#it’s just unfortunate things go the way they do once she realizes a blood relative is within reach for the first time in her life
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“GOLD III” – Rafe Cameron x Reader
series summary: the perfect summer quickly turns into an avalanche of unfortunate events when you and your friends try to blackmail Rafe Cameron.
chapter warnings: a short paragraph about sex.
this chapter is more of a filler (and the next one too, probably) before things go down.
links:
➱ divider i | (@/firefly-graphics) | gif
➱ series masterlist
RAFE didn’t sleep well that night. Not because of what he did, but more because of what Barry would do to him once he realized that he wasn’t able to pay.
He didn’t mind scaring you. You had a relatively peaceful life until your mom died, but well, at least your father did love you, so what was the harm in making your life a little bit more exciting?
Exciting…
It probably wasn’t the right word, however, he didn’t care. Why would he? He wasn’t some smartass with a Ph.D. He didn’t need to be one. He had his father’s money and his mother’s charm. He had everything for a successful life. Good looks, a mansion, and now he had a girl too. While it was questionable if you were really his girl or not, he knew he was going to get you. There was no way you could make two thousand dollars with legal work, and he was sure you weren’t going to suck other Kooks’ dicks for a few papers, or at least he hoped so.
He had to have you first and even if you were able to cough up the money, he wasn’t going to stop, not anymore.
The past few hours he had been fantasizing about you. Getting you high and fucking you until you were a whimpering mess without a sober thought. His mind was getting hazy as he imagined your breasts between his hands, your cum around his lips and your ass against his abdomen. He was hard already, the mere of your body colliding with his sent every drop of blood to his dick.
Sometimes he wondered what would it be like losing his virginity to you. He used to daydream about it. He would have asked you to be his date for prom, and you would have agreed but with a little nudging and Topper’s help. He might have been a pussy in Rafe’s eyes, but he did know how to talk pretty to women. After prom, he would have taken you to some fancy restaurant where he would have asked you to be his girlfriend. You would have said yes. And the night before college he would have made love to you.
Love, a humorless chuckle left his lips at the thought. As a sixteen years old he was thinking of tender sex. Nowadays, it was more fucking and less lovey-dovey shit. He had grown up and all the anger he had in his heart exploded. He was capable of loving though. He probably could have loved you… but love was boring, and seeing the fear in your eyes as he choked you was so much more thrilling.
He was curious if his fingers were imprinted on your skin. In a way, it was a mark of his ownership over you because well, he did own you... at least until you didn’t get his money back.
Fuck, what he wouldn’t have given just to see your harshly decorated skin. If he remembered correctly you were working at The Wreck today. He might as well take a short trip to the diner. He was getting bored in the house anyway.
🌤️
It was seconds away from two o’clock in the afternoon. Your black t-shirt was stained by sweat and oil. These times at The Wreck were always hectic, but today it seemed to be even worse. You were getting dizzy and you were barely able to catch a breath. Maybe the short-sleeved turtleneck was a bad idea, but at least it hid Rafe’s fingerprints. Your bruised knees were already hard to explain.
“You have a new one at table four,” Kiara noted as you looked to the corner. Your heart filled with dread as your eyes fall upon his figure. He was on his phone, his lips slightly moving with every tap of his fingers.
“Fuck,” you cursed as you grabbed your notepad and pencil.
“You okay?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you lied, a sigh escaping from your mouth. You were far from okay. You wondered if you should tell what happened to you, but you were scared. You didn’t want anything to happen to her, or to the Pogues. You knew she wouldn’t leave it alone, even if you were crying your eyes out, begging her not to do anything.
While he probably wasn’t going to cause any trouble in front of an audience, you would rather avoid him. His words could cause enough problems.
“I can take it,” she offered with a slight smile which you returned swiftly. She probably knew something was going on. She asked about the small wounds on your legs, but you quickly disregarded her concern with a small shake of your head and said you were only playing with your little brother. “Rest a little bit, okay?
“Thanks,” you muttered as you took off your apron and you stepped outside the restaurant. While the air was humid and hot, it was still better than the kitchen, even if the smell of fried fish seemed to follow you around.
It wasn’t long before Kie’s voice hit your ears, making you look up from your lap. It seemed to be way more interesting than it was ever before.
“He wants you,” she mumbled as she crossed her arms with a slight pout.
“Great,” you ironically chuckled before standing up and making your way back to the back of the restaurant. Kie was quick in your steps as she kept close to you.
“Does he know?” she lowly asked as she grabbed onto your upper arm, her eyes widening as the realization hit her.
You didn’t know if you should lie or tell the truth. There wasn’t much she could do to help you… if anything it would make everything worse.
“I… I don’t know,” you answered after putting your apron back on.
You left her behind and strolled to table four where your torturer was waiting for you.
“What can I get you?” you say as he looked up from the menu, eyes boring onto your neck, hidden behind a soft material. He was disappointed, but well, those marks were going to be there for longer than a few days and he couldn’t wait to make fresher ones.
“A coke, please,” he smiled softly at you and you couldn’t help but cringe at his movements.
“I’ll be back soon,” you muttered, your words laced with venom. At least you got off the hook easily.
You went back to the fridges and grabbed a bottle, the little devilish voice in your head repeating one sentence: shake it up. It would have been fun but you knew that his revenge would a thousand times worse.
He was that kind of a man. If you threw a plush toy at him, he would throw a fucking rock back at you.
You made your way back to his table and softly placed the soda in front of him, “Here’s your order.”
His fingers fished out a fifty-dollar bill, his eyes cheekily resting on your tired features, “Keep the change. We both know you need it.”
A tasteless chuckle left your lips, “Fuck you, Rafe.”
“Oh, I will,” he smirked before grabbing his coke and leaving the restaurant. You snatched the money up from the table before making your way back to the counter. The green paper crumpling between your fingers.
“Is everything okay?” Kiara walked up to you, her eyes scanning the diner. A small and relieved sigh left her lips when she saw that Rafe was no longer there.
“Yeah,” you lied as you cast your eyes onto her. “He was just being a dick.”
“Nothing new then,” she presses her lips together, eyebrows furrowed. She probably didn’t believe you, but you couldn’t blame her. You wouldn’t have believed yourself either.
“Nope,” you muttered before your eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. 14:10. Your shift was done. You quickly untied your apron and placed it on one of the shelves before turning to your friend, “I need to go home now and take Alex to practice. See you at The Chateau?”
“Yes, of course.”
After you dropped your brother off at his football practice, you made your way back home in hopes to be able to freshen up before seeing your friends at John B.’s house.
As you took your shirt off you stole a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. Your neck was decorated with purple and black hues, the print of his fingers deeply burned into the flesh. It looked worse than yesterday. You wondered how long will it take for that constant reminder to disappear. Probably a good few weeks, however, judging by the pressure he put on your throat it could be even months.
A frustrated sigh left your lips as you stepped under the shower, the cold water cooling down your heated skin. You stood for a few minutes, letting the droplets run down your body.
You were fucked… literally. There was no way you were able to get that much money in such a short time. Even if the others could help you out, you didn’t see much chance for him to stop. He would find other ways to torment you. And now that he knew you would steal from him, you were sure, he wouldn’t leave you out of the fun.
You needed to tell your friends and come up with an idea because the last thing you wanted was to have sex with him.
You hastily washed and dried yourself before putting on another turtleneck with a short sleeve and a pair of light-wash bermuda shorts.
Once you were ready, you made your way to The Chateau where your friends were waiting for you, except for Sarah. While the two of you weren’t best friends, you were worried for her. Her phone was dead and she was MIA. You hoped at least John B. had a slight idea where his potential girlfriend was.
“Hey, guys,” you greeted them as you sat on the couch. It had seen better days, way better ones. It was decorated by dark patches - probably beverages that couldn’t stay still in their glasses - and deep scratches that were done by some cats.
“Hey.”
“Have you heard something from Sarah?” you questioned as you looked around, hoping for an answer.
“She actually just left,” Kiara told you. “Said her dad needed her or something.”
You only nodded. At least Sarah was fine.
“You okay? You look like shit,” JJ noted kindly as he sat down across from you, the wooden railing slightly creaking under his weight.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. How were you supposed to break the news? Should you show them your neck? Should you tell them what he told you?
“Rafe knows,” you muttered. Straight to the point.
“What?” Pope asked, disbelief in his word.
“How?” came another question from John B.
“Shit,” Kiara breathed out. She seemed to be the only one who accepted it just like that. She was probably already suspicious of Rafe when he visited you. She just needed to hear it from your mouth.
“I don’t --. Fuck,” you sighed as you remembered the text you had sent her. He must have seen it, but that still didn’t explain why she never answered you. “I lost my bracelet in his room, and I sent Sarah a text asking her to try to look for it. I guess he saw the text on Sarah’s phone…”
“And?” Kiara’s voice hit your ears.
“… and then the same day I met with him and he told me that Sarah wants to meet with me at the pier. I thought it was weird. I mean why would she want to meet with me at the pier? But I didn’t care, I wanted my bracelet back. So I went to the pier to meet Sarah, and she wasn’t there, but Rafe was. He told me to get back the money or I’m fucked.”
“And?” Kie once again pressed for more details.
“… and then nothing. I went home.”
“Don’t lie, Y/N,” she scoffed, not believing you. You already lied to her at work and she was done with your shit. “He did something, didn’t he? Those bruises on your knees...”
“He just pushed me and I fell,” you kept lying. You wanted to spare them the fact he almost killed you. The last thing you needed was for them to try going after Rafe. It would just make everything worse and you were already deep enough shit as it was.
“What now?” John B. asked his eyes darting around, finally stopping on Kiara. He was waiting for her to find a solution.
“We give him the money back,” you declared, hoping that JJ didn’t come up with another great plan.
“How?”
“There’s still three hundred dollars from the money we stole. I have a hundred dollars in savings and I’m gonna get paid on Wednesday which is another five-hundred dollars and then another hundred dollars for Midsummers. That’s a thousand dollars,” you noted.
“Hold up…What if you don’t pay it back?” JJ cut in, his question flying through the air.
“I don’t know, JJ,” you lied once again, shame slowly creeping onto your mind. You felt bad, they were your friends after all, but was there even a good way to tell them what he wanted from you? “and I don’t wanna find out… I’m gonna pay back the money and then we’ll act like nothing happened. Sooo... anybody wants to help me out?”
“I want to,” Pope was the first to offer you help. “Pogues help Pogues, don’t they?”
“Yep,” John B. agreed as he extended his arm, his palm facing the floor. “Pogues for life?”
“Pogues for life,” you and your friends repeated his words, your hand meeting with theirs in the center of the circle you formed.
Maybe things were going to end well.
How naïve you were to think that…
end of chapter 3.
if you liked this, please, consider leaving a comment or an anon ask... it means more to me than a like or reblog (even though reblogs are deeply appreciated).
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8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?
9. How do you find new fic to read?
10. How do you decide what to write?
(if not answered already), and 37 & 38! Fanfic ask meme❤️
ooh hello!! thank you for these!! i did answer #38, but i'll answer #37 for sure!
8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?
ooooo as a music nerd i love this question and i apologize for how longwinded my answer is XD i don't do many songfics or much song-related writing [*shoves the title of two fights for freedom under the rug*] but i do have a ton of playlists and songs that make me think of specific characters or fics. to answer this question, i'll just pick one called "Fever Dream" by Dirt Poor Robins. specifically the part starting just after the 4:00 minute mark. the lyrics make me go INSANE with this idea for a dark/horror dq bros fic where doflamingo realizes that corazon is just a false identity and he can't do anything to get his brother back and it drives him even more insane. these lyrics make me crazy
Now here comes the liar (lion)
Clawing at your door
Drunk on the blood of your brother
And he's back for more
(apparently the lyric is actually "lion" rather than "liar", but i hear "liar" so therefore i declare it is "liar" for the sake of my own brainrot)
imagine a fic where rosinante is the one psychologically tormenting doflamingo!! unsure if i'll ever get around to writing it, but it'd probably have a similar vibe to blood gone sour.
9. How do you find new fic to read?
i usually do a nightly prowl under the one piece fandom on ao3 and either filter by most recent fics with rosinante or bell-mere. otherwise i read recs that are bumped on discord servers, or stories friends write! i'm actually terrible at reading tho i don't read nearly enough. when i have free time, i usually use it to create.
10. How do you decide what to write?
excellent question. i make a list of priorities. sometimes it's disorganized lists on my phone, sometimes i use calendars. first and foremost are things with due dates, so zine work, or gifts for exchanges, birthdays or holidays. next i prioritize stories that are works in progress, but already posted on ao3. i hate having incomplete works posted on ao3, so i strive to get them wrapped up asap. then it's a rabid thunderdome of all my other wips and ideas all wrestling for victory for who gets to be created XD i'm constantly bursting with ideas i never get to work on, unfortunately.
37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?
i'm gonna go ahead and promote spitfire and ice because i busted my ass on this for the crackpair event and i was actually really happy with the result? i was assigned makino x kuzan, so i threw bell-mere in there too just to shake things up, and then i fell madly in love with bell-mere x makino and their flirty banter. it captured my heart in a way i was NOT expecting. i guess the tags aren't particularly interesting to most, so it's relatively unknown with only 4 kudos and 31 hits. but look at this!!
“Hey, I’ve gotta ask you something.” She leaned over the counter once Makino settled herself and refilled the pitcher for the next round. “Would I still be wanted here…after hours?”
With a tight smile, Makino rested her hands over the tabletop. “We’re closed for customers after hours. I need some time to tidy up the place.”
“Right, right…” Pretty gray eyes wandered. “But in this situation, I wouldn’t be a customer.”
With an amused chuckle, Makino folded her arms over her stomach. “What do you want me to say, Miss Bell-mère? Do you want me to welcome you to my private quarters upstairs?”
That exposed chest filled with air. “I wouldn’t be against an invitation.”
smh. well, at least i'm proud of it!
ahhh sorry i got so rambly XD i had fun answering these! thank you so much for the questions!! here's the list if anyone else has a question, or wants to reblog it for themselves!
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9, 13, and 24 for the teenage rebellion au?
Yay, more asks!! :D
9. Is there a scene you wish you could've included, but couldn't? Why?
Gosh, yeah. Ever since the Ahsoka show came out, I've wanted to write a bit where Inquisitor!Ezra is assigned to babysit the newest and youngest addition to the Inquisitorius, except he also has secret plans to meet Sabine that night which he really doesn't want to miss, so he decides to just bring the kid along. What could go wrong? Well, turns out, the answer is A Lot, as the kid, who happens to be Shin Hati, books it the heck out of there the first chance she gets to cause as much chaos and property damage as possible, and what was supposed to be a nice date night turns into a mad dash across Coruscant in something strongly resembling Yzma and Kronk's hunt for Kuzco, if Kuzco was a slightly feral 12-year-old with a laser sword, and Yzma and Kronk were teenagers who couldn't stop flirting long enough to form a cohesive plan besides "follow the sound of traffic accidents and hope for the best," which I realize doesn't sound much like the Emperor's New Groove at all, but trust me, the comedy vibes are the exact same.
Unfortunately, this isn't gonna work, due to the simple fact that Mara is already dubbed Youngest Sister, and Shin is about four years younger than her, so, like... what would they even call her?
13. Write a lil snippet set in this verse.
ohhhh ok ok how about some pain???
She stumbled through the first door she could find--a cluttered supply closet--and scrabbled to release the clasps on her mask, gasping for breath.
The coldness rubbed her mind raw, boring into her like blasting sand in a desert storm. She wanted to claw at her own skin until the horrible Darkness drained out of her like drops of blood.
She had hoped. She had believed. She thought she could fix things, save just the child if she could save no one else. But the child was older now, and Falling farther and farther, and Anakin was a monster, and the other Inquisitors--people who were once Jedi, people who she once loved--were past hope.
All was lost, and the only thing Ahsoka had managed to do was to destroy herself.
24. Ramble about something you haven't gotten to talk about yet.
OOH OK OK SOOO. At first glance, this AU is either a cracky or angsty fic, depending on which way any given story swings, without too much depth in it, where all the fics are named with lyrics from ABBA songs (don't ask me why. I don't know). But!!! There are two big, serious themes in this AU, as well. One is redemption, and the other one, which I'm gonna ramble about, is family. Good family, bad family, blood family, found family--all of it.
The Inquisitors all go by "Brother" and "Sister", and some of them--especially Ezra and Mara--actually do view each other as siblings. (Others... not so much.) Basically, as a whole, the Inquisitorius functions as a big, messed up family. Vader sees Ezra and Mara as the children he lost, but his love for them is selfish and possessive. Even the kids, to a smaller extent, also have an... I don't want to say "unhealthy relationship" because theirs is by far the most healthy dynamic in the whole Inquisitorius, but their relationship definitely isn't optimal, as Ezra's had to be both a brother and a parent to Mara since he was five.
Meanwhile, Sabine is living as a virtual prisoner with her relatives on Coruscant. She feels abandoned by all of her blood family, except for her brother. While she has friends in Luke and Leia, and a motherly figure in Vere, she's extremely lonely and isolated.
But also, there's the Organas, and the Naberries (who adopted Luke,) and even Luke and Leia--though they don't know they're blood siblings (yet). There'a also the Ghost crew (who will be showing up eventually), and while I would really, really love to elaborate on said Ghost crew, as well as SEVERAL other people/groups of people that tie into the theme of GOOD family, I'm not going to, because in this AU, the good family elements mostly tie into the happy ending, so I'd have to spoil a lot of the plot to do it.
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Leigh plays Tellius prt 4
This fucking map took me WAY too many tries, all because SOMEONE wanted to die before I could get Ike to recruit her. Seriously, the sheer amount of times Astrid died on this map was absolutely insane to me.
Though, I will admit that one of my failures came down to me forgetting to protect the green square from the crows. I thought they were only cared about the treasure, so it didn't occur to me to keep Titania on the green square once all the beorc soldiers were dead. That one was on me.
NAESALA!! When my sister and I first played this game back in 2007, my sister had the BIGGEST crush on Naesala. And while I'm not nearly as infatuated with him as she was, I do admit to having a strong fondness for this deceptive bastard. I also love the use of "walker" as an insult here. Too fucking funny.
TIBARN!!! I'll be honest, I didn't think much of him back when I first played the game, but now I am a big Tibarn fan. Look at his roguish good looks! And his badass personality! I also love his whole pirate captain aesthetic. Peak character design.
This entire scene is so funny. I love how Sanaki starts off amused by this situation, but quickly loses her temper. Even Soren, as well-read as he is, was unaware that the Apostle is a 10-year-old girl. Which seems kind of like something he should know, but eh. I'll let it slide because the comedy is too good.
Yeeee, another sapphic! Gosh, she is so dang pretty. I love how serene and understanding she is, especially in contrast with the super strict Tanith.
On a side note, I have to wonder if Elincia is related to anyone in the holy guard. Didn't she say that her grandmother was once a member of the Begnion holy guard? Come to think of it, Elincia must have relatives in Begnion... right?
Oh, Calil. I will enjoy using you in RD, but unfortunately, I don't think I will be using her in this game. If only she came with staves instead of knives. But I already have Ilyanna and Soren, I don't need a third mage on my team.
The humor in this game never gets old. I 100% cackled out loud here, despite already knowing what the joke was going to be.
So about those two tiger laguz on this map. Since they don't move, I thought it would be a good idea to farm some fire weapon experience for Soren. Instead, Soren decided to crit on the first tiger and trigger adept on the second. Oh, Soren...
I love this cutscene so much!! Question: Is that Kyza and Lyre in the background? Also, I love the subtle detail that all the royals shift into their human forms, but the non-royals stay in their transformed states. Is this a sign of respect to the royals, or is it more of an insurance, just in case things get out of hand?
I love Reyson's introduction. They gave us this ultra frail-looking pretty boy, and then told us "oh yeah he's blood-thirsty and obsessed with vengeance."
Also, I will be honest, I did not pick up on the Tibarn/Reyson ship vibes back when I played this game in 2007. When I first went on the internet and discovered that they were a popular ship, I was utterly confused. Now that I've watched other people play Radiant Dawn, a game where it implies several times that Tibarn and Reyson share a bed, I am no longer confused, merely ashamed that my 2007 yaoi goggles failed me.
The only good thing about Makalov is this base conversation. Man, Ike can be soooo savage sometimes, and I love it. I believe that this was initially Soren's idea, but Ike was immediately on board with it.
Aaaaand it's my very first class change! It's Soren, to nobody's surprise. He looks so good in purple.
I will confess: when I first played this game, I gave Soren knives instead of staves, because I thought it would be cool, not realizing that knives were basically useless on Soren due to his wimpy noodle arms and his 5% strength growth.
This time, I did not make that mistake.
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FFXIVWrite Day 25 - Call It A Day
I have committed the greatest irony and pulled and all nighter writing this. I wish I was joking. Anyway have why Altais can’t sleep lol. Also for that same reason I’m posting from mobile today so sorry if any formatting gets weird.
Don’t know my characters? Here’s a basic breakdown to help you out!
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Altais had a bad habit. That in itself was relatively normal, who didn’t have at least one?
Hers was simply that she’d work rather than sleep. She would often build and test weapons straight through the night. Or just practice her battle moves. Really just about anything to occupy herself.
When pressed on why she did this, she’d give all sorts of reasons from thinking she was nearly done to just losing track of time.
The real answer? Something she had learned long ago to never express, to never even believe.
She was a coward.
The mind was quick to wander in dreams, and hers had far too much blood to wade through. Go back far enough, and some of it was probably innocent. Spilled solely because of her own distrust. It was easier not to go there. Easier to pretend she could forget.
Once she wouldn’t have even realized how many wrongs she’d committed.She had learned many things over her time with Solar, the foremost thing being that her view of the world, of morals, of people, of everything really was skewed.
And when it came to reflecting on her actions with this new perspective, she was in fact a coward. Even if she wouldn’t let herself think it.
She wasn’t running from the nightmares. Just getting other stuff done. She would believe that no matter what it took.
Unfortunately, the human body didn’t really support this. At some point Altais would pass out. Almost always in her reading loft rather than her actual bed, claimed by exhaustion during research.
And then her mind would show her fire and blood and death until she woke up hyperventilating as if someone had actually stabbed her.
Not that it was all that different from her life she figured.
But she also couldn’t make it stop. A part of her accepted this was just some kind of trauma. But what was the trauma source? Her entire life?
She wasn’t someone who had one issue they needed to process. She was the issue, everything about her life had been a game of life and death since she was born. As far as she knew, there simply was no ‘working through’ your entire life. She was what it has made her, for better or worse.
Eventually maybe she’d understand how to approach it all and rest a little more easily. But for now, she had other things to be doing. The future was more important than the past and she was trying to be prepared for it.
So while everyone else called it a day, she’d keep building, testing, and training under the stars. For now, it was simply her only way forward.
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One By One | Freida McFadden | Published 2020 | *SPOILERS*
One by one, they will get what they deserve.
A night spent sleeping on dirt and leaves is now how Claire Matchett expected to spend her vacation.
She thought this would be a break from the stresses of work and raising her young children. A chance to repair her damaged marriage. A week of hiking and hot tubs with two other couple friends. It sounded like heaven.
Then Claire's minivan breaks down on a lonely dirt road. With no cell reception, the group has no choice but to hike the rest of the way to their hotel. But it turns out the woods aren't as easy to navigate as they thought.
Hours later, they are lost. Hopelessly lost.
And as they navigate deeper into the woods, the members of their party are struck down mysteriously one by one. Has a wild animal been hunting them? Or is the hunter one of them?
But as more time passes, one thing becomes clear:
Only one of them will return home alive.
