, at last acknowledging the other sides, “He seems to be fifteen months old. That’s the youngest any side has gotten!”

The nerd looked around, spotting the horror on Virgil’s face, the anger and shock on Remus’s and the guilt on Patton’s.

The idiot list was back and stronger than ever.

Then a quiet “Mama?”

Logan glared at the other sides before turning his attention back to Roman. “Yes?”

The small prince chubby little face broke into a grin.

“Mama!”

Logan normally would have felt overwhelmed at the cuteness in his arms, but he really needed to know what had happened.

“Well?”

Silence.

This would take longer than he thought.

__________________________

“Who… is that Roman?” Patton whispered.

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Yes.”

Patton frowned.

Roman had regressed? That wasn’t good.

That was terrible!

And he was apparently the cause? Even worse!

“I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to protect him! But I hurt him more… what if he hates me now? What if he got so sad because of me that he never grows up again? What if I broke Roman?!”

Virgil was obviously panicking, and was going on a tangent because of it.

Patton wanted to help him so, so much, but he knew that it would probably cause more harm than good.

Swallowing down his words of comfort, the dad turned to Remus, who was being strangely silent.

Roman was obviously affecting the sides in drastic ways.

And he had regressed twice.

Patton didn’t know what to do.

Because he had caused this.

____________________

I did this. I did this to my baby bro. I made him get younger all because I wanted to pull a prank.

Remus walked up to Logan.

“Do you have the crown?”

Logan frowned, before nodding towards a satchel amidst the rubble of the ceiling. Remus walked over to it and took out the piece of crinkled yellow paper.

The little prince had really wanted the crown, so it was time to give it to him, and then go.

Possibly forever.

The Duke placed the paper crown on his literal baby bro’s head, trying to ignore the big green eyes staring at him.

“Br-br-ReeRee?”

Remus gave a watery smile to the smol one, before turning on his heel to leave.

“Don’ go!”

_____________________

Roman was confused.

The big people, two of which he had identified, were all so sad.

He had thought they would be mad at him for making so much noise, like with Big him, but they were just sad.

Determination filled the little prince’s eyes.

Sad=bad.

Mama no sad, so ReeRee and the other two no sad!

And so with this excellent plan in mind, Roman’s mission began.

Just because he felt sad, that didn’t mean other people should too!

_____________________

That’s a really cute mindset!

Yeah…

It’s cute for a child, but not for an adult.

You shouldn’t push assside your own pain to sssstop others.

Oh. I guess that makes sense.

_____________________

Logan looked at the prince in his arms, at the determination in his eyes and smiled softly.

The baby had a plan.

Roman pointed to the floor, most likely wanting to be put down. Logan nodded and obliged, then watched as the tiny prince crawled over to Remus before latching himself onto to his big brothers leg, almost like a koala.

Remus then looked down at the child, who was now pouting and saying “Stay.”

The Duke stared sadly at Roman, before relenting as the prince made puppy dog eyes.

Logan smirked.

Smart kid.

The royal’s face then broke into a wide, happy grin.

“YAY!”

I think the little prince is much smarter than we give him credit for.

________________________

It’s true. I am extremely intelligent.

The child version of you is, don’t misunderstand.

Rude!

________________________

Virgil watched as the little prince grinned up at his brother and felt his heart melt a little.

So. Cute.

But the cuteness didn’t fully eliminate the creeping suspicion that Remus was up to something.

Virgil hated it.

He knew that Remus cared about his brother, he knew he knew this, but being the literal embodiment of anxiety made him think about every possible outcome, almost to a fault.

So the emo took a deep breath, focusing on the bean.

He had to admit, Roman being so clingy with Remus kind of made him jealous, especially with Remus grinning with contentedness. Maybe that was the ‘Dark Side’ overprotectiveness shining through.

Yeah, probably.

_________________________

Roman laughed loudly as he was scooped up and tickled by his brother, who was grinning happily.

Part one of his plan: success!

_________________________

Patton watched the twins (well, the brothers) grinning and laughing and smiled softly.

That’s adorable!

He wished he had a camera, this would look great in the family photo album.

As you can see, Patton often tried to ignore the bad in life in favor of the good.

The moral side then turned to Logan, who was also watching the creative sides.

“Brownie?”

Logan blinked, looking a bit disoriented.

“What?”

“Would you like a brownie?”

Paton smiled brightly.

“Are… are you serious?” Logan looked shocked.

Patton swallowed.

His smile wavered.

“Yeah! I was going to give them to Roman, but since he’s so young now, I don’t want him to damage his teeth. So…” he looked at the logical side questioningly, “Want one?”

_________________________

Logan was slightly annoyed.

A brownie?

A… brownie?!

This was the side who had pressed skip, the side who was one of the main factors of Roman’s regression.

But, Logan reasoned, he knew that Patton hadn’t meant to be a factor, and that he had tried to comfort Roman with his (to the princely side at least) meager ‘We love you.’

With the skip though… Logan knew he was overwhelmed, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

But… Patton was trying.

In truth, Logan didn’t want to forgive Patton, especially not so soon after the whole ‘event’.

But, perhaps the brownie would be good. Eating chocolate has been shown to increase levels of the neurotransmitter serotonin, which helps reduce the stress that leads to anxiety, which would definitely be helpful for him and the other sides in this situation.

Logan sighed but accepted.

“Sure.”

________________________

Remus‘s insides were screaming with joy. His baby bro wanted him to stay!

The little crown on the prince’s head sat slightly askew, causing it to cover Roman’s eyes.

Remus pushed the paper coronet away, then ruffled his brother’s dark brown curls.

Despite the moral side being in his room, the smol one’s love washed away most of the bad feelings.

The precious little prince.

________________________

Roman was glad that stage one of his mission had went well, but there were other sad big people too! And sad=bad.

The small royal narrowed his eyes and gazed around the room, before his line of sight landed on a Virgil who was anxiously chewing his thumbnail.

Next target spotted.

And so phase two of his plan began.

_________________________

Virgil saw the little bean staring at him.

Why was he staring at him?

Did he do something wrong?

Had he upset the prince in some way?

Did Roman hate him?!

His worry dissipated as the petite prince’s grin widened and he tugged at Remus’s sleeve, pointing at the anxious side.

“VeeVee!”

You know what, battling that dragon was so worth it.

So frickin’ worth it.

_________________________

Logan looked back to the small royal, seeing the adorable transfer of Roman from one side’s arms to the others.

He gave a subtle smile before returning to his conversation with Patton.

Everything was going to be fine.

Hopefully.

_________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

This chapter could alternatively be called ‘he’s baby. Literally.’

Any feedback would be great, so don’t be afraid to give constructive criticism.

Thanks again!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders sides #tss #the petite prince #baby roman #roman sanders #ts roman #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #how do you people think janus should be introduced?#just wondering

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nerianasims · 3 years

Text

Billboard #1s 1977

Under the cut.

Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis, Jr. – “You Don’t Have To Be A Star (To Be In My Show)” -- January 8, 1977

They will be happy with each other as they are, not needing a "star." It sounds literal, like they think most people only want to have relationships with celebrities. It's got some bounce and a beat, but it's very light and not poetic at all. Meh.

Leo Sayer – “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” -- January 15, 1977

Shouty falsetto. It might be disco if it were faster. I am not listening to this whole thing, because it will give me a headache.

Stevie Wonder – “I Wish” -- January 22, 1977

One of the greatest musical intros. It's a funk song about nostalgia, wishing for childhood again, and I normally hate that. But the music is amazing.

Rose Royce – “Car Wash” -- January 29, 1977

This was an intro song for a movie of the same name. I had no idea. I just thought someone decided to sing about working at a car wash randomly. The song is a little bit Motown, a little bit disco. It's fun.

Mary MacGregor – “Torn Between Two Lovers” -- February 5, 1977

It's slow, it's soppy, and it's about how she's cheating on "you" with someone else. She truly loves you, but she's not gonna stop seeing the other guy, whom she loves too. It sounds like she wants to try this whole poly thing she's heard about. But is the guy she's singing to gonna be okay with that? Probably not. Most people aren't. Maybe though. I don't care. For being about a subject that should be heartrending, this song sure is boring.

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – “Blinded By The Light” -- February 19, 1977

This version made it to #1. Bruce Springsteen's original didn't even make it to the charts. This version is really bad -- it sounds like a recitation surrounded by goop, not a song. Bruce Springsteen's version is one of my favorite songs. I am going to sulk now.

Eagles – “New Kid In Town” -- February 26, 1977

Huh, an Eagles hit I've never heard before. This is about fame, how everyone loves you at first, then forgets you when the next big thing comes along. They try to shoehorn some stuff about romance in -- "Will she still love you when you're not around?" -- but it doesn't really flow. Also the song sounds like it should be playing in the background of a cabana. Fittingly for a song worried people will forget them, I have already forgotten this song.

Barbra Streisand – “Love Theme From A Star Is Born (Evergreen)” -- March 5, 1977

I listened to this song for 30 seconds. No more. I cannot stand Barbra Streisand. I don't think I'd like this song anyway, as it's glop, but maybe a different singer could have made it tolerable.

Daryl Hall & John Oates – “Rich Girl” -- March 26, 1977

Rich girls get picked on while rich boys are the ones who usually get away with everything. This song was actually originally about a rich guy, too. It would have been better. It's still good musically, but it misses the mark. Not that rich girls don't also get away with plenty, but compare and contrast what happened to Paris Hilton for her venial sins, versus the entire existence of Donald Trump.

ABBA – “Dancing Queen” -- April 9, 1977

ABBA was a good group. They were hated on, and now they're more likely to be exalted. They didn't deserve the hate (save it for the Bee Gees), but they're not the second coming or anything either. They were just a good, fun group. This song can be danced to, but it's a song more about dance than a dancing song. It's a rare song observing a young woman dancing while identifying with her, rather than lusting after her. "You can dance/ You can jive/ Having the time of your life." It's good.

David Soul – “Don’t Give Up On Us” -- April 16, 1977

The narrator did something really bad last night. Cheating? Worse? Now he's telling his lover not to "give up on us." As soft as the song is, "tell" is the word, not "ask." And he doesn't apologize once. Also, David Soul was a professional actor, but there's no worry in his voice; he's nothing but smooth and assured here. Blech.

