#Enya's cold gaze
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The Impossible Choice Series
✨ Music Themes Moodboard ✨
If you want to feel musically how these series and characters feel, then I invite you to listen to the songs, that I associate with them - it's not even about the lyrics, but just the vibe!
Series Main Theme
Hurts - The Road
youtube
Aemond Theme
IAMX - I Come With Knives
youtube
Prince Aemond terrified everyone and most of the court kept their distance from him. He didn't talk or discuss with anyone, he only practised and fought with Criston Cole and made no friends. He seemed a cold, stone-faced, haughty man without a heart and without his ground, which is why, along with being called a one-eyed prince, he was called the prince of nothing.
Lady Baratheon Theme
A-ha - Minor Earth, Major Sky
youtube
From childhood, Lady Baratheon was regarded as an extension of her father and brother, and although she herself was not taken seriously, her father and brother's attachment to her was genuine. They saw in her an ease with the sword, an understanding of battles and the affairs of men, that her sisters shunned. This led to a situation that, although happy, Lady Baratheon was not well prepared for what awaited her at the royal court, a loneliness and cool politeness that had nothing to do with sincerity.
Aemond and Lady Baratheon Theme
U2 - Electrical Storm
youtube
There was a perception at court at the start of the prince's marriage to Lady Baratheon that he had subjugated her, treating her objectively like just another servant. As Lady Baratheon made it clear, that she had no intention of befriending the ladies of the court, and as the affections her husband had for her grew, the women began to refer to her derisively as 'the princess'. To the ladies of the court their love seemed animalistic and brutal, the prince being able to grab her suddenly by the cheeks or neck in front of everyone gathered. Their servants strolling past the prince's chamber at night, reported to their ladies the sounds as if of pain and pleasure that came from there, certainly belonging to the married couple.
Aegon Theme
Depeche Mode - Never Let Me Down Again
youtube
Aegon knew that his younger brother had everything he needed to be a good king - patience, self-control, determination, a thirst for knowledge, perseverance in training and combat. Despite his jealousy, he never refused to use his skills, seeing him as the only valuable adviser, not believing and not trusting his grandfather and father.
Helaena Theme
Enya - Aníron
youtube
Helaena has always shown incredible sensitivity and closeness to the animal world, which is why she easily tamed her dragon, astounding her brothers. She was haunted by dreams and visions, words the meaning of which she did not understand, which then found reflection in the future.
Daemon Theme
U2 - Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill me
youtube
Daemon was a child, and then a young man, wild, uncouth, unstoppable. His bond with the dragon was incredible, they were connected by fiery characters. He was famous for his explosiveness and mood swings, thrown into madness, overwhelmed by an excess of emotions, pushed aside as a second brother, a non-heir to the throne.
Alys Theme
Garbage - The World Is Not Enough
youtube
After her half-brother Larys Strong took over, she knew, that she had to act quickly. She saw blood in her dream, she saw a rose bush without flowers, full of thorns. She knew what it meant, she knew, that evil would come with him. She avoided him as much as she could, hiding in the shadows, wrapping his guards and fellows around her finger. She saw the way they looked at her, knew what to do, how to make them want her. She didn't impose on them, merely showing them what they could have, her gaze was enough to make sure, that they couldn't forget her.
I'll probably add some more songs in the future, so stay tuned! I have a lot of memories with all of this songs but Electrical Storm is one of my favorites love songs and it's fit it here perfectly, if you didn't ever hear it before, do it now!!!! Remember that all fanarts and music videos are welcome, I love your involvement in this story!!!!
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@ironleonine continued from here.
Scarlet eyes rested at her throat, a smile creeping inch by inch across his pale visage that existed somewhat hidden from shadows, a thick beam of moonlight the only thing that illuminated his face in the dark room.
❝ Funny. . .I see no kitten. ❞ He'd lean closer, his face moving enough that he could capture her gaze from her peripherals. ❝ We both know you aren't a simple creature that simply exists in monotony. ❞ A faint chuckle hums in his chest as his hands lift to rest on her shoulders, his lips leaning closer to her ear. ❝ You are far more. . .❞ An inhale that is released slowly. ❝ Greedy. Aren't you? ❞ A firmness comes with his words as he takes a step, circling so that his hand may find her center, his hand reaching for her cheek.
❝ It's why you're here. At least in some capacity, we both know it. ❞ If she hadn't moved away he'd hold her cheek, his thumb brushing her lip as he pulls himself closer. ❝ But you are a complex creature, in it for more than money. It's what I respect about you, why I chose you. ❞
For now, the blonde stops, his eyes drinking in her visage as another cold breath leaves his lungs. ❝ You do know it was I who chose you, right? Not Enya. ❞ His free hand rests at the base of her neck. The touch is heavy but gentle, his face leaning closer as one more step is taken, ❝ I knew you were special. ❞
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"she is our Mother."
the gentle voice rings out across the ruins expanses. Enya doesn't turn to look at the new arrival — she could recognise the voice of the village healer, Ettie, anywhere —, pink gaze focused on the wall Infront of her. it had to be magic stone, Enya had decided, for something so detailed and large to survive where the rest had crumbled around it.
patterns carved into the wall show the story of Mother Temra, dragon of fire and embracer of the sun. large, brass wings spread from end-to-end, the scales illuminated by the sun behind them. they match enya's own.
"are mothers supposed to be so distant?" the girl finally asks, getting a pinch to the cheek for her troubles. Enya scowls, lanky body slumping as she watches Ettie step to the wall, wrinkled and power-kissed fingers tracing along the end of Temra's tail.
"a mother must make sacrifices for her children, so that we may continue her legacy, to see her dreams to fruition."
"everyone has dreams of their own."
"not you, dear." ettie's voice is so gentle that it feels cold. enya feels the cold settle in her bones, shrinking further inward, gaze focused on the left wall, a crumbled, ruined thing, cut off before the eyes of Duras can be seen. "you are her chosen."
I am not. these burns are not a sign. I am just a child.
"I know." she says instead.
"and you will see our kind soar to greater heights." a command rather than encouragement. there's a tickle of fabric, ettie's billowing sleeve tickling enya's arm as she walks past and out of the ruins.
the anger settles in.
"want me to fly? fine." hot gaze turns to the main wall, to the painted shadow of her ancestors. "but I fly for myself. not you. I will fly beyond you."
#( drabble )#( hc )#the resentment began in her teens and has grown since#this isn't very good but DGHJFDJH had to get it out my system
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Unwanted
This is the sequel to Weakness, the first Dio oneshot I posted here. Lord knows how long I had this thing in my files. I think it was 9 or 10 days? I had writer’s block and college had me in a chokehold, so I lost track of time. I was actually thinking about how I should end this for days now, and here we are. I rushed the ending, to be honest, so I still hope you guys enjoy it somehow.
warning: mentions of blood, minor swearing, huge spoilers for Part 3, another very long oneshot, and a lot of references to the oneshot preceding this
Note: I deliberately used Dio as his human side and DIO as the current one with the insane god complex.
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Dio Brando—no, DIO stood at the peak of humanity; transcending its mortal existence entirely. The moment he received his Stand from an old crone, the idea of anyone opposing the charismatic and powerful vampire was inconceivable. Foolish, even, in the eyes of his most loyal followers. The man couldn't care less for the corpses and blood that trailed after his every step nor for those who swore undying fealty with lips pressed to his shoes in a kiss of fear and reverence. Every word that rolled off his tongue is law and grace combined, akin to religious faith with its own avid believers and devotees. A mere touch is denied and unattainable, something that no one could even work hard for, unless it was to satiate his more carnal desires. If anything, men and women either feared or admired him. On more than one occasion, it was both. A god among men, they say.
So, why is one measly photograph enough to chill the blood in his veins and falter the confidence in his stride?
Enya watched her master with obvious curiosity. Her fingers gripped her cane tighter the longer DIO stared at the developed image. The old woman assumed that her lord, almighty and fearsome, stewed in cold rage. Never had she seen him cower from terror nor lose his composure. It was unimaginable. Enya discarded the notion and did not bother to ask questions. No one dares question him, after all.
His fingers curled, knuckles discreetly trembling from the force, and nearly crumpled the poor thing in his hand. To the untrained eye, his focus remained on the two prominent figures of Jotaro Kujo, a teenager donning a high school uniform with the addition of his unusual cap and a large chain hanging on the collar, and the latter's grandfather Joseph Joestar whose clothes resembled that of some human adventurer—Indiana Jones, was it? DIO didn't care to know and never will. He gave little thought to those men. Not even the two Stand users that left his ranks and became traitors once the Joestars took the implanted fleshbuds off their foreheads.
What caught his attention was the face of a woman who seemed to be in her early twenties. She stood next to Jotaro with her arms crossed and her gaze focused on the horizon. The grim smile and the hardened resolve in her eyes made her look more alive in the photo than what DIO wanted. The tension in her expression contradicted the ease in her posture, marked by her lax shoulders and dainty fingers paused midway from drumming against her arm. She brought unwanted memories of blood and weakness, ones he thought he buried long ago after a century of isolation.
It was you. The same eyes, nose, lips, skin, hair—even the damn way you held yourself. The glaring similarities between the woman in his memories and the woman engraved in the film rattled him to the core. DIO never believed in the supernatural before he became one himself. Although, he thought that reincarnation was an idiotic concept born from those who cannot accept that death and the afterlife were the end of all things. Yet, there you are; a painful reminder of his former humanity. The turmoil that wrapped itself around his mind added to the phantom throb of his heart from when he was still human.
His glare intensified, easing his grip on the spirit photograph. DIO doesn't want to alarm Enya nor any of his underlings. He loathed appearing weak and undignified; giving them an opportunity to ambush him should he let his guard down.
The photo fluttered next to a broken camera, smashed to pieces with a chop of his hand, on the table with a huff from the imposing man. Moonlight spilled through the windows and bathed him in its luminescence; his shadow swallowed by the darkened areas of the room where the light would never reach. The fury burned bright in his eyes, yet Enya noticed something else—an emotion indecipherable and foreign. She never had the chance to mull about it, because DIO turned on his heel and walked towards the stairs with an unnatural grace and elegance in his gait.
“It seems that fate is upon us,” he told no one in particular; his smooth, honeyed voice carried across the expanse of the lobby. "I shall retire to my room for the night. Do not disturb me."
DIO didn't need to say any more. The underlying threat in his words told Enya everything. If anything, this decision served to confuse the witch doctor more. Her master always ridiculed the Joestars, either with a scoff or a mocking laugh, in their quest every time he checked their progress to send in the next Stand user. Tonight, he barely uttered an insult nor a snide comment. She wordlessly watched him disappear around the bend, then sighed.
"Oh, Lord Dio… What troubles you so?"
The heavy thud of a closed door echoed in DIO's ears; magnified by the lifeless expanse of his room. His feet absent-mindedly led himself to sit on one of the armchairs across a small table where a golden goblet accompanied a bottle of wine. With a practiced motion, his fingers curled around the stem of the goblet as he poured himself a drink with his other hand. His vacant gaze remained on the red liquor flowing into his cup; lost in memories and possibilities that tortured him for a century.
DIO never did forgive himself for allowing you to die.
He had his chance. He could have turned you into a vampire like himself when he held you in that castle. He could have given you an opportunity to live life with him; his abiding presence a gift to compensate for the time he left you after he gained immortality. He could have given you unimaginable freedom—to see civilization evolve and change before your eyes, to live in a time where you two would be the only constants in the world. DIO could have taken you with him during that lonesome century to be beside him when the coffin was opened. He could see the silent admiration in your gaze if you were to travel the world with him as he searched for a way to attain Heaven. Knowing that you had never traveled outside of London, DIO would have gladly taken you to anywhere you wanted and wished. You could have been the one sitting across from him at this very moment. He could imagine a thick tome in your hands and the curious gleam in your eyes as you carefully flipped pages, as if they would break under the slightest pressure of your touch. You had never held a book before since girls were rarely educated then, and DIO was certain you would have loved to read.
If it wasn't for the fact that he respected your dying wish, DIO could have lived the rest of his life with you.
The bottom of the bottle harshly slammed against the wooden surface. Hairline cracks crept across the glass bottle due to his vice grip, knuckles turning pale from the force. His jaw clenched, teeth gnashed and bared, as he brought the rim of the goblet to his lips. Your disappointed frown flashed across his mind; the faint memory of your hands gently taking away the bottle from his grasp consumed his senses. DIO could feel your fingers brush against his wrist as you pulled him to the spare room in your house; the one which once belonged to your parents. The slur in his voice was painfully obvious, yet you never pried for the reasons that caused him to drink so much. That soft smile still graced your features, even when you faced his alcohol-induced outbursts of rage and annoyance. It burned itself into his mind even after all these years. DIO brought the untouched wine back to the table as fingers buried themselves in his hair.
He couldn't even bring himself to drink away his thoughts of you.
"Useless," he muttered, tipping his head back against the cushion. He closed his eyes with a grunt. A thunderous roar shook the floors of the castle as he slaughtered zombies who dared laid their greedy hands on your corpse. Blood—your blood—smeared his skin, stains that still haunted him for eternity, and it was everywhere. His hands desperately reached for you, your dead body clutched by that damnable blond who accompanied Jonathan, as he fell from the balcony—
"I, DIO, being pathetic and weak?" He spat, feeling pinpricks of pain blossoming in his clenched fists. "Forget your humanity. Forget Dio Brando. Forget her."
DIO found himself spending the remnants of the night wallowing in memories of you, until the light of dawn peeked through his curtains.
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Your smile greeted him the following night.
In the solace of his room, DIO traced a sharp nail against the photo that held your beaming expression: eyes alight with laughter and lips pulled into that godforsaken smile. Your fingers brushed your mouth, paused in the middle of hiding the aforementioned smile behind your hand. You shared the same name as her. Two cameras lie broken on the table along with a photo—disregarded and forgotten—of the Joestar group riding camels through the Saudi Arabian desert. He didn’t care for the others laughing beside you.
What mattered was the bitter throb of his heart that shouldn’t even be possible for someone who claimed to have triumphed over his humanity.
"Dio!" He could hear your scandalized gasp ring clear in the country air. A hand covered the smile on your lips as you laughed out loud, brushing off the strands of hair that stuck to your face. Water soaked the cuffs of your sleeves and your collar, but you didn’t mind. “I can’t believe you did that!”
Neither did Dio, but there he was: water from the nearby stream trickling down his fingers and a smug smirk stretching from one ear to another. He huffed, shaking the water off his hands, “You forget that I’m not some stuck-up aristocrat who can’t have fun.”
“True,” you hummed, wiping your hands on your skirt. “Then again, it has been a while since we spent time together like this.”
You lifted your apron to wipe off the water on your face when a handkerchief softly rubbed against your cheek. Dio, who was surprised at his own gentle ministrations, continued to dab the water off as if it was routine; his thumb ghosting your heated skin through the thin cloth. The scarlet flush blooming across your cheeks and tinting your ears made his smirk widen, if that was possible. You sputtered your gratitude, yet adamantly tried to evade the touch of his handkerchief as you held your apron in an iron grip. Dio could only laugh at your expense, his heart thundering and his own cheeks the slightest bit warm.
A resounding crash stole him away from the memory. The bright, blue sky and its cotton-wisp clouds faded from view; the bleak, ornate walls of his room in their place. The light of the sun was replaced with streaks of moonlight slipping through the cracks of his curtains and cascading down the floor. It was only then did DIO realize the crinkled edge of the photograph in his hand, the glittering shards scattered on the ground, and the wine that dripped from the wall to pool around the fragments of what once was a glass bottle. The quiet of the room was broken by three, quick knocks and a voice asking the man of his condition with an unmistakable, underlying tone of concern. DIO recognized the voice to be one of his most loyal subordinates, Vanilla Ice.
“What happened? Is something the matter, Lord Dio?”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. DIO closed his eyes, stopping time and pocketing your photo in one fluid motion. The World picked up one of the broken cameras and threw it out the window while the vampire stood over the Joestar photograph as if nothing happened. Images of you from his memories and your reincarnation occupied his thoughts; your photo burning a hole in his pant pocket. When time resumed, DIO swiped the photo off the table and thrusted the memories of his past to the darkest recesses of his mind.
DIO would leave you be for now if it meant he could take you back by his side in the end.
“Nothing that concerns you, Vanilla Ice. Come in, I have new orders for Enya.”
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She’s not you. She will never be you.
But you want her to be, DIO’s traitorous subconscious whispered. This is ridiculous. The man has never even met your reincarnation. He never spent time with you in this life, barely even a ghost of a conversation between you two, yet he longs for your company more than anything. His rational thoughts and sentiments warred against each other, vying for his final decision on what to do with you. The moment DIO saw you, bleeding and bruised on the stairs below, his heart bled and his shoulders nearly hunched from the pain. His rational side of the argument was silenced and shackled by the chains of past memories that bound him to you. He ached to take you into his arms and whisper reassurances in your ears, that he will give you all the comfort and security he could never give you before.
He couldn’t. Not with Polnareff leaning into your touch; his arm slung over your shoulders and head dangerously close to yours. Not with his blood simmering under his skin and his nails piercing through his palm, blood slowly seeping through the fingers of his clenched fist. The fight in your eyes hid the intense worry for your wounded comrade—maybe even lover, DIO bitterly mused—as you pressed your side flush against the silver-haired man’s battered, stumbling body. You looked at DIO as if he was the gum stuck on the sole of your shoe; as if he was the vilest, most putrid thing that ever graced the Earth. The tension and anger twisted your expression into a scowl, brows furrowed and lips dipped into that all-too familiar frown.
DIO had so many questions to ask you; so many memories to share in the vain hope that you would sympathize with him and join him. One look in your eyes, the same indiscernible emotion flickering to life when you tended to his bruises before he was adopted by George Joestar, and DIO knew he would lose this battle with you just like all those years ago. He could feel your fingers wrapped around his arm again; the cold cloth pressed to his bruised cheek; the soft smile he hated and adored at the same time. White hot rage bubbled and coursed through his veins. His jaw clenched and his nails dug deeper into the scarred flesh of his palms, drops of blood dripping towards the floor. His heart pounded against his chest as if desperate to flee into your embrace.
“In your fucking dreams,” you spat, scowl deepening and shifting your hold on Polnareff. “I’d sooner die than join you.”
Phantom daggers planted themselves into DIO’s heart, violently thrashing in its cage, as the image of you in his memories clashed against your battle-worn figure. Remnants of your smile adorned your lips followed by the laughter that echoed in his ears; the teasing lilt reserved solely for Dio. Your eyes glowed with life, brimming with joy and love that he realized too late. Your outstretched hand implored him to take it; to cool the swell of his bruises and wipe the blood off his wounds; to run across the fields once more before he had to return to his studies; to spend another day with you in Victorian London before he found that stone mask. Then there was you of the present, breathing ragged and gaze lit with spite and abhorrence for everything DIO is. You struggled to carry Polnareff’s weight from how much you leaned on him. Blood matted your hair and a long scratch marred your cheek. He noticed your leg wobble, threatening to let you and the other man pathetically fall to the floor. Your hands gripped Polnareff closer to you, whether this was an intended or subconscious action was beyond DIO.
He still yearned for you, despite all of this.
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His pained screams disrupted the once peaceful night of Cairo, Egypt.
“What?!” DIO felt the cracks viciously trail from his leg to his head, split in half similar to how Jonathan caught him off-guard on that fateful day. Humiliation, shame, disbelief, and a storm of emotions raged in his heart; eyes wide and lips parted from the turbulence wracking his body. Jotaro watched, heated glare shadowed under the brim of his hat, as DIO’s screams reached the heavens. The stars joined in the spectacle, mockingly bright under the torturous pain and suffering of the once invincible vampire.
“I-Impossible!” DIO warbled, choking and gurgling from the blood pooling in his mouth. “I… am DIO! I… am...”
Something in his gut coiled; whispers of his mind urged him to look in the direction of the harbinger of his demise. His gape drifted from the stars to Jotaro, but his attention was not on the high school delinquent. At least ten feet away from the two, you leaned on the railing of the bridge with trembling legs. One of your hands clutched the wound on your left side; a wound DIO inflicted himself. He clearly remembered the triumph and glee that dulled his senses; the swing of the stop sign that would bring the Joestar bloodline to an end; the surprise shifting into panic when you jumped in front of Jotaro with the intent to protect him. In his haste, DIO flicked his wrist and grazed your side with the edge of the stop sign.
He once thought fate favored him. That the decision to cut off his head and to take Jonathan’s body was fate allowing him to live another century. That your absence was a weakness that fate had nipped in the bud for him; that your reborn soul was another chance fate had given him to atone for his mistakes. So, why? Why would fate pit you against him, to relive that cursed night when Dio had taken your life in front of his very eyes? Were you fated to ally with the Joestars and die for them? Another corpse among the others that followed the wake of the Joestar lineage, all just to defeat him?
DIO couldn’t kill you, as much as he despised the sentiment.
A fool. He is and always will be a fool when it comes to you. Dio will always want you in each lifetime, and it pained DIO to admit it in his final moments. His heart lurched and lodged itself in his throat; the fire in his blood scorching his skin and insides. His hand reached out to you, just like before, but you’re not dying this time. He knew that, if the afterlife actually existed, he will never be able to join you. DIO saw your eyes widen as you took a step back, farther from his grasp. Another bloodcurdling scream rang in the night; dying gurgles heard only by the two people who brought him to his death.
Even in this life, Dio could never have you.
#dio#dio brando#reader-insert#dio x reader#jojo's bizarre adventure#jjba#jojo's bizarre adventure stardust crusaders#jjba part 3#jjba stardust crusaders#jojo part three#angst#angst again#yall know the drill#reincarnation trope#but different?#i'm not giving this man a happy ending#again#sorry not sorry#hate him but love to analyze his character#it's complicated
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favourite lines tag game
this is from @isherwoodj! thank you!
I like this bit in chapter 3 — this scene as a whole is really cool and has a fair bit of back and forth, which is nice. but this bit in particular... GO ISI GO!
The little dragon met her gaze, and there was a world of depth in Enya’s eyes that Isi had never seen before. She hesitated.
No. She had orders. What kind of knight would she be if she disobeyed? The oath she’d sworn obliged her to follow her king’s orders. She had no choice.
She stepped forward and raised the sword.
And hesitated once more.
Her oath had also included swearing to protect the innocent and those who couldn’t protect themselves. What was more innocent than a baby dragon? A baby dragon who probably had no idea what was happening. Enya probably didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t her fault. Her parent had presumably brought her, and Isi had brought her here to the citadel. If anything, Enya’s presence was Isi’s fault.
She cast the sword aside. It rang on the stone floor, but the sound seemed very far away all of a sudden. Blood roared in Isi’s ears. She swallowed and lifted her chin. “No.” One word, but it cut the silence like a blade.
“Excuse me?”
“No, your majesty. I won’t do this. I swore to defend the innocent, and I will not murder a baby.” She squared her shoulders. She’d said it. Despite all her other arguments, she could not bring herself to take an innocent life in cold blood.
and this bit from chapter 9 which I’ve posted before but I still love it to pieces.
Enya’s voice twined into the song, loud and clear from her position on Isi’s shoulders. A chill ran down Isi’s spine and spread over her whole body. Enya’s song was equal parts haunting and sweet, and entirely unlike anything else Isi knew. Even though she’d heard it before, it was… indescribable.
The air seemed to crackle. Joy bubbled up inside her chest. The music seemed to find a place inside her she hadn’t known was empty until today, flowing in and filling it up to overflowing. She tipped her head back and grinned as she hummed, letting the song wash over her.
I shall tag @zmlorenz @starryeve88 @ardawyn @etjwrites and anyone else who wants to play! hype yourselves up! tell me about some of your favourite stuff you’ve written. i want to know!
#tag game#favourite lines tag#wip dragonsong#dragonsong excerpt#dragonsong isi#dragonsong enya#the king has no name and no tag#oh no#how terrible
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Better Light [Demon!Ashton AU] One Shot
A/N: so this one shot was a LONG time coming. i promised this to @irwinkitten MONTHS ago and i finally finished it, so it’s dedicated to her and @sexgodashton aka my two favorite Ashton hoes.
this one shot was inspired by my love for the show Supernatural and my curiosity as to what happens to a person after they’ve been possessed by a demon and that demon is no longer in control of them. i think the tone of this piece is heavy, as is some of the subject material, in a sense. there’s also smut and some lowkey violent scenes. it’s 26k of just....a lot. so ya know, grab a snack and enjoy.
happy reading!
He knew she was completely aware of his presence, knew she sensed every second his eyes remained on her, tracking her every move in the limited space behind the counter. To her credit, she remained focused on her tasks; taking orders, making the drinks, handing the finished ones over to the customers. But every now and then, Ashton would see the way Belle’s dark green eyes would wander into the corner he claimed as his own, chewing on her lower lip before looking away, because he knew she couldn’t keep her gaze on him for more than a few seconds at a time. Belle couldn’t stand to look at him, the feeling ever so mutual—except Ashton didn’t have much of a choice. He had a promise to uphold.
So he sat in the chair in his corner, the music playing through the cafe not entirely atrocious, as he sipped at the iced coffee he’d bought. He no longer hated to admit that the taste had grown on him over the years, a drink he preferred over the options he had to consider back in the thirties. It was less than a century ago, sure, but sometimes he could still taste the savory flavor of the rum he’d mixed with his tea what felt like a lifetime ago. It was, if he thought about it, in human terms.
The afternoon buzz of the cafe was one he’d gotten used to, a college town with students filtering in and out to get their fix or settle at one of the tables near outlets to charge up their laptops and get their work done. Ashton’s lips curled in irritation as a mother with a screaming baby grabbed her drink, his gaze sharp and aggravated as he watched her, feeling the primal urge of quieting the kid down himself. But the woman was hasty, exiting the shop and taking the screeching child with her, and Ashton’s shoulders settled as he took another sip of his drink, eyes sliding back to Belle.
Except she wasn’t where she should be. His jaw tightened, sitting up as his eyebrows drew together, hazel eyes flickering around to catch sight of her. She wasn’t slick enough to slip out of his gaze without any trouble.
But then she emerged from the back rooms, and Ashton ignored the slightest prickles of relief at the sight of her shrugging on her jacket as she waved to her two coworkers before proceeding towards the door. Ashton saw the way Belle’s gaze flickered to him, realizing he was still there, but she kept going after averting her gaze once more. Her pace quickened, and Ashton knew that she knew that wasn’t going to do anything, and so he slowly got up and followed her as she left, dropping his near empty cup in the trash as he opened the door and followed her down the sidewalk.
She was only a few paces ahead, hands shoved in the pockets of her denim jacket to shield her from whatever November cold in Florida brought, and Ashton’s boots clicked on the pavement as he lifted his chin and demanded flatly, “Where are you going?” Her shift, normally, wasn’t over for another two hours.
Belle paused ever so slightly, her steps faltering at the sound of his voice, before continuing. She glanced over her shoulder, head ducked, before turning her head back. Ashton would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a swell of satisfaction at her show of intimidation. Even if it was something he wasn’t entirely used to. “I wasn’t feeling good—” Belle replied, digging her keys out as she approached her car. An old, beat up, pathetic little thing since it was all she could afford. Ashton stood at the passenger door, looking at her from over the hood of the vehicle. He saw the way her throat worked, gaze on her keys as she unlocked the door. Her gaze met his, ever so briefly, as his teeth pressed together when her green eyes met his hazel. “My manager let me off early.”
Her movements were quick, yanking the door open and ducking inside, and Ashton rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door and got in the passenger seat, grunting in annoyance when just as he settled, Belle blindly threw her bag towards him. His eyes twitched into a glare as Belle froze in realization of accidentally hitting him, the subtle fear that flickered in her eyes tightening Ashton’s jaw. “Watch it,” he snapped, tossing the bag to the backseat, ignorant of the things inside that thudded at the rough action.
“Sorry,” Belle muttered, slamming her door shut right after Ashton did. As she started up the car, she added, “Not like I expected you to get in.”
He detected the mild irritation that coated her voice as he spoke. If any measly person even thought of speaking to him in a tone he didn’t appreciate, Ashton wouldn’t hesitate on showing them the consequences of their disrespect. But with Belle it was. . . Refreshing, despite the rarity of it. In the twisted way that reminded him of being around someone who wasn’t afraid of telling him what was on their mind, even if he didn’t want to hear it. And even though every time he heard her voice, or looked into her eyes, and didn’t see the person he once used to, it still sparked something in his veins.
A complicated kind of affection—maybe that was too strong of a word, but Ashton just didn’t know anymore—for the human beside him who wanted nothing to do with him.
As Belle stopped the car at a red light, Ashton watched her from his peripheral. He watched as she released her hair from the confines of the pony tail, the black strands falling around her shoulders as she ran her fingers through them, eyes closing as she let out a sigh. She was tired, he could tell, as she tilted her head back, thumbs lazily tapping against the steering wheel, the subtle sound being the only one in the otherwise silent car.
Her throat worked and he scoffed in annoyance, “If you can’t handle two jobs, stop overworking yourself, for fuck’s sake.”
It was useless advice coated in vexation, deriving from not just her state in the moment, but from months of seeing her juggle two jobs; the one at the cafe and another at a popular clothing store in town, only a day and a half for herself during the week. Though Belle never complained—not to him, anyway, knowing he wasn’t keen or caring enough to listen. But he wasn’t blind to see the toll it was taking on her, the exhaustion in which she functioned through, a shell of a woman he didn’t really know. Twice over.
