#if you wish for me to take down this post for the utter false information this might have
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russian literature, yellow, byler color theory and you.
this is a really half-baked analysis, it was born and planted in my mind about an hour ago. a lot of them might not make sense at all. so, bear with me.
today, jay (@iamtheoneandonlyever) and i were having a very silly conversation on a random little guy i had made. the little guy happened to be quite literally yellow and it was all just random connections in the yellow. now, recently, i have picked up crime and punishment by the russian author fyodor dostoevsky, and yellow does play a part in the novel. specifically, in the room of the main character, raskolnikov's room.
"It was a tiny cupboard of a room about six paces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dusty yellow paper peeling off the walls."
we have positive meanings for the color yellow: joy, happiness, sunshine, optimism. now, in the context of this quote from crime and punishment, that is not the case. yellow is connected to insanity, madness, mental illness and there is a reason why the color yellow has such meaning. the phase 'желтый дом' (quite literally 'yellow house') is the russian slang term for a psychiatric clinic. this became a term for all mental asylums as the first psychiatric clinic in russia, in the obukhovskaya hospital was painted a yellow. crime and punishment used this connotation of the color yellow to highlight his madness, which is an important theme of the novel.
when blue meets yellow in the west. obviously, yellow eludes to will in the show, but i am thinking it really has that sort of meaning. madness, it won't be uncharacteristic to have this symbolism. idk just found this interesting. not to mention — when blue meets yellow in the west is a russian code.
another thing jay also pointed out is that when henry ended up in the upside down, it was yellow. a statement about his descent to madness, perhaps?
except, stranger thing is a very science-y show, there isn't a lot of grounds for references to literature, history and just color theory when it comes to art. not to mention how niche of a topic it is. 'yellow house' as a slang is no longer used. there is no english wikipedia page for obukhovskaya hospital. i literally needed to manually translate the existing russian wiki page for the information and the confirmation.
some links i stumbled on that i found interesting !
cool analysis on the yellow wallpaper in crime and punishment
an essay on color symbolism and names in the russian language
a forum where the negative connotations of the color yellow in the russian language is talked about
the wikipedia page on the hospital (written entirely in russian though)
#🍂 arian's shit#stranger things#byler#stranger things analysis#stranger things theory#st analysis#byler analysis#when blue meets yellow in the west#the monster show that got really popular#take my opinion with a grain of salt#neither am i russian or any sort of expert in literature#there isn't even a wikipedia page for obukhovskaya hospital#if you wish for me to take down this post for the utter false information this might have#please tell me#also wondering if this post is in poor taste or not#yeah please tell me if you would like me to take down this post#also the russians HATED the color yellow i see#they called the prostitution ids 'yellow tickets'#will byers
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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
#bts smut#jimin smut#seokjin smut#namjoon smut#Jungkook smut#bts fantasy au#bts fanfic#bts hybrid au#bts vampire au#werewolf bts#ot7 x reader#jimin x reader#jin x reader#seokjin x reader#taehyung x reader#namjoon x reader#yoongi x reader#jimin fanfic#jungkook x reader#rm x reader#jin fanfic#seokjin fanfic#taehyung fanfic#namjoon fanfic#yoongi fanfic#rm fanfic#bts angst
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Ok so this is the third time that I'm sending you an ask tonight. (or is it night time in your country?) I'm being annoying right now but whatever. So I've been cackling about those salt fics you wrote because they are just amazing. I have a request, though it is up to you to write it or not. So, can you write a salt fic where someone got an interview with Ladybug (probably Aurore) and then they ask her why they replaced the old heroes like Rena Rouge, Carapace and etc. and LB is just like I don't work with dumb shits or somethin'. Then there is also a new Black Cat (Probably Luka, Felix, or Damian) because Adrien here is an asshole and this fic is saltier than salt water. Then LB also insults Alya's blog and their school. Those foolish mortals get some lawsuits and the rest is up to you. (This request is probably messed up since it's already midnight here and I can't sleep.)
You're never annoying, I just apologize that it took me so long to get to you. I do hope you don't hold it against me, darling.
A one on one interview with Ladybug was basically unheard of if you weren't the Ladyblog or Nadja Chadwick. Ladybug had made it firm that she wasn't a celebrity, she was a hero. She wasn't there for clout, for attention, for fame or fortune. She just wanted to keep Paris safe.
That's was Aurore admired about her. And why she felt queasy as she sat across from the heroine, who had given her of all people an interview. But she got ahold of herself, taking deep breaths as the cameraman began counting down. And when he hit 'one', she put on her best smile and straightened in her seat.
"Hello Paris! Welcome back to 'Latest Buzz'! I am your lovable host, Aurore Beauréal. Today I am here with a very, very special guest, our very own heroine of Paris; Ladybug!"
Ladybug beamed right at the camera, but gave a shy little wave, giving away the nerves she obviously had.
"Now, Ladybug, I'm so glad you requested to be on the show. You know, I initially thought I had misheard when Estelle told me. Usually you're not big on personal interviews." Aurore gave her full attention to Ladybug, but keeping the bright, friendly smile and perfect posture.
"Well, I tried a few times actually. But when I did, none of them were really great experiences." Ladybug admitted and both girls immediately thought of that disastrous Face-to-Face interview. It left a bitter taste in their mouths. "My issue is that misinformation has been spread around a lot recently. It's made me realize that I need to find more trustworthy sources."
"Ladybug. I vow on my integrity as a host and Estelle's reputation as a journalist that we are people who research facts. We don't ambush our guests, we respect them." She said, placing a hand on her heart. Ladybug saw an honesty in her eyes that she hadn't seen in such a long time. It honestly made her feel.. Respected. "Now, Ladybug.. We both know you have a lot of fans. A lot of admirers. False information can be spread so easily these days, which sources specifically are you telling people to avoid?"
"Well.. With Face-to-Face, I found that I was entirely ambushed in that interview. I wanted to speak about my hero work, but instead Nadja kept trying to needle her way into my personal life. That picture she had shown in largely out of context; when Dark Cupid attacked and Chat Noir was under his spell, it was the only way to get him free."
"Yes, I remember watching that. I'll be honest Ladybug, I felt bad for you." Aurore bit her lip, but smiled a bit when Ladybug nodded. "I mean, Chat Noir wasn't helping either. He seemed to be trying to push this narrative forward that you two are a couple."
"And we're not!" Ladybug burst out before she could stop herself. Everyone in that studio could hear the utter stress and frustration in her voice. "I've begged and begged Chat Noir to stop with the flirting, the 'telling people we're dating', everything! I just wanted him to focus and he couldn't seem to do that!"
"Is that why you replaced him? Because of his slacking off and refusing to take anything seriously?" Aurora sat up an bit straighter, her eyes going wide.
".. Not exactly, no. It was a bunch of issues that eventually piled up and boiled over." Ladybug made some gestures with her hands, trying her hardest to find the words but just letting out a long and pained sigh in the end. "I do enjoy my new partner now. He is more serious, more stable. I know he won't go off and pout if I deny something he wanted. I needed an entirely new team, as a matter of fact."
"Well I am going to say, on behalf of everyone here, that we're glad. We swear on our integrity as journalists that if such rumours were to ever surface again, we will do our proper research." Aurore beamed and many of the staff and crew behind the cameras nodded and gave Ladybug their thumbs up. Honestly, it warmed Ladybug's heart to see such support.
When had been the last time someone had supported her like this? Sure, her parents supported her, but her friends..? Her peers? No, none of them had supported her in a long time.
"Speaking of research, I'd say to stay away from the Ladyblog." It burned to say it but it had to be said. Alya had crossed so many lines it wasn't even forgivable at this point. She had gone too far, had betrayed too many.
"Wait, what?" Aurore nearly jumped out of her seat but quickly composed herself, taking a deep breath. "Pardon me Ladybug, but the Ladyblog has been a vital source of information since the very beginning."
"And I'm not denying that!" Ladybug quickly held up her hands, her eyes desperate now. "But please let me explain. The Ladyblog was amazing in the beginning, but like all things, it started to go astray. It was things like trying so hard to find out my identity. Trying to push that narrative of that whole superhero couple thing.. Ladyblogger Alya Césaire has proven time and time again that she is not trustworthy. I mean, I thought she was my biggest fan. Why does she keep pushing my words aside?"
Many people who watched the interview would agree. If you idolized someone, respected someone, truly looked up to them.. Why would you push aside their words, their wishes to try and push the narrative you're so convinced is true, but isn't there?
"And don't get me started on the whole Lila Rossi craze she seemed to be on now." At Ladybug's mention of Lila Rossi, both Estelle and Aurore had to keep from rolling their eyes. They knew all about the girl.
"You speak as if you are quite frustrated, Ladybug. What an odd reaction to your best friend." Aurore leaned forward a bit in her seat. Everyone else got to the edge of theirs. Ladybug only shook her head, looking utterly defeated.
"That's the thing, she isn't my best friend." It took everything to keep from satin that she hated her, that she had taken away her friends and her life. "The only times she's met Ladybug is when she's been akumatized, which has been around six or seven times at this point. And the other things she's claiming are so outlandish! Saving Jagged Stone's kitten from a airport runway? Clara Nightengale stealing her dance moves? And the Ladyblog just posts it out there, claiming every single story is true. I'm just scared that people are taking this one hundred percent seriously. That's why I had to drop Rena Rouge and Carapace from the team as they believed Lila Rossi over me. They didn't even try to confirm these rumours! And it hurts to think that one day, someone will take Lila's words seriously and get hurt. What if she says it's safe to dip strawberries in bleach? Or tells someone that she found a way to tame some kind of wild animal? Someone would get hurt because they believe her story and try it out for themselves!"