Claire, along with 5 of her friends, are heading out into the Colorado wilderness for a week getaway. Her husband, Noah, is with her, along with her best friend Lindsay and the new man she is seeing, Warner; along with Noah's best friend Jack and his divorce lawyer wife, Michelle.
For the last several years, Noah and Claire have been pulling away from each other. Their relationship just wasn't what it used to be, and it's starting to fall apart. So much so that Claire has begun sleeping with Jack behind Noah's back. Jack, whose relationship with Michelle is also falling apart, is planning to leave his wife, although he isn't sure how to do so without losing everything he has, and Claire has decided that at the end of the week, she will be leaving Noah, regardless of what happens between Jack and his wife.
The trip starts out well enough, and by the time they get into the woods, the day is already half over. However, they hit a snag in their plans when Claire's relatively new minivan dies without warning. The battery is dead. The group decides to walk to the resort where they're staying, Warner explaining that it is only about two miles away and they'll be there before dark.
But, unfortunately, they get lose fairly quickly. After stopping to use the restroom, Lindsay sees what she believes to be blueberries. Ignoring Claire's warnings, she eats them, but she quickly becomes sick, going into a seizure and eventually dying. The berries she had eaten were not blueberries after all, but deadly nightshade.
Despite efforts, Warner is unable to revive her, and thouh Claire doesn't want to leave her behind, she agrees to keep moving, if only so they could get help in order to locate her body. But, the day is quickly leaving them, and they find a place to camp for the night. Unfortunately, Michelle had fallen and twisted her ankle, so they didn't have much choice. Everyone gathers around a campfire and they fall into a deep sleep.
In the morning, Jack awakens the majority of the group calling for Michelle, who has seemingly walked away from their campsite at some point in the night and is now unable to be found. Upon searching for her, they find a piece of her shirt torn on a branch, and eventually come to a spot that is covered in blood. Everyone assumes the worst, but Jack refuses to go on without finding her, so they continue their search.
The day doesn't lead to much, once again, but Noah and Claire's relationship is beginning to mend due to what is happening to them. Claire realizes that Jack was never going to leave Michelle, and that he had said all those things in order to get her to sleep with him. She is devastated by this revelation, but it also brings her closer to her husband. But, tensions rise between Warner and Jack, the two of them often threatening each other.
Once again, the day turns into night and they settle down to camp for the night. But when they awaken, Warner is now missing and they find a lot of blood in their search for him. Just the day before, both Noah and Jack mention that something is off, and it appears they are going in circles. The only explanation is that the compass isn't working properly due to one of them having a magnet strong enough to interfere with it, and Jack believes it could be Noah because he is aware of their affair, but Claire is hesitant to believe this is true.
When they begin going in the right direction, due north this time, they come across a cabin in the woods. It's currently unoccupied, though it hadn't been for long, as they find remnants of uneaten food, along with plenty of food within the cabin and running water. They decide to hunker down here for the night, Noah and Claire taking the bedroom and Jack on the couch. However, when they awaken the next morning, Jack is now missing and when Claire opens the front door, finds blood on the porch.
Now believing that her husband is killing them off one by one, she runs for the truck that Jack had shown her the day before, the cabins owner in the front seat having been stabbed to death, though it isn't sure how long he's been there. However, in the passenger seat sits Jack, with a gunshot wound to the head, dead. A voice tells her to put her hands up, and when she turns, Warner reveals himself as having been the culprit.
The two head back to the cabin, and another shocking realization hits: Warner wasn't working alone. He was working with Lindsay, as she had faked her death, and the berries really had been delicious blueberries.
Throughout the novel, we have an "anonymous" POV which turns out to be Lindsay. In these POVs, she details her life as a young child and teenager. Her father, the one person she can rely on in her life, is a traveling salesman and is often gone for days and even a week at a time. While home, Lindsay's mother was a model person, but when he's gone, she turns into another person entirely, often bordering on child abuse.
At some point in Lindsay's teenage years, her mother accused her father of cheating on her with her sister, Jeanette, and kicked him out of the house. Upset that he actually left, her mother ended up overdosing on sleeping pills and killed herself with Lindsay in the house, and Lindsay had done nothing in order to help her, believing that her life would be much better, and for a short while, it was.
It isn't until Lindsay went to college and met Claire that she realized her own worth. And with her father aging due to her mother's death, she wanted to spend more time with him, and after some exams, decided to go home for a visit. But when her father comes home that evening, a few hours after Lindsay arrived, Lindsay caught him kissing her aunt, just like her mother accused him of. Lindsay confronts her father of this, and it is revealed that Lindsay has struggled with mental health nearly her entire life, and that her mother and father used to argue furiously over it. Lindsay also attacked several people at her school, which often led them to have to switch her schools, and now her father has finally had enough of it.
Lindsay, unable to control her anger, especially after her father accuses her of being the real person responsible for her mother's suicide, pushes her father down the stairs and kills him. She also murdered Claire's first college boyfriend after she had found him cheating on her with a supposed friend of hers. And even worse, when Claire confessed to sleeping with Jack, Noah knew about it and also confessed to having kissed a woman, Lindsay.
All of this was part of Lindsay and Warner's elaborate plan to get away with murder, but Lindsay's motive also included ending Warner's life, which she does. But, what Lindsay doesn't know is that Noah has a Swiss army knife in his pocket, which he uses to stab her.
Noah and Claire are able to return home to their children. They were going to attempt to contact the authorities, but it turned out that Claire's sister, Penny, was able to get them involved the second day of their disappearance after they hadn't checked into their resort. Shortly after Noah stabbed Lindsay, the police arrived and rescued them. Currently, Lindsay is going to be serving time for at least four murders, as Michelle's body was also found in the woods having been stabbed to death, along with Jack being shot.
It seems that Noah and Claire's marriage is back on track, however, when she pulls the luggage out of her minivan, she notices that there was a magnet hidden inside one of his pieces of clothing, showing that it was Noah that had been messing with the compass all along, just like Jack had feared. Even worse, Emma, their 7-year-old daughter overhead Jack and Noah on the phone, discussing how the two of them wanted to go hiking, just the two of them. With this realization, Claire begins to wonder if her husband had some ulterior motive all along, but Lindsay and Warner ended up beating him to it.
We later see that this was also part of Lindsay and Warner's elaborate plan. Warner's real name was Donald Regis, and he was wanted for murder in other states as well. Lindsay is going to attempt to play the insanity defense, but she doesn't think it's going to work due to the other pieces of the puzzle getting figured out with her involvement in other murders. It was Warner's idea to pin the entire thing on Noah at first, which led to the magnet being placed inside of his luggage, but she knows Claire is going to let this eat away at her until their marriage really does end...which was Lindsay's plan all along.
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Murder and Dancing and Some Self Important Dude
(CW : blood, death, drug use, altered behavior)
Hearing the steps behind him, he tensed, something between elation and irritation.
A witness.
Another unfortunate victim.
Shifting, readying, he moves away from the body, and ever so slightly further into the shadows.
The figure, a woman, short, stumbled and hummed down the alley, hapless and unknowing.
He readied himself to move.
She shifted into the dim light, just enough to see her, to recognize her, and he flinched.
What the fuck.
The confusion faded, and he wasn't sure if he was pleased or annoyed.
He also wasn't sure how she kept finding him.
Did she have some weird sense for where he was? Snorting, he dismissed the idea as stupid.
Regardless, she was here now.
"Kimi." He spoke plainly.
She still startled, wide eyes darting around before finding him. Her eyes slid, down his form, to the body in the ground, and back up again.
Something in her demeanor shifted, and while not completely lost, mindless, she was already, based on the look she was giving him, edging into “off”.
She blinked owlishly, and wobbled, and he realized she’d been drinking.
Well, he supposed it was a club.
Or rather, the alley behind one.
Why she’d wandered out here however …
She giggled, “Whoopsie! Guess this isn’t the bathroom!”
He questioned how she managed to go from "bathroom" to "completely outside the building".
Bouncing off the wall, she grinned at him, glassy-eyed and dreamy.
Ah. So she was that drunk.
Maybe a little high? He couldn't be sure from here or in this poor lighting.
Glancing at the body at his feet then back to him once more, she hiccuped another giggle, “Didja have fun, Ken-shi~?”
This flighty joy was new, he usually had to coax her into this.
Blinking for a moment, he grinned at her.
“Why yes, yes I did, thank you.”
Her laugh was infectious and he revelled in it.
How delightful she was being.
She picked her way slowly, unstable, over to him.
An absent dazed hum, she leaned lightly against him, and toed at the body.
“Do ya need help with cleanin’?
He smiled indulgently down at her, “No, Kimi, we can just leave it. No one will even notice until morning. If then."
And he'd stayed relatively clean himself this time, even despite the rather filthy environment.
He quirked a wry grin as a thought hit him, "Even if they did, well, I was dancing with you, wasn't I?"
She grinned, and tugged him through a back door, a piece of scrap wood wedged in it to keep it from locking.
She made her away through the back halls and across the room, constantly looking back at him, as if to reassure herself he was real.
That he was there.
They stopped in a mostly private corner, tucked out of the way.
Whoever she had come with, and certainly she had, had apparently left.
Something to look into later perhaps.
Leaving her alone and vulnerable was not what he would term acceptable.
Tossing himself indolently down into a faux-leather chair he threw back the drink she had brought over.
He caught the bottle as it slipped from her clumsy fingers and laughed.
Pulling her lightly, she tumbled to half perch on his lap.
Threading his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head, he tilted his own glass against her lips.
She took what he gave her, without question or complaint.
He did enjoy her obedient like this.
A pleasant reprieve from her usual irreverence he thought with a snort.
She gazed at him, and he realized, yes, this was his little doe still. Different, but still her.
Lighter.
Less, whatever usually happened, and more just.
Drunk.
Yet she still gazed at him, like he’d crafted the world himself.
Like he was the only thing that mattered.
Reverent, but in a more human way.
He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.
Certainly safer in this public venue he supposed.
With a gentle push, she stumbled off him and stood, dazed, for a moment, before laughing wildly again.
“Kenshi,” her voice breathy, before raising, “I want to dance!”
He laughed at her, “So dance.”
So entertainingly unrestrained she was.
Her eyes softened, and she gazed at him a moment.
She reached, “Dance with me?”
He grinned. Why not? As she liked to say, fuckit.
Couldn't make it too easy for her though, he thought.
"Oh I don't know, not sure I'm really in a dancing mood…" he playfully trailed off.
Pausing for a moment, as if thinking, her face scrunched before she brightened, digging into the pocket of the jacket she'd left haphazardly on another chair before giving a victorious "Ha!"
Turning back to him, she proudly presented a small bag, with even smaller pills, to him.
He blinked at her, taking the baggie and looking it over.
"Someone gave them to me! I thought you might like them." She seemed something between pleased, and hopeful.
He hummed, before smiling at her.
Something else to look into later he supposed. If she was going to be taking things, he'd like to stay apprised of what.
The idea of her accepting random bags of random drugs from unidentified people, sat wrong with him.
she only took them from him.
Even drinking this much was wildly out of character.
Who had she been here with?
Slipping a single tablet under his tongue, if it was what it looked like it wouldn't be strong, but it would be a nice buzz, he tossed back the rest of his glass, and rose.
Taking her hands, he twirled her around the room, allowing himself to join her, in the vibrant, heady, energy.
There was no plan, no grace or real coordination. Just two people lost to the revelry.
Spinning with the world.
Dancing.
Drinking.
Wonderfully lost to the euphoria.
He was having fun.
Time passed, how much, he wasn’t sure, it couldn’t have been too long. It was definitely still late, rather than having shifted into early.
Probably.
He’d found himself lounging lazily in a chair again, laughing at the girl, making a fool of herself, dancing on the tabletop, offbeat and mindless.
Drifting.
She was tiring, but stubbornly refusing to let go of the high.
A feeling he understood.
He was alert as someone suddenly, and loudly, made themselves known.
Absently he reached to steady the girl, having stumbled with the startle.
“Kadokura! I was told I could find you here!”
With an absent displeased hum, he considered that he would have to figure out where that particular leak was. No one was supposed to know he was even in the area.
Someone in the club perhaps? If so, it was much less of a concern, they'd have seen him with Kimi, and that in and of itself was a common enough occurrence.
But if one of his own had said something… that would need dealt with. Tomorrow.
“I needed to speak business with you, my friend!”
Friend? He wasn’t sure he even knew this man’s name. Maybe. Not at the moment.
Suddenly eyeing the woman, his doe, the man blinked, and raised a brow.
“Got odd taste there, Kadokura, but to each their own,” he laughed.
The continual lack of honorific grated, and he bristled at the insult to both him and his companion. With a glance noted that she had completely missed it herself.
Good.
She was fragile about those things, it would have bothered her.
Instead she continued her uncoordinated step-and-sway atop the coffee table.
“We’ll just remove her and get to it.”
One of the random irrelevant extras the interoper had brought moved across the space, and she yelped as foreign, unwanted, hands found her waist and pulled.
His hand still on her hip to steady, he moved, shoving the other man's hands off and tugging her towards him. She stumbled, but was trusting, and let him guide her down and to his side.
Where she belonged.
"Leave her. The little thing is blitzed out of her mind anyway. She won't remember any of this tomorrow."
"Oh ho ho, got yourself a favorite little toy? Never knew you to be the type!"
He shrugged carelessly, seething internally. As if this fool knew him at all.
He sat, and gestured at the unwanted guest to do the same.
"You wanted to talk, so talk."
Kimi stood next to him, swaying and clearly far gone, before she sank, slowly.
He blinked at her as she leaned against the side of his chair, plopped unceremoniously on the floor.
And started to lightly snore.
Covering his eyes a moment and resisting the urge to laugh at her, he took a fortifying breath.
His hand found her hair, toying with it gently, as he conversed with the man.
How tedious this was going to be.
At least she was near.
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"you’re not alone . you’re stuck with me forever . sorry . ” + Jason and Dick (and anyone other family member)?
“Everyone okay?” Dick croaks as the dust and rubble settles around them. He’s lying on his back, kept still by something pinning his legs down. He doesn’t dare assess himself quite yet. “Hood? Batgirl?”
“Okay,” Cass says, and Dick watches as she stumbles over to him, looking dusty, but relatively alright. She kneels next to him with a frown. She meets his eyes—well, relatively since they’re both wearing masks—and asks, “Okay?”
Dick grimaces. “Not really.” Louder, he calls, “Red Hood?!”
“Here, here,” Jason says, coughing into his fist. He’s missing his helmet and there’s a gash sluggishly bleeding from his right cheek, smearing a trail of blood down his face. He’s also limping, but only slightly.
“Can you move?” Cass asks Dick as Jason pulls out his flashlight.
Dick winces at the sudden light, his mask having already automatically switched to night vision. He huffs. “Jay. Off.”
“Names.”
Dick scowls. “The light.”
“Deal with it,” Jason snaps. “My night vision isn’t working.”
Dick turns off his own night vision feature, if only to not be blinded by the damn flashlight if it passes over his eyes again.
That’s when Jason’s flashlight lands on where Dick is pinned.
“Crap,” Jason breathes.
“Can you move them?” Cass asks, sounding a touch more impatient, and Dick realizes that Cass has already asked once. “Your legs.”
“No,” says Dick, just barely trying. He’s tired, but he knows that time is up. He can’t get away with ignoring his own situation any longer. Probably shouldn’t have even waited this long. His legs are tingling from lack of blood flow, mixing with a sharp pain shooting through them both. Still he’s lucky, because—“I can still feel them, though.”
“We’ll lift,” Jason says to Cass, who nods. Dick closes his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable pain of rubble being lifted off his crushed legs.
“Hhh.”
The sounds he makes is nothing more than an agonized hissed through his teeth, and Dick can’t help the cold sweat that sweeps across his body in a slow wave as his siblings manage to move the slab of—wall, maybe? who knows, really—from where it’s crushing his poor legs.
Something taps against his shinbone and then his kneecap.
“Stop, stop, I feel it,” Dick gasps, bringing his legs up in a protective curl as pain throbs through most of his lower body. His left hip hurts like hell, and his every muscle, bone, and tendon feels like they’ve been squeezed and then flattened like a pancake. He rolls over onto his side so he can bring his knees up to his chest, to wait out the lingering intensity of the pain.
“Breathe,” Cass says.
Dick breathes.
He closes his eyes and blocks out everything and, again, just breathes. His siblings let him.
When he has a better grasp on his agony, Dick finally relaxes. The world filters back in. Cass is running fingers through Dick’s dusty hair (something she one hundred percent learned from Bruce, because only a select few know how much the motion tends to calm him down).
On the other hand, Dick blinks his eyes open to find Jason agitatedly pacing.
“The hell?” Jason murmurs, his flashlight whipping back and forth with his movements as he surveys their surroundings. “Did we get completely sealed in?”
Dick wishes desperately he would stop. Even without night vision, Jason’s impromptu strobe light effect is causing Dick’s head to ache. Instead of saying this, he hums contemplatively. “Wonder if there’s a signal this far down.”
Jason huffs, not slowing in the least. He’s searching for something, and dear god does Dick want him to find it already. “You’re the one with the comms in your ear. You try it.”
They’re in the sewers, is the thing. And while Bruce and Babs have designed the comms system to work incredibly well, even in the sewers, the signal still needs to be able to make it to the system in order to be functional.
With the three of them sealed in this place, seemingly with no way out, pretty deep in the sewer system where they had been disabling bombs throughout the city, Dick isn’t optimistic about their chances of getting a signal.
(They’d just been a few seconds too late for that last bomb, which unfortunately led them to their current circumstances.)
While Jason grumbles, Cass activates her emergency signal and the comms. She calls out, “Batman? Oracle?”
Jason shuts up for the five seconds before Cass looks between both Dick and Jason and shakes her head.
Dick lets out a slow exhale through his nose. He hadn’t really held out much hope for that anyways.
Jason groans. “Holy batcannoli, I can’t believe we’re stuck down here. And where’s my hecking helmet?!”
Cass helpfully points to the rubble sealing them in. Jason kicks a rock with a yell. Dick sighs.
“Well, at least you’re not alone down here,” Dick says as optimistically as he can—although, given the circumstances, it does fall a little flat.
Jason snorts. “Right. Sure, Batgirl is an asset, but you’re a sack of bruised bones right now. That’s not helpful in the slightest, Dickface.”
Dick’s eyelashes flutter of their own accord. He hums. “Too bad. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Sorry.”
“Dick,” Cass says, her fingers tracing lightly over his face. “Stay awake.”
“I am awake.”
“You’re starting to—” Cass pauses. Dick can’t see the look on her face, because somehow, his eyes have fully closed without his permission, and he can’t seem to find the strength to open them again. “—to slur.”
The sounds of Jason’s pacing stop. Silence rings loud in their sealed section of the sewers. Then, “Did he hit his head?”
“Not sure,” Cass answers.
“Dick,” Jason says, sounding quite a bit closer, like he’s maybe crouching down next to Cass or something—but Dick hadn’t heard him move, and Jason’s boots are too clunky to not make sound against the concrete. “Dick, did you hit your head?”
Dick’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t remember hitting his head. The only thing he clearly remembers about the blast is heavy pieces of rubble crushing his legs. “Maybe?”
“Great,” Jason says. He’s pulling out his I’m-rolling-my-eyes-at-your-ridiculous-incompetency voice. “So my bruised bones of a big brother probably also has a concussion. Just great.”
“It’s not his fault he’s injured,” Cass tells Jason. “He was disarming the bomb.”
Which means Dick took the brunt of the blast when it was remotely activated.
Dick really means to tack onto Cass’s statement, maybe tease Jason a little and try to reassure both his younger siblings that not everything is hopeless, because he’s the best big brother ever, of course.
Only, he can’t find the strength to open his mouth and talk. Instead, the voices around him become watery, distorted, and Dick’s head flares in pain.
When unconsciousness comes to take him, he doesn’t resist.
—
“—manage to even find us in the first place?” is the first thing Dick hears as he swims back to consciousness. Jason almost sounds relieved.
“The seismic device didn’t just affect the sewers,” someone replies. It takes a lot of effort for Dick to recognize it as Tim. “A couple buildings partially collapsed, and since we knew the three of you were down here, it was a good starting point to look when none of you would answer the comms.”
“Huh,” is all Jason says.
“Nightwing,” Bruce says, startling Dick from the dazed lull he’d been in as he listened to his brothers talking. He opens his eyes, blinking up bewilderingly at what he can see of Bruce’s face behind the cowl.
“B?” Dick murmurs. He doesn’t move, yet, from where’s curled on his side, but he feels an abortive twitch of his fingers at the reassuring sight of Batman. “‘S goin’ on?”
“What do you remember?”
Right. Bruce did not give easy answers. Life is a series of puzzles, Dick Grayson, fueled by none other than Bruce Wayne himself.
Dick frowns and casts his mind back. “The wall blew up,” he decides. “I got hurt?”
He’s only half sure about that last one, but considering his position on the ground, the throbbing in his head and hip, and Bruce’s concerned dad frown that’s taking over his Batman grimace, Dick thinks that he’s probably on the right track.
“Concussion,” Cass says, startling Dick when she pops her head over Bruce’s shoulder. “Also, ‘a sack of bruised bones.’”
That—sounds familiar. He thinks he remembers Jason saying something like that.
Bruce’s frown gets deeper. “Straighten your legs.”
“Please,” Dick tacks on for Bruce when he lacks the manners to be nice, basically on instinct at this point, even as he—slowly, and with a great deal of agony—does what Bruce tells him to do.
They go through a couple more tests, until finally Bruce, unhappy, deems, “We need to move you.”
Dick blinks when Bruce turns away to murmur something to one of the others. A conversation washes over him, and Dick can’t help but let himself tune it out. The noise settles as vague humming—indistinct and comforting.
“—two, three,” Bruce says as Dick’s entire vision goes white.
He only manages to come back to himself in increments.
There are arms holding him tight. Familiar murmurs in his ear. The comforting sound of Batman’s heavy cape brushing against concrete.
“—there, Chum,” Bruce is saying, and if Dick had the capability, he would have teased Bruce for pulling out both the concerned dad frown and the concerned dad voice in one night.
As it is, the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he opens it are harsh pants for air. Every step jostles him, and agony is his constant companion throughout the entire journey to the surface.
Somehow, Dick is still conscious when he’s laid down in the backseat of the batmobile. He’s grateful he’s not moving anymore, and carefully doesn’t think of the upcoming ride back to the Cave.
He only really starts to relax when Bruce settles the cape over him. Wrapped up inside it, Dick almost feels like he’s ten years old again. Batman’s has always felt like warmth and protection and home. This time is no different.
“Batgirl and Robin, keep Nightwing as still as possible. Red Hood, in the front. Start updating Oracle.”
“Why do they—”
“You’re too bulky, Hood. Me and Batgirl are smaller than you. It’s still going to be a tight fit, but it’s the most comfortable for everyone this way.”
“Whatever.”
“Enough. Car. Now.”
There’s lots of careful but hurried scrambling. Dick thinks he passes out a few times on the way back. He doesn’t remember much, either. Just bits and snatches here and there—His siblings talking to him, Bruce giving orders, Jason being snappy and unwittingly dragging Tim into an argument.
And then—he wakes up. A lot more clear-headed than he’d felt the last time he’d been conscious (though, that wasn’t saying much).
To Dick’s surprise, he’s on his side again, dressed in sweats with a pillow between his legs. He opens his eyes to the Wayne Manor living room, and—yes, he’s on the couch. The curtains are drawn, but it’s clearly sometime past sunrise.
Bruce is sitting cross-legged in front of him, reading a book.
“Bruce?” Dick calls, his voice still somewhat slurred. “Why’m I on the couch?”