Thelma Houston – “Don’t Leave Me This Way” -- April 23, 1977

It's disco with a large dose of Motown, or Motown with a large dose of disco. Either way, it works. Everything lines up with precision, and then Thelma Houston comes in over all of it with huge emotion. The contrast is sort of fascinating. Oh, and her huge emotion is that she wants sex. "Then come on, satisfy the need in me/ 'Cause only your good loving can set me free." She's not begging, but she's not exactly commanding either. It's really good.

Glen Campbell – “Southern Nights” -- April 30, 1977

It's Kidz Bop honky tonk. That's probably not fair; Glen Campbell grew up in a family of poor sharecroppers in Arkansas. But it's what I hear. It's happy clappy, and scrubbed clean of anything real.

Eagles – “Hotel California” -- May 7, 1977

Whatever you think this song is about, it's not about that. The Eagles wrote it with a mish-mash of stuff in mind, but mostly trying to be ambiguous. What that means is that whatever you think this song is about, it is about that. It's a choose your own adventure psychological horror song. I love it. It makes me happy in that way that good poetry and good music do -- and this is both.

Leo Sayer – “When I Need You” -- May 14, 1977

This song is cheese. Absolute, unadulterated cheese. But it's not bad cheese. It's a good solid cheddar. It's slow but not too slow, soft but not too soft, and it manages some interesting percussion. And Sayer sings like he means it. It's about missing his lover while he's on the road, and he imagines she's with him to get by. "When I need you/ I just close my eyes and I'm with you." It sounds kind of like a Broadway ballad. It's enjoyable.

Stevie Wonder – “Sir Duke” -- May 21, 1977

A song about Duke Ellington, which is a subject I approve of. Stevie Wonder also lists a few more legends, including one of my favorites: "And with a voice like Ella's ringing out/ There's no way the band can lose." It's a love song to music itself. It's sort of big band, sort of funk, and sort of Motown, and it works. The lyrics do get too repetitive for me near the end, though.

KC & The Sunshine Band – “I’m Your Boogie Man” -- June 11, 1977

It's a wordplay on the "bogie man" monster. But the boogie man wants to show up and give you whatever you want whenever you want however you want. Sexually. The song actually has more lyrics than most KC & The Sunshine Band songs, but it's still a song to dance to. Not to have sex to. But for dancing? Yep, it's good.

Fleetwood Mac – “Dreams” -- June 18, 1977

YAY! Okay so I have no interest in Fleetwood Mac without Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. But when they joined in 1975, Fleetwood Mac became truly great. And this song is from Rumours, which is their best album (forged out of a hell of a lot of intragroup pain), and written and sung by Stevie Nicks, who was their best artist. My parents played this record and their previous self-titled one all the time. I didn't fully understand the songs when I was a kid, but I loved them. As I grew old enough to understand them, I loved them more. And now I love them more than that. I can't analyze this song. I love it too much.

Marvin Gaye – “Got To Give It Up (Part 1)” -- June 25, 1977

At first, he was uncomfortable at parties and didn't want to dance. But then he loosened up enough to dance, pretty obviously as a way to pick up chicks. There's the horrible line "Let me step into your erotic zone." The music is experimental. Marvin Gaye's falsetto is fine, but it's still a falsetto the whole damn song. And there are people making party noises in the background the whole time. I find this song painful.

Bill Conti – “Gonna Fly Now (Theme From Rocky) -- July 2, 1977

You know this instrumental, you've heard it tons. It's a good movie theme -- I think. It's hard to say, when it's something that's been so often present in so many different contexts in my life.

Alan O’Day – “Undercover Angel” -- July 9, 1977

The undercover angel is a make believe woman from a sex dream. At the end of the song, he's telling "you" that you remind him of the undercover angel, so you must be meant to be with him. It's an extended "I've seen you in my dreams" pickup line. It's so dumb.

Shaun Cassidy – “Da Doo Ron Ron” -- July 16, 1977

This is an excruciatingly boring cover of The Crystals' classic 60s girl group song.

Barry Manilow – “Looks Like We Made It” -- July 23, 1977

He's singing to an ex. They both "made it" because they found other people. Until "Looks like we made it/ Or I thought so till today/ Until you were there everywhere." If they get back together it's not going to be easy, because they'll be leaving relationships that seem happy. I don't think they'll get back together -- besides, she may not feel anything for him any more. It's a more complex song than it sounds. And Barry Manilow sure can sing. I wish he'd gone with the jazz songs he preferred, but then he wouldn't have been hugely successful. He decided to pull the rhinestone cowboy trick, and I can't blame him. He did make the soppy 70s charts more tolerable than they would have otherwise been.

Andy Gibb – “I Just Want To Be Your Everything” -- July 30, 1977

For instance, without Barry Manilow, Andy Gibb would probably have had more hits. Gibb's voice is thin. If you're going to sing a line like "Oh, if I, if I stay here without you darlin' I will die," you need some power and drama behind it. This guy sounds like he's trying to sell kitchen tile. It's a relatively fast song, but the beat is somehow irritating too. Blech.

The Emotions – “Best Of My Love” -- August 20, 1977

It starts with a blast of horns, and then a blast of singing. Then the chorus is quieter than the rest, which is weird to me. I can't put my finger on why this song bores me, but it does.

Meco – “Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band” -- October 1, 1977

A disco mashup of the Star Wars theme with the cantina band theme. That happened. I love John Williams' music and I think he deserves credit for at least half of Star Wars' success. But I think this remix sounds extremely dumb. Someone slowed down the cantina band theme a couple years ago and that sounds very noir and cool. This doesn't.

Debby Boone – “You Light Up My Life” -- October 15, 1977

The person who wrote this song was completely and absolutely terrible. But Debby Boone isn't. She's a Christian singer, but seems to be one of the nice ones, not the wingnut fundie ones. Anyway, she wasn't a Christian singer in 1977 (though she was Christian). And she had a good voice. But she sings this song painfully slowly. It sounds like she comes in after where she's supposed to come in and then draws out the notes longer than she's supposed to. I don't know if that's her or the song itself. I sped up the song to 1.25 and it's a little more palatable, but it's still bad. It's a trudge. I don't feel lit up after this.

The Bee Gees – “How Deep Is Your Love” -- December 24, 1977

It's not falsetto, though Barry Gibb does go uncomfortably high some. But it's still very bad. It's a string of bland cliches over bland music. And the weird 70s male romance song entitlement: "And it's me you need to show/ How deep is your love?" Shut up.

BEST OF 1977 -- "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac WORST OF 1977 -- "Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band" by Meco. People really would disco to anything, huh?

#billboard number ones

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

Text

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Hello my Tumblr lovelys!

Here is the next part of this story. Anyone looking for a heavy dose of emotional writing - You have come to the right place below!

Hope you all enjoy.

Suze xx )

“The past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.”

Taron was used to the walk back to Robyn’s but she brought him a short cut, back around by the green they had previously sat on and through a little walk way and housing estate which led right onto the road that was near the cull de sac where her house was. They made it inside just as the shower of rain turned heavy, both taking to a quick jog down the road as it sprinkled on them at first, getting to the door as it turned heavy.

Taron stripped himself of his coat and flag and found himself on the couch while Robyn put her guitar away. She hung up her own coat and as she walked over to the couch, he was tucked neatly into the corner, his head leaning back against the cushions with his eyes closed. Inside her heart was hurting for him because she knew he was knackered and could easily fall asleep as he sat and slept until he needed to leave the next day. He had been so full of energy during the morning but now as the excitement had left his body, she was left with a tired man who was in desperate need of a nap.

She sat beside him, noticing that he didn’t move, and her face turned sad. If he was this tired after some work at the weekend, she hated to think what he would be like during his promotional tour for Kingsman, understanding a little better now why he found it so easy to just fall asleep where he sat, knowing himself, it was the only way he could get any sort of rest and sleep to keep his body going.

Without hesitation, she moved to a keeling position and placed her hands on his shoulders, his eyes opening to look at her. She didn’t speak to him but pulled on his shoulders and she moved from her knees to a sitting position further down the couch and guided his head right to her lap, Taron moving so he was stretched out on her couch. Her right hand rested on his chest while her left went straight into his hair, fingers scratching his head.

“Robyn…”

“Shh...” She soothed.

“Robyn, we have dinner planned.”

“And it is only just after four. The céilí doesn’t start until nine and we can get dinner any time before that. I don’t have a table booked. We can just walk in and sit down and to be honest we are better off waiting a little until the families with young children filter out. The GAA will be packed for a while.”

“What are you doing?” He asked as his eyes closed as she dug just a little harder into his head.

“You need to sleep.”

“Robyn…” Taron opened his eyes and as always was met with such concern in Robyn’s blue ones, he knew in an instant he would do whatever she asked of him.

“You are in my home and are fighting to stay awake. Three hours sleep will do you the world of good and we will still have time for food, Guinness and the céilí.”

“But what about your friends?”

“Meeting us at the céilí.” She answered him. “Taron please just close your eyes.” She very lightly ran her hand over his face, her fingers lingering on the dark circles on the delicate skin under his eyes. “Let me do this for you.”

Even if he wanted to keep his eyes open, his own body betrayed him, and his lids fluttered closed, long eye lashes resting on his cheeks. Robyn’s right hand found his on his stomach and held it while her left which had been in his hair, moved to his face and after trailing so lightly on the skin under his eyes, he felt those strokes on his nose which he had no words to describe except that it brought him to a little place of heaven. Though his body was tired and Robyn’s soothing actions were relaxing him, his mind was still thinking. “Robyn?”

“Hmm?” She answered him, realising that the green hair dye in his hair was making it difficult for her to play with the strands so she had settled for running her finger down his nose instead and not seeing Taron’s facial expression change with the touch to his face, continued her motions.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You know you can ask me anything.”

“What actually happened between you and Keith?”

Robyn’s hand stalled on the bridge of his nose and Taron opened his eyes to see her blue ones looking at him, the colour just a little bit darker than before. “You’ve been talking to my mam.” She simply said.

“She might have mentioned his name.”

“I saw you two whispering to each other.”

