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audriel · 3 months

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let's start thinkin' bout it

Qiao Yifan suddenly finds himself several years in the past. And somehow, so does Fang Rui.

Inspired by just stop thinkin' bout it by Syncogon

Special thanks to Syncogon who gives me permission to write a continuation for their wonderfully intriguing time-travel story with my favorite characters: Fang Rui and Qiao Yifan. Special mention to everyone in TKA Discord who gives me encouragement to write and publish more, and who also looks forward for more in this universe. I hope I do not disappoint. Happy Chinese New Year!

After parting ways with Qiao Yifan, Fang Rui rushes back to where Wind Howl is seated in the stadium, barely restraining himself from running straight to Lin Jingyan and drawing everyone’s attention. He can barely think of the further implications of them both back in the past, or whether they are really in their past. All he can think of is his old captain, his teacher, his friend, and the turning point with this Rookie Challenge.

Fang Rui is never one to hold a grudge. However, Tang Hao comes close. He acknowledges his strength, and has noticed him early on. How he cannot, when the younger man is also Brawler like the captain and core player of his team. He also knows better than anyone else of Lin Jingyan’s declining performance. However, he cannot really forgive Tang Hao for bringing attention to it in the Rookie Challenge and all the while dismissing Lin Jingyan’s achievements. In the case of the latter, even old Sun Xiang is better, though probably Su Mucheng will disagree. His only female captain is never one to be trifled with, she definitely can hold a grudge or two.

Fang Rui arrives right when Lin Jingyan’s name comes out from Tang Hao on the stage, and he feels the vice grip around his heart tightens.

He’s too late.

“...the junior will succeed the senior.”

The stadium is in uproar. Wind Howl is in uproar, but Fang Rui has only eyes for Lin Jingyan.

“Well, how about that? You, and now, me. It seems we’re pretty popular with the rookies.” Lin Jingyan chuckles lightly, remaining calm in front of the disrespect shown by Tang Hao. He stands up, prepared to go down, only for his wrist to be caught firmly by his vice captain.

“Fang Rui?”

Fang Rui draws a blank. Now it has come to this, and he still cannot find the words. What to say? This time, he really, really looks at his captain. This Lin Jingyan’s face is open, unguarded, without the glasses worn with his red and black Tyranny uniform. He still has hope, fleeting as it is, of the future. Fang Rui has failed as his partner to keep it alive in his last year in Wind Howl. He only regained them in Tyranny.

“...a Brawler is not a Striker,” is the first sentence that first comes to mind. Lin Jingyan blinks in surprise at the serious tone. “There’s more to Glory than speed and mechanics. Glory is not that simple.”

“Gotta play dirty huh?” Somehow his partner manages to recall the supposed reminder to himself.

“Last time I checked we’re Wind Howl, not Tyranny.” In a complete change of attitude, Fang Rui shows his disdain as he releases Lin Jingyan’s wrist.

That actually gets a laugh out of Lin Jingyan. He waves his hand, there’s lightness in his gesture, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Fang Rui watches him leave before returning to his seat. Only Ruan Yongbin dares to lean into him.

“What do you think? Can Tang Hao win?”

“Anything can happen.” Fang Rui can sense Ruan Yongbin’s surprise. He’s surprised with his own calmness. He already does what he can. It’s all up to Lin Jingyan now.

There’s still half a season left. Even if Lin Jingyan loses again, it’s not the end. Fang Rui can still make the best of it. With his skill and experience, he can and will do better, if only to give his old captain a better ending in Wind Howl.

Fang Rui has faced off against worse odds and come up victorious. This won’t be any different.

When he turns his attention to the game, Fang Rui is greeted with a pleasant surprise: Lin Jingyan doesn’t rush forward. The older man takes his time to explore the map. Tang Hao doesn’t choose an arena, so the environment is not completely bare, which is actually advantageous to Lin Jingyan, but one he didn’t previously make full use of, thinking that he had to meet the other head-on.

This alone already sets things apart from the past he remembers. He finds himself leaning forward in interest. It might not be much, but if Tang Hao expects a quick, easy match, he’s going to be proven wrong. After all, Lin Jingyan is the half of the Criminal Partners, and dirty playing requires cunning.

Tang Hao’s Delilo fights like a Striker, reminiscent of the King of Fighters, easily making the crowd pumped up and cheering for him. However, ultimately a Brawler is not a Striker. Its strength lies in its ability to control its opponent. No one utilizes it better than the Number 1 Brawler. Lin Jingyan masterfully keeps his distance and maintains the rhythm. When he takes hits, he makes sure to leave himself a way out. When he lands his skills, he makes sure to achieve the maximum effect. His retreats are as timely as his attacks.

Lin Jingyan is not losing to Tang Hao.

For the ordinary players, it seems that Tang Hao has the upper hand, but for professional players, bold, fierce Tang Hao is struggling against calm, patient Lin Jingyan. However, in the end all it takes is for one mistake, a slight opening from Lin Jingyan, for Tang Hao to rush in and overwhelm the older Brawler player with his superior speed and mechanics.

Demon Subduer falls. Delilo is left with 9% health remaining.

Fang Rui leans back on his seat with a smile on his face, in contrast to the dismayed faces of the other Wind Howl members. Lin Jingyan loses, but this time around, with a close match instead of the overwhelming loss. It might not mean much, but it does show that Lin Jingyan fought the match with a different mindset this time around.

Lin Jingyan is the first to come down from the platform. He doesn’t lose his gentle and pleasant demeanor. Meanwhile, Tang Hao takes his time, even when finally does, he hasn’t quite managed to hide his emotions. He’s not satisfied. It’s definitely not the kind of match or victory he expected. They meet in the middle and shake hands.

“You played well…” Lin Jingyan smiles, hiding his true emotions, but surprisingly he continues, “But it’s not easy, isn’t it?”

“The junior will succeed the senior.” The change of wording reflects the change in Tang Hao’s confidence without losing the belief and persistence that is inherent in top professional players that Lin Jingyan cannot help but admire. Before the master of ceremonies could say anything, the two finish shaking hands, wave towards the audience and leave the stage. Fang Rui’s eyes never leave the figure of the Wind Howl captain, so does the smile on his face until the man returns to Wind Howl area. Fang Rui likes what he sees.

“How is it?” Fang Rui asks, not paying attention to the silent teammates around him.

“Like seeing my past self.” There’s a hint of nostalgia under the observation, but the statement is matter of fact. Lin Jingyan used to fight like Tang Hao, but he didn’t regret changing his playstyle. He believes that dirty playstyle is the reason why he can stand on the professional stage as long as he is when many of his peers didn’t, even when he’s nothing special.

“I’m pretty sure you’re much more polite and better behaved,” Fang Rui disagrees, drawing choked off sounds of surprise and amusement from their team. “And more handsome too.”

Lin Jingyan laughs. “You only said that because you’re my vice captain and partner.”

“And that he had a crush on you.” Ruan Yongbin adds, that traitor. “Oooh, Captain Lin is so handsome. He’s so close to me today. Did I impress him with the move?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fang Rui brings his yearmate and former roommate into a chokehold. He doesn’t hide the grin when he hears the snickering from the teammates. This is much better than the previous awkward silence. It’ll take more to regain their confidence in their captain. Action is louder than words after all. But it’s a challenge he’s ready to tackle.

Before that, he’ll need to sit down and talk with his little captain.

***

Qiao Yifan walks down the familiar dark passageways in a daze. He has immediately excused himself after his Rookie Challenge, not quite ready for the questioning from the former-now-current Tiny Herb captain and team members. He isn’t quite sure where he’s going, all he knows that he needs a quiet space to gather his thoughts. He has pinched himself numerous times, but he’s still not convinced everything is real. He has really returned to his younger self. He tries to recall what he did before he was back in the past, but nothing really stands out except…

Qiao Yifan finally managed to extricate himself from the teary-eyed and snot-nosed bunch with the help of Luo Ji, who was restraining his laughter. His own calm and rational vice captain and recently appointed Happy’s new captain was surprisingly not helpful, his glassy, watery eyes actually made it harder. Boss Chen was worse. If it wasn’t for Senior Wei, and Sister Mu, he was certain she would have bawled her eyes out as the last remaining members of the original Team Happy finally retired.

He remembered reminiscing with Luo Ji as they walked towards their rooms and parting with smiles when they entered their respective places. Many voices from the outside and even inside of the team said that his retirement was regrettable, especially considering what Happy has achieved under his leadership. They thought being a support, not unlike Yu Wenzhou, he could have stayed longer on the professional stage, and had his career with a more satisfying ending.

He disagreed wholeheartedly. He couldn’t ask for a better ending for himself, and… his gaze fell upon the picture of Happy in the early years. He was already 28 years old, the same age when Senior Ye retired for the second and final time… and older than the age when Sister Mu and Brother Rui retired.

He has learned from his seniors not to regret anything and to keep moving forward, to learn from the past but never let it shape the future, that the future is theirs to create. He really had no regrets, really.

But in the dark and silent room, with only himself as company, the retired Captain Qiao Yifan of Team Happy, allowed himself a rare moment of weakness… and wished.

Qiao Yifan’s steps stumble into a halt, his breath catches in his throat.

Could it be…?

However, before the thought can form, a familiar voice rings out.

“Interesting choice of challenging the master of playing dirty.”

Qiao Yifan is blinking back tears when he recognizes the figure slowly stepping out from the darkness. After his final retirement, Ye Xiu didn’t completely disappear from their lives, he always made sure to be there when they needed him the most, but he purposefully maintained his distance. He knew how much he meant for Happy. While he had made the preparations, including letting them play without him in the team competitions in the tenth season, Ye Xiu had always been a steady, reassuring presence for Happy. He was there leading them in strategy meetings, he was guiding them in their practice matches, he was there on the sidelines during games. All they needed was to turn their heads, and there he was.

All the Chinese Glory team members have gained invaluable experience from the World Invitationals. Against the strongest players around the world, they kept challenging their limits, improving themselves, until they won the ultimate Glory for the country. Their fans hoped that their favorite players would bring their team into greater heights once they returned to the domestic league. However, it was easier said than done.

The reason why they could perform their absolute best on the world stage was because they had the best teammates, tacticians and leaders to bring out their potential. It was not always the case with their original teams. In the new season, Happy was becoming not the only team that was going through a running-in period, even though they were still the worst off since they lost their core and ace player. With one exception:

Tyranny.

Tyranny became a terrifying, indomitable presence in the new season. Han Wenqing, who chose to focus on the team, has laid the groundwork and strengthened the foundation for when Zhang Xinjie and Zhang Jiale returned abroad, the adjustment was relatively smooth and seamless, all the while the veterans were still doing rotation.

And Qiao Yifan was entrusted as the commander in the team competition in their first match in the regular season against Tyranny.

It wasn’t his first time commanding in a team competition. However, in the new team arrangement, the commander was still most often either Su Mucheng or Fang Rui. The latter was actually a surprise to many. He protested vehemently, but neither the captain nor vice captain budged with their decision. Qiao Yifan felt the pressure keenly.

To no one’s surprise, Happy suffered a crushing defeat at the team competition. It could even barely be called a fight. Their only saving grace was they got points off from individual competition and group arena. It didn’t stop the reporters from descending upon them like vultures. Qiao Yifan insisted on coming to the post-match press conference, and if it hadn’t been for Fang Rui and Su Mucheng, he would’ve caved under the pressure.

They were hit hard with the loss. It has been a while since they felt so powerless. Qiao Yifan found himself looking at the places where Ye Xiu used to be, and he realized that he was not the only one. He had even been staring at Ye Xiu’s number on his phone, opening and closing the chat box. He couldn’t help thinking and wishing badly for his senior’s reassuring presence and words.

Only for the wishful thinking to be crushed immediately by their new captain and vice captain in the strategic meeting. From the beginning, it was intended as a harsh wake up call from Su Mucheng and Fang Rui, to lose their dependence on Ye Xiu.

Before, Ye Xiu has taken care of everything for them, so they didn’t need to worry about anything and only focused on themselves. It was time for them to return the favor, for them to take care of everything so he could focus on himself.

Qiao Yifan felt so ashamed and embarrassed of himself at the reminder that he really wished he could dig a deep hole and hide inside it forever, his body hunching over as if he could do so. A warm, affectionate hand messed up his hair before settling on his shoulder.

“Bad news, we’re hitting rock bottom. Good news, the only way to go is up.” Cheerful, lively voice broke through the gloom. This voice and the owner of the voice later became among the reliable constants in Happy.

He’s very clever and very adaptable. And he’s a very strong team player. There’s a lot that I would like to learn from him.

There is no single untruth in his words. Fang Rui was and is all of that and more for Qiao Yifan and for Happy.

Su Mucheng is really the captain, the leader they need after Ye Xiu, it was only a matter of time until Happy saw her no differently than Ye Xiu and proudly claimed her as their captain.

But Fang Rui… Fang Rui has been everything that they asked of him. His adaptability is not limited onstage, but also offstage. For Qiao Yifan, he is his senior, his vice captain, his teacher, his friend… and his brother.

And so, even in front of his most admired, respected and beloved captain, to whom he owed his life twice over, and the least likely to think badly of Fang Rui, Qiao Yifan will readily and staunchly defend his brother.

“Senior Fang is more than just the master of dirty playing.” The words slip out easily from his lips. Qiao Yifan cannot recall how many times he has defended Happy’s best vice captain and he will not stop doing so. “He’s the master at understanding people’s psychology and utilizing them to make opportunities. And as a Ghostblade, especially a Phantom Demon whose skills need casting, he’s the best I can learn from.”

Ye Xiu shows a surprised, but pleased smile. Dirty playing is looked down on by most, particularly by the younger generation. And yet one of them actually sees the value in the playstyle and is willing to learn and use them for themselves. It makes him look forward to the future of this young man. He already had a good impression of Qiao Yifan with his courage to switch classes and his willingness to learn, and now he also displays wisdom and maturity rarely seen in younger players.

Most of them are unable to understand the reason why such a disdainful playstyle can be so difficult, so oppressive. It’s only possible due to Fang Rui’s masterful grasp of his opponent’s psychology. Simple, straightforward rookies are the easiest for him. For Qiao Yifan to be able to see the value of Fang Rui’s dirty playing and go toe-to-toe with him in the Rookie Challenge sets him apart from other rookies.

“Indeed. Excellent choice.” Qiao Yifan couldn’t help the pleased flush at the acknowledgement for himself and Fang Rui. Ye Xiu continues, “It’s impressive how you’re able to deal with Fang Rui’s dirty playing tactics. Rookies tend to have difficulty going against him.”

Except Happy rookies, that is. Qiao Yifan silently adds. They are fortunate not to have experienced Fang Rui as an opponent onstage. By the time they got to know Fang Rui, it was as the senior pro player in the middle of the pains of changing classes. They even had their turn in beating up his Qi Master. Then once after he reclaimed his title as god, he was their vice captain and teammate first. He will not treat them as an opponent and neither will they, not like Zhao Yuzhe.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve been watching his videos as much as Senior Li.” That’s not exactly a lie, at least not in his previous life.

“Too bad Fang Rui never faced Li Xuan. It’ll be an interesting study for me and you both.”

“I’ve thought so too.” Qiao Yifan agrees wholeheartedly. Wu Yuce is the Ghostblade that most often ends up as Fang Rui’s opponent, especially as a Thief. Though after transforming into Qi Master and becoming Happy’s defending general, Fang Rui has encountered all the core players at least once, including Li Xuan. It has been such an eye-opening match for Qiao Yifan in particular, who looks up to them both. It inspired his breakthrough.

Then Qiao Yifan realizes he shouldn’t have recognized the reclusive god and chatted so casually like this. “Um, Senior… Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar…”

“What do you think, Little Qiao?”

“God Ye Qiu!” Qiao Yifan nearly bites his tongue, barely avoiding the mistake of calling the Glory legend by his real name. “Why is Senior here?”

“Sightseeing. Getting a feel of being an audience.” Ye Xiu shrugs nonchalantly. Qiao Yifan has to push down the amusement at such Ye Xiu-like answer, but at the same time is at loss what else he can say to his senior. While the rest of his memories around this time are hazy, the memory of his first face-to-face meeting with Ye Xiu is one of the most clear and vivid, and he’s not sure how to bring it up when they barely know each other. Qiao Yifan’s grown a lot since he met Ye Xiu and he has become a captain and a god-level player in his own right, but in front of his most respected and admired seniors, he always feels like he was back as the young, inexperienced junior.

“What is it, Little Qiao?” Ye Xiu breaks his conundrum with ease, noticing the little Phantom Demon player struggling with something.

“...Is it really okay?” Qiao Yifan blurts out what first comes to mind. He clarifies at the confused blink from Ye Xiu, “Being an audience.”

Nothing changes in his expression, but somehow Qiao Yifan feels like Ye Xiu is truly, truly looking at him, like an all-seeing god looking from above. Instinctively he draws himself up, not wanting to be found lacking. When Ye Xiu smiles, Qiao Yifan finds himself released from the pressure.

“Of course not. Even though I’m a bit old, I’m not done yet!”

“You’re going to come back?” Qiao Yifan barely keeps his excitement in check.

“All I need is an opportunity. Just like you’re looking for yours. Keep up the good work, Little Qiao.” Ye Xiu says as he turns around. He waves his hands at Qiao Yifan and slips away into the darkness.

“...Yes, Senior!”

Once Ye Xiu leaves, Qiao Yifan unconsciously stands tall, his eyes bright and determined in the darkness. It is no longer young, inexperienced Qiao Yifan standing there, instead it is Captain Qiao Yifan of Team Happy.

“I’ll create that opportunity for you, Captain.”

It’s a promise.

***

Fang Rui walks out from the hotel room he’s staying in with Lin Jingyan with an easy heart. In the previous life, in the future-past, in the past-future, or whatever, the silence was oppressive, the conversation was awkward and stilted between them. For once, words eluded Fang Rui. He could never hate himself as much as he did back then.

This time around Fang Rui doesn’t really need to say anything, Lin Jingyan takes all the words that can be said from his own mouth. He has been the one to bring up his own declining condition and his determination to bring Wind Howl to the playoffs. All Fang Rui needs to do is give his whole support and help in whatever way he can. He might need to brush up his skills again and get used to high-intensity matches after such a peaceful retirement life, but he’s confident with his much younger body it’s only a matter of time. Unconsciously he raises and flexes his left hand.

However, what he can offer now is the invaluable experience from high-level matches, both domestic and abroad. He’s no master tactician, but spending much of his time around the master tacticians of old and new, two of whom are his captains, Fang Rui learns more than a thing or two. Though it’ll be harder to explain, especially to Lin Jingyan who knows him so well. Well, that’s a worry for another day. Let’s just take one step at a time.

Fang Rui puts on a beanie over his short hair and non-prescription glasses as he goes to the milk tea shop that Happy often frequents during their visits to Shanghai as their meeting place. It doesn’t take him long to find Qiao Yifan in the relatively deserted shop. Being the transparent Tiny Herb player, he doesn’t really need any disguises. Though honestly, Fang Rui would recognize him anywhere, disguise or no disguise.

Seeing his serious expression, Fang Rui silences his steps as he approaches the younger man who is busy writing on the table. Sneakily, not unlike Doubtful Demon and Boundless Sea in his hands, he stands behind the oblivious Qiao Yifan.

“Boo!” Fang Rui whispers close to his ear.

“Ah!” Qiao Yifan jumps in surprise, the pen slips from his fingers. Fang Rui, expecting the reaction, quickly catches it from the air. “Brother Rui!” His little captain scolds him, but Fang Rui cannot maintain a straight face, he bursts into laughter instead.

It’s been a while he’s seen his little captain so young and chubby-cheeked. He cannot resist pinching those cheeks. Being too preoccupied with his time travel or whatever this is, only now he notices how adorable young Qiao Yifan is.

“Can you stop pinching my cheeks?” It might be because he returns into his younger body, Qiao Yifan’s protests are more like a petulant teenager’s, and thanks to professional hand speed, this time it is the hair that’s gotten ruffled.

“Your fault for being so cute and adorable.” Fang Rui being Fang Rui, he’s not apologetic. If anything, he’s very satisfied having pinched those soft cheeks and ruffled the still-relatively-long and boyish haircut. Fang Rui plops down on the empty seat across Qiao Yifan, picking up the drink placed on the table, unsurprised that it is exactly as he likes it.

“So, what you’ve got so far in that notebook of yours, Little Captain?” Fang Rui asks as he chews the boba with a sense of nostalgia. Chinese milk tea is sure different, he mulls absently as he glances at the notebook, a habit Qiao Yifan picks up from Yu Wenzhou.

“I think… It’s my fault?”

“How do you come to that conclusion?” Fang Rui gives him an incredulous look, “Last time I checked you didn’t have supernatural power to send us back to the past.”

“Um.” Qiao Yifan rubs his nose, an all too familiar gesture of discomfort and vulnerability. He’s grown out of that habit slowly as he took over captaincy, but it has the tendency to show up under tremendous stress or complete unpreparedness, which this time travel situation certainly counts as both.

“Start from the beginning.” Those familiar words ground Qiao Yifan, he finds himself calming down easily when he has actually been stressing himself out while waiting for Fang Rui. Those words and the person have helped him many times when he overthinks things, getting him out of the spiral he’s fallen into and finding the right words and action. He breathes in, and starts with a question.

“What did you remember last?” Before jumping to conclusion, Qiao Yifan needs to make sure of a few things first. Fang Rui tries to recall what he was doing. He really hasn’t thought about it.

“Hmm… I was at the airport, texting Old Ye on the phone.” Qiao Yifan blinks in surprise at the unexpected answer. “Our Yifan is retiring. Of course we’ll be coming to celebrate in person.”

Qiao Yifan gets choked up. Several times he tries to speak only to stop.

“We’ve been so busy that we barely visited or kept in touch. Old Ye is even worse, considering he’s based on China. So I just decided to hell with it when I saw your press conference to go back and force that irresponsible guy to pick me up and visit the team together. You know how bad he is at taking initiative. I also managed to get Little Tang on it.”

“Sister Rou too?” Qiao Yifan laughs in disbelief.

“She’s not as bad as us, but it’s been a while for her too. And she’s in Beijing, so she’s the best person in case Old Ye needs to be strong armed.”

“Oh.” Qiao Yifan’s heart feels so full that he’s at a loss of words.

Fang Rui can only feel sad and regretful to see how happy and bright the younger man’s expression is. Qiao Yifan has always been a kind and considerate child. He might have wanted to see them more, but he wouldn’t say anything and be understanding when the older members of Team Happy cannot keep in touch regularly. He might have thought that his retirement is not important enough for him to ask for them to come and visit. Somehow, Fang Rui has a feeling that their current situation is not unrelated.

“We had a small party after the press conference back in Forest Park. It was late after I returned to the room. I…” Qiao Yifan pauses, glancing at Fang Rui. Encouraged by the quiet and patient understanding, he continues.

“Everyone keeps asking why I am retiring when I could have played longer, that I’d come to regret it… I don’t, I’m really sure I won’t.” Qiao Yifan speaks animatedly, as if he’s trying to convince Fang Rui, when the older man is the last person he needs to convince. “I just think it’s time, the team can and will do well without me.”

“...but?” Fang Rui gently nudges Qiao Yifan.

“I do have one regret, one wish,” Qiao Yifan finally speaks out. His voice trembled, betraying his nervousness.

“I wish I had more time.” As if losing his courage, Qiao Yifan ducks his head down.

Fang Rui looks at the bowed head, his eyes soften in understanding. Qiao Yifan doesn’t need to say more, he understands very well. Quite possibly what he feels is the shared feelings among the early members of Team Happy, many of them either started late or only had a few years left in the professional stage.

Being the youngest, Qiao Yifan is among the last of the original members of Happy to remain in the team. Having been there himself, he remembers how it felt like being left behind, abandoned even when it was simply a natural course of life. That feeling was gone as soon as it appeared, reason quickly kicking in. Although the feeling would come at his weakest moments, he’s learned to deal with it.

However, it must be harder for Qiao Yifan, knowing his circumstances. For him, Happy is the only home he has. Having them leave one by one must not be easy. That was why he chose to stay for another year when Qiao Yifan made the plea before he was about to announce his retirement after the finals in the Golden Season, or what Season 13 was known as with many of the Golden Generation giving their best, most dazzling performance, like a burning star at the end of its life.

Fang Rui was no different, having changed classes and reclaimed his old class alongside his new one, led Happy through the most difficult time in the wake of Ye Xiu’s retirement and competed in domestic and international league year after year, he was burned out, like Su Mucheng and Ye Xiu before him.

By then, Happy’s rookies were no longer rookies, they were gods in the making, if not already, he would be only a hindrance for them. He didn’t need another championship. He wanted more, of course he did, he would never lose his desire and pursuit of victory, but his definition of victory is and has never been limited to all the trophies and awards. What he also considers as a victory is when the team he has come to love and cherish, to grow and flourish, to surpass their predecessors and stand in their own glory.

Team Happy lost in the finals, but Fang Rui had seen a glimpse of the future, a shining, glorious future… and he didn’t see himself in that future. He was actually happy at the realization, barely suppressing his smile when he saw the frustrated faces on his team. He already made up his mind back then, only for one sentence from one person to change it.

“Can you not go?”

The words didn’t come from the youngest member of the team. They didn’t come from the successor he intended to take over Boundless Sea. They didn’t come from their soft-hearted boss. Instead it came from the strong, reliable captain of Happy.