"My goodness, I can definitely see how that is a problem. Misinformation is very easy to spread thanks to the internet, so you being worried is a very relatable thing." Aurore nodded, then tilted her head ever so slightly. "Ladybug, do you know anyone who has taken her word seriously? This is besides the Ladyblog of course."
Ladybug closed her eyes briefly, mentally debating with herself before finally giving in. These things needed to be said.
"Collège François DuPont. Now I wasn't there personally, but I heard about this situation and looked into it. The entire situation was appalling. Apparently a student was found to have cheated, assaulted another student, and commited thievery. But the thing that stuck out is only one person saw her do all of these things; Lila Rossi. No investigation was done, no questioning other students. This student was then expelled immediately. Her teacher and her principal didn't even give her a chance. And from what people have been saying, Miss Rossi's behaviour is actively encouraged in that school. She misses countless days, no, months of school, claiming she's traveling. But when she was supposedly in Achu, doing whatever it was she was claiming with Prince Ali, I was fighting her akuma here in Paris on Heroes Day!"
"I was at school the day that happened. I knew the student that happened to. They're the nicest person in that school! Never a bad thing to say about anyone, always willing to help! I agree with you on how things were handled, it's a level of incompetence that is baffling." Aurore's hands slowly curled into fists as she remembered it all. She slowly shook her head. "The principal, their teacher, their class who backed up Rossi. It must have hurt them so much, made them feel so alone."
"That's why I want people to be more careful with what information they take as fact. It's so important, because stuff like that can lead people to a desperate place. They feel alone, like the entire world is against them. I wouldn't have let the principal and the teacher get away with that gross negligence in their jobs." Ladybug leveled her gaze directly to the camera. "People of Paris, please listen to what I am saying. I am here to be a hero, to protect you from the terror of Hawkmoth and to defeat him. But please, do not be like Principal Damocles, do not be like that teacher and her class at DuPont. Do your research, look up your facts. Do not let a liar lead you to do something dangerous and hurt yourself as well as others. Respect each other, talk and be honest. I swear on my life that I shall do the same. You are the people I swore to protect and I love. I am saying this all to protect you. And I'll hope you'll all forgive me for not protecting you sooner."
...
The interview rocked Paris. Ladybug speaking so openly about her frustrations, about the discrepancies in the Ladyblog and Lila Rossi had many people double checking the sources of everything they learned from that blog.
Alya could barely show her face as she made her way though the school hallways. Her reputation as a journalist had gone down the drain. People had basically started boycotting her blog, harrassing her, or trash talking her on other forums and sites. Even a lot of news outlets picked this up.
What hurt the most from that interview last night was Ladybug's words towards her, both as Rena Rouge and as Alya. Surely the heroine had to be mistaken, she had never beytrayed Ladybug! And that Oblivio incident, it was just to show Chat Noir and Ladybug that they were meant to be together!
Her family was upset with her. No, upset was too tame of a word. They were pissed.
"I can't believe she lied to us.."
"Well what do you expect from someone who keeps harrassing Ladybug?"
Alya flinched when she heard the whispers and rushed into Miss Buster's class. The entire class was there, all seated, all looking utterly miserable. Many of them looked as if they had been crying all night. A lot like she had.
"W-where's Miss Bustier?" Alya asked when she eyed the empty desk. Many of her classmates shot her glares, but didn't say anything about the interview last night. After all, they had no room to talk.
"She and Principal Damocles are with the school board now. We're getting a new teacher." Adrien was the one that spoke up. He looked utterly miserable. So unlike his usual self.
"Lila isn't coming back. She was pulled from school when her mother found out what happened." Alix muttered from her seat, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.
The class went quiet as they all internally contemplated how things had gotten like this. Their eyes focused on the door when it abruptly opened and Marinette came strolling in, carrying a box.
"Good morning everyone!" She said brightly, pretending not to notice the downcast expressions on their faces. She set the box on the teacher's desk before she turned towards them. "Oh? What's wrong everyone?"
".. Did you not watch the interview with Ladybug on 'Latest Buzz'?" Alya stared at Marinette, a bit dumbfounded by her friend's lack of awareness of the situation. She had been expecting Marinette to rush in with support and a fiery vengeance against those who had humiliated her best friend, maybe even a fresh pastry. But instead she was greeted with empty hands and a cheerful hello?
"Oh, well I haven't really had the time to watch much television. I mean, with my transfer papers, needing to plan out my new schedule with all of those new classes. Busy as a bee, that's me!" Marinette just beamed, giving Adrien a playful wink that had his stomach churning.
"Wait, transfering?" It was Rose that spoke up, her large eyes seeming impossibly large now. "Transfer what?"
"To my new school, of course." Marinette giggled and clasped her hands together. "I start on Monday."
"New school?!" Alya was on her feet and rushing towards Marinette. The others quickly followed, crowding around her. "What do you mean new school?! When did you ever say you were going to a new school?"
Marinette blinked, as if stunned, then tilted her head ever so slightly.
"I told you all last week, don't you remember?" Marinette tapped her lower lip, seeming to be wracking her brain before she abruptly snapped her fingers. "Oh! I forgot, you all were deep in conversation with Lila about her upcoming event with Jagged Stone and Clara Nightengale. You know, the one she said she'd be attending with Ladybug, since they're such good friends. Did she ever say how it went?"
All of the students shifted uneasily, suddenly seeming to refuse to meet her face.
Alix murmured something so barely audible, Marinette held a hand to her ear and leaned closer.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Lila was lying to us!" Alix snapped as her cheeks went a flaming red.
"About everything! She never knew Jagged Stone!" Juleka spat out in fury.
"Or Prince Ali!" Rose sniffled.
"And she wasn't friends with Ladybug? They were barely acquaintances!" Alya wailed out as tears welled up in her eyes.
But Marinette hardly reacted the way they were expecting. She just gave them a small smile and nodded.
"Oh, yeah. I know."
Alya sucked in a breath sharply.
"You knew..? But why did you never..?"
"Oh Alya, you silly forgetful thing. I told you the day she returned from her long 'trip', remember? I told you she was lying." Marinette gave Alya a smile that said 'oh you silly thing'. "But you told me that I should really check my sources. And I got tired of trying to bring up any lies, since that was always your response. So I decided to just stop. I mean, since you're such an inspiring, honest journalist you must double and triple check every source you come across and found every story to be true!"
Alya flinched and looked away, feeling the churning feeling in her gut again. No, the Ladyblog had been the only source for the stories. The. Only. One.
"And I'm sure all of you knew what you were doing! I mean, it makes sense; trusting the words of a complete stranger over someone you've known for a while now. Some of you since we were in diapers!" She focused her gaze on Nino and Kim, who had the grace to at least look ashamed.
"Marinette, you really should-" Adrien began, reaching out for the girl, but was cut off by her clapping her hands together.
"But it's alright! I decided that fighting with you all wasn't worth it, so I took Adrien's advice and took the high road! Don't bother exposing Lila, she isn't hurting anyone!" Marinette announced brightly, giving her hands a little wave.
The temperature in the classroom dropped by several degrees.
".. Adrien, she's kidding, right?" Nino glanced over at his friend, his eyes pleading for him to deny it all. But the sight of the blood draining from the model's face and the sweat starting to bead at his forehead told him everything he needed to know. "Dude.."
"How could you?! You knew this entire time and didn't even try to tell me?!" Alya rounded on Adrien, fury in her eyes.
"Now, now, don't get mad at Adrien. I'm sure he knew you all were going to do you research. Besides, it's not like this did anything bad for anyone." Marinette pressed a hand to her cheek, still grinning. "I mean, it's not like you all took her advice without doing any research. You didn't try the things she suggested without actually checking them out to be true, right? No one lost any scholarships or job opportunities. No one's relationships were ruined. No one was hurt."
The nauseous feeling spread to all of the class as the reality of everything caught up with them.
"I'm sure everything will go back to normal, right? I mean, I'm sure that that woman from the education bureau isn't here to fire Damocles and Bustier for their severe neglect in their duties. Expelling me with the most mediocre and shaky proof. Surely that's a school I should feel safe in! That I should be proud to be a part of. But alas, my preparations for my new school are already done, so oh well."
Marinette shrugged and adjusted her purse strap.
"Anyhow, I wish you all luck with the amazing things Lila has helped you to do! I know it must have been worth ignoring me and convincing me I was crazy. With all of the free time I've had, with you guys practically replacing me with Lila in the group, I've had tons of time to spend with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?!" Alya's eyes went owlishly wide as she gaped at Marinette. "But what about Adrien?!"
"Oh Alya, I fell out of love with Adrien forever ago." Marinette shook her head in an almost patronizing way that had Alya's cheeks burning with embarrassment. They didn't even pay attention to Adrien's noises of surprise. "I mean, you claimed I was jealous of Lila getting close to Adrien, that I should let the jealousy go. And you know what? You were right! So I decided Adrien wasn't worth the stress, the embarrassment.. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him straight. I thought he was the most perfect guy in the world! Goodness, did I learn my lesson!"
She giggled as if she found the entire thing amusing. She then beamed at the class.
"Well, ta-ta! I need to get back home and make sure everything is ready to go. I wish you all the best, I really do!"
They all watched, shellshocked as Marinette breezed out of the classroom like it was nothing. Like she wasn't leaving her friends, her school, her life behind. And they all would wonder exactly how badly they screwed up, if she could walk away do easily, without a care.