Belle opened her eyes, looking at him with a frown that didn’t hold any true malice, just hints of defeat and her own level of frustration. Sometimes, when she let some of her anger, her upset, her resentment melt into the green of her eyes, Ashton could swear he could see the one he wanted, the one he missed, the one he mourned, slip through. Not that it was impossible to see hints of her reflect in Belle’s eyes; Enya had used Belle as her vessel for over a year. It wasn’t hard to think that traits of her demon possessor slipped into Belle’s own subdued personality.
“Who’s gonna pay my bills? You?” Belle retorted, looking away just in time to miss Ashton’s scowl as the light turned green and she began driving again. With a resigned mutter, she added, “Some of us need money to survive.”
Ashton scoffed, gaze returning to the road ahead. He didn’t feel for her. He didn’t care for her mundane, human problems. He was just here because he had to be. “Not much of a survivor if you’re about to collapse on your fuckin’ feet.”
As she pulled up to another red light, Ashton heard Belle retort quietly, “Survived your girlfriend, didn’t I?”
Wrong choice of words on her part, as the vicious, demonic part of him came to the surface, a snarl escaping Ashton’s curled lips as ring clad fingers reached out to grasp her jaw. Belle nearly choked on her gasp, eyes widening in startelement as Ashton forced her to look at him, tugging her towards him with the tight grip he had, the distance between them minimal as his darkened eyes shot daggers at her. Not entirely black, but holding every bit of anger and resentment he could conjure that trailed into his fingers, the voice in his head demanding him to let up. He complied, just a little, if only not to actually harm her.
He could smell her strawberry body wash, a change from the coconut that Enya used to lather onto her vessel, and it tightened the knot in his stomach painfully. Ashton was used to having his emotions tune into the reactions of his body, but the pounding of his heart against his chest was aching, too human, the savagery in which he was born in maliciously coaxing him into just flicking his wrist. That’s all it would take to end it. It would be so easy. His teeth bared, lips scrunched with the tightness of his jaw as he looked at her, drank in the fear glassing her eyes, too frozen to fight or pull away. Yeah. It’d be so fucking easy to end her for her words.
Except there was that voice in his head again, not one of his own, demanding him to let her go. Ashton’s teeth ached from the tightness as he recognized it as Belle’s voice—except it wasn’t Belle’s voice. Not really. It sounded the same, but Belle didn’t speak in the smoky tone he was so used to, her way of speaking silvery and light and low. The difference was one of the first things Ashton had picked up on when Enya was gone and Belle returned. A change he was still getting used to. A change both of them were still adjusting to, difficult and trying in their own terms.
The voice in his head was that of Enya’s, reminding him of the promise he made, of Enya’s last wish just in case things took a turn for the worst for her. Which they did. And now Ashton was left fulfilling the promise for the rest of his life. Even if it felt like it was tearing him apart. Sometimes he figured the torture his kind inflicted in Hell was more bearable than this.
Ashton fought his dark instincts, exhaled roughly through his nose as he narrowed his eyes at Belle, her own watery and wide and clearly terrified. A sadistic satisfaction ran through his veins as he parted his lips, voice low, dark, dangerous as he warned, “Watch yourself.”
Two simple words. Enough to have Belle pushing herself away from Ashton once he released her, even though he wasn’t constricting her air. Not physically, anyway. How easy would it have been to do so.
He settled back in his seat, looking straight ahead, willing himself to relax, to reign in the fury that had overwhelmed him enough to almost disregard Enya’s promise. No matter what Belle said or did, Ashton couldn’t fucking lose it like that. He couldn’t give into the malicious desires that were wired into him as a soldier of Hell. Achieving the status he had didn’t come from him breaking necks and losing his temper whenever he felt like it. Allowing it to take over him just because Belle let her mouth run was as pathetic as a human. He needed to keep it in check. For Belle’s own sake, he hoped she kept her damn mouth shut.
The car behind them sounded its horn loudly and impatiently, the light having turned green, but Belle was still absently staring ahead, still recovering from the malevolence she’d just been at the receiving end of, the sounds of her panting shallow and arduous. Ashton knew her to be trying to keep her tears at bay, to try and preserve some of her dignity as to not cry in front of him. He’d been around her for a few months now and had yet to see her break down in his presence. Amusedly, Ashton figured it was only a matter of time.
The honking behind him grew irritating and Ashton rested his elbow on the windowsill of the door, two fingers pressed to his temple and with a low growl, Ashton said, “Drive before I set that fucker on fire.”
He was pretty sure that was the quickest Belle ever drove home.
*****
For the first time, Belle felt herself let go. There was a lightness in her body she hadn’t felt in a long time, constantly weighed down by the stress and anxiety of reentering the world as herself, attempting to get rid of the burden of her body unwillingly not being her own for over a year. She hadn’t been herself, too literally in that sense, and had been desperate to regain some kind of control over herself. For so long she had been a backseat driver for a life that wasn’t hers, watching the events unfold and having no say in what happened—left to retreating into her own head as she watched her hands drive a knife into someone’s chest, felt the bones crack under her touch when she snapped a neck.
The road to assuring herself that what she had witnessed, endured, done weren’t her actual doing was long and strenuous. She knew blaming herself for retreating into her mind to avoid the actions of someone else through her own body wouldn’t do her any good, that it wasn’t her fault for closing herself off to numb the effects of actions not her own. But too often there were nights where she closed her eyes and saw her hands reach out to end the life of someone else, and though more often than not the other wasn’t human, they had been at some point. The sensation of bones fatally cracking under her skin was eerily ingrained into her head, and maybe the alcohol she’d drink tonight would be enough to drown it out. Just for a little while, at least.
It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her doing. The reminder rang through Belle’s head in her own voice with every shot she took and every sip of her drink, burying it under the alcohol and the music playing through the sports bar she was patroning with her co-workers.
“I’m so glad you came out with us, Belle!” Maddie cheered happily, hand wrapped around her glass of Henny and coke while her free arm draped around Belle’s shoulders. A giddy, tipsy grin upturned her glossy lips, pulling Belle into her for a sideways hug.
“Yeah, after months of us trying to convince you,” Piper teased, standing right across from them at their circular table that was littered with their drinks and used shot glasses.
Belle had drank some, enough to feel the pleasant buzz make its way through her system, enough to bring a smile appear easily to her own face. “I know, I know,” she soothed, twirling the black straw around her half empty margarita. Maddie’s grip on her was kind of comforting, Belle realized, as she gave her friend a squeeze and said, “I’m here now.”
Her friends cheered and it was pathetically hilarious that they had no idea to what literal extent she meant her words with.
Paul bought the next round of shots, the five of them gathered around the table as Belle joined them in licking the bit of salt off her hand, downing the shot and reaching for her slice of lime. She reveled in the bitterness that stung her throat, slamming the glass back down and laughing alongside her friends because she could. Regaining the control over her life, over her actions, hadn’t been something Belle was able to indulge in until now, surrounded by people she had slowly befriended after months of paranoia and fear.
How she hadn’t driven herself crazy was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to. Belle had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that over the year when she hadn’t been herself, the one who’d overtaken her sometimes talked to her.
Belle remembered how the sound of her own voice was of a lower tone, smoky and mysterious and frightening. How that voice, belonging to the demon she’d come to know as Enya, would tell her that she’d just have to get used to being the backseat driver of her own body. She’d been harsh, crude in the beginning, until slowly her tone had become nicer when speaking to Belle. Kinder in a way that Belle hadn’t thought of her to be capable of—honestly, what demon was nice to the one whose body they decided to possess? It all sounded hysterical, a joke the universe played on her as she lost a year of her life to a demon that decided to take her for a ride.
She’d heard about them before, rumors and whispers of Hell’s soldiers roaming the earth, making deals and coming to collect when the time came, using unwilling bodies as vessels to easily make their way around. Old legends that people refused to listen to as an attempt of holding onto humanity’s sanity, trying to restrain any panic that may arise at the knowledge of those wandering the earth that don’t really belong. It wasn’t something Belle had ever concerned herself with, naively figuring it wasn’t an ordeal that would ever involve her.
God, she’d been so wrong.
She’d been violated. That’s how she saw it, no other words really quite described how she had felt, no matter how. . . nice Enya had been. She still took over Belle. Used her to do horrific things she would probably have nightmares about for the rest of her life. And though she couldn’t say it out loud over fear of the consequences, a sense of relief warmed her at the knowledge of Enya being gone for good.
Except. . . That wasn’t all she felt.
Belle sipped her margarita again, hoping the tequila would rid of the prickle of grievance she felt over Enya’s death.
How could she possibly mourn the one who made her life not her own?
Belle finished her drink. She needed more.
The bar grew busy with each hour Belle spent with her friends, each drink she consumed allowing for her to let go just a little bit more. She felt free. Felt like herself. Or what she assumed was herself, a year spent trying to hold onto who she used to be in case she ever got her life back.
A lot was left to figure out.
The group of them was by one of the pool tables they had commandeered as Paul and Piper, who were still able to handle a pool stick, played a round. Maddie was flirting with one of the guys at the other table, and Belle leaned back against the wood paneled wall by Paul and Piper’s table, taking a break from the drinks as her eyes remained closed, body swaying to the beat of the music playing over the sounds of everyone chattering. She wasn’t doing much, ignoring her surroundings and letting the music seep into her just like she’d let the alcohol to, but Belle felt good. Felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You alright?” She opened her eyes to see Ollie, one of her other co-workers, leaning next to her. He was a bit taller than her, cute with his blue eyes glassy and shaggy dirty blonde hair sweeping across his forehead. Belle could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned towards her, not entirely minding because she could taste it on her own mouth.
“Mhm,” Belle hummed loosely, hands pressed to the wall under her lower back as she opened her eyes, hooded gaze on him. “I feel great. Better than I have in a long time.” She could hear the slur and slowness of her words, but she didn’t care.
“Oh yeah?” Ollie grinned with a raise of his eyebrows, boyish and kind of cute, and Belle’s gaze dropped to his hand lightly taking ahold of hers. She lifted her gaze back up at him as he said, “I can make you feel even better.”
His words were completely cheesy and if Belle was sober maybe she would have laughed in his face. But instead, she let Ollie take her hand and pull her towards the hallway off on the side leading towards the bathroom, out of their friends’ line of sight as he pushed her against the wall and pressed his lips to hers.
Belle relaxed into him, into the warmth of his body, tasting the beer on his lips as he savored the tequila from hers. His lips were unfamiliar but soft, his hands settling within the backside pockets of her jeans as he pressed his front to hers. Belle moved her lips with his, her arms around his neck, losing herself in the moment. It had been so long since she’d kissed someone, since she’d felt the warmth of another’s body against hers.
She was in control. She was the one who was able to enjoy giving into whoever she wanted. The choice was finally back in her hands.
Until it wasn’t.
Because just as Ollie’s hips pressed into Belle’s, the action welcomed and needed, it was suddenly gone. She heard the sound of his protesting exclaim over the music, eyes snapping open at the sudden loss, blinking in startlement with kissed lips parted as she caught sight of Ollie against the wall opposite of her.
Except she couldn’t really see him, and it wasn’t because of the dim lighting of the hallway. Someone stood before him, blocking Belle’s view of her friend, her erratic heart sinking when she recognized the head of black hair on the tall figure. She stumbled forward, a breathless, “Oh, my God,” escaping her when she caught sight of ring glad fingers gripping the front of Ollie’s shirt, blinking rapidly as he tried to quickly adjust to this new position he’d been put into.
Belle’s heart was thundering, suddenly a bit too sober as her mouth dried, her heels clicking against the floor as she absently moved forward. She took in Ollie’s expression, alarmed and panicked at the man who was so easily pressing him against the wall, hands gripping the wrist keeping him in place.
She slowly approached them, feeling a frightened weakness in her knees as she slid her gaze over to Ashton, who’s hazel eyes were fixated on the terrified man he refused to let go of. “A-Ashton.” His name stuttered past her trembling lips, the panic tightening her chest. She neared them as if she was a predator circling her prey, though to think Ashton wasn’t the most dangerous one in this entire bar would be completely naive. Belle noted the tightness of his sharp jaw in the shadows of the hallway, the fixated look in his eyes on Ollie paralyzingly menacing. Belle swallowed, chancing a glance at Ollie, who was mute with his own panic. “Let him go. He didn’t—everything’s fine.”
Maybe the quiver of her voice wasn’t helping her sound the least bit convincing, but Belle couldn’t quite get a steady grasp on it. Not when Ashton stood in front of her, tall and intimidating and threatening, hand just a few inches away from choking the life out of Ollie. Her breath rushed out of her lungs at the sight of his face, shadowed in the hall, because there wasn’t any expression washed over it. No, instead, it was deceptively blank save for the clench of his jaw, but Belle wasn’t naive enough to ignore the definite possibility of a rage burning in his hazel eyes darkened by the anger she didn’t understand he felt. Her fingers shook, the blood in her veins trembling with fright, terrified that whatever she had to say was falling on deaf ears and Ashton would just proceed to do as he pleased. There really was nothing stopping him.
“Everything’s fine?” A shiver crept down her spine at the low tone of Ashton’s accented voice, the force of it enough to reach her ears over the music of the bar, everyone else completely oblivious to the situation at hand. Ashton’s head tilted as he finally looked away from a petrified Ollie, eyes meeting Belle’s widened ones, her already erratic heart picking up its pace when she noted the hard expression he suddenly wore. His features were tight, hazel eyes dark and black hair pushed back, and Ashton easily kept Ollie in place as he continued in a dangerously even tone, “I would think so—since you don’t look so sick. Nothing a little booze can’t fix, huh?”
Her stomach dropped, twisting and tight along the way, at the taut tone in which he spoke in, words referring to earlier in the day. Belle prided herself in not being so naive, but she had stupidly thought she’d gotten away with the little act she had put on after work. The relief of possibly outsmarting the demon shadowing her survived from the moment Ashton left her apartment, satisfied with the seeming knowledge of her staying in for the night, to right now—him having caught her red handed and five seconds away from suffocating her friend.
Belle’s heart jumped into her throat as Ashton let go of Ollie, the man falling to his knees with a startled gasp, but her gaze was trained on Ashton. He slowly approached her, tall figure easily dominating her shorter stature, the black ensemble he donned easily making him appear as dangerous as he was.
She couldn’t look away, frozen in place with the air trapped in her lungs as he came to a stop in front of her. He looked down at her, in every sense of the word, as his hand wrapped around her upper arm, the warmth of his touch and cold of his rings stark against her skin as he tightened his grip and announced, “Think you’ve had enough for tonight.”
A silence enveloped her, the music from the bar gone as they now stood in the living room of her tiny studio apartment, alone and in the dark save for the single light on in the kitchen. But Belle barely had a second to adjust to the sudden change of scenery, a surprised sound escaping her when her back was suddenly pressed to the nearest wall, a position she’d been in just minutes ago. Except this time, all she felt was her usual walls going up with weary eyes on Ashton, the hand on her arm suddenly splayed across her upper throat, right under her chin, fingers pressing into the line of her jaw as she sucked in a sharp breath.
Never any real pressure, but the threat not lost.
When her gaze met Ashton’s, she desperately wished it was a trick of the lack of light, but knew there was no such luck as she found herself staring into the utter blackness that had taken over his eyes. A deep abyss she could see her own reflection in, the sight of it distracting her from the fleeting thought that there was no real pressure against her throat. Ashton’s grip was on her, but not nearly as tight enough to deprive her of air. Just a show of his power, a silent warning that if he wanted to, he could squeeze until he didn’t have to anymore.
She knew he could feel her erratic pulse in his grip, figured he probably reveled in it as his blackened eyes took in the sight of her, savoring the widening of her glassy eyes and panicked raise of her eyebrows. Ashton leaned towards her, the scent of his fresh cologne achingly familiar as it tickled her nose. A loose strand of his dark hair fell over his forehead, the end just barely curling into his eye, and Belle was startled by the unexpected itch to push it out of his face.
He was so close, the distance between them minimal, and Belle wasn’t quite sure how she was managing keeping her eyes locked with his. She knew that the only thing keeping her upright was his grip on her combined with the weight of his body pressing against her. Her heartbeat wasn’t easing any time soon, the closeness not one she was used to but still familiar. Belle wasn’t used to the sensation of Ashton’s warm body against hers, but her body was. And it was paralyzing to feel herself wanting to give in out of her own accord.
She wanted to look away, but he wouldn’t let her, forcing her to see the emptiness of his black eyes. “How stupid do you think I am that you could actually slip away from me? And for what?” He gave a cock of his head, eyelashes fluttering to let her know he was running his gaze from her eyes to her lips and then back again. There was a subtle disapproving scrunch of his nose as he continued darkly, “Just so you could fuck around with worthless scum?”
“I don’t—” Belle paused as she swallowed inaudibly, no doubt that Ashton could feel it under his touch. She knew there was no reasoning with him, but wanted to say her piece anyway. Her voice was timid, unsteady, but she found herself asking, “Why is anything I do any of your business? Why can’t I be allowed to live my life the way I finally want?”
“Which is what?” Ashton narrowed his eyes, tone unkind and mocking. “Screwing the first guy who takes a second look at you?” One of his fingers that held her jaw stroked her cheek, Belle’s body tensing at the action as Ashton neared her. He was close enough to smell, to feel, but not enough so their noses would touch. Belle got the feeling that he was purposeful in keeping that minimal distance. “Desperation’s not an attractive trait, Belle.”
God, the only thing she was desperate for was her freedom, which apparently she still didn’t entirely have. Her body may be her own once again, but there was still a demon haunting her life, shadowing her every move. Reminding her that she wasn’t alone no matter what she thought.
“Why don’t you just leave?” There was a tiredness in her voice now. The situation and alcohol she drank mixing together to bring forth an exhaustion she wanted to submit to in the comfort of her bed. Her head was back against the wall, Ashton’s grip still on her, no real pressure except for the burn of his touch and chill of his rings. “Whatever promise you think you have to keep, you don’t. I’m perfectly capable of living my life on my own.”
Or, at least, she was trying to be. It hadn’t exactly been easy to melt back into society after being possessed for a year, after having to witness the things she unwillingly had to. Paranoia and fright threatened to take over, but Belle refused to seek treatment within bottles of pills. Her mom had been a drug addict, she didn’t want to go down that path. Alcohol wasn’t a much safer choice, but there was no dependency. She knew too often it would make the paranoia worse.
When Belle looked at Ashton once more, she noted the crease in his forehead, eyebrows slightly drawn together. The indignation and mocking on his features was no longer present, a softness in his face that Belle hadn’t seen for months. Of course, when she did see it, it had never been towards her.
She felt his grip loosen, the palm of his hand sliding down until it rested at the base of her throat, fingers at the side of her neck as he looked at her. Belle remained still, unmoving, as Ashton’s head tired down, his gaze no longer on her. His voice was low as he said, “I may be the monster you think I am, but I’d never break a promise.” His throat worked. “Especially not to her.”
Belle hated that she knew his words to be true. Hated that she had been a witness to the unwavering love, something she didn’t know beings like them to be capable of, Ashton had felt for Enya, and vice versa. It was impossible for Belle not to be aware of Enya’s feelings, and for a long time she had feared that her own were getting mixed in as well. That she no longer could trust her own heart because for a year it had been devoted to the man in front of her. For a while, Belle had to get used to her own thoughts, her own feelings. Sometimes she still found herself trying to determine what was truly hers.
“And watching you with someone else—” Belle’s gaze returned to Ashton as he continued, noting the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, the crease in his eyebrows returning. He looked at her, and she took a breath as the blackness of his eyes dissolved to reveal his hazel irises.
She saw the hesitation in his eyes which he wasn’t quick enough to mask, but it wasn’t hard for Belle to imagine what Ashton’s train of thought was. Her throat worked, wondering if she was crazy to feel that stab of guilt in her chest, mixed with the sympathy of watching someone continuously mourn another they loved. They weren’t human, but Belle had been in close quarters with Enya long enough to find out that they. . . Weren’t so different.
So she instead of finishing his sentence for him, her voice was soft, not unkind, as she reminded him, “I’m not her.”
His jaw clenched, the reminder stinging despite the gentle tone Belle had uttered it in—not that it was something he needed to be reminded of. Belle knew he was devastatingly aware of how she wasn’t the one he loved; in the way she spoke, dressed in clothes that didn’t consist of black and leather—especially in the way she looked and acted around him. Because she didn’t look at him with kind eyes and warm smiles Belle didn’t know demons were capable of, didn’t accompany him on the deals and hunts like Enya did. Because she was finally back in control of her body and it was only because Enya was dead and Belle had survived.
It wasn’t her fault that Enya was gone and she was still around, and yet Belle still found herself, at times, feeling guilty because Ashton was left in the presence of the woman who wore a face once worn by the one he loved—all because he promised Enya he’d keep Belle safe. And while Belle wished he didn’t stick to his word, she could just imagine how much he was regretting it. Why she cared how he felt, how he was suffering when she knew him to damn souls to hell, knew him to be a killer—even if it was other demons—Belle wasn’t sure. Her humanity didn’t let anything be easy.
“No, you’re not.” His words were low, his tone accepting as it reminded himself of the fact. Ashton’s hazel eyes were on her, eyebrows twitching into a frown before he pursed his lips and took a step away from her, hand dropping back to his side. Belle released a small breath, watching as Ashton lifted his chin, expression falling blank once more. What little show of emotion he’d displayed had disappeared, the familiar hardness returning to his eyes. “But you’re my responsibility. So don’t try to act smart and hide from me.” His next few words were a mix of a promise and a warning, enough to close up Belle’s throat as Ashton added, “I will find you.”
She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat, still pressing herself against the wall despite the few steps now in between them. Ashton kept a steady gaze on her, the shadows of her small apartment sharp against his features, and Belle still couldn’t quite find her voice as she began, “My friends, th-they—”
Ashton rolled his eyes, licking his lips quickly as he gave a single shake of his head. “They’re fine. They’re just going to think you left with someone.” A ghost of a smirk quirked at his lips, condescending and wicked. “You’re lucky I erased his memory instead of snapping his neck. Won’t be so nice next time.”
He was out of sight right then, and not for the first time was Belle wondering how she ended up with a life like this.
*****
This wasn’t the first time his hands were coated in blood. But this felt the heaviest, like every drop of the crimson liquid carried its own weight. It shook his hands, trembled his fingers, and he knew it had nothing to do with the freezing weather and the snow that came with it. He ignored it, using his hands to pull her closer, left arm under her and right hand cupping her face. More blood smearing across her cheek. Breathless gasps struggled past her closing throat, her breath fogging in front of her, and despite the opposing temperature Ashton felt like his skin was on fire from paralyzing panic. Her body shook in his arms; coughing, gasping, dying.
“Th-this vessel—” Ashton struggled to hear her over his own heavy breathing, leaning close. The bodies around him didn’t mattered, massacred and lifeless with their blood staining the white snow. All he could focus on was Enya and whatever she was trying to utter. Her green eyes were glassy, lashes fluttering as she blinked, trying to return the humanlike consciousness she needed in order to speak. Ashton’s heart was thundering, wanting to hold her tight, but not wanting to hurt her more than she already was. “She’s losing a lot of blood, Ashton. I—” She squeezed her eyes shut, neck tensing, the blood against her skin a stain he wanted to rid of desperately. He never thought he could hate the sight of something so much. “You need—” Enya groaned and Ashton’s teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching them. So did his jaw, knowing his vessel was sporting bruises from the fight. She exhaled a sharp, pained breath through her nose. “Take her to the hospital.”
Ashton’s eyebrows drew together, not at all hearing any sense in her words as he expelled a confused breath. She wasn’t making any sense. Morbidly, Ashton figured that wasn’t a surprise, given the state of the situation. “I—The hospital?” What the fuck was the hospital going to do? A fucking human hospital wasn’t going to save En—
Oh.
His hazel eyes were wide in panic and disbelief, tightening his grip on her as he kept her close. “You want to save her?”
No. No fucking way. Why in eternal hell would he save the human when he couldn’t fucking save Enya?
“Ash—” Her hand grasped his wrist, her grip nowhere near as firm as he was used to, weakened by the wounds in her stomach, ice cold. The wounds that were slowly draining her centuries old life force. Wounds he couldn’t fix. Because there was no time. No choice. She would be gone and Ashton wanted to hold her. To fix this because this was not how this was supposed to go. The two of them against any and all of their enemies—that’s how it was supposed to be. And with every shuddering breath Enya exhaled, Ashton knew the chances of that were slipping away quicker than he could hold onto them. Her green eyes locked onto his hazel, and she offered a smile. A sad, frail smile that wasn’t her usual brilliant or sarcastic one he loved so much. “You-you promised.”
Yeah, he promised. He really hoped it wasn’t one he’d ever have to commit to.
The tears fell from his eyes and Ashton didn’t try to stop them. Emotions weren’t something he was too fond of; the coldness of hell had seeped into his bones deep enough to render Ashton indifferent to many—if not all—things. Except Enya. She effortlessly, every time, broke him down and Ashton never fought against it. He never fought against her. But right now, he desperately wanted to fight her against that stupid, mindless promise he made when Enya first took over her now dying vessel, never once believing it’d be one he’d have to carry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Enya—” Ashton gave a violent shake of his head, hand going from her cheek to her hair, both of them ignorant of the blood that was being tracked into her dark strands, or of how it was morbidly staining the white snow she laid on. Neither of them ignorant of the crack in his voice as he couldn’t even say her name. There was a tightness in his chest and Ashton couldn’t breathe, his grip on her unrelenting, holding her as close to him as he could. Her skin was growing pale. Ashton knew what that meant. He wanted to rid of the salty taste of his tears. Of her crimson blood against the snow. Of all of this. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Her voice was a frail whisper through an encouraging smile, eyes fluttering with the need to close them. Enya found the energy to slide her hand from his wrist up to his cheek, the warmth of her blood smearing across his cheek, though he could care less. He knew she could feel the way he was shaking. Her own trembling lips twitched up into a smile, an unsteady breath escaping her as she continued, “You can. I love you. Y-You know that, right?”
He knew. Of course he did. Her eyes fluttered and Ashton knew she was going. Knew he’d have to hurry to get the human to the hospital to at least save her. So Ashton pulled Enya close to him, hugged her to his chest as his cheek settled on the top of her head and free hand cradled the back of her neck. He shook. Shedding tears was so human of him, but he didn’t care. Not when he couldn’t be entirely sure if she heard him return the sentiment before she left.
*****
The mug shattered in Ashton’s hand, the breaking of ceramic a bit too deafening in the busy cafe as he instantly grew aware of the multiple sets of eyes now trained on him. He remained perfectly poised in his usual seat, right hand an empty fist now that there wasn’t a mug to hold yet his skin scalding with the coffee that was now coating it, jaw tight and sharp eyes returning everyone’s startled stares with his own murderous intent. If they kept staring, Ashton was not afraid of snapping his fingers and—
“You weren’t picturing doing that to someone’s head, were you?”
Ashton’s gaze flickered up to see Belle standing over him, hastily wiping down the table and carefully picking up the pieces of the mug. She didn’t meet his gaze as she pulled out a spare rag from the pocket of the black apron around her waist and handing it to him. The steaming drink didn’t hurt—it stung, but it didn’t hurt, he wasn’t that pathetic—yet Ashton took the rag anyway and wiped.
He didn’t miss her feeble attempt at a joke, if that’s what you wanted to call it. Ashton looked at her, at the face he’d just seen die in his head—except it wasn’t hers. Or, well, it was. It had belonged to someone he loved, someone who was gone, and Ashton was still struggling to accept it. Nothing could ever be easy, huh?
With a quirk of his eyebrow, he returned, “Don’t think you want the answer to that.”
He was kidding. Kind of. He didn’t picture her head. Or anyone’s. He just really fucking hated everything.
Ashton’s lips pursed. He sounded like a petulant human.
Belle’s throat worked, her green eyes meeting his hazel briefly, pausing in her picking up the broken pieces before continuing. Everyone around them had gone back to minding their own business, seemingly uncaring of the man who out of nowhere shattered a mug in his grip—not that he minded. Instead, Ashton’s gaze remained on Belle, on the way her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail while some loose strands framed her face. His throat tightened; Enya had enjoyed wearing makeup, enjoyed eyeliner and lipstick and everything in between that he never understood but always thought she looked gorgeous.
But Belle. . . Her face was free of makeup, utterly bare. Enough to show off the freckles that were scattered across the tops of her cheeks. A reminder of how different she was from Enya. A reminder of how she wasn’t Enya.
“I’m, uh,” Belle cleared her throat, holding the broken pieces of the mug. “I’m about to go on my break—do you, uh, need anything before I go?”
Instead of answering her question, Ashton lifted his chin and asked one of his own, “Where are you going for your break?”
“Nowhere,” Belle assured, standing straight. With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “Just the McDonalds across the back street.”
Ashton didn’t dignify her with a response, remaining sat with his back against the cushioned seat, wondering to himself if he was going to shadow her. Then he found himself wondering why he even bothered debating it because of course he was going to end up following her to keep an eye out. Promises, promises, promises.
He looked up at Belle once more, not breaking eye contact as he pulled out a ten dollar bill from his wallet and held it up between two fingers and said, “Another coffee.”