Fang Rui’s heart broke for this young man. At that moment, he looked like a lost child.

“Okay.” He made the concession. He had only eyes for his little captain, but he didn’t fail to notice how everyone in the room perked up, including their lady boss. “However, I will mainly stay on the bench. You’re going to carry me to the finals. I’m expecting another Championship for my retirement.”

And he did.

Happy did it.

Happy matched the old Excellent Era’s record. Fang Rui and the remaining members of the original team are the first to have three championship rings in the domestic league, second only to Ye Xiu who have four of them, beating Zhou Zekai of his generation and the Golden Generation. Happy also made their own record being the only team that have won both domestic and international league.

Team Happy had converged around him when they won the finals of Season 14. His bold, daring little Captain dared to put their oldest senior who didn’t play as frequently as before in the all important match of the finals and of course, Fang Rui didn’t fail to live up to his captain’s expectation. He had made sure to do so since Ye Xiu picked him of all people to be Happy’s Qi Master. It was a beautiful sendoff, a perfect ending that he could ask for. He wasn’t oblivious to realize that Happy had managed to send away every single of their senior members of the original team with a championship. He was, is and always will be proud of them, the team that they are, and the captain that Qiao Yifan is.

Fang Rui places his hand on Qiao Yifan’s head gently.

“Then we will have more time.”

“That’s it?” So surprised with his response, Qiao Yifan dislodges Fang Rui’s hand at the speed he cranes his neck.

“Eh. We can try to sleep tonight and if we go back to our timeline, then have a good laugh and celebrate your retirement with all Team Happy members. Or…

“We don’t, and make sure we’ll have more time this time around.” Fang Rui states simply.

“It can’t be that simple.” Qiao Yifan frowns.

“It can.”

“It can’t.”

“Why not?”

“W-Well, there might be conditions?” Qiao Yifan offers. “Of going back, I mean.”

“So? How will we discover that unless we keep going? Or changing things up?”

“Should we even change things?” Qiao Yifan asks. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, one side he’s afraid, terrified even. But on the other side, he’s excited, eager to change the future.

“Eh,” Fang Rui merely shrugs. Qiao Yifan can only laugh at the nonchalance. It’s so Fang Rui. It’s so like his senior to make light of the absurd situation, which to be fair, Happy is a team that often encounters absurd situations, their own existence is one. The reminder actually brings a smile to Qiao Yifan’s face. His cautious nature can be detrimental at times if it goes unchecked. He’s learned to let go and take risks in the years in Happy, but in this current situation, when his actions could have changed things, could have made him lose everything precious to him, he was unwilling to do so.

“We’ll just keep things simple. We set a goal for ourselves, and deal with others as they come.”

“Happy.” They say it at the same time, which brings a huge relief to Qiao Yifan. He knows how important Lin Jingyan and Wind Howl are for Fang Rui, and considering what happened to them, he has wondered if Fang Rui wishes to do more for them and stay until his contract expires instead of transferring. Reading his mind, Fang Rui chuckles.

“Happy is home.” And Fang Rui meant it.

He’s met many people, have been in different teams and workplaces, but Happy is the only place that feels like home besides his own. It doesn’t occur to him not to join Happy. If anything, he’d love to join earlier, and take part in the creation of the team.

“Wait… has Team Happy been created?” The thought only occurs to him.

“Oh. Not yet. It should be tomorrow.” Qiao Yifan looks at the rough timeline he has written in the notebook. Fang Rui leans forward to take a peek.

“...the Dragon Raises its Head?” Fang Rui can only recall that incident from this year’s All Stars.

“Because of that, Boss Chen figured out Senior’s true identity and decided to create the team to support him.” Qiao Yifan himself only knows their beloved boss’ retelling.

“That really sounds like Boss Chen, alright.” Fang Rui smiles fondly at their lady boss and big sister. “So the team only had Old Ye and Little Tang?”

“Senior didn’t ask me to join until I told him my contract with Tiny Herb expired.”

“Hmm, by then Steamed Bun and Old Wei have already joined.”

“Brother An, Luo Ji and Mo Fan joined around the registration period.”

“Old Ye really worked hard…” Fang Rui has heard the stories. Something else nags on him, though. “...Yifan, you wished for more time right?”

“Yes?”

“Did you think of anything specific when you wished for that? Because, usually in typical time-travel/regressor/reincarnation/isekai stories, it’s usually only the protagonist who comes back in time. Why am I too? Am I even the only one?”

“No, Senior Ye didn’t come back.” Recalling their earlier exchange, Qiao Yifan is sure of it. “I did think of you first when I suddenly found myself back in All Stars Season 8 Rookie Challenge, in the middle of the stadium floor, microphone in hand.”

“That must be nerve wracking.” Fang Rui raises his eyebrows in surprise. “But really? Of all people, me? Not Mucheng? Or Wenzhou?” He merely teases Qiao Yifan. He isn’t really surprised that in Qiao Yifan’s panic and confusion, he picked the one he’s spent the most time with, his old vice captain. He doesn’t really expect a response. However, looking at his expression, there might be another reason. It is brief, but Fang Rui has always been good at catching the slightest change and he thinks he can make a guess.

Fang Rui lays down his left arm on the table, turning his hand palm up.

“I’ve suspected that you knew.” Fang Rui smiles kindly, but it only makes Qiao Yifan upset. Knowing it is one thing, acknowledging it is another. Right now there’s only smooth skin, but in their past-future, there was a faint scar, a thin line across Fang Rui’s wrist, which was often covered with bracelets and wristbands.

Qiao Yifan was only aware of it when Mo Fan came to him. He has noticed and wondered about the change of Fang Rui’s playstyle. It was not really obvious, even for those who were familiar with him. Only when Qiao Yifan paid attention to his hand speed and rhythm, he realized that Fang Rui had slowed down. Everyone hardly noticed because of the nature of the dirty playstyle, and later on, because of the rising skill level of Happy individual members.

Regardless, Fang Rui remained an indispensable member of Happy and the national team. His flexible playstyle and high adaptability, not to mention his casual and playful nature, made him compatible with many players and strategies that he was more often than not master tacticians’ first choice. Qiao Yifan was not so naive to think that it wouldn’t impact Fang Rui’s condition, so he didn’t think much in the beginning. He was actually relieved that his vice captain took the steps to prolong his career lifespan. While his speed might decline, his performance did not. It didn’t cross his mind that Fang Rui’s condition had reached the point that he needed surgery.

Qiao Yifan was hit hard with the discovery. He had been angry at Fang Rui, at Mo Fan, but most of all, at himself for failing to notice that his vice captain had been injured so badly. He understood very well why Fang Rui did it, so he swallowed all the hurt and anger and channeled them into winning the championship, fearing the season would be his senior’s last. He wanted to prove that Happy was worth all the painstaking effort Fang Rui put in. Only to have his hopes shattered when Happy lost to Blue Rain in the finals, and Fang Rui announced his retirement to the team before the press conference.

He hadn’t wanted to be selfish. He really couldn’t ask Fang Rui to stay when he has given everything and more to Happy. He shouldn’t have asked him to stay.

But he asked anyway.

He was prepared for the refusal, he could even imagine the gentle and kind words. He didn’t expect the concession. Fang Rui only agreed for another year, but it meant the world for Qiao Yifan.

Looking at the person in front of him, Qiao Yifan knows very well why it was Fang Rui of all people who was brought back to the past with him. But he cannot find the words.

“Well, I’m definitely not turning down the chance to do everything again. Even though it’s going to be a hassle to adapt to what… Level 70 skills?” The stinky face Fang Rui made elicits laughter from Qiao Yifan.

Fang Rui never fails to find a way to lighten up the atmosphere. It’s also his subtle reminder that he has their back, that he understands even when there are no words between them.

“Damn. It looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do. It’s no different than having a new team, a new account, and a new class.” Fang Rui is already having a headache at the mere thought. He does miss the Glory competitive days, but he can do without the daily training.

“...I’m sorry.” Qiao Yifan winces, he hasn’t thought that far. He might be just a “water dispenser” in Tiny Herb but Fang Rui definitely isn’t. He has tried to take account of everything but the memories are hazy the further to the past they are, and he was limited to his own knowledge of the events. Qiao Yifan was only recently retired so he would have less difficulty in getting back into the competition mindset. Fang Rui waves his hand, knowing it cannot be helped.

“I’ve got a week until the next match. I’m going to need help to get into shape and find a somewhat believable explanation for the sudden changes in playstyle. Old Lin is sure to notice. You also need to be careful. Wang Jiexi might not realize any changes in you, but Old Ye certainly will.”

“Um… I think it’s a bit too late.” Qiao Yifan speaks out, showing the message Gao Yingjie sent to him earlier, telling him that the captain wanted to see him when he returned to the hotel.

“Well, shit.” That pretty much summed up their current situation.

“Okay, change of plans. Let’s start with how you’re going to deal with good ol’ Wang, then we do the rest.”

“I should not call him Captain Wang then.” Qiao Yifan mulls over.

“Definitely not.” Why would a member of their own team call their own captain by their last name? “Don’t let slip and start calling him Big-Eyed Wang, either.”

“I’ve never-” Qiao Yifan coughs and splutters.

“Really?” Fang Rui raises an eyebrow.

Cunning and resourceful.

Those two words describe Happy best. They can be said to be the words Happy team members live by. They lay down the foundation of Happy’s individual and team playstyle.

While Qiao Yifan remains polite and respectful as he comes to be Happy’s captain, which makes him a favorite among Happy team members of old and new, particularly for the reporters, he is still Happy’s captain who has received guidance and learned from Ye Xiu, Wei Chen and Fang Rui. He doesn’t often resort to dirty play enough to be considered a dirty player and doesn't often engage in trash talk to provoke others that people often forget. So at the most unexpected times, Qiao Yifan will pull an incredibly dirty play or a provocative sentence that is so unlike the calm and stable captain that opponents never fail to fall for it.

Qiao Yifan definitely has called Wang Jiexi “Big-Eyed Wang” at least once. It doesn’t even matter if he never did it to his face.

“Careful. Don’t show your black heart yet, Little Captain.” Fang Rui teases Qiao Yifan, his eyes twinkling with mirth. This time Qiao Yifan genuinely and freely laughs.

“Says the person who taught us how to pull unexpected plays.” Being the longest-serving senior in the team, Fang Rui left his mark the most on Happy team members. His dirty playstyle shows up even in the aggressive Tang Rou, upright An Wenyi, and even textbook Luo Ji.

“That means I’m a good teacher, no?” Fang Rui considers that as his greatest achievement. Qiao Yifan doesn’t disagree, giggling at his senior’s proud face.

There’s so much work to do. There are so many familiar people, accounts, teams that they need to get to know again. There are their own younger bodies with their older selves; faster speed and reflexes but in discordance with their experienced minds. There are so many things to unlearn and relearn. There are events that cannot, should not be changed, and they do not know which events they are and which actions they are allowed to take.

When he was standing on the stage, as his mind kept thinking of all the ripple effects he might be causing, Qiao Yifan was absolutely frightened, and felt very lonely. However, right here right now, with his most reliable vice captain and senior…

Qiao Yifan no longer feels afraid.

Aaand.... That's a wrap! Well, not quite so. This can be taken as a one-shot, but is also open for more time-travel shenanigans. I have some ideas of the changes in the new timeline. Some ideas are easier to flesh out, while others require some research. If you have any comments or suggestions, please do so! It might help with the writing of future chapters. Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #fanfic #quan zhi gao shou #the king's avatar #qzgs #tka #fang rui #ao3 #qiao yifan #time travel au

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 4 months

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Had a weird dream and need to tell the world now.

Fire emblem three houses but Sci fi battleships au

All the houses are crews to battleships of each of the leaders.

Please send me any asking if your interested in learning more or want to add something.

Black eagle's

Edelgards goal is to expand her control outside the current solar system in her reign so that she can fight the agarthians and the nabateans.

Hubert is the ships navigator and strategist, commonly buts heads with Ferdinand trying to be the right hand men.

Ferdinand is tasked with communications, he's the one to negotiate anything. Ship enthusiasts always loves piloting the smaller ships onboard.

Bernadetta is in charge of the more domestic duties. Cooking, cleaning mending. Also care for the plants in the oxygen supply room.

Linhardt is of course the medic but is also surprisingly the IT. Learnt the tech skills from helping Caspar with his racing jets when they were younger.

Casper is the mechanic anything physically wrong with the ship he can fix. Pretty much grew up doing what he does now. Always willing to dogfight.

Dorathea though unassuming is quite knowledgeable on the galaxy. Constantly giving her input on Hubert and Ferdinand's plans. Otherwise She's helping Bernie or Linhardt. Has many stories to tell about her days in the intergalactic opera.

Petra like in the base game is a political prisoner to stop her planet from rioting against the empire but grows closer to the crew eventually becoming one of them. An expert at close combat willing to share her knowledge with everyone and learn from them too.

Blue lions

Dimitri was in line to take the throne before becoming bezerk for unknown reasons on the night before his coronation. Luckily he was subdued and is now in forced comatose on the ship as his close friends try to find a way to get him back to his former self. All while the kingdom has to cover it up. Does occasionally wake up in a frenzy but is quick to be subdued again.

Dedue is left as the man in charge, he admits it isn't the best job for him but he must for Dimitri. Is mainly the navigator. Occasionally does domestic tasks when he has the time to.

Felix is the only one with combat experience in the crew so he teaches the others. Knew something was up with Dimitri, he's seen the same crazed look in his eyes before during a battle they were both involved in. Is very conflicted, not knowing whether or not this bezerk rage was just a part of him or something else.

Ashe is in charge of domestics. Is always happy to see Dedue join him, he always learns something new from him.

Mercedes is the medic. She's also the one in charge of caring for Dimitri with the help of Annette.

Ingrid is the mechanic and It expert. She keep the ship functional with some help from Sylvain and Felix when she doesn't have enough arms for the job.

Annette is an allrounder still trying to find her place on the ship. Always asking others if they need help.

Sylvain is similar to Annette, he hasn't quite figured out his role in the ship, he's there to help his friends especially Dimitri. Is good at identifying different ships. Can tell the difference between even the tiniest revisions of ships. Very helpful for avoiding unwanted conflicts.

Golden deer

Claude was a former space pirate before getting plucked out by his grandfather and put into a peace keeper position himself. Being a former pirate gives him some good insight. Is at constant odds with the former leader Lorenz. (Kinda see him like Anikin, doing his own thing rather then following Lorenz plans)

Lorenz was the former leader of the peace keeper fleet now demoted he still tries to be the strategist but Claude sways the crew easily. Does navigation occasionally but doesn't get along well with Leonie.

Leonie is in charge of navigation. Was previously trained by the bounty hunter Jerlt so she knows her way around ships and battle. Also does mechanics with Raphael.

Raphael and Ignatz both work together on domestic duties. Raphael also helps out mechanics and Ignatz does book keeping.

Hilda is in charge of communications. Constantly gets compared to her older brother who's know for his dogfighting skills. Claude puts her out to fight when he finds out and she pretty much demolished the enemy.

Lysithea is on-board researcher. Helps Marianne with medic duties but is first and foremost a researcher.

#fire emblem #fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fe3houses

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nutteu · 7 months

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tomorrow is the fleeting smile on your bleeding lips [Chapter I]

[AO3 Chapter I] [AO3 Chapter II] [AO3 Chapter III] [moonsea series]

Steven’s mechanic was unfairly, unfathomably, absolutely, devastatingly hot. He was going to die from a severe case of embarrassment before the car was even fixed, if the mechanic didn’t stop grinning at him as if he wanted to devour Steven whole. [Jake/Steven; au; published 2022-06-29; total word count: 24,806]

Marc was going to chewed his ears off—no, he was going to kill Steven if he found out. His brother might be babying him to a fault, but this was the fourth time this month that Steven barreled into a problem with the car, which Marc owned, and bought after saving up for so long, and which he loved so much, and which he only lent to Steven because he was paranoid as fuck and thought that Steven would fall asleep in the bus, or get mugged, or worse, get harassed.

See, Steven was more than happy to drive the car around. It cut down the time he usually spent waiting for the bus, and he didn’t need to worry about his bus leaving before he could get on it. Also, he could bring a lot of things, and it was faster altogether—a more practical experience. But the catch was, Steven didn’t know shit about cars. Ask him about the complete history of Trojan War and he’d answer in less than a heartbeat. Ask him about how to change a tire, and he’d just stay silent until he inevitably squirmed in discomfort.

He just didn’t know, okay?

Which was probably not the best thing to say to Marc. Especially now that his brother was away in Cairo for a few weeks. Also, not the best thing to inform that the car just suddenly broke down and wouldn’t start, and Steven was slowly panicking. He had taken the car to repair shops, but they evidently didn’t do a good enough job if it was still not working right. He couldn’t tell the difference, honestly. He just knew that there was nothing he could do but to resign another portion of his paycheck to fix the car, more than usual this time because it never broke down like this before.

He sighed, and pulled out his phone. It was brand new, and he didn’t quite understand how to use it yet. Marc insisted that he had it, because he complained that Steven’s voice sounded so shitty when he used his Neanderthal era phone, which was a big insult, because that phone served him for years just fine. But his brother was hardheaded, and Steven was so used to accepting everything Marc had given to him, to follow where his brother went.

It was definitely useful now, even if he fumbled a bit with it. He looked up the nearest auto repair shop, and called the number. A gruff voice answered his call, and he stuttered a bit before he relayed the condition. The person, a man named Khonshu—which was hilarious as fuck because the last Steven checked, it was the Egyptian god of moon—sounded so displeased. He understood; it was night, and the shop must have been closing soon. But he was a bit desperate, and still very much panicking. In the end, Khonshu told him to wait on his location, said someone would pick him up.

He let out a relieved sigh as soon as the call ended. Khonshu was not pleasant to talk to. He bit his lip, and stretched a bit on the driver seat. He supposed he should just go out, since the AC was dead, and he could miss the person picking him up if he spent his time holing up inside. So, he stepped out, and waited on the side of the road; walking around, and swinging on the tip of his toes. He should have brought a book. He usually did, but he forgot this morning because he was in a hurry; he was almost late for a tour from a uni. He could just read on the phone, like Marc had taught him, but it hurt his eyes, and he didn’t understand how to control the functions of the app.

Waiting like an idiot it was.

He watched cars and bike pass by, smiling awkwardly at passersby stealing glances at him. He was a bit wary when people walked closer, or when they stared at him for too long. He was sure he looked neat enough today, he had wanted to impress the entourage after all. But, perhaps, it was his hair? He surreptitiously looked at the tinted window to check if his curls were in place. They were a bit messy, but acceptable nonetheless. Was it his clothes? Nah, no way, this shirt looked cool, for his taste anyway, and he didn’t button it wrong. Was it because he looked painfully, obviously uncomfortable and restless? Yeah, maybe; he felt that way, definitely.

He tried his best to ignore them, thinking back to Marc’s tireless lecture of stranger danger. Honestly, Steven was thirty-six, and though he was a complete garbage at having good sleeping schedule, he thought that he managed his life pretty good. Marc was just overprotective. But the clock was ticking by, and the road was slowly deserted, and Steven couldn’t help but press his back closer to the side of his car. There was a man who had been standing against the wall of a nearby building, and Steven caught him staring several times. He didn’t try to approach, but yeah, Marc was right. Stranger danger.

Just when he was about to call Khonshu again, be damned with him grumbling in his ears, just to make sure that he was indeed getting picked up, a car parked in front of his, and the driver climbed out. Steven paused for a moment. It might be someone who lived here, but then the man walked towards him, and he had to rub at his eyes for a moment.

The man, whom Steven was now sure the person that Khonshu had sent because he was still wearing a mechanic jumpsuit, looked exactly like him and his brother. There were a few key differences, like the deceptively relaxed set of his brows and shoulders, the hooded stare, the perpetual smirk on his lips, the gait in his steps. But aside from that, he could pass as their brother. Steven was pretty sure that he and Marc were born as twins, not triplet. But here the man was, stopping to stand in front of Steven, with his smirk and the stench of tobacco clinging to him. It was like seeing Marc, just more relaxed and devious, and Steven almost thought that, perhaps, for some magical reason, Marc had sensed that his baby brother was in trouble, again, and flew over from Cairo to save his pathetic ass.

“Steven Grant?” he asked, and Steven swallowed. His voice was rough around the edges, husky and low. There was a noticeable accent in his syllables, and it only made him all the more—what was the word? Steven didn’t want to say seductive; he didn’t think he could handle the mortification of his own thought. Yeah, nope, this one was definitely not Marc.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered out, aware that he was staring like a creep. “You’re from the Iah Auto Repair Shop?”

“Jake Lockley,” the man introduced himself, and nodded. “Khonshu sent me, said something about your car breaking down.”

He smiled in dismay, and gestured to the poor, abused thing. “Yeah,” he said. “Brought it to the repair shops before this, but either they didn’t fix it properly, or I’m just a disaster with a car. I’m leaning more towards the latter.”

The man’s smirk widened a fraction, almost a grin. There was mirth in his eyes as he placed a warm palm on Steven’s shoulders. He didn’t want to admit that he was holding back a gasp. He could feel the warmth of Jake’s hand through the shirt, and he was suddenly torn between feeling grateful that he left the jacket inside the car, or panicking all over again because even a small contact could make him so flustered.

He couldn’t quite hide the flush on his cheeks when Jake leaned forward. He was about to push the man away—Marc’s training was rigorous and it had been ingrained into Steven’s head—but then Jake said, “I’ll handle the towing, and you get inside my car. That gentleman over there hasn’t moved an inch, and you’ve been fidgeting quite a lot. Let’s not find out what he wants to do to you, yeah?”

He found it hard to voice out an answer, so he just nodded his head, cheeks aflame because Jake’s warm breath hit his skin when he spoke, from how close they were. He followed behind the man as they walked to the side of his car. He opened the door for Steven, throwing him a last grin before he closed the door behind. Steven let out the breath he had been holding.

That was the most intense, well-intentioned warning he had gotten in his life. He unconsciously lifted his hand to his shoulders, where Jake had touched him. It was still a little bit warm. He scrunched his nose and quickly put his hand down. What the hell was he doing? It was just a friendly gesture, for fuck’s sake. No need to be so self-conscious about it. Or bothered. Or- or wanting it to happen again.

Jesus fuck he was going insane.

He decided to ignore his embarrassment, and looked up. The man who had been watching him was scowling at something, and Steven turned around slightly to see that Jake was throwing a grin at him. The grin was different than the one he gave to Steven. This one made him shiver and curl a little in his seat. Jake, for all that he looked like a hot, unruly man, now seemed so dangerous.

The man then pushed off of the wall, and started to walk away. Steven stared. It truly was fortunate that Jake arrived just in time. He glanced at Jake again, but the man was already gone, presumably inside Steven’s car to set the gear to neutral. He looked up ahead again, and fiddled with his fingers. He really should have brought a book.

It took Jake some time before he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “All done, Stevie,” he said, the name rolling on his tongue like a tease. “Put on your seatbelt.”

“It’s Steven,” he corrected as he clicked the belt in place. “With a ‘v’.”

“Not so catchy,” Jake replied easily. “Stevie is better, don’t you think?”

“Nope, don’t think so. I like my name as it is,” he said, leaning against the seat as the car was started. It purred instead of rumbling, like Marc’s car. Which was all Steven’s fault in the first place. He promised himself he’d treat Marc once his brother was back. If he didn’t plan on telling what was the reason other than welcoming Marc back, then, well, what was a little white lie, right?

“I can suggest a lot more interesting names,” Jake said without looking away from the road. They turned left on the junction, before he continued. “How does sweetheart sound?”

Steven honest to God choked on his spit. He stuttered out an intelligible reply, but Jake was laughing already. He glanced at Steven, the same smirk on his lips. There was a glint in his eyes that Steven didn’t dare to look at for too long, in fear that he’d do something stupid. Like saying that he didn’t mind Jake calling him sweetheart. My God, it was less then an hour and he was already being so needy.

“You’re so easy,” Jake said, looking at the road again.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” he said, not sure how to respond to that. He should have been annoyed, he supposed. But Jake said it so softly that all Steven’s heart did was beat faster than it should.

Jake’s lips quirked a bit, but he didn’t say anything. Steven wanted to ask what exactly that grin meant, but then again, he was too busy trying to breathe right. Maybe phoning this particular repair shop wasn’t the best decision he’d taken today. Not because he met Jake, but because of how much he was turning into a desperate man in the presence of this cheeky mechanic.

Could this be considered as narcissism? They looked unnervingly similar to each other. And yet, they couldn’t be more different. Sure, Marc had called him a cheeky little shit on at least a thousand different occasions, but it wasn’t the point. They had no similarities between except for their appearance, and even that stopped at several points. Steven didn’t think that he could ever dream of being as suave as Jake.

He tried to surreptitiously glance at Jake, and found that the man was looking straight ahead. He noted that Jake’s nose was taller than his, and with his face set on a neutral expression, he looked like Marc—which, way to go really, bringing his own brother into his. Really killed the mood. Even if Steven didn’t know what mood, exactly, he was talking about.

“If you want to stare at me, all you have to do is ask, little dove,” Jake said suddenly, and let out an amused huff when Steven squeaked.

“Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, scratching his neck. “You just look a lot like me and my brother.”

“You have a brother?” Jake asked, an eyebrow raised, eyes still focused on the road.