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inheritance . act one [diluc x reader]
inheritance act one of five: denial
arranged marriage royalty au prince!diluc x f!knight!reader
fic summary: you're the heir apparent's key to obtaining the throne you've sworn to protect since you were a child. but in barbatos' domain, where freedom reigns, you must first answer a question: is freedom found in the ability to spread your wings and take flight on mondstadt's winds or is freedom found in the ability to choose to remain flightless?
word count: 19.6k
warnings: alcohol, minor descriptions of wounds and violence, bleeding, pining, oblivious characters, no explicit nsfw, enemies(?) to lovers
fic masterlist
a/n: i’m happy it’s finally done! i’m so excited to share this with you all! i hope you like it. please post here to be on the taglist! characters may be ooc at first but they’ll grow into their rightful personalities, dw! <3
You first met Diluc when you were eight, the boy being two years older than you. It was an accidental meeting. Commoners like you weren’t supposed to be in the palace, but your father was one of the palace’s Royal Knights, assigned to protect the king and his royal family, even at the cost of his life. You were far too young to grasp the political implications of what “serving the throne” actually meant, just believing that it meant you got to run around in cool armor while slaying dragons.
At least, that’s what the colorful storybooks that littered the floor of your childhood room had told you.
The boy had seemed nervous. Much like you at that age, he was a true introvert at heart. His princely duties extended past such nerves as he was forced to cast human consternation and worries aside and extend his hand to you.
“I am Prince Diluc of Mond,” He proudly stated, mustering as much righteousness into his words that a ten-year-old was capable of doing.
You were too young to notice it yet, but such an act was false bravado on the prince’s behalf.
You shook his hand limply, unfamiliar with such formal gestures. A nudge from your father enforced the power dynamic that would persist between you and the prince for years to come, as your father reminded you to bow in respect. After bowing, you stayed quiet for a few more moments before being nudged gently by your father again. A confused look passed over your face before you remembered what you needed to do.
“Oh, I’m (Y/N)!” you giggled. “It’s nice to meet you!”
Diluc stared at you for a moment before a grin broke out onto his face. “My father wanted me to ask if you wanted to come play with my brother and I?”
You looked at Diluc before glancing up at your father for permission, who simply smiled and nodded his goodwill in return. In response, Diluc latched his hand around your wrist and the two of you ran down the hallway to go play pirates.
---
When you were fourteen, Diluc appeared in your life once more.
It’s amusing as to how quickly a mere second encounter can shatter fond memories developed prior.
“This is Knight (Y/L/N),” a fellow knight had introduced you to the prince. “Her duties will consist of protecting the royal family, with a focus on you, my prince.”
The redhead had simply scoffed, looking you up and down with distaste. If he remembered your brief childhood rendezvous, he failed to show it. His eyes glinted with annoyance and his lips curled slightly downwards, yet you bowed in respect, for you had sworn an oath of fealty to the kingdom. Whether the people you watched over agreed or disagreed with your methods mattered not to you, for you had been assigned to this position by the king himself. Anyone who ranked below him could not waver such undying loyalty, even if they were his son.
“She’s my bodyguard?” Diluc’s tone was one of disdain as he folded his arms. “She’s a child. I’d be better off protecting myself, especially since she doesn’t have a vision. I don’t want her.”
Your stoic expression matches Diluc’s slight frown, unshaken by his words. However, you couldn’t say the same for the knight that had re-introduced the two of you. Despite being much older and of higher rank than you, the poor man was shaking in his boots from being reprimanded by the king’s tempestuous son.
“My prince, with all due respect, she is the most promising knight out of the academy in many years. She’s an excellent fighter and chivalrous at heart. I can assure the king has picked only the best knight for you,” your fellow knight insisted as you remained steady.
“My father picked her?” Diluc’s voice softens almost imperceptibly, not having expected such information. “Very well then. Even if I do not believe she is of assistance, I have no capability to argue with one of my father’s orders.”
A wave of relief washes over your superior’s face upon Diluc’s concession. “Thank you, my liege,” He says, genuflecting in the prince’s direction before standing tall and saluting. Diluc’s crimson gaze turns to yours and presses his lips together in a slight frown.
“Well?” The prince snaps, seemingly expecting something of you as he folds his arms. Your stoic expression shatters as you raise an eyebrow. “Do you not have something to say to me as well?”
Oh. You finally understand. He’s not just having a bad day. He’s just an asshat.
“With all due respect, my prince,” You respond, finally breaking your silence. “I am not aware of any words of yours that deserve my gratitude. All three of us are merely following orders.”
You feign innocence at your contemptuous words, biting back a smirk as the haughty redhead glowers at you. The knight next to you looks as if he wants to run away. Sensing his discomfort, Diluc wordlessly waves him off and your eyes flicker away from Diluc’s vermillion gaze to watch the knight salute before marching off, leaving you and your new assignment alone together. Diluc looks you up and down once more, his eyes ablaze with ire at your mere presence.
“What is your name?” Diluc queries. His harsh tone contracts with the societal politeness embedded into his question.
“Royal Knight (Y/L/N), sir.” You respond with a quick salute. Diluc stares at you with a mixture of confusion and disgust.
“That is not what I meant. What is your first name?” He clarifies, his vocal inflection making it clear that such a notion should have been obvious to you from the beginning. “You are not a dog, I do not wish to refer to you in such a manner.”
Your lips remain neutral, but you can’t help the confused look that shows in your eyes. It was far too late for him to say such things. He had already treated both you and your superior with disrespect. Nonetheless, as he is a higher rank than you, you answered him. “(Y/N), sir.”
“Well, (Y/N), it appears that we are stuck together. It would be in your best interest not to slow me down,” His words are cavalier and cautionary, yet you discern a faint hint of hollowness in his words, as if he’s not exactly sure what to say or do with you.
You nod in response and give a slight smirk in hopes of easing the tension between the two of you. Diluc doesn’t smile back.
---
A year of being Diluc’s bodyguard (a position akin to being a glorified babysitter, except you have authorization to use lethal force) passes and you find a friend in the most unlikely of places: Diluc’s own brother, Kaeya. The blue-haired boy is a cheerful, charming spirit who took an immediate interest in you upon your first meeting.
“My older brother probably hates you,” He had said and you were unsure as to how to respond until he let out a laugh. “That’s okay. He hates almost everyone. I’m Prince Kaeya!”
Kaeya’s ability to find you on the castle grounds whenever your services are not needed for the elder prince is almost troubling. Any brief moment of peace you have often results in the persistent prince appearing at your side, excited to speak with you about whatever was going on in his life. Kaeya’s determination to become your friend, you soon realized, is rooted in the fact that the prince has little to no interaction with others of his age, something you had also noticed in Diluc’s own life upon your time watching him. Kaeya was not allowed the privilege to have friends his age, something you had taken for granted back in your hometown of Springvale.
“What are you thinking about?” Kaeya asks, the two of you sitting on a bench outside of the knight’s quarters. He bites into one of the apples he had brought along with him, soft crunching noises filling the the silence between you as you attempt to formulate a response.
“Well,” Your eyes flicker to the clusters of windwheel asters planted by the entrance to your residence building. “I am afraid my thoughts are not of much value at the moment.” You draw your words out in order to give yourself time to think of how to phrase your words. “At the moment, my thoughts are not very… kind.”
Upon your words, Kaeya’s blue eyes gleam with delight as he leans over closer to you. The boy has pestered you enough to know what such words mean, as they are not a slight to him, but rather disdainful of his older brother.
“Do share them,” Kaeya pleads, his tone eager to hear what complaints you may have about Diluc.
You flatten your hands on the flat surface of the stone bench behind you and look up into the cloudless blue sky, enjoying the feeling of the warm spring sun on your skin as you utter your next words, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Yes, yes!” Kaeya laughs, excitedly. “Share your vile thoughts so the world may cast their judgement upon the wicked sinfulness that reverberates in your mind!”
You snap your head to the boy next to you and stare at him with wide eyes at his words. The second your eyes meet his playful ones, the both of you break out into raucous laughter at his theatrics. His tone was haughty, mimicking many of the stuffy elites the two of you were surrounded by, including Diluc. At times like these, you were reminded that Kaeya was an outsider to the palace, just like you were, yet the hierarchy of the two of your duties separated you from him.
“Okay, okay,” You huff, trying to catch your breath from laughing. Kaeya simmers down upon realizing you are about to talk and looks at you expectantly, leaning slightly in your direction. “Yes, it’s about him.” The two of you burst into laughter once more.
“When is it not?” Kaeya giggles. “He’s so weird with you compared to how he acts with me.”
“That’s because you’re his brother. Of course he’s going to be nicer to you.” You explain before shaking your head slightly and swatting your hand through the air to signal that such a topic of conversation is something you did not wish to focus upon. “Anyways, today we were in another one of those stuffy formality meetings with some Inazuman diplomates. Y’know, those ones. And I’m standing by the door, keeping watch, like… it’s the usual kind of stuff I’m supposed to do. The meeting was supposed to be two hours, but Diluc’s refusal to compromise made the meeting run over it’s designated time by an hour. I swear, if not for the fact that it would cause an international scandal, Diluc and the diplomat guy would’ve started fighting each other.”
Kaeya’s eyebrows raise at your last statement and he laughs once more. “That’s Diluc for you. He means well but is awful at showing it to most people. He just… really believes in himself.”
“He shouldn’t,” You respond before clapping a hand over your mouth in shock as Kaeya roars with joy at your words, relishing in your loss of respect for the redheaded prince in your words. “I… I don’t mean it like that! I just mean… he’s still young. Such an unshakable perspective on international relations will only lead to foreign envoys viewing him poorly.”
