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linasofia · 2 years ago

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Into The Woods

Part 2

Fandom: Uncle Vanya (2020)

Relationship: Dr Mikhail ”Misha” Astrov x Female OC

Warnings: 18+

Words: 2,2K

A/N: This is part 2 of a fic I wrote for the Armitage Summer Splash event. You can read the first part here.

@legolasbadass & @lathalea This is for you! Thanks for all your feedback.💚💚

Faint rays of light find their way through the thin curtain and wake me much too early. The calming sound of raindrops against the window makes me pull the duvet closer to my chin. It is not heavy rain, I can tell by the soft sound, but an innocent summer rain, and its only purpose is to give nature a life-giving glittering blanket over its green fields. I turn away from the window but the curtain is not thick enough to block the light out. The room is small, there is only room for a bed, a nightstand and a small dresser but I’m glad I got to sleep in a real bed tonight and not on a mattress in the main room, which last night looked more like a dormitory at a summer camp than the sleeping area for a group of adult academics. When I stumbled to bed, I left the window in my little room ajar and now, my head is grateful for the morning air. I stretch my body on the bed and massage my temples. We had fun last night. The food and wine were exquisite, the combination of family, dear friends and colleagues turned out to be a genius idea, and the singing and dancing went on long after the midnight sun had nudged the horizon. But today I pay the price for all decadence.

I smile at the memory of Misha trying to get a word with my brother after we returned from our secret adventure in the forest. With a sweet blush on his bearded cheeks, he explained on our way back to the cabin that he was a little old-fashioned. Misha was not really seeking my brother’s approval but he wanted to tell him face to face, rather than Nikolay finding out in another way. But my brother was the center of everyone’s attention, as he should be on his birthday, and never understood Misha’s request for a private conversation.

The sound of gentle drops finally drives me out of bed and with a sigh, I search my bag for something to slip on while I visit the bathroom. Everybody seems to be asleep, and when I walk on silent feet the few meters to the bathroom I try to be as silent as I can. I notice the door to Misha’s bedroom is closed and I assume he is sleeping, just as the rest of the cabin. My head feels heavy and I rest it in my hands as I sit down and do what I came for, inspired by the dripping against the windowsill. Maybe a short walk in the light rain and a healthy dose of fresh air can make the situation better. I drink water directly from the tap, quickly brush my teeth and then leave the bathroom. The front door is not locked and I manage to sneak out unnoticed. Once again I leave my sandals indoors, this time to avoid them getting ruined in the wet grass. The summer-child in me is awake and nature calls my name. If it was not for the drumming against my temples, I would run through the high wet grass and let it tickle my sun-kissed calves. But instead, I walk, enjoying the feeling of light rain on my bare arms, not caring about the fabric of my dress slowly getting soaked. My bare feet carry me to the area where the meadow turns to forest and I stop on the small trail to take in the smell of wet pine and soil.

”We have to stop seeing each other like this.” The dark, familiar and slightly amused voice behind me instantly makes me spin around and Misha’s sapphire eyes greet me. His gaze is warm when he lets it follow my body’s curves and I realize that my dress at this point is probably showing him much more than I would be comfortable with if we had not been intimate last night. He wears the same trousers as the day before but his soiled shirt has been replaced with a clean navy one. In the rain, it slowly takes the same shape as his body and I could get drunk again just by looking at him.

”What are you doing here? I thought I was the only one awake.” I really thought I was. Not that I’m disappointed to see him, only astonished.

”I was laying on the porch swing under the big oak. I like resting there, the pillows are very comfortable. The old oak’s crown of leaves works as mother nature’s protection and is a good addition to the small roof of the swing. It keeps the rain away.” He gives me a warm smile that makes his eyes glitter more than the drops of rain falling from his hair. ”You can guess how surprised I was when I saw you walking out in the rain.” His hands gently brush over my upper arms. ”Especially dressed like this.” You should have borrowed my raincoat, or at least an umbrella. They are just by the door.”

”I’m fine,” I tell him. ”I love the feeling of summer rain and I don’t want to hide from it under a piece of water repellent fabric.” Misha bursts into laughter. Then he wraps his arms around me and holds me close. When his lips meet mine in a tender kiss I hug him back, like I am afraid this vision standing in front of me, in clothes that now cling to his body, might disappear. With a low groan, he deepens our kiss, his tongue finds its way between my lips and his hands become more eager as they caress my back, my waist and finally the top of my thighs. I moan softly as he pulls the fabric up and reaches for my naked skin. His large hands squeeze gently at the soft flesh of my hips and when he looks me in the eyes, it’s like opening the window to his soul. The sincerity in his eyes almost knocks me over and, together with the heat his hands create on my body, he enchants me once again.

”You are really special, I have never met anyone like you.” His voice is husky when he speaks and his chest is so warm, even if his shirt is just as wet as my dress. His voice is filled with longing, the same longing runs in my veins and my whole body aches for him. He runs his hands over my hair and kisses me again and when his tongue dances with mine I can’t help thinking that this man was made for me. I’m amazed by how well we fit together. He breaks the kiss with a displeased grunt.

”We can’t stay here in the rain. I would love to go back inside, take off your beautiful but soaked dress, put you in my bed and make love to you. But I don’t think that is the smartest way to wake the rest of the guests.” He gives me a smirk that makes him look playful. I know he is right. Teasingly I run my fingers through his hair at the back of his neck and gently scratch my nails against the soft skin, and I can almost feel him shivering under my touch. My name is only a trembling whisper as it falls from his alluring lips.

He rubs my upper arms and then takes my hand. His long fingers cover my significantly smaller hand. ”Come. Let’s go, before you get cold.” His thoughtfulness makes me smile and I follow him, even if my whole body is protesting and demands more of his hands on my skin. As if he can read my mind, he lifts my hands to his lips and places a gentle kiss over my knuckles. ”We will come back to this soon, I promise. I just don’t want you to freeze and catch something that will keep you away from me when we get back to town. I’m selfish in that way, you see?”

From a distance, the cabin looks almost abandoned. No life is to be seen and all windows except mine are closed. The cabin is large, too large to be called a cabin, actually, and I remember thinking yesterday when I arrived that it was not what I had expected, it was beyond my imagination. Misha told me while giving me a quick tour that it had been in his family ever since it was built. I picture the logs for the building coming from the forest around us. Cut down by hand and then transported to the meadow. The cabin, built by sturdy men who knew that good work would be rewarded, members of the Astrov family tree who no longer can breathe in the scent of pine and wet grass. My heart aches a little. The very soul of the cabin rests in its walls.

The sound of Misha’s voice pulls my attention back to him. ”Maybe we should change clothes and then sit on the porch until the rest wake up. How does it sound?” I squeeze his hand and give him a nodding smile. ”Hopefully they are very tired today.” The stairs up to the cabin are a little slippery but Misha holds my hand tightly in his, protecting me from falling if I should slip.

A few minutes later I sit down beside him on the outdoor sofa in the corner of the porch. I wear a long white sweater that was meant for yesterday evening, but it stayed in my bag since the night was so warm. Now I’m glad I have it. He places a blanket over my bare legs and gently caresses my knee. A part of the blanket rests in his lap. Then he gives me a concerned look. ”Are you warm enough?”

”I was not really cold before, but thank you. It feels good.” Misha puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. I rest my head against his firm body, feeling the intoxicating scent that is uniquely his. The rain has almost stopped now and the clouds in the sky will eventually bow to the sun. Under the blanket, I sneak my hand over to his knee and gently caress his thighs. His legs are a treat for my palm and I seductively run my hand over the strong muscles and I hear him softly pull in air between his teeth as I firmly squeeze the firmness of his upper thigh. Encouraged by his reaction I grow bolder and let my fingers wander along the inside of his thigh, but I stop as soon as I feel him tighten his grip on my shoulder. My name sounds like a treat when he rolls it on his tongue. As much as I long to touch him, all of him, I will not do it with the risk of someone stepping out of the door. Hiding my own arousal is easier than covering his state. Soft linen trousers can be very revealing for a man of his size. I withdraw my hand and a ragged breath slips from Misha. ”You have the power to drive me mad,” he then murmurs as he presses his lips against my hair.

Suddenly the door opens and my brother steps out on the porch. He looks like he came directly from bed; traces of a pillow can be seen on his cheek and his hair stands like the ends of a broom. With a surprised look on his face, Nikolay’s gaze wanders from me to Misha, to his arm around my shoulders and back to my face.

”Is this what it looks like?” His question is not directed to any of us in particular, but Misha answers him. My dear brother gets the news before he even has had his morning coffee. His face turns to a big smile and he stumbles over, clearly with a heavy hangover, and gives me a bear hug. Then he turns to Misha. ”Be good to her, or else!” With his finger, he makes a very telling gesture at his own neck and if it wasn’t for the grin on his face, I would have been horrified. A relieved laughter erupts from Misha’s chest.

”I need coffee,” Nikolay then says with a pointed look.

Misha removes his arm and stands with a grunt.

”Me too.”

When he disappears inside, my brother takes a seat on my other side. He rests his head on my shoulder and I pat him. We sit in comfortable silence, but then he speaks in a soft and affectionate voice.

”You look very happy, my dearest sister. Astrov is a great guy, nobody would be more happy for you than me, if this becomes serious. But don’t tell him I said so.”

I give him a hug, ”That’s because I am very happy.”

After a while, seated between my brother and Misha, I warm my hands on a mug filled with coffee and notice that my head feels much better. The sun shines through the clouds and when the rays of light hit the wet grass it glitters like someone sparkled the meadow with tiny diamonds. The view fills me with a blissful feeling and I smile serenely. Slowly more people join us on the porch and the cabin comes to life. It looks like it’s going to be another warm day after all. Followed by a presumably heated night.

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @laurfilijames @enchantzz @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @s0ftd3m0n @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#dr astrov #mikhail astrov #uncle vanya #richard armitage #fanfiction #fanfic

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years ago

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Follow the Beacon Raven—Strictly Girl Time

[Link to Masterpost]

[Get in loser we’re going shopping (jk I love you all)]

"This one’s nice, but the red’s a little bright," Summer said, waving a sleeve in Raven’s face.

She backed away on reflex and swatted at it. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the color against your eyes. Ooh, this one’s not bad," Summer said, lifting one in a darker shade from the rack—though it had some ugly green ruffles along the cuffs and hem. "The lace wouldn’t be too difficult to pick off, and then we could put on some black trim instead. Unless you’d rather have black for the main color and use red for accents? There’s always lots of options in black."

"Um… I think I’d prefer long sleeves," she said, eyeing the dress’s thin straps. Gauntlets covered her brand most of the time, or the long-sleeved Beacon uniform, but either of those would be out of place at a party.

"Let’s look at black, then," Summer said, replacing the dress on the rack and rifling through the others. "I don’t see anything over here."

"...Why did you learn to sew?" Raven asked, following her down the aisle. From what she’d gathered, most students shared Tai’s attitude toward the skill—and then there was Summer, who could rival a lot of small towns’ tailors. She almost hated to admit it, but Summer was probably a little better with making new things, even if Raven was far more experienced with repair.

"The first year after we moved to Vale was hard. Dad had just died, and I couldn’t talk to any of my old friends…" she went quiet for a moment, hands hesitating on the fabric. "And we were living at Signal with our uncles while we looked for a house. Mom’s family made armor, so she grew up sewing. We made my Halloween costume together that year—she was trying to make me feel better, and help me get used to Vale since it was so different, and it just… we got a lot closer." Summer looked back up, beaming. "Halloween’s been my favorite holiday ever since!"

"That’s nice," Raven said, inspecting one dress that had good sleeves, but the gold applique on the waist looked too difficult to remove so she put it back. "We only learned so we could fix things. But it’s probably more fun when you’re not doing everything by hand."

"Ooh, what about this one?!" Summer demanded, holding up a long, flowing gown. It was fairly plain but the fabric was good quality. "It's practically a blank canvas!"

"I'll try it on and make sure it's big enough."

"I'll see if there's any curtains or skirts in your red we can take apart," Summer cackled, speeding out of the row.

Raven let her face slide back to neutral as the Huntress vanished. She still hadn't said anything about that night—but she would, there was no question. Raven had never seen her so angry.

The fitting room door creaked as she pulled it closed and slid the flimsy latch into place.

What did Summer expect from her? Qrow would know what to do—this all came so naturally to him. Talking to the teachers. Joining in Summer and Tai's jokes. Raven only felt lost.

If they got caught it would be her fault.

If they died it would be her fault.

The dress slid easily over her head, hanging loose on her shoulders as she tugged the skirt down over her pants. It was a little too big—perfect for altering—and the sleeves were form-fitting enough to hide her wrist. It would have to be enough.

"Raven?"

"Here." She didn't give herself time to think about it and headed back out into the store.

Summer beamed. Red spilled from her arms—she'd found the curtains she hoped for. "Do you like it?"

"Um—" Raven glanced down at her arms. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. But the style was simple and elegant, and the silky fabric draped in a way that was…well, dramatic, fluttering around her ankles when she moved. "Yes. I do."

Summer squeaked happily, clapping awkwardly but excitedly around the bundle. "Perfect! That was easy. Change back and let's grab something to eat, I'm starving."

Raven nodded, retreating back into the little stall. It was a nice dress… and it would be good to have something in her own colors. The armor that Beacon let her commission was the best clothing she had ever owned. And probably worth more than everything she'd ever stolen.

Most Branwens wore raided farmers' clothing, and that went double for the children. No point in making something better for someone who would grow out of it in a year.

She pulled her hair out from under her collar and finished tugging her shirt into place, staring at the dress hanging from the back of the door. Someone in Vale had thrown it away, basically. Something richer than Raven ever had before entering the Academy. She'd never thought of the tribe as poor, but now the idea sat as out of place in her mind as a parrot in a snowstorm.

"Come on," Summer said eagerly, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the line for the cashier. "Any ideas how you want to spruce it up?"

Raven stared at the dark silk in her hands. The Huntress had to be doing this for a reason, and she couldn't stand the waiting anymore. "Is this about Qrow?"

"Nah, I wouldn't ask him to wear a skirt again."

"...You know what I mean." Her fury that night, shoving Raven away from her brother. Sitting with him until they both fell asleep in each other's arms. She didn't really think either of them had done anything, but it still… felt like it meant… something.

What if it meant he wouldn't need her anymore?

Summer's brightness dimmed slightly, to a more manageable level. "…No, it's not about Qrow. It's about you."

Finally. They could get it over with.

"Yeah, see? That's what I mean. You hate me." She frowned, reconsidering for a moment. "...Or you hate everyone and I'm just next to you. I don't think I've ever seen you talk to someone who's not on our team…"

"I—I don't—"

"Raven, you don't have to like me," Summer said. That was… unexpected. "But we need to be able to work together and we can't do that if we're always at each other's throats. ...I'm the team leader, I'm responsible for making sure the three of you are okay. I just… I need to understand you better. What… what do you really think about me?"

About Summer? She was a Huntress. Completely at home in battle and fearless of flying in ways that made Raven feel ill just to think about. There was fire inside her—the same roaring blaze Bones had, and that Raven and Vanta could only ever hope to imitate. She was flawless strength. A forceful leader. Everything Raven wished she could be.

And yet, she coddled a man while he cowered and cried because of a dream.

"I don't…" Raven scowled at the dirty white flooring, trying to find words for the frustration. "I can't understand you. So many people in our class have never even left the cities—they have no idea what the world is like, but… you do. You've lost people. Lost your home. You've lived at the edge of the wild and at least have the sense to understand that there are things you don't know, things you haven't seen. And yet you still… you still hold onto childish things. Like the comics." She looked back at the Huntress's face. "I don't get it. What good is that fantasy?"

"I know the world is dark and horrible." Summer stared her square in the eye. "I'm going to make it better."

Raven snorted, without thinking. "What makes you think you can fix the world?"

"I didn't say fix." The words were as unyielding as her stance. "As long as we have Choice, some people are going to make bad ones—but I'm not going to stand on the sidelines and watch it happen. I'm going to make things better."

"...and the comics?"

"Gotta know what I'm aiming for. And, y'know, it's fun."

"But you'll never win."

"Well, all the best goals are unattainable."

Raven blinked. "…Huh?"

"I'll never be the best Huntress on Remnant, but I'll be better for trying. We can't eradicate the Grimm but we can't stop fighting. Nothing will ever be perfect—but that's not an excuse to give up. It's the reason that we can't."

Raven's hands tightened on the fabric as her gaze slid back to the floor. "...I don't think things can get better."

"But they have!" Summer said, surprised. "Look at what humanity has done in the past sixty years! The four Kingdoms are working together, fighting the Grimm instead of each other. You know two years ago had the lowest number of Grimm fatalities in recorded history? People are living longer. There's less hunger. Things are slowly improving between humans and the faunus. Child mortality is the lowest it's ever been. We're eradicating diseases—everything has gotten better."

The cashier beckoned them forward, and Raven set the dress on the counter while Summer handed over a few Lien. "...You didn't... really want to become a huntress, did you," she murmured. "You came here because of Qrow."

There wasn't a reason to lie. "...Yes."

"Well… what would you do? If you could do anything you wanted, what would you be?"

Anything? She'd get out of this den of lions and go back where she belonged, with Qrow and Vanta and Bones, where she was free and powerful, with the promise that one day they would lead their people.

But Bones was dead. Their only way forward was to kill Vanta. And Qrow…

"I can't do whatever I want," Raven said. "That's not how the world works."

Summer snorted. "And that's not how the game works. Come on—you're both safe no matter what you choose. You can go anywhere in the world and do anything you want. Even if it sounds silly." She scanned around the store, looking for something, and her eyes fell on a poster. "You could be a, a movie star! Or a Councilwoman!"

A Councilwoman. Raven nearly laughed—wouldn't that be rich.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Summer said, accepting their bag and thanking the cashier. "What about a teacher, like Professor Mesánychta—you like working with her, right? Or—oh, or a sailor! You could work on boats and see the world. And they're always hiring Huntsmen for protection, Qrow could go with you." beat "Being a Huntress or a farmer aren't your only choices."

...It had been nice. The salt smell of the ocean. Wind strong enough to make her feel like she was flying, without the sick twist in her stomach. Nothing on the horizon to hide attackers and some kind of Dust machinery scanning for Grimm below.

But no. The tribe—her family—needed her. She'd go home.

Wouldn't she?

"I don't know," Raven said, praying it was a lie. "...What about you?"

"Me? I—I've always wanted to be a Huntress. I…" her voice trailed off, brow furrowing. "...I'd go back to Anima and visit my dad."

"The… one that died?"

Summer snorted, but somehow in a way that didn't make Raven feel stupid. "No, the one that can fly and shoot lasers from his eyes."