“Yeah, a twin, older than me, just by twelve minutes, honestly; probably won’t let me go out of the house if he has any say to it,” he said, pursing his lips a little. Sure, Marc was thoroughly traumatized that he let his guard down one second and Steven almost drowned. Or that one time Steven almost got kidnapped. Or that one time he fell off of his friend’s bike. Or that one time Steven sleep-walked to the streets. Or—yeah, he got the idea: Marc was worried because his little brother seemed to be a huge magnet for troubles and disasters. Which, probably, explained why fate decided that he was to meet Jake Lockley. If Steven had to describe that man with a word, trouble was definitely the first thing that came to mind.

But he couldn’t look away, and he was aware that his cheeks was still heated. Oh, God, he was doomed and Marc was going to be so, so disappointed at him.

“Your brother has a complex,” Jake told him bluntly.

Steven laughed a little. “He does, doesn’t he?” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Not without reason, though. I’m a walking disaster.”

“A cute walking disaster, at least,” came the reply, and Steven was speechless for God knew how many times tonight. He was afraid that it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

He bit his lip and looked down, suddenly hyper aware of how he must have looked like a garbage next to Jake’s confidence. He unconsciously tried to fix the curls falling into his eyes, hoping that Jake wouldn’t notice, would only see it as a nervous gesture.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the car halted in front of the repair shop. Jake unlocked the car, and went ahead to take care of Steven’s car. He went out, too, and saw that some people were still there. They got his car inside the large space of the garage, and started to prepare their tools. Steven watched him, fascinated. They worked so quickly and efficiently, almost without a thought in their practiced movements. He saw that Jake was talking to another mechanic, and an unbelievably tall man dressed in white, face adorned with neatly trimmed mustache and beard. There was a scowl on the man’s face, but he was listening intently nonetheless. This must have been Khonshu.

Steven waited near Jake’s car, unsure what to do. He fiddled with his sleeves, and suddenly longed for his jacket just to have something to touch. He liked the texture of the seams, the feel of worn fabric under his fingertips. There was just something soothing in tracing the neat line of the threads, as if his fingers were running above the cables of the utility pole; long, smooth lines that seemed to follow when he passed them by.

Jake went back to him after some time. He pointed a thumb to the car, and said, “We gotta make sure what’s broken before we can fix it. Upfront payment after the diagnosis. Can you come here tomorrow?”

“I can,” he nodded. “But I’m going to be a bit late, is that okay? I get off work at six, and I gotta take the bus to go here, and a taxi probably since there’s no route for the bus here.”

“No need,” Jake said. “I can pick you up. Where’s your workplace?”

Steven was stunned for a moment. That offer just came out of nowhere. Well, not that out of nowhere, given the situation. But he was pretty sure that mechanics didn’t just offer to pick up their clients off of work just because their car was out of commission. Besides, Jake had just met him, and he honestly didn’t want to impose on the other man. But Steven didn’t want to refuse the offer either. For one, it’d be easier. Also, because he got to be picked up by Jake.

Oh, dear Lord, he was turning into a fifteen-year-old in puberty.

“Uh, Petrie Museum,” he said, unsure for a moment.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Jake nodded, then shouted something at someone in the garage. It was in a language that Steven didn’t recognize. He just watched as Jake nodded at the answering reply, before he turned back to him. “Do you need a ride home?”

Alright. No matter how much Steven’s heart was kicking, screaming and giggling at Jake’s presence, this was way too fast. Or maybe he was reading into it too much. It was just a harmless, kind offer, and Jake was just being polite. But, God, did he want to.

“If you don’t mind?” he asked, hesitant.

“Wouldn’t offer you otherwise, little dove,” Jake said, again with the pet name. “Come on, I’ve told them I’m clocking off.”

Steven nodded dumbly, following Jake to once again get into the car, not really believing what was happening, couldn’t really wrap his head around it. The car broke down, he was worried sick because he didn’t want to make Marc mad, he was anxiously waiting to get picked up while trying to ignore the stare of that stranger burning on the side of his face, met Jake Lockley, realized that he was fucked and doomed, and now Jake was driving him home and Steven was about to scream out his confusion. That sounded about right.

He fastened the seatbelt as the car was turned on. Jake looked around for incoming vehicles that might pass, before he drove to the main road. “Where are we going, Stevie?”

He ignored the obvious mockery of his name, and rattled off the address. It was forty-minutes’ drive from here, and he didn’t know what to do in the meantime. Here he was, in the same space with the person he had admitted was attractive enough to make him fumble and stutter, and he didn’t know how to appear less like he was a weirdo and more of a respectable customer, whatever that meant.

Jake turned on the tape, and they listened to some music Steven didn’t recognize in low volume. The drive was spent in silence, and Steven was getting antsy. Had he made the wrong decision? Maybe Jake was hoping he’d refuse the offer, but Steven was too dumb to read the clue. He pressed himself closer against the door of the car, mulling in his thoughts.

“You were more talkative before,” Jake then remarked, surprising Steven. “Why, you afraid I’m gonna do something to you?”

“No!” Steven exclaimed, then recoiled when he said it louder than he intended. “No,” he repeated, at reasonable volume this time. “I’m just—not used to being driven by someone else than my brother, I guess. A stranger at that, no less.”

“We won’t be stranger soon, Steven with a ‘v’,” Jake said, the trademark smirk reappearing. “Was that your brother’s car?”

“Yeah,” he said weakly, remembering about his carelessness. “He lent me to it a few months ago because he’s been going on business trips constantly these days. He’s the one who usually drives me around when he’s in town. Which he won’t be, for a few weeks at least.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tack on the last bit.

“And you broke it,” Jake said.

“Oi, no need to rub the salt on the wound, mate,” Steven huffed out, crossing his arms in front of his chest, face flushing. He was talking to a mechanic, who understood cars’ technicalities more than Steven could ever hope to do. He was embarrassing himself enough.

Jake chuckled lightly. It sounded so pleasant to the ears, for some reason. They were halfway to the apartment building, and Steven started to see familiar shops and streets around the area. The low hum of the tape blended in with the faint bustling of the people and vehicles left on the streets. It was later than the time he usually went home at. He had thought of getting himself some dinner at the restaurant he frequented, because he felt lethargic after two tours with huge groups and didn’t want to cook himself. He supposed it was fortunate enough that the car broke down when it did, he wouldn’t happen to stumble on Iah Repair Shop otherwise. Wouldn’t meet Jake.

And there he went, sounding like a teenager with a gigantic crush again. He met a stranger wearing his face one time, and bam, he was flailing and helpless. This felt like that one time he ate a steak, and then went bonkers and thought that he was hallucinating Gus having two fins, when in reality, Marc had forgotten to feed the poor fish and tried to replace it with a new one. He was mad at Marc for two days, because Gus was his little one-finned wonder, alright.

“Been working at the museum for long, Stevie?” Jake then asked.

Steven looked away from the bright neon lights of a barber shop and shrugged. “Depends on how you see it,” he said. “I worked as the clerk before, selling sweets and souvenirs from the museum. I only got the job as the tour guide recently. About… six months now? It’s been a huge improvement, nonetheless, even if my boss is still an annoying hag.”

Jake grinned. “Mine too.”

“Khonshu?” he asked, then laughed when Jake nodded. “Yeah, a bit of a prick, isn’t he? I thought he was going to strangle me, with how annoyed he sounded like on the phone.”

“We were about to close,” Jake told him. “We usually close at seven, but we close later than usual on Saturday and Sunday.”

“Ah, that explains it, then,” Steven said, nodding along with the explanation. “Sorry for heaping up more troubles on you.”

“It’s good for the business anyway,” Jake said, and turned left at the three-way junction. Steven could already see the apartment building from here. “And I get to drive you home. Not a bad deal for me, be damned with Khonshu.”

Steven chewed at his lower lip, fidgeting slightly. He was trying so hard not to outright blush at the implication of Jake’s words. But it was so hard to fight his natural bodily reaction. He could feel the back of his neck warming up. “Yeah, thanks for offering. The taxi fare would be a nightmare for my bank account.”

They halted in front of the apartment building, and Jake turned to look at him. There was that same glint again in his eyes when he practically purred, “Oh, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine, little dove.”

Good God, what was it with this man? Steven felt all at once like he wanted to ask Jake if he fancied a drink, and to whimper and curl into himself because never in his life that he felt this flustered. In the end he just bit his lip harder, and tried not to fiddle with his fingers again.

A hand reached out towards him, and Steven was still a little dazed to react properly. There was a thumb pulling insistently on his lower lip, so he released it from his teeth. The thumb stayed there, rubbing at the reddened flesh, small indents from how often Steven had bitten his lip in the span of less than two hours alone. It was a bold gesture, and one that he was sure that not everyone would do to a stranger they just met.

A part of him, that sounded annoyingly like Marc, was screaming about stranger danger again, urging him to get the hell out of the car, to push away Jake’s hand because it shouldn’t be there. But a bigger part of him was promptly short-circuiting when Jake continued swiping the thumb on his lip. Steven’s mouth was parted a little, afraid that he’d accidentally lick Jake’s finger if he closed it. He was sure that his whole face was obviously red enough to rival the ketchup that Marc hated so much.

“You’ll bleed if you bite it any harder,” Jake told him, voice soft for once, yet heavy with something Steven couldn’t decipher. His eyes flicked towards Steven’s lips for a moment, his thumb stopping, and the air in the car seemed to be stagnant, as if waiting for something.

Steven, too, felt like he was waiting, though he didn’t know what that was that he waited for. But he stayed there, breath bated in his lungs, clenching the seams of his shirt tight. He watched Jake lick his own lips, and something in him ached at the sight. He wanted—he wanted to—

Jake pulled his hand away, and straightened himself. His usual grin came back as he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Stevie.”

“It’s Steven,” he reminded, voice embarrassingly hoarse. He tried not to bite his lip again, and instead opened the door. He was equal part relieved and frustrated that nothing happened in the end. It was a bit foolish, and forward, to think that Jake would be interested in having anything to do with lame, old Steven. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.”

He got out of the car with shaky legs, and waved as the car drove away. He was still a bit out of it when he got into the elevator, and pressed the button for his floor. It was only when he was inside his apartment that he realized that he had forgotten to take his bag and jacket from the backseat of his car; his phone, wallet, and apartment key safely tucked inside the pockets of his pants. He hadn’t even realized that, only noticing when he went to deposit his bag at its usual place, and found nothing to put down.

All because of Jake Lockley and his goddamned smirk and pet names.

Yeah, Marc was definitely going to scold him for a thousand years after this.

“Do you think I’m going crazy?” he asked to Gus 2.0 as he fed the fish.

He couldn’t sleep until it was pretty late. He tried to read books, solve the Rubik cube, do some light exercises. But each time he closed his eyes, Jake’s smirk was there, and Steven would wake up faster than he could ever do; skin heated and a whisper of need crawling on his back. It wasn’t that he had never had a fleeting infatuation, or plain physical attraction towards someone else. It was just that it had never been this bad before. Not to mention that Marc wasn’t there to hold him down in sleep, and thus he had to resign himself to chaining his ankle again and pouring sands around the bed.

He pointedly ignored how he tried to sleep with restlessness and a certain need down in his pelvis. He didn’t think he could face Jake if he were to jerk off to the thought of him; of his face, of the danger in the glint of his eyes, of his touch on Steven’s skin, of his smirk, of his low voice calling Steven with all sorts of endearment. Nope, no Siree, not in this household. Definitely.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said to the gurgle of bubbles Gus 2.0 let out. He sighed, and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the tank. It felt pleasant, so he stayed for a moment. “Marc won’t be pleased. But then again, he’s not pleased with anyone I go out with. Weird chap, that guy, really. Good thing I love him.” And good thing that Marc loved him too much to ever strangle Steven for all the troubles he found himself in over the span of their lives.

He went out of the apartment, a bit weirded out that he had to go back to the usual routine of waiting for the bus, standing amongst the crowded of people minding their own business. Fortunately, he didn’t fell asleep on someone’s back like that one time. He couldn’t help it; he was dead at his feet, and Marc hadn’t come home for a week because he had something to do. He carefully didn’t tell his brother about it.

The museum was bustling about today, since it was Sunday. Little kids with their parents, teenagers pointing to artefacts and making funny faces to imitate them; just people walking around the museum, and Steven occasionally greeted them to ask if they needed any assistance, explaining the history whenever someone asked.

He liked his job, had been dreaming of it since he worked in the museum for the first time. There was just something fascinating about recounting the old stories of how a certain outcome in history came to be, in speculating about the factuality of it all, in mulling about the superstitious reasonings of some customs. It was certainly better than selling jellies and plushies at the counter, though he did like the Taweret plushies, had two back at home.

He was distracted enough with work throughout the day, but when it was his time to clock off, he was feeling a bit jittery. He supposed it showed on his face, because he was never as good as Marc in concealing his emotions. J.B even asked him what got his panties so twisted, which Steven reprimanded for his crude language—there were children around them still!—but he kept his mouth shut. He had enough teasing from Jake alone, he didn’t any more to make himself even more anxious.

He didn’t even know what he’s worried about. It was just Jake picking him up from work, so they could go to the repair shop and Steven could reluctantly let go of his money to fix the car. It was pure business, with a dash of kindness. He was just getting worked up for no good reason. Still, he couldn’t help it.

When it was time for him to go out, he was nearly vibrating with restlessness. He waited nervously on the side of the road, eyes roving over the street to spot Jake’s car. He didn’t remember the plate number, but he remembered the shape, the color, and the brand. Should be easy enough.

Except, Jake didn’t come with that car. Or even a car at all.

A bike slowed down in front of Steven; the roaring machine petered out as the gas was let go carefully. Steven stared for a moment, uncomprehending. There was a small chuckle, muffled by the helmet, from the rider. When the helmet was opened, Steven had to hold himself back from reeling. Because it was Jake Lockley, on a bike, wearing leather jacket, and—oh, Lord have mercy on him—leather gloves as well. He looked comfortable and so, so unfairly hot like that. His curls were mussed from the helmet, an easy smile on his lips, the familiar stench of tobacco around him. Steven swallowed hard, and took a trembling step forward to greet the other man.

“Hullo,” he said, berating himself inwardly when his voice came out small and unsure.

“Been waiting long?” Jake asked, unclasping the second helmet on the back and handed it to Steven.

“No, not really,” he said. He put on the helmet, made sure the clasp was secured, before he cautiously got on the bike. “Didn’t know you ride a bike.”

“The car isn’t mine, it’s for all of us to use,” Jake explained, putting his helmet back on, and gripped the handles. “Never been on one of these babies before?” the man asked, peering at Steven from the side rearview mirror.

Steven shook his head. “Never been brave enough to try, to be exact,” he said. “Seems kinda dangerous, and I have enough bad luck as it is.”

Jake chuckled again, and prepared to go ahead, before he paused. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Steven said dumbly.

“What are you holding on?” Jake patiently elaborated.

“Oh,” he breathed out, and let go of the clutch he had on the seams of Jake’s jacket. “Sorry, didn’t know where to hold. Should I grab the bar?”

Jake shook his head, and much to Steven’s surprise and the imminent danger of his heart exploding, yanked Steven’s forearms to put it around the man’s waist. “You said it yourself; it’s dangerous. And it will be if you don’t hold on properly.”

Steven flailed a little, before he gingerly clasped his fingers together to hug Jake’s middle. It brought him closer to the man, right cheek pressed against a broad back. He could smell the leather and something that he guessed was Jake’s cologne, along with hints of sweat and musk. He barely restrained himself from burying his face on the man’s back completely, just to chase a little bit more of the heady scent.

“Hang on tight, princess,” Jake said, before they went off.

Steven didn’t want to admit that he squeaked in surprise. The bike was much faster than a car, and he wasn’t used to the maneuvering needed. He tightened his hold on Jake, closing his eyes as they went pass the streets in a blur. He was pretty sure they exceeded speed limit or something, but maybe it was just because he wasn’t used to the feeling of riding a bike.

It felt pleasant, to be honest, aside from the surprise and unfamiliarity. He could feel the wind on his face, the whizzing of every vehicle passing by, the flex of Jake’s torso each time they turned, the rumble of the machine, the way Jake’s shoulders looked so strong, felt that way, from the back. He might just enjoy this experience yet. Even if he knew that a big part of it was because it was Jake Lockley, and he got to wrap his arms around the man without making it awkward. If he pressed even closer until his front was plastered to Jake’s back—well, then, he was just unused to this, okay? No ulterior motive at all.

The ride went by faster than he’d like to admit. Before long, the bike slowed down as they entered the parking space of the repair shop. The mechanics didn’t spare them a glance, absorbed in their work. Khonshu was nowhere to be seen, but two men approached the bike, and started telling Jake about something Steven couldn’t pretend to understand.

“As much as I enjoy you clinging tight to me, we still have something to do,” Jake then said, and Steven felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment when he realized that he hadn’t let go. He had just clung to Jake in front of all these people. Great.

He let go hastily, almost stumbling as he got off the bike. Jake only laughed lightly and followed at a more sedate pace. He put the helmet on the seat, and went to unclasp Steven’s without prompting. He was probably used to how slow Steven was at everything, particularly when he was around Jake. Steven held his breath when Jake was once again within his personal space, his knuckles brushing the underside of his chin.

“Come on, little dove,” Jake said, walking towards Steven’s car.

He followed and watched with clenched fists as Jake easily divested his jacket, the muscles on his shoulders apparent through the thin black shirt. He hung it on the back of a chair, along with the gloves, which he bit down to pull off and nearly gave Steven a heart attack from doing so. He signaled to Steven to wait as he went to towards a door that must have led to the back room. Steven smiled at the mechanics around him, and some of them grinned at him; eyeing him and then glancing to where Jake had disappeared. He didn’t know, and didn’t think he wanted to know the silent conversation going between them as they exchanged loaded look with each other.

Jake came back with his jumpsuit ready, only this time, the upper part was tied around his waist, and Steven sucked in a deep breath because Jake’s shirt was tight and it clung to his defined chest. He was defined everywhere, it seemed. From his shoulders to his chest, the thick biceps and lean torso. Probably from all the heavy lifting he had to do in his job. Steven was a little bit envious; Marc was built almost similarly to Jake, and little old Steven was soft on the stomach because he didn’t exercise that much and he went through a box of chocolate whenever he tried to calm himself down from watching sad movies.

“We’ve taken a look at your car this morning,” Jake started, hands braced against the opened hood of the car. “It’s total wasteland in here.”

Steven shuffled his feet guiltily. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Jake hummed and pursed his lips a little. “There are problems on the battery, spark plugs, clutch cables, as well as dried oil. It’s a wonder you could drive as far as you could. You can go ahead and pay at the counter for the total, and they’ll give you the details of payment, things we need to change entirely or to simply repair.”

He then pointed to the cashier, and Steven ambled there. He listened without really understanding as the young woman who manned the cashier listed all the thing he should pay. He just gave her his credit card, and said his gratitude once she was done. Jake and the other mechanics were already in the process of tinkering with the machine when he came back.

“Your bag is on the bench,” Jake said without looking up.

Steven nodded and went to take his belongings. Everything was there, thankfully, nothing was missing. He went back to Jake, and clutched at the strap of his bag. “Um, how long does it take to fix it?”

“Give or take twelve days. Could be faster, could take longer; it depends,” Jake explained. “We’re a bit swamped, so I’m leaning towards around two weeks. We’ll notify you once it’s done.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Thank you for informing me. I guess I’ll take my leave?” He didn’t know why he even phrased it as a question. There was nothing else he could do here, anyway. He should let Jake work instead of bothering him.

“You got someone to drive you home tonight?”

“The taxi driver will, I’m sure,” he said with a light grin.

Jake laughed, and stepped away from the car, leaving two of his friends to continue fixing it. “Can you wait a bit? Just around,” he checked on the clock at the wall, and looked back to Steven, “twenty minutes. We’re closing soon anyway.”

“Oh,” Steven said, blinking a few times in surprise. He had thought that the offer was one-time. He didn’t expect to have Jake driving him home again. With his bike. And his leather jacket. And gloves. Oh, fuck. “Uh, I can? I mean, yes, I can. Definitely. Twenty minutes, no problem.”

Jake looked at him with a strange expression, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or be exasperated. Probably both. In the end, however, he just led Steven to the bench, and went over to get his jacket and gloves. “Here, keep them safe for me. There’s a vending machine there if you want to drink something.”

Steven nodded and clutched the jacket closer. He put the gloves in his bag so he wouldn’t lose them. He’d keep them safe. They were worn, he realized, both the jacket and gloves, now that he had the chance to properly run his hand through the fabric. Some part of the leather on the shoulders was already flaking off, a sign of use and time. This was a well-beloved and taken care of item. Steven bit his lip, and tried not to be too conspicuous as he hugged the jacket closer to his chest. It was still warm from Jake’s body heat, and the previous scent wafted to his nose. He inhaled deep and clutched it tighter.

He watched as Jake talked with the other mechanics, laughing at something, before he went back to work on another car. He sounded so relaxed and comfortable, here in his elements, surrounded by the people he must have known for a long time. Instead of a young man who was seemingly cocky and devious, he was more open and playful. Boyish, was the right word. They ruffled his hair and he complained about their dirty hands; punching someone’s arm with a grin; muttering to himself as he bent over the hood of the car. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

Steven smiled to himself softly. It felt nice, to see a side of Jake that didn’t make him constantly flustered and losing his mind. He felt more real, somehow. Like someone Steven could care about instead of one he wanted to taste on his lips. Well, that too, but not only. This was worse than he had thought. Two days and he was thinking about such foolish things. Marc was right when he said that Steven gave his heart to easily for the world; falling too fast, shattering on the impact.

He hoped this was just a fleeting fancy, nothing more serious. Jake was charming and nice to be around. Steven shouldn’t use his kindness for his own benefit in feeding his fantasies. He knew that Marc never really approved Steven being in a relationship because not many people could understand him, could accept him as he was without demanding for some changes.

Changes weren’t always bad, as long as it means to improve, but most of the time, it was a critic of Steven’s personality and habit. It was hard not to be self-conscious of himself, after so long being the odd man out amongst his peers, to follow and bend over people’s will because he thought that they loved him, but Marc had picked up the pieces of his heart far too often. He didn’t want his brother to worry about him like that. It pained him to see Marc looking so sad and resigned.

But it was alright, this time. Jake was just naturally playful and flirty, it seemed. And Steven wouldn’t disappoint Marc again by nurturing his feelings. He felt guilty enough for desiring Jake physically. He didn’t need to take it further and put his emotions into play. Besides, people weren’t really interested in having a proper relationship with Steven once they got past the curiosity and the sweetness. They probably thought that he was too much of a dork, or too dependent on his brother, or just too weird in general because of his interests, behavior, and his internal problems, including the sleep-walking and the whole ankle restraint fiasco. Someone laughed at it once, and Marc broke their nose.

The idea that Jake would be interested in all of that mess was laughable enough.

He didn’t know how long time had passed, too engrossed in his own thought. But then Jake stood in front of him, already out of his jumpsuit, and sporting a smear of oil on his cheek. Steven stood up and reached out to wipe it with the sleeve of his shirt. It was more of a habit than anything else. Marc had done it to him countless times, as he did to Marc.

“There you go,” he said softly, smiling at Jake. “All clean.”

Jake didn’t say anything, and Steven suddenly realized that he might stepping on some landmine he wasn’t aware of. It was bold of him to touch Jake like that, despite the man having done the same yesterday. The thing was, Steven didn’t mind being touched, if he had to be honest. He didn’t get it much from anyone but Marc, but Marc was the only one he had in nearly everything. He supposed he was just lonely, or touch-starved, especially when Marc left for a while to enlist in the military, and when he started going out of country often for his job.

But he also knew that not everyone shared the same thought. He looked down and shuffled with his feet again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

There was a lone finger lifting up his chin, Jake’s dark eyes burning into his. “What for?�� he asked, voice low enough that Steven had to strain to catch it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, little dove.”

Steven bit his lip, and nodded, feeling relieved and dizzy at the same time. If there was one thing he immediately noticed from Jake, aside from how unbelievably hot he was, it was his apparent lack of understanding of personal space. He had crowded into Steven a lot in the span of two days, never looking bothered with what he did. Not that Steven minded either.

Jake let his finger linger a little bit more, before he pulled his hand back. Steven unconsciously followed the warmth, and gritted his teeth when he realized too late what he was doing. “Are you- are you done for the night?” he then asked, just to alleviate the sheer mortification running through his veins. He kept forgetting that he shouldn’t do that. Marc might understand, but just because Jake had been touchy, didn’t mean that Steven should just let go of his inhibition.

“All done,” Jake nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on Steven’s slip. “We can go now.”

Steven took the gloves out of his bag and gave it to Jake as the man put on his jacket. He waved a little at the other mechanics, while Jake just nodded at them and started walking towards the bike. This time, Steven was only less hesitant to put his arms around Jake. There was a pleased hum, an approval, coming from Jake at his decision. Steven didn’t know why it made his heart flutter so much. Perhaps, he was just that much of a people-pleaser.

They rode through the night, whizzing past buildings and streets. Steven felt more comfortable than the first time, and he could enjoy the sceneries as well as the feel of Jake in his arms better. They were more or less of the same height and build, though with considerable difference in muscle mass. Hugging Jake felt a lot like hugging Marc, and it brought a sort of familiar comfort in Steven. The warmth, the weight, the width, they all were nearly similar. He missed his brother more than he had thought, apparently.

He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on Jake, just enjoying the breeze hitting his face and bare hands that weren’t covered by the sleeves of his own jacket. It just felt nice to have someone to touch.