“Yes, I wholeheartedly agree, but neither of us want to tell him this. He’d just scream at you and would give me the cold shoulder,” Kaeya muses as he outstretches a hand to you, offering one of the untouched apples he had brought along to you. You nod your appreciation and take the apple, piercing through its skin with your teeth as you bite into the red fruit.
“Prince Diluc does like to lecture his subordinates,” You agree after swallowing. “Especially me.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Kaeya advises with an optimistic smile. “If he’s willingly speaking to you at all, it means he likes you. He just does a piss poor job at showing it to anyone outside of the family.”
“Because he’s entitled.” You respond and Kaeya winks at you, gesturing his approval in your direction.
“Precisely! Now you’re getting it!”
---
On your sixteenth birthday, Diluc provides no well-wishes, but manages to give you the best present of all: a better attitude. His words are no longer infused with the disdain he once held for you, but rather coated with only a slight annoyance. With Diluc, you’ll take any improvement you can get. The change in his demeanor had left you reeling after a mere ten-word question, the whiplash from the complete upheaval of his attitude stunning you into silence.
“Would you care to go to the market with me?” Diluc had asked absentmindedly, focused on his paperwork at hand.
You had stood by the entrance to his personal study, warding off any unwanted visitors with your daunting presence and stoic demeanor. Despite how intimidating the other maids found you, Diluc had paid this unapproachable disposition of yours no mind, much to your gratitude. But as the rather innocent question fell from the prince’s lips, you couldn’t help but to look around and reassure that no one else had slipped into the room and evaded your watchful eye.
Diluc had given you a choice with his question -- an action he had never performed before.
Irked by your silence, Diluc set his pen down and looked up at you expectantly, folding his hands together and resting them on the desk in front of him. “Well?” He scoffed.
“Visiting Mondstadt’s main street would be nice,” You responded, unsure of your words. With Diluc, you were always unsure of your words. “Would you like me to assemble a party of knights to accompany us?”
Diluc let out a sigh and shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “I do not wish to attract unwanted attention with such procedures. I simply wish to get a breath of fresh air. Only your presence is requested, unless you believe it is unwise for me to leave with so few men by my side.” The boy’s words were inquisitive, holding an unfamiliar softness to him. The realization that the prince is genuinely seeking your approval of his plan caused you to bite back a smile in fear of spoiling his uncharacteristically pleasant mood.
Therefore, rather than rushing an answer to his response, you mulled it over. You had no reservations about your own fighting skills, having been chosen for your current position due to your highly proficient swordsmanship. Additionally, you knew of Diluc’s training with both his Pyro vision and his claymore, so you had few worries for the prince being able to handle his own. Both of these factors combined meant that you only had one issue to worry about.
“Well, according to protocol, a departure from the palace grounds would require multiple guards to be at your side,” You speculated, watching as Diluc’s shoulders fell slightly as he let out a huff of contempt. He lifted up his pen and prepared to work once more, but your additional words caused him to cease this motion. “But… I believe there is a way we can bypass these regulations, but I am not quite sure if you will enjoy it.”
Your plan leads to you standing in the main square of Mondstadt, hands clasped together as you watch a group of children run around the fountain. You are standing in your typical Royal Knight uniform with your weapon strapped to your back. At your side stands Prince Diluc, disguised as a fellow Royal Knight, much to his behest. His claymore rests upon his back, ready for him to wield should any evil-doers elected to make their presences known.
For Diluc, his cherry-colored hair and matching eyes do little to disguise him, but his typical introversion aids him, as the average Mondstadtian is unlikely to recognize their prince and, for those that do, are unlikely to believe that their prince is dressed up in Royal Knight attire and perusing the shops of Mondstadt with only one knight by his side. Your illicit plan, which involved smuggling a spare uniform into the castle then proceeding to sneak the prince wearing said uniform out of the castle, relies now upon one thing: the stupidity of your fellow citizens.
For your job’s sake, you pray to Barbatos that it works.
“I do not enjoy this outfit,” Diluc grumbles next to you, causing your attention to snap from watching the commoners of Mondstadt and instead to the prince of said kingdom. He pinches at some of the fabric on his leg, stretching it around in hopes of making the outfit more comfortable. You have never had any issues with said uniform, but then again, you aren’t a prince who has all of his clothes custom tailored to his build.
“To achieve true happiness, we all have to do things we don’t exactly like to do.” You chirp. Diluc’s aloof visage is now marred by furrowed eyebrows as he tries to decipher any potential hidden meanings behind your potentially parabolic words. However, you fail to give him proper time to ruminate, instead deciding to speak once more. “Where were you hoping to visit, sir?”
Diluc returns to his usual silence, but a faint flush that appears on his cheeks notifies you of his bashfulness.
“I’m… not sure,” He admits. If you did not have a code of conduct to follow, you would be screeching in delight at Diluc, the arrogant prince of Mond, finally admitting he does not know something. “I do not often have the chance to visit the heart of the city, especially in such a leisurely manner. However, you are from here, are you not?”
“I am from Springvale, sir.” You respond, forgoing your typical formality of my prince. After all, such a title would immediately blow Diluc’s cover. The redhead looks crestfallen at your words. “But… I resided in Mondstadt with my father while training to be a knight. I won’t be as good of a tour guide as a local, but I should be decent.”
“Do you know of any… eating establishments?” Diluc asks. You narrowly avoid sending a judgemental look his way at his wording. Did he not know they were called restaurants? Had Diluc never been to a restaurant? You were baffled.
“Do you prefer a to-go restaurant or a sit-down restaurant, sir?” You question and Diluc’s relaxed expression turns into one of befuddlement. Well, that answered the question if Diluc had ever experienced the basic societal activity that was eating at a restaurant. You knew royals were detached from society, but you never would have thought it to be this bad.
“Alright,” You say after a few beats of silence, smart enough to know that Diluc isn’t going to respond. The redhead’s expression returns to his typical indifferent one. “We’ll go to a sit-down restaurant, if that’s okay. A bit more expensive, but it’s probably the most immersive experience for eating at a restaurant for the first time.”
“I have been to a restaurant before,” Diluc lies, trying to save face as his cheeks begin to tint with pink upon realizing that you’ve seen right through him. You look at him blankly and his eyebrows twitch in annoyance upon his revelation that you weren’t buying his protests. “Fine, then. Lead the way.”
His typical annoyed tone is back. Well, kind Diluc was nice while it lasted, you think, rolling your shoulders slightly in preparation for his typical attitude. You nod in response and begin to walk. The prince matches your pace, determined to not fall behind someone of a lower rank than him.
---
You start to wonder if everyone in Mondstadt is pretending to be oblivious to the prince in their presence or if they’re actually just that stupid.
It’s a miracle that you managed to corral the prince’s confident attitude long enough to get him to sit down and order some food at The Good Hunter. Upon your arrival, Diluc managed to ignore the politely worded “Please wait to be seated” sign and started to walk past the hostess table, determined to seat himself. You had to pull him back to you by yanking his arm, an action that surely would have made Diluc lecture you for fifteen minutes, if not for the fact that he was still undercover. Instead, he settled for a scathing glare which only worsened as you gestured at the sign in front of the two of you.
Additionally, the prince was baffled by the entire ordering process, especially upon you informing him that it would take upwards of thirty minutes to receive your food. He was put off by the fact the chefs wouldn’t drop everything just to serve him first, to which you had simply taken a sip of your drink and not responded to such opinions. Now, the two of you were sitting in silence as your gaze fluttered around the restaurant and any passerbys, analyzing for potential threats. You found comfort in the silence as you were used to standing vigilant and quiet through your duty as Diluc’s personal Royal Knight.
“You are quiet,” Diluc states, his words almost an accusation. You look at him inquisitively, your gaze moving from the entrance to his red hues. You tilt your head slightly at his statement, signalling your confusion at his words. Diluc lets out a huff, bothered by your petulant, purposefully silent response. “You never speak unless if spoken to.”
“Would you prefer if I talk more, sir?” You ask. After all, you served the throne, which extended to Diluc. Any wish of his was your command, even if you thought he was generally an uppity, self-absorbed jerk. His eyes narrow slightly.
“I typically appreciate your silence,” Diluc confesses. It doesn’t feel like a compliment. “But now? It is quite irritating.” The prince stares you down, awaiting your reply.
“If I may ask, sir, why is such a thing irritating?” You question, turning your gaze back to the entrance as you speak. “I am merely observing the building for any potential threats to your life.”
“Look around, (Y/N),” Diluc says exasperatedly, as if his answer should be obvious. Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing, you think bitterly, but elect to keep such thoughts to yourself. “Everyone here is speaking with someone else. Such social interactions are a simplicity of life commoners take for granted. The ability to speak freely with a non-familial companion is something I envy.”
Your gaze snaps back to the prince and you raise your eyebrows. “Is a wish for such companionship why you wished to go to the market, sir? To be a part of the lower citizenry?”
The prince breaks from staring at you, instead electing to study his hands in his lap, flustered by such a straightforward question. “I wish to better understand my subjects, yes. But I also wish to have the same liberties as them. I long for the freedom for platonic association with others of my age.”
“So…” You trail off for a second, lost in thought. “You want friends?”
The prince smiles bitterly at his friends. “Yes,” He answers truthfully. The single word is imbued with intense envy. “Everyone in my life, apart from my father and my brother, is placed in my life to placate me, rather than to accompany me.”
