Original Deviantart post found here!
Small ramble. Forgive me.
So... I actually really like this one. but I has like... 1 favorite. Most of time I got scammers. The one that went "omg i love this this and this about your writing hey btws wanna commission me to make it a comic despite having no actual examples in my gallery?!?" ...and then they'd get blocked a day later. And suck cuz... idk, I was kinda proud of how I wrote this one?? Idk. It always made me sad. *le sigh*
...I might just make this one comic, outta spite, ngl. lol.
Anywhos. Enjoy a dramatic AceEmily oneshot. Around when Ace first began being Emily's bodyguard, and her realizing how dangerous her life was about to become. :'D
~*~
Protector
The smile dropped.
“Move.” Ace ordered suddenly.
“What—?” Emily questioned, blinking with bewilderment.
“MOVE!” He screamed.
It all happened so fast. That was how that cliché went, didn’t it? But, for Emily, it really was so fast. Too fast to process until the gunshot boomed around her. Leaving behind such a horrid shrieking sound in her poor ears.
Ace had already got her. In that scream, his warning, he was instantly upon her. One single arm strongly seized round her, pressing her so tightly to himself it began to hurt. The other Emily couldn’t see. Not at first with her face buried into his clavicle and neck curve. But she heard that loud moving click. Heard his gunshot right in front of her.
One. Two. Three. All in rapid succession. Her world was ringing. Blood pumped hotly in her ears. Yet her body seized, frozen in place from the shock. Making her feel so cold. Numb.
She couldn’t move. She was scared that she couldn’t move. She wanted to run but she couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? What was happening? Was this shock? Why was Ace shooting—something? Someone?
Why was this happening?
For what felt like too long, Emily could only stare up at Ace. Unable to do anything else but stare. To take in his unfamiliar, hardened face. The coldness in those eyes. The fury in every tight contortion of his enraged expression. The eerie focus in his eyes, despite it all.
He acted so fast that Emily knew, in that instant, this wasn’t new to him.
Emily started to look. Her head gained enough willpower to turn in the direction he aimed. She saw a rushing motion. A shadowed blur of a figure. Someone was running away. Oh my God... Was that blood—?
“—Get up!” Ace barked
Before Emily could dumbly ask ‘what’ again, she found herself giving a startled shriek instead. Funny, how him hauling her ass up over his shoulder made her cry out. Yet him shooting a gun had left her utterly speechless.
Her braid whirled round in her face as Ace ran, carrying her without thought except to get her out. It wasn’t something whimsical or fictional like a bridal carry. It was frantic, immediate, in the moment decision. He needed to get her out, and he needed to get her out now.
“Hitman in the garden—There’s a fuckin’ hitman in the garden! Where the FUCK are you assholes?!” Ace screamed angrily, free hand pressing down on his ear. The one with the earpiece. Emily remembered it from before. Heard distant shouting voices coming from it.
The heiress looked back, heart thundering like a panicked, trapped bird. Eyes darting around for the shooter. Her would-be assassin. Looking around wildly, wondering if she’d even be able to see him. Ace saw something—someone—before she even did. If she hadn’t... Oh God, if he hadn’t been there...
Grandpa was right. People really did want her dead.
‘Calm. Stay calm.’ Emily tried desperately to will herself with whatever dwindling courage wasn’t swallowed up by panic. She wasn’t dead. But she had to look out for them. Had to—
“ACE!” She shrieked, pointing wildly at the roof. Toward whom she saw.
The shadow figured, clear in daylight, cloaked entirely in black. The same person? A different one? It didn’t matter; it was trying to aim and shoot—
Another gunshot. This one made Emily’s right ear ringing so badly it hurt. Her head spinning wildly, stomach heaving into her throat. As Ace spun around and shot up without hesitation. Emily heard an agonizing scream above. Managed to look up enough to see the body on the roof drop. Falling down, down, down into a garden bush with dead weight.
Did she just... help him kill a man?
Emily cursed down the stupid, sudden wave of guilt. That instant sympathy. He was going to kill them! Still, the guilt didn’t go away within her anger and confusion. Nor did the intense, abrupt nausea now swirling in her stomach.