“Just some girl talk.” He answered her back, a little smile on his lips, a smile of relief as she resumed rubbing his nose. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“So, you know that cliched term ‘the one’?” She asked him, still running a finger down his nose. When he nodded, she continued. “Well for me Keith was the one. Six years we were together. Four of which were perfect, two of which were shit but of course it wasn’t until I kicked his arse to the curb that I realised they were shit.” Robyn’s fingers stopped. “Without going into too much detail let me just bullet point it for you.” She resumed her strokes on his nose. “Cheated once, promised he wouldn’t do it again, hated my hair long, hated my involvement in the musical society and choir, jealous I was promoted, cheated again, caught him in the act and when I stood up for myself went to hit me but I ducked and he missed, broke his hand on the wall, then I broke his nose and two fingers of my right hand. Then he spread rumours around the town that I was a frigid selfish cow and did I mention it was a work colleague of mine that he was sleeping with for the last year of our relationship, one who had complained to Emma that I was terrible at my job and had it out for me, demanding my supervisory position be taken away from me.”

Taron’s eyes were wide with shock as Robyn spoke, her voice just reeling off with no emotion at all, with a very brief explanation of what had happened between her and Keith, while all the time her fingers kept their rhythm on his nose.

“Easy to say we are no longer friends but obviously I still have my job and position. I walked away from that toxic tosspot but my trust was hurt and betrayed and those walls you have met began to build and pretty much stayed put until I met you and Richard in the 7/11. It was actually Emma who suggested to me to apply for the exchange programme. She told me she was sick of me moping around the office and a change of scenery would be good healing for me. After a bit of research and a year after Keith pissed off with my ex friend, I applied for the programme asking for Clearwater as my exchange location. It’s quite a long process and it took another year before everything was sorted and off I went. It was perfect for me. Just what I needed to have a retreat of sorts while still working, doing what I love and am good at, learning to love myself again after everything that Keith did and said to me, grew my hair out and then I met you and well you know where my life picks up from there.”

Taron gently took Robyn’s hand, stopping her mid-motion and he sat up turning to look at her. “I get now why your mother called him a fucker.”

Robyn grinned. “My mother.” She said. “So eloquent with her words.”

“I think I would have used something worse than fucker to be fair.”

“Thanks Taron.”

“Robyn….”

She could hear the pity in his voice and she didn’t have any want for it. “Hey, there is no need. I am over it and have become a much stronger person because of it. Perhaps withdrew and retreated too much into myself then I should have but definitely moving away helped as did my friends, Claire and Emma and the girls I work with and Maggie in Florida too. I am excited to introduce you to them this evening.”

“I am very much looking forward to meeting your friends Robyn. I am glad you have a good circle of friends around you.”

Taron’s blood was boiling under his skin and he was trying very hard to keep his tone light and his anger at bay. He was thoroughly disgusted by Robyn’s quick explanation of Keith and what he done and felt sick to his stomach that someone could treat his beautiful, caring, and wonderful Robyn like that. Robyn who had saved his life without question, taken him into her home and looked after him almost better than his own mother.

But then his whole body suddenly froze and his memory of her visit to New York to see him made a horrible shiver run down his spine. She had told him someone, a man had hurt her before, had broken her trust and now he was finally learning who it was and how he had done it and closing his eyes, their argument had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning to him. He had done the same thing to her. Hurt her without even thinking about it. He accused her of something and he understood so much better why she had to fly to him to defend herself, to question his words, to show him that he couldn’t treat her the way he had. It was because she had already had an arsehole of a man do it to her before and she refused to let another do it again.

“Taron. Taron!” Robyn shouted his name, waking him from the little trance he went into. “Please don’t start over thinking any of what I told you. It’s not something I talk about a lot. It’s in the past and I have moved on and like I said, it was good for me in an ironic kind of way.”

“I understand so much more now how my accusations hurt you Robyn, why you had to fly to New York to talk to me. Jesus Christ I am so sorry.”

Robyn felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw a look of pain fill his beautiful soft features and immediately pulled him to her for a hug, “I could kill my mother.” She whispered into his neck. “Please don’t apologise to me for something we have already talked through Taron, something that happened that has nothing to do with you.”

“But my words and actions must have opened so many healed wounds for you.”

Robyn gripped him tight against her, feeling tears drip down her cheeks, noticing how he held her just as tight in his arms and as he hid his face in her neck, she was sure she could feel a wetness on her skin from his face and without a doubt, she knew Taron was just as upset and emotional as she was. The conversation of past relationships had obviously been a topic the two had spoken about but they never really went into detail about them. Keith was a man she had long forgotten and although it took her nearly two years to get over that man, she had grown up and learnt so much about herself along the way. Behind her walls, she became more confident in herself, learnt a tough lesson about true friends and how at the end of the day apart from family, the person you need to look after first and foremost is yourself. She was never going to let a man treat her so again and when Taron had blown up at her, she went into fight mode and confronted him. The difference with Taron though was that he immediately had seen the terrible mistake he had made and admitted he was wrong, and he had been a wonderful caring confident and friend since and her mantra of only looking after and caring for herself was very quickly changing as all she could think about now was making sure Taron was ok. She ran her fingers around her favourite spot at the back of his neck and pulled his body even closer to her.

“Taron please. We cannot go back there. I cannot go back there.”

“Fucking hell Robyn, I am really really sorry.”

“And we talked through New York Taron. Really and properly talked through it all and there is nothing to be sorry for. Please Taron.” As Robyn rubbed his back with her other hand, she could feel him heave against her and knew it was from a sob he had tried to hold in but couldn’t quite manage to. “Taron, please. Don’t get upset over it all. You are nothing like him. Nothing like him at all. New York was a completely different situation Taron. Do not even think about comparing our argument to a man who doesn’t deserve any of these emotions you are feeling.” She pulled herself away from with a struggle as he clung to her and when she saw more tears on his eye lashes ready to fall, she immediately put her hands on his cheeks. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you Taron. I didn’t say anything because I know you and how your emotions run, even more so when you are running on little sleep and fumes and I didn’t want to see you like this. Do not say sorry to me again. It was a shitty situation but the Robyn before Keith wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what I did in the 7/11. It is fucking messed up that shit like that makes a person so much stronger but you have to take the positives from it and I am really going to kill my mother. I wish she hadn’t of said anything to you. Please don’t be so sad.” Taron’s lashes glistened with more tears and his eyes were blood shot, his cheeks blotchy and Robyn knew she looked the same as he did. “You are running your tattoo.” She said, her thumb wiping over the wet shamrock on his cheek “Please don’t shed any more tears for that fucktard.”

“They are not for him. They are for you because you have been nothing but a friend to me and to hear how someone could take advantage of your kindness and be such a fucking bastard.” Taron roughly wiped his eyes, her hands falling from his face. “I love you Robyn and I love your fierceness, ability to scare me shitless with your words, the way you stand up for yourself and how you willingly have given me everything I have asked for and so much more.” Without thinking Taron leaned forward, with his eyes still open, lightly kissed her lips, tasting salty tears on hers, not knowing if they were hers tears or his. He moved back and took her hands. “I know you don’t want to hear it but I am sorry you had to go through that and I am sorry for…” He felt Robyn’s hand cover his mouth and he smiled under her palm, resisting the urge to lick her hand. He waited for her to take her hand away before he spoke again. “I have had bad relationship experiences too but nowhere near as rotten at yours.”

“Like I said, it’s in my past and it has made me a better person. My only regret from it, the only one is the wasted years on a man I thought loved me. I ain’t getting any younger.”

Taron’s face immediately filled with a scowl. “Don’t even go there.” He ran his hands through her hair so it wasn’t covering her face. “He was a fucker.”

Robyn titled her head and she watched as his eyes roamed her face, but his worried green ones avoided hers and she could see a multitude of emotions pass over his face as his forehead frowned and his lips curled down in a glower, biting his lower lip in the process. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“You have shown me nothing but affection and love and it just makes me sad and so angry to think you gave that same attention to him and he didn’t appreciate it at all.”

“He didn’t get head massages.” She watched him try to stop himself from grinning. “And I never baked for him either. He was a proper gym nut and felt my baking ruined his routine.”

“And then all those years with him when you could have been with someone who gave as much to you as you would give to them.”

“And don’t even say that Taron. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I had thinking that too but they say things happen for a reason so I have to believe that.”

“Well you know I firmly believe you were meant to be there in the 7/11 at the same time as me, that you were the only one who could rip my shirt open to get your hands all over me.”

Robyn laughed, shaking her head at him. “Now you just take your shirt off to let me get to your body of your own accord.” Without a second though Robyn started to sing. “Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body…” Her words and song were cut off as Taron launched himself at her, his arms squeezing around her shoulders.

“My song.” He said to her. “You get Freddie, I get everyone else.”

With another chuckle, Robyn let herself rest against him, her hands caught in between his chest and hers. She soaked up his heat and with the way her hands were positioned flat against his chest, could feel his heart racing. She wished they were free so she could hug him back but Taron wasn’t letting his grip go, so she settled for snuggling into his chest and closing her eyes. It was a complete and utter unexpected conversation, the one about her ex who was, as her mother called him, a fucker and the reaction from Taron, watching him get so upset, hurt her to the core. Taron still carried so much guilt from what happened in New York and after hearing about Keith, Robyn knew he was even more rattled and remorseful over it all but after their skype call, she had put New York behind her and had completely forgiven Taron for everything and she thought he knew that but it was obvious that deep down he was still quite ashamed of his actions.

“Taron…”

“Hmm.”

“Can we please forget about New York. It’s done. It’s over and behind us. We learnt a lot from it, we talked about it and we have been together so many times since then and I need you to stop feeling guilty about it. Our picture has been posted online and in the papers since then and look how well we communicate about it now and if we really look at the articles, the world is getting used to seeing you and me together and the fans, some of which we have met are too. We can’t keep going back to it. It’s just a pain that my past has triggered it for you but it’s our past rocketman and believe me there are so many other memories I have with you that I cherish.”

“Like what.” He mumbled into her shoulder.

“The first time I fell asleep on your shoulder.”

“I make a good pillow.”

“Yep.”

“What else.”