“You started crying when I said you had to stay in the infirmary,” Bruce tells him, grabbing a bookmark and setting his book off to the side.
Dick frowns. He doesn’t remember that. Still, he manages to say, “You’re such a pushover.”
“How do you feel?”
Dick blinks a dozen times in a row, trying to assess his body and keep up with the change in subject. “Kinda woozy. My hip hurts a lot.”
“Hn.”
“Think I need to brush up on my Bat speak,” Dick murmurs. “Dunno what that one meant.”
Bruce hums again. “You’re incredibly lucky. We’ll need to be careful for the next few weeks.”
“What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
“Crush injuries to your legs and left hip. Not overly severe, and we managed to stabilize you once we realized you were in shock.”
Dick thinks about that for a second. “Concussion? I’m pretty sure I remember something about a concussion.”
“It’s mild,” Bruce tells him. “It was the shock that was the real problem.”
“Oh.” Dick sighs into the pillow under his head. “I’m tired.”
Bruce gives him a soft smile, just slight enough that if Dick hadn’t been so familiar with Bruce’s microexpressions, he would have thought he’d been mistaken. Fingers lightly card through his hair, and Dick’s eyes start closing of their own accord.
“Then sleep,” Bruce says.
Dick sleeps.
#dick grayson#jason todd#cassandra cain#bruce wayne#batclan#dc#camryn writes#brambleberrycottage#thank you for the prompt and your wonderful support!!!!
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Lost
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Warnings: mentions of cancer, death, cussing
A/N: hello! i’d like to put a disclaimer that i am not in any way knowledgeable of the medical field and all of the terminology and information used in this fic was found through research! happy reading <3
anon requested: hiiiii !! can i request like an angst into fluff natxfem!reader one shot where the reader has a really bad day and takes it out on nat and hurts her feelings and so they go to bed angry. but the reader realizes their mistake and the next morning just wakes her up by showering her with love and then takes the whole day to do cute little date things with her? like making her favorite meal or like dancing in the kitchen to their favorite song late at night or just super fluffy things? if not, that’s okay!! have a good day <3
Summary: The heavy weight of her profession gets to Y/N and she takes her anger out on her loving girlfriend; Natasha Romanoff.
Word Count: 3K | navigation
please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3
Becoming a doctor was no easy feat.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Once high school is completed, one must receive your bachelor’s degree before taking the MCAT exam and applying to medical school. After four years of medical school, you must endure a year as an intern before being promoted to a resident.
Depending on what specialty one has selected, residency can span from three to seven years. Fellowships follow after but are typically an optional course that provides extra training.
Yes, there are a lot of necessary steps to take in order to set foot into the medical world, but somehow, the years of foreplay could never compare to being a full-fledged physician; and you knew this all too well.
You are a pediatric oncologist and your job was to diagnose and provide treatment to children and teenagers who had cancer. You specialized in hematology; the treatment of blood disorders.
You were the head of pediatric oncology in a Manhattan hospital. You dealt with a lot of patients, but a two-year-old little girl named Sarah was secretly your favorite.
Despite being diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, Sarah’s positivity and playful personality never faltered.
Even if she didn’t understand the circumstances because of her young age, you knew she was suffering. Regardless of it all, every session you had with her was endearing.
You met with the child once a week to administer chemotherapy. Her enthusiasm never failed to have you awestruck. Most of your patients were exhausted from the treatments, but not Sarah.
She was a hyper child who would attempt to sing Frozen songs, performing as you tried to fight a smile from taking over your features. She had a stuffed Olaf doll that she brought with her to every visit and it was heartwarming to see her hug the doll close to her chest.
Sarah would even bring you drawings every week that you would keep in your locker. You’d admire each and every one of the drawings, even if you couldn’t really tell what they were.
You’d grown fond of the little girl in the past two months you had been treating her. You were also relatively close to her parents, who were probably the kindest people you’ve ever encountered. It made sense that Sarah was the ball of sunshine she was, she obviously got it from her parents.
Most times, parents were on edge and extremely short-tempered. If parents saw you often, that meant that their child was diagnosed with some form of cancer. Understandably, they would be rather hostile whilst interacting with you, but you never took their behavior personally.
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If you were in their shoes, you were positive that you wouldn’t be very friendly either.
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You had grown fond of the beaming child. You were aware that growing emotionally attached to patients was unprofessional, but how could you not?
You adored children and for that very reason, you had chosen a specialty that allowed you to help kids as much as medicine would allow. You always had a soft spot for kids and you found joy in helping them as best as you possibly could.
Sarah had a very good chance at pulling through. With consistent treatment and her young age, her survival rate was around 68%. Those were considerably good odds in these circumstances. Not to mention, the chemotherapy seemed to be paying off. At the rate she was improving, she was predicted to be out of the woods soon enough.
However, the child had developed a bacterial infection. Since she had been receiving chemotherapy, the treatment had damaged her white blood cells which are responsible for fighting off infections.
All you could do was provide antibiotics to try and fight off the infection. You had monitored her for some time in hopes of seeing any sign of improvement, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Her immune system was extremely vulnerable and there wasn’t any way to reverse the damage.
Your heart was torn to pieces when you delivered the news to her parents. They broke down in the hallway outside of Sarah’s room as you informed them of Sarah’s rapidly shortened life expectancy. It was only a matter of time before the young child would pass and honestly, this was what you hated most about your job.
You hated that you couldn’t help every single patient. You hated how cruel the world could be to take away an innocent child from their loving parents.
You allowed her parents to spend time by her bedside. They laid on either side of her bed, clinging onto her for dear life. What broke you the most was the paleness of Sarah’s once glowing skin. Her smile was still present but didn’t quite reach her eyes like it used to.
Her parents quietly sang ‘Love Is An Open Door’ to Sarah. You felt your heart clench in a bittersweet way as you silently watched. Normally, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to join in, but her lack of breath prevented her from doing so. All she could do was close her eyes and lightly nod her head along to their voices.
Sarah passed hours later and it was an extremely somber experience. Hearing the cries of parents who lost their children wasn’t easy and it never would be. Your job had its pros and cons, and this was the biggest negative.
You fought back your own tears as you exited the room, giving the two mourning parents some privacy after you recorded Sarah’s time of death. You found the nearest restroom and allowed the tears to fall down your face.
A pure soul had been ripped away from the world, never having the chance to experience the great things life had to offer.
•❅──────────────── ⧗ ────────────────❅•
4 Hours Later
You trudged into your loft, immediately taking off your coat and hanging it up before tossing your keys on the small table by the front door.
Your girlfriend, Natasha, had heard your arrival and quickly exited the bedroom to greet you, a wide smile on her face. However, her smile fell when she noticed your defeated state.
Your shoulders were slumped as you slouched slightly and your eyes were dripping with sadness.
“Honey? What’s wrong?” Natasha approached you while you stood frozen in front of the door. Her hands came up to cup your cheeks as she stared at you in concern, her eyes scanning over your features.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
“I lost Sarah.”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Natasha’s eyes widened and her heart sunk at your words. She was aware of how much you adored the two-year-old. Once a week, you would rave about the child and how adorable she was at the dinner table. You would go on and on about how Sarah would sing to you, draw pictures for you, and bring along stickers to place onto your coat.
The redhead loved how happy you looked whenever you spoke about any of your patients, but most especially Sarah. It brought Natasha some joy of her own to see you speak animatedly about Sarah; your happiness was her happiness.
So, the news hurt her almost as much as it hurt her. She knew how much you loved Sarah, despite never saying it straight out.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I know how much you cared about her. Are you okay?” Natasha’s voice was oozing with sympathy. You couldn’t help but feel irritated by her question.
You tore her hands off of your cheeks and walked past her and into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water as the redhead watched you intently.
“Am I okay? I’m fine! It’s not like I lost an extremely young patient today or anything. What kind of stupid fucking question is that, Natasha?” You took a sip of cold water to try and calm yourself damn, but your attempt was futile.
The redhead made her way into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island as you took another sip of water, eyes burning a hole into her head over the rim of the glass.
“I know, that was a dumb question. I just want to help you, Y/N/N.” Natasha remained calm and patient as she spoke to you. She was no stranger to the loss of a person she desperately tried to save and knew all too well the sadness and anger that accompanied the tragedy. She was an Avenger, after all.
“I don’t want your help and I don’t need you!” You slammed your cup onto the counter as you raised your voice. Honestly, it was surprising that you hadn’t shattered the glass with the amount of force you exerted.
Natasha felt an ache in her chest as you yelled at her. She knew that you weren’t in the right state of mind and didn’t take it personally, but that didn’t make your words hurt any less.
“You save entire cities and I can’t even save a single fucking person!” You were turning red at this point, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The redhead hated seeing you cry, but she knew better than to approach you at this moment.
“Babe, you save so many pe-” Natasha’s tried to speak, but you quickly interjected.
“If you’re going to try and spew some philosophical bullshit to me right now, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another god damn word from your mouth.”
The redhead looked down defeatedly. She had never seen you so upset, let alone direct your frustrations towards her. Her eyes fell down to the marble counter between you both before looking up at you. You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath.
Without another word, Natasha retreated back to the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her. You watched her until she was out of your view and let out a sigh. Your hands gripped the edges of the kitchen island, supporting your weight as you shut your eyes.
You brought a hand up to your face and pinched the bridge of your nose. After a few minutes, you made your way into the living room, chucking off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch. You didn’t feel like interacting with Natasha anymore tonight, knowing that you most likely wouldn’t be able to control your temper.
You were just so fed up with the painful losses you had to endure from your profession.
You knew that being a doctor was more dark clouds and thunder, than sunshine and rainbows, but you just wished that for once, the weather forecast would work in your favor.
The emotional day had finally caught up to you. Your body relaxed as you sunk further into the couch, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to a much-needed slumber.
Unbeknownst to you, Natasha was still awake. She laid flat on her back and stared up at the ceiling in thought. She was mad at you, as much as she didn’t want to be. Natasha had gone through the same thing and never lost her cool with you as you had with her.
The redhead calmed down slowly, turning on her side and facing the empty space beside her which you normally occupied. She reached one arm out, her skin colliding with cool sheets, already missing the warmth of your body.
Natasha hated sleeping without you by her side, She didn’t feel complete when you weren’t steadily sleeping next to her, your arms wrapped around her body. However, she hoped that things would improve in the morning.
And with that thought in mind, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, clutching the sheets firmly in her hand.
•❅──────────────── ⧗ ────────────────❅•
The Next Morning
You awoke to a blinding light, the morning sun shining through the windows and landing directly onto your face. You let out a groan and slowly sat up, stretching out your limbs with a groan. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, you were aching everywhere.
You sat there for a moment as the events of the day before caught up to you. Not only had you lost Sarah, but you upset Natasha. You immediately felt guilty as you recalled the harsh words you spat at her in a fit of rage. You felt like a complete asshole, and rightfully so.
You quickly stood up and entered the kitchen, retrieving some bacon from the freezer and eggs from the refrigerator. You grabbed two separate pans and washed your hands, making sure to get the coffee pot running before you began cooking.
Your girlfriend absolutely loved bacon, eggs, and coffee. She described the combinations as a ‘party in her mouth.’ So, this was going to be an ‘i’m sorry for being a bitch last night’ apology breakfast.
You got started on the meal and by the time you finished up and had the stove off, Natasha stalked out of the bedroom slowly. She eyed you carefully as she approached, you sent a soft smile her way.
“You made breakfast,” Natasha spoke and you shyly nodded your head. You moved away from the stove and rounded the counter. The redhead stood in her spot as you wrapped your arms around her waist, her arms reflexively going around your neck.
“I was an asshole last night.” You stated and your girlfriend nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, you were a total pain in the ass, the absolute worst.” You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s teasing tone.
“I’m sorry for how I behaved. I was just so upset about… Sarah. I didn’t mean to take it out on you and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel for yelling at you when all you wanted to do was help me.”
Your voice was full of emotion, your eyes boring into her emerald irises as you poured your heart into every syllable you uttered. Natasha smile gently at you, her fingers lightly tugging on the baby hairs on the nape of your neck.
“It’s okay. I know you weren’t mad at me.” You let out a sigh of relief as the redhead stared at you softly. She let out a small chuckle at your dramatics before continuing.
‘I understand how you feel. The team and I, we try our very best to save as many civilians as we can, but sometimes it’s completely out of our control. It’s the exact same situation.”
One of Natasha’s hands found its way to your cheek, gently cupping the skin as you leaned into her touch. You were listening intently to her every word, mesmerized by the calming rasp of her voice.
“Don’t dwell on what you couldn’t do, but give yourself some credit for everything you did do. I may not know what happened, but what I do know is that you tried everything you could, no?”
Natasha questioned you and you nodded your head. “I gave her antibiotics to fight the infection, but it was too severe.” The redhead rubbed her thumb against your cheek.
“All that matters is that you did your best and that’s all anyone could ever ask for.” Natasha ended her little speech as she placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. You couldn’t help but smile, an overwhelming feeling of happiness taking over.
“Thank you. I love you and your… what was it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in concentration before your face lit up. Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “Philosophical bullshit. That was the words.” The Russian let out a laugh, shaking her head from side to side at your antics.
“Seriously though, I’m so grateful for you. You’re so amazing to me even when I don’t deserve it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Natasha’s laughter died down as your tone turned serious. Your eyes were so full of love and adoration as you stared into her eyes deeply.
“Well, let’s hope you never have to find out.” Natasha smiled once more and you couldn’t resist pressing your lips against her plump ones. Your mouths moved in tandem at a slow pace, enjoying the rawness and love that accompanied each movement.
You broke the kiss when air became an issue. Nat’s eyes fluttered open as you wiggled your eyebrows at her playfully.
“So, are you ready for some breakfast? Maybe after we eat, we can go on top of a rooftop and I’ll serenade you with a rendition of ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber.”
Natasha’s head flew back as she laughed uncontrollably at your words. “What? Do you not like the Biebs? If you want, I could play ‘Baby Come Back’ by Player from a boombox and hold it over my head, instead.” The redhead continued to laugh profusely and you soon joined in. Your arms tightened around her waist as your giggles subsided.
“I think cuddling on the couch and watching the Kardashians eating ridiculously large bowls of salad will do.” You nodded your head in agreement but didn’t make a move to release Natasha from your grip. She didn’t let go either.
The two of you just stood there, basking in each other’s embrace, a comfortable silence falling over you both.
Natasha never failed to say the right things to pull you out of the dark abyss that was your mind. She was completely right, as always. There would always be bad days, patients who were progressing one day and deteriorating the next.
However, there were also good days, and you shouldn’t allow the bad to overshadow all the good you’ve done. Like with Natasha, she wasn’t always the superhero she is today. She took her dark past and turned it into a bright future.
Nat didn’t let her bad days define her and neither should you.
Of course, you would always remember every single patient you had lost, but now, you would take the pain and turn it into motivation; motivation to improve yourself, not only in your professional life but in your personal life as well.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
You would do right by the ones you’ve lost and the one who stuck by your side; Natasha Romanoff.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────
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I’ll Be Your Enemy
Summary: Gojo Satoru is willing to do anything for you. As long as it helps you heal from what haunted your night.
Pairing: Gojo x Reader
Word count: 2,019
Content warning: implied but unspecified mental illness, mentions of self-harm (scratching), mentions of character death
A/N: Kind of stumbled upon this masterpiece of a song and I thought it would be ideal for some Gojo HURT. This entire thing takes place after the Cursed Womb Arc, so to say: after Yuji dies.
Song: Be Your Enemy by Taemin ft. Wendy
PREQUEL HERE: Pictures of You
Quickly, quickly. The key was inserted into the keyhole and turned. The door lock clicked faintly, signaling that the door has been unlocked.
Satoru made sure to open and close the door softly as he entered the familiar apartment. Putting the spare key into his pocket, he slid out of his shoes. Usually he would have made some big noise to ‘announce his arrival’ but not this time. He left his shoes neatly at the genkan of the residence and slipped into the white slippers that always stood by the wooden door, an extra pair just for him.
23 minutes ago.
“Hello?” Satoru had picked up the phone. “Gojo-san! Finally the call went through. I’m glad I am able to reach you now,” the voice on the other end said. “Yo, Ijichi, what’s up?” Satoru greeted. He had been sent to a pretty rural area of Japan to get rid of some pesky curses and the cell phone reception was poor in that place, so it wasn’t surprising that calls didn’t go through at times. In addition to that, some curses that manifested had an electrical ability, which impaired the cell towers at place even more. Almost as if planned.
“Gojo-san, I think you need to come back as fast as you can,” the man with glasses on the other end of the line stated calmly. “Why?” was the only thing the white-haired sorcerer said in response. Somehow, he had a strange feeling in his gut. The tone in Ijichi’s voice didn’t do anything to calm this odd feeling either.
“It’s L/N-san. Something horrible happened and I don’t think she is taking it well. I did my best to calm her but I’m at wits’ end too…” Ichiji explained vaguely.
Satoru was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - his stomach churned, it felt like his guts were wrenching inside him - at the mention of your name. “Ijichi,” he said in a relatively calm voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t betraying him by showing what he truly felt in that moment. Satoru’s feet were set in rapid motion. “Stay calm. I need you to explain to me what exactly happened.”
Gojo Satoru might be many things. A tease, a teacher (supposedly), a cruel man, a strong sorcerer, a crazy coach, a walking menace to some, protective, an inspiration to a handful, a venti-sized manchild, idiotic, a sweets maniac, a lifelong student to Yaga, playful, a pillar of the Jujutsu world… but most importantly, he was a caring person.
This goes without saying for his students and especially his loved ones.
What Ijichi just said on the phone had left his heart stinging in his chest. He was in the kitchen, leaving the bag he brought with him on the table.
“Alright. I will tell you what happened, Gojo-san.”
“I am listening.”
“I am not sure if you are aware that this happened,” the suit-clad man began, “but one of the missions that was originally assigned to you - a case of utmost priority of a cursed womb - was suddenly taken off of your pile and reassigned…”
Satoru’s eyes narrowed underneath the black fabric. The beginning already left a bad taste in his mouth; missions assigned to him were usually first grade or even special grade and he knew all too well that there were nowhere enough first grade, let alone special grade, sorcerers around. So who had it been assigned to?
“...to your three first-year students,” Ijichi finished with a sigh. The sickening hotness of rage filled Satoru’s whole body. Already having realized the scenario that must have taken place, he still asked for confirmation, “What grade?”
“...Special grade. One casualty.”
The picture that you had taken of him, his first years and yourself (so carefully hung up on your wall at home) flashed in front of his inner eye.
He clenched his teeth so hard as he wordlessly hung up; it hurt. It hurt so badly.
Such an atrocious inhumane act coated in malice. He was going to kill these dirty-playing bastards. However, that would have to wait until later. Much later.
Satoru couldn’t leave you to your own devices, not in this state. The scenario he concluded for himself earlier replayed in his mind several times as he made his way through your completely dark apartment. His heart stung with each beat. It was almost as if someone drove a blade through his chest repeatedly.
When he stood in front of the closed door of your bedroom, he heard soft sobs coming from inside. Should he knock to let you know someone came? He wasn’t sure what to do.
He gave the door two soft knocks and entered the room. It was your hunched form on the bed, no doubt. Satoru could not see your face with the way your back was facing him. Slowly he made his way to your bed and crouched down to face you. Your face was swollen and tear-stained, a sight he didn’t see often. His large hand rested on your shoulder and gently rubbed it, a silent question hung in the air.
Finally, you looked at him with your swollen eyes. Almost instantly, your sobs got louder and you reached out for the tall sorcerer. “S-Satoru…” you hiccuped in-between sobs. “Yeah. I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you and stroked the wet hair out of your puffy face as you threw yourself around him, relentlessly crying into his broad shoulders. The white-haired man enclosed his arms around you but it wasn’t to hug you for comfort.
He scooped your delicate frame up and wrapped a warm blanket around you before leaning your body against the headboard of the bed. He sat next to you on the bed and guided your head onto his shoulders. Your violent sobbing stopped but tears were still flowing freely.
If there was someone who understood the agony, bitterness and distress someone in this line of work had to face, it was Gojo Satoru. The path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was painted black and red by trials and tribulations. This was why Satoru was so hell-bent on resetting the world he called his obligation.
“If you feel exhausted, just lean on me for a second,” his calm voice sounded through the room. There was no answer from you. Even if there was silence, your feelings reached his heart and he spoke again.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently. Let it go with me. It’ll be easier to shake this burden off and share it, he thought. Of course, he would never dare force you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, as if to get even closer physically.
Ultimately, the woman sucked in a breath and with a shaky voice and recounted everything in her point of view.
“I-I.. was on a mission when I… got a call from Ijichi. ‘Something wasn’t right’, he said and… t-told me about the cursed womb. As soon as I heard… that they sent y-your students there, I rushed to the location but…”, you hiccuped, “...I was too late… Y-Yuji, he-”
You sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. Satoru turned to you to wipe away the tears and snot with a tissue. “Shhh, I’m here, I’m here”, he reassured once again, “I’ll fix it somehow.”
It was just as he thought: those damned higher ups.
“H-How? This is not… something… you can f-fix, Satoru… not even you,” you continued bawling into his shoulders. I’ll kill all the higher ups, he thought to himself.
“I don’t know but I’ll be damned if I can’t do something to change this detestable, loathsome and bloody world we live in,” his voice seethed with anger but it quickly died down as he re-focused on the main topic at hand, “there has to be something I can do, I’ll even drag out Sukuna myself if I have to.”
“Please, Satoru…” Your whisper was faint and weak, “I… saw Yuji’s corpse... on the ground... I just want to see him one last time…”
Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer undoubtedly put a heavy strain on your mental wellbeing; nobody was spared from it, not even the great Gojo Satoru. Unfortunately, you were one of the people who were much more affected by incidents like these.
He realized how badly it hurt your heart, he knew how much all the students meant to you and he knew just how much more fragile you were than you let on in front of other people. Where there is light, there must be shadow.
It wasn’t like he was left unscathed by it either but right now, his utmost priority was you.
“Right,” the male sorcerer murmured more to himself. He still had to check something. “I want you to show me your arms, please.”
If this had been a command, it had to be the gentlest one you had ever heard. Maybe it was the fact that there was a hint of pain infused in the way he spoke to you just now that made you show your arms so willingly, or maybe it was the fact that he always sounded so earnest when he took care of you like this. He genuinely cared; it was something you shouldn’t be surprised about, considering how long the two of you have known and cared for each other, but it never ceased to leave you in awe. You held out your arms for him to see.
As carefully as possible, the man examined your arms, his touch ghosting over your skin. It was a good thing he came prepared. The angry red lines, dry blood and broken skin on both of your forearms seemed to scream at him: you hurt yourself again. Without a doubt, he felt guilty.
“I’ll be right back,” he announced as he slipped away from the bed after fixing your position and stroking your hair tenderly. A few moments later, your tall friend was back with a few medical supplies.
Sitting back on the bed, he started to clean and treat your injuries. Besides a few hiccups and whimpers from your side, silence befell the room.
“Don’t you want to curse and insult me?”
His eyes were still fixed on bandaging your arms. “No,” was all you said in response, fearing that your voice would give in.
“You should though. After all, it was technically my fault...”
Even though you were hurting, you knew Satoru was hurting all the same deep down in his heart, seeing that his precious students were the victims in this case. Satoru really treasured disciples.
You took a few deep breaths before you replied, “Please don’t ever blame yourself for this… I know you wouldn’t have… let this shit happen. I know how much you adore them.”
“If it makes you feel better... if it can help you heal, I’ll take it. Any words are fine. I can deal with all the painful words…”
Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest.
It was rare but his voice… unmistakably cracked for a second.