How did she always do that? No matter what she said it never felt like an accusation. "I… I meant… why haven't you?"

"Mom always said it wasn't safe." She glared at her knees, hands tightening on the bag. "I guess… I guess I always knew someone killed him. I just didn't want to believe it."

Gods, what was she supposed to say? People weren't supposed to talk about the dead. "...I'm sorry."

"You two don't talk about family besides each other. ...Did you ever… get to meet your parents?"

"We knew our father." Raven answered, but the Huntress seemed to expect more. "He… started our training. Before the Huntsman. ...He was good to us."

"Let's write them letters."

Raven was startled enough to meet her eye. "Huh?"

"Since Mom and I can't visit him we both write him letters instead, and burn them so they'll reach the afterlife." Summer dug the receipt out of the bag and tore it in half, leaving two hand's length pieces. "I promise it helps. Here—" she grabbed a couple pens from the basket next to the register and passed one to Raven along with half the paper.

"But—"

Summer grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the furniture section near the front window, plopping down on a little couch and dragging Raven with her.

But it was stupid to talk to someone who couldn't talk back, and weakness that she still wanted to. "...I wouldn't know what to say."

"Just tell him you miss him," she said, spreading out her scrap on the short table placed between the rows of seats and beginning to write.

Raven stared down at the pen. This was objectively pointless.

Hello— she hesitated for half a moment, but no. It was too strange. —Bones. The words were tiny, too small for Summer to read over her shoulder. I miss you. I know it makes me weak. I don't want to stay in this place. Her eyes stung. They're going to kill Qrow and it's going to be my fault because I can't pretend to be one of them. I don't understand them. I don't understand him anymore either. He wants to die. It hurt when you died. It hurt so much I can still feel it burning sometimes. I wanted to learn from you and not Huntresses. If I tell Qrow how to control the tribe then he won't need me anymore. If I stay here they'll kill me. Did it hurt when yo

Raven gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to throw the pen aside and leave. This was stupid—she sounded like a frightened child.

Something brushed her shoulder and she recoiled, but the Huntress pulled her into an embrace anyway.

Next Chapter: Taiyang—A Glass of Punch

#rwby #strq #team strq #raven branwen #summer rose #qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #bones branwen #sterling rose #vanta branwen #claret rose #rwby fanfiction #rwby rosebird #follow the beacon

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thelioncourts · 4 years ago

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title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 5228 for chapter four (4/?); 20080 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

The next day, their walk to the gallery was accompanied by rain. It wasn’t a hard rain, much more of a drizzle, but it left the sidewalks darkened, the population outside scarce, and the tops of Damen and Nik’s shoes wet.

“Is today going to be like yesterday?” Damen asked from underneath the black umbrella.

“Essentially,” said Nik. “We’re not getting there until eight o’clock because they don’t need to introduce us, and I know we’re photographing a different line than the gold label, but everything else will be the same.”

“Why aren’t you doing the gold label again?”

“They want to see how we work with a bolder color as opposed to the shine of metallics. The lighting to capture the two is so different and it will be a really good way to gage if the photographers know what they’re doing.”

They turned a corner and narrowly missed colliding with a man wearing a suit and holding a cup of coffee. Though they did avoid such a disaster, their umbrellas got briefly intertwined, allowing for rain to fall on them while exposed to the elements. Damen’s right shoulder took most of the water. Unperturbed, Damen shook it off and they got back to their steady pace.

“I remember the first time you really had to work with color,” Damen said.

“Do you?” Nik asked with an amused raise of his brow.

“I do,” said Damen. “Vihaan was getting married. We were invited, of course, and he wanted to hire you as the wedding photographer. You tried to decline, saying that you didn’t have enough experience to be responsible for such a day, but Vihaan insisted.” The gallery was just ahead now and through the windows they could see a few people walking around. “We were about three weeks away from the wedding and you started to freak out about all the color that would be at an Indian wedding. So, instead of letting you freak out, I scheduled a trip for us.”

“Old San Juan,” Nik said.

“Old San Juan,” Damen repeated with a smile. “Puerto Rico had so much color for you to practice with. It wasn’t any surprise that your photos for Vihaan’s wedding turned out as good as they did.”

As he opened the door to the gallery, Nik said, “They wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.”

“Not true,” Damen argued. They both shook off the umbrellas as much as they could before closing them and letting the door close behind them. “They would have turned out great no matter what. I just,” Damen trailed off, looking for the right thing to say, “gave you the placebo you needed to think you could take those kinds of photos.”

There were more people here than there were yesterday, but they both decided that was because of the hour later start time for the photographers. Much like yesterday, however, was where people were. Damen recognized their friend Vannes from yesterday, standing at the beverage station with another delicate black stir stick in hand, stirring it clockwise while she chatted with Audin. Across the way, Talik couldn’t take her eyes off of the female designer, the camera in Talik’s hands long forgotten in its importance. Charls, who Nik had said was even cheerier than he had seemed when Damen saw him, was in the back at the makeup vanities, his joyous laugh carrying through the echoing gallery brightly. Juerre and Guilliame were huddled by the curtain the photographers had disappeared behind the day before, no doubt speaking in French, and, from the fiddling of Guilliame’s fidgety hands, talking something serious; probably gossiping about which photographers wouldn’t get picked for the show. Then they saw a flash of red.

“There’s the answer on what bold color you’re going to be dealing with today,” Damen said. The redhead, whom they had learned yesterday was named Ancel (courtesy only of his agent pleading at him about something) was prancing around with a confidence unlike any of the others, already dressed in clothes that matched the fire of his hair. They seemed to prefer him in sheer fabrics, or maybe he preferred himself in them, but he was wearing a shirt that wasn’t a shirt at all, but red fishnet fabric that went from his neck to the tops of his ribs and all the way down each arm, cinching tight right at the wrists. His pants, shiny red leather, were no doubt similarly cinched around his ankles if the red thigh-high boots he had on were any indication. But the most striking was the simplistic styling of his red hair and the red liner winged on his eyelids.

[Continue on AO3]

“At least it wasn’t something too bright, like yellow or something,” Nik said. He adjusted the camera back over his shoulder, heaved a sigh, and looked at Damen. “I should go start fiddling with my camera again. All my settings are going to need adjusted.”

“Go,” Damen said with a jut of his chin. “I’ll go make a fool of myself again. After a coffee, of course.

“Right.” Nik stepped once then immediately turned to face Damen again. “If you see Laurent anytime in the next hour, try not to sexually harass him. He’s the one person here who can really make or break me. Him wanting to rip your dick off so you’ll stop thinking with it will definitely have him wanting to do the latter.”

“I have never sexually harassed anyone in my life,” Damen argued, sounding utterly indigent.

“No,” Nik said after some consideration, “but you’ve pursued and never been told “No” a day in your life. Laurent doesn’t seem like a “Yes” kind of guy.”

Damen waved him off, ignoring the call of, “Damen, I’m being serious!” and made his way over to get himself a coffee. After a minute, he didn’t see so much as hear Nik stomp away in a huff of fond annoyance. He was smiling to himself when Vannes said, “And how did your friend survive yesterday, Mr. Influencer?”

She had a smug grin on her face, something that seemed permanent in her disposition, but Damen met it with a steady gaze. “He did more than fine. How are you today, Ms. Vannes?”

“I’m quite well,” she said. It was obvious that she made note of how quickly he shifted the conversation. “I’m reminiscing while seeing pieces from one of our older lines running around here. It speaks volumes into how we’ve changed.”

“How old is this line?” Damen asked.

Vannes hummed. “It was from a winter line we launched three years ago. Many of the models that were here for that line have left the business. The ones still with us have different measurements than they did then. In turn, it’s been a puzzle refitting things this morning.”

The coffee maker, just as yesterday, hissed and steamed.

“Many of the models have left the business?” Damen asked. “Is there often a high turnover rate in modeling? I feel like the same girls have been walking for Victoria’s Secret for the last decade.”

“You would compare this to Victoria’s Secret,” Vannes muttered. “Etoile is predominantly a youth modeling agency. Our models normally range from only the ages of fifteen to twenty. After that, our models’ contracts are up and not renewed.”

“Fifteen? That’s young,” Damen said.

“Laurent was signed on when he was thirteen.” Vannes placed her red mug onto the table. “Laurent is Etoile’s star.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Damen said, his smile telling. “I saw him yesterday.”

Vannes hummed again. “Well, enjoy it. He’s turning twenty-one this year. And I highly doubt he’ll be renewing his contract.”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s the owner’s nephew, right? There have to be some kind of familial advantage that would let him do this another few years if he wanted to.”

“He’s a spoiled and entitled brat,” Vannes said matter of fact. “Over the years, he’s gotten mouthier, refused to listen to his uncle or the Etoile board on what he needs to do to represent us. He won’t re-sign because he doesn’t want to be told what to do.”

Charls voice, like yesterday, interrupted to ring out through the gallery. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to start by thanking you all for such a lovely day yesterday. All your work is much appreciated. None of our designs mean anything if we don’t have the stylists, artists, photographers, assistants, and, of course, models to make them magical.” Vannes waved at Damen with a fluttering of her fingers as she made her way over to where Charls was standing. Audin was doing the same. “Today we have dusted off one of our past winter lines to see how our photographers do with bold color. The day will go much as it did yesterday, with preliminary group photos followed by a rotation of our models in small groups or duos. After a discussion with our photographers yesterday, we are going to double the time of rotation, however. This will, hopefully, allow you all to get to know one another much better and will allow our photographers opportunity to get the best photos. Are there any outstanding questions or concerns to address before we begin?” Charls paused, turning around the room in search for a raised hand, and when no one responded, he clapped his hands together and said, “Then we will begin shortly! Our beautiful models are almost ready.”

“The models might almost be ready, but I’m not,” Nik said to Damen as Damen wandered back over.

“You’re fine. Just like yesterday, you’re fine,” Damen said.

“They’re not having me by the windows for the individual shots today. They’ve moved me over there,” Nik said, pointing over to the wall farthest from the windows he had been at yesterday. There were three columns, large and white, Corinthian styled, and nothing more besides the shadows they casted on the floor.

“So, adjust your settings and kill it like you did before,” Damen said. Nik shot him a glare.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Damen put his hands up defensively. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Walking around felt different than it had yesterday. Already Damen had expectations as to what he would see. The biggest difference today, he noted when he was by the clothing carts, was that there were more clothes leftover than there had been yesterday. Vannes hadn’t been lying when she said a lot of the clothes didn’t fit the current models’ measurements. He was running a hand over a pair of large red hooped earrings when he heard a click of heels. It wasn’t hard for him to realize how like yesterday this was, him at the tables near the vanities.

Laurent was talking to another model, one of the pretty ones with honeyed eyes. The boy was talking with a smile and Laurent was smiling indulgently back and his smile would have been the most distracting thing, was the most distracting thing, but it also drew attention to the other most distracting thing which was the red lipstick on his mouth, accentuating its fullness with the adroitly smeared bit at the right corner as though it was daring Damen to look anywhere else.

Still, he eventually did look anywhere else; he had to look at what Laurent was wearing because it was so excessive, so demanding of attention. The red lipstick on his mouth was the only color on his face. It made the color all the more sensual, the appearance of it looking kissed off and ruined. His hair, like Ancel’s, was simplistically styled and that in itself drew more attention to the less than simplistic ruby necklace on his collarbones. It was a large piece of jewelry, the beginning of it a choker that started low on his neck before scooping down to rest on the flat of his chest. Its width was at least four inches at the curve where his neck met shoulder. Damen wasn’t certain how much a necklace like that would go for, but if he had learned truly anything in the last few days it was that Etoile wasn’t cheap; this thing easily had to cost more than ten thousand dollars. But even it wasn’t enough to take away from the red suit Laurent was wearing. The suit jacket, sans shirt, was buttoned just up to the button between the top portion of Laurent’s ribcage. It was a single-breasted jacket with notched lapels and angled pockets, and it was fitted like a glove, so tight to Laurent’s body that Damen could make out the precise movements of his shoulder blades underneath the fabric. There was no vent to the back of the jacket, and it fell far enough to hide the pockets of both the front and back of the pants he was wearing. Even with the pockets hidden, it wasn’t difficult to notice three things: that the pants were made of the exact same material as the jacket, that the pants were tight too, and that Laurent had the most delicately shaped ankles on the planet.

In another life, one where Damen would have most definitely ran into Laurent on his own terms, Damen would have spent the last two days working all of his charms, the exact ones that have yet to fail him, just to see if he could get the blond underneath him in bed. But in this life, the one where Laurent was an integral part to Nik’s first break in the photography industry, Damen knew he had to behave. So, he did.

If Laurent had noticed him staring, he made no effort to disengage such actions. In fact, Laurent seemed to not know Damen was standing in the vicinity at all. After the honey-eyed model had finished talking about whatever had been on his mind, Laurent had said a few words with that same indulgent smile and then turned toward Charls, beckoning the model to follow.

Damen whistled lowly as he approached Nik again. “That blond, man.”

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“Have some faith in me, Nik,” Damen said. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I feel like I need to reiterate it to you as often as possible,” Nik said.

“I promise not to jeopardize this,” Damen said, hand over his heart. “I’ll wait until the big fashion week is over before I tell him all the things I’d like to do with him.”

Nik made a face. “Gross.”

He was at the columns and Damen stepped to the side to allow him to test a few pictures. He tried one, two, three, and he must have done something different on each one with a simple twist of a dial, because he stared at his screen for a few minutes, analyzing the photos. “Hey,” he said after a minute, walking back up to Damen with the screen of the camera gestured out, “doesn’t this look like some of those pictures we took back home a few years ago?”

Damen took the camera and smiled at the memory, and right as he was opening up to say so, Nik’s hand clasped around his wrist in a vice-like grip. “Damen, we haven’t taken any pictures for online. Shit, Damen, I’ve been so focused on this –”

“Nik, relax,” Damen laughed, unlatching Nik’s hand. “I took our scheduled stuff from Italy and changed it to post every other day instead of every day. We’re good for another two weeks. In the meantime, I’ve still been posting my workouts on my story. Those always seem to do well.”

“I forgot you were still working out at hellish early hours,” Nik said. His face screamed of relief.

“Parisian sunrises are pretty amazing. You should try to get up and see one before we leave,” Damen said.

Nik was better after that, better enough to start fiddling with his camera again. It was right after he had taken two more pictures that a clicking of heels and the shuffling of feet alerted them both to movement back at the center of the room. Sure enough, all the models were gathering together in the same places they had yesterday, Laurent, Ancel, and the green eyed one near the front.

“Look at our models,” Charls announced loudly, drawing attention from those still straggling. “This red was such a bold statement for our winter line, and we were thrilled to dust off its vibrancy. If we could have our photographers gather, we are now ready to begin!”

The group photos went just like yesterday; the models all had a unique energy and so did the five photographers. It was fun to watch Nik at first as he tried to find what angle worked best with this coloring, this lighting, and then when he found it, Damen’s gaze was allowed to drift and it found Laurent’s mouth.

Like yesterday too, Damen was struck by how Laurent posed or, more specifically, how he didn’t seem to pose at all. Ancel was exaggerated with his body, moving it in the obvious way meant for seduction. The green eyed one looked less practiced, but was doing the same, arching his back and drawing attention to the jut of his hip bones. And it worked for the both of them and the others, it did, but Laurent did his own nonexaggerated thing and it was effortless and beautiful.

Damen still couldn’t stop staring at the smudge of red on his mouth.

“I can feel your staring and it’s not even at me,” Nik mumbled. Damen turned his head so no one else would see his grin.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it.”

Charls rushed forward to adjust the collar on the green eyed one’s shirt (Aimeric was his name) and then he rushed right back, his eyes shining as he took in what he had created. Then he announced it was time for the photographers to move to their designated individual places. Nik started to pack up his camera bag when Talik came up to him, and Damen, with a furrow between her brows.

“I’m in your spot from yesterday,” she said. “And I can’t figure out the lighting with the windows though. How did you manage it yesterday?”

“Here are the settings I used,” Nik said, showing her a sheet of paper stuffed in his bag. He had written down the numbers.

She thanked him and left, and Damen huffed. “Giving away your secrets?”

“It’s tough lighting to shoot in over there.”

“Well, wait to give away all your secrets until after you’ve been chosen to go to the Olympics,” Damen said.

Having had already figured out everything for his new place, Nik found it easy to set up. Damen, instead, watched the other photographers set up. He watched Talik adjust her settings to what Nik had shown her, he watched Jeurre’s manager talk animatedly to him under the crystal chandelier, and he watched Charls direct the models in the same groups and duos they had been in yesterday. Laurent went to Hendric first.

The first group sent Nik’s way was beautiful and dressed in silks, silks that draped and flowed like the wind was always caught in their weight. The twenty minutes gave Nik the time to actually pose the models in a multitude of ways, to space them between the columns, to take pictures in the shadows the columns casted, to take pictures of brown eyes against the white stone.

Charls called for the groups to move and Nik was graced with the presence of Ancel and Aimeric. They were a startling duo, Ancel’s pin straight red hair against Aimeric’s brown curls, but both with green eyes. Aimeric lacked Ancel’s confidence but made up for it with the aristocratic curves of his face. Nik asked for them to stand back-to-back, asked for Ancel to bend at the knees ever so slightly so he was at equal height with Aimeric and they could angle their faces up toward the light. Ancel said, with a sly smile on his face, “You two are by far the most handsome strangers I’ve ever had photograph me,” and Nik didn’t say anything other than a low hum of acknowledgment. And when Charls called for the groups to move, Ancel waved flirtatiously as he had the day before.

Then there was Laurent.

His blue eyes were cool as he assessed the columns, assessed the light and the dark, assessed Nik and the camera in his hands.

“Well?” Laurent asked after a moment’s pause.

“Can we do something like what we did yesterday, with you behind one of the columns?”

Laurent moved in acquiesce, his feet quiet against the marble floor, and Nik took a picture of Laurent’s jeweled hand resting on the stone before anything else. They did a few variations there, some photos focused on the contrast of the bold red against the minimalistic background, others focused on the way Laurent could lean a shoulder against the white stone and look more becoming than anyone had a right to. It was when Nik motioned for Laurent to step forward that the blond spoke again.

“I heard your real name is Nikandros,” he said, pressing the palm of his head into the grooves of the column that were equally tall as his own eye level. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Nik said simply.

“Very Greek,” Laurent said. He placed all his weight on the column, bearing it between his shoulder blades. The vent of his jacket was so tight that it didn’t lean away from his body as he arched away from the column. Instead it stayed in place, the lines of it all so clean, even down to the curves of his heels.

“And did you grow up in Greece your entire life?” Laurent asked. Nik snapped another photo.