“When you sat in my office and we had our first proper hug together.”

“I was a horrible heated, sweaty and exhausted mess.”

“True but you were there in front of me and I don’t think you actually know how much it meant for me to see you there. You carry guilt from New York, well I carry so much more from leaving you in Florida.”

“We are quite a pair.” He whispered.

Robyn wriggled her hands so she could pull them out and finally was able to wrap her arms around his back. “Yes we are. What are yours?”

“My what chicken?”

“Your memories.”

“Everything.”

“Well that’s a cop out. I could have said that.”

“The time you held me close against you on your bed when I was worrying about the media finding out about what had happened to us in Florida. My first head massage.” He felt Robyn start to rub his back. “Every time we sang together and New Year’s Eve. My friends have not stopped talking about you. You made quite an impression on them.” He took a long deep breathe. “Robyn if I ever, ever even try to treat you like Keith did, you have my full permission to slap me just as hard as you slapped Pete ok? Even a word out of place, just slap the stupid out of me.”

Robyn pushed herself away from him and gripped his face probably a little harder than she should have. “Not a chance in the world of that ever happening.”

“Robyn…”

“You haven’t a bad bone in your body. Perhaps a senseless bone when you aren’t thinking straight but just no. Ok?”

He nodded. “Ok.” He took her hands away from his face and linked her fingers with his. “When we spoke about hospital visits, you never mentioned that you broke your fingers.”

“Didn’t really want to go into that story right there and then. It’s not a great one to share with a man you just met and shared a bed with.”

“You broke his nose?” He asked with a little grin.

“Yeah. Imagine what happened on New Year’s Eve but with a little more gusto and force. Hence the two broken fingers.”

Taron shook his head. “You scare me sometimes.”

“I scare myself too.”

“I am beginning to understand you a little better Robyn.”

“How so.” She asked wiping a lone tear that slowly dripped down his cheek.

“Your experiences are what make you who you are, the good and the bad and now I can see why you are so willing to stand up for others, to take risks, to be a little careful with your heart and to be so passionate about what you believe in and be so independent and strong.” It was blush that was more from embarrassment then anything else that caused her cheeks to redden. “Thank you for being honest with me. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“I think it might have been harder for you to hear than for me to tell. I am going to ask you again but please please don’t overthink New York any more ok? New York was good for us.”

“In that shitty way.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “And we have had such wonderful adventures together since then and only more are to come. We are good Taron and always will be and you kissed me.” Robyn brought her fingers to her lips.

“Are you only realising that now?” He asked her.

“Yeah I am.” She admitted. “You kissed me.”

“It just felt right.” He said, lifting his shoulders in a little shrug. “Don’t tell Deian.”

Robyn smiled. “I won’t. Thanks Taron.”

“For what?”

“Just being you and not getting angry.”

“Angry?”

“At what happened.”

“I went to angry for about ten seconds and the moved straight to tears.”

“Hey, you know you never have to worry about showing your emotions around me rocketman. It’s what makes us strong. Just ‘cos you are a man doesn’t mean you need to keep how you are feeling inside. I would rather you told me how you felt than doing that. It’s so important to talk me about these things.”

“I will. I promise. Are we adulting?”

“I think so.”

“And keeping our promise of open communication with each other.”

“Always important.” Robyn said.

“Do you know what else is important?” Asked Taron.

“Nope.”

“Naps.”

“Naps?” She laughed.

“I was getting ready for a good one and then I asked a stupid question.”

“No question is ever stupid Taron”

“Took my nap away from me.”

“You can still have your nap.”

“You too.”

Robyn shook her head. “This one is for your Taron. I don’t need a nap. I have literally spent my days off sleeping but you need a sleep and a head massage too but the hair dye is in the way.”

“I will take a shoulder one instead.”

Robyn laughed and it felt wonderful as the tense air cleared around them. “Did you bring a voucher.” She watched as his body deflated a little. “Tough luck Taron.”

“I am bringing a shoulder and back massage one with me when I come and see you in RENT.” He grinned. “I think I will cash them in before I go on tour.”

“A pre tour relaxation.”

He nodded. “And because head ones are free, I will take one of those too.”

Robyn swotted at his arm. “Don’t take advantage.” She chuckled. “Hey you know I love you too right? I realised I never actually said it during all the tears and kisses and what not.”

“I know chicken.”

Taron stretched over and hugged her hard, pressing his body into hers, his arms wrapping fully around her, his head in his favourite place on her shoulder at her neck his fingers resting on the bare skin of her back as her crop top rose up as they hugged. If there was any doubt about his love for her, it was well and truly gone. He absolutely loved the woman in his arms with his heart and soul and put every ounce of his love into the hug. He had fallen head over heels, ready to jump in front of a bus for her, needed to protect her at all costs kind of love. Closing his eyes, he felt more exhausted then he had when he had gotten off the plane, the sudden emotional exchange between the two taking whatever energy he had left and without thinking he snuggled a little deeper into her.

“Taron you can’t sleep like this.”

“Sure I can.”

“No hun, you can’t,”

“Just gotta close my eyes.”

Moving her body forward, Taron had to end the hug or he was going to fall backwards onto the couch bringing Robyn with him. “Mean.” He said through a yawn.

“No not mean.” She replied as she got up and moved to sit in the corner of the couch. “I am thinking of your back. Now get over here for your nap.” Robyn held her arm out and it took Taron less than three seconds to lay against her chest, snuggling deeply into her, his arm going around her waist, his fingers dipping in what he hoped was discreetly into the gap between her top and skirt, his fingertips resting on warm soft skin. “You nap and I will wake you.”

Taron didn’t answer her, already halfway to sleeping. He hugged himself a little closer to her and he felt her fingers running up and down his arm in the same wonderful motion she had used with him when they were in London last month. He wished he could be brave and tell her how he really felt, how he absolutely without a doubt was madly in love with her, in love with every part of her and even more so needed to be there for her and protect her and just treat her the way she deserved to be treated, the same way she treated him with love and cuddles and just pure affection.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Cuddles #Conversations #Emotions #Past Relationships #Love #Friendship #Protection #Naps #Robyn and Taron

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shadowhuntertrash · 4 years

Text

High Notes

Relationships:

Thomas Lightwood x Alastair Carstairs

James Herondale x Matthew Fairchild

Background Lucie Herondale x Jesse Blackthorn

Also obviously I own nothing but the plot. Characters are from Cassandra Clare

Chapter Two

It had been two days since the girls had told them about the tour and Thomas was freaking out. How was he supposed to one, go out in front of all those people every night, two, see Alastair practically every day for five months? Thomas had barely packed anything, he was currently standing in his room staring at his suitcase which so far held a pair of sweatpants and his “Move, I’m gay.” t-shirt his friends had gotten him when he came out.

He hadn’t come out to anyone other than Matthew, James, Cordelia, Lucie, Christopher, and his sister Barbara. It wasn’t that he was scared to tell the rest of his family because they were very accepting of Matthew and James, but this voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that if he told his family they wouldn’t like it because it was their son.

Their only son. The only person in his family who could carry on the name. Well there was always Christopher and Anna but no one in his immediate family besides himself. Thomas also had quite the fanbase and did not want to find out what their opinion was. He was scared they would turn on him which had happened to others before.

So when he told his friends they kept his secret. They respected his reasons for not telling anyone but it didn’t keep them from telling him he was an idiot for not believing them when they said his family wouldn’t care.

Thomas snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Matthew leaning against the door to Thomas’ room. Christopher and James were out with their families spending time with them before they left for the tour.

“Thomas, sweetheart, love, dear friend of mine, please stop stressing. You’re stressing over Alastair more than I ever did over Jamie and that’s really saying something.” Thomas feels a familiar heat rise up to his face. He was blushing like a grade school girl. Was he really that obvious?

“No one can ever beat you in gay pining Matthew Fairchild.” Is what Thomas chose to say. Matthew threw his head back and laughed. “That may be but you sure are putting up a fight. I’m serious though Tom, the more you stress about it the worse it’ll be.” Matthew said flashing him a serious look. It looked out of place on Matthew’s face. It was a rare sight.

Thomas smiled slightly at him. Matthew had never liked Alastair much, something about childhood enemies, so it meant a lot that Matthew was being so chill about Thomas liking Alastair. “Thank you Matthew. I’m serious thank you.” Thomas says in a small voice smiling at Matthew crookedly.

Matthew rolls his eyes and smirks. “It would make me a bit of a hypocritical asshole to have judged you for that. I’ve done far worse things than loving Alastair Carstairs.” It hit Thomas then just how much Matthew saw through him. As if he was see through. That’s what always made them so close. They were such total opposites that it was almost unbelievable just how they read each other so well.

Thomas smiled sincerely at Matthew and Matthew swatted his arm. “Okay enough seriousness I can only endure small doses at a time.” Thomas laughed and shook his head at his friend. Matthew laughed back. “Do you want some help packing? I’ve already finished.”

Thomas smiled, that was such a Matthew thing. It was a common misconception that Matthew was a procrastinator. He was actually the opposite, he was one of those ungodly people who does things as soon as they are asked to.

“Of course you have Matthew.” Thomas said exasperated. “If you could, I would greatly appreciate it. I always forget something important.” Matthew gave him a knowing look. “Don’t worry Tom. I won’t let you forget anything important.” Thomas nods and they spend the next three hours packing. With a brief intermission where they had a pillow fight after Thomas accidentally hit Matthew with his pillow.

At least he wasn’t as freaked out as he was before.

-LiNe BrEaK-

Thomas, four days later, was standing in his parents living room laughing with a glass of wine in his hand. His mother was sitting on the sofa next to his father.

His father, Gideon, was a successful politician like his father had been before he went corrupt. Unlike Thomas’ grandfather, Gideon was well loved among the people. Thomas’ father and mother, Sophie, had one of those sickeningly sweet love stories that they people loved.

His father had gotten a maid when he was sixteen (spoiler, it was his Sophie). Gideon had been in love with her “from the moment he met her” and had done everything he could to see her. Including asking her to do just about anything and everything for him which his foolish teenage brain had thought was a brilliant idea.