When Belle didn’t hear the creaking black back door of the cafe fall shut behind her, she briefly closed her eyes and let out a soft breath when she did hear the sound of a hand slapping against it, preventing it from closing so whoever had followed her could get through. The crunch of the alleyway ground under heavy boots was familiar, his presence behind her heavier as he trailed after her silently. Not for the first time, Belle wondered if he grew tired of, more or less, acting as her bodyguard. Wondered what it would take for him to forget about an ill-advised promise he made to his dead demon girlfriend. Had Enya even thought it through? Did she ever stop to consider what it would do to Ashton to have to stick around the person whose body Enya had worn, whose face had been one he associated Enya with? Ashton was terrifying and not someone to be messed with, Belle knew all too well, and in some weird way, she felt bad for him. She was human. She felt sympathy for the stoic demon who lost someone he loved and yet still had to see her face—or, maybe, one of the faces she’d worn—every day following her death.
Lost in her empathetic thoughts for the man trailing behind her, Belle hadn’t noticed the two in front of her that appeared out of nowhere—at least, not before Ashton did. His inhumane senses were sharp, and before Belle could process it, he was in front of her, frame larger than hers shielding her from the two intruders as his cologne immediately overpowered her, more so than the dumpster a few feet away. An uneasy shiver ran down Belle’s spine—not because of Ashton’s sudden closeness, but because of the new arrivals. It wouldn’t be surprising if whatever light that shone down on the alley from the sun above between the buildings they stood in the middle of suddenly got clouded over. Something in the air shifted, chilling and unnerving, a promise of an occurrence that would be better to avoid.
Belle couldn’t see ahead of them, the view of the two others blocked by Ashton as she heard his low voice warn, “Stay behind me.”
A lump of fright formed in her throat, curling her fingers into her palms to fight the unexpected need to grab onto Ashton. In the face of two unfamiliar demons, Belle was more than okay with standing behind this black haired one.
“Step aside, Ashton,” one of them stated, his calm voice holding a harsh edge to it. “We’re here for the human.”
Ashton’s hands clenched into fists. “I don’t think so.”
Another voice spoke up. “We weren’t asking.”
“Neither was I.”
There was an aggravated growl, and Belle was stumbling back with a startled gasp as the two men launched themselves at Ashton, her eyes widening in fright as Ashton quickly threw a punch at the first to stall him while ducking from the fist flying at him, kicking the legs right out from under the guy. But they were fast, recovered quickly, and Belle’s heart was pounding as if she was in the middle of that brawl, feeling herself freeze in momentary surprise when she wished that somehow Enya would show up and help out Ashton. Because despite her wariness and hesitance in Ashton’s presence, Belle knew he was around to protect her. Especially in moments like these. And she couldn’t do anything. She spent so long being possessed by a demon, one would think she picked up a few tricks.
Truthfully, she’d never know if she never tried, but fear was a paralyzing thing.
Somebody had a blade. Belle could tell in the heap of the men fighting, their grunts echoing in the alleyway as Ashton continued to hold his own against the other two, as the silver of the blade shined momentarily amidst the frantic movements, and Belle felt just the tiniest bit of relief when her alarmed eyes recognized it as the combat demon knife Enya had once gifted Ashton: sleek black hilt, shining silver blade with serrations in the middle.
He was quick to use it within the brawl, Belle’s breath hitching when kicked off one demon just to stab the knife through the other’s heart, prompting him to fall lifelessly with a heavy thud. Ashton’s hair was wild, black strands a mess amidst the fight as his sharp eyes met hers as he got back to his feet, stance purposeful and defensive as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The remaining demon was getting to his feet, and Ashton had just enough time for his guttural voice to order at her, “Get inside!” before the guy launched.
Ashton’s voice served as some kind of spell that snapped Belle out of her frozen state, gasping in realization before her trembling body spun on her heel to run back into the cafe. Except she ran right into somebody’s chest, and Belle only had a brief moment to glance up and meet a pair of all black eyes before she was being gripped tightly, a protesting scream of, “No!” escaping her as the demon pressed her back against his chest, an arm tight around her waist, keeping her arms trapped down, while his free hand harshly grabbed her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin hard enough to leave a bruise, and she knew the demon could probably feel the pounding within her chest and was reveling in the fear he instilled in her.
There was a ringing in Belle’s ears, panicked and terrified because she knew that this was where it could end. She’d survived being possessed by a demon, and getting killed by one was almost morbidly poetic. Her breathing was labored and she could feel her lower lip quivering, a whimper escaping her despite her best efforts as the demon holding her called out in a tempered tone, “That’s enough!”
Belle’s gaze shot forward, watching as Ashton stood facing them, blade in hand and two demon bodies bleeding on the ground. Now all who was left was the one who was holding her, and Belle knew he wasn’t about to let go any time soon.
Her eyes were glassy, yet when she looked at Ashton, standing less than ten feet away, she noted the furious look he wore. A kind of anger that never was directed towards her. His mouth was bleeding, a bruise blooming on his cheek, and the grip he had on the knife showed the cuts on his whitening knuckles. Strands of messy black hair fell over his forehead and a bit into his eyes, yet the murderous intent rolled off of him in waves. He wasn’t even out of breath.
He was glaring at the demon holding her, voice low and tight as he demanded, “Let her go, Darron.”
“I don’t think I will.” Belle inhaled sharply, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closing briefly as Darron tightened his grip on her jaw, fingers digging into the muscles painfully. She opened her eyes to see Ashton’s gaze flicker to her briefly. “See, Enya may be dead but everyone knows how attached she was to this meatsuit.” There was a vindictive, taunting smirk in his voice as he added, “Especially when her last wish to you was to protect this one. Revenge can’t be taken on a dead bitch, so the human will have to do.”
Darron was only serving to boil Ashton’s wrath, and Belle wondered if her captor had any idea how explosive the pot he was stirring was. The last thing anyone should do was insult Enya in front of Ashton; Belle only survived if she said a wrong word against the dead demon because Enya wanted her to and Ashton was fulfilling her wish. Anyone else was only signing their death warrant.
She could taste the salt of her tears on her lips, watching as Ashton’s lips twitched into a snarl. Belle knew he couldn’t make any sudden movements. Ashton was fast, but Darron could just move his hand a certain way and she’d be dead. “She has nothing to do with this.” She could tell he was trying to keep his tone calm, but his words were spoken with an underlying tremor, his anger just barely contained. “Enya is dead. What more do you fucking want?”
“My entire platoon is dead!” Darron roared, the sudden burst of wrath emitting a loud, frightened gasp from Belle. She hated that she was so afraid, hated that she could feel herself shaking. She’d have fallen to her knees if it weren’t for Darron’s unforgiving grip on her. “They’re dead because you and your fucking girlfriend sold us out to the King and I have to spend the rest of my life hiding from him!”
“Don’t forget whatever rats you’ve got following you instead of the King.” The muscles in Ashton’s jaw worked, shaking his head as his glare remained the same. “You were planning on overthrowing him, Darron. We were just doing our jobs.”
“Yeah, and you got a great reward for that, didn’t you, Ash?” Darron laughed bitterly over the sound of Belle’s sniffle. She was surprised she could still hear them over the erratic beating of her heart. She wanted this to be over. “Early retirement from serving the King so you could spend the rest of your life with your girl. Only now she’s dead and you’re stuck playing babysitter to her meatsuit.” He laughed again, this time sounding much too sadistic, the sound raising uncomfortable goosebumps to Belle’s skin. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t want her dead, too? How can you stand to look at her, knowing it ain’t Enya looking back at you? Just a pathetic little human.”
Belle’s breath hitched harshly in her throat, not just at Darron’s words but at the intolerable sensation of him trailing the tip of his nose along the shell of her ear, inhaling sharply before saying to Ashton, “I’d be doing you a favor, buddy. No more slumming it with—”
He never got to finish, his words being cut off by Belle’s startled gasp when his grip suddenly loosened from her before he dropped to the ground. She stumbled away, her wide, alarmed, and teary eyes flashing down to see the knife embedded in Darron’s forehead, almost to the hilt, the blood trickling out of the point of entry as he lay lifelessly on the ground, eyes wide open and as dead as him. He was dead, and Belle’s breathing was startlingly heavy as she tried to regain whatever air she’d lost while being held by him, the panic weighing it down and her heart threatening to jump out of her throat.
She started when Ashton appeared in front of her, his hands on her shoulders before finding her jaw, his careful touch not at all what she expected. She also didn’t expect to see the concern swimming behind the lingering anger as his hazel eyes ran over her, trying to catalogue any injuries he may have missed as he demanded, “Are you okay?”
“I’m—” Belle choked on her words, unsure of what to say as she tried to get her heart to relax, her focus somehow going to Ashton’s warm touch. One she was familiar with but not really. She thought of his question; physically, she knew she was okay. But actually being okay seemed like a completely different thing. So she met his gaze, throat dry as her green eyes met his hazel and she finally decided on, “I’m alive.”
“You are,” Ashton confirmed, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself of it, too. He pressed his lips together, which was a bit smudged with blood, and she wondered if he was aware of the way his thumbs briefly rubbed at her skin before he added firmly, “And you’re gonna stay alive.”
He bent down, then, pulling the knife out of Darron’s forehead without a grunt and pocketing it before his hand pressed to Belle’s lower back. Next thing she knew, they were in the middle of her apartment. In that moment, Belle was more than relieved that the demon on her side was the higher level one. Those in the alleyway were probably lower in power, otherwise they would’ve blipped right out of there with Belle in hand.
It was in the comfort of her own home did Belle let out a heavy sigh of relief, hands reaching up to wipe away whatever remaining tears there were, cheeks wet as she buried her fingers in her hair and stared, absently wide eyed, at the floor. She’d gone through too many near death experiences in her lifetime, while possessed or not. She exhaled sharply once more in the silence of her apartment, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut briefly as she whispered, “God.”
“Sorry—I’m all you’ve got.”
She opened her eyes in time to see Ashton in her kitchen, turning the faucet on to wash the blood off the knife. Belle licked her lips, watching as he dried it with a paper towel before turning to look at Belle. Her heart had calmed down, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him use the same paper towel to wipe at the blood near his mouth before tossing it in the trash.
Ashton ran his fingers through his black hair, pushing it back, his expression once again returning to the usual flatness, void of any emotion. Except, if she really looked, she’d see a certain urgency in his eyes as he added, “Pack a bag. Or two. At least two weeks’ worth of things. We’re leaving.”
“Wh—leaving?” Belle asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as Ashton pushed himself off the counter, walking a bit too casually out of the kitchen and to her bedroom. She followed after him. “Where are we going?”
“A safe house,” he responded, crouching down in front of her bed and reaching under it, easily yanking out the suitcase she kept there. He turned to look at her then, and Belle tried not to notice the way the messy strands of his dark hair settled on his head, unkempt yet still working for him. “Despite what Darron said, I know that some members of his platoon are still kicking. If they know you’re in this town, it’ll only be a matter of time before they find you. I need to keep you hidden until they’ve been taken care of.”
Belle knew he had a point, knew that what he was saying made sense. Yet still, she said, “I can’t just leave for two weeks. I’ve got jobs that I can’t get fired from because I need to keep this roof over my head.”
Ashton shot her a look that reminded Belle of how he was increasingly bored of her pathetic human problems. “I’ll take care of it,” he deadpanned, looking more bored than irritated, which was kind of a first. Truthfully, Belle thought he’d be a bit more frantic after fighting off three demons, a bit more ragey. He was being. . . Surprisingly calm, and while Belle seriously preferred this over the alternative, she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the slightest bit unnerving. Ashton took a step towards her, the distance between them small as his dropped his chin to hold her gaze. There was a lack of a lot of things in his eyes: his usual annoyance, exasperation, contempt nowhere to be seen. She was almost nervous to label what she did see as patience. . . Kindness? No. Maybe that was too far. “Pack. We leave as soon as you’re done.”
*****
Snow wasn’t his favorite thing—not when the last time he saw it, it was coated in his love’s blood. It was hard for his mind not to flash to that day, to that moment where everything felt as though it were ending. And yet there he stood, staring out the large window of the cabin hidden away amidst the mountains in Colorado, teeth pressed together as he watched the gentle fall of flurries. A wry smirk curled at the corner of his lips; it was amusing how something arguably beautiful could hold such ugly memories.
His hands tightened into fists in the pockets of his jacket, taking in a slow breath as he reminded himself it was only temporary.
“Are you. . . Sure we’re safe here?”
Ashton turned around, watching as Belle descended the wooden stairs slowly. She was dressed comfortably, hair pulled back messily, and Ashton didn’t know what to think of the jump he felt in his chest as he took in how small she looked in the clearly oversized sweatshirt she wore. “We are,” he confirmed, walking over to the credenza filled with his supply and popping the cork off the glass decanter to fill his glass. As he poured, his gaze briefly lifted to run over the wooden beams and panels and interior of the luxurious cabin. “Had a witch charm and cloak this place to the nines.” Looking at Belle, whose own gaze took in the cabin, he finished, “We’re fine.”
She wandered over to the couch against the wall, sitting on folded legs and peering out the window as she asked, “Why didn’t you just have your, uh, witch do that to my place?”
Ashton sipped the drink, leaning against the support beams as his gaze remained fixed on her. Grip tight on the glass, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about her. Ashton knew that what happened in the alleyway was bound to go down eventually—and as relieved as he was that Belle was still alive, he kicked himself for not being aware of the danger sooner. Because for all his harsh talk and withering glares, and the thoughts that crept up derived from a still recovering grief, he didn’t want Belle dead. Despite what Darron thought, despite what Ashton himself may have led Belle to believe—he wanted her alive.
“’Cause warding this place was the one favor I had on her and you leave your apartment too much,” Ashton told her with a roll of his eyes. “Casting a protection spell on it would’ve been useless.”
Belle was picking invisible lint off the top of the couch, gaze still out on the window as the late afternoon, golden sunlight seeped into the living room. There was a lock of her dark hair that fell from her temple, gently brushing against her cheek. In a quiet mumble, she said, “At least then you wouldn’t be trying to protect me.”
It was a damn near inaudible comment that she had made, but Ashton heard it nonetheless. He felt something in his chest tighten, eyebrows lowering into an affronted frown—not angry or annoyed, just insulted. “What?” he demanded, prompting Belle’s head to snap up and slightly widened eyes to look at him, as if she didn’t think he’d heard her. But he had. Ashton pushed himself off the beam, tilting his chin to the left as he questioned, “You think some spell can protect you better than I can? That I don’t—”
“What? No, no,” Belle instantly cut in with a shake of her head, alarmed at the offense in his tone as she looked up at his approaching figure. “That’s not what I meant. I just—” Belle stopped, pressing her lips together and exhaling slowly through her nose as a way of composing herself. Ashton stopped right in front of her on the couch, his height looming over her as he frowned. Why had her words insulted him—hurt him—so easily? Belle tilted her head so his hazel eyes could meet her earnest, almost sad, green. “You got hurt trying to protect me. And I don’t—” She bit down on her lower lip briefly, Ashton fighting the urge to zero in on the action. “I’m sorry for it.”
The frown on his eyebrows smoothed at the softness of her tone, and Ashton wasn’t sure what the hell was going on but he could feel himself reel back. What the fuck happened? Had seeing Belle in Darron’s arms, just one move away from death, flipped some internal switch Ashton wasn’t aware he had? Brought forth the severity and significance of the promise he’d made Enya?
Enya.
Watching Belle come so close to being killed reminded him of when he lost Enya. That’s what it was. He couldn’t have Belle dying in front of him. Not like Enya. The image was not one Ashton wanted to revisit for as long as he was alive.
Her apologizing for something that in no way was her fault had his stomach twisting, biting the inside of his cheek as he took a step back. Looking towards the window, he said, “If you want to go outside, the protection spell goes for a ten mile radius. No further, alright?” He tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink, enjoying the burn of the whiskey before he sucked in his teeth. “I’m going to get some supplies. I’ll be back in thirty.”
Belle scrambled to unfold her legs from under her, feet touching the carpeted floor as her green eyes widened in sudden alarm. “You’re leaving?”
Ashton stopped, eyebrows raising ever so slightly at the unsettled tone in her voice and troubled look that tensed her features. There was a pleading in her green eyes Ashton hadn’t expected; normally, Belle was more than okay with Ashton not being around, his presence one she could do without. But right now, it seemed as though that was the last thing she wanted, looking just about ready to jump off the couch and join him wherever he was going. Like the last thing she wanted was to be alone.
He blinked, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he answered simply, “Supply run.” There weren’t that many things in the cabin, and Ashton knew she’d be needing food and shit to live here temporarily. “There’s no food here.”
Belle’s gaze flickered to the kitchen to the right, as if what she’d need would magically pop into the appropriate places. He noted the way she took a deep breath, wringing her fingers in her lap, her anxiety rolling off of her in waves. If he was someone else, Ashton would admit that he felt almost upset at her state. It kind of made him want to stay. With her. Which was different for both of them.
Belle’s throat worked. “Okay.” She looked up at Ashton, hopeful as she asked, “Just half an hour, right?”
He ended up only being twenty minutes; Ashton wasn’t even aware that he had been moving quickly, swift steps between aisles as he grabbed what he knew Belle liked. Being with her for so long, watching her, he picked up on her favorite kind of tea and she preferred barbecue Lays over Pringles, what pasta shape she liked, all these little details about her that Ashton didn’t know he even knew. It made getting everything that much easier. He didn’t even stop to think about how he was out in some damned supermarket shopping for her. All he wanted to do was get back to her.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, killing the engine of the black pick up he kept around, the sun had set and he saw smoke rising from the chimney and the light above the door was on, as well as the living room one he could notice through the curtains. He shut the door behind him as he entered the foyer of the mostly darkened cabin, hearing the distant crackle of the fireplace in the otherwise silent house.
Ashton moved swiftly, entering the kitchen to put down the bags, allowing his gaze to wander over to look into the living room. He furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled out the chips, absently doing his mundane actions as his gaze landed on Belle. She was on the couch, fast asleep with a knitted blanket over her, and Ashton felt a surprising weight lift off his shoulders. She was safe.
That relief, though, only lasted long enough for Ashton to put away half of the groceries when he heard an all too familiar sound drift in from the living room. Ashton frowned, taking the few steps towards open entryway that connected the kitchen and living room, gaze zeroing in on Belle, who no longer was asleep as peacefully as she had been. He picked up on the sound of her whimpers, soft cries as she shifted uncomfortably where she lay, prompting him to walk further into the living room slowly.
Lips turned downwards, Ashton’s frown deepened when he realized Belle wasn’t just shifting in her sleep—she was damn near thrashing. The shadows of the fire danced over her distressed features, the sounds of her cries mixing in with desperate pleas of “No, no,” repeated over and over again.
She was having a nightmare, and Ashton was just standing over her, staring.
“Fuck,” he cursed, approaching the couch and, as if his body had a mind of its own, Ashton dropped to his knees and glanced at his hands, rings glinting against the fire, momentarily unsure what to do with them. When a particularly pained cry escaped Belle, Ashton snapped into gear as one hand pressed to the top of her head and the other gripped her cheek. “Belle, hey, hey.” He was trying to contain his tone, fighting to keep the concern that surprised him at bay, hands sliding to grip her shoulders as he squeezed, creeping towards desperation the longer she stayed stuck in the nightmare. “Wake up, hey. Belle!”
She did, with a heavy gasp and eyes wide open, pushing herself up and away and into the corner of the couch. She pushed away, still startled from the nightmare, and Ashton followed her with his gaze, hands loosely sliding down to her waist as she sat up slightly. Belle’s breathing was labored, a harsh sound in the quiet of the cabin save for the crackle of the fire, and he saw the tears that glassed her eyes in the ember of the flames. Ashton took in her disheveled state, unable to stop the way his left hand slid up to rest on her neck, easily feeling her pulse race under his touch.
He saw the terror in her eyes, breathing sharp, and Ashton felt something shrivel up in his chest. A feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with, but hadn’t felt in a while. His throat worked, eyebrows drawn together in concern he couldn’t hide. “You’re okay, Belle,” he finally spoke, voice surprisingly soft. Belle blinked a few times, as if to keep her tears from falling. He wanted to tell her it was okay if she cried. If she cared that his hand was right on her neck, another on her waist, she didn’t show it. “It was just a bad dream.”
The tendons in her neck tensed and her hand reached up to grasp the wrist of his left. Not to push away, but to hold on to. Her distressed eyebrows and teary eyes remained. “But it wasn’t,” Belle spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her lower lip quivered. “It—It happened and I almost—”
“But you didn’t.” Ashton’s voice was hard—hoping he knew it wasn’t directed towards her, but towards the situation they had escaped from. He knew Belle wasn’t used to it; her only experience with it was one where she was trapped in her own body, watching Enya deal with other demons in her own head. She never had her own first hand experience and this one. . . He didn’t quite blame her for the nightmares that plagued her.
He just hoped she now understood why his presence in her life was necessary.
“Belle,” Ashton spoke up, eyebrows drawing together as she looked at him. A tear escaped her eye and Ashton felt the surprising urge to wipe it away. “You’re safe here, alright?” And then he did it—he wiped the tear away, hand on her neck sliding up to cup her face, eyes closing as his thumb caught the tear. Did he imagine the way she leaned into his touch? “They won’t find you here.” I won’t let them.
She shook her head, rolling her lips into her mouth. Her face was flushed, cheeks and nose and lips pink from fear and distress. “How long do I have to stay here?” Belle asked, gazing out the window before looking back at Ashton. “This isn’t—I can’t be here forever.”
Ashton knew that, knew she was right. She couldn’t stay confined in this cabin forever. Ask him before and he wouldn’t have cared, would’ve told her right off the bat she didn’t have a choice in the matter. And while it was still kind of true, Ashton could feel the edge slipping away. All it took was Belle being in legitimate danger, to come so close to not being able to hold up his end of Enya’s promise, for Ashton to feel.
What exactly he was feeling, and for who, he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.
His gaze drifted to the way her hand was holding onto his wrist, teeth pressing together as he felt her touch burn his skin deliciously. “I know,” he finally said, meeting her green eyes once more, his gaze as firm as his voice. “And you won’t be. It’s just for now, just until I can get this target off your back, alright?”
“But—” Belle’s voice caught in her throat, neck tensing as she tried to rid of the lump. She sat up, neither of them paying attention to the way she still held his wrist, even if her touch was sinking into Ashton’s bones. Even if it was something he found himself not wanting to be rid of. “Darron’s dead, right? Wasn’t he the one after me?”
“Yeah,” Ashton responded, jaw tightening briefly. His eyes threatened to flash black at the mention of the rogue demon, only a fraction relaxed knowing he was dead. “But he’s got followers, those who’ve turned against the King. They’re dead if the King finds them—might as well go out carrying out Darron’s last order.”
Belle closed her eyes, a furrow in her eyebrows as she ducked her head, like she was resigning to the fact that she couldn’t live her life until the last of Darron’s men were gone. And for the first time, Ashton felt a pang of guilt resonate in his chest at the way her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, more so than she had since the second she found out Ashton would be a permanent fixture in her life, and he didn’t fucking understand the heaviness he felt at the sight of her. He didn’t want to.
But Ashton felt himself giving in, felt something inside him break. And he was in no hurry to fix it.
*****
Belle wasn’t sure if it was the smell of French toast or the sound of her phone ringing that pulled her out of her sleep. She lay in the bed, staring dazedly up at the vault style wooden roof of the cabin, momentarily forgetting where exactly she was until it hit her. They’d already been there for a handful of days and Belle still needed to get used to waking up somewhere that wasn’t her pathetic loft. A sigh escaped her, frowning over at her phone ringing as she haphazardly reached over for it. Belle didn’t even think twice as she answered the call without checking who it was, putting it up to her ear as she grumbled out a tired, “Hello?”
“Belle, hey.” She blinked the sleep away, recognizing Ollie’s voice on the other end. Rubbing at her eye, she sat up as she mumbled his name in response. “I was just calling to check if you were okay? You haven’t shown up for work lately and George said you were taking some personal days?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Belle said, clearing her throat as she eyed the room around her. Fine was a relative term in this case. At least she was alive. “I’ve just got some stuff to deal with out of town so, yeah, I’m not gonna be in for a bit.”
“Yeah, George said something about you having to take care of a late aunt’s cabin or something?”
Belle’s eyebrows knitted together briefly, wondering if that’s the excuse Ashton had somehow implanted in George, her boss’s, head. It seemed a bit too close to the truth, but Belle didn’t second guess it. Not in the early morning of the day, at least. “Yeah, that’s right,” she confirmed. “Listen, I’ve got some errands to run. Thanks for checking in, Ollie.”
“Sure thing, Belle. Sorry about your loss,” he returned sincerely, and she smiled, despite him being unable to see her, and bid goodbye before hanging up.
She got off the bed, toes singing into the faux fur rug on the floor as she reveled in the softness despite the chill she felt in the cabin. Her pajamas only ever consisted of shorts and short sleeved shirts, not entirely ideal for a cabin in Colorado, but she made do with it. After using the bathroom and washing her face, Belle made her way down the stairs, the scent of French toast tickling her nose more and more the closer she got to the kitchen.
She stopped in the doorway, throat tight as she caught sight of Ashton in a white tee and jeans, blinking in disbelief as she watched him make breakfast. Belle wondered if she was imagining things, unsure of what to make of the scene of Ashton literally cooking food. Demons didn’t really eat; she knew that by being possessed by one and being around Ashton. They drank because they liked to and munched on snacks because they were bored, but eating actual meals? That just. . . Wasn’t a thing.
So Ashton cooking was just another thing she couldn’t quite believe.
Belle remained silent where she stood, unsure if she should call attention to herself. But to think he wouldn’t notice her was dumb, because without even turning around, Ashton said, “You’re up.” He glanced over his shoulder, hazel eyes meeting her green. “I made breakfast.”
“I know. . .” Belle slowly answered, unsure as she forced herself to move further into the kitchen. What was happening? Why was he making her food? It smelled fucking delicious. She looked at the plate, the breakfast hot on it, as she gradually made her way over. “Why—”
“Just eat, alright?” Ashton cut her off, his voice absent of the usual edge as he turned around to hand her the plate. Belle looked up at him, almost bewildered, taking the plate from him as Ashton briefly pressed his lips together. “Tell me how it is. Demons normally can’t cook for shit.”
Well, that much she figured. Still, she found a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips at his words, at the sentiment behind it all. She sat down at the small round table in the kitchen, not one to put syrup or butter on her French toast as she grabbed a fork to cut off a piece. Aware of Ashton’s gaze on her, leaning against the counter, Belle took a bite, feeling the flavor explode on her tongue, sweet and warm and delicious.
She hummed as she swallowed the bite, nodding as her gaze met Ashton’s expectant one. The amusement of him waiting on her approval wasn’t lost on her, and it still had Belle smiling as she gestured to the plate with her fork and said, “This is delicious.”
“Really?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his moon tattoos hidden from her view. Under the hard mask he wore, Belle could see his genuine curiosity, some kind of need for subtle reassurance. And Belle wasn’t sure if she only saw it because she had somehow gotten the ability to read him overnight or because he wasn’t hiding from her. Showing her who he was like he did with Enya. “You’re not bullshitting me, are you?”
Belle paused bringing a fork to her mouth for another bite, raising an eyebrow at him as she felt a laugh suddenly bubble up her throat. Except this time, laughing at him didn’t feel as though she would be responded to with a sharp glare. “Lie to a demon? Won’t be making that mistake again.”
The words slipped past her tongue easily, effortlessly cracking jokes with him in a way that was unfamiliar and yet. . . Wasn’t. Belle knew she had Enya to thank for that, for the months she’d been possessed and had watched their dynamic from inside her own head. An experience that had been horrific for her at the time, and now was almost. . . Nostalgic. It was a weird feeling, looking back at that time in the same wavelength of fondness.
Ashton scoffed, pushing himself off the counter, sauntering over to her. He picked up an extra fork, breaking off a piece of her French toast to pick at. “Lie to demons all you want,” he told her, bringing the fork up to his mouth, raising an eyebrow at her. “Never lie to me.”
Despite the truth behind his words, Belle still found herself smiling around the fork, looking down at the plate and wondering when it had become easy to smile around Ashton. Him making her breakfast was throwing her off, putting her at ease.
But then again, was that such a bad thing?
Hours later, with the day dragging on and nothing on TV holding Belle’s attention for too long, she found herself in warmer clothes as she ventured outback. She remembered Ashton telling her of the ten mile radius the protection spell extended to, and kept close by to the cabin just to be safe
She didn’t have snow boots, necessarily, but the boots she did have were enough to keep her feet warm as she stood in the snow, up to just a little bit above her ankles. Her breath fogged up in front of her and Belle reveled in the cold that only tickled her face, her body shielded by the sweatshirt and jacket and gloves she wore. The fresh air, while icy in her lungs, felt refreshing and maybe she appeared like a nutcase, standing in the snow with her head tilted back and feeling the coldness of the Colorado weather, but she didn’t care.
For the moment, Belle ignored the pressing reality she lived in. The demons, the danger—she pushed it to the back of her mind for the time being, letting her shoulders drop and closed eyes relax. She was tired of being so scared, of feeling the need to look over her shoulder despite having a protector. She was tired of being angry.