The bike then slowed, and Steven lifted his head to see that they had arrived. He climbed off the bike with some reluctance. His bum was sore, but he liked the experience enough. He gave the helmet back to Jake and smiled awkwardly at him. He didn’t know what to say, out of all thing to lose words at. He usually talked so much that oftentimes people just sighed and walked away, or in Marc’s case, very rare and only when he was in a particularly severe bad mood, just closed his palm over Steven’s lips and dragged him to the bed so they could sleep instead.

Jake reached out suddenly, and closed his hand over Steven’s. He didn’t realize he was squeezing his fists so tight from nervousness. “What is it?” he asked, gently this time, keeping his gloved hand wrapped around Steven’s wrist.

“I just—I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “Thank you, I guess? For doing this for me. I know that you don’t have to pick me up and drive me home. I don’t even know where you live, whether it’s far from here. So, thank you, and sorry for being a burden.”

“You really think so lowly of yourself, don’t you?” Jake said, and tugged at Steven’s wrist, bringing him just a tad closer. “I was the one who offered. Don’t think too much and accept it as it is. I’m not one to do something I don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Steven nodded, chewing on his lower lip for a moment before he cautiously continued, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“In the morning,” Jake then said. “I’ll pick you up early. We can get some breakfast before work.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Steven paused; Jake had tightened his hold around his wrist in a warning. He stuttered and nodded at last. “Okay, then. Breakfast tomorrow.”

Jake pulled his hand away, and nodded at Steven before he drove off. Steven watched his back going further and further away, before he walked into the apartment, not sure about how he should feel. He was happy, that was for sure. But also confused and kind of scared. Jake Lockley had the capability of wrecking him in merely two days, in only several hours. He didn’t know just how much he was going to embarrass himself if he spent more time in Jake’s presence.

But, hey, this wouldn’t last forever, and this could be the only time Steven could enjoy his company. Two weeks, Jake had said. Steven didn’t know how it’d end, but he could… perhaps he could just let himself have this for the short amount of time. It was harmless anyway, right? Just someone to talk to, have breakfast together, and a companion he saw before and after he worked.

It should be alright, he was sure.

#moon knight #shiki writes #from ao3 #jakesteven #marcsteven #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #alternate universe #mechanic jake #moonsea

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electricbluebutterflies · 23 days

Note

“want you for worse or for better” for the prompts

Late-era Jessica/Leto, PG-ish, also on ao3.

She’s beautiful. Skies, she’s beautiful.

There is a different kind of appreciation in their movements, so many years on. He could do all of this with his eyes closed except perhaps some of the closures on her dress; she often does, and he has learned not to worry when she makes that choice. They are deeply familiar to each other, and yet-

There has been no one else since he met her, he reminds himself, and there will be no one else as long as they both live.

Her eyes are open right now and sparkling with… he can count on one hand the number of times he’s thought to describe her as playful, and this is not quite that, but something…

Their good moments have become few and far between, and he knows it’s his fault, but at least they haven’t lost what they are. Intimacies still happen, just… tired, more often than not, in the quiet of night when he needs her and can’t be bothered to think too much about it. Or in the aftermath of their petty fights, something about raised voices that leads to her putting her mouth on his, perhaps a survival mechanism gone wrong but he could never deny her, and-

Good moments, with adequate time and mood and some level of planning to it, have become something more…

He knows, he always knows that most of the blame is on him. Damned if he knows how to be a decent partner, and it would help if she’d say things about that instead of her passive-aggressive tendencies mixed with how easily she forgives and oh he’s overlooked mistakes for months before figuring out what exactly he’d gone and done to make her cold and-

“Usually you accuse me of disconnecting, but…”

Her hands on his shoulders, jacket collar, not pushing this, almost never taking the next steps, always-

She’d allow anything, he thinks. She’d said as much, many years ago, some early encounter that had gone just slightly wrong and… she’d expected less, he remembers that part, expected worse, expected-

“You are…”

Skies, he does not deserve her. That at least is a normal enough thought, usually but not always affectionate, sometimes more like what did she forget to tell him this time but usually…

“Did I misread this, my love?”

No, he thinks, no, that would be impossible. He wants her, more than anything, always, he is just-

“Why do you… still allow-“

He loves the fierceness of her, how much she can say with just a slight tilt of her head and the sharpness of her eyes. She is close enough that he could give up on conversation and kiss her instead, and for that he’d probably get her teeth in his skin and-

“Is there any reason I should not?”

Oh, where to start. He can’t recall any significant communication failures in the past month or so, which means there’s definitely something he doesn’t remember, and he does think she gets offended too easily but it’s not like she does anything about it like a normal person and-

They are imperfect. They are infinite. On a good day it all works, but their good days are…

“You do forgive too easily,” he says after what feels like slightly too much silence, not quite looking at her, not quite-

“As do you. Unless there is something I do not know, your actions more rarely…”

No, he’d say if he wanted a fight, no, he does not do anything in shadows as she does. He stopped questioning that so long ago, confident that she always moves to protect their family, enough results and he can believe her, enough results-

“You make your loyalty clear. Some days I feel…”

“Yours is more than clear enough.”

He will accept this strength, at least, even as he questions it. There has been no one else since her; there have barely been fleeting thoughts of anyone else since her. Perhaps her sharpness has something to do with that, vivid daydreams of what she might do if he were to entwine with someone else – he’d fear for his own life in that situation, and it would be entirely justified – but there is also something…

Someday, he thinks, someday he’ll marry her. Someday he’ll slip a delicate ring on her hand – something small and new to suit her preferences – and maybe that will be enough. Another ten years, perhaps, a clear ending, and then-

“You do-“

“What have you done that I do not know?”

Nothing, he thinks, nothing that needs to be discussed, nothing against her. It has been more the lack of action, the decisions that ought to be made and won’t be and-

“Nothing directly against you, my storm.”

“As I thought.”

She shifts her body forward and takes a heartbeat of a kiss, and there is something bittersweet in the taste of her, something like she has accepted this life she lives and-

They are bound to each other. All these years of mostly-unspoken commitment, a child they both love more than anything else, a shared life, and still-

“I want you,” she breathes. “You have been good to me. Made space and kept your hands light, and I have asked for so little and-“

Yes, and her low expectations are frequently the damn problem, and-

“You deserve more.”

“Perhaps. But I know you better.”

He’ll have to figure out what he did to bother her sooner or later, before it turns into more than it already is, but-

For now there is the warmth of her, this woman he adores, and time enough to undo her and be undone, and everything else can wait.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

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the-firebird69 · 3 months

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Liam Neeson Kept His Lightsaber

The shape of the ships is to deflect debris but it wound up being a symbol in Star Trek and with Pontiac and other for them firing missiles at our people. And he said something to our son he more or less founded the whole genre and it's true and I did it for us people who don't want to be ruled over by a group like that and he had a tear in his eye when he left and he said he's helping us and he's doing it and we become heinous and he's saying it's just terrible and it's power happened to my family and my clan and lots of them are gone and people have to realize that they can use that fear and a lot of people do and they need help with it and they need others to do it and he started teaching and he's going to help too and he says the pseudo empire stuff is not good if we're going to lose your fleets and you're going to go to the empire and they're pretty big already and he might be able to take over if you guys work together or at least take a big chunk of it your share he looked and said he's right so here we go this is the actual lightsaber from the movie it's not the real one but he modifies it and makes it into the real one and it's the right metal and more or less it's pretty close puts a little liner inside and it works better than if it was made of it and he said oh no that's cool and he says will disintegrate oops if you don't use if you use pure cadmium and it's true yes I can't hold that much charge but it will hold it instead of carrying it on the surface and he got the message and he tested it and all sudden he said this guy knows how to design these things thorium for the other ones and you're making out of solid thorium and he said why he said well it's like a magnetic field and it can handle the pulse whereas electric sword can only handle few minutes of being on and he started saying what if I post the sword and your mechanism would burn out because you don't have the metal and it has to do with Saturn and the lasers we can't build to a certain size without it and the computers are fighting if Paris Hilton falls we're in a lot of trouble and he gets that and also when it goes behind that's what all that stuff in the caverns for the robots the robot computer is going to try and grab them so it's causing the infight but what can we do so they got all that stuff and we're going to look at they're going to look at it and we're going to post we already looked at and this is a moment in history right now and he's announcing it to people but mostly to our son and he says I respect that and the movie and everybody in it as well and he says I'm wearing a key as well to try and train ing I'm out of training but I did and it was on purpose for things like this and he said wow this is going to be cool

Thor Freya

Olympus

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love-on-the-ground · 1 year

Text

At the end of the interminable flow of current... (Dedicated to a friend I never met.)

Today, for no particular reason, I picked up an old script translated into English by a Japanese guy of Top wo Nerae! - file buried in my HD for more than a decade - and set about rereading it, as I did then.

The film, the images, the music, the voices... everything is inside my soul. For now, that's enough.

Sixth episode.

Humanity is finally embarking on the toughest, most desperate of missions. It is to trigger a degenerative reaction (to annihilation) that will create an artificial black hole that will suck up a sea of enemies, space monsters that undermine Earth.

"It's a desperate operation." "Is it possible that there is no alternative?" "No, there is no other alternative."

(the same line would later be taken up by Elektra, if you can spot it).

The ship's elderly commander, who on a fifth-generation spaceship piloted by esper and electronically-modified-brain dolphins, eats watermelon because-you know-in Japan it's always a luxury, at the start of the mission, tells us:

Operator: "We have done all we can. We await the will of the gods." Commander: "Yeah. There's nothing left for us to do but pray to the gods. We must believe in a miracle."

The same line was uttered by Prime Minister Yamamoto in the old science fiction film "Japan Sinks."

Aiming to the Top!

The Earth fleet advances toward the enemy outpost. They, already too close to operate a hyperspace jump and intercept the Earth fleet, would be doomed.

Commander: " Vice Commander, do you believe in God?" Executive Officer: "No, I don't." Commander: "Well, I do. Look, it's too short a distance for them to jump into hyperspace. We will win for these twelve minutes." Executive Officer: "That's what you call a miracle! Commander: "Miracle... that word was coined by God for us right now."

But what happens?

The aliens make the jump into hyperspace! At such a short distance! BUT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE! Yet they do it. What is real is possible. It bends science before reality.

Do you remember what Gargoyle said before the damaged Emperor Neo, who had regained his consciousness and was moving his now-mechanical body to go and free his sister?

"It's impossible! He no longer has a real soul, how can he...?"

And what did Elektra say, in a whisper, between pity and emotion?

"This is a miracle..."

And then Gargoyle disempowered Venus's mechanical body, which is Neo, and he could no longer move. Gargoyle, disdainfully throwing away the power socket, said:

"And so I put an end to the miracle."

Venus clutched his eyes, his willpower, and his hand. He freed his sister. "But this is absurd! His will has exceeded the limits set for him by science!"

It happened.

It also happened that the Eva Shogouki moved a hand, disempowered, to protect its son from some beams, I think, that were falling on him.

The scientist in charge, poor Ritsuko, was shocked, "That's impossible, it couldn't move!" But it had moved.

Back to aiming for the Top!

There are the aliens who make this impossible, but real, jump into hyperspace and intercept the Earth fleet. And they throw themselves into a Special Attack.

Do you guys know what a Special Attack is? It's when you make a suicide attack. It's what ignorant people call 'kamikaze'. It was called 'just' a 'Special Attack'. They were not happy to die, those soldiers. They wanted to live. They would have wanted to live. They were so young. They had mothers and lovers and lives and loves, yet they were going to die. They were going to go and die.

But how can one imagine such a thing if one has not seen and experienced it up close? If one has not seen the eyes of those who leave not to return? Of those who embrace death to defend life?

The aliens now attempt a Special Attack. They want to destroy the Implosion Bomb before it is triggered. And to do that they throw their bodies at it. It's a fight for survival, you understand? Whoever wins survives. The aliens or the humans? Can one distinguish in the right to life? Who can tell who is right, who is wrong?

They want to live. Those who are born want to live.

And our commander also wants to live, or rather wants humanity to live. The countdown to the implosion trigger begins, and he says:

Commander: "I don't care if we have to sacrifice ourselves! We have to protect the main army. Twenty-two more minutes!"

A desperate battle begins. For life, with death, against the alien, against the human, all fight and live and die.

Classical music plays over sketched black-and-white images.

After 21 minutes, a cold sign gives us the report:

Ships sunk: 1700 Ships damaged: 4500 Units not returned: 22800

Commander: "How many of us survived?" Executive Officer: "This ship and 2562 others." Commander: "We did a good job..."

Sixty seconds to implosion. The countdown begins, like when Gargoyle was about to checkmate the New Nautilus. There the Gratan would be in the way, though. In this case, instead, it was already hard to expect that even under attack the implosive bomb would work, instead...

Executive Officer: "In spite of the damage done, it works! But this is..." Jung: "...it's a miracle!"

How many of you thought of Elektra again in this line from Jung Freud?

But then, at the last second...

Speaker: "Insufficient mass. Without triggering the degenerative reaction, implosion will not begin. We have failed."

The poor commander Tashiro is at his wits' end here. He gives himself up.

Commander: "Damn it! Would this be the result of this operation of all mankind? No God? No Buddha?" Executive Officer: "Heaven has forgotten us." Commander: "The miracle did not happen."

All is lost. It's the end.

A little Noriko appears on a monitor. A black and white monitor. Her face. She has a strong gaze.

Noriko: "The miracle will happen. I WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN!"

At this point, I don't know, but I ended up crying. "Naichatta". I felt as sometimes happens to me the emotion mount up to my eyes, the eye sockets like swelling, and tears came out. They overflowed along with the emotion. "Afurechatta."

Do you remember who said (will say), "The value of a miracle becomes real only when the miracle has been accomplished"?

It means that a miracle is such even when it is accomplished with the hands of a human being. With the will of a human being. With the strength of a human being.

And to trigger the miracle, Noriko was ready for a special attack herself. She wanted to use her Buster Machine's degeneration reactor to trigger the bomb's implosive reaction.

Commander Tashiro disagreed. He who had directed that desperate battle from countless casualties, now faced with the choice of the individual did not want to authorize a Special Attack, you know? He is a Japanese.

But it was not necessary. A friend joined, or rather combined, to Noriko, so that they both had a chance to escape after the trigger.

A third friend would have liked to follow them. A Russian girl with bright red hair and temperament: Jung Freud.

She did not want to abandon her friends. If anything, she wanted to die with them, in a machine that would have no hope of withstanding the conditions of where Noriko and Kazumi were going, the heart of the reactor.

Don't freint us, Kazumi said, we are not going to die. We will come back.

Jung understood that. But even so, by the warping of time, so close to a black hole, they would have been curved enough to return how many thousands of years later?

They could no longer have lived the same time.

The words that Noriko and Kazumi oppose to Jung's sadness leave, in their simplicity, breathless:

Noriko: "Even if we are no longer at the same time, other people can be." Kazumi: "Jung...if you live, tomorrow will come." Noriko: "Then I'll see you, Jung!" Jung: "Yes..." Kazumi: "I won't say 'goodbye' ... but 'see you again soon'!(not 'sayonara', but 'ittekimasu') Jung: "Come back soon." ('itterasshai') Jung: "Noriko, Kazumi, when you come back, I will say 'welcome back'!" ('okaerinasai')

I think here any human who knows what translation is, should give up. And understand, know that translation is a taboo, and a violent thing that should not be done.

Sayonara. Ittekimasu. Itterasshai. Okaerinasai. And then, Tadaima ("I'm home!").

Two thousand years of civilization, of sensibilities, of lives and deaths and loves are reflected in five words.

All in five vibrating sounds.

Shinji too would dwell on the vibrating of these same sounds, first with Misato, then again with her, and then again with Rei.

In the beginning was the Word, they would say. I might as well remove the capital letter.

The origin of the soul, self-consciousness arises in an animal, the Michelangelesque Adam limply reaches out his hand toward the finger of the divine cerebrum that will give him knowledge.

(... "This is the first human being: Adam"...)

Seized is the apple, sanctioned not the purpose, but the end.

Yui would later say that "Everything flows with the current. As long as you have the will to live, in any hell you can find opportunity to make it your paradise"

And Jung Freud would keep her promise.

12,000 years later, on earth, and a few hours later, on the wreckage of the GunBuster, Noriko and Kazumi would be able to return to their planet. To their home.

The planet is dark. Perhaps humanity has gone extinct? Twelve thousand years have passed!

Then, a light. Another one. Yet another.

It makes up an inscription, so large on Earth that you can see it from outside the atmosphere.

Welcome Back

Yes, the last character is a little different, maybe in twelve thousand years humanity has changed. But it has not forgotten. The promise has been handed down and kept.

. .. ...

I believe that in this little series is contained all, all the science fiction that humans have ever created.

There is science, the excitement of science, the danger of science, the hope of science, the failure of science, the limit of science.

And there is the human. The human soul.

The willpower of the human.

The yearning for the divine.

From human science, from human will.

I will perform the miracle with my hands. With the hands of the human being. The value of a miracle becomes real only after the miracle has been accomplished.

Can you feel on your skin the emotion of these vibrating sounds on the strings not of the throat, but of the soul?

Perhaps Anno Hideaki, and with him Gainax, the enthusiastic natives, the enthusiastic past, the cultural past of all his people, and still the future to come of depression, and philosophy and psychology, was already all here.

Maybe, Top wo Nerae! was already Anno Hideaki's Blue Water, and a whole otakuzoku.

The little daughter of Kimiko, Noriko's friend on whom the protragonist had 'lost her time in space' is named Takami. Akai Takami. That's right.

To her go Noriko's thoughts before the implosion, before the final tear in the dimension of synchronous phenomena, when she stops belonging to that time.

The title of this episode was:

At the end of the interminable flow of current... I dedicate this post, this sad and nostalgic love, to Akai Takami, the real one.

And to the princess he created.

In what has happened to you now, Takami, I am with you. Maybe I understand some of the drama of your drama.

On the other side of the world, and certainly in another language....

...but at the same time.

#Gunbuster #NotMine #Gainax #ItIsTranslatedSorryforMyBadEnglish

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maatryoshkaa · 3 years

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

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yoongsisbae · 3 years

Text

Bon Voyage: Into the Sea - Chapter 3

BTS fantasy AU. OT7 x reader. werewolf!Namjoon x werewolf!Hoseok x werewolf!Jungkook x siren!Yoongi x vampire!Jimin x vampire!Jin x whatis?Taehyung. This is the "vampire chapter" :'D

Thank you for all the love on this random nightmarish story lol. This extra update is for all the readers who made it my most popular post! Thank you! <3 Also this is my contribution to the start of the spooky season :D

Warnings: Hi, remember when I said this was horror? This chapter in particular is pretty horrific, you have been warned! blood, fighting between m/w, blood, graphic violence, blood, imprisonment, blood, blood, blood, minor character death, vampires doing vampire things including noncon blood drinking, human imprisonment, mind manipulation, stockholm syndrome, dubious consent, slut shaming, anal, degradation, foursome, orgasm control, orgasm denial, what a ride, you must be over 18 to ride this ride, scary scary scary

Word Count: 22k

---

“Scared, y/n?” Jimin’s face sends you a wicked smile.

You look back and forth between the men, uttering an unconvincing “No.”

Seokjin speaks again, “You should be.”

---

‘So did you get the answers you are looking for?’ You sit up, jolted out of your sleep, Hoseok’s words echoed softly in your mind.

Seokjin moved so fast, his striking face in front of you in an instant, his red eyes centimeters from yours, delicate lips curving into a smile over his fangs as water splayed around where he stood. That was the last thing you remember.

He smiled down at you sweetly and held you by the neck, putting pressure on your vein until you passed out. It all happened so fast your scream remained halted until this moment. The response came out of you abruptly, as fleeting as the memory.

And now where the hell were you? It looked like the room of an old bed and breakfast; large bed, writing desk, love seat, high windows; but to your captors the breakfast on the menu was you.

The first thing you notice is how the curtains are drawn together blocking the sunlight, but you know it’s there, just out of reach, as evidenced by the small line of light that trails its top edge. The room you found yourself in was dark, from the wallpaper to the furniture, the stillness unsettling, you listened as your own rapid breathing filled the silence.

You were seated right in the middle of a king size bed. They left you atop the cleanly-made white bed sheets, a treat placed in the center of a platter. You shiver, your clothes still remained damp from the night before, cold and stuck to your skin. That is why you shiver, you tell yourself, because you don’t hear them, but you feel them...watching you...

You build up enough courage to scan the room, and that’s when you see two pairs of red orbs staring back at you from the corners’ shadows, glowing in the darkness. Eyes of beasts, watching you, studying you.

You try not to react, not show your captors how scared you are, but every mechanism in your body betrays you, and the pair immediately pick up on your rapidly beating heart, the sweat on your brows, your unsteady breathing-

“Good morning, y/n,” Seokjin says, walking out of the shadows. Jimin stays hidden, but you can hear his soft laughter.

Those answers you wanted, where are they?

Seokjin slowly moves to the edge of the bed. “It seems like our friends have taken quite an interest with you and I want to find out why. Is that okay?”

You purse your lips, keeping your eyes trained on the thin strip of light showing at the top of the window curtains. You sit in silence. Has your breathing always been this loud? The shaking of Seokjin’s legs, a sign of his growing impatience, rattles the bed and your resolve.

He clasps his hands together, finally saying “If you don’t want to speak to me,” he leans in slightly and whispers the rest, “I can always let Jimin pry information out of you, but I don’t think you’d appreciate that very much.”

The pounding of your heart and the uneasiness in the pit of your stomach makes you feel like you’re going to become sick at any minute, but you manage to form a coherent sentence to ask him, “What do you want to know?”

“First, I want your permission to find out,” he speaks softly, placing a gentle hand on your calf, but you flinch away anyways. That’s a loaded question if you ever heard one. You wonder if it’s all an act, the same way Jimin fooled you. You stay silent.

Seokjin sighs again, looking over his shoulder, “Jimin?”

“No!” you yell. “Not Jimin! You...you, okay I give you permission.”

“Thank you, y/n.” He smiles, “I’ll be gentle.”

You yelp. Seokjin’s cold hand travels down your leg, wraps around your ankle and pulls you down the bed closer to his body, and in an instant his lean frame is hovering over yours. This close, his beauty is intimidating alone, but his eyes feel like they are piercing through you, digging inside, seeing all the ugly secrets you try to hide from even yourself, you feel like you could catch fire the way his gaze burns you.

He holds you down loosely by the neck, fingers searching for a pulsing vein, eyes focused on you with the concentration of a doctor performing surgery. Seokjin wipes away the tears that begin spilling from your eyes and smirks, “Don’t cry Dove, I promise this time will be the least pain you’ll experience from now on.” His words are devoid of any real sympathy, a false comfort, a looming warning.

You consider fighting back, but in this position there is no way you would be able to reach for your dagger (hidden away in a secret pocket in the front of your corset) without Seokjin stopping you, and even if you were lucky enough, there’s still Jimin, waiting in the shadows.

So you choose to wait, and try to find comfort in Seokjin’s twisted words. It could be worse. A tiny voice inside you reminds you it will become worse. You’ll just have to escape before then. You take a deep steadying breath, preparing yourself.

Don’t cry.

Seokjin’s lips latch onto your neck, soft and full as he rolls his tongue harshly over your pulse point. Goosebumps bloom across your body, and you try to focus on the sunlight rather than the vampire above you and his overwhelming aura, that sliver of light that you pray won’t dim.

This could be worse. This could be more painful. This could be Jimin.

Seokjin can feel the jumping of your pulse against his tongue. The vampire wants to know your story, what is it about you that riled Jimin up more than he’s ever seen him. But with your sweet scent enveloping him and the cocktail of emotions Seokjin’s keen senses could smell: fear and anger and mounting arousal, you smelled better to him than the finest wine and he can’t stop himself from teasing you a little longer, drink it in just a bit more and savor the moment.

Seokjin still understood the importance of ‘living’ in the present, he enjoyed taking his time with things. Others would have gone mad by now with the infinite amount of time, but not Seokjin, he used it to his advantage. Your warm body, your addicting smell, the softness and saltiness of your skin, the shifts in your breathing, Seokjin took his time to savor the gifts of life that he still missed.

You try not to react to his sensual touches, tensing your body under him, until you feel two sharp pricks on the surface of your skin. Your reaction is involuntary, you grip the bedsheets with your fists and let out a soft cry, moving against him. His bite hurt for only a second, like a pin prick, but Seokjin in his precision had nicked an artery for optimum bloodshed. With each gasp of breath you take, with each pounding beat of your heart, you feel your blood drain as it escapes the punctures in your neck and into Seokjin’s waiting mouth.

Seokjin groans against your skin, sending fire through your veins, pressing himself harder into your body. The vampire is better at keeping his physical responses to blood drinking at bay than Jimin, but he hasn’t had a new taste in awhile, and you’re so responsive.

When he pulls away from you you reach to cover your neck and stop the blood, a reflex in an attempt to save your own life, but Seokjin grabs your wrists before you can, pinning you to the bed, studying, his red gaze challenging you.

You gasp as the blood rushes out down your neck, over the sheets, seeping into your clothes. ‘They’ll underestimate you...’ Yoongi’s words replay in your mind and you stay still. No matter how much you want to fight back, this time you have to be smarter, you have to believe in Yoongi’s words.

Jimin has stayed quiet for this long, staying in the shadows, but your whimpers and grunts of pain are music to Jimin’s ears, the blood pouring from your body like an offering to him. His groans can be heard from the shadows.