Your eyebrows raise briefly at his confession, perplexed as to why the prince is being so forthright and honest with you. For a split second, you wonder if the prince is swallowing his pride and asking to be your friend, but you quickly shoo such a childish thought out of your brain. You quickly determine that the prince isn’t interested in friendship, but rather wishes to use his subordinates, such as yourself, to fill the void in his heart. You decide to placate him nonetheless with a soft smile.
“Companionship is what you make of it,” You suggest, leaving your words vague as you lean back against your seat, crossing your arms and returning to watching the interest. The two of you fall into a silence once more, before Diluc speaks once more.
“I do not know much about you.” The redhead states. “Where are you from?”
For a man who wanted friends, he’s awfully bad at remembering information about his companions, you think. But you’ll gladly take the forced conversation with Diluc over him barking orders and insults at you all the time. You are well aware that you’ve sworn to protect the throne, even at the cost of your life, but you can’t help the desire for freedom from such burdens that swims in the depths of your mind.
“Springvale,” You echo absentmindedly. You barely hold yourself back from asking where he’s from, even if it would be funny to see his face twist in frustration at your teasing. “I was born there, but moved away at the age of ten to begin training to be a Knight of Favonius. Things changed and I ended up as a Royal Knight instead.”
Diluc’s interest is piqued at your words. You can’t help the feeling of discomfort that washes over you upon the sudden realization that you’re having a friendly conversation with your superior, a man who can barely tolerate your presence on a good day. He seems to be trying, though, and you can’t help but sympathize with his loneliness. As his personal guard, you’d be the first to say that Prince Diluc has very few friends.
“Why did you elect to become a Royal Knight rather than a Knight of Favonius?” Diluc asks, his crimson eyes staring at you.
“Permission to speak freely?” You requested, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. The question that you constantly asked his younger brother was now difficult to get out. Diluc’s eyes widen slightly, startled at your request, but his relaxed visage quickly returns, disguising his emotions once more.
“Permission granted.” Diluc says. The words feel jarring coming from him and you can tell he feels the same discomfort you do at this sudden change in professionalism between the two of you, yet he makes no move to change the topic of conversation or to stop you from speaking.
“My personal view on the Knights of Favonius is that…” Your words sound distant as you try to find the proper way of phrasing what you need to say. “They’re inefficient. Most of the Knights within Ordo Favonius prefer to serve themselves rather than the community of Mondstadt as a whole. They’re there because it’s a well-paying job. They dislike anything that threatens their reputation and job security.”
At that moment, you had no idea how seriously Diluc would take your words and the lasting impact such a confession would have on him.
---
You’re seventeen when you encounter the worst threat to the palace yet. You had been alone, forced to fight an Abyss Mage who had breached Mondstadt’s walls and headed in the direction of the palace. You had destroyed its shield by throwing a rock at a nearby exploding barrel on the wall. The resulting explosion had alerted nearby knights of the Abyss Mage’s presence, but the creature’s Cryo magic had severely frostbitten your arm before any help could arrive. In return, you had wielded your sword with a single hand and delivered the killing blow to the creature.
The Knights of Favonius weren’t happy with your decision to kill the creature, stating that having an abyss mage in their possession could have been a valuable resource. Helping the Knights of Favonius with their research wasn’t your job -- protecting the throne was. Therefore, you had no regrets about your decision to kill the gremlin who had almost taken your arm.
You sit on a bed in the Cathedral’s infirmary as a healer frets over your arm, using the power of their Anemo vision to speed up the healing process. The frostbite was recoverable, they had told you, but it would likely result in permanent scarring. To ensure full use of your arm would return, you were recommended to take a leave of absence from your protective duties in the palace for the following month.
While you were happy to be alive, you were irritated that such a situation would put you out of work for the next month. Sure, your position wasn’t the greatest, but it was a stepping stone to a better position within the Royal Knights, such as becoming one of the king’s personal knights or one of the organizers of palace operations. The organization itself focused on palace operations, which meant there wasn’t much room for growth as compared to the Knights of Favonius, who protected Mondstadt’s citizenry.
A month out of work meant a month less of progress in your career and, more importantly, a month less of protecting the throne you had sworn your life to protect. Your fate of becoming a knight was a decision you had made at a young age, clueless and starry-eyed, as you watched your father perform his duties around the palace. He had been a high-ranking Royal Knight, one of King Crepus’s personal entourage. He had wholeheartedly believed in everything the throne of Mond stood for, declaring that the throne protected the freedom of Mond’s people and fulfilled Barbatos’s wishes. As you trusted and idolized your father, you also inherited his same ideologies, locking you into a permanent life of duty as you swore to help defend Mond’s royal family from harm.
You had made that promise when you were ten and had yet to doubt it, seven years later.
The door to your infirmary room swings open and you watch the healer, still fussing over your arm as he applies new bandages, jump slightly at the unexpected intrusion. Despite the pain medications that the Sisters had given you before the healer began his work, your arm still throbs in pain, causing you to let out a hiss as the healer moves your arm in the midst of his surprise. He mutters a slight apology, but you’re more distracted by the intruder.
Your eyes widen in surprise, not having expected the intruder to be none other than Prince Diluc. His eyes flicker to your arm and, despite how the pain medication swirls your vision and jumbles your thoughts, you can see the irked disappointment in his eyes at your injury. Such a wound only results in inconvenience for him as he now needs to have a temporary replacement knight, who is unfamiliar with his typical protocols and routines. The prince lets out a long sigh.
“What? My supposed best knight is unable to handle some cryo slimes?” Diluc scoffs derisively.
Since your birthday last year, your relationship with Diluc has improved somewhat. Speaking to him often resulted in stiff, awkward conversation, but it is an upgrade from before, where talking to the prince in an amicable manner wasn’t even an option. More often than not, it would be the prince initiating awkward conversation between the two of you, not quite sure how to interact with someone his age outside without the use of diplomatic charm. The prince, just under two years older than you, didn’t seem interested in being your friend, but you also weren’t sure what to make of his platonic advances.
But now, as you sat in the Cathedral’s infirmary, you realized Diluc wasn’t here to provide friendship. He was just here to lecture you about your mistake of choosing to fight an Abyss Mage, about how you should’ve just let another knight deal with him, and about how you should have sacrificed the potential safety of the throne for his immediate comfort.
“Wasn’t any slimes,” Your lips are heavy as you struggle to form the words without slurring them together. “Was an Abyss Mage. Cryo one.” Your mind churns as you try your absolute hardest to focus on the situation at hand. Diluc’s in the room, you remind yourself as you fight the urge to slump back and fall asleep. You stare at Diluc, eyelids drooping with fatigue. You notice your fresh bandages turning red once more, causing the healer to sigh and apply more to your arm.
The prince is silent, but you see a quick flash of fear pass over his face, followed by an expression of concern. Both emotions are short-lived as he readjusts his posture and presses his lips into a frown, crosses his arms, and shifts his weight onto one leg.
“You should not have fought an Abyss Ma-,” He begins, but a loud bark of a laugh erupts from your system, interrupting him.
“H… Have you ever fought anything?” Your words are accusatory and borderline incoherent, but the narrowing of Diluc’s eyes lets you know that he understood what you had just said. “All… all you do is sit around! And… and… and you waste your vision! Everyone does everything… for you… I fight to protect you… your family… I don’t want to get injured, but here I am…”
The healer, upon realizing that you’re disrespecting the crown prince of Mond, wordlessly excuses himself from the situation and slips past Diluc to exit the room. Diluc parts his lips, ready to speak again, as a scowl crosses his face at your disrespectful words. However, before the redhead can speak once more, you raise a shaky hand, holding up your middle finger to the prince.
“If you’re… if you’re just gonna lecture me for… risking my life… for you… eat shit.” You manage to say, words garbled. You relish in the widening of Diluc’s eyes as he opens his mouth to yell before closing your eyes and promptly falling asleep, slumping over on the infirmary bed.
---
You awoke the next day with no recollection of the prior day’s events, except an innate sense of satisfaction, as if you had gotten something off your chest. Nervous that you had potentially said something foul to someone you shouldn’t have, you awaited a formal reprimanding of your unknown actions, but never received one.
Now, two weeks in, you’re finally getting back to normal as you water the plants outside of the knight’s quarters, having been assigned to take care of the landscaping today. Despite the tasks being relatively easy, they took you a while to complete due to one of your arms being stuck in a sling. You crouch over, trying to balance as you lean forward to water one of the red flowers stuck in the back of the arrangement.
“Hey!” A voice calls, causing you to drop the watering can in surprise, the water sloshing over your feet and onto the cobblestone around you. You lose your balance and fall backwards, landing on your butt, but before you can lecture the person who scared you, you feel two hands place themselves on each side of your waist.
“Up we go!” A familiar voice sings before hoisting you up to stand back on your own two feet. You turn around and narrow your eyes at him, placing the hand holding the empty watering can on your hip. The blue-haired boy before you smiles unabashedly, utterly pleased with himself. “Anything to save a damsel in distress!”
“Yeah, I’m definitely defenseless,” You grumble sarcastically as the boy takes the watering can from you. His physique has changed over the years due to his interest in becoming a high ranking Knight of Favonius, but both his azure eyes still gleam with childlike mischief. He nudges your uninjured arm playfully.
“Aw, cheer up! You’re the toughest one-armed fighter I know!” Kaeya jests. You roll your eyes in response, biting back a smirk at his antics.
“I’m the only one-armed fighter you know.” You respond as Kaeya gently grabs your wrist and guides you to the bench where the two of you typically sit.