Before, Belle could’ve easily directed her anger towards Enya, even Ashton. She wanted to be pissed at them for getting her in this situation, in her most darkest times wishing that she’d died along with Enya so she wasn’t left to deal with the aftermath of it all. How was she meant to live a life when she had a target on her back, when a demon was constantly shadowing her to make sure she was safe despite feeling a terrifying chill whenever she was in his presence?
But Ashton, as of late, had changed. He didn’t look at her like the sight of her perturbed him, didn’t talk to her like she was less than. He saved her life, fulfilling a promise Belle had foolishly thought he wouldn’t have to act upon. But he did, without hesitation, and Belle had quickly understood just how important it was for him to keep Enya’s promise, and how Enya had known this would happen and had wanted to keep Belle safe. She only trusted Ashton with the job, and he was determined to carry it out.
Maybe it was too easy, but Belle’s anger towards them had disappeared. Near death by vengeful demons put things in perspective, she figured.
“What are you doing?”
The sound of Ashton’s voice cutting through the chilled silence had Belle jumping slightly, a gasp caught in her throat as she turned around. He was about ten feet away, standing on the back porch of the cabin as he furrowed his eyebrows at her. He only had a light jacket on top, but demons didn’t really get cold.
Belle couldn’t help but notice his presence wasn’t an intimidating one, though he stood with shoulders squared and hands shoved in his jacket’s pockets. Either he wasn’t trying to be imposing or Belle didn’t feel wary of his presence. She had an inkling it was a little bit of both.
“Enjoying the fresh air,” she told him, watching as the knit of his eyebrows deepened at her words, as if he didn’t quite understand the act. Before she could help herself, Belle ticked her head, a gesture of asking him to join her before she verbalized it by a prodding, “Come on.”
If Ashton was surprised by her invite, he didn’t say anything. He eyed the snow for a moment, looking at it distrustfully, before pursing his lips and walking down the two steps of the porch, making his way through the snow and over to her. Ashton stood to her right, eyeing her skeptically, a silent question of now what?
Belle fought the grin. “Close your eyes,” she told him gently. “And just. . . Feel it around you.”
As a way of demonstrating, Belle tilted her head back a bit like before, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, adoring the cold air filling her lungs. She stayed like that for a moment, feeling the chill of the world and the quiet of the snow, secluded in their little mountainous area from prying eyes. She stayed like that until she no longer felt Ashton’s gaze on her, her lips quirking when she heard him mimic her actions by taking a deep breath as well. He was actually listening to her.
Belle peeked one eye open, glancing over at him, opening both eyes when she saw him standing there, his own head tilted back a bit, black hair a stark contrast against the white backdrop of snow and mountains. The tip of his nose was turning pink, because while he may not feel cold himself, his body still did. He looked. . . Peaceful.
Belle wasn’t quite sure what came over her. Maybe it was because, for the first time, she felt truly at ease. Her worries had left her for the time being, no thoughts of demons or life threatening moments in her head, and it ultimately led her to quietly bend down and used a gloved hand to silently scoop up a handful of snow.
She didn’t stop to consider how this could possibly be a terrible idea, that she would only end up pissing him off. Belle just acted without much thought, raising her hand, feeling a sudden rush of excited panic when Ashton opened his hazel eyes, probably sensing her playful shift in demeanor, and began to ask once again, “What are yo—”
Except he didn’t get a chance to finish this time. Belle squeaked at her plan not being entirely a surprise, yet still her hand launched forward and Ashton, for the first time being caught off guard when it came to Belle, was greeted with a faceful of chilling snow.
Belle froze where she stood, eyes wide and an incredulous scoff escaping her as she watched him react. Ashton blinked, some of the snow stuck to his face as the rest fell back to the ground, staring ahead at nothing as he quickly registered what the hell had just happened. She couldn’t quite get a read on him, which wasn’t surprising, unsure if she should laugh or run. Oh, what had she been thinking? She was rambling before she could stop herself. “Oh, my God—I’m sorry, I just—I couldn’t help myself. You looked so unguarded and it was really childish and—”
Ashton raised a hand, ring clad fingers wiping away the snow on his face, hazel eyes flashing to meet her green. The air rushed out of Belle’s lungs when she noticed the absence of anger or irritation. What she saw instead was the same kind of playfulness she had acted upon, and that had her completely transfixed. “I’m going to give you a five second head start.”
She blinked at him, not entirely processing his words, until he quirked a challenging eyebrow and started, “One,” which only had Belle squeaking in surprise before she turned and tried to get away as fast as she could.
Thankfully the snow wasn’t too much of an obstacle to get through, but there wasn’t anything to hide behind, save for a boulder or two, and the sound of Ashton’s voice counting down, low and dangerous in a way that didn’t terrify her, behind her sent a thrilling chill down her spine.
Belle dove behind a boulder just as a snowball came her way, hearing it slap against the rock as she fell into the snow with a laugh. It was almost big enough to hide her frame, and she quickly worked on another snowball before looking around the rock. Her breathing was only slightly labored by making a run for it, trying to catch sight of Ashton—but he was gone. Her green eyes caught sight of the prints on the snow, feeling her heart thud when she saw no sign of tracks other than the ones she’d left behind in her escape behind the rock. Unless—
A scream left her as she was suddenly taken on from behind, Ashton’s arms around her as the two of them fell into the snow, and the sound of his laugh—one she hadn’t heard in a long time, one she’d only heard when Enya had taken her over—had Belle’s heart racing as they tumbled into the snow. Somehow, Belle ended up on top, and she tried not to get too distracted as she scooped up some more snow and shoved it against Ashton’s head, a laugh escaping her as he vigorously began shaking the black locks that were now decorated in white.
Of course, Ashton wasn’t going to let Belle get the best of him, certainly not twice. He effortlessly flipped them around, Belle gasping as the snow hit the back of her body, while the front of her was covered in the warmth of Ashton’s body. Her breathing was heavy from the excitement and the tackling, feeling Ashton’s own against her skin as she peered up at his eyes. Hazel and pretty and ones she didn’t want to admire until now.
Black strands of his hair fell across his forehead as he looked down at her. “Got you,” Ashton said. Had he meant for his voice to be such a delicious, raspy whisper?
He was so close, and for the first time, Belle wanted him closer. “I got you first. Twice.”
A silence fell upon them like a blanket, blinding them from the world except from one another. The quiet of the mountains was only disturbed by their breathing, by the thundering of Belle’s heart as she raised a gloved hand. She didn’t let her thoughts control her, didn’t think of the consequences or the doubt or anything else as her leather covered fingers grazed along Ashton’s scruffy jaw. His eyes never left hers, trapping her in place, in a trance she didn’t want to be broken out of. He didn’t make a move to pull away as Belle’s palm cupped his jaw and fingers held his cheek.
Her heart was racing a mile a minute, deaf to the warnings her head was giving her, his warmth and scent and everything in between deliciously inviting in a way she knew them to be but never tried to acknowledge. Belle could feel him leaning close as well, gradually closing the gap between them, and her lips tingled with the anticipation to meet his.
Ashton’s nose brushed against hers, gaze lowering to her lips so he wasn’t looking into her eyes. She saw his eyebrows furrow, a conflict battling across his features as his gruff voice muttered, “We shouldn’t.”
Belle felt a twist in her chest, the sting of rejection sharp as her throat worked. It was insane of her to want him to kiss her—but Belle knew it may be selfish, too. It was selfish because she wore the face of another Ashton had loved, not willingly. Hell, it belonged to her first. Belle’s throat worked, knowing she couldn’t possibly imagine the pain Ashton had been suffering through with the loss of Enya. He loved her, long before she came to possess Belle, and he’d lost her so painfully. Belle never wanted to feel that kind of ache, and she found herself hating that Ashton had to suffer through it.
At one point, she thought herself crazy to feel badly for him. Now, she embraced the ache in her heart over his loss.
Before she could slide her hand away from him, before she could apologize and tell him it was fine, before she could acknowledge her own embarrassment, Ashton pressed his forehead against hers. She could see the way he battled something inside of himself, felt it in the way his jaw worked under her touch, heard it when his guttural voice muttered, “I want to, you’ve no idea how fuckin’ bad. But we shouldn’t.”
Belle bit the inside of her cheek, heart jumping into her throat at his confession, no longer aware of the cold of the snow and all too focused on the warmth of him. She found herself stroking his cheek, throat working as she whispered, “Who do you see?” Her voice was gentle, encouraging. “Me or her?”
Because that’s what it ultimately came down to, wasn’t it? If he was seeing his late love or the person who truly owned the face. If his heartbreak was so overwhelming, so consuming he couldn’t bring it in himself to move forward—not that Belle would blame him if he couldn’t.
Ashton’s eyes opened, an intensity in his hazel eyes that rendered Belle breathless when he looked down at her. She watched the way his eyes searched hers and she waited patiently, fighting the urge to chew anxiously on her lower lip. Ashton’s own hand reached up, moving a piece of her dark hair from her face, and how the hell was his touch warm when everything around them wasn’t?
“Used to be her.” Ashton’s voice was quiet, confessionary, licking his lips quickly before the corners quirked up subtly into a small smile that had Belle’s heart racing. He looked at her, sincere in a way she’d never seen him before. “Now it’s only you.”
Belle’s lips parted, sucking in a breath at his admittance, and that was it. All it took was for Ashton to say those words, to acknowledge who she was, her importance to him hidden right behind them, to have the gap between them come to a close.
Ashton’s lips met hers, and Belle reached her other hand up to his cheek, holding him close as he kissed her in a heated, needy fervor. She felt herself inhale sharply as Ashton’s lips worked against hers, one hand holding her side as the intensity and heat of his kiss sent electricity coursing down her spine and warming her up. Belle opened up to him, parting her lips as Ashton took full advantage and let his tongue slide against hers.
It felt so familiar, kissing him, but just the action. She hadn’t truly felt it, not when it was Enya—until now. As Ashton kissed her, Belle was all too aware of his scruff scratching against her skin, his lips slanting over hers almost too perfectly and the way his tongue caressed her own. He was warm, so inviting, so delicious. Never did Belle think she’d be kissing Ashton. Never did she think she would be enjoying it so much, never wanting it to end, needing for it to keep going forever.
She was intoxicated by him, fixated on him, desperately needing more, craving for the space between them created by their offending clothes to be gone. Belle held him close, kissed him feverishly, and when he squeezed her side she was gasping into his mouth, his name falling past her lips without thought. “Ashton.” Her lips dragged against his, feeling him lick at her lower lip. Her own grip on him was tight. “Need you.”
Ashton groaned into her mouth and if Belle had been completely out of it, she wouldn’t have noticed the change of environment, because upon hearing her request, Ashton had transported the two of them out of the cold and into the warmth comfort of the cabin. Belle let out a gentle gasp as the chill of the snow on her back changed into the warm comfort of a bed, eyes opening to realize they were in the same room she’d woken up in that morning.
Her gaze flickered back to Ashton, noting the wicked smirk on his lips, and she felt a breathless laugh escape her before she leaned up and connected their lips once more. The two of them made quick work of their clothing, fueled by the desire of needing each other close as Belle pulled off his jacket and he unzipped hers. Too many clothes were separating them, their kisses breaking every time something needed to be completely pulled off, lips meeting during the brief moment of undoing buttons and zippers and finding a condom, his pants finally dropping to the floor as the vague sound of his blade clattering went over their dazed heads. Greedy, needy, overwhelming in the best way.
Belle’s head was against the pillows, eyes closing and mouth dropping open as Ashton made his way down her neck, her fingers interlaced in his black hair as he made his way down, down, down. Down her neck and the valley of her breasts, torso, navel, until he got to where she desperately needed him. He was unforgiving. Immediately, Ashton licked a strip up her center before his lips teased her bud, reveling in the feel of Belle’s fingers tightening their grip on his hair.
Ashton’s hands, cool rings stark against her heated skin, held her thighs open as his tongue dipped into her, and Belle tilted her head back, eyes screwed shut at the sensation of him working her open so expertly. Her heart was pounding and mind was racing, because the idea of this was so familiar. Fuck, she knew Enya and Ashton had sex, knew that at the time, this was Enya’s body and she loved having Ashton mark it up however he wanted.
It was all familiar, until now, where it had become an experience. And Belle was already fucking seeing stars. The room was filled with the sounds of her gasps, her moans, and the crude sounds of Ashton sucking, licking into her with the occasional groan whenever she tugged at his hair, the vibrations only causing Belle to clench at her torso as she felt it ricochet through her to the tips of her toes and fingers. Ashton pressed into her, fully using his lips and teeth and tongue to have his way with her core, his movements purposeful and dizzying.
He effortlessly brought her to her orgasm, his name falling from her lips like a mantra as the coil in her stomach finally released. And he took everything he gave her, mouth still working as she rode out her high, leaving her a breathless, flushed mess as he finally pulled away with a lick of his smirking lips, coming to hover over her. Belle looked at him, saw the satisfied, prideful glint in his hazel eyes and something else hidden under them. Fondness? Adoration? It made Belle’s heart hurt in the best way.
And then he smiled; a stupid, boyish, dimpled grin that once again robbed Belle of her breath. A smile that she couldn’t help but think was so gorgeous, one that could disarm and charm anyone receiving it. Ashton leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, reveling in the moan that escaped her when he teasingly cupped her sex and bit her lower lip. “Think you can take another, doll?”
Doll. He never called her that before. She’d never heard him say it.
She answered by kissing him once more, one arm looping around his neck to keep him close, other hand gripping the snake tattoo on his bicep as her heart raced with anticipation, feeling him line himself up with her. Belle moaned against him as he slipped in, his own groan ripping through his throat as he bottomed out, her nails digging into his skin. She didn’t think he’d give her a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of him filling her up completely, but he did, surprising her further by murmuring against her lips, “You okay?”
The size of him was overwhelming enough, but Belle needed him to move, desperately. “So good,” she confirmed breathlessly, giving him the go ahead to pull out before sinking himself into her once more.
He set a rigorous pace with every snap of his hips, hitting that spot in her that had Belle seeing stars every time. They were so close, yet she needed him impossibly closer, hooking her leg around his hip, the sounds of their groans echoing in the wooden cabin at the slightly new angle. Her body was flushed, the heat of Ashton’s body seeping into her bones so deeply, so fucking wonderfully as his lips and teeth marked up her skin, that she was left wondering why the fuck they hadn’t done this sooner.
The headboard smacking against the wall wasn’t something either of them acknowledged, chalked it up as the soundtrack of their intimacy as Ashton drew out another orgasm from her. Belle’s fingers were in his hair, nails grazing at his scalp, breath permanently caught in her throat as she desperately babbled, “Ashton, I’m close—”
“I know you are, baby.” He pulled his lips away from her neck, sitting up on his knees as he kept up the pace that had her fisting the sheets beneath her. Belle felt his hand travel up her side, fingers playing with her nipple before his right large hand rested on her clavicle. She felt his hesitation in his hand, even if his pace never slowed, and through hooded eyes Belle watched Ashton eye where his hand rested. She didn’t know how, but she knew exactly what he was thinking by the set of his jaw, and without much thought, she gripped his right wrist and dragged the hand up until it rested on the base of her throat.
And when she offered that breathlessly fucked yet reassuring smile, Belle saw the flash of his eyes. All black, craving nothing but her, satiated only by her, the sight of him sending a shock straight to her core that spurred on her orgasm and only pulled a pleasured moan from her as he applied just the right amount of pressure as his lips curled. “Fuck, Belle.”
Months ago she never would’ve wanted his hand where it was. Now, it felt too fucking right.
He never stopped as her release washed over her, free hand reaching down to collect some of her release on his finger before licking it clean with smirking lips. The sight was sinful. He was sinful.
Belle’s heart was thundering, sensitive from the two orgasms and the sensation of Ashton continuing his pace as he finally chased for his own release. She tilted her head back, further into the pillows, gasps and moans in the form of his name sounding like music to Ashton’s ears as he leaned down, chest pressed against hers, to meet her lips once more. His own release came when her third one subsided, Belle’s head in the clouds as Ashton groaned against her, animalistic and sexy, their breathing labored and skin flushed.
Belle’s hand remained in his hair, holding him close as she felt his lips gently flutter kisses along her neck as they caught their breaths. She stared up at the ceiling, exhausted and fucked and feeling so damn good. If this was what hell felt like, then she was by all means a sinner.
*****
She wasn’t Enya.
For a long time, that acknowledgment left a bitter taste in Ashton’s mouth, an ache in his chest he hated being plagued by. It haunted him since the moment Enya died, until recently—until now. Ashton had wondered how the hell he could mourn her when her face was one he saw every day. And it had taken him too long, had suffered through too much anger, to come to the realization that, fuck, of course he wasn’t in love with her face. He wasn’t in love with what Enya looked like—he was in love with her. It was complicated, it was difficult to look at Belle and not see Enya—until he no longer saw Enya.
The pout of her lips, whether she was sad or angry or scared or even happy—that was all Belle. The softness of her voice when she spoke, except for when she sometimes let her emotions get the better of her—that was all Belle. The compassion she showed, despite being frightened or mad, without fail—that was all Belle. She was the one who liked her tea with three teaspoons of sugar, she was the one who didn’t care enough to paint her nails, she was the one who always kept a smile on her face against the most difficult customers instead of snapping at them. She wasn’t Enya. She would never be Enya.
And Enya could never be her. And that was okay. Because both of them. . . They had a hold on Ashton, one he didn’t ever want to be rid of.
“Good morning.” Ashton blinked, eyebrows twitching when he looked at Belle, whose eyes were still closed yet a sleepy smile was upturning her kissed lips.
Her dark hair was tousled against the white pillows, appearing a bit too heavenly—but Ashton didn’t mind. He felt a smirk tug at his mouth as his quiet voice returned, “You feel me watchin’ you, doll?”
The endearment, just like last night, had slipped from his mouth without much thought, but Ashton didn’t care. It was fitting. It was hers. Belle’s. Her eyes fluttered open, brilliant green framed with long lashes meeting his hazel, and he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the smile she was giving him. One she hadn’t ever given him before; true and genuine and real. A complete change from what he was used to from her—but embracing it nonetheless.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” she told him with a gentle, sweet laugh, pulling the comforter up to her chin and nestling against it, her eyes never leaving his. As she pulled herself out of her slumber, Ashton noticed the playful glint in her eyes as she added, “It’s not so creepy anymore.”
Ashton raised a challenging eyebrow, smirk widening as his hand under the covers reached over to pinch at her side, earning a squeal from Belle as she jerked away. He didn’t let her get far too easily, teeth biting down on his grinning lower lip as he easily grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer until he was hovering over her, reveling in the warmth of her naked body against his.
The grin on her face was one Ashton had already committed to memory, one that belonged just to Belle. He noticed, though, after admiring the freckles dusting across her nose and the few marks he’d adorned on her neck, the way her smile faltered a bit as she peered up at him, her hands gripping his biceps, gaze averting as her thoughts took over. Ashton furrowed his eyebrows, feeling something tug in his chest, as he tilted his head.
“Are you okay?” It felt strange asking her that, and genuinely meaning it, and despite himself Ashton felt like a dick for never asking her that before. Part of him told himself it was understandable; he wasn’t human, he didn’t have to care. But he did. Now, he did.
Belle scoffed, almost nervously. “I should be asking you that.” Her gaze lifted, green eyes locking onto hazel as Ashton’s frown deepened in confusion. “Is. . . This okay? You and me? This isn’t—it’s not weird or. . . Or too much for you?”
He heard the concern in her voice, that quality of hers that made her so human; a quality he hadn’t appreciated at first but now couldn’t imagine her without. It was like a flip had switched, how everything that made Belle human was suddenly something Ashton cherished, wanted to protect not just because of a promise, but because he wanted to. Because this wasn’t an overnight shift; it was months of being around her, getting to know her without wanting to, and a fondness and liking and everything in between growing for her that Ashton hadn’t recognized until now that led them to this moment.
It wasn’t too much. It was, Ashton decided in that moment with his body against hers and her green eyes swimming with worry, exactly what he wanted. It was unexpected and new but it was. . . Right.
“It’s not,” Ashton told her, and he didn’t know his voice was capable of growing as soft as it did. It just came naturally to him. Keeping himself above her by resting his weight on his right arm, Ashton lifted his left hand to brush some dark locks away from her face, knuckles grazing along the softness of her cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“It would be okay if it was,” Belle said, her quick words coated in nervous reassurance. “I mean, I look like her so if you went back to hating me, I would get it—”
“I didn’t hate you,” Ashton cut in, the small lie escaping him without much thought. Okay, so obviously her presence wasn’t one he particularly enjoyed for a long period of time. But it had changed.
Belle didn’t buy his lie for a second, shooting him a deadpanned expression. “You looked like staring at my face was the worst form of torture for you,” she retorted, a challenging quirk in her brow that was both familiar and new.
And despite the casual snappiness of her words, Ashton recognized the worry she wasn’t doing too good of a job in hiding. Saw the hesitance, reluctance—fear. And if there was any doubt of Ashton’s feelings for Belle before, it was gone when he realized that he never wanted her to be afraid of or because of him. When once he wouldn’t have cared, would have maybe enjoyed it, now he wanted to be rid of it for good.
She needed reassurance, and by Lucifer Ashton would give it to her.
“Belle,” he spoke up, shifting so he was now sitting up and pulling her up with him. The blankets around them fell at their new position, and upon seeing Belle shiver at the coldness of the cabin against her bare skin, he reached behind him to grab the throw blanket towards the edge of the bed and wrapped it around her naked frame. Ashton didn’t need one for himself, opting to just sit cross legged with only a partial piece of the blanket covering some of his lap. He was satisfied once Belle secured it around herself, saw the small smile on her lips as she looked at him.
He sighed at the sight of her; dark hair messy, lips kissed, freckles in view. Stunning, as she’d always been. “This situation is. . . Strange,” he began, earning a small scoff of a laugh from her. “And I don’t—” Ashton paused, eyebrows knitting together. He wasn’t the best at explaining his feelings, unless they were angry or annoyed. He and Enya never needed to verbalize their feelings, only occasionally in a rare moment. Ashton knew in the back of his mind if he wanted to be with Belle, he’d need to work on it. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re just someone who looks like Enya to me. I don’t want you thinking I. . . Want you because you both shared a face. Because that’s not why. At all.”
He saw the slight wideness of her eyes as she listened to him, pink lips parting as she breathed out, “It’s not?”
Ashton gave a single shake of his head. His hands raised, ring clad fingers tangling in her hair as his palms caressed her cheeks. He leaned close, hazel eyes on green. “You’re not her, and I’m sorry for making you feel at fault for that. I’m sorry for acting as if that was the worst thing in the world.”
“You love her,” Belle reasoned, her voice soft, and Ashton felt something swell in his chest at hearing her defend him against himself. It warmed him. “Of course it was the worst thing in the world.”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” Ashton said. Then he nodded, and there was a lump that had formed in his throat as he thought of Enya. Of the time they’d spent together, of the many faces she’d worn because she couldn’t decide on one vessel like he had so long ago. Memories of the one he loved played across his mind’s eye, and it was painful but. . . Not breathtakingly so. “And I do love her. I always will. But that doesn’t mean I’m not. . . Capable of loving someone else.”
Love was a while away. It was a big leap from where they were now. But looking into Belle’s wide yet welcoming eyes, looking at her shy smile and flushed cheeks, Ashton knew it wasn’t too insane to picture it, to expect it. Especially with her.
He felt her cheeks warm under his touch, feeling his lips curl as she shyly broke their gaze and her own mouth upturned. “I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Belle finally said with a soft, endearing giggle.
He was so fucking stupid for her, slamming into him so quick. And it felt good. It felt human but—that wasn’t so bad.
“Guess you just bring it out in me, doll,” Ashton hummed. Then, with the grip he had on her face, Ashton tilted her head up and leaned in to close the gap, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was a lot softer, a lot slower than any they had shared last night.
He felt her sigh against him, melt into him as she returned the kiss just as savoringly. The kiss was slow as Ashton gently pried her lips open with his own, tongue meeting hers familiarly.
It was weird, strange beyond even his comprehension that kissing Belle was something familiar yet so new. Of course he’d kissed her body before, when she was Enya. But as he kissed Belle now, Ashton knew it was nothing like when he was with Enya. Each woman was different, stunning in their own way. They moved differently, smelled differently, felt different. Ashton adored each one. He missed one, of course. But what he had now—fuck, he’d never allow himself to take it for granted. Belle was familiar and new all at the same time; like kissing her was supposed to fulfill an old craving yet only when he finally did, did he realize that it was something completely new, but delicious in her own way. And suddenly his taste had changed, and he didn’t mind it at all.
They had to pull away moments later, only because Belle’s stomach made a noise that had her laughing against his smirking lips. “Hungry?” he asked knowingly, nose brushing against hers.
“Just a little,” she grinned cutely. “Can I make breakfast?”
Ashton scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No. You’re a shit cook.”
“I—what?!” Belle exclaimed indignantly, pulling back and shooting him an incredulous look. “You’ve never even had my cooking!”
“I don’t need to,” Ashton shrugged, amused and unapologetic. “I’ve seen you eat at home. All you make is Kraft mac and cheese and those nasty microwaveable meals.”
Belle’s jaw was slack, though Ashton could see the smile threatening to break hee features. She hugged the brown throw blanket around her, huffing as she defended, “Excuse me for being too tired to cook! I work two jobs, y’know.”
“And it’s very noble,” Ashton nodded along truthfully. It was a mere few months ago where he called her out for working two jobs that killed her on her feet. Despite it, Ashton saw how hard she worked, knew she was taking care of herself the best way she knew how. He couldn’t fault her for it. Just tease, maybe. “But you’re still a shit cook.” His grin was playfully wicked as he got off the bed, reaching for the sweatpants on the floor as he told her, “Sorry, sweetheart. But this creature from hell is a better cook than you.”
He heard her scoff behind him, heard the ruffle of the sheets as she got up too as she said, “That’s fucked up—I’m more than capable of making, like, pancakes.”
“Yeah?” Ashton challenged, turning to see her now in his shirt. His jaw clenched, the white tee hanging off her frame loosely, legs in view and not doing anything to hide the perk of her nipples against the cold. He looked back up at her, bringing forth a smirk as he said, “Let’s taste ’em.”
About fifteen minutes later they were in the kitchen, with Ashton leaning against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed, as he watched Belle pour some batter in the pan, setting the bowl down as they waited for it to cook. “See?” Belle hummed, gesturing to the two that were already made and and waiting on a plate, perfectly golden and cooked. The smile on her face was proud. “They look good—try one.”
They smelled good, Ashton had to admit, and his gaze met hers and he found himself being unable to say no to her, something he wasn’t entirely used to. So he let out a soft laugh, taking the fork and bottle of syrup and pouring it on one of the pancakes. Belle’s gaze was on him, expectant and anticipating, and Ashton had to fight the smile as he took a bite of it. He chewed, taking a moment as the sweetness exploded on his tongue, not one to really indulge himself in food but he had to admit—Belle wasn’t as much of a shit cook as he’d expected.
“Alright, I’ll give you that—this is good,” Ashton nodded after swallowing his bite, setting his fork down and feeling his lips lift at her grin. He felt, looking at her, that he would tell her anything to see that smile on her face. Fuck.
“Told you,” Belle sniffed, though still smiling as she brought her attention back to the pan.
Ashton watched her, saw the soft smile as she cooked. In the silence of the room, disturbed only by the gentle sizzle of the pancake cooking, Ashton gave himself another moment to look at her. She looked. . . Content in the golden lighting of the kitchen, dark hair messily tied back and his shirt hanging off of her deliciously. Ashton wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her this way, looking so comfortable and. . . Vulnerable. Especially around him.
That was his doing, he knew, was blatantly aware. Knew it was his black eyes and stern features and his less than humane personality that always had Belle looking away from him, had her thinking twice before talking back to him. But they’d come a long way, hadn’t they? Because now she smiled around him and Ashton kind of hated himself for not making her do so long before.
His thoughts tumbled in his head and Ashton’s eyebrows drew together as he considered what Belle had asked him before—if this was okay for him, if it was too weird. He had told her the truth; the pain of losing Enya, it was unbearable and he wasn’t sure if it would ever stop hurting, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward—especially with someone else. Especially with Belle. He hadn’t ever considered being with anyone else, demon or human or anything in between, and he especially didn’t ever consider it with Belle. But, like he had said to her—he didn’t want her because her face was what Enya had worn. He wasn’t disillusioning himself into believing that Belle was Enya, that he was with someone else. He had a better grip on reality than that.
Ashton wanted Belle because she was Belle. Because spending all of this time with her because of Enya had Belle finding a place in his damned heart he thought he’d closed off.
Still. If he was adjusting to this newfound dynamic, Ashton had no doubt so was Belle.
“What you said before, wondering if this was too much for me,” Ashton spoke up, voice slow as he considered them. Belle glanced at him, eyebrows raised as she flipped the pancake onto the plate. The glow of the kitchen light had her freckles standing out. Ashton pursed his lips briefly before asking, “What about you? I haven’t been the best company.” He scoffed out a dry laugh at the understatement of his words. “You’re. . . Okay with this, with us?”
Ashton didn’t need to be told of all of the times he terrified Belle—her widened eyes and frightened features were ingrained in his mind, only now they would haunt him. He’d feel guilty, already did. How Belle could look at him and not feel that way anymore, feel the complete opposite, was beyond his comprehension. Fuck, he was part of the reason why she had nightmares—of when Enya took over her and even recently, when Darron and his men found them. How was she just. . . Okay with being around him? Being with him?