He holds himself back for now, waiting for his turn. Jimin wonders where all that fight went, he had expected a show, for you to thrash away from the older vampire like you did the merman. He can’t help but feel a little disappointed. When it’s his turn, he thinks, you’ll become more entertaining then.

You watched in silence as Seokjin licked his lips clean of your blood. The red liquid that he had stolen from you, that was now steadily seeping from your wound and covering the white bedsheets underneath you, like a Rorschach picture mapping your life. “You’re strong,” he grins, speaking too tenderly for the brutality he was inflicting. “Stop fighting and it will end sooner, y/n. Let me into your mind.”

What does that even mean?! In your blood loss the tips of your fingers begin to feel cold like your captor’s, your head pounds and your vision blurs with each passing moment as the blood drains from your artery, you don’t want to give in, but if it will end this torture...

You shut your eyes tightly, and turn your head to expose your bleeding neck further to the monster above you. When Seokjin lowers his lips to your neck, you try to think of sweet Jungkook instead, his warm body instead of Seokjin’s cold one. You didn’t dare wish to be with him again, you didn’t dare think you made a mistake, that you should have stayed. Now all you can do is hope you can save him and yourself from this horrible island. Jungkook doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned with the likes of them.

Seokjin drinks the warm liquid pouring from your throat. You listen to him gulping down your blood, How much longer, until he finds what he’s looking for? You feel your fight escape you with each swallow, you feel yourself slipping away. It reminds you of drowning, it reminds you of Yoongi and how he kissed life into you instead, but this was the kiss of death.

‘Yoongi,’ you close your eyes and think of him. And then you felt it, the pull inside your mind. Your current circumstance falls away in shambles, your memories are pulled out of you through the cracks, the images race through your mind as Seokjin bears witness to it all.

---

Yoongi sits at the table, hair and clothes dry, turning his head to see you awake.

The relief that softens his features as he’s walking to your side.

The delicate way he places the hairpiece back in its place.

The way his eyes melt at your words.

Why hadn’t you seen it before? Seokjin saw it all. The way Yoongi screams at you, the rage and embarrassment in his eyes as he tells you how much he can’t stand you, the way he licks his lips when you yell back. His eyes studying you when you yank him closer, full of anger and full of-

You weakly push against Seokjin, you don’t want to remember, you don’t want to miss him. You can’t stop it, you can’t stop the memories flooding through your system.

You suddenly remember Jungkook’s sparkling round eyes watching you, wanting you, the crinkle of his nose when he laughs, the pink flush on the edges of his ears when you talk to him, the muscles of his arms flexing as he cages you under him, his deep groaning in your ear, the vein in his neck when he pushes into your wet heat, the truth in his voice when he says he’ll protect you.

You feel Seokjin’s hands travel down your body the same way you remembered Jungkook. You curse him in your mind, but your body couldn’t tell the difference, your stomach tightens and you’re no longer cold, warmth spreads over you to the tips of your toes.

You want to scream, scream for Jungkook, but you’re frozen, lost in your own thoughts, confused by your senses. Jungkook feels as real as Seokjin, but you know he’s not really there, no matter how much you wanted it to be true.

You remember Hoseok’s harsh looks, the growing anger in his eyes, the hurt in his eyes, the pain in his eyes, the pain still present in his eyes even in his wolf form when he howls and cries at you. He’s begging you to stay, he’s telling you he can’t bear to lose someone again. How could you leave them? Why can’t they be enough for you? Hoseok will treat you better, if you just stay with him, please. You understand his barks and howls now, because Seokjin understands. Tears well up in your eyes and you try to move away, but Seokjin is too solid, too powerful, and unyielding in his search.

Namjoon’s eyes are on you as you eat next to his brothers at dinner, filled with nothing but warmth and happiness. Those brown eyes, you miss them. You feel dizzy and helpless, you can’t take it anymore. You grab a fistful of Seokjin’s hair to try to pull him off of you.

“What have you done to Jimin? What have you done?!” Namjoon’s voice roars in your memory. But it’s not any memory you remember having. Before you realize what you are doing, your hands hold on tightly to Seokjin’s hair, pulling him closer and holding him to you so you can see more.

---

“It-It wasn’t me...” The tall vampire is covered in blood. Some of it is Jimin’s blood, yes, but the majority of blood that drips down his face and hands, that covers his clothes, belongs to five other men. Dead men. Men who beat the broken man in his arms to the brink of death.

Seokjin found his dear friend screaming in pain. He saw them over Jimin’s bleeding body, blood Seokjin treasured just as much as he treasured his bond with the compassionate and playful man. His friend, Jimin, who wailed for Seokin, for Namjoon, for Hoseok, for Taehyung, for anyone to help him, while his bones cracked, lying in the dirt, choking on his own blood, precious blood.

Seokjin explained to Namjoon when he saw them laughing, like hyenas over a carcass, spitting hateful slurs down at Jimin, he couldn’t control himself. Seokjin tore them apart one by one. He chased each one down like the pathetic animals they were, and tore the limbs that touched his dear friend straight from their bodies.

Seokjin had been weak, he had become too accustomed to the harmonious life he and Namjoon had created for themselves. Had it been decades before, he would have endured, but living with the pack had softened him too much and he couldn’t stand the pain of losing Jimin, so when he found a weak pulse he gave Jimin as much of his venomous blood as he could.

Namjoon simply nods at the information, his weary eyes examining his two friends, friends who were like family to him. He didn’t want to lose Jimin either. “We need to take him somewhere safe...to the island, before he wakes up,” Namjoon places a hand on the trembling vampire’s shoulder.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” the vampire’s voice shakes, he notices the cuts on Jimin’s face and body have yet to heal themselves.

“That’s not something you should be worried about,” Namjoon runs his hand through Jimin’s tangled hair, gently placing the dark strands back into place, his eyes filling with tears, “it’s when he wakes up, we need to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Seokjin nods weakly.

“Go now. I’ll clean up the mess, brother.”

Your hands fall, the blood loss making you too weak to grip onto Seokjin’s hair. Seokjin had taken more blood than he intended, lost in his own memories.

The vampire pulls away from you, even as the edges of your vision blurs, you see his eyes, glowing red and glassy with unshed tears, staring at you with a mixture of pain and surprise. He shakes away his bewilderment and rips into the flesh of his wrist, placing the cut across your lips as you can no longer hold consciousness.

---

When you wake again it’s night time, the light behind the curtains has left you.

Your body aches. You run your fingers along your neck, searching for the punctures, and you can only feel smooth skin crusted in dried blood. Your head feels like it’s splitting. You groan in pain.

You see Jimin before you hear him, and even then you’re not sure if your brain created the sounds to ease your mind as he stalks closer to your waking form.

“Finally! Now what could you have possibly done to Jin?” Jimin says, contemplating the reason his friend holed himself up in his office, refusing to speak to Jimin or even look at him.

He jumps on the bed, shaking your already pounding head. “He refuses to let me bite you,” he whines, “Explain now, pet.” Jimin prods you with his foot. “Explain what memory of yours Seokjin pulled.”

You just groan back, turning away from Jimin, burying your head into the cold pillows of your bed, one of the few things not soaked in your blood. Everything is so cold you can’t stand it. Jimin places a hand on your shoulder to make you face him. Cold fingers touch your skin, everything is cold.

“Don’t touch me!” you pull away from him, yelling.

Your face stings. Jimin had slapped you hard, you come to the realization only after the fact, the skin he touched burns hot. It makes you laugh, because you wanted warmth, didn’t you?

Jimin’s eyes narrow on you, “Say that again, I dare you.”

You bite back tears and ask, “What the fuck happened to you?!”

“So you’re back to being a disrespectful brat. You’re not on the same level as me, human. Learn to behave.”

“No! What happened to you to make you so heartless? What changed you?” How did the bleeding man you saw Namjoon cry over in Seokjin’s memories become this monster? He was human at one point too, you wouldn’t have believed it if you didn’t see it for yourself.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “Don’t act like you know anything about me, bitch.”

You take a deep breath trying to calm your temper. Not only had you seen Seokjin’s memories, you had felt his emotions. His pain lingers in you still, beside the fear and hatred you feel, you look at Jimin and feel...sorry for him. You have to look down, the emotions are too much and too overwhelming. It was easier when all you knew was the monster before you. Jimin takes your silence as obedience instead.

“Now can you be a good little pet and answer my question,” he says, tapping you on the head hard enough to make your headache roar back to life. You flinch and search the eyes of the man before you. Or rather the shell of a man, you think bitterly.

And what a beautiful shell it is. Jimin is stunning, bright white hair pulled away and styled so you can see the delicate features of his face. He holds himself gracefully, like a dancer, his elegant figure hiding his true strength. You wonder what he was like before turning into a monster, what kind of man was he? Someone whom Namjoon cared for.

“It wasn’t my memory...you. I saw you…” You whisper, knowing Jimin’s sharp senses can hear you loud and clear, “I saw Seokjin turn you.” Silence falls over the room again, a silence so deafening you start to hear the pounding in your head becoming louder.

The vampire stares at you, soft features stoic. He looked lost in thought, you pictured his face full of cuts, bloody lip, black eye, human, and Seokjin so unsure, scared, worried, trembling, so unlike themselves now.

“How did he turn me?” It surprised you how genuine Jimin’s question sounded. Did he really not know?

You keep your mouth shut, you don’t think it would be wise on your part to tell him. Jimin seems like the type to shoot the messenger. Unfortunately, unlike Seokjin, Jimin had little to no patience. His expression changes like lightning, full of anger. He pulls you by the hair dragging you off the bed and onto the floor.

The vampire crouches over you and grabs your face, holding you down to the wood floor, pressing his sharp nails into the skin of your cheeks making you yell.

“Ahh there’s your voice! Tell me.”

“Why don’t you ask Seokjin?!”

“But I rather you just do as I say,” he says playfully, as his fingers dig harder into your skin, cutting the flesh and drawing blood.

“Why don’t you just bite me, then?!” You spit the words out through clenched teeth.

You watch the vampire lick his lower bottom lip, thinking it over briefly as he pulls your face closer to his, you struggle against his painful grip. “How impetuous...” he watches you squirm like an insect stuck in glue. “You’re rather dumb, aren’t you?”

Should you reach for your dagger now? Should you try to kill Jimin?

Every time you thought about hurting him, you remembered Seokjin’s crying face, and you wanted to cry as well, what was happening to you?

“Jimin, leave us.” Jin stands in the doorway to your room.

Jimin stands up in a huff, letting you go. You fall back onto the hardwood floor. He balances on his heels, ignoring you and scrutinizing Seokjin. He wanted to question the older vampire, he has so many questions now, but decides against it. What does it matter anyways? The idea of being a weak and powerless human revolts him. “I’m getting impatient,” he says before he leaves, slamming the door and making you jump.

“T-thank y-you.” You try to calm your breathing.

Seokjin looks at you with a frown, extending his hand out to you. You hesitate and place your hand in his and he easily lifts you to your feet. You watch the older vampire walk slowly around the room, drawing his fingers along the furniture he passes. You stand awkwardly, you don’t think making a run for it would gain you any favors right now.

“I’m hungry,” Seokjin says. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, continuing to meander around the room, waiting for your response.

You clench your jaw. So this is what you’ve been reduced to, you think, a late night snack. “Are you going to just keep me trapped in this room? I’m hungry too, I haven’t eaten anything-”

“Dinner's already passed. Before I let you go roaming around, I need to make sure you’re going to behave yourself, do you understand?”

No, you don’t understand at all. It sounds like he’s going to starve you into subservience, and you have to get out of this room, you have to find the portal.

“I will do as you say...please...” you walk over to where he’s standing, trying your best to seem meek. “I’m starving,” you reason, “I’m sure you know how it feels to hunger for something” you say, turning your head to stare at the windows, curtains now open to the night sky, extending your neck to the vampire. His eyes are pulled to your attention, following the lines of your shoulder. You roll your neck, loosening the stiff muscles, moving close enough to him that your chest bumps into his. You look up into Seokjin’s eyes through your lashes, “I-I will behave.”

Seokjin smiles, bringing his head down into the curve of your neck, lips skirting across the skin. Your fingers reach up to caress the back of his head. You can see the pair of you in the bedroom mirror. Another myth proven wrong, you think, as you study your seduction, how his lean frame bends closer to yours, his arms wrapping around the lower part of your back.

In truth, Seokjin wasn’t hungry. He had taken more than enough blood from you this morning already, but Seokjin wanted to see if lightning could strike twice. Never had the pull been so strong for him that a human had been able to enter his memories, not even when Jimin was alive. He needed to learn more.

Seokjin licks your face, tongue tracing the cuts Jimin’s nails left behind. You hold your breath, trying to act like you enjoyed it. You hated it, you wished you could stick Yoongi’s dagger into Seokjin’s cold dead heart and be done with it already.

Seokjin trails kisses back to the place he bit you before. He keeps kissing your sensitive skin until his lips reach your ear and he whispers, “I’m not Jungkook, little Dove, you’ll have to do better than that.”

You stumble backwards but it’s too late, Seokjin already has you in his clutches.

He pulls you into a tight embrace, walking you backward even more. His bite is precise, you suspect perfectly precise to where he bit you this morning. Your arms are locked tightly in between your bodies as he holds you to him.

Thunder roars in your memory, you feel yourself drowning. Your muscles ached, your lungs burned. You feel Yoongi’s hand on your ankle, pulling down, hand on your waist, pulling down, hand on your neck, pulling you closer, his lips on your lips-

You cry and yell against Seokjin’s grasp. Cold turns to warmth as you see Namjoon, Jungkook, and Hoseok laughing around the firepit, and Seokjin, and Jimin, laughing too. Yoongi sits with a calm expression on his face, his lips curved upward, and a man you don’t recognize sits next to him-

Seokjin yanks his mouth away from you and you fall backward, back hitting the bed while you struggle to breath. You cover the holes on your neck with your palm to stop the rushing blood.

“How?” is all Seokjin can say, shaken by the happy memory that even he had forgotten about.

You stare up at the high ceiling dazed and too weak to move, “Do I...” you can feel the blood spill between the gaps of your fingers, “look...” you gasp, “like a vampire expert...to you?”

Seokjin moves to the window, his back to you. He watches the waning moon and lets his mind wander to his old friends. If they were off the island, he could see a scenario where you and he would meet at a bar, laugh over drinks, but the ending would always be the same. “You look,” he looks over his shoulder at you, “like you could use a drink,” his lips curving into a half smile.

“Are you,” you gasp, “offering?”

He walks over to you slowly, bringing his wrist to his mouth, and then extends the sliced skin to your mouth, waiting expectantly.

You take his offering bitterly, gulping down the metallic liquid, the wounds burn like fire as they heal over. The pain is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. You shut your eyes tightly, you want to cry, or scream, but like Namjoon said, no one can help you here. You feel fingers intertwine with your bloody fingers, pulling your bloodied hand away as you weakly protest. The room spins, even if your wounds are healed, your blood is still gone and you’re feeling the effects of two feedings.

Seokjin brings your hand to his lips and licks away the blood, tongue circling your fingers. “This can hurt or it can feel good,” he says slowly.

You laugh, delirious from hunger and blood loss. “I wonder, that memory,” you gasp, still laughing, “does it bother you to be reminded of your humanity? Does it hurt you?”

You probably shouldn’t have said that, but the blood loss is doing funny things to you, or maybe you just really wanted to get a reaction from the guarded man, no, guarded vampire.

If your accusation angered Seokjin he didn’t show it with any emotion, instead he sighed and bent over you, biting down hard on your shoulder. The searing pain makes you scream. You cry out, not expecting the sharp and throbbing kind of ache from his bite as Seokjin’s teeth stayed deep in your flesh.

Seokjin pulls another memory out of you, and you curse your luck in remembering Jungkook again, remembering his tanned and muscled body next to yours. Jungkook kissing your knuckles and telling you how he’s yours now. Jungkook kissing down your body. His head between your legs, his mouth feverishly licking at your folds. The more you try not to think about him the stronger the memories feel. The pain in your shoulder dulls as your legs tighten around the vampire's sides.

Perhaps it was your bloodloss mixed with Seokjin’s bloodlust seeping into your consciousness, the memory of Jungkook’s length buried deep inside you and feeling of Seokjin’s growing bulge pressed against your stomach makes your head spin and you just want to feel more. You hear Namjoon’s deep authoritative voice whispering dirty things in your ear, it makes you shudder, a moan escapes your throat-

Seokjin pulls away from you abruptly at that, his eyes are deep red, so dark they look black. He watches as your body twitch in pain, as he focuses on calming the storm of human emotions, your emotions, running through him, as he tries to forget the compromising memory of his old friend. He bites down on his bottom lip until he draws blood, his blood mixing with your own blood in his mouth, and he presses his lips on yours.

You realized how passionate Yoongi’s kisses were compared to Seokjin’s. The merman was distant, but his actions were full of feeling, whether they be good or bad. Seokjin was cold in body and mind, a hard shell, you felt like you were kissing a statue as you choked on his blood, the liquid metallic and sweet.

You can feel the punctures in your skin closing, it hurts so much worse than when he bit you, you distract yourself by licking into his mouth, feeling his tongue against yours.

Seokjin jumps off of you the second your wounds are healed and leaves without saying a word. You can hear the door lock in your daze.

You scoff, what was up with him, you wonder, dining and dashing like that. The blood loss has you quickly falling asleep despite wanting to use the time alone to plan your escape.

---

They both leave you alone all day until night again. You wake up hungry and weak. When Seokjin wordlessly stalks towards you that night you tell him so.

“I still can’t trust you to play well with others.”

“I need food! I need to eat! I am not a goddamn vampire like you! I can’t survive off your blood!” You throw your pillow at him. Should you have done that? Probably not, but you’re too hungry to care.

Seokjin pauses, looks at the floor where the pillow lays at his feet after coming in contact with his chest. “I’ll bring you food later tonight, now lie down, I’m hungry too.”

Ugh.

---

There were so very little things now that intrigued Seokjin, and this connection had become a mystery he wanted to solve. The strength of his pull on you was so intense it had become almost addicting to feel for Seokjin.

A vampire's pull had always been one-sided, but this pull acted like a wave, crashing onto the shore of your consciousness, pulling back and forth, dragging his memories along the current too.

Promised food, you comply, lying down against your better judgement. You glare at him as he lies next to you, and he smooths your furrowed features with his fingers instead of matching your anger. It makes you feel self conscious, the way he watches you with searching eyes. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“So demanding, do you want me to bite you that badly?”

Is he teasing you? “No. I don’t. At all!”

“Okay then.” he lies back down, his arms underneath his head.

You sit up to look down at him. “Is this a joke?”

“I’ll wait, I don’t mind. I can wait for days, the question is can you?”

If you tried to stab him now he would definitely be able to stop you. Too bad. “I think I can’t stand you.”

“You barely know me!”

“I’ve seen enough,” you scoff.

“I’ve lived a long time,” Seokjin says, serious again, “you don’t care to see more? Who I really am?”

“Who are you?”

“Let me bite you and find out,” he winks.

'Well, he seems to be in a better mood,' you think. You wonder why he is even bothering to ask you, you’re his prisoner, after all. “So this is not just about feeding anymore?”

“I’m a vampire, of course it is.”

You sigh, you’re hungry and tired from blood loss. “Okay, bite me, but choose some place else,” you rub the sensitive spot on your neck and shiver. “NOT THERE!”

Seokjin stops pushing your legs open. “But there is an artery in your leg-”

Your face goes hot, you shove your wrist in his face. “Here then!” He sighs and lies back down again, pulling you over his body easily. You sit awkwardly against his lap as you watch his fangs prick your inner wrist. The blood loss this time wasn’t so bad, but it still made your weak body sway, your free hand bracing yourself against his chest.

He does the same thing to you again, pulls memories of your life. You saw memories from before the boat wreck to your childhood, and you saw glimpses of Seokjin’s life as well. You learned at one point in his very long life he stopped being a complete monster and became a part time bartender.

For decades he moved from taverns, to pubs, to bars. The perfect career, and as his beautiful looks were admired everywhere he went, he was never short of meal options. You woke in the morning and you laid on clean sheets, there was water for you and bread and butter and jam, an apricot and an apple, food not found on an island. The portal.

Tonight. This night you will be ready for Seokjin. You quickly realized you weren’t just remembering with Seokjin, you were feeling, and he was feeling too. If you could distract him well enough with a memory, you think you’d be able to escape!

---

Tonight Jimin walks into your room instead.

“Where’s Seokjin?”

“You didn’t miss me?” He holds a pear in his hand, throwing it up in the air and catching it easily. “He is busy, the others were feeling neglected by him-”

“There are others? Other humans?!”

Jimin smirks at your wide eyes. “Yes, pet, did you think you were special?” You swallow, keeping your questions to yourself. So Seokjin really meant it when he talked about playing well with others. Who were they and how long have they been here? Could some of them be your friends? Maybe you weren’t the only survivor on your boat! More humans, more people to help you fight against Seokjin and Jimin, if you could just meet them and somehow convince them...

Jimin heard your accelerating heartbeat, could see the happiness dance across your features. “What ever you are thinking, I suggest against it. Actually, go ahead and try, I haven’t punished anyone in so long.”

“Are you going to bite me or not?”

“Oh, so now you’re eager for it, it’s always the same.”

“Still not allowed, huh? Must suck to be you. Ha! Get it?”

“Do you think you’re being cute? Jin said I can’t bite you, he didn’t say anything about not hurting you.” Jimin throws the pear in the air again, “What? No clever retort?”

“I don’t know about Seokjin,” you speak softly, “but you used to be human, why do you act like this?” You watch as Jimin drops the pear on the ground and steps on the fruit with his feet. You bite your lip. What a waste. You consider pulling out your dagger just for that.

“Being human?” Jimin runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t remember anything about that. I can’t imagine being so weak and foolish.”

“You really don’t remember?” You look at the pear, squished into a pulp. “Can you do what Seokjin does, with the memories?”

“What makes you think I want to learn about your pathetic life?”

“No,” You idiot. You sigh. “But maybe you want to learn about your pathetic life?”

You scream, Jimin’s nails were digging into your skull, a handful of your hair in his fists. “Call me pathetic again,” he threatens lowly.

“Pathetic,” you say bearing your teeth. Jimin smiles, because in that moment you reminded him of someone. He’s going to enjoy breaking the bones of your body and watching your limbs reassemble again. He grabs your forearm, pulling your arm closer to your face. You wince as his grip tightens, struggling against his tight hold on your hair. “Call me pathetic again,” he sings, his eyes sparkling with delight.

You weigh your options in that moment.

“Seokjin!” you scream.

Jimin laughs, tightening his grip even more so you are sure to have bruises, “Do you think he really cares about what happens to you?”

“Jimin was a regular at your bar! Wasn’t he?!” You had seen the younger vampire, only briefly, you barely recognized him with dark hair, but you knew it was Jimin the way you felt your own heart soar when Seokjin glanced at him for the first time.

You screamed louder than you’ve ever heard yourself, making the vampire wince at your volume, because in that moment Jimin snapped the bone in your forearm. “Even if you don’t remember,” you cry, mumbling out the words through your pain, “you were human. Just. Like. Me.”

Jimin grabs your upper arm this time, and squirm in his hold. You start to cry harder despite trying to hold the tears in. The door to your room slams open. Seokjin looks furious when he steps towards the both of you.

“Jimin leave!"

“What?” The white haired vampire loosens his grip, but stands his ground. Seokjin doesn’t speak again, only gives him a look, and Jimin relents, breaking his stare with several blinks and releasing you. The younger vampire can’t hide his emotions as well as Seokjin and you see the hurt twist his beautiful features.

You sit on the ground grimacing in pain, holding your broken arm to your chest. Outside your room you hear the familiar crash of glass and scrape of wood and you suspect Jimin is not taking Seokjin’s orders well. Seokjin looks much more unhinged than you ever recall seeing him and then impassiveness washes over his face again, much to your disappointment.

“He is usually not like this. He can go months without drinking blood, it seems my ban has just made him all the more obsessed with you,” he sighs.

“Greeat,” you wince, “Lift the ban then, might as well.” If you were being honest with yourself, you were curious what would happen if Jimin bit you. Maybe then he wouldn’t despise you so much.

“The ban is not to protect you, naive little dove.” He sits down on the floor next to you. You find the sight comical, Seokjin in an expensive suit sitting on the dusty floor.

You roll your eyes. Of course. “You care a lot about him,” you whisper softly. He nods. You turn to him, “Do you remember why you started caring? Do you think who he is now still acts in the same way that made you care so much for him?”

“You think I’m a fool?” he laughs softly, “I know Jimin’s...lost his way...” You sit in silence as you struggle to take your mind off the pain in your arm. “For us, time, is infinite. This is only a small stretch of time compared to what I’ve been through. Jimin will come back around, I know it.”

“Well I think he’s a lost cause,” you mumble.

“He’s not, no one is...This is going to hurt a lot, if you don’t mind, I can make it quick.” His hand traces your jaw and turns your head to face him, eyes glancing towards your lips.

“Am I going to have to get used to this, you fixing the pain he causes-”

“Am I going to have to get used to you both provoking each other all the time?”

You bite your lip, he started it, it’s not your fault he freaks out over every little thing you say. You change the subject. “Are there really other prisoners here? Other humans like me?”

Seokjin tuts disapprovingly, “House guests, y/n! They can stop being in service to us whenever they want, we provide them all with a choice.”

“Oh, and what are the options, be your personal feeding supply or die?”