“Yes. I went to the same schools my parents attended in their youth.”

“Why leave?”

Damen could see it in Nik’s shoulders that he wasn’t sure what to make of what was happening. Damen wasn’t quite sure what to make of hearing Laurent speak; his voice was like cold water splashed on your face after a day in scorching heat. He also wasn’t quite sure what to make of Laurent’s line of questioning.

“I – we – decided that there was more to see of the world than our city by ocean. We wanted to see it before we ended up like our parents, old and sheltered from sights different than the ones we were born surrounded by,” Nik said.

“By ‘we’ I assume you’re talking about your friend over there,” Laurent said as though Damen wasn’t in hearing-distance. “Friend? Brother? More?” Nik glared at his camera screen and adjusted a singular setting.

“Friends,” Damen supplied in answer, watching Nik get distracted. Laurent’s cool blue gaze landed on him. The red he was bathed in made his eyes look brighter.

“And you must be the face of the two,” Laurent said.

“The face?” Damen asked, taking a step closer. Nik was still fiddling with the camera.

“You two are the,” Laurent paused, “social media influences.”

Damen couldn’t help but laugh, even if his laugh was an incredulous one. “What is with you all and –”

“I had been trying to deduce which of the five of my uncle’s latest group of experimentees was the Instagram photographer, but I soon realized that looking at the photographers themselves would never do. I needed to look at their acquaintances.” Laurent had lowered himself to the ground without any direction, splaying his long, red-clad legs out and bending one just enticingly enough to look like temptation. “Everything about you screams it.”

“‘Everything?’” Damen asked. “How could everything about me scream something like that? Especially when it’s not true.”

For the first time since the shoot had started, Laurent smiled, and it wasn’t kind. He looked at Damen under blond eyelashes then spent a moment consciously changing the smile to something alluring. The entire display was magic. “You’re either extremely confident in yourself or extremely oblivious about the way life works.” He tilted his head to show off the column of his throat. “Or both.”

“We travel the world,” Damen said, taking another step closer. “We can’t help what it’s turned into, but it hasn’t changed us. We’re still doing this for us and no one else.”

“Everyone is always doing something for the approval of someone else. Even if they don’t think they are, they are.”

“You seem young to be this cynical,” Damen said.

“You seem old to be relying on teenagers on social media for your career,” Laurent said right back. He moved again, laying down, spreading his hair out like a halo on the marble floor, and turning to look at the camera.

“Can you lower your left arm?” Nik asked. Laurent complied.

Damen realized he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. He was pretty sure that lashing out at Laurent would have the same effect as trying to come on to him, and both of those ended with him and Nik packing their bags in two days.

“What is your backup plan?” Laurent asked to neither of them in particular. “Social media is currently what is bringing in the money, but social media didn’t exist in this capacity ten years ago. In another few years, something newer will take over in rank.”

“We haven’t thought that far,” Nik said. He snapped another photo.

Laurent smiled again. “I don’t doubt that.”

Damen ran a hand through his hair and breathed out a laugh, the kind of laugh that was only a breath of air out of his nostrils, and when his self-control was finally slipping away, Charls called for the models to move once more. Laurent, elegant, got off the floor and walked away.

Nik shot Damen a look. “That was unbearable.”

“Yeah.”

Nik got a lovely group of five models to photograph next and, to Nik’s surprise, one of the models, one with a confidence at a level near Ancel’s, suggested they lift the smallest of the five, a beautiful sandy haired one, up over their heads. Nik thought that sounded wonderful as long as they felt safe doing so and he had them stand center between two of the columns and lift. Erasmus, the sandy haired one, giggled. Their shadows were complementary to the shadows of the columns.

To not disrupt anything, there was a rule while the shoot was going on and that was no one in or out of the entry doors. There was everything anyone could need in this main part of the gallery and the entry doors almost always allowed a gust of wind to enter that could ruin the models’ hair. Everyone knew the rule and there was usually someone outside to ensure no one broke that rule. So, when the door opened, everyone noticed.

It was the child from Etoile’s office.

The child was wearing an outfit that cost at least as much as anything any of the models were wearing and the curls of his hair looked to be done professionally. He strutted through the gallery like he owned it, all arrogant in a way that betrayed his age. There were some looks thrown his way, but most seemed familiar or even expectant.

Damen watched, curiously, as the child walked with that never-faltering arrogance all the way up to Laurent. With a petulance befitting his age, he crossed his arms over his tiny chest, and tapped his heeled shoe on the ground. Laurent, for his part, must not have seen him or didn’t want to see him because he kept doing what he had been doing as the child had walked in: posing with his head tilted up toward the crystal chandelier. It didn’t seem to bother him that the child was ruining his shot, not until the child tugged on the sleeve of Laurent’s expensive suit jacket.

Finally, Laurent gave the child his attention. They both wore similar frowns on their faces, near mirrors of one another. The child said something, and his face said that whatever he said wasn’t kind. Laurent said something in return and his face looked the same. The child said something again and Laurent motioned at the door. With a huff, the child turned to go, but not before Laurent ruffled his perfectly curled hair. It was obvious it wasn’t a normal sign of affection and was only done to incite anger. It worked. The child swatted hard at Laurent’s arm.

“Hey,” Nik said, getting Damen’s attention. Damen waited until the child was walking out the entry doors before he turned back. “Can we go out and get drinks tonight?”

“Name the time. I’ll find us a good place,” Damen said. He was already reaching for his phone. The suggestion sounded more like a plea.

Charls announced for the models to move one last time.

There was a bar called Danico just two blocks away from the gallery. Neither Damen nor Nik wanted to bother stopping by their room, they just wanted to go. And when they got there, it was moody and alive, and they grabbed two perfectly empty stools at the bar. Nik, with his camera still in hand, didn’t even look at the menu. Damen ordered them both something strong, carbonated, and refreshing.

“Tomorrow is the last day of shooting,” Damen said, knowing Nik knew.

“Yeah,” Nik said. “I’ve never been under pressure like this for photography. The last time I felt like this was when we were kids and playing sports.”

“They’re going to choose you,” Damen said.

“I don’t think Laurent likes us very much.” They both smiled politely as their drinks were put in front of them. Nik drank a mouthful and then another.

“Well, I don’t think he likes anyone very much,” Damen laughed. “I think the playing ground is still even there.”

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes, decompressing and taking in the atmosphere of the bar. There were some beautiful people wandering around, all in nightlife wear, and Damen had that look in his eyes that earned him a not-so-easy punch in the arm from Nik.

“I’m trying not to be overconfident, but I guess I should start researching other fashion weeks,” Nik said.

“That’s not overconfidence speaking. That’s reality.”

“Whatever you want to call it, I still have no idea what I’m actually doing.”

“We’ve done really well at faking it this long,” Damen said with a grin.

“What are we even going to do for the two full weeks before fashion week?” Nik asked, ignoring him.

“There’s plenty to do in Paris,” Damen said. “And we haven’t even explored once. We’ll find more than enough to keep us busy for two weeks.”

It was easy to fall into other conversation after that. Damen brought out his phone and they looked at stats and messages and scheduled posts from their last trip in Italy. Then they talked about the phone calls they had both ignored from their families.

“Do they even know we’re here in Paris?” Nik asked, laughing. They had also ordered two more drinks.

“I have no idea,” Damen said, laughing too.

“Let’s tell them,” Nik said. He motioned for Damen to stand.

“Oh, come on,” Damen said. Nik motioned again. “Aren’t you tired of taking pictures?”

#captive prince #captive prince fic #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #capri #capri fic #the mannequin gallery #mannequin gallery 'verse #the mannequin gallery chapter 4

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wallywrites · 5 years ago

Text

heartache, loneliness, guilt

Part 2: in the days between

(Part 1)

This is part 2 or a 3 part wolfstar au series taking place during the war; the Potters are in hiding, Remus is recruited by Dumbledore to go on secret missions, and Sirius is alone.

If y’all have any requests, let me know and I’ll see what I can do! (Any OTP is fine but wolfstar is my personal favourite 😉)

I hope y’all enjoy!

Part 3 coming soon!

~~~

It’s been three days since he left, and Sirius was back in that dark place. The heartache, the loneliness, the guilt all came rushing back the moment he watched his fiancé walk out the door.

The first night, he was already having nightmares to the point where he would wake up, wand pointed towards the door, heavy chest and full of fear, and by the second night he wasn’t sleeping at all.

Something that wasn’t unusual, whenever they took Remus. Whenever he was alone.

A sigh escaped him as he pushed himself from their bed, rubbing his hands over his face as he stared to the wall.

His eyes wandered over to their dresser, landing on the many picture frames which sat on top.

Pushing himself from the bed, he let his feet drag him towards the dresser, his eyes landing on his favourite photo.

They were sat in the Gryffindor common room, laughing at something’s James had said. Remus was sat in Sirius’ lap, his arms draped around his shoulders, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile at the image.

James had said that he’d never seen Sirius so happy than he was in that moment, and Sirius would respond by rolling his eyes, but he knew that it was true.

Sirius had never been as happy as he was in that moment, sitting and laughing with his closest friends, the love of his life on his lap, the only worries in their minds being who was going to win the next quidditch match.

He chuckled out, his chest beginning to hurt again as his eyes watered. He really did miss Remus, and his heart ached more when he thought about it.

Another sigh escaped him as he rubbed his eyes, before pushing himself from the room and towards the bathroom.

He knew what Remus would say if he saw the state which Sirius was in. “You have to look after yourself, Sirius! You can’t just stop living because I’m not there!”

It worried Remus, his heart aching as he thought of how Sirius treated himself, how he couldn’t look after himself when he was worried about his fiancé.

Sirius knew it was wrong of him to, but sometimes he couldn’t even force himself out of his bed.

It would only get worse, the longer Remus was away, so he knew for now, whilst he still had some motivation, some energy, he should at least try.

So, he entered the bathroom, turned the shower on and stripped.

The warm water defiantly helped to calm him down, his breathing steadying as he closed his eyes, trying to relax.

He began to wash himself, knowing that hygiene is somewhat important, and that if Remus were here, he would be scolded.

“I’m not kissing you until you’re clean, Sirius!” He would say, which usually resulted in Sirius chasing him around the room, eventually catching him, pulling him into his arms.

“Get off me, you smell!” He would say, laughing like a child as Sirius placed kisses all over him. Remus always insisted that he hated it, but they both know he really didn’t.

Sirius thought, about Remus, about the war, what was happening around them, what he wished it was like instead, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the water, which was now cold.

He sighed as he opened his eyes, turning the water off as he pushed himself through the shower curtain.

He sighed as he wrapped his towel around his waist, leaning his hands on the bench as he looked to the mirror, his eyes wandering over his own face.

He looked exhausted, he was exhausted. His hair clung to his skin, still soaking with water, the droplets dripping down onto him.

He sighed again, closing his eyes for a moment, but footsteps filled his ear, causing his eyes to open, his heart beating faster as he looked towards the door.

He grabbed his wand quickly, something he now keeps on him at all times as he moved towards the doorway slowly, listening as the footsteps got louder.

The door to their bedroom creaked opened as Sirius pushed himself into the room, pointing his wand towards the door.

He paused, flinching slightly as James raised his arms, stopping in his tracks.

“Hey! Just me” he said as Sirius let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, sending water flying off of him as he spoke.

“Bloody hell mate! What are you doing here?”

“I have a key” he said, his hand moving, the key bouncing in his hand as Sirius groaned out. His hand moved down his face as he rolled his eyes.

“No, why are you here?”

“To check on you.. It’s been three days.”

James knew that Sirius always struggled, but due to the restrictions given to both the Potters and Sirius by Dumbledore, communication between them was hard, which is why James felt the need to come here himself.

To check on his best friend. To check on his brother.

“.. come on, pack a bag you’re staying with us a few nights.”

“James-“

“I’m serious, Pads.

There was a time when he would have responded with “No, I’m Sirius”, but he couldn’t, he didn’t have energy to joke, to laugh. Which only worried James more.

“I’m fine, James.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in three days, I doubt you’ve eaten anything either. You’re not fine, Pads. I know you’re not.”

And he was right. He was always right when it came to how Sirius was feeling.

“Really, James, I’ll be okay-“ Sirius began, but was cut off as James grabbed his forearm, already knowing what was there.

Sirius didn’t have to look when James shoved his forearm into his face, already knowing what he was going to say.

“Look at it, Pads.” Was all he said as Sirius sighed, his eyes moving over his skin, a new scar forming amongst the others.

He wasn’t proud of what he did. But he hurt, and he suffered, and sometimes, it just got too much.

They all knew it happened, as much as Sirius would deny it, would say that he’s fine. And James knew him too well.

“You’re not fine. You need help. We want to help.” James practically pleaded at this point. Sirius was stubborn, but James didn’t care. Sirius was his brother, and his brother was hurting, hurting enough to want to leave permanent reminders of that pain.

Sometimes James wondered if it was about the pain, or if it made him feel closer to Remus, to his scars. But either way, he wanted to help. Needed to be there for his brother.

“It’s old, okay? It’s from a while ago.” He lied, as if it was natural, like he always did when it came to expressing what he was feeling. Worrying the people he cared about. James never brought it.

He pulled his arm from James as his own crossed over his chest.

“A while ago being within the last three days?”

Sirius tried to think of any other excuse why he couldn’t go. He wanted to. God he wanted to. But they shouldn’t have to deal with his suffering. He didn’t want them to.

“You know I’m not meant to leave” he said, knowing very well that Dumbledore would disapprove. But James didn’t care. James stopped caring about the professor’s approval the moment he took Remus from them. From Sirius.

“Look, we’re worried about you. And we miss you. Harry misses his uncle Padfoot” he said, causing a sigh to escape Sirius.

The truth was, Sirius didn’t want to share his problems, his issues, because he cared too much about them.

They had so much going on, that he didn’t want to burden them, didn’t want them focusing on looking after him. He wasn’t important enough.

Except he was. Sirius was so important, to everyone. And they never knew why he couldn’t see it. Why he couldn’t see just how important he is.

And he knew that he needed to be with someone, to distract him from his thoughts, but James didn’t give him a chance to say no, already opening their closet to begin packing.

He turned, throwing a shirt towards Sirius, along with a pair of pants as he grabbed the duffel bag from the floor.

“Get dressed, Pads” he said as Sirius sighed, following his orders. He pulled his pants over his legs, his shirt over his head, putting his wet towel in the hamper as he made his way to James.

James zipped up the bag as Sirius reached for a coat, pausing as his eyes stopped on the fabrics, most belonging to Remus.

James noticed, sighing out a he grabbed a coat belonging to Remus, knowing that Sirius would regret not choosing it later.

He pulled it from the hanger, helping to put in on Sirius as his eyes landed on his hair, still drenched with water, his shirt now wet.

“You haven’t even dried your hair, Sirius. You’re going to catch a cold.” He said, grabbing a beanie from the closet as he pushed it over the wet hair.

Sirius didn’t bother answering, the only thing on his mind being the smell of Remus. He clung the coat closer to him as James sighed, picking up the bag and closing the wardrobe.

“Come on, Pads.”

They made their way down the stairs, Sirius taking a seat at the bottom to put his shoes on.

James took a few steps into the lounge room, laughing out at the three unfinished puzzles, which laid over the carpet.

“He’s still just as messy?”

It wasn’t that Remus intended to be messy. It’s just what happened.

He would be doing something, and get excited or distracted by the next thing, and then he’d start something new, and would always promise to go back to the first thing, but that usually didn’t happen.

Sirius always thought it was because Remus wanted to know everything, had so much to learn and do, and not enough time for it all.

“We do them when he comes home, but I don’t want to finish one without him. By the time he gets back again he’s bored of the old one, so we start a new one..” Sirius explained as James chuckled out.

He used to do the same with books. Start reading one book, and then get excited about another book. Then he’d read the new book, until he found another he was excited for. And the cycle continued.

Usually with books though, he’d go back, finish ones he forgot to, because for some reason, leaving a book unfinished was one of the worst thing he could do, in his opinion.

“You ready?” James asked as Sirius stood, sighing as he made his way towards the door, pausing at the nightstand that stood, piles of sticky notes laying on top.

James knew what he was doing the moment he saw the sticky notes in Sirius’ hand. Something he started to do the first day Remus had left.

Every day, from the moment Remus would leave to the moment he came back, Sirius would leave a note, saying where he was if he had left the house. So that, if he wasn’t home when Remus returned, he would know exactly where to find him.

Sirius knew that Remus wouldn’t be back in the next few days, might not be back in a long while, but something in him made him write the note. He had to. Just in case.

He finished the note, sticking it to the wall as another sigh escaped him. James stood next to him, already holding the duffel bag as they left.

Sirius didn’t remember the cold walk to where the Potters were being kept, where they were hiding.

He knew it was long, and his hair had almost frozen by the time they walked inside the warm house.

James took his coat off, hanging it on the hooks by the door, but Sirius just held his tighter.

“Sirius!” Lily exclaimed happily as she pulled him into a hug. Sirius chuckled, his arms wrapping around her as she spoke.

“I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Lils.”

Lily pulled from the embrace, her eyes landing on his hair.

“Your hair is wet, you must be freezing”

“I’m fine, Lils”

James chuckled, kissing Lily on the cheek as they made their way into the living room. Lily moved towards the cot, which sat by the couch, reaching down to pick up her son as Sirius smiled.

“Harry missed his uncle” she said as she held the boy, moving towards Sirius. Sirius smiled, reaching out towards the child as Lily happily handed him over.

“Hey Harry, I missed you too” he said towards the baby, causing his heart to warm. Not in the same way it had been burning, but a warmth that made him calm. Harry always had that affect on him.

Harry always seemed to calm too, when Sirius held him. He used to joke about it all the time.

“I’m mans best friend, Prongs.”

“Oh bite me, Sirius”

“Is that a proposition?”

Sirius missed those days, when they could still laugh like nothing was wrong, joking together, like what they did when they were young.

“.. are you okay?” She asked as he looked towards her, answering as he always did.

“I’m fine”

“.. I can make you something to eat?”

“I’m really not hungry, Lils.”

“.. okay, but you’re having breakfast. And you don’t get a choice” she said sternly, a smile making its way on her face as he chuckled, nodding.

Lily knew what Sirius was like. They all knew. And she also knew that giving him an option, he’ll always choose the one he shouldn’t.

Always choose the “I’m fine” option, when he really needed to say “actually I’m struggling”, and “I need help”.

So she didn’t give him an option. She would compromise, but in the end, what Lily wants, Lily would get.

Plus, it was hard for any of them to say no to Lily.

So, he agreed, knowing that he was going to have to eat eventually. And he didn’t want them to worry about him, when they should be worrying about themselves, or about Harry, or about Remus.

Lily just smiled, nodding, but they knew he wanted to be alone. It wasn’t a bad thing, for him to be alone. Sometimes that’s exactly what he needed. But they always made sure to not be too far, for when he needed his friends.

And so they took Harry to bed, and Sirius found his way in their room. His room. Remus’ room, where they used to stay together whenever they would visit. And he was sad again.

“Pads..” James said, making his way into the room as Sirius sighed out again. He hadn’t moved in a few hours, and tears had stained his cheeks.

“It’s tomorrow tonight, James.”

James knew exactly what he was talking about, because ever since the beginning, since Remus began going on missions, he would keep track of every full moon. Every single one.

And the idea that Remus would be alone tomorrow made them all want to cry. Especially Sirius.

“.. I know, Pads.” He said simply as Sirius sighed, looking towards his brother. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

James sat next to him, pulling him into a hug. Something they didn’t do nearly enough.

“I miss him too. But you have to look after yourself, Pads. For him. You need to be whole when he gets back.”

Sirius knew he was right. Remus hated it when he came home to find Sirius in such a state. He blamed himself for it, which only upset Sirius more.

Because Sirius would never blame Remus for any of it. He loved Remus, and hated that Remus thought his suffering was his fault.

Sirius closed his eyes, sighing as he nodded his head, his arms wrapping around James.

And the next day went by with a blur. He didn’t remember much, barely slept the night before.

And suddenly it was night again, and it got worse. He got worse.

And so, the whole night he didn’t sleep. How could he?

Instead, he sat on the windowsill, staring up towards the full moon, heart aching, stomach churning. And it didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

It never did.