Belle pressed her lips together as she considered his words, gaze dropping to the plate as a silence befell them. He gave the time she needed to get her thoughts together, surprisingly patient. When she looked at him, she offered a smile. “It’s. . . Unexpected,” Belle began slowly, switching off the stove and putting down the spatula. She crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the counter right by Ashton. He looked down at her, looking smaller in his shirt than normal. “I, you know, never thought this would be a thing? I mean, come on—neither of us saw this coming, right?” She let out a gentle laugh when her gaze met Ashton’s watchful one, a corner of his lips quirking up in silent agreement. “I mean, I don’t think this will be. . . Easy,” she tried, a furrow in her eyebrows before offering a small, hopeful smile. “But we can try? We’re already together all of the time and we could—we could try.”
Her voice was soft, almost shy, and Ashton felt something tighten in his chest. Something good, something hopeful. And he hadn’t had a lot of that—hope. Not since Enya died. But hearing Belle tell him that this—no matter how strange and surprising and uncharted as it may be—was something she wanted, just like he did, it filled him with a yearning of wanting to fulfill it.
So he uncrossed his arms, pushing himself away from the counter as he smiled against her gaze. “Yeah, we could try,” Ashton confirmed, and the sight of her smile widening was enough to widen his grin. He ticked his head towards the still warm pancakes and said, “Have a taste of your masterpiece.”
Belle scoffed at his dramatics, watching as he picked up the syrup bottle and she said, “I like a lot of syrup.”
Ashton rolled his eyes, pouring it over the pancakes as he said, “Why am I not surprised?” The woman liked her tea extra sweet, this was a no brainer.
He basically drenched the pancakes in the syrup, cutting off a piece and watching as the syrup dripped off of it in a continuous stream as he held it up with the fork. Belle’s eyebrows shot up as she warned, “That’s gonna get all over your shirt.”
Ashton shrugged, uncaring. “Oh well,” was all he said before bringing the drenched piece over. He grinned widely as the syrup fell off the piece, pressing his tongue to the back of his lower teeth as Belle’s eyes widened and she leaned forward to quickly take the bite, shoulders shaking with the amused laughter escaping her. Just as expected, as he brought the fork over to her mouth, the syrup dripped, a thin strand dropping on his white shirt that she wore while a thicker stream stuck to her chin as she took the bite.
“Told you,” Belle shook her head as she swallowed the piece, quickly licking her lips and reaching for the roll of paper towel to get the excess off her chin.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Ashton tsked, stopping her movements. She looked up at him and Ashton smirked, hands finding the sides of her face as he leaned down to press a kiss to her lower lip. Then his tongue sneaked out, mouth shifting lower as he licked at the sweet syrup on her chin, hearing Belle giggle softly, a sound sweeter than the syrup, as he licked and kissed it off.
Belle’s arm looped around his neck just as Ashton tilted his head up, connecting their lips in a long, savory kiss as his own arms wound around her waist to keep her close. He tasted the syrup on her tongue, tilting his head to kiss her deeply, growling against her mouth when he felt her free hand slide down between their bodies to palm at his hardening cock through the soft material of his sweatpants.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, doll,” Ashton murmured against her, deep and gravelly as it drowned in his desire for her.
Belle smirked into the kiss, uncharacteristic and gorgeous, her hand toying with him sinfully. “Who says you won’t finish?” she returned, the playfulness heavy in her tone, Ashton’s lips dragging against hers as she pulled away and sank to her knees thanks to his loosening grip. His jaw clenched, feeling a warmth in his vessel at the sight of her before him, green eyes glimmering as her fingers tugged at the band of his sweatpants. Fucking hell. “We can save the pancakes for later.”
*****
They had been in the seclusion of their cabin for eleven days when the tranquility was destroyed.
Belle hadn’t noticed at first. She was in the bath, soaking in warm water and bubbles, something her body needed in the harsh coldness of Colorado. It was peaceful, quiet. She never indulged herself in bubble baths with pretty scents such as this when she was home—she didn’t have the time to. But having nothing to do while she was in hiding in a cabin by the mountains gave her an opportunity to indulge herself like this, and she did.
She’d been soaking for about twenty minutes when the echoing sound of something crashing in the living room startled her out of her quiet.
Belle sat up with a gasp, the water sloshing as she looked towards the bathroom door. The sound was distant, like it was coming from downstairs, but it was loud and disturbing. And then there was another, and Belle’s heart was racing as she quickly got up from the tub, ignoring the chills on her skin as she quickly grabbed the towel and dried herself off while simultaneously stumbling out of the tub.
Something was happening, and Belle’s stomach twisted nauseously as her trembling fingers reached for the clothes she’d laid out, quickly getting dressed. She approached the door, quick and quiet, hand resting on the doorknob as she hesitated to open. The sounds continued, thumps and thuds and crashes alike, her heart in her throat as she silently pulled the door open to poke her head out in the hallway.
She didn’t know what to do—unsure if there was anything she could do short of running into the bedroom and hiding herself behind a locked door. There were no voices, just the sound of furniture breaking and—
“Where is she?”
Belle’s throat closed up at the sound of a male voice that most definitely did not belong to Ashton, frozen where she stood in the middle of the hallway like a deer caught in headlights. Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God. Someone was in the house. Someone was looking for her. They had found them but—how? They were supposed to be safe, secluded. How had they—
“Found her, boss.”
Belle screamed at the sudden voice calling out behind her, unable to move as two hands grabbed her arms from behind and she was no longer in the hallway. She stood in the living room, the fire crackling behind her in the fireplace, the room in disarray with a broken coffee table, lamp, overturned couch, and Ashton on the ground in front of her. He was bleeding, a cut on his lip as well as one above his left eyebrow, slouched against the wall in a beaten heap. But as soon as Belle appeared in front of him, she saw him push himself up, hazel eyes wide and dangerous and pissed the fuck off.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off her,” Ashton snarled, lips curling menacingly as she scowled at the man holding her, grunting when the two men that stood by him jerked him backwards violently.
Belle wanted to run to him, to ease the racing of her heart and the panic flushing her skin, but other than the man holding her and the two keeping Ashton back, there was another who stood between them, his back towards Belle, preventing her from seeing his face. “Now, why would we do that? She’s the one we came for, after all.”
There was something familiar about the voice which had Belle blinking at his back with furrowed eyebrows, feeling the tears already stinging her eyes as she comprehended the severity of this situation. Her upper arms hurt with the grip the demon behind her had on her, chest aching at the sight of a bleeding, hurt Ashton just a few feet too far. And when the faceless guy in front of her turned around, his voice finally matching his face, Belle felt the air rush out of her lungs as tear glassed eyes widened in terrified incredulity.
“O-Ollie?” His name trembled past her lips, staring disbelievingly at her co-worker, blinking quickly as if it would make the sight before her disappear. She felt every bone in her body quake in its place as he smirked at her, sweetly sadistic and terrifying. What the fuck was going on?
“Ollie’s left the building—well, for now, at least,” he said, words followed by the familiar blackness taking over his eyes as Belle’s breath hitched in her throat. Oh, no. Oh, God, no. His eyes returned to their—Ollie’s—usual blue eyes. He turned to fully face her, hands behind his back as he shrugged. “Looks like it’s just you and a bunch of hell’s finest, baby.”
He took a few steps towards her and Belle wished she could move, breath still in her lungs as Ashton growled, “Stay the fuck away from her—I swear, Riz, touch her and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Ollie—or Riz—scoffed, stopping as he turned to face Ashton again. Belle’s eyes flickered down to him, catching onto his labored breathing and stoned features, knowing he desperately wanted to get out of this mess. God, how’d it even happen? How long had this Riz been possessing Ollie? “You couldn’t protect your precious Enya—you really think you can save her? A pathetic, lowlife human? Don’t kid yourself, Ashton.”
Belle saw the way Ashton’s eyes darkened; not the demonic black, but a dangerous, angry dark shade of his pretty hazel that warned of a beast making an appearance. And, God, Belle never thought she’d say this but they really needed that side of him to survive.
“Darron’s dead,” Ashton spat, blood trailing down the corner of his mouth as his black hair sat messily, tussled, atop his head. “You don’t need to be following his agenda.”
“Nah, but you killed my boss, so I’ll kill your favorite toy,” Riz responded, his voice far too casual, far too threatening. He then turned around to look at Belle again, feeling every drop of the blood in her veins turn to ice as he set his sights on her. She struggled against the hold that was on her, feeling pathetic for the frightened whimper that escaped her as Riz approached. “Gotta say, Belle—you made it so easy for us,” he hummed, a cruel grin on his mouth as she looked at him, teary eyes wide and bewildered and terrified. When he saw the look on her face, he chuckled darkly. “What, you thought your friend Ollie here was the one who called you? Nah, nah,” he shook his head with a click of his tongue. “See, we’ve done our homework. Knew he was your pal, had an inkling as to where Ash here runs off to. We just needed confirmation and you—” Belle gasped when his hand grasped her chin, her wide eyes on his, hearing Ashton grunt and struggle from behind Riz, who smirked down at her. “Gave us just that.”
He let go of her chin harshly and Belle let out another breath, chest heavy as her gaze wandered to the floor, remembering the phone call she’d gotten from who she thought was Ollie days ago. This was on her. She had so stupidly told them exactly what they needed to hear to find them. Now they had, and she and Ashton would be dead and it would be all her fault.
The panic tightening her chest made it difficult to breathe, tears trailing down her cheeks as she ruefully lifted her gaze to find Ashton’s. He was already looking at her, and although she knew she didn’t deserve it, Ashton wasn’t looking at her like she was to blame. His hazel eyes, one that held a fire and promise for vengeance, had a sincere gentleness in them that only had a sob escaping Belle. When he had every right to be pissed off at her for giving away their location, he wasn’t, and it only made the tears come that much faster.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, Riz.” Ashton’s voice was deep, a growl not to be prodded at as his harsh scowl was directed to the man standing between them. His eyes had blackened, endlessly unforgiving. “Gonna kill you just like I killed your boss—not gonna stop until every single one of you fuckers is dead.”
“Yeah?” Riz cocked his head to the side mockingly. “You and what army?”
“Oh, look at that—right on cue.”
Belle gasped as three new figures popped into the room, heart stopping as she took in the new demon arrivals. Each tall, two blondes and a brunette, each looking like they were ready for a fight. They were unfamiliar vaguely familiar to Belle, their faces scratching something in her head she couldn’t quite pick at. Her gaze instantly snapped towards Ashton, who, upon noticing them, wore a smirk on his face and tilted his head over at them, eyes on Riz as he supplied, “That army.”
It was all that needed to be said, because suddenly the room had become a warzone. The man who’d been holding Belle pushed her away from him, sending her stumbling forward as he and the two guys holding Ashton launched at the three people that had just arrived. Belle gasped at suddenly being pushed, but she regained her footing and hurried over to where Ashton was, somehow avoiding being hit.
She didn’t focus on anyone else but Ashton, his arms already held out for her to stumble into as she grabbed his biceps and looked up at him with a tear stained face. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—I’m so sorry—”
Her rambling, quick paced apology was cut off by Ashton, the room going to hell around them as the fight continued. More loud crashes, thundering punches, and pained grunts could be heard but Belle’s focus was only on Ashton. “Belle, hey, hey, it’s okay—” He was speaking just as quickly, cupping her face and wiping away her tears as his hazel eyes bore into her green ones. “I need you to go hide, okay? Get out of here—I’ll come find you.”
She began shaking her head, too frightened to leave, too petrified to go without him. God, once upon a time she couldn’t wait to be away from him. Now, she absolutely hated the idea. “No, no, Ashton, I can’t—”
“Hey, remember what I said?” Ashton asked, raising his eyebrows. The sharp sound of glass shattering startled Belle. “I will find you, Belle. I promise.”
Those words, once, had been said threateningly, warningly. But in this moment, it was what Belle needed to hear.
So she nodded and with a prodding push from Ashton, Belle sucked in a breath and moved to get out of the way, out of the line of fire. But just as she turned her back to Ashton, she heard a loud grunt before another heavy thud, and before she could even turn to see him collapsing on the floor with a sudden tackle, someone had violently shoved Belle from behind.
Her scream was cut off by the breath being knocked out of her lungs as she harshly fell forward, the edge of the center counter in the kitchen digged into her stomach as she crashed into it, robbing her off her breath as she fell down on the ground. Belle squeezed her eyes shut as she moaned painfully, the ache in her stomach near nauseating as her head screamed at her to get the hell up and move. But before she could, she was roughly being turned around, eyes snapping open and protesting screams falling past her lips before she could help it as her eyes caught sight of Riz above her.
The panic bubbled up once more as she struggled against him, thrashing in hopes of getting him off despite the ache in her stomach from the hit it had taken. Riz’s face was scrunched in a snarl, trying to grab hold of her hands, but before he could, he was pulled right off of her, and Belle gasped as Ashton grabbed Riz from behind and turned him around only to deliver a punch to his jaw.
She pushed herself away, still on the floor, heart pounding in her chest and in her heart, almost muffling the sounds of what was going on in the living room. Belle knew she should get up and run, like Ashton had told her to, but she couldn’t move, watching as Ashton’s features twisted darkly, animalistically, as he and Riz tried to get the best of each other in the kitchen.
“I’d be more than happy to reunite you and Enya,” Riz spat as he slammed Ashton against the fridge, the stainless steel piece rattling against the harsh weight. Belle stumbled to her feet, eyes wide, hoping one of the others would come in and help Ashton, who was struggling against the arm Riz was pressing against his throat. “Right before I kill your new piece right in front of you. Don’t worry—you won’t have to live with the pain of failing two women for too long.”
Belle’s heart was thundering, gaze desperately going to the living room. The two blondes and brunettes, who Belle couldn’t quite remember, were engaged in occupying the three guys Riz had shown up with. No one to help Ashton.
But just as she brought her gaze back, something caught her attention. Belle’s eyes widened at the familiar blade on the ground, breath stilling. The dagger that Enya had given Ashton lay on the floor, probably having fallen during their struggle, and it was right there. And Belle didn’t even think. She saw the fight Ashton was losing against Riz, having taken too many beatings to hold his own like he usually would, and he just moved, without a thought.
The blade felt familiar in her hand as she picked it up, silver and lethal, and all those memories of Enya wielding it came rushing back to Belle in that moment. Of her holding it tightly but fluidly, of the many times she used it to protect herself and Ashton with.
Ashton.
He needed help, and that was all it took.
Blade in hand, Belle ran forward, her bare footsteps muted under the rambunctious sounds of the fights in the living room, arm pulling back and teeth clenched as the anger burned her blood. Anger of living her life in fear, anger of nearly being killed, anger over Enya’s death, and an overwhelming anger of seeing Ashton hurt and nearly being killed himself.
She reached them, her arm swung forward, and the blade was buried to the hilt in Riz’s back.
Belle gasped as she felt the blade rip through flesh and muscle, stumbling back as the roar of pain ripping through Riz’s throat and he instantly let go of Ashton, who coughed and watched with widened, disbelieving eyes as Riz tried to reach for the blade lodged in his back. But he couldn’t, not for the life of him, and Belle breathed heavily as she quickly made her way around to Ashton, needing to be close to him, the tension in her muscles easing only when his arm wrapped around her protectively to keep her close.
Riz’s struggle didn’t last long, the blade doing what it did best and killing the demon that lay inside. He fell to the floor, collapsing harshly on his stomach as Belle watched with wide eyes and a heavy chest. He was dead. . . She had killed him.
Ashton’s arm was tight around her and she pressed her face against his chest, eyes closing as she breathed him in. Riz was dead and she would do it again if it meant saving Ashton.
“Belle? Hey, doll, it’s okay. Look at me.” It was Ashton’s softened voice that had her finally opening her eyes, sniffling as her heart only just began to calm down as she looked up at him. She wanted to clean up the blood staining his handsome face, no matter how bad ass he looked. Ashton’s hands came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs drying her tears as he ducked his head to look at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her stomach still hurt, no doubt about it, but she would live. She would live—even if it was her fault she almost didn’t. “Ash, I’m so sorry. It was my fault they found us. I never should’ve answered that call. It was so stupid and—”
“Stop,” Ashton cut in with a shake of his head, eyebrows knitting together in a disapproving frown. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We—because of you, we’re okay.”
She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, letting out a shaky breath as she looked over at the body in the living room. Belle inhaled sharply, no longer seeing Riz’s face, but Ollie’s. “Oh, God,” she breathed out, lips trembling. “Is he—is Ollie alive?”
Someone stepped over—the blonde with green eyes—and he crouched down to his knees and pressed his fingers at Ollie’s pulse point in his neck. He was silent for a moment before looking up at Belle and Ashton, offering a nod. “He’s got a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.”
The relief flooded Belle with a sharp exhale, hands clutching at Ashton’s arm, heart still thundering. She had a feeling it would take a minute for it to calm down. Next to her, Ashton requested, “Can you take him to the hospital?”
The other blonde scoffed in disbelief. “Seriously? The hospital? We’re not—”
He instantly shut up when the brunette smacked him upside the head, the tall blonde letting out a grunt of annoyance and shooting the brunette a glare, who didn’t even bother looking at him as he nodded at Ashton. “Sure thing, man.” Then, his dark eyes shifted over at her, and he offered another single nod. “Good to see you alive, Belle.”
She blinked at him, still in the process of trying to place the names of these demons, until Ashton rubbed at her arm and said, “Thanks, Calum. The other?”
Calum. She knew that name. Her eyes narrowed slightly, looking at the three of them once more as Calum answered, “Michael and I took care of Bram and Galen but Luke let Jace get away. We’ll find him, though.”
The tallest of them, Luke, sputtered. “I didn’t fucking let anyone get away—he threw me out the damn window and bolted!”
Michael rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head as he told Ashton, “We’ll find Jace. He won’t be hard to track down.” Nodding at the others, he said, “Come on, let’s take this guy.”
Belle’s lips parted as their names finally rang the bell in her head, recognizing the three demons as friends of both Ashton and Enya’s. During her possession, she’d seen them through Enya’s eyes a handful of times, remembered that they were the only three other demons that Enya trusted after Ashton. For the right reasons, too; they’d shown up to help Belle and Ashton, and she would be appreciative of it forever.
She watched as Michael twisted the blade in Ollie’s back, wincing as he pulled it out and put it on the counter top before giving Calum the go ahead. As the brunette bent down to pick up Ollie’s body, Ashton said, “Appreciate you showing up, boys.”
“’Course, man,” Calum said, not even so much as a grunt escaping him as he stood with a grown man in his arms. He smirked lightly, gaze flickering to Belle. “I’d say take care of her but looks like it should be the other way around.”
A soft scoff escaped Belle at that, leaning into Ashton’s touch as she felt him snort out a laugh of his own. She was tired, sleepy, kind of in pain, and worried about Ollie. Belle knew they’d make sure he didn’t remember anything, would be careful about taking him to the hospital and all of it, and she hoped he made a speedy recovery. There was an underlying bit of guilt for hurting him the way she did, her hand still trembling from her actions, but she knew she had to do it. To save Ashton, she’d do it all over again.
*****
There was a strange marking on Belle’s hand. A fading brand, almost, slightly pink in her right palm as she eyed it critically. The print was familiar, like she’d seen it somewhere before, but she couldn’t tell where. But it was there, within the lines of her palms, swirling lines and intricate circles remnant of a pattern of some sort. Where had she seen it before?
“Belle, have you seen the blade? Is it upstairs?”
She dropped her hand to her side, looking around the room upon hearing Ashton’s voice in search of the weapon. The two of them were preparing to leave the cabin, and while coming here had been a bit unwilling, Belle was a bit sad to leave it and go back to her life. But she reminded herself that her life would be different now, slightly. Those who were after her because of Enya were gone, her life was no longer in danger, and her demon protector would still be sticking around—but as something more. Life wouldn’t exactly be the same, but hopefully it would be better.
She looked around her room, eyes landing on the weapon that lay on the bedside. “Yeah, found it!” Belle called back, walking over to it. She reached over for the blade but stopped instantly, eyebrows drawing together when she, in that moment, recognized the pattern on the hilt of the blade.
Belle’s breath caught in her throat, turning her palm over to compare the print in her skin against the hilt, frown deepening as the resemblance stared right back at her. “What the hell?” she whispered, slowly and cautiously reaching to pick up the blade. In the silence of the room, Belle heard a click, blinking when she turned the blade and realized that a small compartment opened up at the bottom of the hilt.
Okay. What?
Lips pursed, Belle pulled it open the rest of the way, eyebrows shooting up when she noticed a rolled up piece of parchment inside. Trying not to think about how she felt as though she was in some weird fantasy, sci-fi movie, Belle bit her lower lip as she took the paper and unrolled it, eyeing the cursive handwriting on it. What she read made her heart stop short.
This blade is my last gift to Ashton, and he is my last gift to you. Take care of one another for me.
“Oh, my God.”
Enya. The note was from Enya. . . To her.
For the first time, Belle found herself crying for someone she never thought she’d shed tears over, heart tightening as she took a deep, shaky breath. The one who had made Belle feel as though she’d lost control of herself, of everything. . . And Belle mourned for her.
She would miss her. It was strange and complicated, but true.
“Doll—you ready to go?”
Belle took in another breath, closing the hilt of the blade and putting the parchment in the pocket of her jeans. “Yeah,” she called back, voice surprisingly steady as she wiped at the few tears that had escaped. Dagger in hand, Belle exited the bedroom and made her way down the stairs, footsteps thudding on the wooden stairs as she descended.
The living room had been repaired after the fight from a few days ago, looking as undisturbed as it had been when they’d first arrived. Belle caught sight of Ashton by the front door, her bags right by him and keys in his hand. She raised her eyebrows at them—they hadn’t taken any kind of transportation when they first arrived, just Ashton’s powers.
“Are we driving back?” Belle questioned curiously once she reached them. They were a good few states and over a day drive away from home.
“Yeah,” Ashton nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, showing off some dimples she had come to adore. He shrugged. “Thought we’d make a road trip out of it, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
Belle felt the smile tug at her lips, tilting her head. The idea was sweet, one she was more than happy to indulge in. “Stuck in a car with you for over a day?” she hummed, taking the few steps towards him and tilting her head back to look up at him and that damned smirk. “Never thought I’d look forward to it.”
Ashton lowered his eyebrows in a mock frown, lips flattening as he poked to fingers into her side. Rolling his eyes at her teasing, he huffed, “I take that as a yes?”
She laughed, nodding as she wrapped one arm around his waist. “Yes,” she confirmed. Then she raised her right hand, showing the blade, “Wouldn’t wanna leave without your prized possession first.”
Ashton looked over at the blade, a soft smile curling at his lips and Belle mirrored his smile as he took it from her. He looked at it as Belle wrapped her right arm around him as well, saw the fondness in his eyes, and it warmed her heart. He wouldn’t forget about Enya, ever, and Belle never wanted him to. Neither of them would forget her, that she knew for sure. “You were pretty badass with this, y’know,” Ashton mused, gaze flickering to Belle with an impressed raise of his eyebrows.
A soft huff of a laugh escaped her, feeling a warmth in her cheeks. Green eyes on his hazel, Belle shrugged, voice gentle as she said, “I didn’t always see it but you’ve been taking care of me for a while—it was about time I did the same for you.”
She saw the emotion flicker across his face upon hearing her words, a quiet appreciation and adoration dedicated solely to her that had Belle’s heart leaping in her chest. She was still getting used to this side of Ashton, knew he was getting used to this side of her. A learning experience both of them were on together—one that no doubt would be full of excitement and hopefully a lot more of those gorgeous dimpled smiles Ashton was capable of.
Strands of black hair fell across his forehead as he raised an eyebrow at her. “I take care of you, you take care of me; is that how it’s gonna be, then?” he questioned, the lilting tone in his voice telling her he had no qualms about it.
Belle pushed herself up on her toes, lips brushing against Ashton’s, knowing he could feel the excited racing of her heart in her chest as she murmured, “Yeah; you’re just gonna have to learn to deal with it.”
Ashton grinned, dimples in view, tilting his head just a fraction to press his lips to hers. Belle melted into him, into his embrace and kiss and everything in between, a contentment she’d never known before relaxing her in Ashton’s hold. He kissed her like he meant it, like it was all he wanted to do, and she knew the feeling was so damn mutual. “That’s perfectly alright with me.”
--
tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @loveroflrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @highfivecalum @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @wildflower-cth @wildflowergrae @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @gosh-im-short @thesubtweeter @sunnysidesblog
#ashton irwin#ashton irwin one shot#ashton irwin smut#ashton irwin imagine#ashton irwin imagines#ashton irwin blurb#ashton irwin blurbs#ashton irwin fanfic#ashton irwin fic#5sos#5 seconds of summer#calum hood#luke hemmings#michael clifford#5sos one shot#5sos smut#5sos imagine#5sos imagines#5sos blurb#5sos blurbs#5sos fanfic#5sos fic#ashton irwin angst#luke hemmings one shot#michael clifford one shot#calum hood one shot#luke hemmings imagine#michael clifford imagine#calum hood imagine#luke hemmings imagines
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congratulations! you’ve been accepted into 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐇𝐐𝐒, the oldest school for the supernatural. please make sure you’ve read over our welcome package while we wait to prepare for your arrival. make yourselves at home, lennox is a town full of possibilities!
the faceclaims of: amita suman, avan jogia, camila mendes, kat graham, madison bailey and natasha liu bordizzo have now been taken
[ AVAN JOGIA, SEVENTY-FOUR, MALE ]. who is that on campus? oh, it’s just the new professor [ WISTARI VALE ]. [ HE ] is originally from [ VALORIA ] and they’re teaching the [ Elvin Arts & Literature ] classes around here. apparently they’re also a/an [ ELF ]. they remind me of [ ROLLED UP SLEEVES OF AN OVERSIZED SWEATER, THE SMELL OF THE AIR JUST BEFORE THE RAIN, BARE FEET IN THE MORNING, AND HIGHLIGHTED PASSAGES IN A BOOK ]
[ KAT GRAHAM, THIRTY-ONE, FEMALE ]. who just got accepted? oh, it’s just the new student [ LENA JOHNSON ]. [ SHE/HER ] is/are originally from [ WILMINGTON, DE ] and they’re apparently a/an [ DRAGON ]. did you hear their focus is [ PYROKINESIS ] ? that’s probably how they got in. they remind me of [ THE CALM SEA, WARM HUGS, SANDALWOOD INCENSE, PUMPKIN PIE ]
[ CAMILA MENDES, TWENTY-FOUR, FEMALE ]. who just got accepted? oh, it’s just the new student [ MAYA RODRIGUEZ ]. [ SHE ] is originally from [ NEW YORK, US ] and they’re apparently a [ SIREN ]. did you hear their focus is [ MEMORY MANIPULATION & PSYCHIC INFLICTION ] ? that’s probably how they got in. they remind me of [ PEARL NECKLACES, ORGANISED DESK, BALLERINA SHOES & BLACK AND WHITE MOVIES ]
[ MADISON BAILEY, TWENTY-FOUR, FEMALE ]. who just got accepted? oh, it’s just the new student [ TINUVIEL DOBBY ]. [ SHE ] is originally from [ VALORIA ] and they’re apparently an [ ELF ]. did you hear their focus is [ MOON ] ? that’s probably how they got in. they remind me of [ AN INNOCENT SMILE WITH TWISTED GAZE, LUNAR ECLIPSE SWALLOWED WITH CLOUDS, CANDLE LANTERNS LINING A COBBLE PATH WAY, & THE SOUND OF WIND THROUGH THE LEAVES ]
[amita suman, sixty-four, cis woman]. who is that on campus? oh, it’s just the new professor [samira rosyara]. [she/her] is originally from [lake district, england] and they’re teaching the [wood & nature] classes around here. apparently they’re also a [ wood elf ]. they remind me of [ the palpable non-silence of a teeming forest, a bubbling brook swelling to a raging river and easing gently back, unidentifiable herbal tea, flowering weeds writhing up through concrete ]
[ NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO, TWENTY-TWO, FEMALE ]. who just got accepted. oh, it’s just the new student [ ENYA DAIYU ]. [ SHE ] is originally from [ HONG KONG ] and they’re apparently a [ MOROI ]. did you hear their focus is [ SPIRIT ] ? that’s probably how they got in. they remind me of [ COLD SEEPING IN THE VEINS AT THE EDGE OF DEATH, THE INKLING OF HOPE BRIGHTENING THE FUTURE, LOVE BLOSSOMING AT THE EDGE OF DESPAIR, SHADOWS UNEARTHED BENEATH TROUBLED EYES ]
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The Wonders of Ohio P.1
masterlist
request guidelines
okay i keep saying i’m on a hiatus and i literally start like 7 series kill me now
pairing: draco x muggle!reader
request: requested from my 14 year old brain...and her wattpad account...
summary: american high school senior y/n is roped into hosting a british exchange student, and something doesn’t seem quite right.
a/n: i wanted to do some country other than mine but it wouldn’t make sense for him to be sent to a UK family (wayy too close) and also i don’t want to assume things about a culture i am not a part of. so. yeah. sorry for this being such an ameri-centric blog, i’d like to change that but for now this is my guilty pleasure self-insert fic, along with all my fellow muggle high school seniors out here.
warnings: language. intense americanness. god i hate america
tags!!! i love you all so dearly wtf @accio-rogers @eltanin-malfoy @geeksareunique
music recs: orinoco flow from enya ( i know it’s a meme shhh it fits the scene i have of draco entering the us so well)
word count: 2,174
also: i’ll be writing the entirety of this from y/n’s point of view...i’m giving draco a rest
“So...his parents are worried about his safety in England?” Y/N shifted in her car seat, wincing as the hot leather scorched her bare arms.