“Two weeks ago. What happened?” Kaeya asks, gesturing to your arm. You tilt your head, confused at his question. Surely he’s heard about it by now..? You think to yourself.
“An Abyss Mage got past Mondstadt’s outer walls, I was on break when I saw it, and I had to fight it, sir.” You explain quickly, but Kaeya simply shakes his head in response.
“No, not that! What happened in the infirmary?” His voice is teasing, but your blood can’t help but run cold at his words. Your intuition that something had happened between the time you arrived at the infirmary and before you fell asleep was correct. Much to your chagrin, you hadn’t been able to remember your actions, but apparently they were remarkable enough for the younger prince to have heard about them.
You let out a groan and rub your free hand over your face, already mortified by your actions that you had no recollection of. Kaeya lets out a laugh.
“Diluc visited you,” He explains, causing you to let out an even louder, more obnoxious groan. You lean forward on the bench, resting your elbow in your knee and cradling your forehead in your uninjured hand.
“Oh gods, what did I say?” You whined. After years of friendship with the younger prince, he had insisted you no longer be so formal with him. Honorifics slipped into your speech on rare occasions, but you generally spoke to Kaeya in the same way you would speak to your friends back home in Springvale.
Kaeya laughs at your theatrics. “Well, you weren’t very nice. You told him to, and I quote, ‘eat shit’ if he wanted to yell at you.”
You let out a noise of horror and Kaeya’s laughter at your embarrassment shakes his whole body. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, the younger prince is absolutely delighted in your misery at the situation at hand.
“That’s not all! You also gave him the middle finger!” Kaeya giggles, nudging you as you continue your woeful theatrics. “You didn’t even use the right finger. You were trying to give him the middle finger but you used your pointer finger!”
You want to die. Heat is rising to your face so quickly that you swear you are going to faint. Kaeya pauses as your theatrics die down as you begin to hyperventilate, panicked at the situation at hand. Not only did you tell the crown prince to eat shit, you had also attempted to give him an inflammatory gesture and managed to mess up said gesture. Your career was over, you would become a disgrace to the nation, and, at the worst, you could be thrown in jail for such disrespect to the royal family.
You were a disgrace to the royal throne you swore your life to serve.
Heaving air in and out, you sit up, trying to keep your balance and not pass out from stress. Your eyes brim with tears and Kaeya looks at you in alarm. His hand finds your back, rubbing soothing circles that do little to placate your panic.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” He tries to soothe over your worries. “Someone had to tell Diluc that at some point!”
You let out a choked sob, leaning over once more. “T… that doesn’t help,” You whimpered. Kaeya’s blue eyes stare at your hunched over form, his blue irises swimming with regret and distress at your current state.
“Um… my dad found it funny?” Kaeya tries once more. Your sobs only worsen, causing Kaeya to clench his teeth at his own words.
“The king even knows about my irreverent actions?” You cry and Kaeya’s stress upon seeing your own stress only worsens. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in for a side-hug, rubbing his hand up and down on your shoulder in a calming manner. “You’re not in trouble, Diluc’s not mad… anymore, at least.”
Your crying turns into soft sniffles and Kaeya thanks Barbatos that he was able to calm you down. Wiping your tears away with the back of your hand, you let out a shaky sigh.
“I can’t believe I did that,” You breathe and Kaeya lets out a soft, reassuring chuckle.
“We all make mistakes, plus you were on some heavy medication!” He pauses as you look over at him and bites his lip slightly, as if he wants to say something more. You look at him expectantly and he lets out a soft sigh of defeat at your watery eyes pleading for him to continue. “Plus… I think Diluc kinda likes it when you yell at him.”
“You’re gross,” You whine, voice still wet with tears, but you manage out a soft laugh after your words. “No, he doesn’t.”
“You’d be surprised about how he feels about you,” Kaeya teases, but you detect faint traces of sincerity and, if you focus hard enough, jealousy. Rather than dwelling on hidden meanings, you elect to take the blue-haired boy’s words at face value, nudging him back and giving him a look of faux disgust before letting out a soft giggle. He laughs and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re so much prettier when you laugh, (Y/N)!”
You let out a soft laugh at his words, “Yeah, I’m sure I look spectacular right now.”
---
Diluc spots you from afar, recognizing your familiar figure crouched over windwheel asters in front of the knight’s chambers. He’s perusing the grounds on a routine walk as his bumbling replacement Royal Knight clambers after him in your absence. The replacement knight is lanky and nervous, filling comfortable silence with nervous chatter, despite Diluc’s best attempts to dissuade him from such actions. He’s an archer with barely enough arm strength to pull the bowstring back.
The red-eyed prince would never admit it to anyone, but he missed you. Not only did you make Diluc feel far more secure than the inept oaf that could barely keep up with him, but Diluc also missed your presence. He missed how you would speak with a slight edge to your tone, adding a dual meaning to your respectful words. Diluc missed the challenge you would provide him.
Even if he was on his deathbed, Diluc would never admit how his heart rate quickened and how heat rose to his face when you yelled at him with the disdain he always showed you. He would never admit how worried he was when you immediately passed out after doing so, blood seeping past your haphazardly applied bandages and spilling onto the floor. No, Diluc would never admit how his thoughts over the last two weeks had primarily consisted of you, even though the two of you had not yet spoken.
Diluc wasn’t sure what to make of his thoughts, nor his altered emotions when you were around. Despite the fact that his tempestuous attitude made him detest the way you were constantly on his mind, a larger part of him wished to keep you close and have you serving the throne at his side once again.
The blundering knight catches up to Diluc as the redhead’s brisk pace slows to a halt as he observes you. After an unknown amount of time, the knight clears his throat, snapping Diluc out of his reverie. The redhead watches you for a moment more. His stomach churns as he watches his younger brother approach you, hold you close, and make you laugh.
Diluc isn’t sure what this feeling that’s gnawing away at his stomach is. A part of his brain tells him that it’s obvious, but Diluc denies such obvious truths, knowing he, one of royal blood, would feel such an emotion over a mere commoner and subordinate of his. Watching you with Kaeya, however, brings an immense frustration to the forefront of Diluc’s thoughts. A scowl forms on the crown prince’s face as he whips his head to the direction of the inept fool that’s been assigned to protect him.
“Let’s go,” He snaps. The knight shakily salutes in response, his composure shaken yet again by Diluc’s sour temperament.
---
Two more weeks pass and you’re officially freed from the restrictions placed upon your duties. After passing a clearance test at the Cathedral which resulted in the destruction of multiple training dummies, you were cleared for full duty as a Royal Knight once more. You were thrilled to be free from the chains of the menial labor you had been assigned for the last month and excited to get back to work, but such feelings were also accompanied with unease. You had a pit in your stomach at the thought of going back to serve the prince that you had so blatantly deprecated.
But, nonetheless, you enter Diluc’s chambers, your typical neutral expression adorning your face. The prince looks up from his desk, slightly startled by the intrusion, but a brief smirk crosses over his face at your presence before returning to a stoic expression, almost as if he was mimicking your own. He parts his lips to speak, but before he can, you drop yourself down on one knee, genuflecting in his direction. You don’t make eye contact, electing to stare down at your knee instead.
“Please forgive my spiteful words I uttered upon our last meeting, my liege,” You request, uttering the words you had practiced many times in the mirror this morning while getting ready. “I was not in the right frame of mind.”
Diluc stares down at you, expression unreadable. The silence is nearly unbearable, suffocating you as the tendrils of embarrassment and shame swirl up your legs, around your torso, and settle on your throat before pressing down, choking you of air. You feel a flush of heat rise to your face as the seconds tick on. You’re unsure if the prince is going to speak at all, let alone forgive you, but your doubts are quelled as he clears his throat.
You look up at him to see narrowed crimson hues staring down at you sternly.
“Very well. Do not say such things ever again,” Diluc warns. You jump to your feet and salute in his direction.
“Yes, sir!” You respond and the prince lets out a huff before returning his attention to the papers on his desk once more. You move to stand watch by the door, but the prince clearing his throat once more has you turning around to look at him again.
“Oh, and (Y/N)?” Diluc questions and you brace yourself, ready for him to unload his anger upon you. However, he does no such thing. “I have a meeting at nine with some Sumerian scholars interested in Mondstadt’s alchemic discoveries. Don’t let me be late.” The redhead doesn’t look up, already having begun moving his pen across the papers in front of him once more.
“Understood, sir.” You respond as you reach your typical spot by the door. You bite back a smile as you stand guard.
---
Over the next several months, you notice major changes in Diluc’s demeanor and attitude towards you. The prince is more confident, but in a less suffocating, arrogant manner, but rather a more charming manner. He remains an introvert, but his diplomatic meetings end up with far better results due to him learning to navigate the rough tides of foreign relationships and his mastering of hollow platitudes to placate any overseas dignitaries. He’s no longer a brash and tempestuous presence in the field of international relations, but one made of falsified smiles and foreign appeasement.
For once, you look at Diluc and see not only a prince, but the rightful heir to the throne.
The change isn’t instantaneous, but for Diluc’s personality to have made such a massive change in such a short time, you realize that there must be something the prince is trying to work toward or someone he desires to impress. Despite being at his side for almost his entire day, from when he starts work in the morning to when he retires to his chambers at night, you aren’t entirely sure what his motivation is.
You figure it’s likely something his father said to him, due to their frequent meetings you aren’t present for. Even from your earliest days working as Diluc’s bodyguard, you could tell he valued his familial relationships above all else. While he often remained hot-tempered with Kaeya, his relationship with his father was amicable and one Diluc cherished. From the few times you had been in King Crepus’s presence, the king had showcased what the throne of Mond should stand for; he put the freedom of his constituents first and reigned only to ensure order and protection for the people within Mond.