A shaky chuckle left your lungs, “Please Satoru,” you wrapped your arms around him as well and nuzzled into his shirt again, “I could never treat you like that. You are everything to me but an enemy. Have always been.”
“I’ll be anything you need. I’ll even be your enemy if you ask me to… so please tell me, so that it doesn’t hurt you anymore…” he said shakily. The blindfolded man had masked his pain up until now, for your sake.
It was your time to comfort him. Giving him shelter, like he had done for you. He had already experienced far too much hurt.
“Satoru, all I’ll ever need you to be in my life… is the important and comforting presence you have always been. Don’t change. If things are too much, too overwhelming and you become tired, you can lean on me too. I will never leave you.”
There was nothing left to say, no need. It was enough for both of you to be in each other’s comforting presence.
Taglist: @gojos-mochi @megumifushi @bleueluna
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo angst#angst#gojo satoru angst#song fic#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk#tw: death#tw: mentions of death#tw: mental illness#tw: self harm#taemin#inspired by taemin#shinee#ibye series
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Akatsuki reader, partners...mmmmm maybe Hidan and Kisame.
Again, fem! The reader gets hit by someone else's technique.
(Or she was stupidly thrown something that she didn't have time to dodge).
The reader gets aroused and suddenly wants to have sex, whines, rubs herself against Kisame and Hidan, and they decide to help her ;3
(Either arrive at the base and fuck there, or right where they got rid of the opponents)
Hey anon! Sooooo, I know this isn't exactly what you requested. I couldn't for the life of me fit Hidan and Kisame into the same box to make this work, so I just stuck with Kisame. It started with your ask. One thing led to another and this happened. I got carried away with plot. Again. Hope you still enjoy!
Cupid
18+ Content! Minors DNI!
Kisame x Reader
Smut with a splash of plot. Unprotected sex-ish. Reader is assumed to be on birth control. Public sex-ish. Aphrodisiacs. Mentions of blood during combat.
You were sent on a mission together to retrieve a special relic that had some unexpected side effects.
3.4k
This mission was doomed from the start.
Pain had partnered you with Kisame on an infiltration and retrieval mission to acquire a powerful ninja tool being housed in a fortified military compound not far from the Hidden Sound. Stealth was your forte, so this sort of thing was right up your alley. While you had no hard-hitting combat skills to fall back on in the event that something went awry, you weren't particularly worried. As a phantom thief with a perfect record in your high profile heists, the thought of getting caught or needing to participate in a fight hardly crossed your mind. You insisted to Pain that you had never needed backup in the past and could easily do this yourself, but Pain disagreed. Kisame was assigned to you more or less as a bodyguard whether you liked it or not.
Kisame had been running solo since Itachi's death and had gotten a tad rusty when it came to fighting alongside another person. Your battle techniques got along about as well as oil and water. You favored covert sabotage and traps, and Kisame, well, Kisame was Kisame. Nothing that man did was small. He transformed every battlefield he encountered into a shark-infested lake before completely obliterating his opponents.
That's how everything went sideways. Kisame, bless his blue heart, was not subtle. You donned your camouflage jutsu and got ready to slink into the compound. "I'll pop a flare if I get into trouble. It's going to be much easier to sneak in and out without a 6'8" sword on legs following me. Just wait here."
Staring at the spot where he thought you were probably standing, Kisame's face twisted slightly. "This really isn't a good idea, Y/N." Unfortunately for Kisame, you were already long gone, and he was having a conversation with the wind. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against a thick tree, focusing on the compound not far off in the distance where you would be poking around on your own. He didn't like the idea of you going in there alone. You were still relatively new to the Akatsuki, and your skills had yet to be formally tested. Kisame got along with you quite well and rather liked you, so allowing you to dive head first into danger without any real offensive jutsu in your arsenal left him on edge.
That overprotective nervousness regarding your safety was what sent everything spiraling out of control. An alarm sounding from within the walls of the compound left Kisame bristling and looking skyward for a flare. As the seconds ticked by into minutes with no cloud of smoke rising into the sky and the clear sound of soldiers mobilizing inside, Kisame made the executive decision to throw your plan out the window.
What he didn't know was that the alarm you set off was a decoy. Oh, shit. After plunging the base into chaos, it occurred to you that you had neglected to tell Kisame as much. At that moment, you realized that Kisame was probably about to charge in, sharkskin blazing. Shit, shit, shit! Every profanity you knew blared across your stream of consciousness like ticker tape as you hurriedly snatched the relic longbow you had been sent in to retrieve. A gooey sap coated the slick wood which left you quickly wiping your palms on your thighs to clean your hands before making a beeline for the exit. The growing cacophony of chaos outside announced Kisame's arrival.
As you expected, things outside had gotten a little out of hand. Kisame was in the heat of battle, taking on an army by himself and winning. Jutsu flew across the battlefield like exchanges of elemental cannon fire. Half of a battalion was encased in water prisons and the other was fleeing from shark filled orbs of water. Kisame was grinning ear to ear as he swatted off one after another like whiffle balls with Samehada.
You quickly scurried across the scene, sneaking up behind Kisame and whisper-screaming to get his attention. "Kisame, you big dummy! It was just a diversion! I'm fine!!"
Surprised, Kisame turned an eye to where he assumed you were while sending another enemy flying with a swing of his greatsword with an amused chuckle. "Next time, you might want to tell me what your plan is. Here I thought you were fighting off an army all by yourself."
"No, that's just you! Come on, I got the thing. Let's go!" You danced around him to avoid the swings of his sword, still wanting to keep yourself out of sight. Upon seeing his feet shift, you turned around just in time to see a flurry of arrows flying your way in such a wide spray that dodging them was going to be a feat.
Kisame blocked what he could with Samehada, but not knowing where exactly you were, wasn't sure he had protected you. A yelp answered his question. You shimmered back into sight just in front of him. He missed one, and it had plunged straight through your thigh. A stain of your blood quickly began mixing in with the sap you had wiped on your pants earlier. "Damnit!"
"I'm fine! Let's just go!" You shouted over the clatter of weapons and incoming pursuit, getting ready to run. With a snarl, Kisame reached down and snapped both ends off of the arrow before unceremoniously throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and retreating.
Fortunately, the soldiers had been so devastated by Kisame's onslaught that they hardly had the numbers to launch a fruitful pursuit. In the chaos, they had yet to notice that you stole the very item this outpost had been built to protect. Once he had put sufficient distance between you two and the base, he searched briefly for some cover to deal with your leg wound and leapt down from the towering branches to set you down with your back to a barky trunk.
You were beginning to feel flushed and hot as a shiver of heat rattled through your body and left an oddly pleasant knot in your belly. Blood roared in your ears as your heart began to race. When you looked up at Kisame, something felt… different.
Kisame knelt down to look at your leg. "You should have been standing behind me," he chided while setting one large palm on your thigh to brace it while he used the other to remove the broken arrow shaft. An ache built in your core as you caught your lip between your teeth. The warmth of his hand sent a tingling sensation rippling through your body. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to hurt."
With massively dilated pupils, you stared at him hungrily. "It… didn't hurt," you breathed. With a deep inhale, you wondered how you never noticed how good he smelled.
Kisame stared back at you critically. "You're awfully sweaty for someone who wasn't running." Shock washed over his face after touching your forehead. You were positively boiling. "Y/N, are you feeling alright? Was there poison on that arrowhead? Your eyes..." Concern was beginning to bubble as he pulled the item in question from his pack, examining it, completely oblivious to the wild fantasies bubbling in your head.
He was so close. Your body hummed to life as that heat in your belly began growing in size. An ache throbbed through your core. Your heart was in your mouth. Every inch of your skin pricked with the need for contact. And Kisame… how had you never noticed just how hot he was? Sure, you had some occasional dirty, late night fantasies about him. But now? You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. The muscles rippling across his torso were hardly concealed by that black cloak. Even with those unusual features, his face was remarkably handsome, not to mention each time he spoke, shocks seemed to travel straight through your body and into your clit. Still with your lip caught between your teeth, you let out a sultry breath and ghosted your fingertips along his firm bicep. All that seemed to do was make your hunger worse.
Kisame, entirely oblivious to what was unfolding behind your eyes, just looked confused. The arrowhead didn't appear to have any substance left on it, and he couldn't think of another cause for your apparently unwell state. He unpacked some rudimentary first aid supplies from his pack and wrapped some gauze tightly around your thigh as a temporary measure to staunch the bleeding. Thinking that your stare focused at him was vacant, he snapped his fingers in front of your face to try to get your attention. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on with you?"
While his arm was extended, you latched onto it like a lifeline, nuzzling your face into his bicep and inhaling deeply. "Kisame..." You couldn't resist. You needed to touch him. Following that arm back to his torso, your hands traced every ripple of muscle while Kisame froze in shock.
You were his partner. While he undoubtedly found you attractive, this seemed like an odd time to suddenly declare your own desires. "What's gotten into you?" He wrapped his hands around your wrists, engulfing them entirely, as they traversed his muscular chest.
"Dunno… I just really… really need you." You used the grip he had to pull yourself in, burying your face against his neck and breathing deeply again. "You smell so good…"
A light heat rushed across Kisame's cheeks as you abruptly began coming on to him. Between your strange behavior and the thrill of the battle he had just been in, he was amped up. Your body being pressed so tightly against his was causing some complications to arise. His pulse quickened as you nuzzled and rubbed yourself against him. Feeling your breasts against his chest and your heated breath on his neck was distracting him from the issue at hand. "Y/N…" He let out your name in a low growl, intending it to be a warning, but it didn't quite come off with the bite he had intended. Hearing that word fall from his lips in such a tone just set you ablaze. A little moan escaped your lips, and you coiled yourself around him like a lusty little boa constrictor, trailing little bites and open mouth kisses on his neck, savoring every salty inch of his exposed skin. Another deep growl rumbled in Kisame's chest as he ran a strong palm up your spine to the back of your neck. "You're under the influence of some kind of jutsu," he breathed heavily, trying very hard to resist biting you back as his own desire built rapidly. There was no denying how steamy this situation was growing.
"Don't care," you whispered, nibbling at his ear as your hands wandered the chiseled landscape of his body.
"You're injured," he continued, now getting sucked into your lusty riptide, grazing your neck with pointed teeth.
"Don't care," you breathed again, beginning to unzip his cloak.
"We're in enemy territory," he murmured between bites on your throat that no doubt left marks before swallowing you in a crushing kiss. Those calloused hands ran up your sides, wanting to explore more but seeming hesitant.
"Don't care," you mewled, reaching for the waist of his pants, your fingertips grazing the impressive package Kisame was concealing, wiggling your hips for any kind of relief from the needy heat that was driving you to the brink of madness. Your panties were drenched. Your core ached. It was like you had been edged for two days straight without any kind of release. Every nerve in your body was hypersensitive to touch.
Another deep sound rattled in his throat. You ensnared him in this whirlwind, and there was no going back now. You undressed each other in a flurry of zippers and fabric, discarding one item after another in a heap upon the leaves scattered across the forest floor. You didn't care about the dirt. Nothing else existed to you right now outside of the deft hands moving across your body, making you arch your back and moan. His scent flooded your head. You were drowning in Kisame, yet felt like you were dying of thirst. You wanted him. Needed him. Your brain and body shared a singular focus. Neither the mission nor your bleeding leg mattered right now.
Kisame picked you up by the backs of your thighs, pressing your back against the rough trunk of the tree while leaving a trail of branding bites along your neck and collarbone, drawing a whine out of you. You wrapped your uninjured leg around his waist, grinding your soaked pussy against him and letting a lewd moan drift into the sky. That little bit of friction alone was nearly enough to send you over the edge. Your hands wandered, caressing every ridge and ripple of the muscle coiled like steel cables under his skin. This man was built. By now, you were well aware that he was hung like a horse as well. That impressive appendage was currently teasing the hell out of your hungering little hole. You could feel that broad head rubbing through your slick folds as you shifted. "Kisame, please," you whispered with a breathy lust, rolling your hips against him.
A low, raspy chuckle tickled your ear. "You're going to scream and give away our location," he teased.
"Then kiss me so I can't." Your desperation to have that massive girth inside of you dripped from every pore as you tangled your arms around his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss.
Unable to decline such a delicious request, Kisame shifted you to begin impaling you on his impressive cock painstakingly slowly, stretching your walls around him. He smothered your wails with his mouth. Your back scraped across the rough bark behind you, but you didn't care. This was divine. You tensed and whimpered, both aching to be filled and struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him. You clung to him for dear life, gasping and catching his lip between your teeth as he finally sheathed himself. Your core throbbed and pulsed. Nerves ached for input. You used your good leg to try to pull him in even deeper. Another little chuckle rolled through him at your enthusiasm and impatience. "Someone is eager," he teased again with a single thrust to punctuate his statement.
You mewled before biting his neck. "Kisammm-" He silenced you with a bruising kiss before any more complaints or moans could escape your lips as he began drilling you into that tree. Birds fled from the branches above from the force of his motions disturbing their roosts. You clawed his chest and back, screaming into his mouth as he repeatedly buried himself in your fluttering core. You were on fire. Each time your hypersensitive clit rubbed against his body, stars erupted behind your eyes. Sweat slicked your bodies as a steamy heat began to rise. The drag of your nipples against his skin sent rippling shocks of pleasure through your entire being.
"Fuck, Y/N," he growled in your ear, large palms tightly gripping your ass as he drove himself into you again and again. You buried your face against his shoulder to let out a muffled wail as he sent you right over the edge. Your walls clenched tightly around him, eliciting a primal snarl from his lips. He sank his teeth into your neck as his powerful motions set impressions of that tree bark pressing into your back. With your good leg, you pulled him even deeper, arching into him as you flew off into orbit. A palm slammed over your mouth as he railed you into that tree to stifle the litany of cries erupting from your throat. Your head hit the wood behind you. He kept you pinned firmly there while fucking you into oblivion.
Your world melted away into nothing but the input of pleasure ripping through your body. The surrounding forest faded away. All you could hear was your own muffled heavy breathing, Kisame's grunts, and the slick sounds your bodies made between rhythmic contact. Every inch of you pulsed and throbbed with heat. Orgasm after orgasm tore through you in a continuous wave that left you with numbed legs and a soaked core. Your head was adrift in the clouds, the situation seeming impossible. Your new partner railing you against a tree in enemy territory was not your plan for this mission, but hell, you weren't going to question it. Your body ached and hungered for more. You kissed him as though he were your only source of air and you were suffocating.
Kisame picked up the pace, digging his fingers more firmly into your ass while keeping a tight clamp over your mouth to muffle the inhuman sounds you were making. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you lost yourself in another powerful crash of an orgasm, strangling his impressive girth with the crushing grip of your walls. A low growl and a series of curses rumbled through his body into yours as the depth of the thrusts increased until the hold your pussy had on him sent him over the edge and milked him dry. He growled your name through his release, gripping you tightly against his firm body. The combined sound of your heavy panting was the only thing that could be heard over the breeze rustling through leaves overhead.
That fog in your head slowly began to lift as you caught your breath. Your muscles trembled with fatigue as you dropped your head against his shoulder. "Fuck," you whispered through heavy breaths, slowly running your palms up his chest to his shoulders. Still pinned against the tree with his length buried within you, it took a moment for you to remember where you were. A soft hiss escaped your lips as he shifted your weight, reminding you that there was still a bleeding hole in your thigh.
"You good?" A raspy chuckle rumbled under your head that you had resting against his chest. He maintained his grip on you for the moment, not sure if you were about to go weak in the knees and collapse into a heap if he let you down.
"Yeah, I'm good," you giggled, turning your heated cheek against him before grimacing again when you looked down and saw the rather unfortunate state your leg was in.
Kisame slowly slid his length from you before gently setting your feet back down into the crunchy leaves littering the forest floor. With an arm still around your back for the sake of your stability, he glanced down at what you were eyeing, spotting your wound and what looked like a stain of pink that wasn't blood still flushing the surrounding skin. He carefully brushed his fingers against it, picking up a swipe of the gooey substance that you had wiped on your pants earlier that had seeped through the fabric and into your wound when you were hit. "What's this?" He inquired curiously, giving it a sniff.
"Some sap or something that was oozing from that bow," you breathed, shifting your weight onto your good leg and breathing heavily still as you leaned into him.
Kisame let out a hearty laugh. "You didn't wear gloves when you handled it, did you?"
Your face paled. You had entirely forgotten Pain's instructions regarding the handling of that weapon in your haste to leave with it during Kisame's little rumble with the defending army. "Oh, god -- damnit." An embarrassed laugh started shaking your shoulders as you defeatedly let your forehead fall against his chest.
"That bow is made of cherub wood. While it makes excellent longbows, its sap is also the primary ingredient in aphrodisiacs," Kisame teased. The embarrassed giggling overtook you and melted into genuine, hysterical laughter.
"Woops."
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No, Re-Destro Is Not Destro’s Literal Son
and
Yes, I Will Die On This Hill
I have a number of small, persistent quibbles with some of the widespread misapprehensions I see included in BNHA fanfic, quoted as fact in meta posts, even cited on the wiki. Quirk cancellation restraints, what the 20% quirklessness data point means in practice, when Kurogiri comes into existence relative to the time of the Shimura Family Massacre, things like that. My biggest one, though, is as the title suggests: the idea that Yotsubashi Rikiya is Yotsubashi Chikara’s son.
I don’t entirely know where this confusion comes from. As far as I can tell, the early scanlations didn’t get it wrong—one rendered the line in Chapter 218 about Destro having a child he didn’t know about as being children, plural, but otherwise, they were all accurate enough. It seems people just assumed that the child mentioned in 218 must be Re-Destro, who was, after all, right there on the panel. Even though the scanlations never said it, even though the official translation never said it, even though ample evidence in the manga disproves it, the idea still got around that Rikiya is Chikara’s son.
I have and will maintain that this is obviously wrong if you stop to think about it for even a moment, but unfortunately, most people don’t. The error can be found on less well-tended parts of the fandom wiki[1]; it’s in tumblr meta posts about the villains; it’s in fanfic.
And now, god help me, it is on the official anime website, too.
“Stillness-in-green, maybe you should consider that you might just be wro—”
I will face BONES and walk backwards into hell.
But if you want, you can come with me, and I’ll explain on the way. Hit the jump.
Dialogue + Narration
There are two places where the relationship between Chikara and Rikiya is explicitly addressed—the lead-in to the dinner scene in Chapter 218 and the fight between Clone!Shigaraki and RD in Chapter 232. If you include the Ultra Analysis databook, the number goes up to four: once each in Re-Destro and Destro Classic’s character blurbs.
Let’s take a look at each of those places, shall we?
The relevant Japanese text here is in the first narration box: 子ども, kodomo.
Kodomo is not gendered. It literally just means child. The key kanji is 子, ko. Like most kanji, it has a lot of potential readings, and you can add other kanji to it to modify it. Add 息 and you get musuko, son. Pronounce 子 as shi instead of ko, and you get a term that is frequently, though not exclusively, used to refer to boys. Add 女 to that reading and you get joshi, woman/girl. 子 is in a lot of words, many of them gendered! Used for kodomo as Hori does here, though, it does nothing to indicate a gender one way or the other.
Also too, it does nothing to indicate that Rikiya is the child in question; it simply states that there was such a child, somewhere in the world. Now, the natural assumption for anyone who knows how the graphic novel medium works and who understands basic literary analysis would be that the significant character we just met is, in fact, the child in question—except that everything else we learn about Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army here makes it entirely impossible.
I’ll do a full breakdown on why that is in the next section. In the meantime, here’s the next reference:
Here, we’re looking at the phrase the Viz translation renders as, “His blood runs through these veins.” The literal Japanese there is, Desutoro no matsuei chi o tsugu mono! In a literal translation, chi o tsugu mono means, “one who inherits the blood,” or, more loosely, “blood successor.” It’s matsuei—末裔—that’s the key word here.
Japanese has several words to express the concept of “descendant.” Matsuei is one word; the data book uses shison. So what’s the difference? Well, I’ll talk about shison in a moment, but I had an inkling of it just from looking at the kanji in matsuei—“end” and “descendant” respectively, leaving me with an impression of something like a final descendant or the terminus of the bloodline. Further research confirmed it: shison can refer to any lineal blood tie, but matsuei refers to a bloodline’s final inheritor, the person at the end of a long line of many, or even countless, generations. It’s the difference between being able to point to a grandparent and the kind of painstaking genealogical research that lets you[2] point to a famous royal from eight hundred years ago—matsuei is a word that very much assumes the existence of those countless generations.
So not only does Rikiya’s line there not imply that he’s Chikara’s son, but his specific word choice also tells us that he cannot be Chikara’s son. That’s, uh. Pretty conclusive, I would say.
Lastly, though, there’s also the data book. This is, perhaps, the actual closest you’re going to get to a manga equivalent of those character blurbs on the anime website, at least until such time as Hori deigns to give the MLA types character profile pages. (I live ever in hope.)
There are two relevant bits of text, one in Re-Destro’s entry, and the other in Destro Classic’s. The first describes how Re-Destro organizes the MLA as Desutoro no chi o tsugu mono: the same phrase he uses for himself in the manga, minus the matsuei. @codenamesazanka (the one who told me about the databook references among other citations, bless) rendered it as “Destro’s blood successor”; I have also seen it given as “the successor of Destro’s bloodline.” Note again, the lack of reference to a father/son bond.
Chikara’s entry uses that other descendant word I mentioned before, 子孫, shison. Notice that the term uses that ko kanji from kodomo before? As it does in joshi, 子 here reads shi. The other kanji, 孫, means grandchild. Thus, literally, grandchild-child—or, in the vernacular, simply descendant.
And then we have the anime website.
So, for comparison’s sake, the anime website uses 息子—the same combination of kanji that I said earlier gives you musuko, son. Heck, it even uses 父, chichi, for Destro—father. It’s as explicit as it’s possible to be, and I just don’t know why or how the anime website could fuck that up so bad when absolutely nothing in the manga describes the two Yotsubashis that way, and, indeed, one specific word choice actually rules out the possibility.
So, that’s all the manga says directly. It’s not the only evidence there is, though. In fact, the next piece makes it even more clear how colossally and impossibly wrong a father/son connection for Destro and his modern successor is.
Timeline
The long and short of this section is, “Since Harima Oji was Sako Atsuhiro’s great-great-grandfather, there is no possible way that Destro—who pre-dated Harima—can be Re-Destro’s father.” If you read that sentence and nodded your complete understanding and agreement, feel free to skip ahead to the last section. If you’d like the full explanation it takes to reach that sentence’s conclusion, though, read on.
So, aside from the word matsuei, the timeline is the most telling piece of evidence to my eye. I address it secondly rather than firstly because it’s less direct than the explicit narration; it relies on drawing conclusions based on things we’ve been told elsewhere rather than on the immediately relevant text. Oh, Mr. Compress’s relationship to Harima is explicit enough, but on what am I basing my claim that Destro predates him?
Regarding that, there’s no explicit year relative to My Hero Academia’s current events given for when Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army were active; the same is true for Harima Oji’s escapades. However, we are given some broad-strokes information, relative not to current events, but rather to the history of heroism as a legal institution in Japan.
We know that there was a widespread, lengthy period of chaos following the rise of quirks—called meta-abilities in those early years. At some point, however, people began to search for a way for meta-humans to live in peace with non-metas. The compromise that was reached was the foundation of professional heroism in Japan—while the use of meta-abilities would be legal in private settings, it was only by becoming licensed by the state as “heroes” that people could use their quirks in public.[3]
The legislation curtailing the use of meta-abilities—and the appropriation of a dead woman’s language to popularize a law establishing exactly the opposite of what she used that language to call for—is what catalyzed the rise of the original MLA. Thus, we can position Destro as being alive and active around the same time that heroism as a legal institution was being formed. Since we further know that he committed suicide in prison, we can assume that his child was conceived at some point prior to his capture. Ergo, Destro’s child, were they alive today, would be as old as Japanese professional heroism itself.