~~~

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artemuerto · 4 years ago

Photo

The Thing that lives under the Bed AU or Shadows.

Note: Please, listen to a song Cat Pierce feat James Levy- Regret by almost the end.

This was not what i imagined happening but as Cat release this song i couldn't help but to sank in it and imagine as Tony would feel Peter as much as the angsty song tells you. And i know that by those last lines it could led to a tragic end for Peter, but is up to you to decided if Peter falls asleep forever to dream of Tony of if he ever blinks again.

I did call him sleeping beauty for a reason.

@starker-sorbet, @thestarkerisobvious, @starkerprince

Read on AO3

Startdust and Moonlight

Up to next morning, Peter didn’t feel tired nor restless, he imagined he had dreamed last night, however his mind was foggy and he couldn’t remember what his dream was all about. A sharp knock on the door alerted him.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, it’s time to wake up.” Groovy with sleep Peter marched to the bathroom and got ready for the day. His hair was suffering from a crazy case of bed hair, sticking all over the place as if somebody had played with it before he went to sleep; a distant tune rang beneath him making him blink fast trying to remember. Where did the music come from?

Once again, May knocked on his door, only this time, she appeared smiling at him offering a warm cup of coffee.

“You’re getting late for school, kiddo.” Peter said his goodbyes running out of the apartment after kissing her cheek and stealing her breakfast.

Peter’s mornings were very similar and casual. Tones of boring classes, boring topics, interesting topics, horrible teachers and lots of screaming, whether is the Cafeteria flood with kids and hunger or the long hallways filling with swimming legs and rush breathes as more than one student seemed to late that day.

His one free period was usually taken by the library, on the days Ned and Gwen shared the same hours, they would stay together, eating snacks and talking about their days, their classes, the weekly gossip, dating and the walk of shamed to the principal’s office.

By the early afternoon, right after the bell rang and the students started to leave the school, Peter would take his time. The season was changing, the raging heat was slowly decreasing, although there was no obvious turning on the trees nor any sing of snow yet, surely autumn was taking his time to arrive. The sun still shined above their heads and painted the sky with blues and magentas reminding him of cotton candy on the Carnival.

Waiting for the subway wasn’t really a chore, at least not for Peter, sure May hated it on the rush hours when everyone was trap like a can of sardines, but even then for Peter was a whole experience. Low were the times where Peter would take a seat, and even if he got lucky he would prefer to give it away to someone who actually needed it. He liked to daydream about the lives of the people who traveled with him on short distances on the subway, where would they go? Where did they live? Did they like the subway like Peter or would they hate it like May? Would the people love being in such a restricting place or would they rather be on wide open spaces?

Like that foggy gray ancient mansion Peter used to visit when little.

Wait— what mansion?

Going into a tunnel with the flutter of passing birds, Peter closed his eyes and saw it. The long roads of ladders cover in dirt and dead leaves. The lonely looking mansion resting in dry land and open space, the bindweed created a slithering path that he wishes to dance upon. The creaking of leaves under his bare feet was a delighted sound as he danced an old tune in violin. Would anybody be there to dance with him?

The flashing light of warm sun brought him back to the present. The people around were unconcerned of his thoughts and soon one and another left their places by the time they reached their destination. Confusion clouded his mind, was it a dream? He could recall the fresh memory of a place he was sure; he had never been before even when the details were so firm in his brain. Perhaps he had seen it in class? History was never his forte but Peter could swear it was straight out of a Victorian novel, those which he and his classmate were force to read in literature and study their times in real life back in the 1800s.

Maybe, that’s what it was. A simple made of memory from a past class.

Peter went home without another thought feeling the soothing warmth of sleepy sun at the back of his neck, innocent to perceive the glooming darkness that soon came to follow.

That night the Shadow was small. The longing in their whole being was palpable but the Light was so bright and pure that they could not do much. They questioned what could have changed and what could have happened to their Master for him to be so different in a blink of an eye. Their eyes had not deceived them, Peter seemed happy, content, curious and joyful for the passing of nights where he could play with them, Peter went as far as dancing with them in their home and he looked so thrill; the Shadow thought they had found the one. But now their master was so gloomy, a pale shade of gray where not even his sight would light up the darkness.

What happened to master Peter?

They waited and hoovered, holding back and longing. They stood back until Peter came into his room.

* * *

Peter said goodnight to May with a long sigh, they were both tired after a long day and even when he had a pile of homework soon to become a mountain, Peter wanted nothing but to sleep and forget.

«What Master wants, Master gets. »

Under the covers Peter stayed wiggling his way into comfort, his puffy socks were on and his pillow was extra fluffy he felt swimming in the clouds, the air around him stilled. There was no rusting of wind or lonely dragonflies looking for their partners in the open, like a bubble of peace Peter was surrounded by calm and serenity.

Shadow peeked in curiosity ventured under the bed, slowly reaching the edge of its domain, they had never reached that far before, their limits were bound to the stretch of the bed and the cold floor beneath it. The Light had told them so.

«Impossible to go. Perish you will. Consumed and forgotten you be. »

The Shadow remembers those words, the words that left them powerless and lonely. Cast away in their home waiting, always waiting for someone who would come and dance once again. Fill their home with music and passion.

And surely he came.

Peter came stumbling around, touching the frozen walls of the mansion, painting marks of mist and fog, dark trails of obscurity where not even the selfish rays of light could reach them, the candles flickered, trembled in Peter’s passing. Peter was made to dance for them.

Thanks to Master Peter the Shadow could move, could walk and run, they could dance once again. So the Shadow would dance for Peter.

The roaming of music came in whispers. Peter wasn’t sure on how he knew but he was certain, soon he would be able to hear it all clearly. The shy notes sound peaceful and inquisitive, as if they were waiting for him. And waiting they were.

Bashful tunes came closer and closer, prompting him to walk freely on their soft rugs. Open doors greeted him but instead of the massive dance hall he was accustomed to see, his sight was different. A wide room with oval ceilings and spiders hanging from it with short flames of candles.

“Where am I?” Peter questioned. The flicks of darkness danced its way to him drawing snakes of forms to get his attention.

«Your room, Master. »

“My room?” The large bed was made, the bed post had creamy wavy curtains and nets with opaline wind chimes sparkling and giving light to the space.

«Yes. Yours. »

“How is this mine?” Peter came standing in front of the wavy shadow and extended his hand with clear intensions of touching but never being brave enough.

«His room. Happy Master. Room Master happy. »

Peter still didn’t understand how it came to be his. Who could have given him such room? Who lived in that place besides his friends. The friendly shadows that love to play and dance with him. As if sensing his thoughts, the shadow beamed looking bigger than before, faster than before. The shadow circled him, surrounded him and for seconds Peter feared, were the shadows going to hurt him? The last time he was in that same position, not only him but his uncle was also hurt.

«No. Master, happy. Master, dance. Clothes for Master. And Master dance. »

The Shadows wrapped him in spirals of feathers, later on Peter could picture the difference, the difference between the regular darkness he knew and the absolute blackness that soon followed his eyes to the point where he couldn’t even see himself nor the palm in front of him. His body took another shape, long lost was the soft camisole he always seemed to have in that place and now, a fit white dress shirt, a high neck and a soft cravat was decorating it, resting in the middle a dime of gold. His slacks of a pompous fabric, but quite fit and also white trousers. And all that pristine beauty shined over a burgundy jacket brocade in gold.

He had no trench coat as the Shadow seemed no need for it due to of the extensive waterfall of tail from the vest. Peter could not believe his eyes as he moved and twisted and twirled within himself. A full body mirror came in view and Peter saw himself for the first time.

«Beautiful. »

Peter wasn’t sure who was talking but he recognized the voice from before. The other times he had been in the mansion, they were there with him, all the shadows and whoever talked right now. He took careful steps reaching the mirror, the person standing at his back was at the far corner of the room, so Peter was not able to see him yet, the soft light trembled and soon after died as the mirror broke in tiny pieces.

“Please,” Peter begged with shaky hands, trailing shattered pieces of glass, the Shadow feared he would hurt himself. “Please, don’t go.” Closing his eyes, letting himself be consumed by the lack of light, Peter begged. “Please, I just want to see you.” The Shadow smiled and all the lights came to life creating a path for Peter to follow.

“Dance with me.”

* * *

Everything is easy in the middle of the night Your eyes are stars, your skin moonlight But with the sun there comes the truth It bares the soul and wastes the youth

* * *

With each passing breath Peter could see him better. His hands were cold to touch, Peter’s fingertips reaching the man’s hands with care as he let himself be led toward the center of the room, spinning around in harmony and light feet, Peter’s still bare feet slid smoothly barely feeling the lack of warmth when his whole attention was placed on the man he had to know yet.

“What’s your name?” his curious eyes did not escape the handsome features of the person dancing, Peter was trying to remember. He needed to remember this person, he was sure, he knew him somehow but from where.

“Our always curious Master.” The man smiled all teeth white and shiny, causing a shiver down his spine as Peter couldn’t look away. At that recognition flashed past his mind and Peter came closer as possible. Was it the shadow? Were his friends? The man nodded short but sweet and with a change of tune made Peter take a turn and bubbles of laughter fluttered out of his pale lips.

“But what do I call you?” What to call them? They were his friends, but keep calling ‘it’ or ‘they’ felt odd in a passive way, like he long to connect with them in a greater level. A name could bring love; a name could bring pain but still gave the warmth of memories and knowledge. A named could give meaning.

“I had many names before.” The man explained. “But in here, in our home…” To make a point, Peter twisted once again and was brought to a tight hug. “Master can call us what he wished to.”

“Peter.” He stated. And the man tilted his head to a side in question, like that Peter could take in all the little details. Long, dark lashes outlining whiskey warm eyes that never seemed to miss him, a strong jaw with full lips surrounded by a trim beard, raspy and soft looking.

“My new name is Peter?” Peter wanted to laugh but snorted instead.

“It’s mine.” The music soon came to an end but neither felt like moving away. “My name is Peter.”

«Peter. »

The honey dripping feeling he got from a simple whisper made him shiver and his friend feared he would get cold. They, both, would find a fitting name.

* * *

Hours spent walking and moving, traveling around the open halls and still rooms. The shadow followed close aching to never letting him go. Bright chandeliers on top of their heads and dying candles alerted them it was time to go. The Shadow hurt in longing, he had his master, he had a name and his strength was coming back because of it; his master was right. With a new meaning he could live again, live above from the binding shackles of fear were no longer in his wrist, his Master had given them so much live and love.

The Shadow stood next to Peter as the boy sighed in deep sleep, with no one else around, he could drink in all beauty his Master is, was and it would be in all eternity. With his long curls expanding over the white sheets of the pillows, protected from cold in his comfort cocoon of blankets, the Shadow reached down to touch him, however froze in impression and fondness. Even in his sleep, his master called for him.

“Tony.” To Tony, Peter was made of stardust when his eyes sparkle and moonlight shine of all his pristine skin each time he dares to feel under his fingertips. Meant to guide his path in the sea of black that was his existence. For a short amount of time, faster than a blink, Peter saw him. His master saw him materialized in his world, not the realm of dreams and wonder and smiled at him, called for him. “Tony—” He didn’t have to hide anymore; he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. With one touch of his lips and his Master would be utterly and completely his.

Closing his eyes and holding a breath, Peter thought if that was what it felt like to be loved to death.

#starker #pro starker #starker moodboard #The Thing That Lives Under The Bed AU #a very human Peter Parker #Dark Creature Tony #in english #mis escritos #Arte Muerto #Dark Tony

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alittletournesol · 5 years ago

Text

Kingdom Of Jinju - Bonus 2 : The Sparring Gods

Bonus 2 : “The Sparring Gods”

Or how two sleepy parents have to imagine a nice story to explain to their three four old daughter why storms are so loud and scary.

Kibum loves summer. He loves the way everything outside seems to shine with the brightest colours, the way his skin gets kissed by the sun’s warmth all day long. Summer means more trips to the river down the palace to enjoy the cold water, and more breaks spent under the huge weeping willow with his loved ones. There’s nothing wrong with summer, it even brings to his mind a few memories of the strolls he used to take with his sister in their hometown’s streets, running away from the manor’s coldness to embrace what they called real life.

Summer days seem to repeat themselves in this pattern he adores, putting him in a good mood as soon as he wakes up to the rays of sunlight piercing through the curtain of the royal quarters’ window. Minho was always asking for this same curtain to be closed during the night because of his need for enough darkness to sleep ; thus, it’s with great joy that every morning, the Prince leaves the bed to pull the fabric and let the sun bathe his naked body. The rest of the day would find him attend to his duties with a smile enlightening his features more than the sun would ever, while making sure most of the aforesaid duties happen outside.

Nothing was wrong with summer.

Or maybe there was this little, insignificant thing that shook him awake in the middle of the night.

Kibum could still hear the fading sound of thunder as he rubs his eye. The temperature has been particularly heavy that day, so a storm naturally occurs now that the night has come. The heat was still tangible in the quarters, but it rarely bothers the man in his sleep ; unlike the loud noise of the sky.

“The first storm of the season.” A husky voice murmurs, catching his attention and making him raise his head from his pillow to look at the strong body lying next to his.

Minho has never been a heavy sleeper, even less since the assassination attempt that happened a few years before. The Prince smiles, bringing his hand closer to his husband’s sleepy face to caress his cheek while the latter shifts on the mattress to lie on his side, facing the other man.

“Yes, a belated one.” Kibum whispers, running his fingers through his own untied hair to free his face from any will strand. “You can go back to sleep, it’s still early in the night. The storm shouldn’t be long.”

“Hmm… Come here.”

Without opening his eyes, the King stretches his arm to invite his husband, the latter not wasting a single second as he comes closer. Minho’s skin is, as always, deliciously warm and it isn’t even a bother during summer nights. He still smells like soap from the bath he took a few hours before, but Kibum can distinguish the musky scent of sleep in his neck when he buries his nose there. They remain embraced like this, waiting to be in Morpheus’ arms again while the sound of storm is still present, shaking the quarters from time to time.

The silence between two claps of thunder feel like a pleasant break and both men relish it for as long as it lasts. They don’t keep count of the claps, too tired for that, but their ears twitch just as they’re about to fall asleep ; their door handle is moving, the creaking sound loud in the silence of the room.

Minho opens his eyes first, immediately alerted as his arm slides under the bolster to reach the sword he keeps hiding there. He doesn’t move, even when Kibum places his own hand on his wrist to prevent him from doing something without thinking. The black haired man props himself up on his elbow to look at the handle over the King’s body. It’s still moving and seems to struggle, making the man frown and sit up.

His husband looks at him and frowns in return, turning his upper body just enough to be able to see the door and keep his hand on his weapon.

“Listen.” Kibum whispers, raising his forefinger as he hears something from behind the door.

A cry.

As if he got hit, Minho stands up and jumps in the first pair of pants he finds before rushing to the door. Opening it, he discovers his daughter perched on tiptoes, one of her small hands still raised as she was trying to pull the handle, the other one strongly holding a plushie against her small body. Her cheeks are wet with tears and fear is easily noticeable in her eyes.

“Oh no, my little honeybun…” The King immediately crouches and opens his arms, the little girl running between them while sobbing. “There, there, come with daddy.”

The man stands up, holding Sooyun safe in his arms while he closes the door with his foot. The princess is trembling against him, her sobs slowly reducing thanks to the presence of her father but still audible. Her face is buried in Minho’s shoulder and her tiny arms circle his neck with her plushie hanging on his back, not planning to let go at the moment.

“It’s the storm outside, right, sweet pea ?” The King keeps talking with a soft tone, going back to bed and lying on his side with his daughter still holding onto him. “It was loud and it woke you up ?”

“Scared…” Sooyun cries and sniffs. “Nanny didn’t wake up…”

“Nothing can wake Nanny up, she snores louder than the storm.” Kibum smiles as he softly strokes his daughter’s back. “You ran here all by yourself ?”

“Hmm… the door was stuck but daddy opened it for me.”

“Ah, what a strong daddy he is, isn’t he ? Let’s get you some water to chase the fear away, how does this sound ?”

The little girl eventually raises her head to look at her other father behind her and she nods. Water it is then. The Prince leans on to press his lips against her temple before getting up — Minho notices his husband also got dressed with his night shirt while he wasn’t looking. The latter walks to the coffee table near the empty fireplace and pours some fresh water from the jug to a small cup. There also is a plate filled with cherries and he hesitates a bit before taking a handful of them.

When he goes back to the royal bed, Minho is lying on his side with their daughter sitting before him, leaning against his torso like a backrest. The man is gently wiping her cheeks with his thumb while talking to her, softly, his voice not louder than a whisper. Outside, the storm is still resounding and Sooyun gets startled every time thunder claps, but her fathers’ presence somehow eases her fear.

“Here, sweetheart.” Kibum sits on the bed close to the other two and gives the cup to his daughter who quickly starts drinking. “Slowly, or you will spill it.”

“Can I have some ?” The other dad wonders as he props himself up on an elbow, and he laughs when the little girl moves to prevent him from taking her cup. “Come on, it’s too big for you !”

“It is not, look.”