“Ahh see, you catch on quickly, and Jimin calls you stupid.”

Your eyes narrow on him, “Not much of a choice there.”

Seokjin leans into you, “it comforts them, when they think they have some control. You know, you would all be at the bottom of the ocean if it weren’t for us.”

You pull your legs closer to your body, it’s hard to look at him, much less listen to the disturbing things he says, “Why are you telling me this? Am I supposed to be grateful?” You shuffle your body, trying to get comfortable despite the throbbing pain of your broken arm.

“Perhaps,” he scrutinizes your body, “At least don’t provoke Jimin. Ready?”

You hum, “Yeah, I’m ready for my medicine, Doctor.”

He looks down, nodding. “No anesthesia for this surgery I’m afraid.”

He motions you closer, bites into his wrist and fills his mouth with his own blood. You’re careful not to jostle your arm too much as you move in front of him. His long fingers hold your head still as he presses his mouth onto yours, feeding you his blood. Even when you scream in pain he holds you to him as your bone readjusts itself and heals back together, your body in excruciating agony. He holds you tightly, his mouth swallowing your screams until the process is complete, until you pass out in his arms.

---

You wake up to clanging silver. The light feels warm on your face, and then you feel nothing as the curtains are drawn. You open your eyes, ready to protest.

“Oh my god!”

The woman before you jumps at your words. “Your breakfast,” she motions to the tray.

“You're real, oh my god, it’s true! Help me! Please, we can escape together!” The woman stumbles away from you as you desperately try to hold on to her.

“What?” Why is she looking at you like that? Why is she acting like that?! She pushes you away as she opens the door. You’re too stunned, too hurt by this stranger who you thought could help you to question her when she says, “There is no escape.” She closes the door, locking you inside. What just happened?!

Now that you’re alone again you search the room from top to bottom, desperate now that you’ve realized you’re up against so much more. All the drawers are empty, not even a pen and paper in the desk. The window opens but that doesn’t help you because you’re several floors up. The bathroom has running water and the prettiest bathtub you’ve ever seen, so you give up and spend the day soaking yourself, in your clothes. The dress floating and surrounding you reminded you of a certain man, well, merman. No one visits you that night.

The day repeats itself six times. You try different approaches to try and convince the older woman to help you and every time she refuses or ignores you completely.

You don’t get it, you don’t understand, and her behavior disturbs you. You had asked her, “Don’t you want to see your friends and family again?! Do you have children? Or a spouse?” Her answer was, “I don’t think so.”

‘I don’t think so.’ She couldn’t tell you how long she’d been here either. The implication scared you.

You sit at the door, your ear to the wood all day. Sometimes you’ll hear footsteps, you know it’s not Jimin or Seokjin, because they don’t make any noise when they walk. Sometimes you yell and bang on the door waiting for a response that never comes.

One day you yanked down the drapery, opened the window completely letting all the sunshine in, and soaked it in like a cat. Before you woke up the next morning everything had been set back the way it was. It was maddening.

So one day you flooded the bathroom, just to see if anyone would come to stop you. They didn’t and the next morning the tub was gone. You cried all night.

For six nights you’re alone. The fifth night you dig into your dress pockets to find the tiny shell Yoongi gifted you. You tap it three times and wait, holding it to your ear.

“Y/n?” His groggy voice fills the sea noise. You can’t bring yourself to speak, or you would really break down. Hearing his voice was enough.

---

Before the sun sets on the seventh night there is a knock on your door. You’re already so close to the entrance you can hear the soft click as it unlocks and you swing the door open to see Jimin.

He smiled down at you, a picture of sin. The young vampire wore casual loose-fitting clothes, shirt hanging over his shoulders. He dresses so relaxed, so opposite to Seokjin, who wore his shirts buttoned up to the collar. All you wanted to do all day was talk to someone, be heard, but with Jimin here you feel like an animal cornered in a trap, and you want to hide.

He gives you a cocky smile and drapes his arm over your shoulders, dragging you back into the room. “Look at you! Perfectly fine, Seokjin always overreacts,” he whines, “I’m tired of waiting. I can trust you not to tell on me, right pet?”

The vampire presses himself against your back and wraps his arms around your waist, locking you to him, chin digging into your shoulder. You stand frozen against him, Jimin is excellent at making sure you feel like you’re trapped and powerless when you’re around him.

His nuzzles your neck, lovingly like a lover would, inhaling your scent. You craved human contact, but this man isn’t exactly human now, is he? Your stomach turns as the familiar feeling of fear bubbles inside you.

“And if I don’t?” you whisper, and his grip tightens around you.

“You tell me, what do you think will happen, if you don’t?” he mumbles against your neck, teeth grazing your skin and he moans softly. He wrapped himself around your body, caressing your curves, it confused you at how affectionate he was being, or was he just a snake constricting his prey?

Your stomach tightens, you were stronger than this, right? A week in time out didn’t work on you, right? You couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your lips every time Jimin shifted against you. You blame Seokjin’s fondness for him that must have rubbed off on you. You try to step away but Jimin pulls you in closer.

“I thought I was a disgusting human, are you the one who missed me, Jimin?” You ask him softly.

“There are things about you that are only barely revolting, I guess.” He can feel the shift in your mood as annoyance bristles through your body, it makes him smile. You are so defiant for being so scared, it makes him want to break you even more.

You’re scared, but deep down there was a part of you too curious for your own good, that just wanted Jimin to bite you, just to see why and what Seokjin was protecting him from. It would only be to your advantage, if that was the case, right? You stretch your neck to the side slightly to see what Jimin’s reaction would be. His fingers dig into your hips. “What’s this?” Oh no.

Jimin pulls the shell hidden inside your pocket. You grab at his hands, but he’s too fast, dancing around you as he pushes you away, pushing you to the ground.

Somehow you always end up here on the floor, at Jimin’s feet, probably exactly where the vampire thinks you should be. You’ve never seen him more excited, it twists your insides.

Jimin’s cold fingers inspect the tiny shell, tutting. He mouths the words, ‘bad girl’ silently. Tapping the tiny shell, he brings the shell to his lips.

“Yoongi, I know you’re there. Do you want to hear y/n?” He crouches next to you, lifts your chin so your eyes meet his, smiling as if you were playing along on an inside joke. “Do you want to hear her cries? Do you want to hear her moans?” his sinful voice sings tauntingly.

The younger vampire promised Jin he wouldn’t touch you, but Seokjin has so many rules, and this just proved you couldn’t be trusted, that you needed to be taught a lesson. Seokjin will forgive him, Jimin thinks, he always does.

“C’mon, Yoongi wants to hear you, y/n! I bet he misses you. Let him hear your pretty voice.” You just glare at him, staying silent. Jimin didn’t seem angered by your defiance, in fact, he seemed happy.

He pulls your hair, moving your face closer to the shell, his nails dig into your scalp, and you feel them pierce your skin. The pain causes you to let out a strangled cry. “That’s it!” You hold back tears as you glare at him, Seokjin is wrong, Jimin can’t be saved.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you grit out, scratching at his hand.

“Oh, no?” He releases your hair. You jump up but Jimin pulls you down to the ground again. Even as you kick and hit him, it’s obvious it’s not hurting the vampire. He easily pins you down, caging you in with his thighs, his knees pinning your arms to your sides. His fingers wrap around your neck, holding you tight as you grunt against him. You’ve become a mouse, trapped by a snake.

“Afraid yet?” You know he won’t kill you, it seems like torturing you is just too much fun for him. Jimin may be stronger than you, faster than you, but he’s as caged as you are, stuck on this island, leashed by Seokjin’s rules, acting out like a child.

“No.” He lets go and you heave in air, coughing. “Seokjin will find out, even if I don’t say anything. He said-”

“Jin,” he bares his fangs, “says a lot of things.” He brings the shell to his mouth again, “What bone should I break first?”

Jimin laughs, and you wonder what the merman said to him.

Jimin grabs your jaw, tilting your head to the side, reveling in your struggle. He places the tiny shell next to your ear. You try to silence your heavy breathing. “Yoong-g-gi?” You hear the ocean, the rumbling of the sea, and you hear-

“Y/n!” Yoongi’s voice rumbles through the tiny shell, he calls out to you, words rushed and worried, full of concern that has your heart dropping, “Jimin has a weakness, It’s T-” Jimin crushes the tiny shell between his fingers.

Jimin pouts, “I thought he would have used the opportunity to confess, now he’ll never get the chance.”

He moves away from you, “Well, aren’t you going to make a run for it? I didn’t lock the door.” He lifts his eyebrows up, nodding towards the door.

You lie on the cold hard ground stunned. Yoongi's gone. You think of a scenario where you rush towards the door, only to be stopped by Jimin as he tackles you again. No, you won’t do that. Jimin takes and takes, you're going to make it your mission to take from him. You stand up on shaky legs and walk towards Jimin.

“Actually, I rather you just bite me instead.” You’re not confident that he’d really go against Seokjin, so might as well egg him on. “Unless you’re scared of Seokjin?”

Jimin scoffs, jaw clenching in annoyance and eyes narrowing. “Any other cute little means of communication you tried to sneak in here, hmm?” He yanks you close to him again, his hands pull at your dress, wandering over your thighs, skirting dangerously close to your center. He smirks down at you as you pretend to act unaffected by the way his hands glide over your ass, kneading the flesh. His hands run up your corset, getting closer and closer to your dagger.

You run your hand over the front of his pants. It was the only thing you could think to do to distract the vampire before he found your dagger and really killed you. It worked. Jimin stops you, digs his nails into your wrist, but he doesn’t pull your hand away.

So without many other options, you send your quarrel with the vampire off into a whole other direction as you grab for the bulge in his pants. You feel the weight of him in your palm, your mouth drops a little at his size. Jimin’s jaw tightens as you rub up and down his bulge.

You’re stuck in a staring match with the vampire. Two stubborn beings, challenging each other to see who breaks first.

Surprising you, he spins you around and starts undoing the straps of your corset.

No, no, that’s the opposite of what you wanted! “What are you doing?” You try to wiggle your body to face him again, “Just fuck me already!”

Jimin cages you against his lean frame, crushing your body to the closest wall with his own. He inhales into your neck. He can sense the torrent of your spiraling emotions, he feels your hatred for him radiating off your body stronger than ever as he slows his advances down.

“You are acting more stupid than usual, pet.”

“You wanted to play,” you say, “Well, let’s play then.”

He’s never played this kind of game before, and you’ve enticed him, he has no problem calling your bluff. His hand runs along your cleavage, kneading the flesh.

Jimin pulls your dress up slowly, his cold hand running up your leg. You rest your forehead on the wall, shuddering when he drags his fingers across your center. “Your hands are cold.”

He pushes two fingers inside you, deep, you were barely ready for the stretch, crying out from the sudden intrusion and cold sensation. Jimin groans as you whimper against him, “Forget what I am already?” He licks your neck, fingers pumping in and out at a dizzying pace.

“How could I ever forget?” you whisper.

“I regret destroying that shell, I would have liked to let Yoongi listen to what a whore you are.”

Your body tenses and Jimin leans his body harder into yours, pressing another finger inside. “What would the dogs think, knowing their bitch is so wet for their enemy, hmm?” Making you angry is too easy, he thinks, and makes you smell so much better, sexier. Jimin is used to fear, he’s grown accustomed to desire, but your rage makes him ravenous. If Jimin wasn’t so consumed by his carnal desires, he might question himself as to why he wants someone to hate him so much, but all he can think about is how he’s going to drive you to madness with just his fingers. He resists the urge to bite you by sucking harshly on your neck, pulling the blood closer to your skin and leaving dark marks behind.

Before you have a chance at release he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty and holding up the evidence of your arousal, the clear substance clinging to his fingers as he licks them clean, moaning in your face. The sight is depraved, and you can’t look away. He smiles smugly at you as he smells your lust surround him.

“I knew you wouldn’t bite me.”

“We will get to that, we’re playing a game remember? Or do you want to stop now?”

“All this talk and I still haven’t been bitten or fucked, are vampires impotent or something or is it just you?”

Jimin laughs, yanking your body to face the wall again and pinning you to him. “I’ll make you forget everything but my dick while I’m fucking you, you won’t have a single other thought in that pretty little head of yours other than giving me all your pleasure.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m waiting.”

Jimin laughs again, pressing three thick fingers deep inside you again, you legs go weak as he holds you up with the force of his body against yours. He drags his fingers out and higher until he’s circling your other opening. His digits press into both of your holes, filling you up completely as you cry out. You haven’t had someone give attention to that part of you in so long, you tense at the unexpected stretch. His thumb works against your clit expertly as he rocks his hand against yours. You feel so full and overwhelmed by Jimin. “So close already? Beg me to make you come, pet.”

“I’m not your pet.”

You take his torture silently, hold in your moans as he brings you to the brink of release and stops short of satisfaction over and over again. He thrusts his fingers in and out of your holes, until the tight stretch goes away, his fingers easily gliding in and out of your wetness, until the ache is replaced with a need for more. Your entire core pulsates as he slowly and torturously circles your swollen bud, changing the pressure just enough to drive you crazy by ghosting over your clit when you needed more and rubbing even harsher circles when it all becomes too much, his touch making you feverish and sick with desire. When you clench around his fingers, closer than you’ve gotten to release since he started this torture, he pulls out of you completely, pressing his hard cock, straining against the cloth of his pants, into your sore center.

“You smell so good,” he moans. You don’t want to think about Jungkook, you don’t want to taint his memory, but Jimin’s words are so similar. Jungkook is nothing like Jimin, but they are more similar to each other than to a human like you. Perhaps you are just as weak and pathetic as Jimin says, a human can be no match for a vampire, and you’ll never be able to win against him.

“Please Jimin...just let me cum...”

“Beg me.” His usual airy voice drips with arousal, and he presses his bulge harder into your wetness.

You don’t do as he says, you can’t, so he continues his torturous little game, until you’re moaning loudly, head thrown back against his shoulder, whimpering every time he stills. He pulls his fingers out of your dripping core, focusing his attention on your ass, thumb rubbing harsh circles into your throbbing clit, you feel so empty and painfully full as your sensitive walls clench around nothing and his fingers stretch your rim open for him. Your entire body vibrates, but you’d rather stay unsatisfied than say please to Jimin ever again.

Finally, as the sun sets and the last bit of light around the curtains disappears, Jimin realizes he can play his game no longer and pulls away from you completely. Your legs give out as you slide down the wall, mind finally free from the haze of lust Jimin kept you in.

“So weak,” Jimin tuts.

“...impotent...dick...”

“Pathetic slut.”

“I thought about Seokjin the entire time,” you whisper.

“...liar.”

---

You must have fallen asleep, you feel a hand cupping your cheek, and you open your eyes to Seokjin, blonde hair, red eyes, suit buttoned to the collar. You let out a small laugh, and then groan once the pain in your joints wakes you fully.

Jin carries you back to your bed. You tug on his sleeve.

“Please take the pain away,” you ask softly.

Seokin’s eyes search the expanse of your skin, “There are no cuts on your body.”

Groaning, you sit up and kiss the vampire who freezes against you. So you take the opportunity to straddle Seokjin’s lap, and start unbuttoning his shirt, kissing, licking, biting his smooth skin. Jimin’s harsh words replay in your mind and sting you. Screw him, let him think whatever he wants, let him hear you. This had been a part of your plan anyways, first Seokjin, and then you’ll worry about him, might as well have some relief too.

“What happened?” Seokjin asks as you rut into his body, tearing his shirt open. He doesn’t look upset that you popped the buttons, does he ever get upset anymore? You hastily unbuckle his belt. His hands cover yours, repeating his question, “What happened, y/n?”

You grab his hand and move it under your dress. Seokjin stills as his fingers come into contact with your thigh, slick with your wetness from hours of Jimin's teasing. His hands travel up your shaking leg.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, “...Did Ji-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Fuck me, I feel like I’m dying.”

Seokjin laughs against your lips, “Humans are so dramatic,” but he’s already pulling you closer, turning you around to lie on the bed. He bends down to your core, pushing your dress over your waist, you spread your legs wide open for him.

He licks your arousal from your inner thigh, fingers massaging your aching center.

“Ugh fuck, stop teasing me,” you whine. Seokjin fills you with two long fingers, pushing inside you to the knuckle. His teeth bite down on your inner thigh, it stings but your lust somehow lessens the pain. Your body tenses, you clench around his fingers and he speeds up, pulling more blood from your veins.

You flinch when you see Jimin again, reliving the memory from Seokjin’s mind. He’s half naked, kissing a beautiful woman who is fully naked, right in front of Seokjin.

Jimin looks so different, dark hair, flushed skin, tenderness in his eyes.

The girl lowers her body between the men, and fills her mouth with Seokjin’s hardening length. You feel yourself become wetter. Seokjin moans against your feverish skin, biting you for a second time, higher up your leg. It stings again, but you’re too busy trying to get off on his fingers to care about anything but release. Seokjin bites the mound of flesh close to your center, his tongue pressing against your hood, your vision goes white and then-

You see Yoongi’s sharp eyes above you, his naked body on top of yours, cold and wet, hard cave rocks against your bare back. You see Namjoon, a younger version of him, long hair pulled back into a low bun, across the room in bed with another woman. The room is small and empty. Two beds, two couples, Seokjin watching his friend fuck the random girl senseless.

You feel jealousy, watching Namjoon through Seokjin’s eyes. He looks so different, so feral and savage. The bed creaks loudly underneath him as he grips the headboard, and thrusts into her wildly. Jin pumps his fingers inside you in time with Namjoon's thrusts, it makes you feel like you’re going to burst into a thousand pieces. Namjoon’s eyes glow yellow as he gives Seokjin a wicked grin and you’re scared for the first time of Namjoon as he growls, releasing into the woman.

“Don’t make a mess,” he drops the spent girl on Seokjin’s lap, who caresses her face. She’s breathtaking, you feel inadequacy course through you, you feel jealousy, you feel turned on when her full lips envelop Seokjin's thumb. Namjoon pulls the sleeping naked girl from Seokjin’s bed, tapping her check to rouse her awake.

Seokjin’s arousal is overwhelming you. He slams into the woman’s body from behind, chasing his high while holding her face down into the bed, and then his fangs pierce her back as her screams are muffled. You don’t want to come to this, to the feeling of her blood filling his mouth, arousing him and arousing you. Namjoon’s grunts and sounds of sex fills your mind again and you come undone in a silent scream around Seokjin’s fingers.

---

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

You run around the room, darting around Seokjin who watches you rather calmly for the unfolding situation. The rest of his body frozen, the blessed dagger lodged in between his vertebrae, stopping his regeneration.

Once you came, thighs snug around his head, you pulled the dagger from your corset and stabbed him in the back. You kicked him away from you before he could attack and he fell backward, the dagger piercing deep into his back, and that’s where he was currently, frozen on the floor, watching you as you run around the room in disbelief that you actually managed to stab a vampire.

You trip over him by accident and he lets out a soft grunt. “Fuck! Are you okay?” you sit next to his frozen body, “Like, relative to being stabbed, I mean? Don’t answer that...because you can’t. Oh fuck.” You put your head down, resting it on his chest, you don’t hear anything but your laboured breathing. ‘Believe in yourself, y/n! Yoongi believed in you…’

You gather yourself up once again and you move to the window, jiggling the handle. It’s still unlocked! You’re too high up to escape but...

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I really am sorry,” you grunt as you heave the immobilized vampire to the window, inch by inch, Seokjin’s body like a sack of bricks. You place him against the wall and crouch down so you can look him in the eyes, patting down his messy hair, tousled in your struggle to move him, “I’m sorry,” you repeat again, “but you’re a vampire right?” You say encouragingly, and you give him a couple of pats on the cheek, his eyes dart down to watch the action, “Technically, you can’t die.”

With every ounce of strength you have left inside you, you shove Seokjin out the window.

---

You quietly lock the door to what had been your room and prison cell behind you, quickly walking through the halls. You’re not sure what you expected, maybe a gothic interior fit for Dracula, burning candlesticks and red velvet drapes, but you got electricity and mid century modern eclectic, the walls were colorful with art pieces, deep emeralds and golds and blood red. You open the first door you come across.

A young woman sits on a large bed reading a book, looking up at you. Is that how you looked to them? A more disheveled and unpleasant version of her? She looked happy, until she noticed you, and then her smile fell, disappointed you weren’t Jimin or Jin. You slam the door shut and lock it again.

You race as quietly as you can through the halls, you have no idea what you’re looking for, quickly peeking into each room you come across. Strangers, stop what they are doing to look at you, waiting like obedient lap dogs. You have yet to find an empty room. Four doors you’ve opened on this floor, no empty rooms, and you begin to feel hopeless.

You open the fifth and final door and you’re assaulted with the loud sound of moaning. The moaning comes from a woman specifically, her cries almost as loud as the slapping of her skin against Jimin’s naked body. Jimin had needed an outlet after his time with you, specifically, someone to use and bite that wasn't 'off limits.'

You stand frozen in shock, it feels like all the air has escaped the room, filling the woman’s lungs instead as she screams in ecstasy. He is standing next to the bed, fucking into her at an inhuman speed, holding her hips in the air as she struggles to hold the rest of her torso horizontal. You can’t look away, because her body, her stomach, her large bouncing tits, it’s all covered in blood. You almost scream, almost, but the small huff of air you let out instead is enough. The bed stops creaking as Jimin’s movement stops and you meet his surprised eyes.

You shut the door, lock it and run.

You run down the stairs, you see the entrance and you almost run out the door, but you instead run down the hall, flinging every door you see, praying you find something. There's a kitchen, a dining room with the longest table you’ve ever seen, and an empty room! It looks like an office! You run inside. You run to the desk, looking over the papers. Weird markings litter the pages, it reminds you of the markings on Yoongi’s bag. You have to be getting closer to your objective, you have to be! You scatter the papers around, yank open the drawers, hoping to find something useful. There’s a bookcase behind the desk, and you start pulling down books, nothing is catching your eye. You pull on the bookcase, you run your hand across the wood frantically, searching for perhaps a trap door-

“What are you looking for? I can try to help.”

You jump, almost screaming. You hold your heart, it hadn’t stopped, to your surprise. You had no idea someone else was in the room with you. You stare back at a calm man with messy brown hair, he looks at you timidly. “Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. I just wanted to help, and it took me a while to organize those books,” he laughs softly. The man shuffles back to the wall, you hear metal clanging and look at his feet, they have chains around them, his hands too.

You look down at your feet, papers and books are all around you “I-I’m sorry. I was just-I didn’t know-” You had no idea how much more time you had to spare so you cut to the chase. “Is there a portal here?!”

The man’s eyes go wide, “Not here,” he speaks softly, “One level lower.” He gave you the answer you were looking for without any hesitation, was this a trick? You look at him more closely, his clothes are loose, like pajamas, and he’s barefoot, he looks at you happily, like you didn’t just storm into his room and destroy his things. The innocent expression on his face reminds you of Jungkook.

You remember why he looks so familiar, “You were sitting next to Yoongi!”

The man tilts his head confused, and then he stares at the door, “you need to leave now,” he rushes towards you, “Go down the stairs to the right.” He finds a pen on his desk. “The portal is in the basement, in Seokjin’s office. You’ll need this to open the door, it will only work once.” He grabs your hand and writes a long looping character on your palm, it burns gold and then disappears, while you stand still in shock.

Before you can question him the door bursts open. Jimin stands in the doorway, looking at you and the other man. His anger is replaced by an expression you don’t quite understand. Heavy silence envelops the room. The awkward tension is cut when Jimin speaks to you calmly saying, “Come here. Now.”

The man steps between you and Jimin. “Stay here, he can’t come inside, just like I can’t leave.” The man leans against the desk, his long legs blocking you from leaving, his chains clanging again.

“Y/n, come here now.” That was the first time Jimin said your name. You look between the men.

“Why would I go to you? You’re going to kill me!”

Jimin runs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes to the side, “I promise you I won’t kill you if you come here right now.” He says the words as sweetly as he can in his growing irritation, trying to coax you to him, but to you he sounds patronizing and angry.

“Jimin’s lying,” the man next to you whispers, confirming your suspicions.

“Tae, just bring her to me!” the vampire screams.

“No, I don’t want to, you’re going to hurt her.”

‘Tae, he said. Is this Taehyung?’ The same man you saw next to Yoongi, the same man Namjoon warned you about, the man who is protecting you and gave you a way out of this hell of a place?

“Can’t you just do the right thing for once?!”

“You haven’t come to visit me in how long, Jimin?”

They yell at each other like an old married couple. You stare down at your hand, it looks perfectly ordinary, you think you might have just imagined it all, what Taehyung did, but you realized on this island nothing was impossible.

“A-are you a wizard?” you interrupt the men’s arguing.

Taehyung turns back to you surprised and gives you a bright smile, “No, I just learned from one. He didn't call himself a wizard, though” he laughs, “I think the correct term is warlock?”

“Oh, okay, good to know,” you mumble. Jimin quietly seethes at the doorway.

“Why do you have chains on if you can’t leave this room?”

“Yeah, why do I have chains on, Jimin?” He turns to the vampire accusingly.

“Just wait until Seokjin comes,” Jimin mutters, and he pulls the dagger you used on Seokjin out of his back pocket, holding the handle with a handkerchief. “Nice trick, by the way, y/n. Seokjin is still healing himself from the fall. You’re going to regret not coming to me when I asked.” He glares at you.

“So that’s what fell!” Taehyung roars with laughter.