Next, consider Harima Oji, the Peerless Thief, a criminal who targeted the riches of “sham heroes.” We’re specifically told that he was active in the days in which the current system was settling into place—e.g. he only became active once the Hero System was established enough to have produced corrupt heroes. We’re told he preached reformation—he wasn’t just some pre-existing criminal who saw a shiny new target in heroes; he had specific grievances which he wanted addressed by the system, and which the system was not addressing.
The earliest Harima could possibly be active, then, is concurrent with Destro—Harima fighting against the corrupt people who had found their way into the new heroic institution, and Destro fighting against using the institution of heroism to oppress non-heroes. What I think is more likely, though, is that Harima came after Destro—Harima needed to have had time to realize what kinds of fakes had been drawn to this shiny new career path, maybe even to spend some time trying to change things the legal way.
I don’t suspect they were separated by very long—I would imagine Destro was easily within Harima’s living memory, and might well have influenced why he chose the path of protest that he did—but I do think they were separate.
Moving forward, then, Mr. Compress is four generations distant from his famous ancestor. Thus, even if you assume that Harima is of the same generation as Chikara, that’s what you’re looking at for Chikara’s child: someone who, were they alive today, would be old enough to be the great-grandparent of a thirty-two-year-old man.
Re-Destro’s probably a few years older than Mr. C, sure,[4] but that man doesn’t have Ujiko’s slow-aging quirk. Unless you want to start pulling theories about cryogenic stasis the story for some reason never saw fit to mention out of thin air, Re-Destro is in no way old enough to fit the bill.
This is backed up by one other piece of the timeline as well, and one more place we can look at language:
The small child at the center of the image is Rikiya, so young that he’s in schoolboy shorts for a meeting otherwise so formal that he’s been made to wear a tie. He’s, what, six to nine here, tops? And the adults speaking to him say that they’ve been in hiding for generations—代々, daidai, the kanji for generation followed by a kanji that just means, “See that kanji written right before me? Yeah, just read that one again.”
The original MLA was active for only a handful of years, and, per Chapter 218, they didn’t dissolve until Destro was captured. Thus, we can assume they have been in hiding since then, but not before then. With that in mind, this is another line that renders a father/son relationship impossible.
Remember, Chikara already had a child in the world circa his capture. If Rikiya were Chikara’s son, then Destro’s capture and his army’s subsequent dissolution could not have happened any farther back than nine months plus however old Rikiya was in this exact moment of his youth. Rikiya, who we see here as a child of less than ten.
Ten years in hiding doesn’t make one generation; it damn sure doesn’t make multiple ones.
Now, you could make theories about cryogenic statis that would explain this ludicrous discrepancy, sure. You could also theorize about e.g. artificial insemination,[5] or time stop quirks, or any number of other possibilities in the vast panoply the HeroAca world offers. The point is, though, that you don’t need to. There was, in the manga, no discrepancy that needed to be explained. It is only fanon misinterpretation and a glaring disinterest in the series’ villains from official sources that have presented this issue.
I’m praying that it’s all just a misunderstanding on the part of whoever maintains the website, and that the anime itself will render the relevant bits of dialogue correctly. Given the extreme cuts and alterations that My Villain Academia has been subjected to thus far, though, I’m sure you can appreciate my being concerned.
…So that’s the meat of it. The idea that Rikiya is Chikara’s son is wrong simply on the basis of what’s said in the text, and it’s doubly wrong on the basis of the timeline. There is, though, one other thing I think points towards Re-Destro being exactly the descendant he says he is, not a son playing down the connection out of humility or something. This one is a lot more headcanon-y, though, so I saved it for last.
MLA Social Dynamics
It’s quite simple. We have, in the MLA, a group of people that venerates Destro’s bloodline to an obviously unhealthy degree, putting up portraits of him wherever they can get away with it, tagging his successor with a “Re-” as if to invoke reincarnation or miraculous return, entirely willing to throw their lives away for what they think was his cause, and others’ lives if those others say anything too scathing about the words Destro wrote, quite as if they treat Destro’s memoir as some sort of holy writ.
They venerate Destro that much, and you’re trying to tell me that they wouldn’t just call a spade a spade and acknowledge RD as the son of their great leader? Come on.
Since long before I turned up the matsuei factoid in researching this piece, since long before Mr. Compress gave us such a helpful generational comparison, I’ve held the opinion that, given a group that holds their leaders in such high esteem, with such particular regard for bloodline, the only reason Rikiya does just call himself a descendant, rather than citing the specific term for what he is, is that the specific term is distant enough that it actually does sound more impressive to just say “descendant,” rather than something like, “great-great-great-grandson.” That kind of thing just begs the question, “What took you guys so long?” or, “You and how many other people, buddy?”
Mr. Compress may have the panache to carry off a line like that, but Rikiya’s a different story. If he had something so amazing up his sleeve as, “I am the son of the great Destro,” I have to think he’d just say it proudly, not fall back on the impressionistic vaguery of something like chi o tsugu mono. Even if I had no other evidence to work with, I’d think the same—all the evidence you need is right there in the character writing of who Rikiya and the MLA are and how they talk about the man whose dreams Re-Destro was raised to carry.
A closing note: I will allow that Rikiya is being overdramatic when he uses matsuei and its connotation of countless generations. There are a few other things we can use to trace the history of heroism—Ujiko’s age, and the 18-years-or-less periods that One For All was held by its pre-All Might bearers—and running those numbers leads me to believe that it is, in fact, entirely possible to count the number of generations between Rikiya and Chikara, and the number, while higher than one, is probably not all that high. Certainly matsuei is being more dramatic about it than is entirely warranted, hence the poetic flourish of the official translation’s, “His blood runs through these veins!” The theatricality only makes me fonder of him, however.
------------------------
FOOTNOTES
[1] It was changed and reverted on Re-Destro’s page at least twice before it finally stuck in January of this year. Chikara’s page took until July to be corrected, and it’s still wrong on various other subpages.
[2] Or your kids, if you have those. Only the last generation in the bloodline is the matsuei, but that’s a moving goalpost as long as the bloodline is still propagating.
[3] This summary of events combines what we know from both My Hero Academia proper and the Vigilantes spin-off, which I recommend to anyone who’s at all interested in finer-grained worldbuilding on Hero Society Japan than the main series makes time for.
[4] I personally headcanon him as 42.
[5] To which point I would refer back to the word kodomo, and note that that word choice indicates that Destro had a child in the world. Not a sperm sample kept in a freezer somewhere, waiting for the right would-be mother: an actual child. Some quick research on my part says that the farthest that term stretches is in using it to refer to yet-unborn children, fetuses still in the womb. Seeing as Japan doesn’t even allow inmates conjugal visits in real life, much less in a setting where villains are so dehumanized that Tartarus is an acceptable punishment for them, the line about Destro “having a child out in the world” takes us right back to a date of conception no later than Destro’s final night of freedom.
#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha#bnha meta#yotsubashi rikiya#yotsubashi chikara#re-destro#destro bnha#meta liberation army#my writing#i have thoughts on the anime's nonsense too but#hahawow#that's gonna take a little longer to get coherent#preview: it's not about capitalism#it's about fear
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Can you do more head cannons of The DMC boys taking care of their baby girl???
Howdy,
I do not think I’ve written headcanons of Dante, Vergil, Nero, and V with a baby daughter? Well, no time like the present.
Enjoy,
Rodeo
Dante
“Baby. Baby girl. Baaaaaby!” Dante calls as his daughter, white-haired and arms covered in baby fat, gurgles with joy.
Literally the love of his life. The babe looks just like him, with white hair and blue eyes.
Lady and Trish adore the baby girl and do not trust him to dress their niece cutely. So they spend all his money buying the cutest little shoes and dresses. The baby fever is so bad for them.
Dante is so protective of his little demon child. He duct tapes all the sharp corners in his shop. It’s Hello-Kitty and red duct tape. It’s such an eye-sore but he’s so proud of himself.
He doesn’t use her crib. Every night, his daughter cries when he puts her in the crib. He ends up taking her to his bed, her little body resting on his chest, moving to the rising and falling of his form.
They eat meals together, both covered in bits of food. Messy eaters, the two of them. Dante always seems to eat incredibly leaned back and his daughter copies him, leaning to the back of the baby seat with her little feet crossed.
She loves sundaes and slaps the table when she can’t get any. Dante can’t resist giving her the strawberries to gnaw on.
“Shithead! You’re going to give her cavities!”
“Nero, she doesn’t even have teeth yet.”
Sometimes they just nod at each other.
“Hey, boss lady.”
“Dah.”
“Very nice.”
He gets a tactical baby carrier, much to everyone’s disgust.
His little baby girl is often found latched onto his leg, cooing and refusing to leave from her father’s proximity.
Vergil tries to hold her and she cries immediately. It’s because Vergil looks like a very serious Dante and that doesn’t sit right with her.
The twins tried dressing the same and brushing their hair the same style to see what she would do. She keeps pointing to the other and saying “da-da” and grabbing at the other twin. Eventually, she starts fussing.
Well actually, demon children can detect parental pheromones. She likely figures out who is who very soon and will not unlatch from her demon daddy.
“She’s got quite a grip,” Vergil comments as blood soaks into Dante’s shirt where her hands clung to him.
“Her claws came in early.” His brother grunts. His hands aren’t even on her, she is completely supporting herself with her little devil hands.
Dante will walk out of the house with his hair done like his child’s. The last thing a demon sees is the merciless face of Hello Kitty on a barrette on Dante’s head. It’s quite frankly scarier than anything else.
See Exhibit C-(credited to @aztarion)
Vergil
“This is my daughter. If anything happens to her, I will kill Dante and everyone else in this room and then I will kill Dante again.”
“Vergil what.”
This man does not use babytalk. He talks to her in complete sentences with words Dante doesn’t even know, his child babbling in return.
“Child, I grow quite jaded by this tirade. Either participate in nap time or stay put, I shall not heed your intentions to stay up.”
“Abababa!”
“I will not tolerate your churlishness.”
He does his best to dress her in blue. They match all the time.
He isn’t great with doing hair that isn’t his. His daughter has all her hair swept back like her old man. She copies him, slapping her forehead and swiping her stray strands of hair back. He smirks at her likeness.
Vergil had to be taught how to change a diaper by Nero.
No baby carrier, he will hold her to his waist at all times and she chews on the handle of the Yamato. He just lets her.
He doesn’t buy her toys, everyone else does.
“Child, you must stop collecting tributary from your relatives.”
“Bababababa.”
Vergil does not trust those two women with his child. However, he finds his daughter points to Trish and makes grabbing motions. Trish coos at her in her slender arms and laughs when she chews her hair, his daughter gripping Lady’s finger in her other hand. Vergil stops, and realizes-
This is the closest he will ever see his mother hold his child. He finds he does not mind it.
Vergil’s daughter is protected by his doppelganger, who moves stuff out of her crawling path and ensures she doesn’t bump her little head.
He also does not use the crib. But he tried. His baby daughter cried and reached for him, her little face scrunched up with sadness.
“It is for your own good. You must be independent. The world is a hard place, sleeping alone is the least you can do.”
The baby continues to cry and Vergil relents, eyes soft as he takes her back. He holds her the entire night.
“Perhaps just this once, my little lamb.”
All grown up, his daughter will find her baby photos in a neat scrapbook, all images were taken by Dante of Vergil holding her every night.
Nero
Youngest dad here, quite frankly the most competent.
He grew up taking care of other kids, no matter how punk rock he is, his instincts to take care of kids shine through.
She has a black pacifier that’s shaped like a skull.
He is so clingy to this little girl, knowing how he grew up with no parents.
His little girl is always with him. If not, she’s with Kyrie. She has to be convinced to go play with other children.
“Hey, can an uncle hold his niece-”
“Frick off, I’m her dad.”
“Censoring yourself, are we?”
He gives up swearing near her. That swear jar paid for a new school building next to the orphanage.
Nero melts when his little girl scratches her nose the way he always does. Some things are just genetic.
His little girl has his temper. She kicks and screams and slaps him when he doesn’t give her what she wants, although she is an angel in general.
His kid is the first one to fully trigger, a very angry and blue one-year-old with horns and astral wings, literally bursting with demonic energy and snarling. Nero sheds a tear in pride after she slashes the side of his face. A bag of frozen peas in hand, he looks at her with joy.
“She’s going to be so kick-butt. Just like me, huh?”
His daughter is tolerant of her grandfather. In the arms of Vergil, she glares back at him.
“She will be a very strong Sparda,” Vergil comments as she rips a button off his jacket.
Nero is so soft with this baby girl. He’ll scream at Dante and his father seven ways till Sunday but coo in baby talk with her.
He sings her to bed the classics.
“But I’m a creep, I am a weirdo. I don’t belong here…..” Nero rocks his daughter side to side as she softly breathes.
“N-Nero?” Kyrie asks from the doorway. He casts her a glance.
“It’s Radiohead.” He says before returning to his loving mumbles. Kyrie sighs.
V
“Oh my darling. Look at you, little star.” He beams as he taps her little nose. Her hair is white just like his when Nightmare is unbound.
He adores her, this little crawling bundle of joy.
Cane in one hand, he holds his child in the other.
“Wow V, human babies sure are squishy looking gremlins.”
“Griffon-”
“In a good way!”
The two other familiars are also dedicated to his daughter. Shadow likes to clean her with her tongue, causing her hair to stick up in all directions.
Griffon collects things that are shiny and gifts them to her little fat baby hands.
Unfortunately, babies are very grabby little people. Griffon caused a power outage one time because the little starling pulled his tail feathers out in curiosity.
Of course, V reads to his child his poetry. It’s the only way she can be put to sleep.
She fusses and V simply holds her up and asks her what the matter is. She babbles and squirms and V does his best to understand baby talk.
He lets people hold her, although he is nearly inches away to retrieve her in case she is displeased.
Dante is the favorite uncle and she loves to play peek-a-boo with him.
V nearly keels over one day when she managed to absorb Shadow, soft baby skin decorated by black spider lilies. She returns Shadow in the form of a kitten although the big cat quickly turns back into a grown panther.
She tried it with Griffon. Yes, of course he pops out again a swearing baby chicken.
“My dear, what on earth?”
“Da-da!”
She pulls on V’s hair, threading her fingers through the midnight strands. She also puts her hand on his gently-sloping nose. He doesn’t mind it, although her fingers can be sticky.
He keeps a little bell on his cane to waggle over her head when she is bored. She loves it and reaches her little hands to the sound. She likes to take his rings and clink them together.
Sometimes, he gives up and just eats the same baby food she does.
He’s a very patient father, although she can easily exhaust him with all the demands.
“The queen reigns over all.” V muses as she throws a tantrum.
He has a day-to-day journal of her development, full of pressed flowers and inked poetry of his Little Wanderer.
#devil may cry#vergil sparda#dante sparda#devil may cry imagines#dante headcanons#dmc imagines#dmc v headcanons#dmc5 v headcanons#vergil headcanons#daddy Dante#dadgil#dad Nero#daddy V#parenting headcanons#request#daughter headcanons
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What if Bella had met the Volturi's as a child? What would it change and what ties do you think it would have?
It’d change a fair amount, as in, the entire plot of Twilight would have been derailed. Or, that is, it might change nothing at all.
So, we have three options here.
Nothing Changes
Bella is an extraordinarily delicious child visiting Italy and the small medieval town of Volterra.
If Bella doesn’t happen to be on the tour, probably whoever’s looking at her sighs, looks longingly at her delicious blood, and then walks away. The Volturi do not lose control in their own city.
Bella goes on her merry way and Twilight presumably happens. Except maybe Bella goes to Alice, “Oh yeah, Volterra, I went there once. Nifty place, nice buildings.” Alice stares.
Bella’s Eaten
Bella’s an extraordinarily delicious child whose mother thinks it’s a great idea to sign them up for the tour of Volterra castle. It’s a very exclusive tour you know! Bella’s eaten almost immediately, she’s probably fought over, Jane gets one limb and Alec gets another.
Years later, Edward arrives in Forks, his personal purgatory where he listens to the banal thoughts of teenagers. Bella Swan does not arrive. Edward continues to be miserable and depressed.
The Cullens have a game of baseball with James, Laurent, and Victoria. Unfortunately, James recognizes Alice, and is intrigued enough to come after her. Unfortunately, Alice is a vampire and not a human with human relatives to hold hostage. The Cullens murder him, Laurent flees to have sex with the sexy Denali ladies, and Victoria swears vengeance upon Jasper.
Unfortunately, her gift tells her that any attempt to murder Jasper will end up with her dead. Jasper doesn’t give her the time needed to plan. He hunts her down and murders her in cold blood.
Carlisle has the world’s worst weekend.
Edward is still depressed and concludes this is why vampires are abominations without souls. Irina gets to keep her boyfriend, he cheats on the diet and leaves within the year. Irina drowns herself in rebound sex with pretty mortals to try and feel better abou tbeing dumped. It doesn’t work.
Aro Discovers Bella
And this is probably the route you were thinking of.
Perhaps Aro’s taking a midnight stroll with Renata, perhaps he catches Bella on the tour, but somehow he manages to meet her and happens to brush her hand. Suddenly, eating Bella is off the table forever.
Bella’s gift isn’t game changing in the way Alec and Jane’s were, necessarily, but it is something Aro does not want falling into enemy hands and something he may one day need.
He’d probably do something similar to what he intended to do with Alec and Jane. He’d leave her to live her mortal life, keep close tabs on her, and turn her when she’s a young adult (probably around twenty).
Which means Bella returns to America, probably tailed by Demetri, and has no awareness that she is at some poing going to become an immortral blood drinking creature and move to Italy to become a member of an ancient vampire sect.
Bella moves to Forks, she has a run in with Edward Cullen who very nearly eats her, Demetri calls Aro to say “we have a problem”. At first, Aro isn’t too concerned, he’s delighted to hear that Carlisle’s alive and well and my god he has a coven now. Given Edward is Carlisle’s progeny, Aro is probably sure Edward will leave the city completely to avoid temptation and the others will quickly move on.
Edward’s back within the week. He attends school. He sits within a foot of Bella Swan in Biology class.
Demetri at this point probably summons Bella out of school in the middle of Biology with no warning, gets her the hell away from Edward, and has to come up with the world’s most ridiculous lie of why she should never enter within 20 feet of Edward Cullen ever again.
Demetri is a federal agent and Edward is under suspicion of being a sexual predator and serial murderer. Here are all the women who have disappeared in various towns the Cullen family have lived in.
Bella is of course horrified and shocked, but given Edward’s reaction in that first Biology class and his weirdness in the second one...
Aro calls Carlisle. It’s a very awkward talk. Carlisle apologizes for not writing in forever he got... distracted. Aro says it’s fine, no big, CARLISLE MISSED WATCHING THE MOON LANDING WITH HIM. But regardless, Aro is calling to ask him what the fuck.
Aro tells him about Bella, Carlisle is very uncomfortable with this girl having no choice but to become a vampire and no idea what’s going to happen to her, but there’s no talking Aro out of it. He’s even more uncomfortable that he has been begging Edward to skip town but, for some unknown reason that is perhaps pride, Edward is refusing.
“All these worlds are yours,” Aro undoubtedly says, “Except Europa, attempt no landing there.”
In other words, hands off Isabella Swan.
Carlisle tells Edward. Edward is appalled and conflicted. At this point, he’s unwillingly fascinated by Bella but has not yet decided he’s in love. He doesn’t quite have her Carlisle persona crafted yet and so she’s not the saintly figure deserving of worship. Right now she’s just this plain, boring, girl who dared to smell delicious.
So, a part of him thinks it serves her right. Now she will suffer for all eternity as he does. More, he can save face, the monster inside him can go back to sleep for her days are number and he can pretend he’s the wonderful person everyone thinks he is. Everything will remain as exactly as it is. EDWARD IS FINE, THIS IS FINE.
Another part of him panics. First, this girl is condemned to the worst future imaginable. Not only is she becoming a demon, but a blood drinking demon at Blood Drinking Demon HQ. More, if she becomes a vampire, no blood for Edward. And remember, this is a scent he would scour the world for. Edward salivates over the thought of her blood, obsesses over it constantly, and fantasizes over how he will devour her. Suddenly, Edward may not be able to eat her. In canon, the option of eating her is always on the table, and some part of Edward is always thinking about it, always leaving it open. Here, it’s soon to be gone.
Edward probably sneaks into her room at night to watch over her sleep. Telling himself he’s protecting her from meteors but also realizing that he’s there to test his own will power and ponder over the future in which he quietly eats her in the middle of the night.
Now, this can go two ways
Bella wakes up, and that guy Demetri said is a sexual predator targeting her is IN HER BEDROOM LOOKING SCARY AS FUCK. Bella undoubtedly screams bloody murder and tries to hit Edward with something.
Edward panics at the noise and eats her. Then when Charlie comes running he eats Charlie Swan too. The house is an utter blood bath, Edward stands there in a daze knowing the monster inside him has won. He no longer looks anything like Carlisle Cullen (this is a thing Edward does).
Probably though, Demetri is there. Which means Edward has heard his thoughts from the beginning. While Edward has the overconfidence of Gilderoy Lockhart, and tells Bella things like the laws of physics not applying to his driving or that he could beat Jasper in a fight with both hands tied behind his back, usually when push comes to shove he knows where he stands. (He tries to fight Jane in Volterra, it doesn’t go well, and he acts very meek at being confronted by Jane, Felix, etc. When he fights Victoria, he doesn’t fight at all, but just blathers nonsense and it somehow works out for him.)
So, while Edward will tell Jasper later that he totally could have taken Demetri, he’s not going to try.
So, instead, Demetri goes, “Hey buddy, looking for a midnight snack?” and Edward shuffles and petulantly asks, “Aren’t you looking for a midnight snack?!” Edward’s here to protect Bella, you see. Demetri just nods, of course, Edward’s here to protect Bella.
They stare at each other.
Neither leaves.
Eventually, Edward slinks away, feeling very disgusted with himself, angry and Demetri, and internally raging that he didn’t get to eat Bella.
Demetri calls Aro and notes that they’ve got to turn the girl. Demetri cannot watch her 24/7 and this boy is 100% going to eat her. Aro hops on a plane in record time, bringing Renata, and makes an awkward visit to both Carlisle and Bella.
Aro tells Bella the truth about Edward which is... a little different but also pretty scary, the truth about what’s going to happen to her and why it’s important, and anything else she wants to know.
I imagine Bella quietly and stoically accepts her fate.
Edward doesn’t get to eat Bella Swan. He feels very conflicted about it and is filled with self-loathing that he’s conflicted about it. I imagine the Madonna complex he holds for Bella blossoms at this point, and he later comes to Italy with the intent to free her from the Volturi clutches.
This doesn’t work out.
Knowing Edward, his attempts increase in desperation until, finally, he does something very illegal in an attempt to free her and make up for damning her to this life.
The Volturi are forced to execute Edward.
Carlisle gets yet another awkward, terrible, phone call from Aro.
#twilight#twilight meta#twilight headcanon#twilight renaissance#aro#the volturi#bella swan#demetri#carlisle cullen#edward cullen#anti edward cullen#anti edward/bella#meta#headcanon#opinion
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Black Waltz [1/2]
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]
➜ Words: 13.2k
➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU
➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.
The caskets are small.
You’re not sure why but you always imagined that they’d be bigger. The undertaker already reassured you thrice that the bodies of your parents fit perfectly. Perhaps they were always that small.