Then Emily was on the ground. Heaved up and off his shoulder, Ace set her down on the ground. Somewhere against a wall yet kept them both hidden behind a massive flowering bush. She notes a doorway not too far off and half wonders why they didn’t just run there. While the other half wondered why she was freezingly numb. Shouldn’t she be hot? Her hands felt clammy with sweat.
Everything was sweating. So why was she so cold?
Ace kneels next to her, propped up on one knee. Rapidly drawing out an empty case of bullet whilst simultaneously grabbing a new set and jamming into his semi-automatic pistol. But he doesn’t shoot. Not yet. Rather, with his free arm, he crossed it back over her. Trying to... shield her? Keep her back? Emily couldn’t tell. It was hard to think. Her head was spinning like a top about to teeter over.
Why was she so lightheaded? It must’ve been from being carried and thrown about before. Yes, that made sense. If she just sits for a second and catches her breath, she’ll be fine.
She’ll be fine.
“You okay?”
“H-Huh?” Emily startled, as if woken. Starting towards Ace dazedly. Finding herself looking into those ice blue eyes. Surprised to see him looking... concerned?
‘He not what I expected...’ Emily found herself oddly thinking. Which seemed... strange. Maybe because she couldn’t understand why he looked concerned. She was fine. She felt shaky and dizzy, sure, but she was fine.
“Y... yes, I’m...” She trailed off, pausing with uncertainty. Her tongue felt numb. Swollen in her mouth like cotton and impossible to talk, “...I’m...”
Everything tunneled. Then blacked out. Yet the world still whirled around her. Falling, falling, falling. Her eyes rolled back into her skull as every ounce of strength drained from her body. She could barely feel anything. Yet somehow still felt herself falling into this nothing. This emptiness. Someone yelled, panicked. How she should likely be feeling. But she only felt... weirdly distant. Airy and weak.
Emily distantly expected to hit the prickly grass, or maybe the hard mulch around the bush. But she didn’t. Rather it was... warm, oddly. Kind of bumpy but in a soft way. Feeling familiar sensations when she did. The soft, starchy cotton against a collarbone. The smell... That rich, smoky, petrichor cologne. The one he was teasing her about enjoying.
‘Ace...’ She realized vaguely. Her last feeling was one of dull, yet immense relief.
Then she was gone.
“...Fuck!” Ace cursed between gritted teeth.
Emily had fainted. Now lying unconscious in his one arm, her still face buried into his neckline. Trying to keep her limp body propped up in this one solitary hold. Just in case he still needed to fire. Thankfully, Princess was practically skin and bone. She weighed almost nothing. Like some hollow-boned, little bird.
This was not what he needed right now.
Adjusting himself and her, Ace tried to carefully move them closer to the wall. Trying to give them more cover and hide them further, pass the camelia bush. Emily practically sat in his lap now, his one knee bent while the other stayed propped, ready to kick off into a run at any given notice. Ideally, if he had to, this new position would allow him to scoop her up and make a run for it.
Meanwhile, one hand adjusted his grip on his pistol. While the other tried to keep her upright against him. He cursed under his breath again.
Fuck, this was so not what they needed right now.
“Ace! What happened?!” Rex’s voice yelled through his earpiece, alarm evident in his tone, “Johnny said he saw Emily fall over! Was she shot!?”
The mafia guard hissed out a frustrated groan. Stuck between having to keep Emily upright, in one grip, keep the gun in the other, and now having to press the damn earpiece to talk to this panicking idiot.
He glanced between the two. Emily then the gun. Emily then the gun. Contemplating.
“Ace! Answer! ACE!”
Fuck.
Careful not to accidentally blow his damn brains out, Ace choose the gun hand, stretching his thumb back to poke the earpiece. Adjusting Emily gently in his grip, so she wouldn’t fall.
“No, she fine.” Ace replied briskly, “She’s fainted, but she’s fine. I got some deadweight to carry now, though, so I need some cover. How many assassins do we have?”