“I said I was sorry,” you mutter, biting your lip. How the hell are you going to get out of this situation now? As if you summoned the Devil himself, Seokjin appears next to Jimin.

You hide behind Tahyung out of instinct, grabbing onto his chained arm. Taehyung holds in his joy while the two vampires' expressions darken.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Jimin seethes.

You let anger get the best of you and wrap your arms around Taehyung’s waist instead, glaring from behind his shoulder.

“Y/n-” “Don’t,” Taehyung interjects. “-get away from him,” Seokjin warns.

“Why?! How do I know you both aren’t going to murder me as soon as I leave this room?”

“Is there not a spell we can use to get her out?!” Jimin turns to Seokjin ignoring you. You grind your teeth. Two can play that game.

“Why are you locked in here? How do you know Yoongi and Namjoon?”

“Yoongi? We all met him when we came to the island.” Jimin screams Taehyung’s name to silence him, but he ignores him easily. “You should have seen Seokjin and Jimin, he got them all wet and they vowed to make sushi out of him!” he laughs, turning his body around in your arms to face you instead of the pair.

You look over to the two vampires who have gone quiet. “And Namjoon?”

“Taehyung..” Seokjin warns.

“What? I’m not even allowed to talk about it now?” Taehyung whines.

“Enough! Y/n come here...please.” You hadn’t expected a request from Seokjin. “I swear, I won’t punish you for what you’ve done, just come here.” he holds out his hand for you, you can see the magic swirl around his fingers, burning his skin. He winces, but doesn’t move his hand away, even when his tips begin to turn black with char.

“What about Jimin?”

“Yes, fine, I won’t punish you, just hurry the fuck up,” the younger vampire looks anxiously at Seokjin’s hand.

“Y/n, please no! I’ve been here by myself for so long, I can’t stand it! You’re the first person who’s visited me. I don’t want to be alone,” Taehyung whimpers, a high pitched whine as you hesitantly make your way to Seokjin. He reminds you so much of Jungkook. He paces around you, begging you to stay.

“I-I don’t want to be locked in that room anymore.”

“Okay! Just come here!” Jimin yells.

“How can I trust you? How do I know you won’t go back on your word?!”

“They will, y/n, please! Look, Jimin promised he would visit me, he lied!”

Seokjin pulls his hand away, completely burned black and puts out his other arm instead. “You’re just going to have to trust us, like we will have to trust you not to pull any more stunts. We’ll trust each other, okay?” Seokjin pleads with you.

“I-I’ll come back to visit you,” you say to Taehyung. “Right?” You turn to Seokjin who relents and gives you a hasty nod.

“No!” Taehyung whimpers, “They are going to lock you away! Please believe me! You’ll never be able to escape.”

You reach for Seokjin’s hand, but Taehyung jumps in between you, holding out his chained hands. “Look at them! Look closely, what are these made out of, y/n? LOOK!” You study the metal, it looks shiny and silver. It’s silver.

Seokjin lurches forward quickly, his suit catches fire, his warm hand grasps onto yours and pulls you out of the room and away from Taehyung and everything goes black.

---

You wake up in a different room. You’re not alone. Another woman sits on the bed next to you, she jumps when you wake up. It makes you jump, ‘fuck why is everyone so jumpy here?’ you think holding your head in your hands to calm your nerves.

You try to scoot away, and you feel a tug on your ankle, so you pull the covers off of you. You’re in a new dress, all white, like the sheets, like the woman’s dress next to you. You see a chain connected to your foot that reminds you of Taehyung’s shackles but darker metal. No. “My clothes!”

“They made me, I-I’m sorry, I had to give them your clothes. The necklace wouldn’t come off, I-I didn’t tell them,” the woman pulls at her sleeve. “I kept your secret, but I can’t promise you they won’t find out, Master might look into my memories.” Your hand traces the gold watch chain around your neck, calming down.

“Okay...thank you.” You whisper uneasily. “H-How long have you been here?”

The woman thinks, humming to herself. “I lost count, Master did give me this on our Fifth Year Anniversary!” She shows off the blood red jewelry dangling from her ears.

Ugh. “That’s nice,” you say and get out of bed. The dress is tight around you, covering your arms and flowing down to your ankles, the one place the fabric doesn’t touch is your neck, the hemline sits off your shoulders and plunges into a deep V. You scoot your way to the door until you can’t take it anymore and reach for the bottom of your dress, pulling the fabric until it tears.

You hear the woman let out a soft, “oh no.”

The chain stops you from reaching the door, even if you stretch out your legs you can’t grab the handle. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

You wheel your body back around, “Hey, what’s your name?”

The woman thinks, humming to herself. “I don’t remember.”

“Listen, I’m going to need you to-WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T REMEMBER?!”

The woman flinches from your volume. “Well Master calls me his little doll and I like that name a lot, and I just, well, forgot my other name.”

You take a deep breath as you try not to be sick. “Well Dolly, your MASTER IS A HUGE FUCKING ASSHOLE. YOU FUCKING LIARS!”

---

The group in the parlor turn their heads to the small voice echoing through the halls, Jimin winces, hearing your words clearly, moving one of the women off his lap. “She’s awake.”

“I’ll go-”

“It seems you failed at controlling her, brother. Why can’t I just try?”

Seokjin scoffs, “You can barely control yourself.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches. “I’ll-” he coughs, “-use restraint. I won’t hurt her.”

---

“Monsters!”

“Oh no, they’re going to be so mad.”

“Taehyung was right! I swear to God-”

“So so mad, oh no, oh no no no.”

“I won’t let you get away with this! Liars! Bastards!”

“Master!”

The door opens and Jimin stands against the door frame, ignoring your irateness and addressing your new roommate with a smile, “Hey Doll.”

Jimin standing in front of you had extinguished some of your rage and replaced it with apprehension, halting your tirade for now. “You fucking lied,” you glare at him.

“It’s not locked, I’m not forcing you to be here,” He looks over your shoulder, “Right Baby Doll?” The woman nods enthusiastically back. “The chain was a precaution, I’ll remove it, I promise. We just need to set some ground rules, okay pet?”

“I am not your fucking pet!”

He moves around you, like a buzzard circling it’s next meal, “You look so much better in this instead of that ugly sea dress.”

“Don’t I look pretty?” you hear the woman’s tiny voice ask Jimin.

“Of course!”

You rub your temples, “Jimin, just take this chain off me.”

“After everything you’ve done, and you’re still trying to make demands? Do you know how incredibly lucky you are? Can’t you just show a bit more gratitude like her?”

Jimin kisses the woman and she moans against him, deepening the kiss. You rub harder at your temples. You're chained, a captive audience to what ever the hell display is happening in front of you, becoming more uncomfortable and annoyed with each passing minute.

“Seriously?”

He drapes his arms around the woman’s shoulders and stares at you, “Jealous?”

You scoff. You think back to the version of him in Seokjin’s memories, with the other woman. You remember the tenderness in his eyes as he watched her and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. You are not jealous! And anyways, Jimin’s tenderness is all gone now.

“She doesn’t even remember her name anymore.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind,” he winks at her, and the woman giggles at your exchange.

“Her entire life has been taken away! What happened, it’s worse than death.” You hug your arms close to your body. Was that going to become you if you stayed here?

“Worse than death?” Jimin echoes your words and you notice him stare at his reflection in the room’s mirror. You stand in silence, watching him as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the loose strands while the woman softly hums to herself a sweet melody. She doesn’t sense the looming danger all around you and it makes your chest tighten in anxiety.

“You’re right y/n. Come here.” He holds out his hand for her.

He pulls her into a kiss, she smiles against her lips. You awkwardly shift at the exchange. She seemed happy with Jimin, even if she couldn’t remember the person she was anymore. It makes you wonder if she had resisted in the beginning or had always been this irritatingly agreeable...or maybe she even loved him, maybe her love was the only thing left in her.

Jimin holds her face in his hands, dragging his lips across hers, a spectacle of two lovers. She’s beautiful like Jimin, they fit perfectly together, a rose and a thorn.

It happens so quickly you stand stunned, you don’t have time to scream or stop him. She’s on the ground, neck twisted, dead.

You’re so stunned you can’t even cry, you just shake, fallen to your knees, staring at her beautiful lifeless face. Her red earrings dangle from her ears catching the light.

“What have you done?” Your voice sounds tiny and high, like hers.

“I saved her from a fate worse than death, according to you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You can’t speak. He moves closer, putting a hand on your cheek, the same way he had held the woman’s head a few seconds ago. His cold finger wipes away your tears. When did you start crying?

“We aren’t liars. I’ll unchain you. So, will you behave now?”

---

You walk the halls during the sunlight. You stop by Taehyung’s door knocking four times, opening the door an inch. “I found this in the kitchen!”

“I’m...allergic.”

“Allergic to chocolate?! I-I’m sorry,” you mutter, though it doesn’t stop you from enjoying the bar yourself.

You lean forward into Taehyung’s room, he puts his chained arms over your head, and gives you a hug. He reminds you of Jungkook so much, sweet and gentle. But he’s not warm like him, he’s still a stranger to you, always dodging your questions. Namjoon’s words constantly play in your mind not to trust Taehyung. Even though out of everyone here, you trust him the most, you like him the most. Being able to spend time with him, even if your conversations are shallow and lighthearted, is the best part of your day.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Why haven’t you escaped?” He whispers.

You play with the hem of your dress as a distraction, “I don’t know.”

He always asks you the same question and you always give him the same answer, but today Taehyung persists. “They won’t catch you if you go now! Isn’t that the whole reason you let yourself get caught?” Even though you hardly know anything about Taehyung, he knows so much about you already.

“I’m...I’m scared.”

He pats your head, you shake his hand away, lightly shoving him back. “I’m not a dog!”

Taehyung laughs, “Yeah, you’re a scaredy cat.”

“How dare you!” you hit his leg as he giggles.

“I want to show you something! It will help you when you finally escape!”

You cover his mouth with your hands, shushing him. Looking around to see if there were any others lurking around you, but no one ever comes around Taehyung. “What is it?”

“Well, um, you’ll have to come all the way inside.”

“...I can’t.” You move away from him again and lean your head against the door frame.

Taehyung sighs. “I knew you’d say that!” he whines. “Do you do everything Jimin says now?”

You roll your eyes, “Not even close,” you mutter. “And it’s not just Jimin...”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told not to trust you...and you haven’t been very open with me, have you?” you look down at your hands, intertwined with his, you trace the gold markings along his chained wrists.

“It’s complicated,” he whispers.

“I can’t see how it could get more complicated than being a werewolf trapped in a house full of vampires.”

“It’s much more complicated,” he pulls on your arm, staring at you with pleading eyes. “Leave a shoe outside and they won’t notice you’ve come inside, I promise!”

You hum, searching for a compromise. “How about this,” you scoot over the entrance, sitting closer to Taehyung while making sure to keep your legs outside. “Technically, I am inside and also outside.”

“But the magic won’t work unless your body is fully inside here,” Taehyung pouts. “The spell on the room will clash with mine and who knows what will happen then!”

“How do you know so much about magic?”

“I can’t say…” Taehyung whispers.

Your expression turns sour, ‘What can you say...’ you think. “Well can’t you just like, Houdini yourself out of here?”

Taehyung shakes his head regretfully. “No, if only it were that simple. And please don’t ask me to explain,” he teases. Taehyung scoots behind you and pulls your body onto his lap. “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

“Okay,” you hum.

“Let go of each other!” You wake up on the floor with Taehyung cuddled to your side, one lone foot of yours still remains outside the door. Jimin pulls on your foot before you can untangle yourself from Taehyung, dragging the rest of your body into the hallway. Taehyung grunts, waking up as you’re pulled from his embrace.

You blink away the sleep from your eyes, face-to-face with Jimin, his head hovering over yours, eyes bright red with anger.

“Leave her alone, Jimin!”

“I-I am allowed to talk to him,” your words come out small and high when you finally speak and you hate it, the way your fear strangles your voice.

“On one condition, just one.” Jimin hisses.

“W-well, t-technically-”

"You're being so unfair!" Taehyung yells. "Do you like her that much?"

“Tae, enough!” He slams the door in Taehyung’s pleading face.

There is a bang on the door, only once, so loud and strong it shakes the entire connecting wall, the picture frames wobble and dust falls from the ceiling, the sound so abrupt and booming it makes you, and even Jimin, flinch.

---

“Jimin told me you were in a...compromising position, with Tae today.” You and him watch the stars from your bedroom window, now locked.

Your stomach tightens. “Taehyung is lonely, maybe if Jimin spent time with him I wouldn’t have to,” you mutter.

“Do you care about Taehyung?” Jin’s eyes study your features, his sharp hearing picks up your heartbeat, waiting to hear any lies in your answers.

“No, I just-He’s the only normal person here.”

“Person? Normal?” Jin quietly laughs.

“A werewolf is a person too.”

“Ahhh, so you think Tae is a werewolf.”

“He is, isn’t he?” You spin around to look at Jin but his poker face is as strong as ever as he smiles down at you.

“Is a vampire a person too?”

You chew on your bottom lip, “I guess so,” you side eye the man next to you, “Deep down. Somewhere.”

Jin kisses your lips softly, carrying you back to your bed and placing you beneath him. You’ve managed to latch onto Jin since that night, a lesser of two evils. The vampire truly was a forgiving man, and even if parts of you were weakened by fear, your mind had impressively blocked Seokjin’s pull since that night as well, so he had deemed you his personal pet project, his puzzle to solve, keeping Jimin an arm’s length away from you.

Jin was nice, sometimes. And sometimes, you enjoyed his company too.

You play with his soft blond locks. You know the pain is coming eventually, so you do everything you can to distract yourself, admiring the vampire’s beautiful features before you. He pulls the deep neckline of your dress easily down your body, exposing your chest to his piercing eyes. His eyes stop on the gold piece nestled in your cleavage, like always, he ignores it. He knows what it is, what he doesn’t know is why Namjoon gave it to you.

The cold air and Seokjin’s cold fingers kneading your breasts sends you into a bout of shivers, when he drags his tongue across your skin you arch your back and push your chest closer to his soft lips. He’s so gentle with you now. Sometimes, you wish he was rougher, like the Seokjin you witnessed with Namjoon.

“Won’t you let me in again, Dove?” Namjoon’s watch falls into the dip in your clavicle, replaced by Jin's fangs as he bites the flesh of your breasts, his fingers pull at your nipples distracting you from the pain. He doesn’t drain you unconscious anymore, instead Seokjin likes to covers your skin in lovebites, taking all night with you.

“I-I can’t control it.”

“Let’s practice control,” Seokin smirks, lips stained red, and he moves his hands down your body.

He takes time stretching you full with his fingers, his lips never leaving your chest, steadily building up the pressure inside you with each quick stroke of his thumb against your core until you’re tightening around his digits. “Don’t cum.”

You tense around him, unable to successfully hold in your moans. “I can’t. I’m going to-”

“Just try, Dove.” You would hope he’d stop moving his fingers, at least slow down, but he’s steady and relentless, his digits pushing inside you in the most perfect mind-numbing pace. There’s no way you could stop your impending orgasm, but you try to hold it off, just two more three four five agonizing seconds longer. Seokjin sucks on the sensitive skin of your breast, mouth pulling as much of the mound as he can fit inside while you pulse around his digits. You feel his teeth sink deep into your flesh and his name escapes your lips in a strangled moan.

His usual dull eyes look up at you shinning with desire. “Let’s try again.”

---

“I brought biscuits.” You hold up the sweet cookies in front of Taehyung’s confused face.

“Thank you, y/n.” Taehyung gives you a bright smile and hugs you extra tight when you peek your head into his room.

“Ready to escape?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re-I'm-” Taehyung struggles to say the right words, “We’re running out of time, y/n.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just need a couple minutes with you, please. I have everything ready!” Taehyung runs to his desk, pulling together a stack of papers. “You want to see everyone again, don’t you? You friends and family?” he pleads.

Your family, you’re ashamed to admit you haven’t thought about them. It wasn’t even purposeful, your mind just had stopped wandering to thoughts of them.

Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook, and Hoseok, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about them anymore either, it hurt too much. The small traces of their personalities that Taehyung reminded you of had become sufficient enough as you tolerated living. “W-What do you mean we’re running out of time?”

“I think I have just enough magic to fill your necklace,” he whispers, “but if I remember correctly, that model only holds twelve weeks worth of time. How long have you been on this island, y/n?”

Your fingers clutch at Namjoon’s watch resting against your heart. Could you really rewind back time to when you never got on that damned boat! “I-I just need to take off a shoe?”

Taehyung’s face lights up. “Yeah, or something that has your scent that they can still sense, just in case”

“So the more I leave the less noticeable it would be?”

“Well, I guess so?”

You look around at the hallway, still empty like always, and pull off both shoes from your feet. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” You begin to shimmy out of your dress. Taehyung’s eyes go wide, and he wets his drying lips, then he springs into action, searching his closet for something to cover you. You pull his large sweater over your body and take a hesitant step inside.

Taehyung wraps you into his arms in a proper hug, holding you close. “I’m so happy you found me, y/n. I’m so happy.” He whispers.

He holds you tight to him, you're ashamed how affected you are by his kind gestures, you shouldn’t feel this way about someone who Namjoon told you to stay away from, it felt like a betrayal. “Don’t forget about me once you escape,” Taehyung whispers.

You melt into his embrace. “I won’t. Isn’t there a way to break the spell on the island? There just has to be! There has to be a way to save you and Yoongi and-”

“You like him,” Taehyung pouts.

“What? Who? Yoongi?!” Your face flushes hot.

“I don’t like sharing,” Taehyung mumbles into his sweater currently draped over your shoulders.

You swallow thickly. “Tae?”

He pulls away, holding you loosely, searching your eyes. During your interactions, you usually kept your attention around Taehyung, unable to focus too long on his intimidating aura and good looks, worried you'd start feeling too much for the mysterious man, worried you'd disappoint Namjoon. But now Taehyung is all around you, and his magnetism is too strong for you to resist. “Tae-”

His kiss is brief, however no less impactful, the way he pours his desires into you until your lost in a haze, following his lips as he pulls away, entranced by the small smile he shows you.

When he lifts his chained arms over your head, he pulls your necklace off as well. You were surprised how easily he removed it, when even Jimin couldn’t pull it off you (much to the vampire’s annoyance). You watched intently as Taehyung turns the watch's dial and whispers a spell in a language you can’t understand. “There, it worked, I set it to the full twelve weeks. you’ll know when to use it.” He places the watch around your neck again, his fingers cupping your cheeks and he rests his forehead against yours, content. Your face burns hot, Taehyung is so affectionate and sweet and treats you like glass.

This close, you can peer into his deep warm brown eyes, irises twinkling back at you so beautifully, it looks like gold swirls in them. “Just one more thing, and then the world is ours,” he says.

---

You sit up in your bed abruptly. Your fingers search for Namjoon’s watch as you try to steady your breathing. The hard gold feels comforting against the tips of your fingers as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You’re reminded of the night you first arrived. But gone is Yoongi’s colorful dress, the clinical white fabric of your new dress, sits tight around your body like a straight jacket and blends in with the white bed sheets.

Weren’t you just with Taehyung, what happened? You remember he told you you were running out of time. Then what happened?

You have to go find him!

You leave the bed and search out his room again. Jimin passes you in the halls, as quiet as a cat, startling you so much you almost fall if it weren't for his fast reflexes. “There you are, ugh I figured you’d be headed to Tae’s room,” Jimin frowns, “Let’s go.”

“Where are you taking me?” You fight against his grip as he pulls you in the opposite direction.

“I haven’t fed in weeks, and my favorite meal is gone because of you.”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to push away the images of the woman who haunts your dreams.

“So you’re taking her place.”

“What?!” You're doing what now? “J-Jin said-”

“Are you his parrot now? Well lucky for me, tonight Jin went to go speak with Yoongi,” he says smugly.

You step into Jimin’s room. The dresser was covered with random items that don’t seem personalized to the vampire’s taste at all. Unread books, countless jewelry pieces, and a plethora of knives.

“Don’t even think about it, pet.” Jimin warns as he sees your eyes stop on the sleek blades.

“I wasn’t,” you mutter. It was the truth.

There’s no window in his room, no mirrors, just wood furniture, covered in scratches and dents of aggression. The areas of his room, like his dresser, are littered with things, so many discarded things. The room is soulless, like Jimin, it feels like a lavish prison cell.

“So,” you don’t look at Jimin, instead you look at his things, trying to find some sense of his personality, “I guess you’re going to finally prove to me you aren’t impotent after all?” you mock. You know you shouldn't poke the beast, but Jimin is like an annoying itch you can't help but scratch.

Jimin scoffs, “Slut, can you go a night without getting fucked?”

“Can you?!”

Jimin smirks. “I'm almost going to miss that.”

You take a step away from him at his words. “What are you going to do?”

“Jin is too sentimental, he only skims the surface of his powers now. There is another aspect to a memory pull, it’s much more fun. Can you guess what that is, pet?”

You’ve been guessing and trying to make sense of everything since that night. “That woman's memories, you took them, right?”

Jimin claps his hands, slow and mocking at your right answer. “It’s not a simple task, but she was particularly compliant,” he bites his lip in memory. “She was much more willing to part with her past, her previous life wasn’t so great if you were wondering...some would see what I did as a blessing.”

The vampire stands in front of you cupping your cheek. “But I’m sure you...” his hand follows your jaw, “...will put up an impressive fight.”

You let out the breath you've been holding, if you can do what happened to Jin, maybe you can find something you can use against him. Maybe his torture won’t work on you...!

“You’re going to regret this,” you say, pulling your head away from his hand.

He laughs, “I regret not doing this sooner.” Jimin was tired of Jin's special treatment of you, all these new rules, all the things you've gotten away with when he wasn't even allowed to drink from you, follow his most basic of urges, it was annoying, you were annoying.

You feel exposed under his penetrating stare, you turn your head and hold your wrist out to Jimin, “Well? Go right ahead.” You think the inevitable has been dragged out long enough.

He looks at your wrist, lips rolling over his tongue as his fingers glide over the thin skin, and then he pulls you closer so you stumble into him, yelping. He looks up and down your body, his hair brushing against your forehead, the strands ticking you. You're supposed to hate each other, but the way he holds you and touches you, it’s too intimate, too rough and too soft for you to make sense of it.

“Do you have to ruin all the dresses we give you?” He noticed the slit you cut into your too long dress.

“Why are they so tight?” you say, watching his eyes as they roam over your exposed skin, feeling hot from his attention. You try to keep your thoughts calm, pure, so he doesn't notice what he's doing to you. “I can barely walk around.”

“Then maybe you should stay on your back,” his voice low and taunting. His free hand reaches for the torn fabric and as quick as a flash Jimin tears the slit higher up to your hip bone.

Your hands attempt to pull the slit closed in vain, and Jimin takes the opportunity to pull at the neckline of your dress, ripping the line even lower, exposing your cleavage to him. You slap him across the face, like you would have done any other man, but Jimin is not just a man, not anymore. He turns his face around and you see his fangs against his curled lip, he looks delighted, like you gave him just the reaction he wanted.

He grabs you around the waist and you feel vertigo as you're thrown across the room. You land on his bed, sinking into the mattress, and before you can scream Jimin is hovering over you.

“Your foreplay sucks.”

Jimin pulls your head back, laughing down at you.

"Get it?" you struggle to speak, “because you're a-”

You scream as Jimin finally bites the column of your neck, his body weight pressing down on you. Pain erupts and you can barely breath. His bite is somehow even more painful than Jin's, you hit his shoulders, pull at his shirt, trying to push him away to release you.

---

“What’s your name?” You can barely hear Seokjin’s voice over the trumpets of the band.

“Jimin.” He yells back.

“Military man,” the bartender nods to his uniform, “This one is on the house.”

“Thanks, um?”

“Seokjin.”

Jimin pulls his bottom lip in, studying the handsome stranger. “Thank you Seokjin.”

---

Jimin pulls away from your neck, breathing heavy. You laugh, and laugh, feeling exhilarated, eyes meeting the vampire while you laugh again. Did you just beat Jimin at his own game?

Your laughter stops when Jimin flips you on your stomach. His fingers dig into your hair, bending your back up to meet his chest. You grunt, jaw slack. “Still waiting to see what you've got, Jimin.”

You’re confusing. Jimin doesn’t even smell fear on you anymore, even when he tightens his grip. You must be feeling overwhelmed, like Jimin, who is trying to make sense of the long forgotten emotions coursing through him right now.

For the first time in a long time, Jimin feels uncomfortable, struggling to make sense of your taunts and why you aren’t submitting. Something unpleasant inside him stirs. He’ll make you regret acting like this, he’ll break you in half until you beg for mercy. He’ll do it. So why isn’t he doing it?

“Well?!”

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” he hisses into your ear.

“So I’ve been told, military man.”

Jimin knows you're goading him, yet still, blind rage courses through his veins, stinging his chest. He rips the back of your dress, tearing it down the center.

Was Jimin fulfilling a twisted fantasy you had ever since you saw Namjoon and Seokjin fuck that nameless woman senseless? Could you admit that to yourself as you feel your core become wetter as he presses his hand down onto your bare back.

You push up on your elbows, but Jimin uses his strength to push you back down, holding your head down. His sharp hearing can hear your muffled moan and the unpleasant feeling in the center of his body twists again.

"You like this?" He groans, affected by the smell of your lust. “Fuck, you act like such a desperate slut.” He palms his dick, needing a release. His moans fill your ears as his stokes himself to the state of your body.