“Poor girl.” Someone murmurs in the corner, not realizing that you can hear above the discordant sobs. “She’s already such a weak child. How will she handle this?”
“How do you suppose?” a man replies in a sharp mutter. “She’s just become one of the richest people in Trulia overnight. Look at this entire estate. All thanks to her father’s watch business.”
“Will you have more delicacy?” she bites back in a whisper. “A man and woman just died.”
You don’t bother looking at them. You don't cry either.
Not a single tear sheds down your cheeks as you look through your netted veil to the closed coffins belonging to your parents. Even the gardener is sobbing into his hat, but you don’t.
Your expression remains stoic.
A man approaches, dark hair and darker suit. He bows his head towards the caskets and then turns to you standing by. You recognize him the few times you saw him in passing. He’s your father’s worker, Yoongi. “My condolences, Miss Y/N.”
“Thank you.”
“Your father was a great man. It was a privilege to work under his guidance. I’m sorry this happened.”
You nod and he takes that you don’t want to extend the conversation and leaves you be.
It was an unfortunate accident. More specifically, a railroad accident. It claimed the lives of many and that also included your parents coming home from a trip to Germany.
“Eugene!” Suddenly, Uncle Seokjin throws himself over the casket. A few distraught folks try to pull him back, but he continues to howl, “How could you leave your only brother like this!”
Aunt Marie cries louder into her handkerchief.
It’s noisy.
In the midst of the ruckus, the corner of your eye catches an older man with brunette hair. The wrinkles crease around his eyes with his sorrowful expression and he takes off his top hat as he approaches. You watch as he places a rose in front of your mother’s casket and then he turns to leave without addressing you.
“Oh, Y/N!” Your attention is ripped away by your hysterically sobbing uncle grabbing your hands. “Poor Y/N!”
Someone takes him away before you get the chance to shove him off.
//
Everyone gathers in the dining room not even a full day after the funeral.
The wallpaper is dark, black trim that matches the hardwood. The long table is mahogany and there’s an unnecessary golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. You’ve always hated this room and its decorations, especially the heavy curtains that block out the sunlight.
“Y/N!” Your uncle draws out your name and smiles widely as he comes before you with open arms. He gives you a quick squeeze much to your dismay and then lets go. The middle-aged man searches your expression. “My favourite niece.”
“I’m your only niece.”
“Which makes you even more special to me.” His words are sweet. He shakes his head. “What did you ever do to deserve this?”
You wonder the same thing.
Aunt Marie clears her throat and Uncle Seokjin flounders. “Right, right, we should take our seats.”
Your eyes lift to your cousin who smiles at you, dressed in a navy frock coat with an ascot tie. “It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t think you’d notice but I was greeting guests at the funer—”
“I noticed.”
You cut Hoseok off mid-sentence with his mouth still open. Aunt Marie chastised him under her breath to sit down and at the same time, the family lawyer enters with his briefcase. He’s been working with your family before you were even born. You could feel his sincerity when he spoke at the memorial.
“Good evening everyone. Y/N.” Mr. Kim — Namjoon as your parents familiarly called him — nods at you in sympathetic acknowledgment and takes his place at the head of the table where your father once sat. He reaches for his briefcase and opens it up for a sealed envelope inside. “I never thought there would be a day like this. Most unfortunate indeed.”
“A heartbreaking tragedy,” Aunt Marie agrees.
“But no time like the present for us to fulfill their last wishes.” Mr. Kim slips out the crisp papers and then his eyes flicker up at you. You subtly motion to him that you’re ready for it to be read and he clears his throat.
Your relatives are sitting on the edge of the seats, hands clasped on the table in anticipation.
“I, Arden Eugene, resident in the City of Lennox, Country of Trulia, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Arden Hana, to inherit all my assets.”
The lawyer continues, “In the event where my wife is unable to inherit...all my assets, including the investments, savings and the estate, liquid and otherwise, I leave my daughter, Arden Y/N, in their entirety.”
Your aunt’s jaw ticks, your uncle has a face of disgust and your cousin’s jaw has dropped.
You’re not sure why they’re so offended. It’s not a surprise. This is what you expected.
That is until Mr. Kim adds the word— “temporarily.”
Your head turns. The lawyer’s mouth continues to move.
“Until the date and time when her half-sibling will be found.”
You’re not sure what happens first. The gasps echoing in your ears, Aunt Marie nearly falling off her seat in laughter, your uncle standing up from his spot, or your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as blood drains from your face. You feel ill, like you might throw up right on the table.
A half-sibling. Another child. There was another child all along.
“—to which ownership of all asserts will thereby be shifted onto them.”
“What is the meaning of this?!” Uncle Seokjin protests. “What child?!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Arden. I only know as much as you do.” Mr. Kim’s eyes place on you before he resumes reading. “I give my daughter, Arden Y/N, a pocket watch.”
The amused snicker of your aunt is all too clear.
A small box is placed in front of you. It’s the size of your hand, a deep wine red. For a moment, you want to huck it on the floor, but with your breath held in your throat, you nudge the lid open. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden and perfectly polished, reflecting against the candlelight. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass.
“To my brother, Seokjin, my sister, Marie, and her son, Hoseok, I wish them the very best in the rest of their lives.”
Aunt Marie scoffs. Uncle Seokjin collapses back onto his seat.
The will is finished being read and the paper is folded. The room is full of a tense silence as you stare at the watch. Mr. Kim clears his throat again. “As you are aware of the laws, Y/N, all assets are entitled to you temporarily. But as you have no husband to collect the inheritance, it makes things a bit more complicated. You may still live at this estate and continue the company, but you cannot alter it in any way. That includes liquidating, removing, expanding, or withdrawing. You do not have the jurisdiction to alter the company or any of the investments either.”
Everything is essentially frozen. They left you with nothing.
“Yes.” The corner of Aunt Marie’s lip curls and she sits back. “Even if you are twenty one, you need a husband to own land and wealth. Trulia’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
Trulia — a small country that bridges France and England together, cutting the English channel into half. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and never hated it more.
“Y/N.” Hoseok breaks your train of thought and you look him in the eyes. Your expression remains impassive. “Did you know you had a sibling?”
You hate it all.
//
The bedroom is shrouded in darkness as you sit back in the armchair.
You’re loosely holding the cold, golden chain of the pocket watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. When both handles of the pocket watch come to twelve, the grandfather clock from downstairs chimes throughout the mansion.
Your other hand crumples into a fist and with a strangled cry in your throat, you hurl the pocket watch across the room with all your might. It clatters to the ground, ear-splitting.
A figure emerges from the shadows, leans down and picks it up with his white gloves.
“Madam, are you not well?”
“Don’t call me madam,” you snap at him.
Taehyung comes closer, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in the usual black tailcoat and trousers. His smile is tender. “You are the head of the household now.”
Arm propped up on the armrest, you press your hand to your forehead. “It makes me feel old.”
“Then I won’t, my lady. I apologize.” He places the pocket watch on the vanity table and comes to your side.
You look up at him, wondering if you look as bitter as you feel. “Even when they’re dead, they have to have the last laugh, Taehyung. They spared me nothing.” Your eyes sting painfully, the lump at the bottom of your throat aching. Anger has coloured your vision red. You’re so full of hate, but you wonder why most of all, it hurts. “I can’t believe my parents didn’t love me even after their death.”
Taehyung kneels and takes your hands that are crumpled hard enough that your nails sink into your skin. He earnestly gazes at you. “You have me. I’ll be with you until the end.”
He promises it rather recklessly. But he’s more than just your butler. More than just a worker in this house. He’s been a friend since childhood. The only one you can fully trust.
Taehyung’s expression softens even more and he reaches out. He hugs you, propping your chin on his shoulder, placing his arms around your back. “You can cry.”
You scoff. “You’re stepping over the line.”
“Then discipline me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, vision becomes foggy as tears hang onto your lash line. “Why should I cry for those people? If...if anything, I should cry for my own circumstances.”
Taehyung smiles. “Cry then.”
For the first time, you let go. You sob into his shoulder, grasp his coat with tight fingers, allowing yourself to be at grief’s mercy. Wails choke out of your chest and the thick lump finally escapes your throat, leaving it raw and aching in a different way. The tears stain a path down from your welling eyes to your cheeks and then Taehyung’s shoulder like a chilling rainstorm.
It feels like minutes tick away until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.
By then, you’re so weak and you can barely open your swollen eyes. But Taehyung guides you to bed and pulls the covers. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm. “Get some sleep.”
You nod and he extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp.
Sleep comes easier than you expect.
//
When dawn arrives, the light of the sun comes through the white curtains to cast against your eyes. You stir uncomfortably before your lids flutter open. The world is bleary in your fogged vision and your body is heavy. You don’t want to get up, but you have to.
“Good morning, mistress.” Taehyung enters, dressed in his black trousers and tailcoat with a white waistcoat underneath. His hair is pushed back in a windswept look. He sets down the golden tray balancing a water bowl and cloth. “Glad to see you’re already awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep more if I wanted to.” You round the bed and collect the water to wash your face before pressing the cloth to your skin.
Taehyung steps towards your wardrobe. “Would you like me to replace the curtains?”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to wear anything too restricting today.”
He hums. “Then will an aesthetic dress do? Green?”
“Is there a dark blue?”
Taehyung swiftly takes out a simple gown, cut loosely with a few frills at the neckline and a red, ribbon sash around the waist. The shade is a midnight blue and perfectly to your tastes as if he read your mind. It’s without any restrictive corset too. Heaven knows today is going to be suffocating enough, you don’t need to make it more difficult for yourself.
You stand in front of the three panel mirror folded into a nook and lift your arms up. Without batting a single lash or looking twice, Taehyung undresses you from the silk sleepwear and helps you into the camisole before draping the dress over your figure.
You sit at the vanity and he gently brushes out your hair. “Taehyung.”
“Yes, my lady?”
You look at him through the mirror. “Do you think I can do this?”
His eyes flicker up and he smiles. “Of course you can.”
“What if they don’t find me intimidating enough?”
“Then I’ll stand beside you and help you with that.”
What he says has you bursting out in laughter. You spin around in your seat, and Taehyung’s completely unsuspecting when you squeeze his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. It makes you grin. “You’re more of a puppy than a guard dog.”
But well, you suppose it’s not important what the truth is. The illusion is what matters most.
He pins half of your hair up and you barely powder your face before you’re leaving for the family meeting. On the way, you brace yourself, only temporarily interrupted by the gardener, Park Jimin, a man who’s been working on the estate for the past three years. He takes care of the garden well, better than your mother ever could. Her roses always withered. He, on the other hand, has quite the green thumb.
“Good morning, madam.” Jimin greets you merrily.
“Good morning, Jimin.” You slow in the entrance hall and Taehyung behind you does as well. “I hope you and the others are doing well. Thank you for still being here.”
The young male blushes. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. You already gave us a whole week’s break which we’re more than thankful for. We just had to come back for the funeral to honour Mr. and Mrs. Arden. So there’s no need to worry about us.”
“I’m glad then.” Your smile eases. “Please continue, don’t let me stop you.”
He nods and goes on his way.
The moment Jimin’s gone, your expression hardens as you enter the main lounge area.
There your uncle, aunt, and cousin are seated around and you recognize your father’s worker, Yoongi as well. You’re not sure since when this house became a guest home where anyone can enter and loiter in as they please. You’ll have to have a word with Taehyung later.
“Y/N! My dear niece!” Uncle Seokjin’s loud and he stands from the armchair with an enormous smile that looks like it’s about to break his face. At that, everyone’s head swivels around.
Yoongi slowly rises from his seat as well.
But your uncle continues, “I hope you had a good sleep. I could barely get a wink thinking about your father and our happy days. Speaking of which, I was thinking about how empty this house will be with your parents gone. Isn’t it time for you to get married? You’ve been of age for a while. I happen to know this very kind young man from England. His name is Mark. I’d be happy to introduce—”
“Uncle Seokjin.” You stop him. “I’d rather not have you speak about my private affairs in front of a stranger.”
His pupils flicker to Yoongi and his mouth closes with a smile. “Right.”
You turn to said man and he nods his head in acknowledgment. “Would you like to have tea in the parlor?”
“No, this will only take a moment. I’m sure you’re already busy. My apologies for coming unannounced.”
“It’s not a problem. What is this about?”
“Your father’s company,” Yoongi says. “There is a client waiting for a shipment and since we closed we’ve been unable to finish the order. Would you like to refuse it?”
“No. It’s fine.” You hold in your sigh and press your finger against your forehead for a moment. Then, you come to a decision. “You may continue and run business as usual. You may act as the temporary lead, Min Yoongi.”
At the announcement, Hoseok rushes upwards with his jaw gone slack. “I could!” Heads turn towards him. “I-If you need me to! I could take over! T-Temporarily, of course!”
Your eyes narrow into your cousin, your expression cold. “There’s no need, Hoseok. I’m sure Mr. Min here will already have his hands full. There'll be no time to properly train you and no way you could take over.”
“But—!”
You ignore him to address your father’s right hand. You’re not sure if this is the right decision, but Yoongi comes across as sensible and rational. He doesn’t seem to have any malicious intention or ulterior motives either. At least your father trusted him, so you will too. “I’ll take a look at the finances and figure out the details soon enough of where the company will move forward from now on. But for now, I will entrust you to it. Please proceed as you normally would.”
Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Miss Y/N.”
You shift on your feet and look to your butler whose height towers your own. “Taehyung, can you please see Mr. Min out?”
He puts his gloved hand over his heart and bows. “Certainly.”
The two men leave the room while your cousin crosses his arms and drops back down into the sofa with a displeased face.
Aunt Marie’s eyes are narrowed in on you and she sighs, shaking her head. She comments, “You’re quite close with that butler of yours, Y/N. A bit too close, if you ask me.”
Your brow cocks. “You don’t have any authority in this household to make such comments, Aunt Marie.”
“I am merely looking out for you, Y/N,” she quips with an underlying sharpness to it. “You never know what rumours can get out and they can get quite nasty. It wouldn’t do you any good to be in a scandal. It’s best if you weren’t so close to the such lowly—”
“I choose who I want to affiliate myself with.” Your voice booms throughout the room, unknowing to how Taehyung’s already returned and that he’s standing just outside of the room. “Taehyung is my most trusted confidant. To insult my personal aid is to insult my choices and thereby, me. From now on, I will not take such things lightly.”
Aunt Marie shuffles back with a cough and the room’s swept into an uncomfortable silence.
Taehyung smiles to himself and notices a timid maid rolling a cart down the hall towards the room. He takes over and dismisses her to which she’s grateful for, knowing the room is tense. But Taehyung is unaffected as he enters with an exaggeratedly cordial expression. He places down a cake stand of pastries on the table, then the teacups.
“There, there. Let’s not get so upset in the morning.” Your uncle sits down and you find your place in front of the fireplace and the imposing family portrait above the mantle. In the meanwhile, Taehyung pours the tea with one hand in front of him. It’s earl grey, your favourite.
You sip it warmly while your expression remains stoic.
Uncle Seokjin clears his throat. “Your cousin, aunt and I have been discussing, Y/N—”
“And?”
He smiles. “We think it’s best if we...join forces.”
The tea is no longer pleasant on your palate, so you set it down on the porcelain saucer. “How so?”
“Well….”
“We don’t know who this half sibling of yours is, Y/N,” your aunt cuts to the chase. “Who knows who they could be or what they would want with us! It is simply outrageous that an outsider could come and collect everything that your parents have worked so hard for and take everything away. Your father clearly had some misunderstandings when he gave us nothing and you so little. I believe he must not have been well when he wrote that will. There must be some mistake.”
Uncle Seokjin nods and Hoseok finds the opportunity to jump in. “I have a friend who’s working in law. There must be ways we can challenge the will or at least find a way to claim back what should be rightfully ours!”
‘Rightfully ours’.
You want to laugh. “So you want to sneak the money away?”
“You shouldn’t put it that way.” Your uncle laughs heartily. “It’s more like making a wrong a right!”
“Yes!” Hoseok enthusiastically nods. “We can’t just let someone else steal it, Y/N! What if tomorrow someone comes knocking on the door claiming to be your brother or sister, and they want to take everything away?”
Aunt Marie offers a smile. “It’s best if we work together on this matter.”
Taehyung steps behind you, shadowing your form as your relatives look at you expectedly. They have a point, but you’re not at all tempted by their most generous offer. “No.”
“Pardon?”
“I said no.” Your arms cross and you sit back. “Everything is already in my name, the estate, the investments, the company, albeit temporarily, but I’ll figure out what is to come on my own.”
Hoseok’s mouth draws open. Your uncle is unable to muster a rebuttal.
You scoff, rolling your eyes as if their very proposition is ridiculous. It’s too easy to play the villain — and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. “And why should I have to accept your help and have to split up my parents’ wealth when I can take it all for myself.”
“Why you!” Aunt Marie stands up, face reddened. “Ingrate!”
Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.
Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.
You rise to your feet, eyes placed at the god awful antique cabinet on the other side of the room. “If that’s all everyone wants to say, then you can leave now. Thank you for coming to the funeral but from now on, none of you have permission to enter this estate until I announce otherwise.”
Your aunt scoffs and with her remaining pride, she stomps out. Hoseok’s brows are knitted together at a loss while your uncle is already trying to reason with you. But you leave through the doorway and allow Taehyung to take care of the rest.
//
The streets are full in the afternoon bustle — hooves clacking as horses pull the street car, ladies with parasols giggling as they cross, shouting coming from the tenement windows above, wheels of the carriages rolling along the dirt. It’s the symphony of the city. But he leaves it all behind for a short carriage ride away.
It’s a short uphill climb on foot that follows, but he swiftly gets to the magnificent mansion on a stretch of green behind black gates. It’s quaint here.
A girl in a maid ensemble scurries over and opens up the gates for him. “Right this way.”
The man is led up the path and he removes his top hat as he enters.
The manor is darker on the inside, the wallpaper a deep shade, black trim matching the hardwood. He knows every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, from the chandeliers, the ornate carpet underneath his feet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s old money that will last for centuries.
But he doesn’t get to admire it for too long. A taller man with slicked back hair wearing a black tailcoat approaches. “If you’d follow me, sir.”
He nods and silently shadows the butler to the west wing. They twist down the corridor before turning a left to two large doors. The butler opens them and he hesitantly enters after.
There’s a figure behind the desk at the very back wall, an inked pen in her hand. He muses that the lady looks much too young to be residing so deep inside of this mansion surrounded in papers in the low lighting. She might be even younger than himself.
“Taehyung, stay.” You mutter out of the corner of your mouth before he can leave.
The doors shut and you finally look up as Taehyung takes his place beside you.
“You are Detective Jeon?”
He has brunette hair and brightened doe eyes, rather boyish looks overall. But you know better than to underestimate anyone simply based on appearances.
“Yes, ma’am. I am Jeon Jungkook from the Bennett Detective Agency.” He comes up to you with his briefcase in hand and gingerly places a business card on the desk. “I believe you contacted me for a private investigation.”
“Yes. I did.” You stand, going to the seating area and he follows suit. “Would you like tea?”
“No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”
You nod, noticing how Detective Jeon’s eyes flicker to Taehyung who comes to pour your cup.
He finally asks, “How may I be of service?”
You take a sip, savouring the flavour on your palate before placing the floral porcelain cup down. Your expression is indifferent as you sit back. “As you may have heard, my father and mother recently passed away in a railway accident.”
“I read it from the newspaper. My condolences. Your father was a very charitable man and did a lot for Trulia.”
“Yes, well, they left behind a will and revealed that I happen to have a half-sibling that is to inherit this estate.” It goes silent. A pin could drop in the room and echo. You inhale a breath and continue, “I want you to find this sibling of mine and tell me who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. If you can do it, I’ll pay you a generous sum. However much you want. However long it takes.”
Detective Jeon nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised or curious. You suppose he must be used to this sort of thing in his line of work.
It was through your connections that you found him. He’s an upcoming private detective, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up in tenacity and foresight. He’s the best that Trulia has.
“Do you have any leads?”
You hum. It’s remarkable he asks that. You’ve been thinking about it — picking apart every single memory, all instances there could have been a hint, each time you could have been blinded to such a secret. “I don’t have any leads, but I have suspicions.”
The detective leans in closer, doe eyes placed on yours.
“I believe my sibling may be older than me and I believe contrary to any initial hunches, it may be my mother’s child.” Maybe your father knew and something had happened. Maybe he was ridden with guilt and that’s why he decided to give everything to your sibling.
“I remember, years ago, my mother came in one drunken night and she told me about her previous lover. She was supposed to marry him and they even ran away together, but my grandparents found them and she was forced to marry my father. It’s possible that she may have had a child with him before I was born. And it may be possible he came to the funeral.”
Detective Jeon takes out his notepad and begins scribbling. He bobs his head and you inhale a staggering breath as you continue to talk. You never thought you would have to divulge into your parents’ secrets after their death, that you would have to reveal all you know to a stranger. But you have to do what it takes if you want to find this person before your aunt and uncle do.
“I saw a man about your height. He looked old, about fifty or so. He put a rose at my mother’s casket and left without speaking to me. I have never seen him before in my life.”
“Did you see anything else about him?”
“Nothing that would be helpful. He had brown hair, but he was wearing black as everyone else was. He left before I could get to him.”
“Did your mother ever tell you anything else? Where they ran away to? What they were planning to do afterwards?”
“No. She only ever spoke to me about it on that one occasion.” Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know, but you push past the thought. Detective Jeon notes it and something prickles in your mind. “If you can, I want you to also look into Park Jimin as well.”
His eyes lift off his paper.
“He’s a gardener that works at this estate,” you tell him. “He’s always been close to my mother.”
And unusually so. She never cared much for the help, but you’ve seen them walking together before and conversing on numerous occasions.
“I’ll see what I can do for you.” The detective smiles and once the conversation concludes, he takes his briefcase.
“Oh and Detective Jeon.” Your voice stops him on his way out and he turns. “It would be best if no one finds out about this, namely my relatives. They can be quite...nosy.”
He looks at you and smiles. “Understood.”
Taehyung sees him out and you take a moment to recline back into the armchair, gandering at the many bookcases lining the walls. You never thought you would one day sit in your father’s study like this. He was in here more often than any other room and somehow, it always seemed so big when you were a child.
Taehyung comes back within minutes and you can tell by the expression on his face that he has questions.
The corner of your mouth tugs and you languidly bat your hand. “Ask away.”
“What are you planning to do when you find them?”
“I’ll kill them, of course.”
You get onto your feet, slowly rounding the desk. There’s a glass paperweight on the surface and you pick it up to fiddle with it. There’s a floral print inside and it catches the light no matter what direction you turn it to. You gave this to your father for his birthday one year.
“I can’t return to being that naive person like you hope I will, Taehyung.”
You’re not children anymore. As much as you wish, you can’t go back to that simple time.
“I know.”
You twist on your heel, looking him straight into his eyes. “Then will you help me?”
He closes the distance in two strides and leans down to take your other hand. His plush lips kiss against your knuckles and he swears his loyalty yet again, “I’ll do anything for you, mistress.”
//
The next afternoon, you gather the entire estate’s servants together — the cooks, kitchen workers, maids and footmen. They look nervous at the sudden impromptu gathering, glancing at one another and quietly murmuring.
You clear your throat loudly and their attention is taken.
“As you all know, recently my father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Arden, have passed away. And I have become the new head of household. You have done a well enough job to be here and your services are much appreciated. For those who came to give their condolences at the memorial, it is something I will not forget. However, your loyalties must belong to me, not to my late parents.”