It wasn’t and Sophie had grown up despising him until one day they had a fight over scones, Thomas had always found that part hilarious. Once Gideon had had a chance to explain why there was a pile of scones under his bed Sophie had allowed him to take her on a date. And the rest was, well, history.

Thomas had always loved that story. He had grown up wanting one just like it, his two sisters were in the same boat. His oldest sister Barbara had found that in her current boyfriend Oliver. They had that cute barista, coffee addiction story. Oliver had to write his number on Barbara’s cut four times before she finally called him. They had been sickeningly lovey dovey ever since. Thomas’ other sister Eugenia hadn’t found that yet and so they whispered about how disgusting Barbara and Oliver were when they came to family dinners.

They were all sitting in the living room. Barbara was sitting in one of the lounge chairs next to Eugenia's chair. Thomas was sitting on the floor with his back against Barbara’s legs. “It was hilarious I have never seen him so red!” Barbara exclaimed in hysterics, over some story about Oliver spilling coffee all over some scary looking man covered in tattoos.

"What a Prince Charming." Thomas said tilting his head back so he could look up at his sister. Barbara smacked his face lightly and laughed. "Isn't he!" They all laugh again. Thomas looks back to his parents to see them both looking at him, sweet smiles on their faces. Thomas smiles back immediately.

Tommy we're so proud of you." Sophie says in a soft voice. Thomas beams at her, it was no secret he was 100% a momma's boy. “Your music, your lyrics are who you are. We have always encouraged you to be your true self and you always are.” His father said affectionately. Thomas feels a ball of guilt tighten in his stomach.

It was true they did always tell him to be himself. He wished he could be. He really really did, but alas it wasn’t the time. He couldn’t really tell them and then take off for five months. So he holds it in and flashes them a carefree smile.

“Thank you. I hope you know you’re all my inspiration. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.” I say looking around at all of them making a point to look at my sisters as well. Barbara smiles kindly at him. “As lovely as it is to hear your brother tell you you’re the inspiration to all his love songs, I do hope we’re not your only inspiration.”

I shove her and laugh. “Barb! Stop! Not at all what I meant! Way to ruin a moment!” Barbara and Eugenia laugh and Gideon and Sophie roll their eyes fondly. “Okay! Okay! Sorry but Genie and I were wondering who you write all those love songs about!” Barbara says wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I freeze and force a laugh out looking down at my hands. I clear my throat but no words come out.

“I think that’s quite enough girls.” Sophie said in her simultaneously kind and stern voice. The girls stop laughing and pout. “But-”

“You’re mother’s quite right, girls. I think we should leave poor Thomas alone.” Gideon says backing Sophie up as he always did. Thomas felt a rush of affection for his parents, so loving, so kind. So unlike some of his other friends' parents. He feels a pang of sadness go through him as he thinks of Matthew with his nice but absentee parents and Cordelia and Alastair whose father abandoned them and whose mother died.

"I love you all. I’m going to miss you quite a deal more than I thought I would.” His sisters each squeeze one of his hands. “Oh darling, you say that as if we aren’t going to call every night!” Sophie says with a sparkle in her eyes. Thomas groans acting annoyed but his smile is a dead give away.

Gideon stands up and walks over to Thomas. “Thank you for coming and saying goodbye. We will miss you sorely, I wish I could stay longer but I have a pressing meeting I attend to.” Thomas smiles and stands up feeling his father’s arms around him. He holds on tightly. His father wasn’t the most affectionate person so it was nice when this happens.

He squeezes one more time before Gideon lets him go. “It’s quite alright Pops. I’m glad I get the chance to see you all one more time before I head off. I would stop by tomorrow but we are heading out at five and I’m afraid I won’t get the chance.” Sophie smiled kindly walking over to him to hug him goodbye.

"That’s quite alright Tommy, but don’t you dare forget to call when you leave and arrive no matter the time.” Thomas nods leaning down to rest his chin on his mother’s head. Thomas was quite tall and affectionately called ‘Giant’ by his sisters quite frequently so his mother and her petite figure didn’t even come up to his chin.

Thomas pulls back and kisses his mother’s cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it mum.” Sophie nods her approval and moves to let Eugenia hug him. “I hope you have fun, Tommy, but not too much.” she says, pulling away enough for him to see her wink before pulling him back in and whispering, “But remember protection, we don’t want any little feet running around just yet.”

Thomas pulls away abruptly sputtering. Eugenia laughed and pats his shoulder. “Genie!” He says betrayed. She laughs again before moving out of his way. “Now get out and go see the world brother!” Thomas shakes his head and waves to his mother, father, and sister once more before walking to the door with Barbara.

They stepped outside the door and Barbara closed it softly before turning to Thomas, it was then that Thomas noticed the tears in her eyes. He frowns and shakes his head. “Don’t you dare start crying Barb, you know it makes me cry.” Barbara let out a wet laugh before pulling him in close for a hug. He melts into it.

Out of all his family he was closest to Barbara, mostly due to the fact that he didn’t have to hide anything with her. “I do suggest you keep me updated with Alastair. I mean it. Every detail. If he sneezes I want to know. She says tears started to slide down her face. Thomas feels the back of his throat and his nose start to burn.

He clings to Barbara tighter. “Stop it. I’m crying now stop it!” He says pathetically, starting to shake slightly. Barbara hugs him tightly once more before pulling away and hastily wiping the tears off her face. “Sorry sorry don’t cry it’ll make me worse and it’ll be an endless cycle.” Thomas laughed and nodded, drying his own eyes.

Barbara smiled at Thomas through her wet eyes, she placed a hand on each of his shoulders. “I love you Tommy don’t forget that.” She pulled away and smiled wider. She reached up to her neck and unclasped her necklace. It was just a chain and Thomas wondered what it was for before she handed it to him and took her ring off her finger. It had footprints around the band. It was very pretty Thomas had to admit.

Barbara handed it to him and flipped it so he could see the writing on the inside. He frowned and took it from her so he could hold it closer and read it. He felt tears building in his eyes as he read it. ‘Where we go, we go as one.’ It was something Barbara had been saying to him since he was five. Thomas felt the tears slide down his face and grabbed Barbara in a bone crushing hug.

She laughed but Thomas could hear the tears in her voice. “Thank you.” He whispered through the tears. Barbara sighed and patted his back before whispering a quiet, “Always.” and pulling away.

She shoved him away without bothering to wipe her tears. “Okay now go you big loof.” Thomas smiled and kissed her cheek before turning and walking back to his car. He missed them already.

#thomas x alastair #thomastair #thomas lightwood #sophie collins #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #james herondale #matthew fairchild #james and matthew #heronstairs #lucie and cordelia #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #fanfiction #fanfic

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velkynkarma · 4 years

Note

Happy April Fools Day! The fool is me for not thinking of a prompt when I had a chance. I'd like to see Ryou getting nabbed by a bounty hunter who mistakes him from Shiro. Dark results or humorous, your call :)

Of course :) It took me a while to decide which direction to go in, but I got there eventually.

——

A ringing noise fills Ryou’s ears, off key and inside his head more than something he’s actually hearing. His vision is blurry and unfocused when he finally manages to open his eyes, and they feel thick and heavy, like they’re full of sleep. The taste in his mouth is rancid, and his tongue is uncomfortably dry.

Damn it, he thinks to himself, and his own thoughts swim awkwardly in his head. I’ve been drugged. Again.

Again. Of course it was again. Nobody should be this used to recognizing the signs of being drugged into unconsciousness. The fact that he was so acquainted with the basic symptoms was all kinds of messed up. And yet, here he is.

In a way, it’s useful. He’s so used to identifying the issue at hand that he can already bypass the shock of being drugged into unconsciousness, and go straight to figuring out how, why, and when it happened, and even more importantly—where the hell he was now.

Where was I before this?

It takes a bit for his struggling, drug-addled mind to shake off the remains of the chemical effects enough to access the memories, but they come eventually. The celebration festival on Takarsis. The Takarites had reached out to Voltron for protection. Ryou had set up the arrangements and been there when the Takarite queen had officially signed the Coalition agreement, aid for protection. There had been a feast afterward, and a whole party throughout the city, one team Voltron had been encouraged to attend.

Ryou hadn’t been with anyone at the time he’d disappeared. He’d gone off on his own to check some of the farmer’s market produce, and see if there was anything he could add to his garden. He’d seen most of the festivities after a spicolian movement on Takarsis and was more interested in shopping. Not even Shiro had argued with him going off by himself—the Takarites weren’t really fighters, and nobody thought they could pose much of a threat.

Apparently they’d been dead wrong about that. Then again, grabbing somebody from behind while slapping a drugged rag over their mouth was hardly fair, or even a fight.

Okay. Not a great start to his situation, but it could be worse. The team might not notice he’s missing for a while, with the party in full swing. But they will come looking eventually, once it’s over and Ryou doesn’t come back to the Castle of Lions. They all would search, of course, but Shiro will focus obsessively on nothing else until then, and Keith will be right there next to him, both hellbent on finding Ryou and damn the need for sleep. They’ll probably both be wondering if Ryou somehow managed to wander off and forget how to come back, but Ryou can deal with that annoyance when the time comes.

That’s the ‘when’ and ‘how.’ ‘Why’ is going to be a little harder to figure out without doing some investigating. For now, ‘where’ is far more important.

Ryou blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear his vision. Gummy spots of sleep slide uncomfortably out of his line of sight, but at least it’s not as clouded as before. Not that it helps much. The room he’s in is dark, and most of the available light comes from a square hole with bars that’s cut into the door on the far side of the room. The room itself has nothing else of interest in it.

Lovely. A prison cell.

A few of Shiro’s memories take strong objection to this newfound discovery, bubbling up to do their best to remind Ryou about all the awful, terrible things that happened to him during his time in the Galra prisons. Ryou shoves them to the back of his mind as hard as he can. It doesn’t feel personal, like it happened to him, but he doesn’t need any reminders of what could happen to him in his current situation. He needs to focus. Shiro’s memories do not allow for much focus.

He takes stock of himself next. His head is clearing rapidly now, so whatever they’d used on him had been short-term at best. He can live with the headache. He’s sore all over, which is probably from being man-handled while unconscious, but he’s had far worse in his short lifetime. There’s strain in both his shoulders and his arms, though, thanks to the fact that his wrists are tied together above him over his head.