Your few interactions with the king had such a positive impact on you that they, along with your father’s actions, spurred you to join the Royal Knights. You could only imagine what type of influence the king’s constant presence had on Diluc.
Most noticeably of all, however, was Diluc’s attitude towards you. He was no Kaeya in terms of charm nor friendliness, but silences between the two of you were no longer forced and neither was conversation. The crown prince was more attentive to which types of conversation seemed to genuinely interest you, as compared to forced small talk. He also understood that silence wasn’t a form of punishment, nor did it signal that he was angry.
You wonder if he changed due to your conversation at the infirmary. Diluc lectured you less, sent less scornful looks your way, and insulted your skills less frequently. The changes had been so subtle that you hadn’t noticed how Diluc had blurred the lines between being a person whom you guard only due to obligation to someone you would protect without hesitation until the two of you browse Mondstadt’s yearly winter market together.
Diluc’s carmine irises glint with the reflection of the white Christmas lights adorning the square as he peered into the windows of a bakery. He seems quietly enraptured by a miniature palace that sat in the center of the cakes and other delicacies, made out of gingerbread. As you turn to look around at everyone else, ever vigilant, you notice the prince suddenly snap his gaze away from the display and look around wide-eyed.
You begin to reach for the hilt of your sword that rests on your back, but you freeze when Diluc’s vision stabilizes on you. His stance relaxes and the redhead offers you a small smile before waving for you to come over. You drop your hand that now rests on the hilt of your blade to your side and begin to walk over, watching as Diluc stares at you in slight confusion before letting out a soft laugh.
At that moment, you realize something that fourteen-year-old you would have loathed you for saying: you would call Prince Diluc a friend.
“Have you ever had gingerbread before?” Diluc asks, turning his gaze from you to read the label underneath the castle.
You nod your head. “It’s made with um… cinnamon… cloves… not sure what else, but the gingerbread in the window’s probably crunchy and… not really sweet? It relies on the taste of the spices within it, not sugar.”
The prince looks thoughtfully at the gingerbread palace once more. “I know what gingerbread is, but do people really eat these… ornate structures?” His tone is confused, but sincere. You let out a soft laugh of amusement. The old Diluc would have interpreted it as an act of derision, but current Diluc simply awaits your answer.
“Oh, that’s a tradition to put them into houses and buildings and such, but you can also shape it into little gingerbread men. Those are my favorite! Typically the smaller decorations are eaten first, but people don’t really eat the big houses,” You elaborate, excited to talk about the desserts as you also ogle the gingerbread display. Diluc looks at you halfway through your speech and smiles softly at your warm tone, pleased to have evoked such a reaction from you.
“Wait out here,” Diluc orders and, before you can protest, the crown prince slips into the shop, the bells on its door chiming softly as he enters. You stand by the door, your gaze moving from peering through the glass at Diluc to watching the commoners walk by. Only a few moments later, the bells chime once again as Diluc exits. A small paper bag is in his hand and he opens it up.
“Hold out your hand,” He orders in a sharp tone while looking into the bag. You comply, flattening your hand and holding it in front of you. Diluc plops a small gingerbread man in your hand. “It reminded me of you.”
The cookie is a traditional knight dressed in armor and is decorated with royal purple frosting and a white sword in its left hand. You stare at it for a moment, before a wide grin breaks out on your face, shattering your aloof expression.
“Thank you,” You murmur softly. Diluc’s cheeks flush red at your praise, but you attribute such a change in his appearance to be caused by the temperature change from exiting the warm building.
---
Diluc, you have come to find, is easily distracted by storefronts. Even his stoic demeanor cannot hide the childlike awe in his eyes when he sees something interesting in a window display. He’s dragged you in and out of numerous stores after being enraptured by objects in the windows. It’s bad enough that the both of you are now carrying bags of various trinkets he’s purchased with his seemingly limitless funds. Diluc, you note, doesn’t seem to get out much.
While you enjoy the chance to shop and explore Mondstadt’s seasonal festivities, you do not enjoy the snowfall that coats your hair and uniform as you wait outside each shop, standing watch. Despite being bundled up in layers, you’re still cold from standing still for so long.
Diluc exits yet another shop and stifles a yawn. “I believe I should head back now. It’s getting late,” He mutters and you simply nod in response, following his lead as he begins to walk back to the castle. The two of you walk in silence as the chatter of Mondstadt’s civilians and the crunching of your shoes on freshly fallen snow fill the gaps.
After a few minutes of trying to hold it in, you can’t help but shiver at the cold. You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, embarrassed that a knight of your stature is shivering due to cold, and it only multiplies as Diluc suddenly stops next to you.
“Are you cold?” The redhead asks, his gaze intense.
“No,” You lie, shaking your head. His eyes narrow.
“Take my scarf,” He orders, but you shake your head once more.
“I couldn’t possibly do such a thing,” You refuse politely, but Diluc isn’t having any of it.
“You’re cold, therefore take the scarf,” His explanation is rough and laced with the typical tone of annoyance you’re all too familiar with. He begins to unwind his scarf from around his neck.
“It’s my duty to ensure your comfort,” You protest. “Therefore, you keep the scarf as you should stay warm.”
“It would make me more comfortable if you wore the scarf instead.” Diluc argues and you swear you see his eye twitch slightly. “Plus, what kind of prince would I be if I let my constituents suffer on my behalf?”
Bullseye. He knew right where to hit you, despite his irate and annoyed tone. That bastard knew to appeal to your sense of honor in order to get you to do something. Begrudgingly, you hold out your hand to take the scarf, but before you can stop him, Diluc’s stepping close to you and wrapping the scarf around your neck for you. He forms two loose loops around your neck and you can feel his breath on your face as he looks at your neck. The prince’s leather-gloved fingertips brush against your neck as he adjusts the scarf and you watch his eyes narrow slightly in concentration as he fixes the scarf.
“There,” He almost sneers upon deciding that the scarf’s placement was adequate enough. “Now was that so hard?” Without waiting for your response, the prince turns and continues walking back to the castle. You pause for a moment, flustered, before jogging after him slightly to catch up.
The two of you continue your walk in silence, but the warmth of the scarf does nothing to eliminate the chill of the blade strapped to your back, reminding you that your and Diluc’s relationship is no more than one of contractual obligation.
---
Diluc’s kind behavior lasts for about two more years. The prince, now twenty, departs Mondstadt’s capital for three weeks, without you by his side. Diluc is now under protection of the king’s guards and a squadron of the Knights of Favonius as his father accompanies him on the journey to Fontaine, meaning that you get an extended vacation from your royal duties. You visit your home in Springvale during this break, aching to get back to work as the lack of activities slowly begins to drive you mad.
Your birthday occurs within this break period and, much to your surprise, a bouquet of red carnations is delivered to your doorstep as a gift from the prince himself. Diluc had never done such a gesture before and you ignore the way your heart beats a tad bit faster as you read the note settled amidst the beautiful, deep carmine blossoms. You recognize Diluc’s penmanship instantly as you spot the words ‘Happy birthday, (Y/N).’ sprawled across the card.
You smile softly to yourself and tuck the card back into the bouquet before admiring the blossoms. Brushing your fingers over the petals with a featherlight touch, you opt to set the vase on your dining room table rather than admire it for much longer. You’re certain a bouquet such flowers, considered exotic in Mondstadt, costs more than double your paycheck. You do not wish to dwell on such a thought for too long.
When your mother arrives home later that night, she pops her head into your room to say hello, a knowing smirk gracing her features.
“Who sent the flowers?” She asks in an amused tone as you bookmark the page of the book in your hands and close it in order to pay full attention to her. “Are you dating someone that I don’t know about?”
“Yuck, that’s weird,” You let out a soft laugh. “No, they were sent by the prince for my birthday.”
“Prince Diluc or Prince Kaeya?” Your mother asks, a mixture of surprise and concern in her voice.
“Prince Diluc,” You clarify, raising your eyebrows at her tone. “Why?”
“Red carnations have an… interesting meaning,” Your mother, a florist, explains. “...Interesting birthday gift.” You shrug off her implication and open up your book again, not wanting to hear your mother’s crazy theories about meanings of the flower bouquet.
“He probably just picked them because he likes the color red. Don’t sweat it too much,” You say absentmindedly, the pages of your book already drawing you back into reading. Your mother giggles, excusing herself from the conversation as she trots down the hallway.
For your own sanity, you choose not to dwell on her words. You planned to thank Diluc for his kindness
---
The nation is in mourning.
Diluc had returned last night, bloodied and traumatized, from his trip to Fontaine. Alongside of him, only half of the Royal Knight and Knight of Favonius combined unit that accompanied the royal family returned as well. The most notable absence, however, was King Crepus himself. Rumors immediately spread like wildfire, ranging from the idea of Diluc having killed the king to seize the throne all the way to a Fatui attack on the royal family. You’re doubtful that such outlandish notions are true.
The official declaration the following day proves you to be correct; the palace announces that the royal caravan had been attacked by a dragon, resulting in King Crepus’ death, the death of seven Royal Knights, and the death of three Knights of Favonius. Even the typically lively center of Springvale is no louder than a quiet whisper the following day as the nation grieves the loss of its leader and loyal knights.