There are worried glimpses exchanged and you begin to pace in front of them. “As I am now the lady of the Arden estate, I would like to begin anew.”
You can’t afford to feed so many mouths, considering all the wealth is frozen. You’ll be paying with what you personally have until you can find a solution with Mr. Kim. Not to mention, you’re not sure who can be trusted, who your uncle and aunt have already persuaded. The last thing you need is extra eyes and ears in this house.
“From now on, Taehyung will be the manager of this household. He will see to it that the household will still function. If you have any questions, ask him. If you have any concerns, then ask him. He will come to me with whatever he cannot solve.”
“Few of you will stay and I thank the rest for serving this house for so long. I will make sure your severance pay is generous enough until you will be able to find work elsewhere. If your name is called, you may stay.”
Taehyung, standing behind you, begins reading from the list. One of the three names called is none other than Jimin himself.
The gardener smiles out of relief, eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you, madam.”
You nod and once it’s done, you leave for the study as Taehyung takes care of the rest. You don’t want to stay around to see disheartened expressions or hear pleas to stay. So you’re resigned to watch out of the upper windows instead.
You’ve allowed them a few days to leave, but some are already taking their exit with their belongings with them, tearfully looking back at the mansion. It’s difficult but it needs to be done.
“My lady…”
You hear Taehyung come from behind you.
You shift away from the window. “You’ll help me look for new help?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think four maids and one cook will suffice?” You count on your fingers. There’s already Jimin taking care of the gardens, you kept one maid so he’ll only have to hire three, and there’s a trustworthy kitchen maid too. It’s not like you need that many hands to take care of the estate. “Or will you need more help?”
“That’ll be fine.” The edge of Taehyung’s mouth pulls. “I could technically do it all, if you’d like.”
“And have you fainting on me from exhaustion?” You notice lint on his coat tail, so you come up to him and gently dust off his shoulder. “I think not.”
Taehyung’s sly smile tugs. “Do you consider me delicate?”
“No. But I am,” you clarify, looking up at the man. “If you’re not here twenty four seven attending to me, then what would be the point of having you around?” You brush past him, mumbling, “Can’t have you in the kitchen when you’re supposed to be by my side.”
The man stifles back a laugh to himself, yet his grin is all too evident. “Yes, madam.”
You glare at him over your shoulder, but it reminds you, “Tell the new help not to call me madam. You know I don’t like it.”
He puts his hand over his heart and bows exaggeratedly. “Yes, young mistress.”
You scoff. The title is not that much different and he knows it too. He always knows how to be cheeky, but you let it go because he’s Taehyung. It’s not like you can ever be upset with him for long.
He’s already won before the game’s begun.
//
A few days later, there’s a knock at your door.
It’s unusual. Taehyung never knocks and your suspicions are confirmed when an unfamiliar girl is sticking her nose into the room. “Umm...pardon me.”
It’s an unfamiliar girl in a maid ensemble, a black dress with white trim and a ruffled apron with a headpiece. Her hair is dark and shiny, features sharp. You assume she must be one of the new ones. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Butler Kim, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kim, the lawyer— I think, is in the parlor. He instructed me to tell you that he’s brought it.”
You nod and get up. But you stop for a second and come eye to eye with the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Jane.” She smiles to herself as if she’s happy you’ve made a note of it.
“If you could clear the teacup from the table.”
“Oh! Certainly!” She rushes over and you don’t linger.
True to what’s been told, the middle-aged lawyer is sitting in his chair and he staggers up as you come into the room. “It’s good to see you well, Y/N, and that you’ve taken charge of this estate so well.”
“Thank you.” You motion to the armchair. “Please, sit.”
“I brought your parent’s business expense reports as you asked.” Mr. Kim takes it from his briefcase and hands you the thick folder after settling down. “I didn’t think I would have it until I remembered there was a box in my office closet meant for this sort of thing. My office ended up branching out and opening a professional accounting firm a year ago, you see, so we no longer do bookkeeping.”
You flip open to find your father’s writing, then pages of Mr Kim’s. The reports match up with what he says. It stops a year ago. You might need to get into contact with Yoongi to find the more recent expense documents.
“Thank you for this. It will be very helpful to me.”
The lawyer nods. “Anytime, child. Now about what you talked to me about last time….”
“Yes, how is that coming along?”
He sharply inhales. “As I suspected, it will be difficult to challenge the will in court, Y/N. It hasn’t been done before and it may be costly. For now, my first submission is still in process, so we’ll have to see if we can even speak to a judge. I’ll let you know how that comes along.”
You’re grateful he’s still of help to you. He's older than your father is, but you suppose he must enjoy his line of work to not retire at this age. “Mr. Kim, if I may ask a question. Were...you aware that I had a sibling?”
The man smiles sadly. “Unfortunately, I was not. The will was sealed and I was simply entrusted to read it to you all. It took me by surprise as much as it did for you.”
If you didn’t know, the family lawyer wouldn’t either.
You wonder how many other well-kept secrets there are in your family.
That night, you look over the documents while burning the midnight oil. As usual Taehyung insists that you head to bed when the grandfather clock chimes past twelve, but after you tell him to go retire first, he stays silent beside you.
Taehyung’s too stubborn sometimes, but you don’t tell him his company is pleasant to have.
“Huh.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t know my father donated to St. Andale Orphanage.” You squint, reading the barely legible writing. You don’t remember that happening or it being posted in the newspaper.
“It must’ve been done anonymously,” Taehyung comments and you make a noise in agreeance. But it’s strange. Your father always liked to have his name on donations so that people would know and it would be written in the newspaper. It’s not like him to go quiet and he gave quite generously too.
“I’d like to go to the orphanage tomorrow.” You look up at Taehyung. “In the morning.”
“I’ll arrange that for you,” he says with a smile.
You close the books. “I’d like that man to join me as well. My father’s worker, Min Yoongi.”
At that, Taehyung’s brow quirks. “For?”
“He was close to my father, right? He might know something I don’t.”
//
The orphanage is a worn brick on the south side of the city in the poorer area, yet it somehow looks to be holding up well. It’s unlike the other buildings around that’s crumbling. You wonder if it’s your father’s doing that made this place half-decent.
You can hear the laughter of children in the plot of grass fenced in. You watch them at the distance while strolling the perimeter with Taehyung to your left and Yoongi to your right.
“It is quite cloudy today.”
“It looks like winter is coming soon.” Yoongi looks at you. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”
“No, it’s quite alright. I don’t get to enjoy the cold weather often and it can be nice.” You turn with a small smile. “I might be like my father in that way.”
“Yes, I remember he told me he quite enjoyed the snow.” His eyes gloss over, reminiscent. “Your father was a very respectable man.”
“He was a good businessman and an even less attentive father,” you hum and feel Yoongi’s gaze on your profile, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but did my father ever speak about his private life, Mr. Min?”
“Yoongi is fine. But no, not frequently at least. I only remember he once told me about flowers he was going to get for his wife before he headed home and I remember he spoke about you a few times.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Yoongi offers a polite smile. “He told me that you were quite talented in your personal studies.”
You take a glance at him. There’s not a single trace on his expression that lets you know he’s lying or exaggerating, but you still find it hard to believe. “In his will, he gave me a pocket watch. I was hoping you’d know more about it. It’s gold and without any designs or engravings—”
“Gold?” Yoongi gives you a peculiar expression. “The company doesn’t make gold pocket watches.”
“Pardon?”
He explains, “We found that the profits weren’t worth the costs, so what’s used is silver, bronze, ceramic or even glass. In the third collection, there were some gold watches, but you said there weren’t any designs or engravings on it?”
“There’s nothing.”
The corner of the man's mouth pulls. “Mr. Arden must have personally handcrafted it for you then.”
Your brows furrow. You’re not sure how you feel upon hearing that, so you cast a glimpse to Taehyung who’s been quietly listening and he smiles at you. Yoongi clears his throat a moment after. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, Miss Y/N, but considering it’s about your family, I think you have a right to know.”
Your head turns over in alarm. “What is it?”
“Your cousin, I believe, Hoseok. He’s been….showing up to the company often. He’s been wanting to book a meeting with me for a week now and he waits until I’m done working to try to speak to me. I suspect he wants to take over the business.”
You’re not surprised. “I’m receiving that kind of pressure in regards to the wealth and estate, Yoongi, and a hundred times worse. I think you have it in you to handle my overbearing cousin.”
Yoongi laughs from his chest as if he already figured you didn’t have any real solution. But based on your answer, it’s allowing him to do whatever he wants to that cousin of yours.
A few minutes pass before an older woman emerges to the field. “Children! Children! It’s time for lunch! Come along now!”
Another woman comes to invite you inside, so you follow after them into a room where they’re serving soup and loaves of bread. You watch children as old as fifteen to as young as three line up one after another. It’s both sad and heartwarming to see so many sparkling eyes in hunger-pane frames.
“Today’s food was given to us by Miss Arden and Mr. Min, can everyone give a big thank you?”
There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s throughout the room and toothless grins from boys and girls.
When a woman struggles with carrying a box inside, Taehyung comes to help and then Yoongi. They’re supplies that you donated out of your own pocket, clothing and some blankets — it’s not much but still better than nothing.
“I want more!”
A pitched voice of a four year old boy in drab clothes knocks you out of your train of thought and you shift towards him. His friend adamantly shakes his head.
“No! ‘Member what Sister Emmy said? You only get one!”
You step forward, lips parting but before a single word can escape—
“Here you go.” An older girl with soft features and her hair pulled back in a frayed ribbon has spun around with an extended arm. Her loaf of bread is in hand. The boy blinks owlishly at her and she beams. “You can have it.”
“Thank you!” He takes it and the two boys run away.
“That was very kind of you,” you speak up and she turns around, startled that someone saw. You smile at her, lowering yourself to match her height. “You can have more bread. There should be enough for the next few days.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
You don’t like children much, but this girl seems to be intelligent and mature for her age. “What’s your name?”
“Rose, ma’am.” She bows her head awkwardly, rather well-mannered. “Thank you for the food.”
“I’m happy to help when I can. Can I ask how old you are?”
She counts on her fingers for a moment. “I believe twelve, ma’am, but I’m not sure.” As you frown, she quickly explains, “My mother died when I was young and I’ve never met my father, so I don’t know for certain how old I am….”
Her voice becomes quieter and quieter as it goes on and you realize she’s ashamed.
“That’s quite alright. I don’t have parents anymore either.” You muster a smile and the corner of her own mouth tugs. It’s pleasant to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, someone who doesn’t have any ulterior motives. “What do you like to do, Rose?”
“I don’t do much. But I like to cook! And churn butter. I also like collecting eggs and making milk.”
You hum. “How would you like to come back with me and work at the house?”
Her eyes open wide, irises practically glistening from the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows.
You’re normally not so impulsive, but you have a feeling she’s wasted here in the orphanage where she’ll have to work in a factory soon or get married by fifteen. Your mother always warned you to pick and choose the people around you carefully, and this girl seems trustworthy. Or at least, you can see capability.
Taehyung was even younger than she was when he entered the house for the first time. He must’ve been six or seven. His dad worked for the household and so did his dad’s dad — a whole lineage that made it inevitable that Taehyung would follow too.
Rose comes home with you three hours later.
You take it that this kind of affair customarily doesn’t happen so quickly judging by the head lady there being overwhelmed by the generous offer of taking the girl. But the process was most likely sped up considering your well-known status and Rose’s enthusiasm at the promise of a private room, food each day, and a high pay at the end of every month. She was more than happy and practically begging the woman she knew well to let her go. And the woman was happy too — even thanking you for giving her a home.
You’re not sure if it’s much of a home. But it’s yours.
“This is...enormous.” Rose gasps as her eyes lay upon the manor, lugging her small case of belongings by her side. “I-I mean, thank you, ma’am. I will work very hard!”
Your lips tickle into a small smile. “I’m glad.” The three of you enter and she gawks at the place. “Taehyung will show you where you’ll stay in the maid’s quarters and what will be expected of you. I’ll give you time to settle yourself, so don’t worry about anything for now.”
“Thank you, ma’am!”
“It’s right this way.” He guides and she tottles after him. You sigh softly with a smile as you watch the pair. He was amused when you told him that you wanted to take her home and he followed your instructions without much protest. Hopefully Taehyung will let her know that you’re not keen on being called ma’am or madam.
You’re about to retire to your room, but you’re stopped on your way by Jane.
She fiddles with her fingers nervously. “Miss, um, there’s, uh…”
“What is it?”
“There’s a guest in the parlor. He came about an hour or two ago and he insisted on staying until you came home.”
You hold in your sigh, wondering why it’s so hard to take a rest these days. “From now on, do not allow anyone inside the house when I am not here unless said otherwise.”
She flinches at your tone and dips her head. “Yes, my lady.”
You make your way to the room to find out who this uninvited guest is, and your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the backside of an unfamiliar man. He’s dressed in a sack coat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. He must hear your footsteps since he turns around and instantly gets up, jaw gone slack.
“You must be Y/N,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”
The man comes to you and takes the back of your hand, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You eye him the entire time. “And you are…?”
“Oh, I apologize, I hadn’t realized I didn’t introduce myself.” He takes off his top hat and presses it to his chest. “I am Mark Carter. I believe your uncle may have spoken about me previously.”
You vaguely remember something about meeting his friend’s son, but you can’t quite pinpoint the details. Your expression remains stoic and unimpressed. “Is that so?”
“It’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
You guessed this would have happened, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. Being the head of the Arden Household and unmarried at that, it’s only natural that others will come after you.
It would be wise of you to consider it as well — the only way you can collect the temporary inheritance is through your husband. But as silly and naive as it might be, you want to marry for love and not convenience. And it’s the one thing you won’t allow yourself to give up on.
“Like what?”
“Pardon?”
“What have you heard about me?”
Mark clears his throat. “Well, I have heard that you are as intelligent as your father and as beautiful as your mother, no less than a red rose blossoming in the morning dew of spring. And I must say, those rumours do not do you justice, Miss Y/N. You far exceed any poetry that could possibly be waxed.”
The corner of your mouth curls in amusement. Admittedly, it’s nice to hear such bold and blatant compliments once in a while, even if they are exaggerated and likely crafted by your uncle. “While I am wholly flattered, Mr. Carter, is this what you came here to tell me?”
The man’s posture straightens. “I came to ask permission to court you.”
You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re taken aback at the man’s shamelessness, not sure if he’s dimwitted or simply brave. “Meaning?”
“I would like to send you letters every so often if you grant me permission and perhaps if you’d be inclined to take strolls with me.”
You’re not sure how to answer or what to say, but you’re starting to feel your impassive expression crumble. You muse it’s impressive your uncle found someone as overbearing and insistent as he is. “Can I ask why you want to send me letters? We’ve never met before.”
“Actually, we have,” he says and blinks. “At your father’s charity function two years ago.”
You scour your mind, but you can’t recall. Every charity function you attended, you just remember sneaking out food for Taehyung and sitting together outside looking at the stars.
Mark reads your expression as he realizes that you can’t remember and his face falls. “It hurts me that you can’t remember the encounter but no matter.” He suddenly takes your hands and you lean back to create more distance. “If you let me, Miss Y/N, I promise you that you will not be disappointed.”
“Mr. Carter—”
“I have not been able to forget you since that night.” You wonder why he didn’t look for you sooner then if he felt so passionately about an encounter you can’t even remember. But before you can ask, he comes closer to you, forcing you to take a step back. “If you give me a chance, I will grant your every wish.”
He’s crowding you, intruding in your space, larger than you are.
Your mouth parts, trying to utter out a word, but it’s not necessary. A looming shadow comes over Mark, draping him away from the light.
It’s Taehyung with a menacing expression — his lips drawn together, eyes practically burning holes. He grabs the back of the man’s coat collar and yanks him away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Please do not lay a hand on her ladyship, good sir.”
“W-Who’re you?!” Mark looks between you and Taehyung as if expecting you’ll tell him to leave him be. But you don’t move whatsoever.
Your butler offers the man a stiff smile that has your own mouth curling upwards. “Uninvited guests are no longer permitted in the Arden estate. The maid that you let in was inexperienced. A mistake like that will never happen again. So unfortunately, you will have to leave now until you receive a proper invitation.”
“Wait!”
You stifle back a laugh when Taehyung physically picks him up, nearly throwing him over his shoulder.
The man struggles and his cries echo throughout the manor as he’s taken away, “Put me down! Stop! You idiot! You’ll hear from my father about this! How dare you!”
Taehyung throws him out of the estate and you’re finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.
When he comes back, he dusts off his hands with a more pleased expression. “What would you like for dinner, mistress?”
//
The next time someone visits, it’s not uninvited.
“Who are you?” Jane has stopped in the middle of her path, duster in hand and scrutinizing the doe-eyed male in the foyer. His brow lifts at the girl, but before he can come up with an answer, Taehyung appears from the corridor.
“Right this way, sir.”
The man in his coat nods and walks away, yet the maid is still curious. Her eyes follow the stranger’s form and she murmurs to Taehyung, “But who is he?”
“Her lady’s affairs don’t affect you,” he coldly deadpans. “It would be better to attend to your duties than ask questions.”
“M-My apologies, Butler Kim.” Jane dips her head and turns around, but she still steals a glance over her shoulder with a pout and a huff escaping through her nose.
Taehyung comes inside the study to find you and Detective Jeon going through what he’s found.
“I looked into Park Jimin like you asked me to.”
“What did you find?”
Detective Jeon flips open copies of documents. “He was born and raised right here in Lennox, never stepped foot outside of Trulia. His parents are immigrants from the East, still married and living together on the West side of the city in a tenement. His father worked in a landscaping company and his brother, three years older than he is, is a wagon craftsman.”
You go through the papers and sigh after a moment. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one you’re looking for. Well, you suppose you’ve ruled out at least one possibility.
“He’s as boring as they get,” the detective says. “But I did find something...peculiar.”
“What is it?”
“That man you wanted me to search for, the one who came to the funeral, I think I might have found where he is.” Detective Jeon hands you another worn folder from his briefcase and you eagerly untie the string to look at the pages inside.
“An intern at your father’s company actually spoke to him briefly and I found the inn he was staying at in Lennox. Spoke to the lady there and went to the train station. I have a connection with someone who manages the books and they found a train ticket. There’s more to it, but I won’t bore you.”
His name is Arthur Kahl. There are small details of him written, how he’s in his fifties, where he lives and a drawing of him sits amongst the documents. Your brows furrow. This is him — there’s no doubt about it.
“He’s an artisan. A woodworker,” Detective Jeon tells you. “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar, but he grew up here in Lennox.”
Your eyes flicker up to Taehyung and then the detective. “Thank you for this.”
He offers a smile. “It’s all in a day's work.”
Shortly after, Detective Jeon is escorted out by the butler. His eyes are perceptive but his senses are even more keen. He takes a glance at the taller man. “Your name is Kim Taehyung, right?”
Taehyung’s brow quirks. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
Detective Jeon boyishly smiles. “Is it alright if I ask a question? It might be intrusive.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“But see, I’m much too curious.” His steps slow while the two men come outside where it’s harder to eavesdrop. They stop on the front path of the manor leading towards the gates. “It might be the reason why I ended up in this line of work. Can’t give up on something once it’s in my head. I just have to know.”
There’s a pause. Then, he doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Do you perhaps fancy Miss Y/N?”
Detective Jeon’s doe eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
It’s a subtlety that can only be noticed through careful observation.
But he’s seen it — through the way you allow the butler to stay in every private conversation divulging the secret details of your family. How he always knows what you want without you needing to speak a single word. You’re in rhythm with one another and always taking glances when the other person isn’t looking.
Jungkook has seen many things. But never a master and servant so close to each other.
“That is an intrusive question.” Taehyung’s expression remains impassive. “My devotion goes beyond such kinds of frivolous and fickle emotions.”
His mouth quirks. “Why don’t you do anything about it then?”
“It’s not my place. I merely grant her wishes and fulfill my necessary duties.”
“So you’re holding yourself back on purpose?”
“That’s enough questions.” Butler Kim continues walking. “You’re a detective. If you’re that curious, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“You’re right.” Detective Jeon grins, led out the gates, yet he turns around one last time. “But if you’re willing to do anything for your mistress, would you kill for her?”
His expression hardens while Jungkook flashes another smile. It’s not the kind of question that is waiting for an answer, so the other merely walks off, down the path and away from the estate.
//
You’ve only ever left Trulia twice in your life.
Once on a family outing when you were five or six and another time for just a few days when you were accompanying your father on a business trip. You’ve never had the chance to see much outside of this country and it’s a wish that you never spoke to anyone before but Taehyung.
There was simply never a chance for you to go. And while you expected your next journey out of Trulia would be an adventure and perhaps seeing new sights, you suppose this is a good excuse as well.
“Can you please pack another dress? I don’t want to run out when I’m there.”
Rose enthusiastically nods and goes to your wardrobe to pick another gown. While Taehyung is the one who would ever pack your suitcases, you don’t want to rely on him too much. He was already preparing the rest of the things for the trip and Rose seemed more than happy to help.
“The blue one will be fine.”
She nods and folds it into the case as you look over the gloves. “How long will you be going for, miss?”
“A few days.” You look up at the twelve year old and the corner of your mouth tugs. “You’ll watch the house for me? I don’t want any roaches to crawl in while I’m away.”
Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll try my best, my lady.”
You smile, noticing Jane looking into the room. She realizes you’ve seen her and clears her throat. “Do you need any help, my lady?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
It’s nerve-racking to leave the estate and Trulia. You trust that a few days won’t bring things into chaos, especially considering that you’ve kept your affairs discreet. But underlying the unsettlement is a buzz of excitement — that just for a short while, you can escape.
You feel that way even a day later when you’re at the train platform. And whatever you were afraid of is washed away with Taehyung by your side.
“Stand right here. I’ll only be a moment,” he tells you, holding your tickets to Colmar and you nod.
Your hand grips the suitcase as you overlook the bustle of people. You’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, families and lovers parting ways, children rushing past, the conductor quickly pacing to the front of the platform. It’s dizzying to look at and overwhelming to be in.
You wonder if you look out of place in the mass of people. You chose to wear a white dress with a natural silhouette, a bustle pad underneath and a bonnet around your half pinned-up hair. It’s modest attire, but the threads are still expensive. The last thing you would want is to attract needless attention and that’s why you made Taehyung wear a normal white waistcoat and black frock coat with matching trousers than his usual stiff tailcoat. He looks rather nice in normal clothing anyhow.
As you think about Taehyung, you start to search the crowd.
The red and black painted train whistles, smoke coming from its chimney. It looks like it’s about to leave soon, but you’re not sure if you should go in or where you would even sit or put your luggage. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a train, you don’t know what to do.
The endless questions and uncertainty drains blood from your face and you start to panic.
Until Taehyung comes into sight.
“What took you so long.” You frown at him but he still has the audacity to smile.
“My apologies, I had to check if we were at the right platform. Let’s go.”
He takes your suitcase and offers his arm which you take.
Taehyung keeps you from being swallowed by the thick crowd and pushed back. His height looms over even most men and although his stature is lean, he remains steady. Once you’re at the doors, he puts down the cases and holds your hand to help you up the step and then he resumes by your side, cutting through the passenger cars.
The two of you pass the more luxurious sleeping cars and as you peek into the window of the car of commoners, wondering if that’s where you’re heading, he slides open the door of a compartment.
It’s a private booth with a large window and a ledge overtop for your suitcases.
“Here we are, my lady.”
Taehyung organizes your belongings as you sit down on the plush seat. A moment later, the train begins to move, wheels rolling against the rail and then it builds speed to chug along.
You watch houses flash past the window.
“What do you think?” he asks, sitting opposite of you.
“Is it supposed to be so nauseating?”