A relieved sigh came from Ace’s reassurance, before Rex replied.
“In total or near you?”
“Near me.”
“Two. One that ran off after you shot up. He’s within our range. Another was on the roof, but he disappeared.” Rex answered, “We can’t see him anymore from our angle. Can you?”
“I did.” Ace told him, unable to help the smug smirk curling on his lips, “Already shot him. ‘Pretty sure he’s dead in a rose bush but didn’t exactly have time to check.”
Rex snorted at that, “Good.” After a small pause, he then added, “...I see a doorway near you. Eastward. You should be able to make it, and I’ll cover you, but go now.”
“Got it.”
Then, in one fluid, swift motion, Ace holstered the gun, hauled Emily into his arms, and blotted for the door. Such a short distance away. But for anyone armed, they didn’t need long. Ace heard thundering gunshots above but nothing cutting close. He imagined Rex was trying to scare off any attempts. Perhaps fool the assassins into believing someone else was trying to shoot him already. Maybe even actually firing at one of the bastards.
It didn’t matter. Either way, it helped.
With a backward slam of his shoulder, Ace nearly brought the door down to open it. Then kicked it shut behind him. They were inside. They had shelter.
Ace recognized the room enough to know where to go next. Where to start heading deeper into the massive manor. His plan was to head to Baron Fairchild’s study. Knowing the unassuming office was secretly fortified beyond measure. Those bullet-proof windows alone were enough to protect her.
He didn’t have time to check over Emily. To pause and see if she had gotten hurt in his mad dash. But he consciously continued to adjust and move her unconscious form so that no stray limbs would hit anything. Deliberately holding her tightly to himself. As if she could be softly curled up into his arms and be kept entirely protected from this awful fucking world.
Time went in a blur. Ace had gotten to the office. Finally feeling the weight of exhaustion over him when the relief sank into his sore, aching frame. When he could lie Emily down on Fairchild’s ridiculously expensive-looking chaise lounge. Careful and slow in his movements, now that he had time to do so. Take care to prop up her head so she could breathe easier.
The bodyguard glanced over Emily’s slumbering body. Nothing seemed out of place. No sight of blood or evident bruises. Sometimes, he tucked back a blonde strand to check her face, or gently lifted her arm, wondering if it had hit a stray doorway or had he imagined it. But, to his relief, he found nothing.
She was safe. She would be okay.
Ace felt another wave of greater relief nearly overcome him. But shook it off to prioritize checking over the door. Locking it and then giving the room a perimeter check. Shutting curtains, calling Rex and then the Baron. Letting them know that Emily was safe—yes, he checked her. Yes, she only fainted from shock, nothing else. Yes, obviously he’d stay with her until they cleared everything.
Then, all Ace could do was wait.
...
He hated waiting.
Sighing, Ace plopped himself on one of the leather chesterfield chairs. Legs crossing, elbow propped on the armchair, while his cheek leaned heavily on the palm of a curled fist. Which would’ve seemed too casually impatient for someone who, mere minutes ago, just gunned down people. To Ace, it was a Tuesday.
Save the only difference is that, instead of guarding his usual wealthy “businessman” with an unscrupulous reputation, or charges that totally weren’t money babies, it was Emily. Some long, lost granddaughter completely naïve and unfamiliar to this crazy lifestyle.
‘Well... until today.’ Ace added mentally.
The young woman lied there on the lounge motionless. Save for the soft breathing making her slender body rise and fall. Ace half wonders if she should be sleeping this long. People who fainted didn’t usually stay unconscious very long. He knew from experience. (And wasn’t at liberty to admit which “businessmen” or “charges” had, hypothetically, fainted. Because he liked keeping all his fingers.)
But Emily was still out.
The bodyguard bit his lower lip. Dragging his massive chair unceremoniously behind him, Ace scooted closer to her. Gently, carefully, he takes her wrist to check her pulse. Counting the beats in time.
Normal. Slow but normal. Good. Also, he clearly saw her breathing before. He made sure to have her head propped up. So, no CPR needed, thankfully. That probably wasn’t going to go well with the old man, even if was necessary.