All fear disappears from Sooyun’s eyes, replaced with a glint of pride as she brings the cup back to her small lips and empties it within a minute. She exhales deeply once she’s done and offers a wide smile to her pouting father.

“But I was thirsty too…” Minho starts whining.

“Oh please Gods help me.” His husband sighs before cutting a cherry’s stem and shoving the fruit in the other man’s mouth. “There, you baby.”

“Daddy is a baby~” The princess repeats, tears replaced with laughter.

“The biggest baby ever.” Kibum smiles, handing another cherry to his daughter. “Have one too, but don’t swallow it whole, alright ?”

Sooyun nods and takes the fruit, looking at it and making it turn between her fingers before she eventually eats it. Her fathers look at her, all smiling despite the tiredness. She’s turning five years old after this summer but she can already express herself like she’s two years older ; Minho’s mother says it’s thanks to the way her parents always spoke to her with full sentences, not just random cute sounds and cooing.

Thunder claps once more, though it’s now further away and less noisy, and the little girl turns her head towards the window.

“Don’t be scared, the storm is going away now.” Minho says, pushing a strand of hair behind her small ear.

“Is it ? But why did it come here ?” Sooyun asks as she looks back at her fathers. “It was scary…”

“Oh, well… it’s because… how to say it…”

“You see how sometimes, uncle Jinki and his soldiers fight with their swords in the yard ?” Kibum intervenes when seeing his husband struggling with a way too realistic explanation, and the little girl nods. “It is called sparring.”

“Sparring.”

“Exactly. And sometimes, the Gods spar too. But it’s very loud.”

“Why is it loud ?”

“Because they are very very very tall, taller than us.” The King takes over. “So their swords are bigger too, they make more noise.”

“Are they fighting ? Are they angry like when daddy gets hurt and then daddy says big words at him ?”

Minho can’t help but laugh while Kibum scratches the back of his head with embarrassment. It’s true that the latter struggles to speak politely when the so called King comes back from a simple training with a cute here and a bruise there… and sometimes, he forgets he’s holding his daughter at the same moment he’s cursing at his husband with words full of imagery.

“You don’t have to be angry to spar, sweetheart.” The Prince replies. “Sometimes it’s just training. And when you hear the loud noise, it’s called thunder. It’s when the swords hit each other very hard.”

“But why do they fight at night ? Why don’t they wait for us to be awake ?”

So many questions from such a little mouth make Minho laugh more, until the other man slaps his arm.

“Answer your daughter’s questions instead of laughing.” Kibum says. “Why are the Gods fighting at night, Minho ?”

“Ah, well… it’s because…” The King thinks for a moment before clicking his fingers. “It’s because there is no night in their world !”

“No night ? They don’t sleep ?” Sooyun frowns, not noticing how the Prince is pinching the top of his nose behind her. “They’re not tired ?”

“No, no, they don’t sleep. They’re Gods, sweet pea. And in their world, it’s always day time because they have many, many things to do. See how your dads are busy all day ? The Gods are even busier.”

“Oh… so they don’t know we are sleeping right now ?”

“They don’t know, or maybe they don’t care, we can’t know what the Gods think. But when they train or fight, they’re so strong that it gets really loud when their swords hit each other. And do you want to know something ? When the Goddess of Light fights, her sword makes light, and this light is so bright that it tears the sky apart when she hits another sword.”

“Really ?”

“Really ! Come with me, let’s see if it’s her fighting tonight.”

Kibum fondly smiles, watching Minho stand up and carry the little girl on his arm to walk to the window ; he’s even more excited than her about his own made-up story, it’s incredible. Now the Prince just hopes there is lightning as well as thunder, so their daughter doesn’t get disappointed and upset.

“Okay, let’s wait a bit.” The King says. “Look at the sky.”

“But it’s too dark, where is the moon ?” Sooyun asks.

“It’s hiding behind the clouds, it’s afraid when the Gods spar. Don’t worry, if the Goddess of Light is here, you will see it.”

“Alright.”

Minho holds the girl standing on the window’s ledge and turned his head to look at his husband, the latter shaking his head with a smile as he makes the bed again. They wait like this for a few minutes and Sooyun starts losing patience. She’s about to whine when the dark sky suddenly lights up on a certain spot ; it’s really quick and she jumps with surprise, her father’s grip strong around her body.

“Did you see it ?” He asks. “The light that tore the sky apart ?”

“Yes ! It was quick !” The little girl enthusiastically says before she gets startled by thunder. “Ah !”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. It’s the other God who hits back.”

“Do you think she will win ?”

“The Goddess of Light ? Do you want her to win ?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Sooyun.” The Prince speaks in as he comes closer to them. “We can never know who wins, so it’s you who will decide.”

“Then it’s the Goddess, because she’s stronger ! That’s what uncle Jonghyun said.”

“Oh, did he ?”

“Yes, he said that women fight better than men but that men are jealous so they don’t let women fight.”

“I see.”

Both Minho and Kibum look at each other, silently agreeing to have a little talk with their friend one of these days.

“Uncle Jinki disagrees.” Sooyun keeps talking. “He says uncle Jonghyun is just saying this to annoy him because he fought with a woman and lost.”

“Your uncles seem to talk a lot.” The King says while walking back to his bed, the Prince following him close.

“Daddy, is it true that uncle Jinki fought with a woman and lost ?”

“Did he say it was true ?”

“No, he just kicked uncle Jonghyun with his foot.”

“Somehow I can picture that. And no, uncle Jinki didn’t lose to a woman, because there is only one person he loses to.”

“Who ?”

“Me.”

“Daddy you’re lying.”

“What ?! You ask uncle tomorrow !”

“Yes, yes, tomorrow, not tonight by screaming.” Kibum hushes them both. “Now come to bed, both of you, it’s still night and we should get some sleep.”

Just like the big kid he is, Minho sticks his tongue out at his own daughter, who complains to her other father. The Prince just has to stare at both of them and they immediately lie in bed, Sooyun taking her place between her parents. It takes a moment for her to calm down after such an intense conversation, but sleep eventually gets the best of her and she rolls to her side, cuddling up to Kibum and asking for him.

The latter smiles and slowly strokes her hair, lulling her to sleep with this simple gesture. It’s only when her calm breathing turns into a soft snoring that both men allow themselves to rest. The Prince stretches his hand on the mattress, over her daughter’s body, and the King takes it to press a kiss to his palm. With their fingers interlaced and one last smile, they eventually go back to sleep, hoping that the little princess won’t wake up to early…

_______________

“And when the Goddess of Light fights and she hits the other God, there is light in the sky.” Sooyun says. “And it’s like the sky gets a scratch.”

“Oh, I see.” Jinki nods. “So the Gods fighting, huh… and you believed that ?”

“No, but don’t tell dads. They will get sad.”

“Mum’s the word. One day I will tell you the truth, but for now you’re still too little.”

“Alright.”

The General hides a smile as he walks between rows of soldiers training in partnerships, holding an umbrella above the princess’ head… the latter sitting on his shoulders. It has become quite a routine for the little girl to come to him when he was working outside, and even if he used to tell her to go back to a safe place, he now considers she’s old enough to at least stay by his side if he’s careful. For sure, his recruits had looked at him with a weird stare the first time, but they’re used to it by now and even go along with her when she play the second General.

“Park, you will never beat Jung if you keep placing your feet that way.” Jinki stops in front of a duo, using his own foot to pull the soldier’s ankle. “There, this is your standing foot, don’t forget about it.”

“Uncle, he is laughing.” Sooyun says when the soldier named Jung smirks at his opponent being scolded.

“Ah, is he ? How many push-ups should he do as a punishment then, your Majesty ?”

“Hmm… Six !”

“That’s a lot. Do you think you will survive, Jung ?”

“I’ll do my best, Sir !”

The young soldier salutes and positions himself, doing the first two push-ups easily and pretending to struggle for the next one. Sooyun is counting out loud, not seeing how the General and soldiers around them are holding their laughter back as their fellow fakes whines and even lets himself fall before he finishes the last push-up.

“I’m a disgrace, Sir !” He says, going on his knees to fully bow. “Six was too hard for a bad soldier like I am !”

“Only the best soldiers can manage six push-ups in a row, Jung.” Jinki says, his voice clear though it’s difficult to remain serious in this situation. “What do you think, your Majesty ?”

“He can go, he is pretty.”

“Oh, is he now ? Jung, you’re pretty, now get up and train.”

“Yes sir !”

“But he’s not pretty like uncle. Right, uncle ?” The girl says as the General starts walking again.

“Right. Uncle is the prettiest.”

Jinki smiles for real this time, ignoring how his own recruits are beaming whenever their Princess compliments or punish them — she’s so strict !

A whole hour goes by like this, Sooyun eventually asking to walk alone and holding Jinki��s hand all along. At some point, they’re back to their starting point juste at the moment Jonghyun enters the palace’s yard with a few scrolls under his arm. The little girl screams and let go of the soldier’s hand to run to her blonde uncle ; the latter catches her on the way with only one arm — he trained a lot — and laughs as he kisses her cheek.

“Were you tormenting uncle’s soldiers again ?” The teacher teases her. “You’re the real General.”

“Uncle said you’re coming to teach me, is it true ?” The princess asks, clapping her hands. “He said you can teach me to count more so the soldiers can do more push-ups !”

“Oh no, do you want them to die ? How many did you ask them to do today ?”

“Six ! But I know seven and eight and nine and ten, so I was nice.”

“The nicest. What about counting to twenty now ? It’s like taking the ten numbers and add ten more.”

“Is that a lot of push-ups ?”

“Even uncle Jinki can’t do twenty push-ups.”

“Don’t tell her lies.” The General reaches them with his arms crossed on his chest. “I can do hundreds of push-ups.”

“What is hundreds ?” Sooyun asks.

“Way too many numbers, don’t listen to him.”

Jonghyun laughs and smiles at his boyfriend while the latter discreetly places his hand on his back as a greeting. He pretends to give him a report of everything the princess and him have done this morning, the little girl nodding to everything.

“That’s a lot of work for one single morning !” The blond man gasps. “So I’m stealing you for a break, your little Majesty. Let’s go gather some cherries and head to lunch, how does that sound ?”

“Sounds good !” Sooyun exclaims. “Oh, but I forgot to ask a question to uncle.”

“I’m all ears.” Jinki says, approaching his ear when the little girl beckons to him.

“Is it true that you don’t win fights against dad ?”

“Did he tell you that ?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not true. And you wanna hear another secret ?”

“Yes !”

“He doesn’t win against your other dad.”

“Really ?!”

“Really. But that’s our secret, alright ?”

“Alright.”

Jonghyun rolls his eyes and puts Sooyun down, asking her to go look for Heechul while he’s talking with the General. Once she’s out of sight, he gives a disapproving stare to his partner.

“What ?” Jinki shrugs.

“You’re rising her up against Minho.” The teacher states.

“I’m just saying the truth, what is wrong with it ? Not my fault if the truth hurts his Highness.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Sure, love. What did you want to talk about ?”

“Tonight when your shift ends, let’s go to the river together. I’ll bring dinner.”

“This sounds really nice. Don’t go in the water without me.”

“I can swim now, thanks to you, so I’m not risking anything. I’ll be waiting so don’t be late.”

Casting a glance at their surroundings, Jonghyun steals a quick kiss from the General and pats his cheek before leaving to join the princess. As expected, she finds her on the gardener’s shoulders, trying to catch the highest cherries on the pretext that they’re shinier. The teacher fondly laughs and looks up when he hears a whistle.

Leaning on their quarters’ window ledge, Minho and Kibum quietly wave at him. No need to wonder what they were up to since there is no trace of clothes on their upper bodies… Jonghyun smiles and nods towards them, before he goes to Heechul’s rescue when a certain girl wants to stand on his shoulders.

From above, the King and Prince laugh, making sure not to be heard, and go back to their bedroom. This is something they can never worry about, their daughter is always in good hands and for sure she will always be… well, unless Minho learns that his own childhood friend damages his fatherly reputation on a daily basis.

Hope you liked it!

#minkey #minho #key #kibum #shinee #fanfic #historical #kingdom of jinju #jongyu #jonghyun #onew #jinki #family #fluff

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darkmindsotome · 5 years ago

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Risque Rouge pt2

Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 2

They had travelled to the far end of the building through what felt like a rat’s nest of debris and stopped in an area where the air felt cleaner than in the rest of this backstage world. A thick curtain stood in their path and the owner called out cheerily to its apparent occupant.

A reply came sounding hesitant but he could feel that same tugging sensation he had experienced seeing her on stage. It was something that spoke in a beguiling voice to him beckoning him to come closer. It was like a whisper in the darkness, promise in the moonlight. A forgotten spell still casting its magic. She was certainly a talented force, whether she was aware of it or not.

Receiving permission, the owner pulled the curtain and a weighty jingle came from it. It was commonplace for curtains in large houses to have weights sewn into them to keep them from moving. There were several in his mansion alone. He had even heard tales of people hiding coins in them protecting fortunes from thieves and treasure hunters. That seemed unlikely to be the case here and he suspected that it was more likely the weights here were little more than old loose bolts.

Ducking slightly to enter the space he was greeted by the pleasant surprise of it being a light and airy place. Delicate laces and brightly patterned fabrics softened the edges of the harsh reality that this space had been built from the discarded fragments of the building. There was no dark coloured furniture here and if there was it had been draped with light coloured fabrics.

The vanity table looked to be a rococo design but it had clearly seen much better days. Some of the scrollwork to the mirror had been broken and there was repair work done in an amateurish style to reattach a leg to the base. Any gilding has long since worn away either with cleaning or simple age.

What struck him the most was the sense that this room could be very bright in daylight. Not only were there a set of three sash windows to one wall but there was also a large skylight. There were several gas and oil lamps dotted around the space in order to replace the absent daylight, reflecting shards of colour around the room through the cut-glass decorations near them. It was truly a space full of charm and he could sense the care placed in its design for the girl it was gifted too.

Comte looked to the man standing beside him seeing the truth to his words when he said he felt like the girl’s guardian in a sense. This would be a perfect fairytale ivory tower, if only it were not built out of precariously balanced junk.

“I brought a visitor Evie. This fine gentleman here would like to sponsor you.” The owner walked over to a green velvet chaise as he spoke.

“Sponsor?” Dressed in nothing more than a robe the one they call a Nightingale tilted her head in response to the word. Her deep green eyes that resembled his drink from earlier looked in his direction full of the innocence of youth. She genuinely did seem to be a very rare flower to be growing in such a location.

“That is right. I have come here several times and each time I have had the pleasure of seeing you perform. I should like to offer you my sponsorship.” Comte gave a bow with a smile.

“Pardon Monsieur but what would that entail exactly? I cannot imagine you would have been guided here so willingly if you had dubious intent.” She spoke with curiosity but also a healthy level of suspicion which made him feel happier in a way. For all her apparent youthful naivety it seemed she had keen intuition.

“That would be correct. You are a very smart girl and you have a very capable guard. I assure you I have no desire other than to see you settled comfortably in a lifestyle of your choosing and would like to support you in your endeavours so as to ease whatever burdens you might have.” Something in his words seemed to give the girl cause to falter. He had been sure she had every intention to refuse him politely up to this point, be it from pride or for some other reason, but now he was not as sure.

“Uncle, could you leave us for a moment?” She turned to the owner who looked as if he had just been doused in ice water.

“Evie, I really don’t think that would be appropriate.” Even as he spoke, he shook his head and looked with pleading eyes at the young woman.

“You brought the gentleman here If it bothers you so much then please stay close to the door. I will call you if need be.” Her firm words were matched with a flash of light in her eyes. The green became even more faceted as if unseen light had become refracted and caused them to hold a stronger power than before.

Le Comte said nothing and remained in silent observation. The feeling he had earlier that was little more than a whisper of a possibility was starting to become a clear certainty as he watched the young woman. She had a power to charm and disarm that was telling. He had met several performers that really were exceptional but this was different.

“When did you grow up this much?” The owner slumped his shoulders in resignation apparently powerless against the request.

“In the moments you weren’t looking. Trust me please.” Evie patted the owner’s hand that had been resting on the high side of the chaise and gave a sweet smile. Sighing he patted her hand with his free one before walking back to exit the room, pausing briefly to make sure his point was made in the process.

“Monsieur. I trust you are an honourable individual but should any harm come to this child I shall be sure to seek recompense from you, even if I must cleaver flesh from bone to do so.”

If it had been possible to slam a door that was nothing but a curtain Le Comte was positive that man would have achieved it. He knew what it was like wishing to protect something you felt responsible for. It was a constant walk on a knives edge between rage and resistance. You wanted to give as much space as you could to let the people you care for be free to do as desired but you also hated it. You found yourself almost preferring the idea of protecting them so much that you would even fight the sun itself for daring to touch them.

“I am sorry about him. He means well even if he can be slightly overbearing at times.” Evie spoke drawing his attention away from the curtain and back to her. Her pose didn’t seem to falter and she seemed to be completely out of place, more suited to a country estate than here.

“Not at all I can only imagine how hard guardianship of such a talented and beautiful young lady could be. I could hardly hold a grudge towards the man when I am not completely certain I would not go as far as him myself to protect what I cherish.” Le Comte quickly dismissed the concerns and was happy enough to hear the shuffling of the man waiting outside move a little further away from the door.

“Fine words Sir. You really are a member of the Aristo in Paris.” Evie nodded her bright smile warming him as she rose and recovered a chair from under a pile of books and linen. “Please I cannot offer more than a seat but I would be happy to have you take it.”

“Merci.”

---

Le Comte visited several more times and had become something of a familiar face as he moved through the backstage passages to see his little investment. He found himself looking forward to what was rapidly becoming a something of a favourite habit of his. Wandering in the night was so much nicer when you had a destination, not to mention, a charming companion to talk to at the end of it.

It was on this particular visit however that he had been met with a problem. Performers all seemed to be in a heightened sense of emotion and the air was heavy. Small groups were huddled together their whispers catching his attention as them mentions the little princess and something about a doctor. The closer he got to the girl’s room the worse the feeling became and he felt a knot in his stomach as his gut instinctively told him something was wrong.

He was about to announce himself when the curtain opened in a flourish and someone from the other side barrelled into his chest.

“Out of the damn way! Can’t you see we’re in a hurry ‘ere?” The smell of pomade filled le Comte’s senses before he could register the flustered mess that was the owner. The shorter man had taken on a flush of colour that had turned him into a ripe strawberry. His shirt sleeves were rolled up high and the cloth that was usually around his neck was missing. His dark beady eyes looked up to see who had blocked his path and he took on the appearance of a rat-faced with a cat as he backed away to a more suitable distance. “AH! Monsieur I—sorry but now might not be the best time for a visit.”

“What has happened?” Comte enquired somehow managing to hide a little of his growing concern.