“Deja vu,” Ryou mutters under his breath. His tongue still feels a little thick in his mouth, but he can talk at least.

His arms present more of a problem. Why do people always restrain him like this? Don’t they know it hurts?

At least he’s sitting, this time, wedged into the corner with his legs splayed out in front of him like a discarded doll. That means his full weight isn’t suspended from his wrists, which is a relief at least. When he tips his head back, he can just barely make out the chains tying his wrists together and bolting them to the wall.

So he’s not going to bounce himself out of this one, like he had when Remdax and Vakala had caught him. He’ll just have to find another means of escape.

He slowly and carefully pulls at the chains above his head, testing their strength and sturdiness while trying hard to not make any noise. His captors, whoever they are, don’t appear to have left a watch. He doesn’t want to alert them to the fact that he’s awake unless he has to; every tick he has to try and work out his escape without scrutiny is precious.

But when he moves his arms, his right forearm sends a bolt of excruciating, stabbing pain through him. He clenches his teeth shut, but not before a strangled, smothered scream escapes him, despite his best efforts.

What the hell was that?

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, breathing through his nose and staying perfectly still. Once he stops moving, the pain tapers off, until he feels nothing again.

Blinking his eyes open, he cautiously—very cautiously, so as not to move his arm again—tips his head back once more to find the cause of so much unexpected pain.

There’s some sort of band on his arm. It’s dark colored and has a few blinking red lights on it, and is bolted securely around the white paladin armor on his forearm. It looks a bit like the cuff Vakala and Remdax had put on him to suppress his Galra arm, back when he’d first been allowed to ‘escape’ the Galra.

Ryou frowns. Something like that shouldn’t work on his Olkari arm. Olkari engineering was unique, using a biomechanical plant-based system, and it required very specialized biomechanical technology to integrate with it. Regular electronics wouldn’t have any affect on his arm.

Then he spots the thin crack on the armor, bordering the foreign band. Very cautiously, Ryou twists his right arm, nudging the band just a fraction with his left. It sends another bolt of excruciating pain through him, but he knows it’s coming this time and braces, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw cracks but suppressing another scream. This time, now that he’s paying attention, he’s aware of something digging through the paladin armor into his biomechanical arm, tearing at the synthetic muscles as he moves.

No wonder it hurts so bad. There’s a spike puncturing his arm—or more than one, from the feel of it, studding the inside of the band. His Olkari arm doesn’t integrate with regular tech, but it does have synthetic nerves, and while that gives him a sensation of touch it does come with the tradeoff of pain as well. It’s still rudimentary, which means if he doesn’t move his arm and doesn’t aggravate the nerves, he doesn’t get the feedback of discomfort. Unfortunately, he’s going to have to move a lot if he plans on escaping.

Priority two is getting that thing off, Ryou determines. Right after priority one, getting out of these chains.

On the plus side, his right arm is mechanical. The sensation of literal stabbing pain is unpleasant, but unlike a real human arm, there won’t be long term damage and he can’t bleed out. Ryner had made upgrades recently to make his arm better at self-repairing all but the worst injuries; that was probably one of the reasons the band was hurting him so bad. The arm was trying to fix itself around it. If he can just get it off, it should repair enough that he won’t hurt too badly after, and the wounds definitely can’t kill him.

Ryou takes a deep breath and prepares himself for some inevitable pain in his future as he maneuvers the chains. But before he can try tugging on them again, he hears a voice outside, and a shadow passes in front of his thin rectangle of light.

“I knew I heard something!” the voice snaps. “He’s awake. Knew we should’ve dosed him more.”

“Congratulations,” a second voice growls back, obviously irritated. “You want a quiznaking medal? Get off your ass and make sure he’s secure.”

“We all go,” a third voice says. “This is the Black Paladin Shiro, after all.”

Ryou whips his head around to watch the door. Whoever they are, they think he’s Shiro? That’s unexpected...although it does suddenly explain the band on his arm. If they thought they had Shiro, they probably thought they were suppressing Galra technology, not Olkarian.

Things have just gotten a lot more interesting.

“Chorek, get another dose of that drug ready,” the third voice continues. “I want him out when we move him.”

“Please. We could take him,” a fourth voice says.

“You wanna die, feel free. I’m not taking my chances against a gladiator champion. I got a revolution to plan.”

“Ugh, fine. Josil, you’re no fun.”

“No fun, and planning to live.”

Four voices. Four opponents. Four people who were interested in taking Shiro somewhere. And something about a revolution. Ryou doesn’t like the sound of that, and decides to hang tight, just for a little while longer. For intelligence gathering purposes.

The door cracks open, and several aliens file into the room. One immediately turns a blaster on him, and Ryou’s been around long enough by now to recognize its make as something off the Unilu black market, not Galran.

The alien holding the gun isn’t Galran either. He’s Takarite, same as all the others—blue-green skin, short stature, squarish features, thick hands, and with two sets of curled antennae in place of ears. Their eyes are multi-colored, more like constantly changing prisms, and more angular and multi-faceted than Ryou is used to.

“Where am I?” Ryou asks immediately. “Who are you? And why am I restrained?”

“Silence, Champion,” the largest of the Takarites snaps. He’s not the one holding the gun, but Ryou immediately recognizes his voice as the one that had been giving the orders. Josil, if he’s right. “You remain quiet, and we won’t have to get mean.”

A lie, obviously. Ryou had just overheard them talking about drugging him, so they plan on enforcing compliance rather than bartering it out of him with good behavior. He doesn’t argue the point.

He doesn’t correct them about ‘Champion,’ either, although that is a lot more puzzling to him. It’s not the first time he’s been mistaken for Shiro, but he hadn’t actually been trying this time. The team had been encouraged to wear their Voltron armor for the festival, and Ryou had been out in his green variation, and had never switched the colors to his imitation Shiro setting. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, so his graying hair didn’t match Shiro’s either. He’d even brokered the agreement between the Voltron Coalition and the planet as Ryou, not Shiro, so people knew there were two of them.

Then again, the Takarites had struggled to tell the difference between most of the paladins of Voltron all day. It wasn’t polite to ask, but Ryou suspects Takarite biology and vision simply wasn’t designed to identify human facial features. As far as he can tell, they identify each other through different means—scent, vibration, and maybe some other sense humans and Alteans simply don’t have. They definitely didn’t see colors on the same wavelength that the paladins did, which meant they couldn’t tell the difference between the lions outside of general shape.

They’d figured out their own ways to identify most of the paladins in the end at the formal ceremonies. But they had struggled with Shiro and Ryou, probably because the two of them were functionally identical in every aspect the Takarites considered significant.

So maybe it’s not all that surprising to be kidnapped as ‘Shiro’ even if he wasn’t actually trying. At the end of the day, he can definitely play the part to perfection, and that’s all that matters.

“You have no right to kidnap me,” Ryou says, forcing a note of command into his tone. “We’re your allies. Voltron is here to help you.”

“Voltron is here to ruin us,” one of the other Takarites snaps back. “The queen was a fool for signing our freedom over to a giant robot overlord!”

“That’s not what happened at all,” Ryou says, frowning. “There was an agreement. The Voltron Coalition provides protection—”

“—in exchange for slavery,” Josil interrupts, oddly angular eyes glittering darkly with anger. “We won’t have it.”

“It’s not slavery,” Ryou says, incredulous. “The Coalition is a team effort. Planets that have agreed to provide military support for you and other non-combatant planets are willing to defend you. But that extension of their military aid means less manpower for creating necessary food and supplies to sustain them. Non-combatant planets like Takarsis agree to shoulder that burden in exchange for not needing to participate in combat. Everyone benefits.”

“It’s a load of quiznacking shit, is what it is,” the Takarite holding the gun snarls. “It’s slavery with a pretty name.”

“And where’s the great robot overlord in all this?” the fourth Takarite adds. “Not doing any of that stuff you said.”

Ryou’s eyebrows raise. “Voltron fights at the heart of the Galra empire,” he says. “We literally take on the biggest and toughest opponents so you don’t have to.”

“That’s what you say,” the gun-toting Takarite growls. “But where’s the proof?”

Ryou can’t believe it. He’s been captured by insurgents and conspiracy theorists. It’s almost embarrassing.

But he schools his expression to remain as calm and neutral as possible, and says reasonably, “If you have grievances, I’m sure you can bring them up with officials. I can get you an audience with the queen; I have some pull in the palace, now. Kidnapping me isn’t the answer.”

“It’s exactly the answer,” Josil says, taking a step forward—but still, notably, remaining carefully out of range. “Kidnapping Champion means Voltron’s got no head. We handicapped the Coalition in one stroke. And once we turn you in, we’ll have the funding and the support to free ourselves from your tyranny.”

Ryou’s blood runs cold. “Turn me in?”

One of the unnamed Takarites smiles. It’s a surprisingly toothy, unfriendly look. “Didja know you got a bounty on your head, Champion? You’re worth a lot to the Galra. Lotta money to fund the revolution.”

“And the military power to fight back the Coalition,” the fourth Takarite adds. “They’ll owe us a favor, for handing over their missing Champion. They’ll have to help us liberate the planet.”

Ryou’s heart thuds heavy in his chest. Shiro’s memories bubble to the surface again, frantic and panicked at the thought of going back to them, to her, but Ryou shoves them back.

This time, it’s harder, mostly because it tangles with his own very real memories and feelings. He doesn’t want to go back to them, either. He knows what Haggar will do if she gets her hands on him again. He knows he won’t ever come back from that, mentally or physically. She’ll strip his mind bare, drain it of every confidential detail she can use against the Coalition, and leave him with a broken self and an empty husk. Every part of himself that he forged anew, she’ll break and toss away. If she’s feeling generous, she’ll kill him quickly. More likely, she’ll let him die of his own failsafe, as punishment for not being a good little sleeper agent.

But it’s not that bad yet, Ryou tries to calm himself. You still have options. The team will look for you once the party is over. If you’re forced, you can still call out to the Black Lion, and get a message to Shiro that way. Things aren’t hopeless yet.

And fortunately, he has one other thing working in his favor to suppress his panic: anger. And the more ticks pass, the more of it he has.