“They weren’t entirely clear on it,” her mother said. She had just pushed the key into the ignition, and hot air was blasting out of the AC at an uncomfortable rate. “I’m sure you read the news about the poor people who were going missing over there...and he seems to be from a well-off family who can afford this kind of venture...”
“Did you ever tell me his name?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
Y/N nearly spat out the sip of water she had just taken, spinning around to stare at his mom. “Draco? What kind of name is that?”
“Sweetheart, be nice now,” she reprimanded, giving her a stern look. “It seems as though this family has been through a lot. I remember them mentioning something about being political targets.”
“That’s funny. I don’t remember reading anything about the Malfoy family in BBC or anything.” Y/N frowned and set her water bottle in the cup holder, turning away to watch the scenery of her state pass by.
“Perhaps it’s confidential,” her mother said. “It’s best that we don’t pressure him too much. It’s just our job to make him comfortable for a year, that’s all.”
“That’s all? You want me to give up my senior year to make some random rich boy comfortable?”
“Y/N,” her mother warned. “You’ll be civil. I know it’s strange, but I can assure you that he’ll find his own group of friends after the first week or so of school. He’ll be like a brother.”
“I can only try.” Y/N glanced up at the clock in the car, noticing that it was already 10 past 4. “Aren’t we a bit late? I thought that the program said that they wanted us at the pick-up point at 4.”
“Did they?” Mrs. Y/L/N seemed hardly concerned. “I don’t think that it’ll matter. This is an exchange program after all, you remember how they were last year in the summer. The bus didn’t even show up with all the kids until half past the hour. Speaking of which, did you happen to bring the sign?”
“How could I have made a sign with his name on it if I didn’t know what it was, Mom?”
Her mother swore under her breath, her eyes darting around the car. “You’re right. I completely forgot to tell you, you know, with the PTA meeting and everything last night...”
“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N mumbled. “It was a real rager.”
“Do we have any paper in here?” Mrs. Y/L/N began opening the glove department and sorting through it.
“Mom! I’ll do it! Keep your eyes on the road, please!” Pushing her mother’s hands away, she began going through it. There was nothing but a crumpled napkin, a “Wonders of Ohio” pamphlet, and a slightly dried EXPO dry-erase marker.
“Yeah, we have some,” Y/N muttered, uncapping the EXPO marker and writing the words “Welcome Draco!” on the unfolded tour pamphlet.
“Oh, Y/N, that’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe if the PTA bake sale meeting wasn’t so crazy, we’d be in a different situation right now.” Y/N broke into a fit of laughter, leading her mother to do the same. “I swear. He’s not gonna want to come home with us. I think he’d probably take being a political target over going home with rednecks like us.”
“You’re bad, Y/N.”
Their conversation was cut short as they arrived in a school parking lot that Y/N had been in many times to pick up exchange students for the summer. Today, it was a bit different. The crispier fall air had turned the leaves orange and red, each color illuminated brightly by the sun, which was now hitting the earth at a sharper angle.
And, most curious of all, there was only one car in the parking lot.
“See, I told you that they wouldn’t be here yet,” her mother said, motioning to the empty lot.
“But...aren’t there usually coordinators? And other parents?”
Something was beginning to feel...off.
“Well...I suppose so,” she said, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I guess this is a bit unusual.”
Their confusion only grew as they pulled into the closest parking space to the front. No one was there to greet them, which was very odd. Normally there were some adults who organized the exchange program set up a refreshments table and supplied sign building equipment in the case that you had forgotten...but today, things were different.
“Maybe year-long exchanges are just different?” Y/N suggested as they both stepped out of the car and made their way to the waiting area.
“I don’t see why they would be,” Mrs. Y/L/N said, frowning. “However, I think that this is being done by a third party program. Shannon told me that while our usual program was helping, a different one was doing most of the diplomatic and visa work.”
The two waited for about two minutes in silence. Y/N had folded and unfolded her “Welcome Draco” sign probably around 6 times before a pop rang out, loud enough to startle her.
“What was that?” she yelped, turning to see her mother just as concerned.
“I don’t know, doll. Maybe someone is having...car troubles?”
Y/N knew that that wasn’t true, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she was more focused on the two two tall figures walking towards them on the street. One had a certified dad body, tall with a broad chest that was only accentuated by a strange button-up with flamingos on it (and a sports jacket?). The man’s hair was what stood out most of all: a shock of carrot orange hair, nearly identical to the turning leaves around him. A very strange tri-cornered Revolutionary style hat was perched on top of his head.
His companion was taller but wiry, clad in long dark green cloak that flowed in the wind. As they got closer, Y/N realized how ridiculous the guy looked. His hair was a startling white blonde, but he had the face of someone around her age.
“Hello!”
The older man stopped halfway through the parking lot, waving and grinning at Y/N and her mother. They both waved back, trading glances of amusement.
“Hi?” Y/N raised her voice. “Do you need help?”
The man’s face split even further into a grin. “Are you the Y/L/N family?” His voice had turned into a yell to battle the sound of a car alarm that had sounded just a few streets over.
“What was that? You need to come closer,” Mrs. Y/L/N yelled back, motioning for them to approach. The man sent the blonde boy a pleased look, almost as if to say “see? That wasn’t too hard”. They began walking, but the carrot haired man seemed especially fascinated with the other car that was parked by them. He froze in the lot, staring at the white Subaru, mesmerized as the brake lights turned on and the car began to ease back--right in their direction.
“Oh my god...he’s gonna get hit, Mom!” They shared a concerned look before they both cupped their hands to their mouths.
“Sir, you need to move! That car’s going to hit you!”
They watched in horror as the Subaru slowly eased out of the parking lot, getting within a foot of the man before the blonde boy yanked him out of the way. Y/N could’ve sworn she heard the man say “Marvelous! Just fascinating!”.
“Jesus Christ, Mom, do you think they’re methheads or something?” Y/N made sure to drop her voice to a hushed whisper, worriedly turning towards her. “Should we get in the car and go? What if they’re going to kill us?”
“You’re too overdramatic,” Mrs. Y/L/N reprimanded...but Y/N could see how she was turning her car keys over and over in her hands. “If they come close and making strange advances, then we run, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Y/N said, her voice weak as the two men stepped up onto the curb and began to get within earshot.
“Are you the Y/L/N family?” the man asked. His British accent shocked Y/N, and suddenly it all made sense.
“Yes, that’s us,” her mother said.
Now that they were closer, Y/N got a good look at the boy in the green cloak. His features were sharply aristocratic, with a nose that looked like it belonged on a statue out of the Renaissance. She felt him looking her over with the same amount of intensity and immediately crumpled up her Wonders of Ohio pamphlet, shoving it into her pocket.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said. “I’m Arthur Weasley. This is Draco Malfoy.”
The boy’s scowl only deepened once Mr. Weasley nudged him forward with his elbow. “Say hello, Draco,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes carrying a degree of desperation.
“Hello.” His voice was cold and uninterested, just like the weight of his gaze.
“I’m Y/N,” she offered, throwing on a forced smile. “And this is my mother, Y/N Y/L/N.”
“You can call me whatever you’d like, Y/N, even Mom if that’s what you prefer,” Mrs. L/N said. Draco visibly winced at that.
“Mrs. L/N is fine with me.”
Y/N cringed at the painful amount of awkwardness. “Where’s your stuff, Draco?”
Before he could answer, Mr. Weasley jumped in, unfolding a piece of paper and reading it verbatim. “Mr. Malfoy’s luggage is having some trouble getting through cus...customs? Customs. His items will arrive at your place of residence shortly.”
“Did you try to sneak a musket in here to win back the US for the British crown or something?” Y/N couldn’t help but let a snicker slip through. Mr. Weasley seemed to pick up that she’d attempted to make a joke and bellowed a laugh while Draco simply stared her down.
“No.”
“This is going to be so much fun,” her mother exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “If there’s nothing more to do, we can go ahead and head home. I’m sure you want to rest, Draco.”
Y/N noticed that he flinched every time his name was uttered, and this time was no exception.
Silence ensued until Mr. Weasley decided to break it. “Sounds like a splendid plan. Feel free to owl--contact me if you need anything, or if Mr. Malfoy here misbehaves in...” He paused to send a glare to Draco, “...any way. The Ministry can’t thank you enough for your help.”
With that, he turned and walked around the corner of the building in the opposite way he came, leaving Draco to stand awkwardly in front of them. Despite his expensive appearance and haughty attitude, it was clear that he didn’t know what to do with his right hand as he kept tucking and untucking it from his pocket.
“Didn’t you guys come from a different direction?” Mrs. Y/L/N puzzled, staring back in the direction they came. A loud pop rang out once more.
“That’s very odd,” Y/N commented. She could tell that Draco was frozen up, his left hand curled up into a fist. “No matter. Let’s get you home. I call shotgun.”
“Y/N, no, he gets shotgun,” her mother corrected, walking towards their car. Draco trailed behind them with a very confused expression on his face.
‘Fine, fine,” she moaned, flinging open the backseat. Once they had settled in--she had noticed that Draco took a fair bit of time to buckle his seat-belt--Y/N leaned forward over the console to look at him. “Do they not have cars in England or something?”
“Y/N!”
Y/N ignored her mother’s shocked comment and looked at him expectantly.
“You could say that,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact with her and choosing to look out the window at the passing trees instead.
“You have a very cool accent,” Y/N pushed, moving over to sit in the middle. “What part of the UK are you from? I’ve never been able to match an accent to a region.”
Draco shrugged. “You wouldn’t know the place.”
“Try me.”
“Y/N, leave the boy alone,” her mother interrupted, moving her hand to push her back from the console. “He’s had a long day of traveling and he’s tired.”
“What time was your flight this morning?”
“Y/N!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, only partly meaning it. “I’ll stop. I’m really doing wonders for the loud American stereotype, huh?”
He made a sound that seemed like he agreed and rested his head on the window. From her vantage point, she could see that there were no dark roots in his hair, meaning that his color had to either be completely natural or just dyed. She mentally made a note to ask him about that later. While she couldn’t believe it, it seemed like his hair had to be natural: the strands looked so silky from where she was, with no frizz and a light gleam to it.
She flopped back into her seat, casting her eyes up to the sky.
This was going to be a long year.
final a/n: i’m so bad at managing my time...oh my god....please help...also i promise there’ll be more of this. i promise i literally love this story and also i’m not from ohio so if i get something very wrong about ohio then i’m very sorry to all my ohioan readers <333333
#draco x reader#draco#draco malfoy#draco imagine#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco x oc#draco malfoy x oc#draco x y/n#draco malfoy x y/n#harry potter#harry potter imagine#draco lucius malfoy#tom felton im so sorry
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MUSE AESTHETICS : HORROR EDITION.
Taken from: @susurrone
ENYA
GOTHIC HORROR.
gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. dogs. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. books.
CLASSIC HORROR.
black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. ghosts. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. suspicion. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.
SLASHERS.
bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.
PARANORMAL HORROR.
malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.
CRYPTID / URBAN LEGEND HORROR.
aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. unlabeled casette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. hiking / backpacking.
THRILLERS.
daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.
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Time’s Crusade: Chapter 4 (04)
also available on AO3 (under emih)
This chapter: Plane tickets, Polaroid photos, and yours & Jotaro's response to Noriaki's infertility.
warning (just in case): none, really
Summary: Yesterday in 2011, your husband Noriaki and close friend Jotaro were both murdered together just months before your university graduations. The day before yesterday, you discovered that your nerve-wracking IUI procedure was successful. Two months before that day, said close friend made a proposition to the both of you due to your husband’s recently-discovered infertility.
Today in 1988, you’re over 20 years into the past of an alternate universe, suddenly tasked with trailing after different versions of your late husband and close friend as they travel with unfamiliar faces to Egypt, determined to confront the man you now work for.
And in the following days, you discover how easy it was for your sentiments to change.
04
The Wife of an Important Man, Part 2
November 27, 1988
You… a Stand user.
At the very least, you manage to turn your head on its side.
The cold metal of the suit’s helmet hits against your cheek as your eyelids flickered, facing Dio’s bare feet. You were able to see due to the clear embedded shield over your face; apparently, it was durable enough not to crack when it came into contact with the stone floor. Gazing upward, your eyes almost cross as you focus on where the blood from your forehead started to dry on the shield.
Dio slowly turned to Enya, donning a matching expression of fascination. He feels Jonathan’s— his heartbeat getting faster. The sight of you surviving the Arrow shot and gaining a Stand… well, it made him intrigued. His plan— despite its unforeseen amendments— had worked as he predicted. Nevertheless, he kept his composure as he spoke to the old woman, ignorant of your current state.
“It appears as a suit of some sort on her,” Dio comments, glancing back at your downed metallic body. “I was not aware that a form of Stand exists.”
“It is exceptionally rare,” she elaborated, sauntering over to you. “I myself have never seen a user with one of that form. But based on her circumstance, it’s clear that she is not average, Lord Dio. That is why she was destined to meet a being as divine as you.”
That isn’t in the least surprising for him, Dio.
It seems that he had been rewarded for his own deeds himself. For nearly five years, it became clear to Dio that fate was in his favor. He’s had hundreds of men and women willing to serve him, either for a single night to fulfill temporary desires or indefinitely to aid him in various assignments. Any and every source of wealth that he managed to get his hands on is now his, and that flow of riches isn’t stopping any time soon. The small list of people that have piqued his interest enough gradually grows.
Since his awakening, Dio had spent the first three years recuperating alone. To pass the time, he would travel around the world and learn more about the new, modern society before his eyes. Compared to the era he once knew, it seemed that people were given much more liberty in doing what they pleased— something Dio took full advantage of. Of course, he’d come across the occasional person to unwind, which also taught him more about Jonathan’s body. There was that trip to Italy two years ago, where he encountered a young woman with prominent sideburns. Her looks were not up to par in his opinion, though his lower half apparently thought otherwise.
For Heaven’s sake, he could not refrain from staring at her, he couldn’t stop getting aroused at the sight of her face as he sat in the corner of the room, watching her dance with friends. And later that night, when she bounced on his cock and cried for his lordship, it occurred to Dio that her blonde hair and blue eyes must’ve somehow triggered a response of familiarity from Jonathan’s body. Needless to say, his scar hadn’t fully healed. Despite the hundred or so years, his upper and lower half were still two different entities, and it bothered him greatly.
He wouldn’t dare admit aloud that he hadn’t a fucking clue as to why that response occurred. Jonathan’s head had long been rotten at the deep depths of the Atlantic Ocean. There shouldn’t be any discernible link to his body left.
Dio’s next declared sub-goal, as a result, was to accelerate his healing.
Right now, he’s almost at that stage of full recuperation. The division between his head and Jonathan’s body has almost completely faded. He’ll be able to continue with his main objective with undivided attention afterward. But for now, it’s good to focus on what’s in front of him.
You.
It was ironic to him, really. According to Piper, you were not wed to the father— his friend, in fact— and yet here you were, carrying a zygote of future disappointment. But with what Dio has planned for you, you wouldn’t be burdened with that for long. You’ve linked yourself to a family that has no business in staying alive regardless of dimension. Sooner or later, you’d be regretting that procedure.
While lying face-down, you continued to take slow, deep breaths. The blood on the rest of your face started to reach a thin, matte consistency. Your throat and mouth throbbed in pain, and the metallic after-taste on your taste buds made your face scrunch up.
Again, you— an actual Stand user. It was quite surreal; never in a million years have you considered yourself having any potential for something of this level.
There’s information about the suit that starts to enter your thoughts.
The suit itself is a Stand, but to a non-Stand user, the suit is made of known materials on Earth. The body and helmet of the suit appears to be made out of nitinol— nickel titanium alloy. Likewise, the arms and legs are crystallized titanium. Inside the entirety of the Stand feels like ballistic mesh, which you can feel wrapped around your skin instead of your actual clothes. The exterior has a light coating containing some material— maybe carbon nanotubes— meant to reduce heat build-up. The sides of the helmet have small passages for air flow, but enough for the face shield to not fog up.
…your Stand’s ability is to tamper with most types of metal. There’s a locking mechanism on your helmet that can only be undone and removed with that ability.
You don’t have the capability of manipulating with larger objects such as vehicles or parts associated with such objects.
The ability can, however, be applied to smaller, intricately-designed or generally undetailed objects such as mechanical pencils, through-hole tech for printed circuit boards, or crowbars.
Everything else about the Stand can be learned from usage…
“Get up.”
The intrusive thoughts about the Stand stop.
Lord Dio watches you with hawk-like eyes.
With a swear, you shakily attempt to push yourself off the stone floor, still wearing your Stand. The metal on your palms clink against the ground as you raise your upper body, brows creasing at your effort.
Thankfully, the Stand didn’t add any extra weight on your limbs, but you lost a lot of strength due to… whatever Lord Dio did to your forehead, and the old woman shooting you with the peculiar-looking projectile.
Lord Dio’s fingers were still wrapped around its shaft, by the way. His forearm— the one you had scratched into bleeding earlier— reverted to its usually-smooth skin. There was absolutely no trace of you ever digging your fingernails in the alabaster-colored skin. It was strange, to say the least.
As you raised yourself up from the ground, you felt yourself tumbling backwards. You attempt to balance yourself despite your blurry vision and what feels to be nausea. This time, Lord Dio motions to help you, firmly grasping your shoulder as your senses settle down. Your eyes attempt to land its focus on the old woman, who looked to be nearly a foot shorter than you. Her eyes were filled with interest; it seemed as if there were a million answers she wanted out of you. But frankly, you couldn’t give a damn to give any right now.
You look over at the hand on your shoulder— Lord Dio hasn’t released his grip. That was the least of your worries.
“Enya Geil, was it?” you greeted in a drunken-like manner, flashing a genuine grin at her through the face shield. The feeling of light-headedness started to return.
When she nodded eagerly— still ignorant of your well-being— your attention abruptly turned to the towering man beside you. His golden eyes were locked with yours, curiosity glinting in them. You curtly nodded.
“It’s my pleasure to help, Lord Dio.”
He can’t wait.
——
Lord Dio cemented this into your mind after congratulating you: you are a prized possession of his. Maybe were you actually one of many, but you were part of that list and that was enough to be thankful for. You couldn’t be any more happy to oblige with anything he wanted out of you.
And yes, this included staying put in the largest guest room. Initially, you didn’t know that he himself ordered for you to be there. So when the masked and skull-faced Stand abruptly materialized beside you and Vanilla Ice’s face appeared out of its mouth to tell you, you weren’t happy in the slightest. In fact, you let out a lame attempt of a scream once he popped up. However, you have to admit your satisfaction due to finally knowing what his Stand looked like.
Both of you were standing directly in front of the double doors leading to said guest room.
“I don’t believe you,” you spat.
He grunted.
“If you don’t believe my words, which— by the way— are actually Lord Dio’s, then you may as well rest on this corridor rug for the night. These quarters will return to collecting dust as someone never cleans them properly…”
You ignore that last part. It also takes you a moment, but you realize that his Stand appears to be… consuming itself.
“Well, I’d rather do that then go wherever… this is,” you counter, gesturing to the double doors in front of you. “I’ve already experienced the illusions once, when I got shot with an Arrow in the middle of my ‘apartment’, okay? I think another Stand user created the room, so I don’t want you collaborating with them too and using my weaknesses to your advantage or something.”
Vanilla Ice blinked before eyeing you up and down with mild disgust. He doesn’t question the evident blood stains on your face and the shield. “Such as that gaudy armor of yours?”
You crossed your arms over your chest, the clang of metal hitting metal resonating throughout the corridor. “It’s my Stand, apparently. I don’t even know how to take it off, but thanks.”
“For goodness’ sake, didn’t Piper tell you what a Stand is? It’s a physical manifestation of your ‘life energy’— you summon and de-summon it yourself. If you need them gone, the Stand will know. You must trust it as it trusts you.”
Mild surprise was written all over your face after he spoke.
His standards for you have lowered even further.
“…that has to be the only helpful advice you’ve given me so far,” you admitted.
In all honesty, Lord Dio nor the old woman had given you any unknown information. Though, one shouldn’t be mistaken— Lord Dio is the Everest of man. It simply must’ve slipped his mind, though that might be a rare occurrence for him. Regardless, you aren’t upset at all. You could even view it as an opportunity to teach yourself more.
“Only to get the new nuisance of the mansion out of my hair,” he retorted condescendingly.
Of course, he still dislikes you. But you bother to believe his words this time.
——
It would’ve been nice to know that the doors to this guest room only lock from the outside. After the heavy door shuts by itself, you reach behind your back to lock the door and discover the lack of any door handles. You doubt that anyone would hear you banging on the doors, much less bother to assist you in getting out. Rolling your eyes, you instead indulge in the sight of the guest room.
Simply put— it’s bigger than your entire fucking apartment.
The interior and its motif seemed to match the rest of the mansion, which confirmed the lack of illusions here. There’s an enormous bed that you saunter over to with your backpack, which you carefully set on the satin bed sheets. And, after pushing it a bit, you unceremoniously fall back onto the bed with your arms splayed out.
You were about to rub your face with your hands until you remembered the suit you were wearing. The metal alloy on your fingers came into contact with the clear face shield, which was still lightly stained with your blood.
If you need them gone, the Stand will know.
You blink and stare up at the high ceiling.
Will it— this suit— know?
…how will it know?
It’s a physical manifestation of a person’s ‘life energy’ or ‘fighting spirit’.
What Piper and Vanilla Ice told you made you scoff. Fighting spirit? Life energy— sure, that made sense to you, but fighting spirit? The notion of you having any semblance to a spirit for fighting just seemed ridiculous. Most of the ‘fights’ you’ve ever gotten in were verbal; physically attacking someone has never been your thing. Was a Stand supposed to represent that? Was it the Stand’s—and, thus your— innate desire to get into a fight? Were all Stands like that?
We’re bound to get into a little trouble from time to time.
You deeply exhale through your nostrils. Lord Dio found you and your Stand useful, so that should be all that matters, right? It’s best that you respect his thoughts and opinions.
Anyway, this weird suit just needs to get off of you. It fit fine— perfect, actually— but traveling while wearing metal seemed very unpractical.
The layers of titanium and ballistic mesh start to dissolve off of your body almost instantly, and you feel yourself lightly sinking into the bed. Your clothing quickly returned to sight; it’s as if they were never actually taken off. Instead of the shell of the helmet, the back of your head and hair comes into contact with the satin bed sheets. Wriggling your sock-clad toes, you remember that you took off your boots in the fake apartment.
Maybe if you… you don’t know, get out, you could get them back from that other room. Though, judging by the sheer size of the mansion, you might get lost in one of the corridors. You reluctantly back away from that idea.
Subsequently, you turn your head to your open backpack. Peeking out of its zipper opening was your laptop, which makes you realize there’s definitely something you can do to pass the time.
——
Strangely enough, you seem to grasp onto your Stand’s ability pretty quickly.
You’re sitting at the carved wooden desk placed far across the bed, taking the time to do heavy maintenance on your laptop. In order to do this, only the metal arms of the suit appear on your body.
Earlier, you took the time to clean yourself in the room’s connecting bathroom and accidentally summoned only the arms and helmet of the suit while being fully submerged in the bath. It only occurred to you then that it was possible to do that, so you decided to take full advantage of it.
The battery cable stayed intact and connected, but the chances of reconnecting the camera and Bluetooth cables back to the bent motherboard were low. And… well, the motherboard was bent, so the chances of this laptop actually functioning properly were basically nonexistent. You used the Stand to take out the cracked case of the lower half of the laptop— screws and all— to find this sad excuse. Your face was nearly pressed to it as your hand hovered over every screw and tab to gingerly pull out everything necessary and fix the display.
To better see the motherboard, the open laptop is propped on the DVD-drive side on the desk. As you place it this way, you hear the creaking from the double doors as they open rather abruptly. Your head whips around to face the intruder.
The arms of your Stand instinctively vanish.
Fortunately, he didn’t have the chance to notice them as he tumbles into the guest room. He pulls at his orange robing to make sure it doesn’t get trapped between the doors.
You blink a few times, ensuring that it’s really him.
“…Piper?”
What the hell was he doing here?
Was he going to let you out?
“Oh, you know my name now,” he observed, flashing you a quick smile before ‘discreetly’ kicking the carved nightstand beside the bed. “Yes, that’s… very fine, yes.”
One of his hands held onto a stem glass half-filled with red wine. Your eyes dart down to it.
…yeah, he’s probably not letting you out.
Still gazing at him, you reluctantly give him a small smile, which quickly disappears once he starts to tread over to you.
“Okay, no— you shouldn’t even be here,” you warn, whipping your head back to your laptop on the desk and back to his approaching form. “I… come on, you’re not even supposed to see this yet. No one is for over 20 years.”
Piper stood directly beside the desk. He pointed to the logo on the upper case.
“Interesting, Apple changed their logo? What happened to the rainbow apple?”
As you tightly grip the upper case and display, you glare at him. “Goddamnit, this is from 2011— stop looking. I’m trying to fix the display with my— yeah, I’m… trying to fix this shit…”
“What an atrocious laptop.”
…what?
You narrowed your eyes up at him for a second before your features softened.
“Oh, that’s right,” you remembered with a soft tone, “Laptops were already being built this decade, so… uh, are you familiar with the Kyotronic 85? That’s… the only one I know of that was built during this decade.”
He hummed in agreement. “Mhm, the Tandy Model 100, yes. A few years ago, I broke mine after I tried and failed to put those dental rubber bands under the keys to make typing quieter.”
You awkwardly nod and purse your lips.
Yes, this was the decade that ‘portable computers’ would start popping up— you remember the lengthy lectures and the times you helped… him… study for tests. But having knowledge of models that haven’t even been conceived yet, however, is something you find to be a bit dangerous. For once, you regret studying all of this.
Anyway, should you keep working in front of Piper? Is it even worth it?
You drum your fingers on the wooden desk, keeping your gaze down on the open laptop.
This starts to occupy your thoughts for a few minutes, and it reaches a point where you don’t even realize that he already left your side during that time.
Taking a deep breath, your eyes land on the Bluetooth cable on the motherboard. Since it’s 1988, and Bluetooth doesn’t become patented until the middle of next year, the cable’s existence is entirely pointless. Maybe you should just ignore that.
Or maybe you shouldn’t ignore that, and should remember that you just showed an invention from 2011 to a man from 1988.
Who knew what would happen if people besides Piper found out about this? Actually, what if he already learned, and decided to out the information to the wrong minds?
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I broke a time-travel rule,” you grumbled to yourself.
“Indeed you have,” he confirms aloud. You immediately turn your head to find him distracted by the provided luxury-branded toiletries on the nightstand. Its ingredients seem to preoccupy his attention instead of… you don’t know, inducing him to leave.
So much for repairing your laptop in much-needed silence— away from him.
“You can name your Stand, you know,” Piper suggested, twirling around and gesturing his glass to you. The wine in his glass sloshed around.
You rapidly blink at him.
“You know about it?”
Okay, you didn’t even bring it out in front of him while he was here, so how…
“I may or may not have been eavesdropping between the floor and the rug in the hallway, while you were bickering with Vanilla. To call you the ‘new nuisance of the mansion’… goodness.”
Whatever that meant, you didn’t comment on it. Though, you did imagine Piper lifting the rug and casually sipping his wine from the innards of the stone floor, ogling at you and Vanilla Ice like a television drama.
You turn back around to focus on your laptop, which still desperately needed to be operated on.
“Well, I… can’t think of a name right now,” you admitted. “Honestly, naming my Stand is the last thing I’m worrying about right now.”
“Understandable,” he replied, shrugging.
“Does my Stand even need a name, anyway?” you ask, slowly turning around to face him again. “It’s literally just a suit.”
At your words, Piper slightly opened and closed his mouth in a fish-like manner before sighing and rubbing his temples.
“It’s expected for Stand users to name their Stands the moment they become aware of it. Unlike you, I got my Stand at birth, which was around the same time my father was listening to a cover of ‘Take Five’ that pianist Sadao Kujo did with his jazz orchestra when he started becoming hot shit. So when I found his old LP and was old enough to fully comprehend my Stand, I named mine Take Five after that wonderful—”
“—no offense,” you interject calmly, “But… can you get to the point?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. You know you have a Stand, so name it after something you’re fond of like music or… or movies or whatnot. But don’t get maniacal about it, or you’ll have a Stand named I Killed My Lesbian Wife, Hung Her on a Meathook, and Now I Have a Three Picture Deal at Disney. By the way, that’s by Ben Affleck, and your universe is the only one where it’s a smash hit and furthered his directing career only.”
Lightly snorting, you retort, “What, is he like an actor or something elsewhere?”
“Actually, yes.”
You blinked.
Hm.
“But my Stand is a suit,” you say, diverting the conversation back. “I don’t think it would care if it had a name or not.”
“But other Stand users need to know what to refer yours by,” Piper countered. “You know, Stand users like me— I brought you to this dimension, for heaven’s sake. We can’t just call you random nicknames like… uh, ‘Iron Lady’. And, well, that name’s technically already taken by British Prime Minister Thatcher, so we can’t use that anyway.”