The back of his hand then pressed to her forehead. Checking her temperature. She wasn’t nearly as cold or clammy as before. Rather she was steadily getting much warmer. Cheeks flushed and vivid, compared to how deathly pale he remembered her becoming. Right before she clonked out. He knew the signs, at this point. He really hoped that wasn’t the case when he asked if she was okay.
But... here we are.
Sighing, Ace leaned back in his seat, head thudding heavily back. He let himself just stare at her.
Taking her in.
Light ash blonde hair barely contrasted against her equally pale, freckled skin. Flushed with rosy, cool hues. With black eyeliner, mascara, and smoky, bright pink eyeshadow now smudged from the chaos beforehand.
Her outfit was what Ace would call “nerdy alternative.” (Maybe emo? Was that even a thing anymore?) She was wearing a shoulder-less turtleneck with checkerboard pattern and long sleeves ending as fingerless gloves. The bottom part was a short denim skirt and thigh-high, sleek black, combat boots.
...Was it weird he was staring at her this intensely?
Fuck, wait, this was weird.
Groaning, Ace ignored his cheeks getting hot with embarrassment. Yet quickly looked at anything else in the room. The built-in, mahogany bookcase taking up about three walls of this room. The velvet, emerald curtains spanning from ceiling to floor. The world globe that hid a case of fine aged whiskey and glasses.
‘That sounds like a great idea.’
With that thought, Ace quickly hopped up and sauntered over towards it. Surely the boss wasn’t going to notice one shot missing, right? Because, for some reason, he really needed it right now. This damn princess was making him nervous. Him, nervous.
He teased her because it was fun. She really was like some sheltered, long-lost little princess. But... he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t weird for him. Emily wasn’t like his usual watches. She was a normie; someone clueless to this lifestyle. Yet, by stroke of luck—both good and bad—here she was. Long lost granddaughter of Baron Augustine Fairchild. The sole, rightful heir to his decade’s worth of wealth and prestige.
She was also, admittedly, cute. Very cute. Which was part of what made teasing her fun.
But...
Ace, who had just poured himself far too big of a glass of priceless whiskey, downed his shot. Letting the bitter, tingling chill race down from the tip of his spine down his back. As he loudly cleared his throat and smacked the cup down dead-center in the globe’s make-shift, revealed table. Before light blue eyes couldn’t help looking back at his ward. His newest acquisition. His growing problem. His unfamiliar concern.
This was not going to be nearly as easy he thought.
Emily’s body felt too heavy. As if it longed to keep sleeping, to stay under this deep, deep weighted blanket of slumber. Yet, despite it, her consciousness began to return. The awareness of being somewhere. A room. A new place.
She felt herself lying comfortably on a long, soft place. Feeling the fine, thick fabric of old pillows and an antique couch. The smell of aged old times and spicy cigar smoke waffled into her nose. It smelled like Grandpa. It smelled safe.
‘Where... am I?’ Emily wondered distantly.
Stirring groggily, head rocking softly, Emily’s eyelids squeezed, tightened, then sluggishly fluttered open. Slowly, she glanced around the room and took it in. It was Grandpa’s office. No wonder it smelled like him.
Sleepily, half-consciously, Emily tried to remember how she got her. What was the last thing she remembered. As her fingers rubbed at her eyes, trying to wake up more.
“You’re awake.” A masculine voice said.
Startled upright, Emily jumped at the voice. Now sitting up, now more awake. As she turned towards the voice with hands over heart. Taking in Ace’s scarred yet still handsome features in the dim room. Lit only by one solitary light. The green hooded one on the desk. Those soft blue eyes glinting against that roguish half-smile. The careless way he was leaning back against Grandpa’s desk and held an empty crystal glass in one gloved hand.
Then the memories finally returned.
The shooting guns, the rushing around, the sheer panic. She remembered. The shock had gotten to her. She had fainted hadn’t she? Now she was here.
“...Ace.” Emily spoke quietly, shoulder dropping from shock to relief.
Ace gave her a wider smile.
“Hey Princess.”