“You’d sell out your entire planet to the Galra?” Ryou asks, his voice cold. “Do you know what they do to planets like yours?”

“Free them from overlord scum like you?” the gun-toting Takarite counters, scathing.

“They are the overlords,” Ryou says. He tries to keep his voice calm and unaccusing, still, but he can’t quite keep the fury contained. “They strip-mine entire planets for resources. Literally enslave the populations, putting them in camps and forcing them to participate in destroying their own homes. When they’ve taken everything they can, they drain the planet and everything living on it of quintessence. All that’s left is a broken shell of a planet. If you do this, you are consigning your entire race to death, and destroying your home.”

“Better than false slavery and servitude for the rest of Takarsis’ existance,” Josil says. “I’d rather have died fighting for something I believed in than get taken in by liars and thieves that destroy our sense of self. Takarsis forever!”

There’s no reasoning with these people. It’s disgusting. Ryou abandons any pretense of diplomacy getting him out of this mess. He needs to get out, and report this as soon as he can to the Takarite queen. Even when he does escape, and these guys don’t have the leverage of ‘Champion’ to work with anymore, that won’t stop them endangering the whole planet.

It seems like that’ll all be on him, though. Short of calling for help through the Black Lion—and hoping Shiro’s in the pilot’s seat at the time—it doesn’t seem like anyone can hear him. Even without wearing his helmet, he should have an open channel to the rest of the team in his armor. The fact that there’s been no response yet means these idiots are blocking signals somehow. It would also explain why nobody is tracking his location; that signal is probably blocked as well.

Assuming anybody even thought to look to begin with. If the party is still going on, nobody is going to believe anything is wrong yet.

Ryou’s still running through his potential options when one of the Takarites checks a device in his hand, stuffs it back in his pocket, and says, “It’s time. The fireworks display’s going off in twenty doboshes. If we get to the ship in time we can take off in all the noise and nobody will hear.”

“Good,” Josil says, nodding. “Chorek—drug him. I don’t want him causing a ruckus while we move him.”

“You got it,” the Takarite on the far right says. He’s got a bottle and a cloth in his hands, and as Ryou watches he liberally douses the cloth in the liquid. A faint chemical smell taints the air, and something dark and cruel in the back of Ryou’s head tickles at his brain, looming dangerously. He shoves it back with everything he has. He’s not sure if that one’s Shiro’s or his, but he can’t let it control him. Not now, not when it’s so important to be aware.

The effort leaves him shaking slightly. The Takarites must mistake it for fear, because the one with the cloth chuckles knowingly. “Sisret’s gonna keep that gun on you while I come close,” he warns. “You’re gonna play nice, or we’ll put a few extra holes in you. Might make your first arena match a little tough, if you know what I mean.”

For a moment, Ryou’s mind goes completely blank, like the words don’t process right. His numb mind slowly gains feeling again as Chorek’s words sink in and gain meaning, and then he says slowly, “You’re sending...me back to the arenas?”

He’d almost said him. They’d shocked him so badly he’d forgotten for a moment what he was doing here. He’s never almost broken character that badly before.

“Sure,” Sisret drawls, as he steadies the gun on Ryou. “I hear the arenas never had another fighter quite like Champion. They’re eager to have you back, and they’ll pay a lot of gak for it.”

Ryou stares at him. In his mind, the floodgates are broken, and all the arena memories of Shiro’s he’d ever managed to rediscover come pouring in. They all feel distant, like a film he’s experiencing of the terrible things Shiro went through, but there’s so much of it. Difficult battles. Awful wounds. Emotional struggles. Hunger. Sleeplessness. Pain.

This time, Ryou lets them. This time, they aren’t a distraction—they’re fuel for the fire.

“Do you know what that place does to its prisoners? Do you understand what it’s like?” he asks. Slow. Careful. Dangerously soft. He keeps his eyes trained on Sisret and the gun, ignoring Chorek and his cloth dripping with drugs even as he comes closer. Sisret actually shifts uncomfortably under the intensity of the stare, although he’s smart enough not to drop his gun.

The fourth, unnamed Takarite actually laughs at the question. “Yeah. A quiznacking good time!” he chortles. “I won ten thousand gak betting on you, once. Think you could give me the insider information on the next fight? I bet I could double the bounty we get off you!”

Ryou sees red.

Forget escaping. Forget calling for help. These sick bastards would put Shiro back into that hell without a second’s hesitation, and had the gall to think about profiting off of it. Every single one of them is going to die. No one is ever going to know what killed them.

They think Champion is dangerous? They caught something even worse—an ambush predator built for silent kills that no one ever suspects are coming.

It takes barely any concentration at all for him to activate his Olkari arm. He doesn’t doubt for a second that it will work, and his faith in Ryner’s engineering pays off. His hand glows pale green as the energy coalesces in his palm, still yanked above his head by his chains.

Sisret’s eyes gleam brighter, and his mouth opens in a perfect ‘O’ of surprise, before he gathers himself. “He’s—”

Too late. Ryou drops his fingers to point at Sisret, and fires.

His aim isn’t great, considering his arms are wrenched over his head and tied together. But the nice thing about having a hand that’s also an energy gun is that his aim doesn’t have to be great at this range. The blast hits the wall next to Sisret’s head, sending stone shattering everywhere, but it’s more than enough of a distraction to force the gun-wielding Takarite to throw himself to the ground for cover.

Before any of them can react, Ryou twists his wrist backwards, and fires at the wall and the bolt holding the chains to it.

At this close range, the blast hurts him, too. The concussive force as the wall shatters is enough to send another lancing stab of pain through his arm as the useless restriction band is jarred. He holds his scream back through sheer force of will, reinforced by a lot of fury. Chunks of stone shower around him, coating him in dust and bouncing off his armor, as the wall cracks.

Ryou barely notices any of it. He’s already moving, ignoring another protesting stab of pain in his arm, as he yanks his arms down. The chains are still secured to his wrists, but they’re free of the wall. He moves from the sprawled sit they’d put him in to an aggressive crouch in ticks, swinging around with the chains until they wrap around the approaching Chorek’s throat.

The Takarite makes a throaty squeaking noise as the chains pull taut. He drops the bottle of chemicals, and tries to flail out with the cloth, but it’s easy enough to dodge. The scent of trailing chemicals sails past Ryou’s shoulder harmlessly and splats on the stone floor.

With a cold, efficient twist, he wrenches with the chains. A sharp, meaty snap-crack fills the air, and Chorek sags bonelessly, eyes suddenly devoid of any color.

“Quiznak!” one of the Takarites shrieks. Ryou dislodges the chains from Chorek’s neck in time to spin and catch Sisret shakily coming to his feet, raising his black market issue blaster.

“Don’t kill him!” Josil barks. “He’s not worth anything dead!” There’s enough authority in his voice that Sisret listens, but that voice shakes with sudden fear, too. He knows he’s screwed up.

Good.

Sisret’s hands jerk as he tries to adjust his aim last minute, trying to find a non-lethal shot. Ryou has no such compunctions. He raises his still-chained right fist, letting the agonizing pull of the restricting band fuel him, and charges his fist again.

At this range, it’s impossible to miss. The pale green blast cuts a burning, bloody hole through Sisret’s torso. The Takarite collapses, gun clattering across the floor, and stares at the damage in bewilderment before the color fades from his eyes.

In the shocked silence that follows, Ryou takes the time to blast the chains off both of his wrists. The cuffs are still there, but the chains aren’t liable to trip him up anymore. He can work on getting them removed once the threat is contained.

“Are you having a good quiznacking time yet?” Ryou asks, as he glares coldly at the unnamed Takarite.

He whimpers, both sets of antenna drooping, and huddles farther back into the corner.

“No?” Ryou asks. His voice is low and calm, but unquestionably dangerous. “You mean it’s only fun to watch the slaughter when you’re not a part of it? Too bad.” His eyes narrow. “You’re a part of it now.”

“You—you can’t do that!” Josil yelps, voice high in his panic. His multi-colored eyes flick to the gun Sisret had dropped and then back to Ryou, but the gun is on Ryou’s side of the prison cell, and clearly neither of them like the idea of getting too close anymore. Not when he’s unbound and pissed. Cowards. “The inhibitor band—”

“Oh—you mean this?” Ryou taps the band on his forearm, and then casually reaches around until he finds the latch. With his hands free, it’s easy enough to unclip and remove. It’s agony to do so, like pulling knives out of his arm, but he channels that pain into his expression as he glares across at the surviving extremists. Once the spikes are out, the pain immediately lessens, as they stop aggravating his synthetic muscles and nerves.

He gives it an idle glance. Little wires and blinking bits adorn the four two-inch-long spikes on the interior of the band. They were probably intended to burrow into the Galra arm and lock up all weapons functions, movement, and anything else that might prove problematic for a kidnapping. All in all, a real nasty piece of work. He drops it on the ground, and crushes it under his boot heel. “Yeah, that doesn’t work on me.”

Josil’s the first one to move. He bolts for the door and slams it behind him, leaving his companion behind. There’s an audible sound of a lock clicking, and footsteps as he runs for freedom.

The unnamed Takarite slams against the door, cut off mid escape, and pounds on it frantically. “Josil!” He wails. “Josil, you can’t leave me in here with him!” He pauses mid-pound, and whirls to face Ryou, eyes glittering brighter in his panic.

“Remember when I asked you if you understood what the gladiator arenas were like?” Ryou asks, calmly. The Takarite whines in answer, and claws at the door.

“It’s like this,” Ryou answers, when his kidnapper doesn’t. “They lock you in a room with someone else, and only the one who lives gets to leave. It’s not fun, is it? Terrified and facing down somebody who’s a lot stronger than you, with no way out? And you would have sent Shiro back to this just to make an extra buck.”

The Takarite swallows, and then says confusedly, “But...but you’re Shiro—”

“No,” Ryou says, as he charges his Olkari arm. “I’m really not.”

The Takarite blinks, but then his eyes widen in sudden understanding. “The brother—”

Ryou’s shot takes him in the eye, and that’s as far as he gets.