You lean back in your chair and swear.
Piper did, in fact, bring you here. How could you forget?
To be fair, within a day, your life has literally done a full 180°. You’ve gone from a happily married, prospective university graduate to a moody widow with some magic metal suit. It’s done enough to distract you and make you temporarily forget how it all happened.
There’s a part of you that’s still convinced that this is a dream.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you complained, burying your face in your hands. “I mean… am I really going to believe everything you said earlier? You know, about how I’m in 1988 and in a different universe?”
Piper rapidly blinks at you. “Did you not believe it before? I was given the impression that you did.”
You reply in a bored tone, “I grew up reading and watching weird shit. I even married a guy who does… did the same. I believed it at first out of fear, because I didn’t know what you’d do to me if I didn’t. But now… I mean, I just want to know why I’m here in the first place. Whatever you’re doing to me right now is probably just some distraction or ruse.”
“And you… acquiring a Stand after getting shot… isn’t?” he asked with an amused tone. “You pledged your loyalty to Lord Dio, right?”
You don’t hesitate to respond.
“Oh— yes, of course.”
For a brief moment, Piper doesn’t speak right away as he appears to be taken aback at your response. He glances at your forehead before sipping his wine and nodding.
“Alright, then, alright. You mustn’t doubt yourself. And you’re here for a reason— we all are, you know. Nothing here that Lord Dio presents to us is deceitful— he has his reasons for letting us serve him.”
That seemed quite reasonable.
Again, you wouldn’t dare question Lord Dio— you’ll just have to trust him on whatever he wishes to acquire from you. You weren’t given any specifics yet, but you’ll happily wait for them.
After speaking, Piper sipped his wine again… and again, and again.
This definitely wasn’t his first glass today. Hell, maybe not his second or third either.
“You should probably know that the potential for having a Stand has stuck with you for a very long time.”
You raise a brow. “What do you mean by that?”
He hiccuped and cleared his throat. “Well, you obviously weren’t born with one, but fate intended for you to be able to acquire one at some point in your life. If not from being shot with the Arrow, then perhaps from work that you do constantly and consistently in order to strive for perfection. You do wear a metallic suit— you don’t happen to be in any technical fields, by any chance?”
“Guilty,” you responded sheepishly. “Engineering.”
Piper snapped and pointed to the open laptop on the desk. “Ah— see. You’re even fixing that piece of junk without any instructions.”
You start to wonder if he has any sort of decency, but you realize that you already know the answer to that. He gladly shoved you twice, talked shit about cutting-edge technology in 1980’s terms (literally— you accidentally pricked yourself from grabbing a tab earlier), and is currently drinking alcohol in the early hours of the morning without much care. What a man, he is.
“Thanks,” you sarcastically appreciated.
Suddenly, he started to reach inside the inner layers of his robing. After a little fishing inside, his hand grabs onto a familiar flat device. Your eyes widen.
“Oh, and here’s your… phone,” he says, carefully placing it down on the satin bed sheets. “I don’t like it— too small, too bright, weird screen. I hope the phones in this dimension don’t have a build as ugly as that once 2011 comes around.”
You roll your eyes as you stand up and walk over to grab the familiar device. “As if 1988 brick phones look any better. Anyway, did you go through my phone, tamper with it, or anything?”
He snorted. “Do I look like the type of person to know how to do that? I’m from 1988. I’ve been hopping dimensions since I was in high school. Technology is not my forte.”
Entering the passcode, you search through the phone to ensure if he’s telling the truth. It takes about a minute or two to check, but none of the contents on your phone have been changed. By default, the phone continues to record the date and time in Japan Standard Time— technically, the wrong time zone— as it doesn’t require any sort of Internet or cellular connection to do so. Likewise, you don’t have any cellular service for obvious reasons.
Occasionally, you have to shoo Piper away as he tries to creep over your shoulder in order to see your phone screen.
You slide your phone into your pocket afterward, crossing your arms over your chest as you face him. You’re about to say something to him, but he interrupts.
“Anyway, I’m going to leave to get more wine— I met a sommelier from the capital of the Sasanian Empire back in the 7th dimension,” he announces, gesturing to his now-empty glass. You donned a deadpan expression, and you don’t question… whatever he’s saying.
He then uses the glass to point at your backpack, which is still sitting on the bed. “Also, I’d advise that you don’t lose your wedding ring here. It’ll be a pain to look for it later.”
As he strolls past you and over to the space between the stone wall and the embroidered curtains covering the tall windows, you turn away to glance at the piece of jewelry with wide eyes. While pulling out your laptop from your backpack, the ring and other small possessions of yours must’ve been pulled out as well. You lean over the bed to grab onto it. There’s a thin scratch on the underside of the ring, making you swear aloud.
During your research work, you normally took the ring off as a precautionary measure to avoid the small (but barely any) risk of it conducting electricity. On any other occasion outside of work, you always preferred wearing it to avoid any awkward or uncomfortable situations with anyone else.
Now that you think about it, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to wear it again. But after you fix that pesky laptop of yours…
——
The dining hall became the only other room you could visit, and only during conventional meal times.
For most of the day you were locked inside the guest bedroom, occasionally getting visits from the butler Telence, who allowed you to call him by his first name. At the very least, you were still provided with basic necessities such as toiletries, first aid, and social interaction— something done sparingly all day due to the questionable personalities of the ones you’ve met.
Telence was friendly, though he liked to pry into your personal life and make comparisons to himself an uncomfortable amount (he visited the most; he was required to, anyway). Like Piper, he also happened to be American. Vanilla Ice always seemed like he wanted to off either himself or you every time you breathed in his direction (he never visited, but made sure to sit as far away from you as possible during meal times). Piper was just the personification of an acid trip (he didn’t visit anymore after the first time and never ate with any of you).
As of the early morning, all three became your colleagues. The diversity of this workplace is astounding.
“Hey, does anyone know if Lord Dio eats during the day?”
“You stupid girl. How dare you ask such a personal question about our Lord Dio?”
“…thanks, Vanilla Ice.”
Seriously was that long-haired maniac exhausting to speak with.
…it was a genuine question, alright? He’s always cooped up in his room and you never see him in the dining hall.
Reportedly, there were a few others living here in the mansion, but none of them had any business meeting you personally. Learning all of their names was a gradual process, it seemed.
It was only until tonight where leaving the guest room had a legitimate purpose besides eating. Telence had knocked on the double doors, prompting you to alert your presence by knocking back. He had a particular rhythm while knocking, so even before the doors opened, you knew it was him. Out of the colleagues that you’ve met, he’s probably been the only one you had positive opinions about.
The butler’s eyes widen at the sight of you clad in silk pajamas that he personally provided.
“Oh, were you just about to retire for the night?” he asked in an apologetic tone. He held his hands behind his back as he stood before you. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss…”
You shook your head. “No, it’s fine, I wasn’t sleeping yet or anything. Is there something wrong, Telence?”
Sighing, Telence replied, “Well… Lord Dio requests your presence in the dining hall.”
…oh.
Glancing down at your pajamas and back up at the tattooed butler, you purse your lips.
“Immediately?”
“Immediately,” he repeated. You see him briefly glance down at your hands, your fingers… his eyes widen before the outer corners crinkle due to him smiling. “Don’t feel the need to get dressed up— I’m sure your presence alone will suffice, really.”
Was it that urgent?
What in the world would you speak about with Lord Dio?
…well, it’s not like you’re complaining.
Telence stepped aside to make way for you as you walked out of the guest room. You felt the cold stone beneath your socks, and the temperature made you stand up straighter. Deeply inhaling— and (still) smelling the faint scent of corpse— you step onto the never-ending runner rug with Telence at your heels and rambling.
——
“Really? It had to be you taking me to the Airport?”
Vanilla Ice took a second to glare at you through the rear-view mirror. Per Piper’s (drunken) suggestion before you left, you were blindfolded with a handkerchief of his to prevent you from seeing the exterior of the mansion and the route. To Vanilla Ice, you were surprisingly obedient about it. Nor was it a terrible idea, but he’d never openly admit that.
Once you arrive, you better get that handkerchief back from her!
Why so? It resembles a defecation wipe.
Are you fucking stupid? It’s over 140 years old— it’s quite dear to me.
“I’m not enjoying this in the slightest, either. It seems that as of tonight, we have both experienced a loss.”
Out of everyone in the mansion, Vanilla Ice was the only eligible driver.
Kenny G— the Stand user with the illusions, apparently— forgot to apply for an International Driving Permit. Enya was too old to see the nighttime road properly and had to phone her son anyway. Telence had to monitor the mansion and order that guy Nukesaku around to clean. Nukesaku was also not trusted because everyone believed that he’d accidentally kill you in a car accident. Piper was mildly inebriated from the glasses of wine he had. And Lord Dio said he never learned. Also said he’d never set foot near one until 1983… whatever that meant.
You purse your lips.
“You know, I didn’t even know you could drive.”
“I will sever your tongue.”
Rolling your eyes, you resort to staring at darkness for the rest of the car ride.
November 1988 || Tokyo, Japan
Tokyo is very different in the 80’s, which you fully process the second you pass through the terminal at Narita the next morning.
Granted, you’re coming from a different age— literally— though the sight of everything continues to overwhelm you. There hasn’t been a single thing that you haven’t been surprised by, including the lack of questioning from your now-forged passport and the contents of your luggage.
Back in 2011, surely you would’ve been detained due to possessing a passport with a changed birth year and expiration date. Surely the LCD-screened smartphone that was slightly bigger than a pager would’ve gotten you stopped, because not only is that not even supposed to exist yet, but it could easily be mistaken for some sort of explosive device in 1988. However, a simple nod was given to you each time you passed a checkpoint, confusing you.
It’s not like you wanted to get caught— no. The suspiciously lax restrictions from security just weirded you out more than anything.
Right after an hour-long taxi ride to Meguro-ku, you set out on foot with your duffle-bag backpack. Naturally, your clothing garners confused stares from locals as you passed by. Your old backpack did you no favors considering how half of your belongings became broken, so you ended up being given some durable expensive-looking bag from the mansion’s butler. He looked to be about your age, so it was… nice… to have another young contemporary working for Lord Dio.
After handing the new backpack to you, Telence had obliviously asked for tips on getting married at a young age— like you, he points out, as he wanted to propose to his girlfriend one day. This ended up pissing you off more than it normally would, especially as you realize that you stupidly left your wedding ring in plain view.
You were here in a different country, in a different continent, in a different year, in a different universe, and you were locked up in one of the guest rooms. Mysteriously, nothing built in that room actually had traces of metal. You were trapped— even during dinner before that, which contained actual food and not scraps like you assumed— and he had the nerve to bring up your husband. It still hasn’t been a whole fucking week yet.
Your subsequent argument with Telence unfortunately soured a beginning of camaraderie with him, which was a shame. He was probably the only person who tolerated you in the mansion, besides the old woman who shot you with the Bow and Arrow. However, you didn’t see much of Enya, nor did your colleagues. Lord Dio didn’t really count as someone you could befriend, as you were tiers below him and thus, weren’t worthy enough to do so.
But it’s not like any collective agreement was made to befriend colleagues in the first place. You could tell— based on the other servants— that carrying out tasks alone was preferred over collaborating. The same was expected for you, which explains your lack of accompaniment. You’re expected to do everything yourself, but that’s fine.
Hopefully, your work ethic comes back into play when finding Joseph Joestar and his group— whoever those people are.
——
You’re currently sitting in a room at a small fertility clinic a short drive away from the hotel. While you were still in Cairo, you brought up a desire to visit a fertility clinic again, prompting Telence to book an appointment for you here (pre-argument). Like everything else, Lord Dio had taken care of the expenses.
As you waited for the specialist, you patiently sat on the medical exam table in one of the rooms, fiddling with your fingers and staring at the open window. The clipboard with a long questionnaire had already been filled out and was set down beside you on the smooth table paper. Through the glass you see a large, strangely-modern building right across from the clinic.
SPEEDWAGON ☸ FOUNDATION
Huh.
Since it’s the late 80’s, they probably became defunct by the 2010’s or something. You’ve never heard of that company before. Though, their architecture definitely looked more like something you’d see back in 2011.
Anyway, your eyes avert from the window to the closed door of the exam room. The day of your previous clinic visit made you cry tears of happiness, as that was the day you discovered that your IUI procedure performed weeks before was successful. You and Noriaki went out for dinner that night to celebrate, knowing that you couldn’t really go to a bar to do that anymore.
That was probably the last of your good memories. Of course, you remembered what brought it along in the first place.
July 2011
This was only the second time you’ve been to Jotaro’s apartment. The phone call you had with him warranted a rare visit from you.
His apartment is a large studio, and you’re a little shocked by the sheer size of it. Near the television was a large shelf unit that caught your attention, so naturally you approach it with curiosity.
The large shelf unit contained various marine-themed trinkets, along with a few model ships and non-flying model airplanes. Rows of manga and American comics filled the top shelves, while Blu-ray cases of movies tightly lined the lower ones. As your eyes skim through each shelf, you notice the lack of anything relating to family, save for a total of… three frames.
One had a younger Jotaro— you’d guess elementary school-age— with his parents; his blonde and green-eyed mother gleaming while his black-haired and brown-eyed father giving a smirk reminiscent of his son’s. Another had Jotaro visiting Italy with his mother and maternal grandparents, though you could tell this was taken within the last five years. The last one had current-Jotaro with two other men; one you immediately recognized as that same grandfather in a dark button-up, a green tie, and suspenders, but the other you had no recollection of. With black hair that had a tint of blue, slightly outdated clothing, and muscle mass far surpassing the other two… yeah, you had no idea who that was.
Jotaro peers over his shoulder to find you standing in front of the shelf unit, preoccupied.
“Are you okay?”
You look over, shaking your head.
“Yeah,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. You continue to stare at the photo, wondering if you’ve met that person before. He didn’t look any older than Jotaro’s parents; honestly, he was probably just an uncle of his. The resemblance to Jotaro and his grandfather (what was his name, again?) was a bit uncanny, after all.
Anyway, Jotaro notices what you’re looking at.
“Do you want tea?” he blurts out all of a sudden, sincerely hoping you’d place your focus elsewhere. “Or… eh, anything?”
You shrug, (finally) deciding to leave the photo alone. Not once do you notice his looming nervousness.
“Sure, ah… I’m fine with tea.”
When you’re not looking, Jotaro lets out a small exhale of relief as he heads over to the open kitchen to prepare a teapot. Just once more do you sneak a glance at the photo before heading to the dining table. Once you’re there, you either watch him make what seems to be green tea, or sit there daydreaming. You absentmindedly poke at his white hat, which sat on a textbook about marine invertebrates beside you.
It’s less than a month until summer break. You’ve been trying to study for finals this semester, which for the most part you’ve succeeded in doing so. However, since the first clinic visit, your concentration has started to falter. Most of the time, instead of focusing on exams for your 300-level classes, you’ve been focused on Noriaki.
He hasn’t been talking to you much since, and it worries you. For the past few days you’ve been trying to indirectly comfort him, from preparing food for him or doing other things— non-sexual, you might add— that were previously successful in making him happy. Such actions were indirect, because he seemed to react better when you weren’t in his presence. It hurt; every time he never responded to you or enacted in any sort of physical contact with you was like being stabbed multiple times, the knives getting slower and slower and excruciatingly more painful as it entered and penetrated through layers of your body.
You never went against Noriaki’s wishes. To betray him in such a way was unforgivable; it made you unworthy of being his partner. Though, being here in Jotaro’s presence already seemed like a red flag. Noriaki never mentioned his displeasure about it once, but to talk to Jotaro about Noriaki himself… well, you hope that it’s worth it. After all, it was Jotaro himself that had called you here.
And in that phone call, you both first realize that you’ve been having the same thoughts regarding the redhead. Then, Jotaro had talked about something that definitely warranted a visit from you.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
You whip your head to Jotaro, who towered over you while carrying the tea tray. His brows were furrowed; he was giving you a hardened look as he set everything down in front of you.
He sits directly across from you, minding how his legs no longer have space to stretch out. As he pours you tea, the only sound that resonates in the room is the sound of the tea being poured. Nothing else— you can’t even tell if he’s breathing anymore, nor you.
“Don’t take any of this the wrong way,” Jotaro demanded.
He legitimately looked angry, even when you both toasted out of instinct.
You slowly blinked at him afterwards. “I wasn’t intending to, I just…”
“It’s okay for you to be confused— pissed off at me, even,” the black-haired man assures as he starts to sip his tea. There’s a brief flash of contentment on his face before he continues to frown. “I…”
Jotaro finally took the time to look into your eyes.
“Listen— he’s absolutely heartbroken,” was how Jotaro was describing the incident. “…it hurts. It hurts to see Noriaki act like that… I mean, we took Ukon no Chikara beforehand— so mostly nothing wrong health-wise— but Noriaki still looked like he was going to drink himself to death.”
Your breath hitches. This is the first time you’ve heard about Noriaki drinking since the clinic visit. Usually, if he drank, it was with you or Jotaro or anyone he could trust to bring him home if he became absolutely wasted (which, to be honest, didn’t take long to happen). He’s told you in the past that if he drank by himself in front of you, then that was the time that he hit rock bottom. Recent events have sure been telling.
“I… I can tell he is,” you solemnly admit after sipping from your own cup. “He won’t talk to me—”
“— still?” Jotaro interjected, until it occurred to him that you had more to say. He cleared his throat, apologizing. “...sorry.”
“It’s okay, but yes … still. We’ve… I tried to talk to him, but I wanted to give him time to cool off and process everything because I know he… hasn’t.”
“How much time are you giving him?”
You shrug with genuine uncertainty.
“As much time as he needs, but… I hope it’s not something he shelves. We do need to talk about it— damnit, I want to talk about it as soon as possible.”
“You need to,” he agrees, sipping his tea.
“…yeah.”
For a minute or two, you and Jotaro sit at the table in silence, occasionally lifting your warm cups of tea to drink. There’s at least a dozen thoughts that travel through both of your minds, but neither of you vocalize them at all. Some of them are even about the same topic, but nothing comes out of your mouths.
“…not wanting a child is one thing, but… not being able to have a child is another… I’m so sorry…”
“Noriaki, please, let’s talk about this when we get home…”
“What is there to talk about? I’m a sterile, useless piece of shit. I failed you as your husband.”
“Don’t say that— why would you say that?”
You rest your chin on your hand, elbow rudely propped up on the table.
“I want to help you two,” Jotaro blurted out, which made you perk up. “It just got me thinking…”
“And… that’s why you called me here? To— to ask me about it…?” you stammered.
“Yes.”
His eyes avert from you down to the tea tray.
You slowly nod.
“Because you want to… donate sperm,” you clarify, expressionless.
Jotaro choked out, “…yes.”
When he mentioned discussing it with Noriaki during the phone call with you, you froze in shock. It’s rather… bold… for him to bring up this suggestion, especially during a time when you and Noriaki were experiencing a time of grief. It’s also not everyday that you get a call about your good friend giving sperm to you while you’ve been fully immersed in watching a game show on the sofa.
You had nothing against sperm donation or assisted-reproduction tech in general, but you didn’t think it would ever be necessary for you and your husband of all couples.
And… well, there’s a massive amount of legal considerations. Jotaro was close friends with the both of you, which introduces an issue of involvement with the child’s life— even if it’s expressed in a contract that he won’t have any sort of parental relationship with them once they’re born. It would seem outrageous to stop being friends with him in order to not violate that. Also, you trusted Jotaro to be cooperative with whatever is specified in a contract, but a court might not see him that way.
The child would obviously not resemble their legal father, Noriaki, either. There’s no telling that they’ll resemble you more than the biological father, Jotaro, to the point where no one would question otherwise. You cringed at the idea of you three at some get-together a decade from now, where nosy family members start to gossip and rumor about a possible case of infidelity between you and the child’s biological father. The rumor would be a terrible burden for all of you, and not to mention a headache. One day, either you or Noriaki would attempt to explain to the young child about why they didn’t inherit their father’s red hair or lavender-grey eyes.
“I’ve been friends with Noriaki for almost six years,” Jotaro explained, setting his tea cup down. “And… I care about him—”
“—do you really want to do this?” you interjected, eyes wide. “Jotaro, I know you’re not impulsive or anything, but… this will change… everything, you know. I don’t… I don’t want you to end up regretting this decision. You’ve got an entire future for you to experience, and… I don’t know, you might be at this stage of planning with whoever you vow to be with in that time. I don’t want all of this to complicate your life.”
It wouldn’t complicate his life— he thought everything through, even if he first told Noriaki in the spur of the moment. He was serious about this… about everything.
Jotaro had a stern look on his face.
“…but, do you want to do this?”
At that question, you turn away.
…did you?
You let out a shaky sigh.
Do you really have any other option, though?
“I love him, Jotaro,” you say, starting to sniffle. You bring a napkin to your eyes to pat them dry. “I… I love Noriaki so much. I don’t want him to think that… this… will make me love him any less, but I just… it pains me to see him suffering like this, you know? I’m his wife, and yet I feel so useless— I can’t even do anything to help him myself…”
“That’s why I want to help,” he told you with a soft tone. “I don’t want to beg or plead or any of that bullshit, but I want you and Noriaki to make the decisions yourselves. Like you said, ah… what I’m doing will change everything. I want you — the both of you— to think about this.”
You gaze over at him before hanging your head low.
“I… well, we don’t really have any other option,” you confessed. “Noriaki and I aren’t old enough to adopt here, so that’s out of the question, and…”
Trailing off, you try to think if there were other options in the first place.
Eventually, Jotaro cleared his throat.
“You— you don’t have to make this decision now, if that’s what you’re… ah, thinking.”
You rubbed your face with your hands, sniffling.
He’s right.
Why bother to pressure yourself with something like this at this very moment? There’s plenty of time for you to contemplate, for Noriaki to build up the courage to speak with you again, for the both of you to take the time to discuss this in whole…
Back at your apartment, Noriaki was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, mind wandering towards the topic that Jotaro had brought up to him on that night. He’s eating from a small bowl of cherries that you bought for him, which sits on his lap. His face is expressionless; there’s dried tears stained on his cheeks.
Of course, you don’t know that.
“Okay— no, yeah, I got that,” you finalize, nodding at Jotaro. You set your tea cup down rather loudly. “When, ah… when he’s ready to talk, I’ll… I’ll give you a call, alright?”
Jotaro nods back, the corners of his mouth upturning as he gives you a small smile.
November 28, 1988
They’re sitting patiently in another room beside the kitchen when the sound of a landline being slammed back into place is heard. Immediately, the three of them avert their eyes to the sliding door, waiting for the owner of the storming footsteps on the engawa. The architecture of the family home— along with the unfamiliarity on the walker’s behalf— seemed to be accentuating every sound he makes as he approaches the door and roughly slides it open.
Seeing the towering, old man slide open the door with such force makes the three inwardly cringe— particularly the two teens.
The frame continues to lightly shake as he firmly speaks in his aged voice.
“[We board the flight to Cairo at 8:30 tonight],” Joseph Joestar announces in English as he ducks under the door frame, steps on the tatami, and stands directly in front of the three.
“[Why so late?]” the taller teen suddenly questions in an annoyed tone. He’s glaring at his grandfather as his hands are shoved in his front pockets; the bill of his black cap is pulled lower than usual.
It’s not obvious, but he’s starting to become antsy. The last thing he wants, however, is for his grandfather and the other two to pick up on that underlying anxiety of his.
Joseph sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“Trust me, Jotaro— I asked the same question,” he replies with a frown. “The Speedwagon Foundation says that that flight is the earliest one. It’s also likely that Dio knows about our connection to the Foundation, so there’s no way we can directly travel under them either. Besides, they’re already sending some of their best doctors from all of their branches to monitor Holly here.”
“Did they say when they’ll be arriving?” the Egyptian man, Muhammad Avdol, asked.
Frankly, he’s still quite shaken after seeing Ms. Holly unconscious on the kitchen floor. The green vine-like Stand— similar to her father’s purple one— continued to grow and wrap around her back as it attacked her from the inside. He, like everyone else, knows that there can’t be much time left until Mr. Joestar’s daughter succumbs to the illness.
“There’s one coming from the Meguro branch today, and a few others flying in from America between tonight and tomorrow.”
Jotaro tsk -ed.
“At least we’re having one coming today,” Joseph repeats, giving his grandson a pointed look before turning away. “It’s… better than nothing.”
He didn’t respond to Jotaro’s further actions, which included a roll of the eyes and a swear grumbled under his breath.
The other red-haired teen cleared his throat.
“Ah… so what will we be doing until then?” Kakyoin asked, resting his hands over a large encyclopedia. His eyes averted to the wood grain alarm clock radio, which oddly sat on the low table beside him. “It’s only after 9, and we board that flight several hours from now.”
“Avdol and I could go out and get some supplies for our trip,” Joseph suggested, gesturing to himself and Avdol. Avdol nodded and hummed in agreement. “You and Jotaro could wait for the Foundation doctor here and look over his mother in the meantime, maybe ready a bag of clothes, underwear, toiletries… whatever you need. But I recommend packing light— this trip to and in Cairo won’t be long.”
Kakyoin glanced up at Jotaro, who side-eyed him back. “I’ll just quickly drop by my house to pack some of my things, then. I don’t actually live that far from here.”
“If we’re driving, we can drop you off,” Avdol pointed out.
Joseph crossed his arms, nodding. “Yeah, just tell us the address. Luckily, these Japanese roads are like the ones in England— driving on the left side and all— except there’s not that much traffic here… one of the few good things about this place, I believe. But I almost hit a stupid cyclist the last time I was here, you know? Sheesh!”
“Maybe because you never needed to drive on the left side of the road for fifty fucking years and forgot how to.”
The old man whipped his head over to Jotaro with a glare before sighing in defeat. “That may be true, but watch your language! Again!”
Jotaro grunted.
Joseph turned to speak with Avdol about their remaining expenses, who crossed his arms over his robed chest. Kakyoin strolled over to his towering classmate as he attempted to adjust the tight bandage around his forehead. Once he approached a respectable distance from him, Jotaro’s eyes darted to the covered wound from the flesh bud; the amount of blood that bled through had been decreasing, and there’s barely any stain as of this morning.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a little eager to leave for Egypt,” Kakyoin quietly said with a content expression. He switched to Japanese to speak to him. “I wouldn’t mind revisiting so soon, despite having some… unpleasant memories, now that I think about it. It’s nice there, though.”
After letting out a curt hum, Jotaro also replied in Japanese, “I’ll take your word for it, but I just want to see that bastard, Dio, get what he deserves.”
Kakyoin lightly snorted. “I feel the same way.”
The redhead swears he sees a glint of amusement in Jotaro’s eyes— a rare occurrence, it seems. Though, he doesn’t mind it any longer when he sees him turning away from him. Jotaro calmly went over to the sliding door and comically opened it with much less force than his grandfather did before. Kakyoin resorted to watching him for a second before deciding to follow him for a few minutes. He was probably going to the other room to where his mother was, passed out cold and tightly tucked into a futon in the middle of the room.
It was a scary sight, to be honest. Having your Stand fight you instead of it fighting for you— Kakyoin couldn’t even imagine how Mrs. Kujo was feeling right now. He didn’t know how long he’d be there to monitor her, as he had to leave with Mr. Joestar and Mr. Avdol soon to go to his house.
His parents both worked during the day, so luckily they wouldn’t be home to question his absence between yesterday and this morning. Somehow, the fight that he had with Jotaro during cram school yesterday felt like an eternity ago, and now here he was, planning to go on an impromptu trip to a different country.
“[I’ll— eh, Kakyoin and I— will be keeping an eye on Mom. Are you… all leaving now?]” Jotaro asked aloud in English to the two adults in the corner of the room.
His brows furrowed when they didn’t immediately answer, so he repeated his question much louder. Avdol was the first one to respond with a nod, so Jotaro was about to take that as the sole answer and leave. However, Joseph started to speak, and his abruptly soft tone made him and Kakyoin come to a halt. They stared at him in anticipation, but Avdol’s lips remained pursed. He must’ve already known what the old man was going to tell them.
“…I need to take another spirit photo,” he breathed out.
His head suddenly whipped around for any sight of a camera in the room. While his grandfather started to crouch and look under furniture, Jotaro already started to re-enter through the doorway and over to him. Kakyoin, on the other hand, stayed where he was at the front of the sliding door.
“So, you’re both not leaving now? Haven’t you taken enough, already?” he asked gruffly.
Joseph sighed as he pulled out drawer after drawer, opened container after container.
“Yes, and I’m not sure why, but… I feel like I need to take another one.”
——
It takes about twenty minutes, but Joseph finally manages to find a camera in the Kujo household that he hasn’t destroyed to pieces yet.
“Oi, old man. That’s my dad’s camera—”
“—perfect.”
“…good grief.”
He (begrudgingly) sits at the low table, carefully situating the black Polaroid camera in the middle. The Egyptian man and the two teens resort to standing around him, eyes narrowed at him and the camera. All they hear is the inhales and exhales from their breathing; Joseph continues to watch the camera in scrutiny, as if he’s devising his ‘attack’ on the camera. While Jotaro and Avdol have seen the old man’s Stand in action, Kakyoin only saw a blur of purple when the flesh bud was being pulled out of him. He must’ve used it then, but the redhead’s mind and senses were in such a shambles that he could barely tell.