“Oh! Nothing unusual Sir she has merely taken one of her “turns”. Charlotte! Char— Oh where is that girl? CHARLOTTE!” The Owner cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed through the hall. A small woman similar in build to Evie appeared looking a little sullen at the way she had been summoned.

“I’m here! No need to shout so you could raise the dearly departed in Père Lachaise.” Her voice sounded coarse and there was a smell of stale tobacco as she drew nearer. She gave a brief glance towards Le Comte before looking at the man who had summoned her.

“You shall have to go on tonight and see if you can get the kitchen to send up some clear soup. Oh, never mind I’ll go myself. You just go get ready.” The agitated man issued orders and as if double guessing himself changed them just as quickly.

Comte knew enough to see that whatever was happening whilst apparently common still had shaken the man to his core. What did he mean by one of her turns? He had not noticed that the young lady had been ill before on any of his visits. Had he missed something? That instinctual premonition he felt on his arrival only grew as he watched the interaction in front of him.

“Got it.” The one called Charlotte gave a concerned look towards Evie’s room before scurrying off. It was an expression that had mirrored everyone that he had passed on his journey here. It was also the last straw that seemed to break his patience.

“What happened to the Princess?” Le Comte’s voice was more forceful now trying to gain control over the frazzled nerves and scattered mind of the other man. It was effective and it seemed the owner had managed to locate some control and plastered on a rather fake smile.

“No need to worry Sir the doctor is with her and she shall be herself again in no time. A little exhaustion and a touch of a malady de femme.” The owner’s insincere smile and sing-song tone was one that was designed to lie as much to himself as the person they were addressing. There was no denying that it was a performance worthy of any stage but it was not one that Le Comte had a mind to praise.

Comte brushed past the owner and entered the room ignoring the protests. A man sat on the edge of a bed holding the hand of his patient. At the sound of more interruptions, he glanced up and reluctantly let go of the girl’s hand. Comte watched as the dainty hand of the girl was placed reverently on her duvet, attempting not to read too much into the apparent fondness that boarder on unprofessional. The man didn’t attempt to greet Le Comte and continued to make a few notes on some paper after checking his watch once more.

“Are you the doctor?” Comte asked as politely as he could but after seeing the man move to close his travelling medical case decided to change his question to one a little less inane. “How is she?”

“Stable for now if more than a little tired. I have given her some more of her medicine and she has settled.” The doctor snapped the clips on his bag shut and gave a questioning look towards Le Comte. “Who might you be Sir?”

“I am her sponsor.”

“Sponsor? I see…” For the briefest of moments, it looked as if there was an incensed look that marred the doctor’s otherwise gentle appearance. In the blink of an eye, it had gone and his eyes reverted to a comforting warm brown colour. “Well, there is little more that I can do tonight I have other patients to tend too. Be sure to call me if anything further happens.” He picked up his bag putting his jacket over his arm and made sure to give his patient a soft reassuring smile before leaving. As if suddenly remembering something he spun on his heel revealing once more a less than friendly appearance towards Le Comte. “Oh and Monsieur sponsor? Do take care and not exhaust le petite femme.”

Comte remained where he was wondering exactly how many times, he might see someone acting that way towards him for his philanthropic pursuits. He knew he couldn’t deny that all his endeavours came off the back of his own selfish desires but a small part of him hoped to avoid such hatred when at the root of all he did was an effort to provide comfort in a world lacking in so much of it.

“I think he may have the wrong idea.” Her voice came out faint and haggard pulling him back from his thoughts. She was laying in her bed slightly propped up on a mountain of pillows at her head but otherwise looking just as white as frail as a piece of delicate frosted glass.

“How are you?” Comte drew closer taking his cue as to how far he would be permitted from the female herself. Even though his actions were out of genuine concern for the young woman it was still ungentlemanly to barge into a lady’s private room.

“I’m fine. I’m used to it although I cannot deny that it frustrates me beyond measure. I feel so useless when I am like this.” She averted her eyes so they looked out through the window. The sky had long since turned from the warming shades of sunset and there was something in that look of melancholia that reminded him of himself.

He had made the offer to dozens of people before, calling it a taste of eternity. A poetic turn of phrase for the reality of what it was. Accepting a life where you watch those you care for grow old and leave you. The loneliness of eternal night where the only constant was the moon and even then, that cruel Goddess herself vanished marking time by her absence. His invitations were not much more than selfish offerings to fill that void for a little longer. A choice made by a lonely creature wanting more than a few moments and a chance to feel a little comfort in the long night.

It was true they had at the very least been given a choice. Scared of death and what lay beyond. The idea of unfinished dreams clouding their final judgement and urging their choice. But what of the creatures that had no choice? The ones born differently and forever cursed from birth?

Drawn to that look of unfathomable sadness he moved closer to take her hand and perch on the edge of her bed barely putting enough weight on her bedding to move the sheets. He tenderly stroked his hand on her head, his fingers combing the raven coloured locks slowly as he held her hand in his.

“Don’t make such a face ma petite fleur. You are not alone.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were hooded with sleep. With her smile returning to her Evie closed her eyes the warmth of the kind gentleman’s hand in hers guiding her to slumber as his fingers brushed her hair pacifying her fears and worries.

As the Princess slept, he continued to fawn over her until he was certain she was completely dead to the world. His hands left her and instantly lamented their loss as he tried to convince himself it was time to leave. He dimmed the lamp on her dresser and noticed the draw half-open. Rows of glass vials sealed with corks and black wax filled it. Curiosity got the better of him and he removed one holding it high to check its contents.

“Well now… that is curious. Where ever did you get such medicine?” Le Comte glanced back at the bed and slipped the object into his jacket pocket. “Pardon but I have need of answers and hope this could assist me in finding them. Bonne Nuit, ma chèrie.”

Slipping out of the room he moved quickly to make his way into the city. He had a mind as to where to start his enquiries and seriously hoped he would be proved wrong.

---

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writingamongtheroses-archive · 5 years ago

Text

Showtime- Chapter 1

The Newspaper Ad

"Happy birthday Liza...happy birthday Liza...happy birthday to you!" It was dark, the candles being the only spot of light. The 10 on the cake was dark red. Liza couldn't stop smiling, even as her cheeks hurt.

Something is wrong Everything is alright.

"Blow out the candles sweetheart!"

She leaned forward, cheeks filling up with air...

PAINPAINPAINPAINWHYISEVERYTHINGPAIN-

Liza let out a gasp as her eyes shot open. She laid there, panting for a good minute, staring at the cracks in her ceiling. It took another minute before she realized that her nails were digging holes into her cheap sheets. She sat up, letting out a sigh.

She glanced at the clock, letting out a groan at 8 AM. The Hispanic woman should've woken up two hours earlier. Liza had planned on it last night.

She stumbled out of bed and to the chest of drawers she had brought from her bedroom to the crappy apartment she lived in. She rustled through it before pulling out an old grey scarf and, using muscle memory, tied the cotton fabric around her head. The scarf hid white scars that arched across her forehead before disappearing into dark hair.

When Liza entered the kitchen, she groaned when she saw a piece of paper shoved under her door. She grabbed it- yep. It was another warning from her landlord, stating she had two weeks to turn in this month's rent. It was an unneeded reminder that she had none of that money at the moment. As well as...

I'm sorry, Miss Dorado. But with the...you know...

We'll call you if the position opens up again...

I'm sorry...

Liza crumbled up the warning and threw it on the counter. She started up the coffee machine and as it brewed, she considered the inside of her fridge. She ended up settling the dubious leftovers of Abuelita's paella.

She flipped through the newspaper when breakfast was ready and she had taken two pills from the nearly-empty bottle, looking through the HELP WANTED section. With a red pen, Liza marked each possible job, shoveling rice and chicken in with the other hand. Grocery store cashier, garage mechanic, mechanic, another cashier...

She stopped, staring at the ad.

Ted Bear's Pizza looking for night guard! An exciting career that offers a lot of smiles and new opportunities... Liza skimmed through the ad, grinning when she saw the pay and lack of needed skills. All this job really required was for her to sit in an office from midnight to six in the morning and make sure nobody broke in and stole the animatronics. Great-Uncle Rafael would be pleased that she was getting into what could be considered 'the family business'. Drop-ins allowed, ask for Mr. Calworth.

She circled the ad.

-_-

The place honestly looked gloomy.

Liza considered the restaurant in her beat-up old Jeep, biting the inside of her cheek. Ted Bear's Pizza had apparently been a favorite of hers when she was younger. Then the accident on her tenth birthday had occurred, leaving a huge gap in her memory and the scars on her head. She wasn't sure how the restaurant was connected, but her uncle had never brought her here.

Well, time to break that streak.

When she poked her head in, it was to see the gloominess of outside had also affected the inside. The dining hall was almost empty. The animatronics were singing on-stage, the song echoing through the hall. What looked like a month's worth of crud caked the floor. Her scars started to ache as she considered the place.

This was the place she enjoyed so much?

She and younger Liza needed to have some words.

"Can I help you?"

The twenty-five-year-old turned, seeing an older man. He wore an ill-fitting suit that failed to hide his girth and was stained at the pits. He gave her a polite smile full of yellow teeth. Liza blinked before trying to politely smile back. "Um, I'm looking for Mr. Calworth? The newspaper ad said I should ask for him?"

"Well, you've found him." He held out a sausage-like hand. Liza hesitantly took it and gave it a firm shake. "I'm Marthy Calworth, the manager here." His smile faded as he released her hand to look her up and down. "Are you...here for the night guard position?"

Xlow, xifvo orzi.

"Yes! I mean, yes. I am."

He grinned again. "That's wonderful. If you could..." Liza handed him her resume. Calworth took it, still with that grin and a nod. "Now, let's take this conversation over to my office." He led her away from the dining hall and to a set of steel doors, past a blue set of curtains, patterned with anchors. For some reason, Liza stopped.

"Is that..." She racked her brains for a moment, trying to remember what Tio Rafael called it. "Captain Bun's Treasure Cavern?"

"Why, yes, it is!" Mr. Calworth had been looking over her resume and now looked oddly pale. "We don't do it anymore, unfortunately. We haven't done it in a while because Bun's out of service and we don't have the money to fix her." He pushed back the curtain, revealing Captain Bun.

'She' was a grey-furred bunny, wearing a white shirt and brown pants. Over one glass red-eye was an eyepatch, and a small pirate hat sat between her ears. Her fur was torn in several places, revealing her endoskeleton. Liza couldn't help the distressed hiss that escaped her. Mr. Calworth nodded as he dropped the curtain. He gestured for her to continue following him. She did, giving Treasure Cavern one last glance.

They passed the kitchen to a small office. "This will be your office," Calworth said, still staring at her resume with the pale look.

Liza stepped inside to glance around, taking in the mess of TVs and computer monitors on the desk, the torn-up swivel chair, and the drawings that kids must've done over the years plastered on the walls. Then his words hit her. She turned to him with a bright grin. "I got the job?!"

"You got the job, Miss Dorado, starting tomorrow night," Calworth said with a firm nod. His smile had returned, but it was too wide to be anything but fake. "Why don't you wait here, look around while I grab your uniform?"

"Sure!"

Mr. Calworth disappeared down the hall, letting Liza consider the office. There were four red buttons on a remote. She picked it up, reading the fading print: WEST DOOR, WEST LIGHTS, EAST DOOR, EAST LIGHTS. Looking around, she pressed the west door button.

The button lit up in green. On the right, a steel door slammed down.

She let out a yelp, nearly dropping the remote. Liza caught it, pressing the button again. It returned to red, the door sliding up. She set the remote on the desk and hurried out of the office. She nearly slammed into Mr. Calworth, who was holding what she presumed to be her uniform. "Is everything alright?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Um...yep!"

He looked unconvinced but handed her the uniform anyway. "See you tomorrow, Miss Dorado."

"Right! See you tomorrow."

She hurried out, unaware of the eyes following her.

#heartbeat #heartbeat series #story #wip

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superwolfiestar · 5 years ago

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Something Old, Something New

Mark Beaks is feeling buzzing inside about an exciting new, him and Falcon are getting married this spring. The engagement couple and Mark parents gather to welcome Falcon family that just arrived from Mark Beaks own private Jet plane into Mark Beaks mansion for the ceremony. Mark were so nervous meeting Falcon other families but his families were very kind to him.

“Hello mother,” Falcon kiss his mom on the cheek and did the same thing to his sister, and hug his older brother, then he welcomes his whole families in. “I’m glad that you can all be able to make it for the wedding.”

“Why I wouldn’t miss it for the world honey! My little Gravesy is getting married!!!” The Mother of the groom cried. “And, I hope you don’t mind but I brought someone who can help you plan your wedding, my dear older sister Olivia, she’s a wedding planner and have help many clients to help plan their wedding.” Martha Graves introduce his soon son-in-law to his older sister.

“Hello, it’s very nice to meet you.” Mark smile at his soon aunt-in-law.

“Hello there dear, I am so excited helping you plan you and my nephew's wedding! Don’t worry about the things.” She said. “I will make sure your wedding is perfect!”

In the living room, Mark was surrounded by a bunch of wedding magazines, different kinds of flowers, wedding cakes, and many more that you need for the wedding. He couldn’t believe that his whole living room have turn into a bridal store. He was sitting on the single sofa chair, Falcon aunt told him what his wedding should he like:

“We can do this! Oh and I was thinking about this wonderful amazing centerpiece I found on Pinterest, don’t you think this look lovely?”

Falcon aunt didn’t ask Mark what he wanted. Mark didn’t like what she suggestions, he didn’t like the different kinds of flowers she picked out, the wedding cake, and various colors and style.

Later that night after dinner, Mark went to his room, collapsed onto his soft bed. All this wedding planned with Falcon aunt is giving him a headache. Then, the door knock. Enter his room was one of his groomsmen, Fenton.

“Hey! I got your text. How was planning your wedding with your aunt?” Fenton asked, stepping into Mark bedroom.

“Not good,” Mark answered. “I don’t want to upset Falcon mom but I am not sure I like what Falcon aunt have planned and suggested.”

“Well, it’s your wedding! You should do what you want!” Fenton said.

“You’re right!” Mark exclaimed, “It my wedding, and I should do what I want! Thank Fenton!” So, Mark did his first wedding duties. He ask Fenton to be his best man.

“I would be honor!” Fenton smile.

Later that day, a female cheetah wearing a white shirt with one open button, black pants with belt wrap around her waist, and sunglasses walk inside Mark home.

Mark welcome her in, he was in a happy mood and because that he hire a designer to design his wedding suit. They began talking about the wedding suit while the designer showing a bunch of different style of wedding suits she design.

“Mark, I’d be an honor to design your dream wedding suit. What do you think about this one?” The designer said, showing Mark a picture of the suit she had design.

“Wow, Barbra.” Mark said. “This one is exactly how I image. It perfect!” He exclaimed.

In the other part of the mansion, Falcon and his older brother secretly planning the music for the wedding reception.

“Aunt Olivia will choose boring and 19th century music.” Falcon told his older brother.

“Yeah, remember Uncle Arthur wedding?” Gus said.

Falcon shakes his head up and down. “Yeah I remember, Aunt Olivia was his wedding planner and she chose a boring and lame music from centuries ago.” Falcon recall. “And I don’t want that happen at my wedding. The perfect music should be modern and jazzy. It should make everyone feel like dancing!”

After everyone had gone to bed at night, Mark sneaked into his kitchen to work on the reception menu with Melaine. They began, changing the food menu that Falcon aunt suggests.

“I wanted to serve all of our favorite foods.” Mark said, “Let started with Bobotie.”

So they began cooking and cooking for hours long, it was now 2 am in the morning. So they finished cooking and they left the kitchen without getting caught.

“Mark” Melaine began to said. “Every wedding couple need something old, something new, something borrow, and something blue!” Melaine take out something from her pocket. “So here’s your something blue!” Melaine gave Mark a navy blue watch with three-hand date makes an impeccable impression with its iconic wire lug case, concave dial construction and overall clean aesthetic.

“I was in shopping market the other days before I came here, I knew I had found something blue for you, Mark!" She smiled and watch Mark putting the watch on.

“Wow! Melanie this is great! Thank you!” Mark state and admired the blue watch.

The next day, Mark faced Falcon aunt. “Thank you for your wonderful ideas and suggestions madam.” Mark said. “But I already have everything I need.”

Falcon aunt were surprised. She thought that Mark Beaks would want the wedding planned for him. “I see.” Olivia began to understand. “Very well, it seems that you have everything under control for the wedding. I understand dear, thank you for telling.”

Just then, his mother, Vivienne walk into the dining room. “Mark honey! You’re designer is here.” She announced. “He’s in your bedroom with the suit for you for the fitting.”

Vivienne then lead him to his bedroom were the designer is waiting for him with a garment hanging on curtain pole. There was a two boxes that was set in the table.

“Hello Mark, I have your wedding suit, shoes, and veil! It’s not a completely look but it will be done before the wedding.” Barbara said.

A couple minutes later, Falcon mother walked into his bedroom with a box in her hands.

“Oh, would you like me to take that for you miss?" Vivienne began to reach for the large box in Martha's hands.

"Oh, there is no need dear, I have it thank you. It is good to see you again, Mark," she nodded, placing the box on the table. She sat down next to the designer and smoothed the suit with her hands. "Now, when do I get to see my new son in his wedding attire?" She didn't need to wait long.

"Oh, baby! You just look handsome!" Vivienne exclaimed. Mark blushed, now looking like a handsome groom.

"Does everything fit alright, sir?" The designer asked.

"It's perfect, Barbara," Mark assured her. He loved the pale yellow suit. Especially the champagne fabric that was wrapped around his waist, and the matching champagne bow tie. They got it all for next to nothing. Mark had already modeled that suit for these three attendance before.

Just then, Martha began to ask Mark. “By the way, why is my sister look confused?” Mark look nervously. Would his mother-in-law be angry at Mark’s wedding plan?

But when Mark began explained his ideas for the wedding, Martha smiled. “I’m not upset dear, I should have known you would enjoy planning things personally.”

Barbara took out of her box and in her hand was a champagne wedding veil. "It not finished yet but it will be ready just in time for the wedding," she explained, tucking the comb into the back of Mark's head. "There you go.”

She held up a mirror for Mark to see. It was hard to believe that the young man staring back at him in the mirror was really him. But it was: this was Mark Beaks, he was getting married, nobody but Falcon, Gyro, Fenton, and all the people in the duckburgs have ever seen him wearing this beautiful design suit.