You feel his spit hit your skin, his hard length running along your center, covering his member in your juices and his saliva. His tip teasing your entrance, you push back into him seeking more, and his hands hold you down, making you all the more feverish.

Your arousal hits the vampire’s senses in waves, affecting him more than usual as he tightens his grip to keep you still, focusing on the blood blotting your neck. His cock runs up your slit until he rests over your second hole. You look over your shoulder, prepared to taunt the vampire even more, but his dark expression, filled with carnal desire, slightly unraveled, entirely captivated by you, sends your thoughts into a tailspin.

Jimin pushes his thick length into you, stretching you over his cock, inch by inch until your whole body spasms.

Jimin stayed pressed up against you, a small kindness, his fingers circling your aching core. “Don’t-” you moan, and he stills against you, “d-don’t hold back.”

"I wasn't intending to."

And he doesn't. Your orgasm wracks through you, you feel so full and empty as your walls clench down on nothing while he pounds himself into you relentlessly. You start to shake in overstimulation. His thrusts are wild, your neck is there, you smell so delicious and he's so close to release.

When you come close again, at the peak of arousal, he bites down on your soft skin. You yell, clenching around him even tighter.

“This is your fault.”

You see Tae laugh, so unlike his usual sweet boisterous laugh, he chuckles deep, fighting against the chains around him, his wrist markings glowing gold, then deep orange like fire. “No, this is your fault. You were supposed to kill Jin, we could have had everything we ever wanted. How could you betray me like this?”

Jimin’s hands go lax around your waist, so you put yours over his, holding on as tight as you can.

You see Seokjin and Jimin under a street lamp, you and Jimin watch the way the flies dance around the bulb.

“You’re a vampire.”

Seokjin tenses, so Jimin continues, “I saw you with that girl, the regular with black hair.” His eyes scan the man beside him.

“And what are you going to do now?” Seokjin’s words come out low, almost menacing. Jimin laughs.

“Would you believe me if I said you’re not the strangest thing I’ve seen?” Breaking the awkward silence, Jimin brings an arm over Seokjin’s broad shoulders, pulling the man into a headlock. “I forgive you for always ditching me for lunch.” He teases.

Jimin releases his mouth from your neck.

You shift beneath him to look up at the vampire. Jimin’s bite wasn’t as meticulous as Seokjin’s who knew how to expertly pierce an artery, so you weren’t profusely bleeding, but the wounds still ached. Seokjin has the precision of a doctor, Jimin is messy, wild, his entire front is covered in blood. Jimin's eyes were unfocused, you could tell he was lost in thought.

“Jimin?”

“Enough,” his voice shakily commands you. “I’ll just take the part of you that keeps doing this.”

He pierces your exposed flesh once more concentrating harder.

---

Jimin is tiny. His head reaches the older woman’s knee as he hugs her leg. He points to the butterfly, wings fluttering back and forth slowly as it sits on a leaf Jimin found.

“I fixed it, see!”

“My beautiful son,” she kisses the top of his head, laughing at his cuteness. She looks weak and fragile, sunken eyes and skin pale.

“I’ll fix you too, I’ll learn!” He hugs her leg tighter. She soothes her little boy, knowing it’s already too late for her.

“Grow up to be a doctor, heal people.”

---

He pulls away from you. His eyes look wild, like an animal’s, caught. “Stop looking into my mind!” He screams.

“I can’t control it!” You’re just as stunned as Jimin, you never expected to see a version of himself so innocent.

Jimin holds you down by the neck, he doesn’t squeeze your neck enough to stop your breathing, even though he should, he thinks, he can’t do it, he can’t bring himself to tighten his grip.

“Do it again and I’ll fucking kill you,” he lies.

“I said I can’t control it, asshole!” you struggle against his hold, “Maybe if you weren’t so weak-minded-”

Jimin roars. Pressing his weight back on you, his fangs strike at the sensitive flesh between your collar bone. Your first kiss was so special to you, you could still remember it to this day. You were young, awkward and shy, he was your first crush, a cute boy, his features reminded you of one of your favorite idols at the time, who was-

What did he look like? What was his name? When did he kiss you again? It was after school, you think, you can’t remember. How did he kiss you? That’s right, it was an awkward kiss, because you and him were...friends? Weren’t you? You can’t remember, you can’t remember what had happened, it was so special to you and now it’s gone.

Jimin sucks harder onto your skin, pulling more blood out of you. He took it, your first kiss, you know he did. Jimin, if that sweet little boy could see himself now.

You start to cry. You cry for your stolen first kiss.

His teeth sink into your neck again, pulling more blood greedily, trying to silence the memories he found with the steady beating of your pulse instead. He drags his fangs across your skin, more blood releases, so much blood lost already that everything spins around you. “Jimin!”

He covers your mouth to stop your protests. Jimin seems determined to lose himself again, ravaging your body with more bites. So you close your eyes and your thoughts drift to the young boy.

“Good job!” the soft voice of his mothers fills both your minds. Jimin holds a syringe full of milk to a tiny kitten’s mouth. “You have to take care of her now, remember, treat her gently. There you go!”

“She’s so cute, momma, I love her.”

“You both have to watch out for each other when I’m not around, okay?”

You can hear Jimin whimper into your neck.

You feel sadness wash over you. He could have been a doctor, he could have been a healer. He is, in some twisted way, he been given the gift of healing, and yet he uses it to inflict pain. Even if he wanted to pretend he didn’t experience it, you felt the love that he held so dearly for his mother as a small child. You can hear his laughter, he had the same laugh as his mother.

‘Jimin, I’m going to save you too.’

---

You wake up healed, your head pounding. You look around, Jimin lies next to you, he’s out like a light. You both look like you’ve been in a massacre. Your clothes shredded and blood everywhere. You move away from him, his features look angelic, but his skin is covered in dried blood, like a killer. What the hell happened? You take a step and your legs buckle, you cry out when you knee hits the hard floor. The vampire next to you sways, moves across the bed until he falls completely out of it, groaning.

You crawl your body to the other side of the bed where he is still lying on the floor.

When you look at him again, meeting his eyes, you come to a realization. You know his secret.

“Oh Jimin...”

“Y/n...” his voice is shaky, he covers his face with his hands and his soft cries fill the room. You struggle to get up, everything feels tilted on an axis. You sway and hit furniture as you make your way to the door.

There’s a ringing in your head that won’t leave. You follow the halls down to Seokjin’s office, a place Jimin has been so many times before, retracing his footsteps from a memory of his.

Taehyung’s spell worked just as he said, opening the door to Seokjin’s office, the bright markings glowed and then burnt away from your skin, leaving a trace of ash. ‘Taehyung,’ you’ll have to deal with him later, you think. First you need to get away, as far from the island as you can and try to find Jimin’s family.

There’s a large door to the right of his desk, wood an alien shade of purple. The high pitched ringing in your ears makes the room sway again, but you’re able to grip the handle and fall through to the other side.

---

You sit on the floor of a tiny shop. There’s intricate gold pieces; statues, vases, piled high on countless of glass shelves, every inch of the shop is filled with items, it reminds you of someone but you can’t remember who. You can’t even remember how you got here. Where the hell are you? It feels dangerous, it feels wrong.

You move to a corner and hug your knees to your body. ‘Where am I? Wait, who am I?’ You try to remember anything, any memory from your childhood, from your adulthood. And the past five minutes replays in your mind instead. Gold jewelry in glass cases and the feeling that you shouldn't be here, and a deep voice in your head whispers, “y/n.”

Y/n, is that your name? Your hands skim over the fabric of your torn dress, looking for pockets, looking for anything that might explain something to you. You need to get out of here, you need to leave, but you don’t even know where you are.

You hear a ding, a bell alerting an opening door. You hear a man speak to another. You run out the door while the man behind you lets out a surprised yell to come back.

You run and you run, past buildings past people. You’re barefoot, your clothes hang off you. Eventually you stop. Eventually you decide to ask an old couple who looks unthreatening where you are while you unsuccessfully try not to burst into tears. The old woman holds your hands and strokes your arm to calm you while the husband calls the police.

At first they suspected you were a victim of abuse. They took you to a hospital. The doctors performed several tests on you, each one worse than the last. You had no old memories, and all your new ones were horrible. Clinical, painful, strangers prodding and poking your body. Your dreams were filled of palm trees and warm sunshine on your skin, a sparkling blue ocean, laughter, happiness. So you slept most of the day.

Then one day, detectives came with nurses and they told you who you were. That it took so long because you had been pronounced dead over a month ago. Your parents were on a flight to come get you. You listened to them explain the events hoping to have a jog of memory but nothing comes. They talk about the boat, the crash, no survivors. Always another horrible new piece of information. When will it end?

When your parents picked you up, a lovely man and woman who you tried desperately to remember, the hospital staff gave you a bag with the clothes they found you in. There was a gold pocket watch, an item you didn’t remember having, but you didn’t remember anything, so it didn’t surprise you. You told them to throw everything away, but you kept the watch with you.

You have to stay with them, everything in your life had been reduced to a few boxes they had kept. You lost your home, your identity, you had no money, no job, the only thing you acquired during this whole time was a death certificate.

You start remembering your childhood, slowly at first, a memory here and there, a fall and cut knee, a tea party with stuffed animals, a school field trip, and then years at a time.

You found yourself again. You remembered who you were, your entire life up until you didn’t, the memories fracturing at the end, and the harder you tried to remember how you could have ended up in a different country across the world, your mind would construct horrible images instead, blood, drowning, and death. You couldn’t bare to think of it.

---

“Y/n!” you make your way into the coffee shop, you reconnected with some old childhood friends now that you were back in your hometown.

“Hey, oh my god, who is this big cutie?” Your friend’s dog barks excitedly while you fluff the black fur on his head. He’s so cute, his ears flop to the side with each happy bark.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re...well you’re crying?” She looks at you concerned.

You touch your wet cheeks. Why? You don’t know when it started, but as your friend’s dog nudges his head into your palm for more pets, your heart aches.

---

One night, a crazy thought enters your mind. You want to go back to that shop. You want answers. You leave a note for your parents telling them your intentions and pack your freshly made identification cards and travel documents into a suitcase.

So here you are again, in a foreign country, alone again, filled with purpose that seems to pull you in despite how terrified you are.

You scroll through your phone while you lie on the hard foreign hotel mattress. You open a map of where you are on your phone, and zoom out until you see water.

There's islands around the peninsula, you zoom into each one and search each name on your phone, learning each habitat, who lives there, if it is accessible. You do that to pass the time until you fall asleep.

“It’s too dangerous.”

You reach for the merman, grabbing at Yoongi’s shirt and pulling him closer, your eyes meeting his. “Explain.”

Yoongi is taken aback, licking his lips trying to think of a good way to start. "We made a blood pact to protect this island from the outside world, it's indiscoverable and once anyone does come here, they can't leave."

"Why..." you let go of his shirt, but he stays close, "Why would you do that?"

"Think, just think what you humans have done to the world...the others needed some place safe to go to and I-" the merman huffs, "At the time, I thought...well, they were...at the time I didn't mind sharing the island with them. "

Your fingers roll over the bracelets Yoongi put on you. "That was nice of you." The merman glares at you in return.

"You know, they'd come here, we all spent time together." Yoongi's stare is faraway and distant. "In the beginning, at least."

"I-I'm sorry." You hold his hand, and he stares at your fingers only briefly before shaking you off.

"Whatever, I'm surprised they didn't start trying to tear each others throats out sooner," He mutters. "We had portals of course to leave when we wanted to, but one day Namjoon and those dumb dogs destroyed all the portals-"

"What?! Why would they do that?"

"I don't know all the details, but I believe Namjoon did it to protect the rest of his pack. I can respect him for that...but the problem is they trapped us all here like idiots!"

"Is that why you're helping Jin and Jimin?"

"What? To get back at Namjoon? Pfft no. Jin came to me with a deal. He looked off, sick, and he offered me anything I wanted, so I helped him. That's it."

"So technically you can leave the island?"

"I can swim the waters, but I can only go so far, the magic always pulls me back eventually, it's useless to try," he mutters.

You hum.

"Anyways, what Namjoon doesn't know is Jin used some leftover magic and created a portal. Jin has lots of friends that serve him, owe him favors, he uses it as a delivery system."

"So you think if I?"

"That's the only portal I know of, but the magic is dangerous, the vampires put so many protections on their house, they won't even go through it themselves, there has to be a reason, right?"

"I...I'll take my chances."

"They wont even chance going through it, and you will?"

"Yes! And what if I can find a way to break the spell? Then you can finally leave! Yoongi, you have to let me at least try!"

"You're going to get yourself killed one way or another," Yoongi scoffs.

"No, I refuse to believe that."

"You're impossible to understand."

"I'm going through that portal. Then I'll come back for you."

"Wait, you'll come back?" Yoongi asks.

"Well, yeah, if you help me, a deal is a deal. Yoongi please, help me come up with a plan and I swear to you I'll come back with your payment. You're the only one who can search the ocean, you just have to find me again, so what do you say merman?"

"I'll find you again."

---

Your alarm wakes you up. 'What a weird dream,' it felt so realistic. Like all your dreams, the more you think about it, the less you remember, but that man's scarred eyes, whose name you forgot already, they stay with you.

You brush your teeth and wash your face. You notice something as you rinse off your skin. 'What the hell is that?' You inspect the gold writing behind your ear. Taking some more soap, you work to remove it but it doesn’t come off, the glittery ink is permanent. You rubbed your skin raw trying to take it off, it didn’t look like a tattoo, but nothing you did would get rid of the gold markings. You pace around your hotel room, things are getting weirder and you start to feel a nagging sense of dread, but there's a voice inside you that says to keep going until you find the answers you are looking for.

You don't walk right into the shop at first, instead casing out the place. You drink coffee at a nearby restaurant and keep watch on the shop. There are not many visitors, and those who do enter are not who you would expect. You would think maybe some older people who were looking for vintage items would decide to enter, or eccentric younger people, but it was almost always a intimidatingly large man entering, bringing items in rather than taking items out.

You’ve gotten into the habit of playing with the gold chain around your neck, the gold pocket watch had become a permanent accessory.

It's almost closing time for the restaurant, so you reluctantly make your way to the shop, and walk in after a group of tourists.

The shop looks different than what you remember, new items litter the shelves. You hide behind the large cases, studying the objects, until you come across something that makes you hesitate. A necklace with a large red gem hidden behind a thick glass case with a lock.

“You’re that girl! You...you came back.” Your head turns into the direction of the voice, a very old man stares back at you. He looks at you incredulously while you can only stare back dumbly. “C'mon, let’s go,” the old man says, he grabs your elbow. “Seokjin should be awake by now.”

“Let me go! You can’t keep me here!” You pull away from his grasp, your hand tightens around the amulet.

He laughs at you amused, giving you some space. “You walked into my shop, did you not? You don’t want to talk to Seokjin?”

“I…” Do you?! Would he know what happened to you, why does it make you shiver hearing his name.

Wait...you look down at your hand, to make sure you didn't imagine it, and there you see the necklace in the middle of your palm, heavy in your hand, you hide it behind your back, looking over your shoulder to the empty case, the shock of it makes you freeze.

The man looks at you cautiously, “Why are you here, girl? Are you here for Seokjin?”

Seokjin. That name fills you with dread. A vision of a man flashes across your mind only briefly, “I d-don’t know.” The old man raises an eyebrow at you. “Stay here, girl. I'll be right back.”

Where is he going? What is he going to do with you? Your mind spins and the skin behind your ear stings. 'Now y/n. Do it now.' that deep voice is back. You panic when the old man comes back with two others.

'Use the watch, y/n. Use the watch. NOW!'

---

“On one condition, just one.” Jimin hisses.

As you lie on the ground you feel like the weight of the world just crashed upon you. Your chest feels like it’s going to explode, there’s a ringing in your ears, the skin behind your ear still burns hot.

Jimin noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor, the way your heart begins to race as you start to break down. Every day, starting on the night your boat was capsized, replays in your mind as you start to remember your time on the island. You see Taehyung, who looks at you and then his eyes go wide, realizing the situation, eyes ablaze with growing excitement.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Taehyung’s deep baritone voice breaks the silence. You can only take in shaky breaths as your tear filled eyes try to focus on where you are. You traveled back in time, precisely twelve weeks to the second, you’re back on the island, thrown back into your nightmare like you never left. The only difference now is your left hand clutches a second pocket watch, now broken, and your right hand clutches the amulet.

Jimin looks between you and Taehyung. “What have you done?” Jimin accuses Taehyung, whose eyes haven’t left yours. Taehyung’s lips curve into an encouraging smile, he holds out his chained wrists to you. The vampire whips his head in your direction, but it’s already too late. You throw the amulet into Taehyung’s awaiting hands. You didn’t want to give it to him, but as if Taehyung had pulled strings around your body, you complied to his silent request. The minute the gem touches his skin, the gold markings around his wrists burn away.

The explosion knocks you back meters, everything is broken, everything is dust, you can’t see and your body aches. You hear screaming and yelling and groans of pain. You crawl through the debris searching for a way out.

Red light flashes through the smoke. You choose to crawl towards it, hearing Jin’s loud booming voice.

Taehyung pulls you back, his body behind you like it just materialized out of thin air. "C’mon y/n. Let’s escape."

“This...This is all your fault!” He looked surprised by your reaction.

“What you think you know, you’re mistaken.” He lifts you to your feet easily.

It feels like the air around you is vibrating, your body feels lighter in Taehyung’s presence.

“Please let me go,” you cry.

“Don’t worry, once we escape, we’ll be fine again.” His hand holds your hip tight to his body as he drags you in the direction of the portal.

Seokjin crashes into you both, knocking Taehyung away from you. You hear their struggle, and you’re back to crawling away through the smoke helplessly. Your fingers hit the hard cold gem of the amulet, and you wrap the chain around your fingers.

You can’t remember how you found the stairs, the wood half shattered, or the exit, blown wide open by magic, you can’t remember leaving the mansion, you just remember once your bare feet hit the soft grass outside you ran and you didn’t stop running, until you heard the sounds of waves. You ran until water hit your feet and then you screamed.

---

YAY I FINISHED THIS MONSTER OF A CHAPTER (Get it? I’ll shut up). Thank god, I felt as trapped in this chapter as y/n in that damn room :’). Okay, but now we’re getting somewhere! What do you think is going to happen now? Looks like this story might finally be headed off the island :D. I’m excited!

Questions to ponder for the next chapter: What is Jimin’s secret? Looks like there was a good reason for keeping Taehyung locked away, so what is his ultimate goal? What did Taehyung do to you? And why are Jin and Namjoon no longer friends?! Those are just some of the questions floating around in my mind as I am writing the next chapter, now do you have any questions you want answers to? Let me know! <3

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l4verq · 3 years

Text

crossed out | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you’re one of the names on bucky’s list

warnings : angst, fluff?, mentions of choking

fic : one shot

a/n : u know i’m a sucker for therapy bucky lol

He should have skipped today’s session.

Cause he’s starting to regret coming when she brings it up.

“You gonna tell me about her?” Cecelia questions, casually flicking through a thick folder labelled James B.B.

But it was never casual.

Bucky knew she was observing his every move, his every tick. And he’d been pretty good at faking through every session until now.

“I thought you were helping me make amends.” He forges an unamused smile, which was second nature now.

“Yes and that’s why I asked you about her.” She looks up from the folder, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.

“It says here that you guys were complicated.” She continues, eyes skimming over a particular page.

Complicated was the last thing he’d use to describe it.

Cause it was the one thing that gave him some clarity, hope that he could be deserving of love again someday.

“We used to date. We broke up.” He gruffs, crossing his arms.

Maybe he should fake a mechanical failure in his arm, reschedule for another time.

“Do you still love her?”

He doesn’t answer but it’s written all over his face and Cecelia can read him like a book.

She turns over his list that she’d assigned him to make, eyes trailing down names until it reaches a hastily crossed out name at the end.

“Why don’t we pick this up next week? I hope you’ll be more comfortable to talk about it then.” She hands him back the small, black notebook.

He hesitantly takes it back, his feet already springing to get out of the room.

Was it just him or was the air running out in this tiny room.

“And, James?” She calls out.

He looks back, slightly winded.

“Remember, sometimes you need to just take a leap of faith, trust your heart.”

He nods solemnly, almost tripping over his legs trying to get to the door.

Hands fumbling over the handle, he’s greeted by a rush of cool air when he finally opens the goddamn door.

He stuffs the notebook in his pocket, taking big strides towards the exit.

It’s the same everyday.

Keep his head down, one sharp left, stop by the nearby cafe if he feels like it.

But today, he takes a right, taking out his flip phone he prefers to the touch screens these days.

Punching in the only number he knows, his stomach’s doing flips.

Don’t pick up, don’t pick up.

“So you do know how to call someone.” Sam picks up after a few rings.

He could almost hear the stupid smirk.

“How are you?” He cringes, the grip on his phone tightening.

It’s a small pause before Sam chuckles, “Y/N’s doing fine. In fact, she just got back from a mission in Prague yesterday.”

Of course, you’d still be going on missions, it was the only thing you knew.

“That’s not why I called.” He huffs, leaning against his car now.

It was an old, beat up Honda that he’d fixed up from the local junkyard.

“Really? Then enlighten me.”

It was Cecelia’s fault for bringing you up. If she hadn’t brought her up, he wouldn’t be here doing this.

“Where is she?” He closes his eyes, wanting the ground to just crack open and swallow him whole.

“Right where you left her.”

He mumbles a hasty goodbye cause he’s not sure he can trust himself to keep his composure any longer.

Getting into the car, he pulls out the notebook, going through the list.

He’d ticked off the list last month, even adding a few more names just to avoid the crossed out name at the end.

He jams the keys in, the car purring to life, before he can change his mind.

The door is taunting him.

He doesn’t know how but it is.

A quick exhale and he raises his hand to knock on it, half hoping you won’t open it.

But you do.

He always loved your eyes cause they held so much life to them.

Like for now, confusion morphing to recognition and rage in an instant.

You’re in bad shape, he can gather from the slight limp and bruises.

It feels like forever before you call his name in disbelief, what he’s longed to hear for so long.

He wishes you’d curse him out, hit him or tell him to go away cause that’s what he deserves.

But you don’t.

Instead, your pretty eyes brim with tears.

“Don’t.” He grits his teeth, unable to meet your eyes.

He always hated to see you cry.

“Then, why’d you leave?” Your voice breaks as months of bottled up heartache pour out.

He had to.

You were the only right thing he’d done in a long long time and he couldn’t mess it up.

“I needed to fix myself before I could trust myself around you.”

He grimaces as he remembers the life draining out of your face, while his hands were wrapped around your neck.

That very night he’d left, requested for therapy and could only hope it would work.

But it didn’t.

There was no fixing anything, he’d realised that waking up from nightmares far too many times.

“You could have picked up the phone.” Your voice barely above a whisper, stinging like a nasty burn.

He almost did, everytime.

But he hated himself too much to allow that.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all he can whisper, fighting the urge to take you in his arms.

“If you’d just let me in, realise that I do understand you.” You’re basically pleading at this point but you don’t care.

“I know you do. But you don’t have to. You deserve a better guy.” He says the same thing when he left like a broken radio.

“There is no better guy for me, Bucky. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?” You limp over closer to him.

You know he’s focused only on your limp, eyes filled with concern as they rake over your wounds.

“Does it hurt?”

The same thing he always used to ask after a mission while tending to your injuries.

“Yea, here.” You pat the left side of your chest, biting down a smile.

He has to fight back one too, but it’s kinda hard.

You meet his eyes, a little too long cause you’ve missed gazing into them every morning.

Maybe this is the leap of faith Cecelia keeps droning on about, he thinks as he leans in, “We should take a look at that, then.”

You sniffle, “I’m still mad at you.”

He laughs, which involuntarily makes you 2% less mad.

“I missed you.” He whispers, his lips inches away from yours.

You don’t have to say it back cause he knows.

He leans in closer, ghosting over your lips, waiting for your approval.

You close the distance, lips crashing into his almost in desperation.

Which you regret almost immediately cause you taste blood.

A split lip and kissing, not so pretty.

He pulls away and you mewl, pulling him back.

“You’re only making your lips worse.” He chuckles, hands slipping into yours.

Instead, he kisses your forehead, trailing all the way to your lips where he pecks them gently.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers again, head leaning on yours.

“I forgave you a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to come back.” You sob, tears springing out again.

He pulls you into his chest, steady hands you’ve craved for so long.

Gently rocking you back and forth, he strokes your hair, fleeting kisses to calm you down.

You’re struggling to keep your legs stable as your eyes grow heavy but you ignore the blatant aches in your body cause you don’t want to leave his embrace.

And he somehow always seems to notice.

“You need to rest.”

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

He knows he won’t win against your stubborn ass so he lifts you up carefully, legs swinging over his arms while you snake your hands around his neck for support.

“Stay.” You mumble as he takes you in the room you two used to share.

And he does.

Boy, was Cecelia in for a ride next session.

a/n : im cringing as i post this🧎🏻‍♀️🔫🏃🏻‍♀️jsneyswjausowkaw but supeerr excited for tfatws this friday :)) also i named bucky’s therapist for convenience lol im pretty sure she’s not named in the first ep? i could be wrong tho

#bucky barnes #tfatws #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #mcu #marvel

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think !

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo.

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance.

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll.

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught.

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week.

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes.

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck.

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued.

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets.

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.”

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt.

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything.

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace.

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.”

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom.

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard.

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile.

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #fluff

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teamxdark · 3 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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