He doesn’t spare time for mercy, or for regrets. This nameless bastard didn’t deserve any. He would have consigned Shiro back to the arenas and his entire planet to a long, torturous death, out of his own ridiculous sense of pride and false patriotism. He deserved it.

And there’s still one more.

Busting the door open isn’t hard. Two full blasts from his Olkari arm and he’s free, and pounding down the hallway at top speed. He can see Josil in the distance at the end of the hall, and there’s no way he’s letting the bastard escape.

Fortunately, he’s got range on his side.

At this long distance, accuracy is difficult, and it’s even more difficult moving. Ryou raises his fist and takes the shot anyway. He misses, in that he doesn’t hit Josil, but he does startle the Takarite into skidding to a halt when the blast hits the wall ahead of him. He whirls, spots Ryou, and shrieks. “How did you—”

Ryou’s second shot hits him in the stomach. The Takarite lets out a shriek of pain as he clutches at his wounded abdomen, and collapses to the ground.

Ryou jogs up to him easily, now that Josil is nothing more threatening than a squirming bit of jackass on a floor rapidly becoming drenched in dark green blood. Josil moans pathetically as he clutches at his stomach, and his eyes glitter in fear when he catches Ryou approaching.

But he forces a weak, rictus smile as Ryou approaches, and chokes through blood-stained teeth, “This isn’t the end.”

“Oh?” Ryou asks.

“There’s more of us,” he wheezes. “We’re not the only cell. We will liberate Takarsis.”

“You’ll kill everyone, you mean,” Ryou says. “I think the queen will be interested in hearing that.”

“I’ll never talk.”

“Oh, I never meant you,” Ryou says. His voice is colder than ice as he glares down at the last of his kidnappers. Josil must feel it, because he shivers. “You planned to send Shiro back to the arenas. He’s suffered enough, and you deserve to pay for even trying.”

Like his nameless companion, Josil frowns in confusion, laced with pain. “Shiro? But you’re—” And just like that, his eyes gleam brighter as he, too, realizes just how badly he’d screwed up. “The brother. The diplomat.”

Ryou doesn’t say anything at all; merely raises his hand to start charging it again.

Josil eyes the growing pale green brightness of Ryou’s right arm nervously, but he chokes through his bloodied throat, “You negotiated the agreement that sold our souls to Voltron. You deserve to die too, you quiznacking bastard.”

“But as you’ve seen, I’m a lot harder to kill than I look,” Ryou says. “Trust me. Smarter people than you have tried.”

“Takarsis for—”

Ryou shoots him. The strangled cry falls abruptly silent. Ryou shakes his head. “Liberate Takarsis? You would have killed them all out of greed. Good riddance.”

And he turns, and leaves the body behind.

———-

A little exploring reveals that Ryou had been taken to a warehouse on the far end of the city. It’s barely been a varga and a half since he’d been taken, and the party is still in full swing. It might have been vargas more before anyone had even noticed he’d disappeared.

That’s good, since it gives Ryou plenty of time to act. A quick exploratory search of the warehouse reveals stockpiled weapons and chemicals; this had been a regular nest for a set of insurgents. It’s something the local authorities will definitely need to know about if they intend to protect their people from Galra invasion. Josil had said there were more people belonging to this group.

So he’s quick about removing any evidence of having been there, including the inhibitor band that was supposed to be used to restrain Shiro. The last thing he needs is that kind of technology getting out. He finds the keys to his cuffs, too, and pulls them off before melting them into slag with his Olkari hand.

Once he’s removed himself from the evidence, he calls in an anonymous tip to the Takarite police, notifying them about both the den and the ship that’s supposed to be turning him in to the Galra. They can handle things from there.

Ryou himself is a little more of a challenge. He’s covered in dust from the wall, and while his ranged attacks meant he hadn’t gotten too bloody, there is some pretty visible damage to his arm. His Olkari arm is repairing itself reasonably well, now—it hurts less every time he moves it—but there’s nothing he can do about the punctures in the forearm of his armor.

He has no interest in causing a panic with the team, though. They deserve to be able to enjoy their party without having to concern themselves with him. More importantly, Shiro deserves to not be bothered with the full details of what had happened. Why be assaulted by those memories, or by the threat of going back to the arenas, when he’s not in danger of that anymore?

Because he won’t be. Shiro is still at the party, but Ryou had only been taken because he’d gone off on his own. He doubts Shiro would be able to get away with that, not as the Black Paladin and leader of the Voltron Paladins. He’s safely in the middle of thousands, and not even Josil’s ridiculous extremist group would be able to pluck him out of the middle of that crowd to take him back to the Galra.

Besides, Ryou doesn’t want to deal with his overprotective fussing. He’s dealt with it enough as it is, without admitting to being kidnapped in Shiro’s place. The last thing he needs is Shiro refusing to let Ryou out of his sight. Or Shiro feeling guilty about Ryou being taken in his place. Ryou doesn’t regret that at all—if Shiro really had been taken, Josil’s little coup might have been successful. They’d obviously planned for him. This was one of the reasons Ryou had decided to be Shiro’s double to begin with.

No, Shiro’s got enough on his plate. He’s not going to be bothered with this.

So Ryou cleans himself off as best as he can, breaking into a closed restaurant for their public bathroom, and washing away the dust and blood. He doesn’t have any visible wounds on his person—thank goodness he’d only been knocked out with drugs, and not a blow to the head, which would have left a nasty lump. The puncture wounds on his armor aren’t too obvious, as long as he angles himself right, and underneath the armor his Olkari ‘skin’ already looks smooth and undamaged.

It will do, as long as nobody inspects him closely. He doesn’t intend to let anyone.

Getting back to the party is easy, and now that he’s outside the extremist next, his comms are no longer blocked. “Back from the farmer’s market,” he announces. “But I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in a little early, if nobody minds?”

“It should be quite alright,” Allura says. Ryou can see her up on the raised platform in the middle of the wide clearing being used for the majority of the feast, sitting next to the Takarite queen. “I can handle any additional negotiation that is needed, although I hardly think there is any. You did an excellent job.”

“Thank you,” Ryou says, smiling despite himself.

“Did you get the plants you wanted?” Shiro asks. Ryou picks him out easily too, close to the raised platform to be backup for Allura on the off chance that something goes wrong, not that anybody expects it to. He’s safely surrounded by dozens of Takarites and within full view of Allura, Keith, and Pidge, which means he definitely won’t be disappearing without a fuss.

“No, unfortunately. They didn’t have anything I was interested in,” Ryou says. “I was mostly just curious, anyway. We don’t really need anything.”

He’d never even made it to the farmer’s market, and he had been genuinely curious in one of the fruits they sold here. Oh, well. The safety of Shiro and the planet was far more important than that. He can swallow his disappointment and live with the lie if he has to.

“Too bad,” Hunk says. “I was looking forward to cooking with something new.”

Ryou hums noncommittally, before saying, “Alright, then. I’ll just be back in the Castle. Call me if you need me.”

“Rest well,” Allura says over the comms. And just like that, Ryou’s avoided any and all suspicion.

Ryou doesn’t rest when he’s inside. He changes out of his armor to civilian gear after taking a quick shower, just in case. He sets the armor in one of the machines used for repairs, and for creating new equipment. He snags a holopad and brings up the coordinates of each member of the team, even Matt’s rebel tracker, like he would when coordinating a mission from the sky. And he watches the party for the rest of the entire night, keeping track of every single blip on the screen, to make sure nobody disappears.

It’s not until they’re all safely back in the Castle that Ryou finally lets himself relax. Everyone’s safe, nobody is in danger, and there’s no cause for panic. Things are finally okay.

He breathes a sigh of relief.

———

The following morning at breakfast, Allura announces some shocking news.

“The Takarites have warned us to be cautious,” she says. “Apparently, last night their police force received an anonymous warning regarding a terrorist organization. It’s a group the queen tells me they’ve struggled with for years, but apparently the recent agreement to join the Coalition has them...particularly riled up.”

Shiro frowns, immediately attentive. “Do they need our help?”

“The opposite, actually,” Allura says. “They reported that this group is particularly aggravated by Voltron, and suggested the paladins may be targets. They asked if we would be terribly offended if we cancelled some of the additional festivities while they deal with the situation, but do not want to put us in unnecessary danger.”

“Takarite festivities can go on for as long as a spicolian movement,” Ryou points out, ever the diplomat. “If they want to cancel them, this must be serious.”

“Agreed,” Allura says. “They beg us to please be careful while remaining on Takarsis while taking on supplies and planning our next course of action. But they assure us they have things well taken care of. It seems one of the cells of this organization has already been dealt with by some sort of...vigilante. They gleaned plenty of information for finding other cells from the anonymous tip.”

Shiro frowns. “Sounds like they have things in order, but we’re still willing to help if they need it. In the meantime—” he turns to look around at each of the other paladins, “—nobody goes off-ship alone, and I want everyone to be cautious.”

“As if they could take any of us down,” Lance says confidently. But he wilts under Shiro’s stern look, and backpedals meekly. “Right, right. Staying put. It sucks, though. We were gonna get that parade today...”

“We don’t know what they’re capable of. It’s best to listen to the locals. If they want our help, they’ll get it—otherwise, we take their advice,” Shiro says. “Is that clear?”

The irony is, they would have been capable of taking Shiro. If it really had been Shiro they’d captured, and not Ryou, they would have won last night.

Ryou hates the thought of it. Shiro could have been in a Galra prison cell again right now, agonizing over the next opponent he’d be forced to face.

But that hadn’t happened, and it never would. And Ryou can’t let on that he knows anything about it at all, or risk showing his real thoughts on the matter.

So instead, he just says, “It won’t be so bad, Lance. We can work on that next level in Killbot Phantasm III if you want.”

Lance brightens immediately. “Oh, yeah! That’d be cool. I can’t read it without you.” Shiro shoots Ryou a grateful look, and Ryou nods back, understanding.

This is the way it should be. Everyone safe. No one the wiser, no one guilty, no one worrying over nothing. This is what he’s good at, and this is what he’ll do with those skills, to protect the universe, his friends, and Shiro however he can.

Whatever it takes.

#Parallel by Proxy #April Fools 2020 #Velkynkarma writes #Ryou #Shiro #gets a little dark #bosstoaster

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