"You look wonderful," Martha said. "But something is missing. Do you remember the story of that headpiece I wore back then when I marry Falcon father? Well I thought it was a very beautiful so I took it out and had someone make something very similar to it." She opened the box. Inside was a 1920s style flower back headpiece very similar to her wedding headpiece. Except this one looked like it was made from fake leaves and fake roses of pastel pink, blue, yellow, lavender and orange instead of the real one. Mark gasped at it and very gingerly touched it with one of his fingers.

"Put it on!" Vivienne encouraged. Martha grabbed the headpiece and stood up. Mark had to kneel a little since Martha could not reach the top of Mark's back head when she was in heels. The headpiece completed the effect. Mark twirled again and again in front of a full-length mirror in his bedroom for hours, after that, taking in the effect.

"Oh, I can't accept this," Mark gasped. "It must've cost one heck of the money."

Martha raised her hand and Mark stopped speaking immediately. "Mark sweetheart, this headpiece is very special in my family. In fact this was handmade by my grandmother when she married my grandfather, after that. My mother wore it on her wedding day, my three older sisters wore it on their wedding day as well and when my turn to get married, I wore it on my wedding day too. It has been past down from generation to generation! It is tradition in our family to wear this headpiece. Now, I am giving you something to wear on your wedding day. Besides, you are going to have to get used to it. You are almost a Grave now, yes? When you and my son are officially married, you will become Mr. Graves for now on."

Mark Beaks was honored to borrow Martha wedding headpiece and continue Falcon family tradition.

Everything seemed perfectly in order. They chose the perfect venue, the perfect date, the perfect flowers, the perfect food, and everything. But Mark miss his Great Aunt deeply. The night before the wedding, he stares at the beautiful bright star from his window. He was sad that his great aunt could not be at the ceremony, but Mark knew that his great aunt’s love will always be with her.

Finally the best day have arrived, the whole place is decorated with beautiful pastel color roses. The ceremony is held at Mark backyard where the reception is also held at Falcon is standing at the altar waiting for his beloved groom, standing next to him was his siblings, Augustin, best man and Melanie, his groom-maid.

Falcon wore a cream shirt with champagne tie, a sliver tuxedo jacket and pant. On the middle of the lapel was a boutonniere that is the same flower as the decorative.

His best man also wore the same outfit like him expect the jacket and pants are black and wore a matching boutonniere.

His sister wore a sweet and feminine 1920s style flapper dress that is made of pale yellow chiffon. There are three tiers of ruffles on each side of the skirt. A small rolled hem is used for these ruffles to allow them to flow and drape freely. In her feet was a beautiful simple champagne heel. In her hand was a beautiful bouquet of flowers that match the decorations flowers. Like her older brothers, she happen to wear a boutonniere too.

On Mark side of the aisle, his family was there. Tammy, Tommy, Chip, Aunt Clara, Aunt Jo, Terence, Lora, Rubi with an i, Trent, Terra, Jessie, Aunt Lara, Tim, Danny, Trevor, Tanya, Aunt Mabel, and Troy, Bernie. Sadly his Great Aunt Nora, but everyone calls her Bubby, couldn’t been here to witness his great nephew special day, so they place a photo frame on the front row of the seat right beside Mark uncle on his left. And his Uncle Ted who sat on the front row where the two empty seats are.

Falcon was nervous, this is it. Today, he’s married the love of his life, there’s no turning back now. It too late to run away. What if he will never be a good husband to Mark? what if their marriage won’t work out? What if they got divorce? What if…

The music is started, a canon in D can be heard from the orchestra.

Falcon look to see Fenton, the best man, and Gyro, the groomsmen walking down the aisle. Two of the scientists wore white shirt with roll up sleeves, pale yellow vest and bow tie, each of them get a beautiful bouquet of pastel color roses. Follow behind him was Lil Bulb holding a pillow of two golden rings. Both of them stand right where Mark supposed to stand.

Last to came out was an adorable flower girls and flower boys(all of them are Falcon cousins, nieces, and nephews) taking out pastel roses petals out of the basket and thrown them on the ground.

Adorable flower girls wore a dress that is emphasizes elegant simplicity and exquisite style. It is made of top quality satin, and natural cotton lining. Each flower girls dresses have a pastel color delicate sash that match the color of the roses, which is tied into a small bow in the back. And each girl have a cute flower crowns with pastel color roses and lighter sage leaves.

While the boys wore a white shirt, and shorts feature a flat front waistband with elastic in the back. The straps are completely removable for a different look. The bow tie is on a strap with velcro adjustment. And like the flower girls, each of the boys wore a pastel color.

Then, Jonathan Cain version of Bridal March began to play, everyone stand up from their seat for the groom to make his entrance and walk down the aisle.

“What am I doing? I shouldn't be here! Why am I here?”

Then he looked up and remembered why.

Mark entered the backyard with grace and elegance, causing everybody to gawk in awe. He wore an elegant ivory shirt, with ruffle going down, a champagne fabric that was wrapped around the waist and a matching bow tie, pale yellow shirt, black shining shoes. He wore an elegant simple champagne wedding veil that was held by wedding headpiece on the back of his head. In his hand was an elegant 1920s style bouquet that fill will pale yellow, pink, lavender, and orange roses. He began walked down the aisle with both of his parents giving him away and his head held high, meeting the groom's gaze through his veil eyes. His long train was measured about 144 inches long.

A smile spread across Falcon's face. "He's beautiful."

Gus gave him a sly grin. "Easy, little brother. Save it for the honeymoon."

Meanwhile, the others were tearing up, Mark continue walk down the aisle, in his bouquet was his great aunt old champagne ribbon, he wore a new veil from his designer Barbara, he borrowed the headpiece from Martha, and a blue watch on his left wrist from Melaine.

Mark and his parents reach the end of the aisle, his mother kissed him on the cheek and his dad hug him. Mark walked up and stand next to Falcon, he handed the bouquet to Fenton. After exchanging a loving look, they faced the priest.

"Lady and gentlemen," the priest announced. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Mark Beaks and Falcon Phillip Graves. Never in the history of the world has there ever been a love so powerful, so strong, yet it started from the most unusual of circumstances. These two standing before you have proved that love surpasses all differences, all flaws, all faults."

The priest turned to the parrot. "Wilt thou Mark have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?"

Mark looked up into Falcon's handsome eyes. "I do."

“Falcon, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” Falcon reply, he stares into Mark eyes that fill with love.

The priest smile. "In that case, may I have the rings?" Lil Bulb presented the pillow and the priest took the ring, and given the rings to both grooms.

Mark place the wedding ring on his groom finger, “With this ring I thee wed.” He said.

Falcon took the ring from the priest and look at his groom. “With this ring I thee wed.” Falcon said. “And with my body I thee worship.” Falcon look up to Mark adorable eyes, placing the ring into his finger. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Falcon finally place a golden ring his groom middle finger while looking at his parrot eyes. “Amen.”

"By the power vested in me," the Priest continued, "“I pronounce that they be man and husband together. You may now kiss…"

Falcon Graves did not wait for the priest to finish and pulled his groom in for a dip before pressing his lips against his. Most of the children that witness the ceremony cringed, Everybody clapped their hands in applause.

As the ceremony ended, Mark knew that no matter how wonderful his wedding plan were, it was love that had made it a perfect day.

——————————————————————————

Day 1 Sunday July 21: Engagement/Marriage/Domestic life

@gravesbeaksweek

I hope @nega-aria won’t mind borrow her Mark Beaks family oc for my story. Mark Beaks family oc belong to @nega-aria.

#ducktales 2017 #mark beaks #falcon graves #gravesbeaks #gravesbeaks 2.0 week #marriage

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honestsycrets · 6 years ago

Text

Locked In II: Your New Beginning

↳ prison au

Author’s Notes | heed warnings

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3993

❛ genre | angst & smut

❛ summary | hvitserk is excited to bring his newest toy to their hideaway. hope it lasts.

❛ warnings | violence, dub/non-con, angst, convict!hvitty, exhibitionism, mention of breeding rings, drug use, criminal behaviour, kidnapping, abo dynamics, humiliation, masochism, guilt tripping etc.

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him-- unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot-- or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee-- but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife-- and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly-- but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald-- who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake-- and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey-- ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing-- even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants-- a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above-- slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo-- there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female-- his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived-- because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything-- convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again-- and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you're into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego-- and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick-- and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass-- hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk-- was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it-- this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask-- stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things-- it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”

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#Hvitserk #Hvitty #Hvitserk x Reader #Hvitty x Reader #hvitserk's heathen feast #Dark!Hvitserk #Vikings imagines #vikings/reader #vikings imagine #implied!ragnar x reader #dark!hvitty

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anpanbts · 6 years ago

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Of Hate and Love - Chapter Eight

pairing: OT7 (all members) x reader

genre: smut, angst, romance

word count: 3,400 words

warnings: smut, mentioned rape, violence, gore, blood kidnapping, character death, drug use, weapons

description: In case for you to be finally free from the chains of your uncle’s mafia, you need to spy on one of the youngest but already most successful mafia in Korea - Bangtan. But for some reason your heart doesn’t want to betray the boys. You want to be with them, but for them you are probably just a sexual object they can have whenever they want to. So what will you decide? Do you want freedom or want your heart at peace?

chapters: {prologue} {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} {9}

Special thanks to @stargazingmoonchild and @vincent-j-clint-renoir for being so adorable and sending me so much love!

After lounging around in your room for a few hours; watching tv and thinking about how your life became since your parents died, you finally get up to brush your teeth. Luckily you have your own bathroom like every other room in this mansion probably has. The floor and the walls are made of black marble and in the middle of the room is a beautiful white bathtub. Next to the sink you find some toothpaste as well as a packed toothbrush and some wonderful-smelling shampoo. After you brushed your teeth, you step inside the glass enclosed shower in the corner of the room. You can't shake of the thought that this bathroom is specifically made for you. All things a girl needs are here and you wonder how many girls have lived in this mansion before. You have absolutely no right to be jealous, but who would like to share such handsome boys if you can have them all to yourself? Anyways, you step into the shower and let the warm water run down your body and rub your sweat away with shower gel. You grab the razor and shave off each hair from your skin and peel your skin, just in case, of course. The shampoo smells like flowers and you massage it gently onto your scalp while humming a song. After half an hour, you step outside the shower, grab a towel and dry your body before moisturizing your skin with the cherry blossom lotion. Completely naked you walk out of the bathroom, hoping that there will be a few shirts you can wear in the black wardrobe across from your bed. As you open the huge sliding door, you see a few shirts, sweatpants and thick socks lying at the bottom. There are many clothes hangers, but no clothes, so you go for the thick socks, loose sweatpants and a white loose shirt, hoping that nobody will notice that you're not wearing anything underneath. You would have liked to wear the underwear you previously wore, but it got so dirty and sweaty that you would rather go without it. You can ask the boys for some more clothes later. It is already afternoon and your stomach rumbles when you are about to close the wardrobe door. Realizing that you haven't eaten since breakfast, you decide to leave your room to fetch something to eat. You tiptoe over the red carpet which leads to the staircase. Your previous visit to the mansion, makes you assume that all the private rooms of the boys are on the first floor and that the kitchen is probably downstairs. There is also a staircase that leads to the second floor, but is kitchen on the top floor? Following your guts, you go downstairs while directing your gaze to the ground, afraid of falling down. You don't notice Yoongi, who is focused on his phone as he balances something that looks like an iced coffee with his other hand, and walk straight into him at the end of the staircase. His drink lands on your shirt and makes you scream in surprise. “Fuck! Can't you look where you’re…” Yoongi yells frustrated, but falls silent when he realizes it's you. “Oh my god… I am so sorry. I didn't-” Your cheeks heat up, embarrassed by this accident. You don't notice it, but Yoongi stares shortly at your hard nipples that he can see through the drenched shirt, but captures himself fast. “Yes you didn't.” He shortly states. “Now get out of my way.” Dumbfounded by his tone towards you, you realize that it was not just your fault. He doesn’t have any right to be so pissed at you. “Wait! You could have also looked where you're walking to. It isn't solely my fault!” you shout at him as Yoongi walks back into the kitchen to get rid of the now empty glass, “Idiot!” Such a rude brick… you are about to walk upstairs to get yourself a new shirt but someone grabs your arm and makes you halt. “Hello, beautiful," Taehyung chirps as he turns you towards him. But you were having none of it. At first you liked his flirting. He made you feel flustered and beautiful, but now you know that he just wants one thing and that annoys you beyond belief. Your anger towards Yoongi doesn't make it better. “What?” you ask him annoyed. “Hey.. why so moody?” he steps closer to you as he takes your appearance in, “Ah… I see why you’re yo grumpy. Maybe we should go and get you something new to wear.” You huff at him, “There are only a few shirts and sweatpants in my wardrobe. Maybe I could go in the city and buy some clothes?” “No need for that. We already sent someone to do it for you,” Taehyung snickers, wondering why you think you will stay here for long. Did Jimin perhaps already talked to you? He hasn’t seen him since last night. “You don’t even know my size so how-” you skeptically stare at him before he stops you. “We asked Minjoo about it so there should be no problems,” he gives you a weak smile before he begins chuckling because of the rumble of your stomach. Your cheeks flush and you quietly reply, “I’m quite hungry so that’s why I came downstairs in the first place.” “Then you go and get yourself a new shirt and I'll get something to eat, alright?” Taehyung muses before he lifts an eyebrow. You just nod in response as you run up the stairs. While you wash the remnants of coffee off your skin, Taehyung makes some sandwiches in the kitchen and puts them on a huge plate. A few minutes and a new shirt later, the two of you meet in the huge marble hall. With hungry eyes, you stare at the plate full of food as your mouth waters. “You must be starving,” Taehyung chuckles, seeing how fixated your eyes are on the food and walks to a wooden door behind the staircase, “May we eat in the library?” You nod, not caring where you would eat as long as you get something to eat in the next few minutes. When he opens the door, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. Never have you ever seen a room as beautiful as this one. There are bookshelves on each wall, full of old and expensive-looking books. There is a huge window with heavy green curtains and a stone chimney with a comfortable couch and armchairs made of brown leather. You feel like Belle in the Beauty and the Beast and you think eternity wouldn’t be long enough to take in all the beautiful little details about this room. The golden ornaments on the shelves and especially the smell of old books make you forget your rumbling stomach until Taehyung interrupts your daydreaming. “It’s Namjoon’s room. Well not exactly his, but he wanted to build this library in the first place.” he muses. “I knew you would like it.” “It’s truly beautiful,” you smile at him and take a seat next to him on the couch, the plate in front of you on a small wooden table. “You are beautiful,” Taehyung replies, his voice dripping honey. This comment makes you groan because this was just so cheesy. “Just shut it and stop embarrassing yourself,” you grab yourself a sandwich and shove it into your mouth, dwelling on the taste. The two of you sit next to each other in uncomfortable silence while munching the food before Taehyung speaks. “By the way, why was your shirt so wet earlier on?” Taehyung grins, remembering how your nipples perked through the thin and wet fabric, much to his delight. “Ah I just walked into Yoongi and his stupid coffee landed all over me,” you huff, annoyance rises as you recall his rude behaviour, “He’s a grumpy idiot. Accusing me of not looking.. pff.. He was the one that was staring at his phone.” Taehyung sighs, “Look, Yoongi-Hyung is a really good person, but he has gone through some shit in his past. He used to be really cheerful, but now he treats everyone as if his heart is made of ice.” “Everyone who has eyes, can see that Yoongi treats others badly… but that isn’t my fault,” you reply annoyed, but your inner self wonders, what Yoongi went through. Maybe if you stay here long enough, you will know one day. “Why do I have the impression, that you are the closest with Jimin? Did he do something special to get your attention?” Taehyung really wants to know, why you’re so fond of him. “And why do I have the impression that this is a questioning and not a normal conversation?” you squint your eyes suspectingly as you stare into Taehyung’s beautiful hazel-brown eyes, “I don’t think that I have to give you any account on this matter.” “So there is something,” he wiggles his index finger as if he is an detective who just found out who commited the murder and shifts closer to you. You groan out in frustration, “Fine. If you really want to know his secret...” you curl your finger and signal him to come closer. You lean over to him and whisper in his ear as if you’re going to tell him a big secret, “Jimin is the only one who has been nothing but kind to me.” Taehyung pushes you away with a huff because he expected more, “That’s it?” “That’s it,” you reply with a chuckle. “But listen Y/N…” Taehyung’s deep and sultry voice becomes serious and sends a shiver down your spine, “Jimin is not the sweet boy you might take him for. He is manipulating and probably sees you as his property.” You laugh loudly, because of his little prank. You almost thought that he is going to tell you something of importance and not such a silly joke, caused by jealousy. But soon, you realize, that Taehyung is not laughing so you stop as well. He stares deep into your eyes. His gaze pierces like hundreds of needles into you and makes you nervous. You think about what he said and reply curtly, “Don’t say such things. He is your friend after all and just because you’re jealous-” “Me? Jealous?” Taehyung cocks his eyebrow, “I just want to warn you, silly.” “Well, if Jimin had such intentions, why did he tell me to leave this house after Jungkook brought me here?” now it’s your turn to quirk an eyebrow. “So that’s why you left,” it seems as if Taehyung thinks about what to reply, to make you believe his warnings, “He would rather not have you near him instead of sharing you with us. That’s why he told you to go. He is possessive and you can’t imagine what he is capable of doing if someone questions his behaviour.” “You can’t be serious,” you think about the evening, you walked upstairs and onto the balcony, only to be met with such a beautiful and captivating man. The memory of you two making out on the couch, makes you blush and sends waves of heat through your entire body. Jimin is strong. He could have easily hold you down and fuck you. But you told him to stop. And he actually did. There is no way that someone as humble as him could be a bad person. Or could it be? “Believe it or not, but I’m telling you nothing but the truth," Taehyung sighs in annoyance because all he wanted to do is warn you, but you, as stubborn as you are, won’t listen. You both stay silent for a while, not knowing what to say. Munching on the last bite of your sandwich, you look at Taehyung, who stares holes in you, “Well, anyways, thank you for making me these sandwiches and not letting me starve to death.” Taehyung wonders if Jimin has already talked to you about his plan. But your chuckle brings him back to reality and makes him shake his head. “Have I disturbed your thoughts? I beg your pardon,” you stand up from the couch and make an extravagant bow. “You are dismissed,” Taehyung gives you a quick wink, “See you for dinner?” “Sure thing,” you smile at him, turn around and leave Taehyung to himself. But the things he said to you about Jimin still linger in your mind. You walk through the huge marble entrance hall, your steps echoing from the walls. Everything is so quiet that one would think you live in this mansion on your own. Walking up the stairs, you hear a faint humming. The voice sounds beautiful and with each step you take to get to your room, the melody becomes clearer. You haven’t heard it before, but you definitely want to hear more of it. You freeze in your door frame when you see Jungkook standing next to your wardrobe with dresses in his hands. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights and you can’t deny how adorable he looks at this very moment. The both of you haven’t really talked with each other since he drugged you and dragged you here. But who are you to stay mad at such a stunning and handsome man? Maybe he really didn’t think about what he did. After all, he saved you from getting abused by Chansoo so he probably deserves a second chance. “What-What are you doing here?” you quirk an eyebrow and chuckle lightly at his scared expression. “I… I just...” he looks at you before his gaze shifts back to your wardrobe, searching for an explanation, “Our assistant bought clothes for you, so I just placed them in… I thought you would be outside so I just...” “Don’t be so nervous. It’s fine,” you laugh and grab your tummy after Jungkook’s loss of words, “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he gives you a sheepish smile, happy that he was able to make you laugh, even though he made a fool out of himself, “Well, I think I should go now.” You watch him disappearing like a prey running from its predator. Cute. As soon as Jungkook left, you close your door and walk eagerly towards your wardrobe. You feel like a little child on christmas morning - ready to unpack all those presents. Scanning over the content of the wardrobe, you notice that there are mostly dresses hanging on the hangers, except for some shorts and shirts. You take one out and ogle at the red dress that seems way too short and probably too tight for your liking. “Do they want me to wear this in their house? Those clothes can’t be comfortable...” you think to yourself. Next thing you do is looking through your drawers and staring at the beautiful sets of lingerie. They might not look comfortable, but whoever bought these, definitely knows what’s sexy and seductive. The longer you stare at the sets, the more you become aware of the fact why they bought them and what you are going to do. You are going to lose that one thing that you cherished and protected the most since your parents had gone - yourself. Never would you've ever thought that you are going to have sex with men only because they’re going to protect you instead and give you something like a home. Suddenly you start crying. You burst out in tears because of all that has happened. Once again you remember your cruel uncle and how he told you that he'll let you go if you spy on Bangtan even though you don’t even know who they are. He wouldn’t give you your freedom back anyways, so why looking for this organisation if there is no way out? You would rather stay here in this mansion and hide from him. That’s better, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter what you have to do in order to stay here. You don’t know for how long you’ve been crying for. Maybe it has been one hour maybe just a few minutes. However, you hear a faint knocking on your door that makes your ears perk up, “It’s me, Hoseok. Seokjin told me to fetch you to eat dinner with us.” “Give me a second. I’ll be right there,” you reply, hoping he doesn’t notice your unsteady voice. With an underwear, a cute dress and a pair of shoes you go into the bathroom. You wipe away your dried tears with some water and freshen up your face after going to the toilet. You don’t want to say that you look beautiful, but when you stare at your reflexion in the mirror, you can’t deny the fact that you look cute in your baby-blue dress. After slipping in some simple white sneakers, you open your door and step outside only to be met with Hoseok, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand. “Took you awhile,” he chuckles faintly and you somehow know that his laugh isn’t honest. Hoseok seems nonchalant to you, but even without looking at him, you still can feel his gaze roam over your body. “Well, then let’s go. Would you be so kind and show me the way?” you blush and don’t dare to look into his beautiful but intimidating brown eyes. He only nods and leads you downstairs before going left and opening the wooden door next to the kitchen. As soon as the door opens, the heads of six unbelievable handsome men turn to you. Seokjin and the one youngest men of them, Taehyung told you all of their ages in the library, smile at you meanwhile the other two give you glances which you can’t interpret. Hoseok closes the door and walks to one of the two empty chairs. Hesitantly, you take your seat at the head of the table, directly across from Namjoon. Great. “I hope you find something to eat. I don’t know what you like, so I made a few things,” Seokjin says. “She should be happy in the first place that she gets something at all,” Yoongi snorts. “Not my fault that you can’t look where you’re walking so don’t be so pissed at me just because you spilled your fucking coffee over me,” you retort with a louder voice than you intended to and regret it immediately. You’re a guest and have no right to speak to him like that, but damn, he deserves it. “Wow. We have a feisty girl here...” Namjoon chuckles along with the others. Only Yoongi stays silent and huffs. You put a few things on your plate and you must say that what Seokjin cooked, looks delicious. The sight and the heavenly smell of the food alone makes your mouth water and when you actually take a bite, you have to repress the urge to moan quietly. “I haven’t eaten such delicious food in a very long time,” you gush at the older, “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he is happy that you like what he cooked, “The boys never make me such compliments...” Seokjin theatrical exclaims. “Ah, come on.” Everybody groans. “Do you want some orange juice, Y/N?” While everybody talks, Jungkook asks you with a sheepish expression on his face. “Uhm.. I don’t know. Depends on whether you put something in there again or not,” you curtly reply only to tease him. You really shouldn’t joke about serious matters like this, but you accepted what happened. Jungkook instantly flushes like a tomato and Yoongi begins to laugh for the first time since you met him. What a nice sound. You could get used to it. “I’m only teasing,” you chuckle and take the orange juice from him and pour it in your glass, “But don’t you dare to do it again.” The small conversations between the others continue while you eat the delicious food quietly and drink, the apparently not poisoned, orange juice. After you contemplate whether it’s the right time to say it or not, you decide to speak up, scared you might change your mind. “I’ve thought a lot about this, but since I don’t have a choice. I’ll do it.” “Do what?” Namjoon asks confused. You take a deep breath before speaking out loud. “I will sleep with you.”