Suddenly, Joseph slowly (and dramatically, in Jotaro’s opinion) lifts up his buff arm.
“…Hermit Purple!”
The incandescent purple vines flash to life around his hand and forearm, and his brows furrow. His arm practically slams down on the camera— obliterating it to smithereens— and the three of them feel the pieces of the device being thrown against their clothed legs. Yet, somehow, the camera still manages to produce a photo, which Joseph snatches.
Perhaps they couldn’t tell, but Avdol was always slightly amused at the sight of him destroying a camera with Hermit Purple. He’s sure that there’s another way to obtain a spirit photo without harming a camera in any form, but this will have to do for now. There isn’t much time to advise him how to use an ability of a Stand that wasn’t even his own.
The old man brings the photo up to his not-really-aged eyes, watching it develop. However, when it does, his eyes widen.
His back stiffens at the sight— what … what is this?
“Oh my God.”
Joseph rapidly blinks, hoping that his age didn’t finally catch up to him. Maybe he should’ve kept practicing Hamon if his eyesight was already going down the drain, because… uh…
…where’s Dio?
He doesn’t see Dio this time.
In fact, Dio isn’t anywhere to be seen in the photograph.
This has to be some sort of… absurd, bizarre joke!
It’s a woman.
It isn’t Holly (that would make no sense, to be honest), it isn’t Suzie, it isn’t even his mother for God’s sake, so who…
Joseph swears that he sees a hint of metal from her shoulder, despite her oversized clothing from the neck down. Whatever she wore was large enough that its collar exposed the lower portion of her neck. She’s only depicted from the side, but there’s a vignette in the photograph that makes it difficult for him to see her face. The background behind her resembled cloth; it was probably a blackout curtain. She had to be in some sort of room because of that, and Joseph wonders if Jotaro’s Stand will be able to identify the type.
If it matters, Joseph also notices the lack of a star-shaped birthmark behind her neck. At least she wasn’t another blood-related relative to worry about, but more questions start to arise.
Who is she?
“There’s someone else in the photograph,” Joseph said after a minute, astounded.
The other three’s eyes widen and dart from one person to another in shock.
How…
There’s no way…
“Who?” Jotaro demanded, snatching the Polaroid photo from his grandfather’s gloved mechanical hand. He swears out loud; the vignette obscures her face to the point where even he doubts that Star Platinum would be able to recreate her face on paper. Kakyoin cranes his head to take a look at the photo and he, too, sees the woman with the blurred face and the metal (what?) shoulders. Jotaro grunted before placing it in Avdol’s outstretched hand. The Egyptian man studies it without an ounce of recognition, even while he attempts to identify the background behind her.
Joseph scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. But it’s definitely not Dio.”
“Why did a woman appear in the photo instead of Dio? You should double-check,” Avdol advised, calmly handing the photo back to Joseph.
With the Polaroid photo in hand, he slams his hands on the low table. Pieces of the remaining camera shook and briefly jumped in place as he did so. Jotaro kicked the pieces that landed near his feet.
“Alright— Jotaro! Do you happen to have another camera lying around the house? I promise I’ll buy a new replacement afterwards.”
Jotaro rolled his eyes, watching his grandfather not hear his reply as he shot up from the ground and stormed out through the sliding door once again.
Meanwhile, Avdol’s eyes landed back on the low table, staring at the developed Polaroid photo. It was peculiar, to say the least— Dio had been showing up in all of Joseph’s spirit photos, yet only now was the subject of the photo different. This couldn’t be unintentional, though… they were able to derive an adequate amount of information from Dio’s photos— the fly, for goodness’ sake— so maybe they could do the same with this woman’s. Whatever reason Hermit Purple suddenly produced a photo of not Dio had to be important, but they’ll just have to figure it out on the way to Egypt.
“She must be another one of Dio’s servants,” Avdol suggested with a sour tone. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for a woman with similar clothing just in case.”
At that, Kakyoin narrowed his eyes.
——
Sitting on the foot of the bed in your hotel suite, you carefully twirl around the two SSDs from your now-scrapped laptop in your hand. You plan to warp the laptop’s hardware into indistinguishable pieces to prevent an early breakthrough from someone bizarre and smart enough to find it in the trash and rebuild it. The SSDs, on the other hand, had a large amount of files— photos— that you desperately wanted to keep in your possession.
You scratch the back of your neck.
It feels as if someone’s watching you in here, but you know you’re alone in the room.
——
…maybe you could take connecting flights?
You were strolling out of the travel agency building, dumbfounded. It just had to be today— it just had to be now where everything fucks up all around you.
“There’s only one flight to Cairo today, and it’s fully booked. Also, it’s actually… boarding in an hour. I, on behalf of Nippon Travel Agency, apologize… would you like to book the next flight to Cairo? It will be in three days, 14:00 or 2 PM.”
Three days? That’s… the 1st of December.
It doesn’t seem that far away, but to your boss, that must seem like an eternity. You’d be utterly fucked if you don’t take this flight today— Joestar’s travel group was leaving the country in an hour. Leaving to go to Cairo, arriving in less than a day without you pursuing them. Your boss would have your head if they manage to find the mansion the same day they arrive. If you aren’t at the group’s tails, even worse. Yes, he’d have your head— literally.
Goddamnit, what else could you do? You made the suggestion to fly out to one of the nearest countries to Egypt instead, but all of the flights to their major cities were scheduled after today. At this point, it seemed like Egypt or bust.
What would Lord Dio say, if he was before you right now? Maybe the other servants back at the mansion were tempted to treat you like a laughingstock now. You, the one who failed to complete the most basic task, and not to mention your first.
The hotel suite came with a fax machine. Unfortunately, you only discovered this after a message was sent to you, the sound of it going off alarming the hell out of you.
You were vaguely familiar with its mechanics; for some reason, a lot of Japanese companies in 2011 still required its usage and preferred it over Internet-based options. This included the company you worked at, which was slightly irritating to say the least. But since it’s 1988, and the usage is even more widespread, there’s a part of you that feels like tearing your hair out.
Anyway, it was a message from that fax machine that prompted you to check out from the hotel and head to the nearest travel agency.
There, Lord Dio had informed you that Joseph Joestar was going to leave Tokyo with his group today. He’s booked the very flight you were supposed to be on… and he and his group were going to leave in an hour.
Without you.
Yes, without you, to go after your boss. The audacity he— they — have to pursue Lord Dio with the intention to kill him. This was nothing you could excuse— you had to stop them. You knew that it was just to do so.
…now that you think about it, a connecting flight to Cairo doesn’t seem that bad. It’s better than not arriving in Cairo at all, to be honest.
However, that presents a gigantic issue. What if it’s too late, by the time you arrive? Once you fly from Tokyo to the next country, there’s no way to tell if that next flight will be delayed or even cancelled. You’d constantly have to check at or call a travel agency to get information because it’s not like you could search on the Internet on a computer here. You’d have to ensure that you still have enough money by the end of this shitshow; after all, airfare in the 1980’s was much more expensive than in 2011, and every hotel you’ve been recommended was unnecessarily luxurious. Luckily, that one was easily solvable, but there’s still everything else…
Enough of this thinking.
You’re running out of time.
Quite literally— that travel agency was closing its doors for the day in less than 30 minutes, and a result, would cut off any chance of you successfully completing Lord Dio’s task. And, as a result of that, your body would probably be thrown in a paupers’ grave somewhere near the mansion. Or it would even be left inside. There was that odd scent of old blood in the corridors.
You frowned.
Taking a deep breath, you hope this was worth it in the end.
No— what are you talking about? It would be. You’d just have to trust yourself, here.
In an act of impulsion, you come to a halt, spin around, and sprint back to the travel agency building.
—
--> To Be Continued -->
Up Next: Last time you checked, they weren’t supposed to be alive and eating breakfast at a table right across from you.
Link to the Table of Contents
#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure#JoJo Fandom#jojo fanfic#AO3 fanfic#ao3fic#Noriaki Kakyoin#jojo kakyoin#Kakyoin#kakyoin x reader#Jotaro Kujo#jojo jotaro#jotaro#jotaro x reader#time travel#au#alternate universe#dio brando#funny valentine#just references though#infertility#pining#smut#reader#jean pierre polnareff#polnareff jojo#mohammed avdol#avdol jojo#avdol#joseph joestar#jojo joseph
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Hello! Could I request some more tenya scenarios??
Hi Sweetie, here’s your request and I hope you’ll enjoy! Personally, our baby boy Enya really deserves a lot of attention and love since some fans are sleeping on him. 💖💖💕
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IMAGINE SLOW DANCING WITH TENYA IIDA UNDER THE STARS
Warning: Fluff
The night sky was truly a wonderful sight to behold. Millions of stars were painted across the sky, each of them glowing in their own pace. The ambient moon gleaming, accompanied by the lights of the busy city from afar. You shivered once the cold breeze of the night passed right through you. You turned to your right, admiring your boyfriend who also happened to stare at you too.
“Hi there, Honey” You greet him with a smile, he smiled back. You never knew that it was possible for a human to ever look this beautiful. The moon light shone on his face, giving it an ethereal glow. His eyes that held a warm gaze, his genuine smile that was sweet. Everything about him was so beautiful, and you deemed yourself lucky.
“Why are you staring at me, Darling? Do I have something on my face?” He asked as his hand touched his face, searching for any possible things that might’ve been on his face. You shook your head no, giving a light chuckle.
“No, I’m just admiring your beauty Enya” You replied. A faint blush slowly made its way on his face and he grinned. His calloused hand placed itself on your cheek, caressing it softly. You placed your hand atop of his and nuzzled on it.
“But I much more admire your unparalleled beauty, Darling” He spoke, giving your nose a kiss, before pulling away. He stood up, and held out his hand like a gentleman. “Care to dance?”
You giggled at his actions and accepted his offer. Iida grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him. You placed your left hand on his should while the other intertwined with his left hand. His right hand wrapped itself around your waist, holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing in the universe. You both looked into each other’s eyes before slowly swaying your bodies.
“I love this,” You mutter as he raised your arm to turn you around before pulling you close to him again. “Me too, I’ve always wanted to dance under the stars with you, (Y/n)” Iida replied. You slowly danced through the night, laughing and giggling, not caring about what’s happening around you but instead focusing on each other.
Until both of your eyes again, this time it held adoration and profound love. As soon as Iida continued staring, he got lost into your eyes, his heart beating crazily against his ribcage. He was madly inlove with you and day by day, this feeling grew. He was so enamoured by you that you always cross his thoughts even at school, sometimes he would get distracted in his studies because of yourself, you were always in his thoughts (not that he’d complain).
“May I?” He asked, gesturing if he could kiss you. You nodded, as his hand cupped your cheek softly. You leaned both of your faces closer, feeling the warm breath on your lips. You closed your eyes, until you felt something soft against your lips. Your lips moved slowly, each sensation sending sparks throughout your body. His other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to deepen the kiss, you placed your arms on his neck, your hands running through his raven locks. Moments later, you both pulled away and smiled lovingly at each other.
“I love you” You say in unison.
#iida tenya#bnha imagines#bnha scenarios#tenya iida#tenya iida x reader#bnha headcanons#bnha#mha#my hero academia#bnha tenya iida#fluff#bnha fc#bnha fluff imagine#izuku midoriya#bnha bakugo katsuki#ingenium#bnha x reader#bnha x reader imagine#bnha x reader fluff#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academi fluff#radiantsunburst writes#radiantsunburst#todoroki shouto#ua pro heroes#requests are open#ask#tenya iida x reader fluff#tenya x reader#bnha tenya x reader
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Perfect Bliss - Thorin x OC
So here’s prompt 6 for the Tale teller’s 52 week writing challenge! When I read the prompt (Their fingers lace together, a perfect fit), I just had to write this. It’s an AU where the characters reside when they’re not living their lives in my stories. I know it’s unconventional and I definitely don’t think that my version of Thorin or my Thorin x Enya pairing is the best out there. Everyone is entitled to their own views.
xoxo
Perfect Bliss
Tags: @theincaprincess @fizzyxcustard, @deepestfirefun, @legolaslovely, @yes-captainstark, @burningcoffeetimetravel, @peneigh-dzredfohl @soradragon Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!
Warnings: Not really.
For a long time, he believed that there was no such thing as love. And even if it did exist, it was not for him. Ever since the original author penned down the story about the hobbit and Thorin’s character had been born, the king under the mountain had wondered. The original book that housed the first tale did not speak about love. At least, not that specifically. The king had then spent years, decades even, living stories in alternate universes, which were not necessarily created by the original author himself. And after the movies…
Mahal, save his soul.
Those movies were fantastic, masterpieces in their own right, but… Now he was public property. So many people started fantasizing, writing about him… Creating versions of him in their minds. Pairing him off with Bilbo, readers or even with characters of their own... It felt like being ripped into a million parts, leaving him feeling shattered and so, so alone. There were so many parts of him and surely all the different versions of Thorin were true, or felt something for their significant other, but…
What did Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror want?
In truth, he had no idea.
Love, the elusive concept that he had heard others talk about, the love that his sister had known once… He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt it before.
Until she showed up. Unexpectedly, but most welcome.
Perfect bliss...
♦♦♦♦♦♦
It’s still early, the sun slowly but steadily creeping into their bedroom. The darkness is cowering from the light once more as Thorin shifts on the bed. Although he had promised himself to finally get some rest tonight after a long day’s work, he finds himself laying in the exact same position as last night, staring at her again.
It’s impossible not to look at her while she’s sleeping. His gaze brushes over her slumbering physique and he takes another moment to revel in her sheer beauty. Her dark hair is all tangled up, cheeks rosy and her lips are slightly parting while she breathes. The blue eyes that normally sparkle with passion and joy are hidden behind the lids and her long, thick lashes. The straps of her nightdress have slipped down her shoulder, leaving them bare. She has kicked off the sheets twice this night and they now decorate the floor on the foot end of the bed. He hasn’t tried to cover her again a third time, it would be useless. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with admiring the nightgown riding up her thighs as the turns in her sleep… Nor glance at those tiny feet… He has never seen a creature this beautiful, but there she is. At his side.
And she’s here to stay.
Thorin glances at the timepiece on top of the fireplace and groans. Mahal knows he wishes nothing more but to be with her all day, but the truth is he has got work to do. He already has stalled too long.
‘Thorin.’ She mumbles softly. ‘I’m cold.’
The king smiles and reaches out. ‘Come here. I’ll keep you warm.’
‘Mmhmm.’ She moans while she allows her husband to pull her into his arms. ‘That’s better.’
His lips brush over her forehead. ‘I thought you weren’t cold, otherwise I would have covered you once more.’
‘Does that mean that you haven’t slept a wink again?’ she inquires drowsily.
‘My time with you is precious. It might be a little while before we see each other again.’
‘Thorin…’ she breathes. ‘Please.’
‘I have to go.’ He rumbles in her ear.
‘No.’ She protests, sounding more awake now. Her hand moves and clasps around his, squeezing it softly. ‘I don’t want you to.’
He buries his nose in her neck and sighs. ‘Uzfakuh.’
She groans. ‘I know. A fic request has been made and she needs you. You have no choice.’
‘Mhmm.’ He agrees, placing a kiss on her skin. She shivers lightly and he smiles at the reaction he always seems to trigger.
‘You don’t have to oblige, you know.’ She says while reaching her head up. Her lips caress the bristle hairs of his beard, moving along his jaw upwards to his cheek. Her hand is still in his and their fingers lace together. A perfect fit.
‘Are you jealous?’ he inquires.
‘Of course not.’
‘Not even… A little?!’
‘No, you know me.’ She says matter-of-factly, causing Thorin to snort. ‘I’ve never been jealous in my whole life…’
‘Is that so?’
‘Don’t believe me?’ she challenges.
‘Then I would need proof.’ He answers. ‘And unless you can give that to me…’
‘How solid does the evidence needs to be?’ she inquires with a naughty smirk.
‘Enya’ he insists. ‘Not now. I need to-’
‘You will, in a minute.’ she smirks. ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m sure the ladies will be willing to wait…’
‘Oh, Blueheart.’ The king grumbles. ‘Shut it.’
‘I’m just teasing you.’ She replies with a grin. ‘But this lady…’
‘Is impatient, jealous and has a short temper.’ He fills in.
‘Thorin!’ she shrieks. ‘I’m not!’
‘Yes, you are uzfakuh.’ He murmurs while pulling her closer again. ‘But you’re also incredibly beautiful, with a bright mind and an endless amount of kindness.’ He kisses her lips, earning a soft groan. ‘And did I say… sexy?’
‘Did Thorin Oakenshield really just use the word sexy?’ she giggles. ‘Where did you learn that?’
‘You see…’ he explains, his fingers running over her curves. ‘There was this young fire witch who didn’t know she was a-’
‘That’s my story!’
‘Yes.’ He whispers, his lips finding hers again. ‘My favorite…’
#tale teller’s 52 week writing challenge#thorin x oc#thorin oakenshield#thorin fanfic#thorin fic#thorin x enya#alternate universe#writing prompts#prompt 6
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[ nightmare ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare - Enya and Laylah; @pages-and-words
Thalia's thin fingers closed around the back of Enya's neck. Why was her touch always so cold? Why did it always hurt? She knew it should but she couldn't recall why she knew that? This was all she had ever known, after all.
A sudden force on Thalia's part pushed the girl through an opening in the glass that surrounded the arena where they chose to test the child's actual abilities. Enya instantly paled as the glass shut behind her, separating her from everyone else. Everyone except the people she was meant to kill.
Enya turned to look at her next set of victims but instead of the cold dread she normally felt when she looked at their faces, she felt recognition. Why? These were not her doctors or scientists or psychologists. These were not people she knew from within her walls. Did they have name? Yes. They did. What were they? They were...Wolf...and...and Scarlet.
Her eyes widened suddenly. Wolf and Scarlet. She couldn't...She wouldn't. Enya turned to find Thalia but the woman was gone. Only her voice prompted her now to do the unthinkable. Instantly fire lit up in her palms but she did not command it to and she could not command it to stop. It crept across her arms, engulfing her and moved across the floor, searching for it's victims despite Enya's shrill pleading for it to stop. She had just closed her eyes against their screams of pain when it all suddenly faded away.
-----
Enya's eyes snapped open, her body working on it's own to get her to her feet before her mind caught up to her movements. Her eyes filled with tears as they searched the darkness but she quickly blinked them away just in time to catch the sight of Laylah. The other girl sat on the edge of the bed and Enya caught the surprise in her gaze. Slowly, the girl lowered herself back down to sitting.
"What happened?" she said, her voice half whimpering and half snapping the words.
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Enya - (1992) The Celts - 06 The Sun In The Stream
I was listening to this song (working on another story) and it struck me how the Uilleann pipes sound a bit like a dragon’s mournful wail.
The muse descended and this little drabble was born. Forgive any grammar/punctuation errors, it was written with teary eyes. Cross posted to AO3.
Last Farewell
Pairing: Jorah/Daenerys
Rating: Gen
Angst
Daenerys lifts her eyes at long last from Jorah’s lifeless body to see him standing before her. She blinks, is it a dream? The weight of him is still heavy in her arms, and yet, there he stands...proud and strong. His face unblemished by the ravages of battle, his armour free of blood and grime. He appears younger, not unlike the day they first met, a time that feels so long ago, a world away.
A whisper fills her ears, I always loved you. His mouth does not move, but she hears his voice again, Goodbye, Khaleesi.
“Goodbye, my Jorah,” she breathes, “My sweet, brave bear.” A heavy tear falls, then another, her throat tightening around the words she should have said sooner, but didn’t. “I love you.”
A small smile graces his lips, his eyes soft with affection. He dips his head in a short bow, then turns, walking into the swirling smoke. She watches until she sees him no more, her wavering gaze drops to his face.
“I love you,” she repeats, leaning down to press her lips to his cold, parted ones. A final farewell.
#jorah mormont#daenerys targaryen#daenerys x jorah#dany x jorah#we find out daenerys did love jorah#i'm gutted
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Deal - Prologue
Length: 1,500
Rating: T
Warnings: Cursing
Summary: Darcy Invidia is a 15-year-old who was born into a family of dark witches, but her parents forbid her from dabbling in witchcraft. One night she takes it upon herself to play around with her father’s Ouija board, and her father catches her in the act.
Next Chapter - Chapter One / Blood
Dark hair, emerald eyes, and ivory skin. Three things Darcy Invidia shared with the long line of dark witches she came from. Based out of Leeds, her family built a bad reputation for themselves. With a knack for hexing, jinxing, and conjuring all things dark and mysterious, the Invidia’s have been not only shunned but feared.
While Darcy’s parents still practiced black magic, they had made it clear to her that she was to never take part in the art. It was simply far too dangerous.
Darcy was very much the kind of girl that respected her parents and their rules, but at the age of fifteen, she couldn’t help but be overcome with curiosity toward witchcraft. Everything about it intrigued her. The plants and potions. The spells and demons. Every last bit of witchcraft held her interest.
Her father had left his Ouija board on the kitchen table one night. Darcy saw that as the perfect opportunity to get involved in the craft. After her parents had gone to bed, she crept out of her room and tiptoed to the kitchen. She sat in one of the wooden chairs at the table that was placed in the center of the room she stared at the spirit board. She had a vague idea of how to use it, but she didn’t have nearly enough knowledge on how to use it correctly. Though she knew she shouldn’t. Her thoughts raced in an effort to make a decision on whether or not to experiment with the board.
Darcy’s hands found themselves impulsively finding the planchette and moving it in a circle around the board. One, two, three laps later the planchette was rested in the middle of it.
“Are there any spirits here?” A whisper escaped her lips. Barely audible, she was careful to speak in a hushed tone so that she wouldn’t wake her parents.
The planchette began to move slowly at first, but it quickly became more aggressive. Darcy’s hands were neither guided up toward the “yes” or “no”, nor did they float across letters that spelled out a word. Instead, they repeatedly moved in a figure-eight motion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A low voice broke Darcy’s infatuation with the action taking place at her fingertips. She jumped at the sound of her father. Her hands involuntarily removed themselves from the planchette, and it collided with the refrigerator after flying across the kitchen. “Get your shoes on.” He demanded. Darcy did as she was told and waited by the front door for her father.
Odin was his name. He had a talent for conjuring dark spirits, but forbid his daughter from doing so. Despite his constant explanations as to why taking part in such a practice was dangerous, here was his daughter using his ouija board.
“Are you out of your mind?” His voice broke the silence once again. He joined her at the entrance with the board, planchette, and holy water in hand. “Out.” He demanded.
“Where are we going?” Darcy asked in a hushed tone. Her father was silent as he rushed her out of the front door. They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity. “Where are we going?” Darcy asked again, more demanding this time.
“To dispose of the board.” Her father sighed, frustration lacing his breath. “Why did you do it?” Before she could answer he spoke again, “After all these years of your mother and I having told you not to get involved not just with witchcraft, but the dark side of it. Do you even know what was happening back there?” His voice was low and hushed, but rage saturated each word.
“I was communicating with,” Darcy paused before continuing, “something.”
Her father stopped in his tracks to turn and face his daughter. His glare bored into her emerald eyes. “Do you know what that something happened to be?” His jaw clenched as soon as the words escaped his mouth. A bulging vein was in his neck was visible despite the darkness. Darcy was silent in return. Her father lowered his voice before uttering the words, “It was a demon, Darcy.”
She opened her mouth about to say something but quickly closed it when she realized her part of the conversation was futile. Instead of asking him any further questions, she followed her father in silence. Eventually, they came to a halt in front of a cemetery. Her father pushed the iron gate open and rushed to the darkest corner of the cemetery. Her father’s six-foot-something stature was well ahead of her five-foot one. Darcy quickened her pace in order to catch up, quickly becoming short of breath. Once she took the place by his side, her father forced the Ouija board into her hands.
“Dig a hole in the ground at least a foot deep.” His low voice seemed amplified in the dead of night.
“With what? We don’t have a shovel.” Her brow furrowed, and though the question escaped her mouth Darcy already knew the answer that was coming.
“Your hands. You wanted to do some of the darkest, dirtiest work you can in the magic world, so you can do the dirty tasks that come along with righting your wrongs.” Her father growled through clenched teeth. With a frustrated sigh and the roll of her eyes, Darcy got onto the damp, winter ground and began to dig the hole with her bare hands.
“Break that into seven pieces.” Her father demanded once the hole was sufficient in size. His gaze never left Darcy’s dark figure as she carefully broke the thin wood into seven pieces. “Now sprinkle some of this on to all the pieces. Gently put them in the hole, and then pack the dirt as tight as you can when you bury it.” Darcy took the bottle of holy water and followed the instructions her father had given. Once finished, they began the trek back home. The walk seemed to be much shorter on the return trip.
Upon their arrival, the house was dark and silent. Darcy didn’t bother to turn on any lights as she attempted to beeline to the bathroom so that she could wash the mud from her hands.
“Just where the hell have you two been?” A sharp voice erupted from the pitch-black house. The voice belonged to Lilith, Darcy’s mother.
“Darcy, would you care to explain?” Though it was worded as a question it was a clear demand from her father.
“I’d love to.” Darcy mustered through clenched teeth as her father turned on the light to the living room. Her mother was sitting in one of the crimson, velveteen armchairs that occupied the space.
“Please, enlighten me, dear.” Her mother’s tone was tense, and her glare held Darcy’s gaze.
“I used dad’s Ouija board and the planchette started moving in a figure-eight, whatever that means, and-”
“I’m sorry? ‘Whatever that means?’” Her mother raised a brow. “Are you unaware of the situation you were in? Darcy, an evil spirit just communicated with you. That’s what the figure-eight means.” Her mother released a sharp sigh. “How come after all these years of us telling you not to get involved in the practice, especially the dark parts of it, you did it anyway?” Darcy went to speak, but all she could get out was a small croak before her mother continued. “I don’t know what exactly you managed to communicate with, but I hope you realize that could have ended so much worse if you hadn’t closed the board.”
“She didn’t close the board, Lilith.” Her father clarified.
“Do you have any idea what you have managed to do? Are you completely out of your mind?” Her mother’s voice steadily rose with each word that flew past her lips.
Darcy glared at her mother. She had inherited her father’s cold glare which was useful in most situations. However, this cold glare stood to be insignificant when used on any of her family.
“Darcy Enya Invidia.” Her mother snapped due to the glare she was receiving.
“I’ve already heard all this from dad!” Darcy exploded. “I get it! I made a mistake, I fucked up!” Her arms flew up as a form of surrender. She was aware of the mistake she made, but what more could be done other than disposing of the board. “What do you want me to do about it? I can’t turn back time!” Her arms fell back to her sides, and she stood still waiting for her mother’s retaliation.
Her mother’s facial expression shifted from annoyed to thoughtful. She let out a sigh before she spoke, her voice much softer than before, “Just promise us you won’t dabble in the craft ever again. We just want you to be safe.”
“Fine,” Darcy said before turning and storming away.
While the agreement didn’t sound genuine, Darcy didn’t associate herself with the craft again. At least not while she was living under the roof her parents provided her.
#severus snape fanfic#severus snape#snape#snapedom#grandexodus#grandexodus writes#harry potter#harry potter fanfic#Darcy Invidia
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manuscript search tag game
I also have an open tag here from @ashen-crest :D
my words are boil, bubble, night, trouble
boil (Hurricane)
Aella’s temper was beginning to boil over, and her heart still raced from the adrenaline. Laila had better be alright. The thought gave her back a tiny shred of determination. “No.” She lifted her chin.
He said nothing for a second. “Fine. Let me know when you change your mind. I won’t ask again.”
Doesn’t matter. Ma is—she’s coming, isn’t she? She has to be.
He turned to leave. His foot nudged the pile of chains. Aella’s heart skipped a beat. She’d dared to hope he might have forgotten them. Stupid. He crouched to pick up the manacles and key.
Aella’s feet had frozen to the spot. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the metal in his hands.
bubble (Dragonsong)
Enya’s voice twined into the song, loud and clear from her position on Isi’s shoulders. A chill ran down Isi’s spine and spread over her whole body. Enya’s song was equal parts haunting and sweet, and entirely unlike anything else Isi knew. Even though she’d heard it before, it was… indescribable.
The air seemed to crackle. Joy bubbled up inside her chest. The music seemed to find a place inside her she hadn’t known was empty until today, flowing in and filling it up to overflowing. She tipped her head back and grinned as she hummed, letting the song wash over her.
night (untitled Lord of the Rings fic)
She froze and opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to explain what had happened, that she had tried her best that day. That she knew she had made that promise, and she knew she had failed in it, but that she missed [redacted] too. That she wished she could bring her back. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back.
A louder part of her mind wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to hurt the way she was hurting, the way his words hurt her.
Silence had fallen in the room, so quiet the whispering rush of distant river water carried to her ears. She lifted her chin, still gazing into the night beyond the door. “And you once promised you would always love me.” The sole of a soft boot shuffled on the floor. Her dress hem rustled once again, quieter this time, when she took another step. Softly, she said, “It seems neither of us are very good at keeping our word.”
And left.
trouble (Dragonsong)
There was another dragon. This one was small, small enough that Isi could hold it in her arms, with deep dark red scales. A baby. Which must mean… Isi had just slaughtered a mother. A mother who had been making trouble, but a mother nonetheless. Oh no.
I will tag @diphthongsfordays @sleepyowlwrites @pepperdee and anyone else who wants to play! your words are colours, cold, coil, coat
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