Your head is light and the world is dizzying from the fast motion of the train. Taehyung must see your weakened expression with the way his eyes widen in alarm. But you quickly lift your hand and try to reassure him, “It’s fine.”
It isn’t. And he knows it.
“We can get off the next station.”
“No!” You inhale a deep breath, calming yourself. “We have to go. We have to make it, Taehyung.”
You shut your eyes. There’s no way you can turn back now. “It’s probably because I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not when you’re up day and night taking care of what your parents left for you, even if it’s only temporarily. And not when you’re kept awake plagued by the secrets of the people who were supposed to be closest to you. “The herbs in my tea can only do so much.”
Suddenly, you feel the seat dip beside you and your eyes flutter open to see Taehyung. He reaches over and gently guides your head to lean on his shoulder. “Then sleep. Don’t think about anything else.”
The corner of your mouth curls. “You make it sound so easy.”
“I’ll watch over you.”
A noise is made at the back of your throat and you allow yourself to mold against Taehyung’s side, your head cradled against the slight slope of his broad shoulder. As you ease, your fingers slowly drag itself over until you graze the back of his hand. No words are needed. No explanations are necessary.
Taehyung flips his hand so that his palm faces upwards and his fingers entwine with yours.
Within a few minutes, your chest begins to rise and fall, soft breaths escaping your parted lips.
Taehyung’s eyes stray from the windows to watch you.
You’re cold and blunt, carrying yourself with an intimidating demeanour that either frightens others or causes them to despise you. But he can still see the traces of your childhood self, even if the recent weeks have forced you to harden. Taehyung knows that you’re still sentimental, that you’re affectionate, that you’re not as indifferent as you’d like to be.
He knows you’re still grieving for your parents.
The two of you grew up together after all.
Since young, he’s been told he’s talented for this line of work, but devotion was another matter. He was told that being a butler meant more than just serving — it meant protecting. And he swore his duty to your name that day you took the blame when he stole from the kitchen and you got slapped by your mother.
He can still remember your small frame standing in front of him. How your words didn’t waver.
Taehyung knew it then and he knows it now — there’s nothing more important than protecting you.
His mouth tugs and his eyes lift from your sleeping features, but something catches the edge of his vision. Taehyung looks up to the window of the compartment door and finds a man, blue eyes, blonde hair curled in front of his forehead. The stranger peers into the compartment and when he notices Taehyung’s gaze, he dips his bowler hat as if to shield himself.
Taehyung moves.
He cradles your head until you’re laying down fully on the seat and he quietly slides the door open.
“Excuse me.”
Taehyung moves past someone, eyes darted on the man who peeks over his shoulder and quickens his steps.
He had seen the man before — earlier on the platform and then again when he left you alone. Taehyung came back right in time. You hadn’t noticed the man behind you at all.
Taehyung quickens his steps, stalking after the man who looks over his shoulders once more. His strides hasten. He practically breaks out into a run. Taehyung chases after him as the train curves into a tunnel. The windows are blackened, darkness sweeping throughout the cart.
He hears staggering breaths pulling roughly out of lungs and at the same time, the train rushes out the tunnel. Light breaks through the windows again and the steel door at the end of the cart begins to close. Taehyung sees through the tiny gap where panicked eyes meet his own gaze.
Taehyung runs.
He throws open the door and the cold wind rips through his hair with the intensity of a storm. The wheels shriek against the rail. There’s only a tiny step before one would have to make the jump to the other cart’s door. In between are violently rattling metal links that connect the two carts.
“Hah!”
There’s a squeak of shoes behind him. Taehyung ducks. The door slams closed.
The man’s arm is extended midair, having missed Taehyung’s cheek and within a blink, Taehyung grabs his arm and twists it. The man shouts in agony, teeth gritted. “Why you!”
His fist swings and it manages to catch Taehyung’s jaw. He’s knocked back, tasting a surge of coppery blood.
Taehyung wheezes, but his lips curl into a smile. He launches himself forward as the man squares himself. An arm swings. Fist curled. Taehyung dodges.
Taehyung takes the opportunity, no longer on the defense, and he swiftly strikes.
The man stumbles back, air ripped out of his lungs, eye sure to bruise.
Taehyung steps forward, but the man grabs something within his coat.
“Step back!”
Taehyung’s met with the muzzle of a revolver and puts his hands up, calming his breath.
The man snorts with a sly smirk. “Yeah that’s right. You’re just a dog.”
But then Taehyung's left hand clutches the man’s wrist and he contorts it at an angle, knee coming up to slam into the man’s stomach. Instantly, the man keens and wheezes.
He cries out as the revolver crashes onto the links connecting the carts and falls beneath to the rails.
Taehyung grabs the man’s collar and holds him backwards, nearly off the train. The man’s eyes become rounded in fear. There’s a storm of verdant in the background, fields and trees darting past.
“Who are you?!”
“Let go of me! I...I swear, I didn’t want to do this!”
“What do you want with her?” Taehyung demands, shaking the man whose head nearly touches the steel rails. The man’s fist curls on Taehyung’s so he doesn’t fall. “Answer the question!”
The shout is torn from Taehyung’s throat, his face crumpled into unadulterated anger, jaw clenched.
“I-It was her uncle!” the man quickly spits out in fear of his life. “Seokjin! He hired me! He wanted me to kill her!”
“So you were planning on putting a bullet through her head?!”
“I-I just needed the money! I’m sorry! Please, please,” the man pleads. “You don’t have to do this. W-What has that girl ever done for you? You’re just her guard dog!”
Taehyung has a deadpan expression, eyes dim. He begins to release his hold on the man who audibly sighs of relief. “That’s right.”
But it’s too soon.
“Don’t you know dogs are one of the most loyal animals?” Taehyung grabs the man again as he stands and throws him off the train into the soft meadow. “Woof.”
The man’s scream echoes. Taehyung dusts off his hand.
He comes back to the compartment to where you’re still sleeping and resumes his spot with your head in his lap, finding a warm blanket to drape over you.
Six hours later, you wake up, rubbing your eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair in front of your face behind your ear. But your sleepy daze shatters when you see his split lip.
Almost immediately, you’re leaning over to Taehyung, grazing the wound with your thumb.
He sharply inhales.
“What happened?” you demand, worry written all over your face.
It hurts to smile, but can’t resist it. He should never admit it — he likes it when your attention is solely on him. “I tripped.”
You look at him incredulously. “Taehyung.”
“I did.” He doesn’t give up the excuse no matter how much you prod and pry.
The train arrives in the town of Colmar shortly after.
It’s a quiet place with a certain dryness to the air in spite of the river running through the town and underneath the bridges. The homes are tightly knitted next to one another. It’s a cozy kind of atmosphere. For a moment, you can imagine your mother having spent her life in this place and you’re not certain how to feel.
You decide to stay in an inn near the square, dropping off your suitcases in your given room.
“We should find him, shouldn’t we?”
You turn from the window to Taehyung with an unreadable expression.
“We don’t have to,” he says and it’s all too tempting. You want to forget that you’re here looking for your mother’s old lover, that you’re searching for your sibling. You wish you can pretend that this is merely a trip to enjoy with Taehyung in a place far away from Lennox.
But even if you were to dream such a thing, the truth would not stop plaguing your mind.
You muster the strength to shake your head. “We can enjoy ourselves after. There’s no point in putting it off.”
“He’s an artisan. A woodworker.”
The detective’s words ring inside your head.
“Lives in France, in a town called Colmar.”
It should be difficult to find the man — that way you have a legitimate excuse to put this off. You wouldn’t have to confront your parents’ secrets. Or meet a brother or sister you never wanted.
“But he grew up here in Lennox.”
Yet this town is small and there is only one known woodworker. If such a thing as fate or destiny exists, then it never stops being cruel to you.
The bell rings as the door of the shop opens.
“Hello there! How can I help you?”
There’s an older man behind the counter busy at his shelf, brunette hair and features tender, wrinkles creased around his eyes to mark each smile he’s collected over the years.
You come towards him with Taehyung by your side. “You were at my mother’s funeral.”
At your murmur, the man turns around wide-eyed. Arthur Kahl, the man your mother loved, who she wanted to marry and be happy with. The father of your sibling.
“You’re Hana’s daughter….” His mouth draws open. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. I think you may have answers to my questions.”
“I-...I don’t know if I do, but please, sit.” He hobbles to the front of his shop, turning the sign over to not receive any more customers and the both of you sit on wobbly chairs. He knows you came this far, that you searched for him. There’s no other way you could have found him. “I’m sorry I never spoke to you at the funeral. I thought since we didn’t know each other, there was no point in bringing back old memories.”
“Is it true then?” You look at him carefully. “About my mother and you running away together…”
“That was a very long time ago.”
“Then why did you come to see my mother?”
“It was a long time ago, but I still wanted to pay my respects. Your mother...was a wonderful woman and treated me kindly. I’m glad she ended up having a good life and a happy family.”
The corner of your mouth twitches.
He continues, “While I never personally met your father, he seems like a very respectable man and a good husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
The words sit uncomfortably in you. Your parents always seemed to treat each other with mutual respect and trust. It was never a passionate affair like pairs you’ve met, but rather a quiet relationship of sitting alongside one another. You never would have guessed your mother had someone else.
But you don’t want to know anymore about your mother’s history.
“I received my parent’s will a day after their burial.” You inhale a breath, bracing yourself. “And it promised my sibling the estate and the company. I don’t want to harm them. I want to fulfill my parents’ last wishes. So please, allow me to meet my sibling.”
Your eyes meet his earnestly. The man stares back at you, his brows knitting together.
“My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. I don't know who your sibling is.”
The clock on his shelf ticks loudly.
“Your mother and I never consummated our relationship.”
//
The night sets in, matches hissing into a flame and thrown into the wood in the fireplace until it awakens and paints the room in a warm orange hue. The quietness is deafening outside of the crackle and pop of the fire.
You haven’t eaten. You don’t want to. You don’t think you could stomach it.
“My apologies.”
You’re seated at the rounded table in the chair, motionless. You should’ve never come. You should have just stayed in the estate instead of trying to dig around in the secrets of your family, into the reasons why nothing was left for you, why they didn’t love you even after death.
“But I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding.”
You came here for nothing.
“I don't know who your sibling is.”
Your efforts were worthless.
“Your mother and I never consummated the relationship.”
There’s an ear-splitting crash that rings the four walls.
Taehyung opens the door, eyes darting to you. You’re hyperventilating, clutching the handle of your suitcase, all your belongings fallen on the ground beside the wall. You toss the case aside with a frustrated cry.
He calmly shuts the door before anyone in the inn can pry and closes the distance in two strides.
“It’s okay.” He opens his arms and he engulfs your quivering frame.
You grasp onto him, your hands twisting into his white shirt. “I-I don’t know what to do, Taehyung. I...I really thought I had it. I was preparing myself—”
You were preparing yourself to meet your sibling. To confront it all. For once, you were ready.
The frustration cripples you blind and angers you.
How much longer will you be left in the dark? How much longer do you have to look like the fool, a child fumbling in her parent’s history searching for the truth? Why did they do this to you?
Why?
“You can cry,” Taehyung murmurs.
And tears finally slip from your eyes to stain his shoulder.
If it wasn’t for him, if he wasn’t here, you might have lost your mind by now.
#bts fanfic#taehyung fanfic#taehyung au#bts au#taehyung writing#taehyung series#taehyung scenario#bts scenario#taehyung fluff#taehyung x reader#taehyung x oc#ooOoooOOoH LET'S GO
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Life in Pink
Rated T (mild suggestive content)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss
Word Count: 2.5k
AO3
Hi friends! Guess what? This past weekend marked one year since I posted my first story! How crazy is that?!
I’m so utterly grateful to this community for being such a bright spot in a difficult year. To everyone who’s taken the time to read something I’ve written, thank you for being so kind and supportive. It means more to me than I can express in words. To the brilliant, lovely, talented people I now get to call my friends, I love you all so very much.
To commemorate the occasion, I wrote a little something. This is set in the world of The Wonder of You, which was the first story I’ve ever written – but you don't need to have read that to understand this :)
I hope you like it <3
--
“I mean it, JJ. Whatever happens, do not call us.”
“Yes, Emily. For the hundredth time, I promise not to call you.”
Aaron slipped his free hand into his wife’s and squeezed. “Sweetheart, it’ll be fine. Strauss knows we’re away, and our backlog is miraculously clear. We’ll be okay.”
He returned to packing up his things on his desk while Emily huffed and quietly muttered something unflattering about their superior under her breath. JJ chuckled and embraced her friend. “Go. Have a fabulous time and make us all incredibly jealous. We’ll see you in a week.”
After another round of goodbyes and poorly-veiled suggestive comments from Morgan and Dave, Aaron and Emily were in their car and on their way to Dulles, suitcases already packed and in the trunk.
It had been her idea. A holiday in Greece to commemorate their first wedding anniversary. There hadn’t been time to plan a honeymoon, their wedding in Dave’s backyard coming together with relative expediency. They had spent the weekend after the ceremony in a hotel, indulging in champagne and room service for 48 hours before returning to work the following Monday.
Neither of them thought much of it after that, swept up in both work and newlywed life. They moved into a new home, a classic Colonial in Arlington with extra bedrooms and a white wrap-around porch, and adopted a dog at Jack’s insistence.
And before either of them had realized it, it had been a year. Aaron had remembered the upcoming date over Saturday breakfast as he cut bacon into little pieces for Jack, which were then promptly fed to Boo who waited patiently under the table next to Jack’s chair. Emily and Aaron shared a look of bemused surprise as they came to the realization that neither of them had planned anything to celebrate the occasion.
“We could take a trip,” Emily suggested casually. “We haven’t been away before, just the two of us.”
He’d been doubtful at first, unsure if they could really manage to get the time away with such short notice. But it was clear how enthused Emily was by the prospect, though she hid it well under masked nonchalance. Though she always insisted she was more than happy to spend her time at home, appreciative of the roots they had cultivated after all the travel and displacement of her past, Aaron knew there was still a part of her that missed that heady thrill of exploring an unfamiliar place for the first time. And truthfully, he could think of little else that he would enjoy more than having his wife all to himself for a few days.
So they settled on Greece, a place new to them both, and, with some luck, managed to clear a full week on both of their calendars.
They had nearly reached the parking lot at Dulles — having already checked in with Jessica, Jack and Boo over the phone — when Emily’s phone pinged with a text message from JJ, “I’m so sorry.”
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.
Before Aaron could question her, his phone rang, Chief Strauss’s number on the front screen. Panic flashed across both their faces before he reluctantly answered. Emily could hear brief snippets of the conversation as the pit in her stomach steadily widened.
“...apologize...New York...fourth suicide bomber in three weeks...escalating...need everyone…”
Once he hung up the phone, Aaron took the next exit off the highway, pulling up to the curb once it was safe to do so. They both sat in silence for an extended minute, disappointment heavy in the air. Finally, Emily attempted to break the tension, “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get the refundable tickets?”
Aaron let out a weak, sad chuckle and leaned over the center console to kiss her, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” before starting the car up again to head to the airstrip.
When they walked onto the plane, the team was uncharacteristically silent, looking on at their boss and colleague with poorly concealed apology, as though they were personally at fault for this unfortunate turn of events.
It took five days for the case to come to an end, the team finding the next bomber with minutes to spare, leading them to the ringleader of the group orchestrating the attacks. The date of their anniversary came and went, with nothing to mark the day except a quickie in the shower before they left their shared room. Objectively, both Aaron and Emily knew they had made the right decision, compulsory or not. Lives were saved, and the team functioned at their best when they were a complete set.
Still, while Aaron wrapped things up at the precinct after sending Emily back to the hotel, he couldn’t help but feel sorry that the first year of his marriage had passed in such a benign manner. As he drove back to the hotel, watching people shuffle and hustle about their weekend, an inkling of a plan formed and he picked up the phone to call JJ.
He found Emily in their room, her back turned to him as she hunched over the bed in the final stages of packing. He leaned against the wall, taking a moment to admire her before asking, "What are you doing, sweetheart?"
She jumped a little, the close of the door too quiet for her to hear him walk in, then raised a brow at him. "Packing? Don't we have to be at the airport in an hour?"
"Change of plans." Aaron sauntered up to his wife, pulling her in by the waist so he could kiss her. "We're leaving tomorrow."
“Since when?”
"Since I decided that you and I deserve a night to ourselves." He chuckled softly at her confused expression, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry we couldn't get our time away. I thought we could spend the night out here instead. Celebrate the best year of my life with my beautiful wife."
She softened in his arms, molding herself to him as she pushed up on her toes and threaded her hands in his hair, kissing him breathless. “What about everyone else?” she asked, mouthing along his jaw, nosing the length of his neck.
The blood promptly rushed south from his head, a familiar occurrence anytime Emily’s hands ran over him as they were doing now. He swallowed, breathing in deeply to ensure he retained some semblance of control. "I told them to leave tonight; we could fly on our own tomorrow. But they offered to stay the night.”
She laughed against his throat, hot and ticklish on his skin, feeling almost giddy by this unforeseen development, “Okay then.” The hands on her hips tightened as she began kissing down to his chest, and she grinned up at him, lightly palming the front of his black slacks. “Are you sure you want to go out? We could just lock ourselves in here for the night.”
He narrowed his eyes, playfully pinching her cheek, “Cheeky, Mrs. Hotchner. But I have a plan and, tempting as you are, you will not sway me from it.” Knowing her go-bag always contained a nicer dress in case their work called for it, he added, “Now, get dressed,” swatting her ass lightly for good measure.
“Aaron, it’s Saturday night in New York City. You realize we’re not getting in anywhere halfway decent,” Emily pointed out while she unbuttoned her blouse.
“Ye of little faith, my dear wife. I told you, I have a plan.” Aaron also rid himself of his jacket and tie, replacing his shirt with a fresh white button-down and rolling up the sleeves. He went to clean himself up in the bathroom, and when he returned, he found his magnificent wife attempting to zip up a one-shoulder red dress. The same dress he’d slid off her shoulders in his bedroom after dinner on their first date. “Is that…”
"Would you believe I didn't plan this?" she grinned, turning her back to him. "Help me?"
Instead of doing as she asked, Aaron nudged the zipper, skating a knuckle up the length of her bare back and planting a kiss at the top of her spine.
“Aaron..." she breathed, tilting her head back against his, "if you don't cut that out, we're not leaving this room." He groaned into her neck, reluctantly admitting she was right, finally zipping her up and smoothing her hair back over her shoulder.
When they emerged outside their hotel ten minutes later onto the bustling streets of Midtown Manhattan, they walked the few blocks to Grand Central Station, just barely catching the subway headed downtown. Despite her initial doubts, Emily’s smile hadn’t left her, cheeks flushed with excitement.
Aaron led her by hand out of the subway when they reached their destination, climbing the stairs onto the southwest corner of Washington Square Park. The air was hot and muggy, New York in August, even as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. Music filtered through from the park, mixing with the din of the crowds enjoying the first stage of their evening.
“Do I get to know what we’re doing now?”
“Not yet. Come on, this way.”
They crossed the street, turned the corner, and Aaron finally stopped outside a red awning.
“Pizza?” Emily looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise as she took in the pizzeria.
“Or hot dogs, or Indian, or Greek, Italian, Vietnamese...We can go anywhere you want in the world in the next 10 blocks.”
She beamed up at him, catching onto his plan, and her grin was infectious. “Can we do them all?”
He laughed, “Lead the way.”
They started with pizza at Joe’s — a pepperoni slice for him and a Sicilian slice for her. Then a stuffed pita filled to the brim with fresh falafel, tomatoes, and hummus. A chicken tikka kati roll. And finally a shared plate of chicken and rice drizzled in white sauce from the halal food cart next to the park.
Their hands never strayed far from the other, the blissful anonymity of the city prompting more affectionate displays from both of them. Aaron stood behind her, hands on her hips or around her waist, as they waited in line. Emily ran her fingers through his hair as they sat on barstools, so smushed together from the crowd that she was practically sitting in his lap. They stood on the sidewalk waiting for their food to be prepared, their arms wrapped around each other and their lips moving together in languid kisses as if they had all the time in the world. To any stranger who could be bothered to look their way, they looked like any other couple smitten and blissfully in love, hiding every scar, hurdle, and hardship they had overcome to reach this point. Two figures floating amongst a sea of millions.
“I’m so full,” Emily moaned, clutching her stomach dramatically as they wandered hand-in-hand down Houston St. “I think you’ve killed me.”
“Not yet, sweetheart. We haven’t gotten to dessert.”
Two spoons and one cup of salted chocolate ice cream later, they made it back to the park, still lively as if the night had only just started. The marble archway was lit up, the Empire State Building in the distance peeking through the gap. People sat around the edge of the fountain, dipping their feet into the cool water.
Aaron and Emily walked through the students and artists and skateboarders and tourists, dipping intermittently into their shared dessert absorbing the infectious energy. They reached the other end of the park, stopping for a moment to watch a street performer, and turned down a new street, neither of them wanting the evening to come to an end.
The unmistakable sound of a piano floated out of a bar as two patrons exited, catching Emily by surprise as they walked past. She jerked to a stop, captivated, then tugged Aaron's hand to the door. He followed her lead, descending down a narrow flight of stairs that led into a darkened lounge. Tufted couches and armchairs in jewel-toned velvets lined the walls, dimly lit by rounded art deco sconces. Two bartenders seamlessly crafted elegant cocktails behind a lavish bar that took up the back wall. And in the center, a jazz quartet illuminated by a spotlight as couples swayed around them on a dance floor. Even in the dark, Aaron could see the way Emily's eyes lit up, entranced by this unexpected discovery, and he discreetly asked a waitress if they could be seated.
They nestled into the corner of an empty couch, Aaron's hand resting on Emily's knee as they both sipped their respective cocktails. Truthfully, he spent very little time watching the band, his eyes trained on his wife. He took in every secret smile, every small part of her lips when the melody soared to a peak. She was breathtaking, and she was his, and not for the first time in his life did he wonder how he had ever gotten quite so lucky.
The song shifted into something he recognized, a string of notes from the saxophone eliciting an audible gasp from Emily. He grasped her hand and tugged her up from the chair, smiling at the delight on her face. He pulled her in close, one hand low on her back, his cheek resting against hers, as they began to gently shift amongst the other couples.
After a minute, Emily’s voice came in whispers in his ear, her tongue curling beautifully over the French he couldn’t understand.
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Qu'il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose
Il me dit des mots d'amour
Des mots de tous les jours
Et ça m'fait quelque chose
Il est entré dans mon cœur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause
C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie
Il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie
She pulled back in his arms, her gaze locking on his. A droplet tipped over her lash and onto her cheek. Her love for the man who held her — her husband, hers — bubbled and popped and diffused in her chest, filling her until she felt like she was floating. Aaron brought his hand up from her waist to her cheek, his thumb wiping away the errant drop on her skin with enough tenderness and adoration to warrant a fresh bout of tears.
Emily shakily rose to press her lips to his, tightening her hold of him, just as the song trailed to its conclusion. Applause erupted, but at that moment, the world around them didn’t exist.
“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”
“And I love you.”
--
Song: La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf
Translation (thank you Google):
When he holds me in his arms
He speaks to me softly
I see life through rose-colored glasses
He speaks words of love to me
Everyday words
And that does something to me
He has entered into my heart
A piece of happiness
The cause of which I know
It’s only him for me, and me for him, for life
He said that to me, swore it forever
#im missing new york something terrible#also Aaron is a massive simp for his wife#and ps if anyone ever feels like taking me out this is what i would like please and thank you#hotchniss#hotchniss fanfic#aaron hotchner#emily prentiss#hotchner x prentiss
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