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Masterlist

Notes: Thank you for your patience... I hope it will never took this long again to write a chapter... Please let me know what you think about it. Does Taehyung say the truth about Jimin’s intentions? What about the other boys? Are they good guys or bad boys?

#bts #of hate and love #anpanbts #bts smut #bts sex slave #bts series #kpop smut #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #bts mafia au #mafia!au #bts gang au

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elliejwrites · 6 years ago

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Excerpt From My W.I.P. Mary's House

You knock on the door of the old victorian home. It’s at the end of the block next to the dead end. The weeds grow very tall and climb the fence. Above six inches, but the city won’t take offence. The grass is long gone, dead as it seems. Wood siding is rotting, and the light purple paint is peeling. You can tell the accented wood was once a luxurious dark purple, but the weathered look is beaten and no longer shows the magnificent look it once held. Your grandmother speaks of a family who once lived there, but doesn’t know what happened or why only the daughter remains.

You look behind you when nothing happens. You see the twenty feet you’ve come. The now rusty black iron fence looms behind you. Remembering the awful sound of the screech of the gate as you heaved it open makes you shutter, as does the breeze that just went through your shirt.

Why did I decide to do this in the fall, you ask yourself, More importantly, why didn’t I bring my jacket? Suddenly the door opens before you. It creaks, as old doors with rusty hinges do.

Well this is creepy, and typical for a horror novel. You decide you aren’t stupid and grab the conveniently placed rusty crowbar that lies against the door frame. “Hello”, you say, but no one answers. You take a step inside and say, “Hello” once more, but again no one answers. You place your other foot inside. The floors heave with your weight and creak loudly. Frightened you straighten and look around. Taking another step inside, the door closes behind you, but no one is there.

Oh fuck, you think, this is a horror novel isn’t it? What the hell is about to happen? Is it a psycho, the supernatural, or aliens? I only have a crowbar if it’s the first or last one. A warm and dim glow suddenly lightens the hallway you’re in. You continue towards the light while raising your crowbar to attack. As you get closer it gets brighter and the house gets easier to see. You soon reach the room where you see a fireplace going. There is a rug in front of the stone fireplace. Only a table runner made of old, red fabric with gold flowers decorating the inside, lies on the mantle. You move closer to the fireplace and look to your left. At first you see nothing, but as you scan your eyes upward you see a large painting of a lion running toward you. Frightened you stumble backwards and gasp.

“I know it’s an odd painting, but my father really liked the idea of scaring the crap out of guests. Once literally, my uncle Rob came in blindfolded. You see, he was told there was a surprise for him…”

You turn around and swing your crowbar. It goes by her face, and misses her nose by only an inch or so. You are shaking with adrenaline, from the lion painting, and her. She is an older lady, perhaps only in her mid-sixties. She has glasses, a floral button up t-shirt, khaki shorts, black and white cat slippers that are falling apart, and socks. Her figure seems small, perhaps only 5’4”, but she’s sitting, so it’s hard to tell. She seems to be in fairly good shape other than some wrinkles and a tad of extra weight.

“I would’ve dressed up, but I didn’t expect any company tonight.” she says in a very comforting old granny voice.

You look at where she’s sitting. For some reason you thought that this old lady would be in a wooden rocking chair, and really scary. You also thought she’d be expecting you, and perhaps tell you that. Surprisingly she sits in a cushioned recliner with a little end table next to her with a reading lamp and the typical movie style half opened book. The fire flickers for a moment, and you see that behind her a large bookcase. It is in fact the wall. Curtains partially cover some of the books, but as you look you see only mysteries. You then also think about how she didn’t even blink when you just swung a crowbar at her face, and remember that she’s still sketchy.

#my wips #wip #wip excerpt #my writing #writer #writeblr #writers #book excerpt #original

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ruffsficstuffplace · 6 years ago

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The Viridian Vanguard (Part 27)

Qrow took one long, slow drink from his flask, pulled it from his lips, and sighed heavily. <Alright, I’m good—let them in,> he mumbled as he capped it again, put it away in the inner pocket of his shirt.

Soon, the door on the other side of the room opened up, their first interviewee of the day strode to the dais in the center of the room, Ruby and the rest of the Keeper Team surrounding her. They exchanged the usual formalities, before she knelt down on the large cushion provided for her, bathed in the light streaming through the high windows.

<Welcome to the first round of interviews for the Keeper Team!> Penny said smiling. <First off, congratulations for making it this far! Second, for the purposes of uniformity, we will have to request that you please communicate almost-to-entirely in Actaeon, save for any Nivian sayings, concepts, or quotes that you feel will not, or cannot translate adequately. Third, though we are sure you are already well aware, the questions we may ask you can get intensely personal, and that you are free to ask such questions back, if either of us feel that they may be relevant, or might prove to be a significant asset or liability in the future.

Anouke replied. <I have been a watcher since I was old enough to walk and handle a knife, and have been hunting down, slaying, and skinning almost every dangerous beast and horrific monster that lurks in this Valley for the past five decades. Whether they stalk no man’s land, lurk in the darkest, murkiest depths, or soar the most treacherous skies, I can guarantee you I have faced and bested them all, with one notable exception:

Anouke put her hand to her breast, looked Ruby in the eyes, and said,

<Yeah, say no more, you’re out.> Qrow said calmly.

Anouke’s eyes widened, she snapped her head to Qrow. <Excuse me?!>

<Yeah, I’m really sorry, Watcher Kalla, but Uncle Qrow has a point,> Ruby said. <You have to put your very all into fighting a Soul Eater—and every bit you spend on trying to kill it in a way that preserves its body, rather than just doing everything you can to ensure it’s dead is more opportunity for the Soul Eater to kill you, instead.>

Anouke scowled, before she let out a short, disappointed sigh. she said, turning back to Ruby, and bowing her head. <Thank you for your time and the opportunity.>

Ruby and the rest of the Keeper Team said their half of the formal farewell, before Anouke was out the door, and the next candidate came in.

“Wow, that quickly and just for that reason?” Weiss asked.

“Yep!” Ruby said. “It’s kinda like one of those economic theories or something, where there’s hundreds of folks that want to fill in a vacant, permanent spot in the Keeper Team, so we can just pick and choose whoever we think is going to be the absolute best of the best, though there were some folks where the issues were more, uh, personal.”

“Such as?”

“Well...”

It was mid-day now when yet another candidate strode into the room, a pair of well-worn headphones around their neck. <Yo, name’s Yral Revene, but you might know me by my stage name: ‘Jackdaw,’> they said. <Officially my job is as a watcher-weaver, but only to pay the bills while I work on my real job: music maker. I want in on the Keeper Team as you all are gonna be the key to my revolutionizing music and weaving, and it’s going to start with me helping you kick Soul Eater tail like never before!>

<That’s an incredibly bold statement,> Ren said. <May you please explain how exactly you are planning to do this…?>

<With the freedom to use my Sound, is what,> Jackdaw replied. <I’ve been forced to use all the stock standard sheets and songs, so me and the rest of the sound weavers can harmonize and collab easy-like, and even then, I’ve barely been allowed to use my Sound on the field.>

<Your ‘Sound’…?> Ruby asked.

<They mean their personally composed music,> Penny said.

<Oh!> Ruby said. <So, is this also a set of custom-made and modified spells, then?>

<Yes,> Jackdaw replied. they said, pulling out an external speaker and their comm-crystal.

<Excuse me!> Penny said, rising up from her seat. <I would like to remind you that elemental weaving of any sort is forbidden inside the interview room, and will be considered an attempt to harm the Keeper or her teammates, with the according grave punishment!>

<Relax, it’s just the music this time!> Jackdaw replied as they set it down, before they smiled. <You can experience the rest later, at the Grove. Ready?>

Everyone agreed to it, or didn’t mind, except for Qrow, who said <Hold on.> then ripped open one of the cushions, and plugged his hearing-holes with the stuffing.

<Oh come on, Uncle Qrow, aren’t you overreacting?> Ruby asked him.

<Alright, go!> Qrow said loudly, either ignoring her, or unable to hear.

Without any further issues, Jackdaw grinned, and pressed play, their personal music booming and filling the room. Merely ten seconds in, the smiles on Ruby and Nora’s faces disappeared, Zwei whined and pressed his two heads together and covered his outermost ears with his paws, while Penny looked concernedly at the increasingly uncomfortable and displeased members of the Keeper Team, sans Qrow.

<Oh, Eluna, make it stop!> Blake cried, clapping her hands over her ears.

<I’m really sorry, but please do!> Ruby added.

<Seriously?> Jackdaw asked, frowning. <It’s just new! It’s like an acquired taste! You’ll learn to love it, I swear!>

<My sincerest apologies, but I will really have to ask you to stop, or be forced to!> Penny cried. <Any more of this, and you might be charged with harassing and psychologically harming the Keeper and her Team.>

“And then there were some folks who’d been doing incredibly well, but we had to make the tough decision to reject them because of one deal-breaker or another...”

It was afternoon now, the curtains on the windows drawn to keep the glare of the sun from being too powerful. It was already past 2, their agreed upon lunch break, but they delayed it for the sake of their latest interviewee.

<… While I doubt I will be able to concoct, or even begin to research on something that might affect the Soul Eaters themselves, I’m sure that I’ve proven that my potions can be a great boon to you and the rest of the team, in combat or out of it,> he finished.

<Indeed you have, Maker Nyimu!> Penny said, smiling. <There’s just one more aspect from your record that we would like to address: we’re rather concerned about how dramatically your combat performance dropped after you finished drug rehabilitation, both in training exercises and live situations, and how that might be a liability when it comes to high-stakes situations like a Soul Eater attack.>

Nyimu frowned. <Ah, yes… to be honest, most of my stellar performance before it was all thanks to the constant abuse of enhancers, or using more to escape the consequences. Again, I swear I will improve myself without the cheap, dangerous shortcuts.>

<We know,> Qrow said, <but let me give you a hypothetical situation: everyone but you and Ruby are down or dead. She’s in deep shit, you’re the only one that has a hope in hell of saving her, but you know that the only way you can do it is if you pop a pot, or jam a needle into your arm, give you the boost you need.

Nyimu was silent, his eyes widening in surprise, before his face contorted into all manner of expressions, the inner turmoil clear for all to see. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, before finally, he sighed heavily, slumped his shoulders, and shook his head. <No, Watcher Branwen, I believe I cannot…> he said. <Even a single misstep will be all it takes to fall again into addiction, I’m certain of it..>

<So you don’t think you can sacrifice yourself, if it comes to that?> Ruby asked sympathetically.

Nyimu looked at her, and said, <No Keeper—I apologize.>

Nyimu said, smiling ruefully. He bowed, they went through the formal goodbyes, and left.

As soon as he was out the door, everyone started getting up off their cushions and stretched, groans and sighs of relief echoing in the room.

<Ugh, I’m so glad it’s finally over...> Blake muttered as she arched her back. <Please don’t take this as a personal insult, everyone, but I never realized how much truth there was to the stories of what kinds of Fae would want to apply for the Keeper Team… I always assumed there was some element of exaggeration and fabrication to it to make it a more entertaining story, not that they were just reporting it as is!>

<Yeah, Keepers tend to attract misfits, outcasts, and oddballs almost as much as they do trouble,> Qrow said, bending his arms back and forth between their usual and flying configurations. <And sometimes, they’re both at once,> he added, looking pointedly at Blake.

She scowled, and said nothing.

<Be nice, Uncle Qrow,> Ruby snapped softly, before she smiled at Blake. <So, since this is your first time in the Bastion and being out of the house in general since you got here, anything you want to get for lunch? There’s plenty of great restaurants here, and I’m sure we can convince the Council to foot for our bill.>

<If none of you mind, I would really appreciate someplace that serves fish,> Blake replied. <Preferably fresh.>

<Oh, well you’re in luck!> Nora said, grinning. <Ren and I know this great seafood place in the Tender’s Fields, serves pretty much everything—freshwater and saltwater fish, squids, octopi, shellfish, algae, seaweed—heck, they even have these neat compressed balls of plankton you eat like chips! You even get a discount if you catch it yourself.>

Blake smiled. <I’d really like that, actually.>

<Any objections?> Ruby asked. When there were none, she smiled and said, <Then let’s go get some lunch!>

Then as if on cue, all of their comm-crystals sans Blake’s started flashing and beeping wildly in alarm, similar alarms echoing elsewhere in the Roost. Penny projected a holo and read aloud the message:

<Isn’t Thundercall where we were supposed to go in three weeks?> Ruby cried as they started running.

<Looks like the date’s been moved forward, kiddos!> Qrow cried back.

<Sorry to sound self-centered, but what’s going to happen to me?> Blake butted-in as she kept pace with them. <I’m supposed to be with at least one of you at all times!>

<Simple: we take you with us!> Ruby replied. <Your equipment’s all fixed now, and you said it yourself that you’re willing to fight and hunt with us, right?>

<There’s a lot of legal mumbo jumbo about Keeper’s deputizing folks, so don’t worry about going to jail, and just focus on not dying!> Nora chirped. <It’d be really tragic and awful if you died so soon after you just got introduced into the story!>

Blake looked strangely at her, before she shook her head, and kept on running.

Note: Qrow, like many avian Fae, does not have ears, and has hearing-holes instead. Ren also has them, as reptilian Fae and some more exotic subspecies like snake Fae have acquired adaptations from others over the millenia, though the earliest of them reportedly could only “taste” sound or had very poor audio perception.

#rwby #white rose #the viridian vanguard #fanfic

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