Your heart hurts for both of the princes, knowing how difficult it is to lose a parent. You can only imagine how much harder it is when their next moves and responses to their father’s death will only become fodder for royal gossip. The throne, which you had sworn to protect, was now vacant, but such an event had been out of your hands. You hadn’t been allowed to accompany the royal family on their journey and, without a vision, you would have likely been killed if you had gone anyways.
However, upon the palace’s announcement of the king’s death, it was also announced that Prince Diluc would not immediately be crowned due to “unforeseen stipulations” King Crepus had left behind in his will. This information, of course, immediately became gossip amongst the townsfolk, ranging from Diluc needing to find a bride before marrying to ideas that Diluc needed to obtain an Anemo vision before being allowed to lead the nation. You were wary about such ideas and figured Diluc had prepared for whatever requirements his father had left for him.
Three days after the death of King Crepus, each Royal Knight, including yourself, receives orders that they no longer work at the palace. Ordo Favonius takes over these claims, allowing any Royal Knight to join their ranks. You want to believe that Diluc wouldn’t just shut you out like this, but you know better. Diluc never wanted any Royal Knights by his side and, after his father’s death due to a lack of adequate knights, certainly wouldn’t want a visionless personal guard. You had almost died fighting an Abyss Mage, for archon’s sake. How would you be able to protect Diluc from a dragon?
The death of his father meant the end of your contract with the prince. You knew this would happen one day. You ignore the feelings of sadness that blossom in your chest at such a thought, contributing them to the (hopefully) temporary end of the Royal Knights as an organization. Your sadness is not over your lack of connection with the elder prince, you tell yourself, but rather grief over the career path you had sworn to follow upon finishing training.
Once Diluc sets his mind to something, it’s almost impossible to sway him from such thoughts. Therefore, ignoring the clenching of your heart, you sign away your future to the Knights of Favonius and agree to participate in a training assessment in order to determine your new title and which sector you would join the ranks of within Ordo Favonius.
Your only regret about the time with the Knights is that you did not have a chance to say goodbye to either prince.
---
A week later, you receive your placement within the Knights of Favonius. Despite your lack of expertise in such an area, you had been appointed to the Cavalry Unit within the Knights of Favonius ranks. You weren’t unfamiliar with a horse; you had scored highly on your cavalry usage exams in training. However, you hadn’t ridden one since your appointment to the Royal Knights.
Upon your arrival to your first day of your new position, you learned you weren’t the only new face within the unit. Five other Royal Knights had been placed within the Cavalry Unit as well. Most shocking of all, however, was the the appointment of a new Cavalry Captain, especially since the knight chosen for the position was none other than Prince Kaeya himself.
The blue-haired prince, now sporting an eyepatch and a cryo vision, looked equally as confused to see you as you were to see him. Rather than sporting his typical jovial attitude, he simply nodded his acknowledgement of your presence. Kaeya was your superior now, after all, meaning he couldn’t showcase favoritism. The prince announced a few changes to the cavalry unit. First, you were to address Kaeya as ‘captain’ and not ‘prince’. Second, the cavalry unit would focus on securing Mondstadt’s perimeter, along with the perimeter of any outer villages as needed. Thirdly, the point Kaeya elaborated the least on, there was to be no talk of the royal family unless essential to the tasks at hand.
As he finishes his speech, you salute and chant your understanding with your new comrades. You can’t help but wonder why Kaeya now wears said eyepatch and why he has a new vision. Despite you having seen him a month ago, the blue-eyed boy now seems lightyears away from you, as if he was sand falling through the cracks of your hands without you even realizing.
---
Two years pass and, due to your work ethic in comparison to other Cavalry Unit members, you ascend in the ranks of your unit. Being one of the top five members of the thirty member unit meant that you and Kaeya spent more time together. You slowly watched as the blue-haired man began to revert to the boy he once was, but he never fully regressed to his childlike state. For starters, Kaeya is far more secretive than he used to be, electing to use little white lies to avoid conflict and any deep, meaningful conversations. There is a profound sadness that mars his powerful stature that wasn’t there before.
In the words he does exchange with you, his brother is never mentioned. The thought of bringing such a topic up to Kaeya makes your tongue heavy, the words remaining unspoken. Instead, Kaeya elects to talk about easily digestible topics in brief phases, such as small talk about the weather, unimportant chatter about military gossip, and hushed conversations about current trends in Mondstadt.
Kaeya has plunged himself into a self-imposed exile within the icy waters of his mind and you lack the proper equipment to save him. You can only watch as he disappears into the salty blue depths of anguish from the safety of the shore, unsure how to lend a helping hand. You are crafted from the sharp blades of swords, untrained in the studies of alchemical healing.
The blue-haired prince’s spirits only rise in the spirits of others, namely the ones sold by Angel’s Share. Every Friday night, as a mandatory “team bonding” activity, Kaeya and the four other highest ranking members of the Cavalry Unit, which unfortunately includes you, collectively go to Angel’s Share and get absolutely wasted, making blubbering fools of themselves. Tonight, just like every other Friday night, you can tell when Kaeya’s on his third drink as he begins to ramble about the history of Angel’s Share. He noisily explains how Angel’s Share is the legendary bar founded by the first King of Mondstadt before he had obtained the throne. During this time period, you slip a few spare mora to the poor waitress having to deal with your rowdy group who will inevitably throw the bill of tonight’s drunken activities on the backs of taxpayers.
You spend your evening nursing a glass of grape juice, wary eyes darting around the room in an analytical habit you had picked up from your job years prior. Old habits die hard after all. You watch as the first two fellow unit members excuse themselves the bar, deciding to stumble out before they could completely disgrace themselves.
It isn’t until Kaeya’s sixth glass of Death After Noon that the rest of the unit calls it quits, wobbling their way back home. One glance at the prince has you signaling to the bartender to cut the prince’s supply off. You stand up and walk over to Kaeya, who suddenly looks elated that you’re here.
“(Y/N)! My favorite!” Kaeya exclaims from his seat, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug and forcing you to rest your hand on the table for balance. “You came for my birthday party!”
“It’s not your birthday, Captain,” You respond. Your heart clenches at his carefree tone, reminded of your teenage years with the boy. The smell of his alcohol-laden breath dispels such naively hopeful notions and you push yourself out of his loosened grip. “Alright, it’s time to go home.”
“Home?” Kaeya asks, his revealed iris glistening with confusion. “Why? It’s not fun there… the party’s here!” The prince is pliable as you hoist him up and swing his arm around your shoulder, clutching onto his waist for support. Archons, the prince was heavy. You take a small step and, despite the alcohol fuzzing his brain, Kaeya seems to understand and stumbles alongside of you.
Once again, you are no more than a glorified babysitter.
You fish the bag of mora Kaeya brought with him out of his back pocket and the prince giggles as you unceremoniously toss the bag out on the table and drag him out of the bar. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes before Kaeya begins to chant your name over and over. Despite your annoyance, you decide to indulge him.
“What.” Your words lack any form of sincerity, embittered with the situation at hand. Kaeya reaches over and pokes your cheek with a free hand.
“I miss you, y’know?” Kaeya croons, before he smiles with watery eyes. “All the time. You’re always on my mind.”
Oh Barbatos, here we go, you think. You had encountered the prince while intoxicated numerous times before, but never before this had he directed his sappiness in your direction.
“Y’know why?” He teases, slurring his words slightly. You continue to trudge on in silence, shifting him slightly to try to make it easier to carry him along. Kaeya frowns at your silence. “Guess why!” His words are a demand and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Any chivalrous respect you had for Prince Kaeya was now absolutely demolished, due to both his public intoxication and the comforting fact that he wouldn’t remember any of this conversation in the morning.
“Why?” You ask unenthusiastically, knowing he won’t leave you alone until you do so.
“Because I’m in love with you, silly! I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” At his confession, you almost drop him. Your blood runs cold, but you trudge on nonetheless. An oath to protect the royal family persists even if one drunkenly confesses their love to you. Your heart clenches with pain for Kaeya, wishing you could have realized his feelings sooner. Maybe it would have alleviated some of the pain he carries each day and tries to wash away through copious amounts of liquor.
He burps loudly and lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re so… so pretty. And strong! But… he fancied you first! I can’t compete…” The man trails off, seemingly losing track of what he’s saying, stumbling through his words. “I can’t compete with royal blood.”
Your hand slips off his waist and the two of you are sent tumbling into the ground as Kaeya’s arm around your shoulder drags you down with him.
---
Your legs are shaking from exertion as you guide Kaeya through the darkened hallways of the castle, softly shushing him and pulling him closer to you each time he tries to twist away from your grip to cause drunken havoc on the hallway decorations. His free hand trails across the stone walls as he giggles at their texture, having forgotten all about his woeful, self-pitying cries from earlier. As you round the corner to enter the hallway consisting of the chambers of both princes, Kaeya’s quiet amusement with the ornate tapestries that adorn the walls stops.
“We’re home!” Kaeya yells and you immediately shush him, absolutely terrified of waking up a certain redhead.
The corridor reeks of familiarity, nearly suffocating you with nostalgia for simpler, happier times. The decorations have barely changed, aside from a new vase by the door to Kaeya’s room.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you around here, (Y/N)!” Kaeya cheers and you shush him once more, silently pleading with Barbatos to shut the blue-haired prince up. If anyone nearby was unaware of your disgraceful return to the palace grounds, they certainly knew now. His voice drops in volume a bit, still far too loud for this time of night, but better than his raucous hollering as the two of you approach his door. "Would you like to come in, my fair lady? I know many ways to pleasure a woman."
You’ve sacrificed every Friday night for far too long for Prince Kaeya. You love him while he’s sober, but now? You absolutely despise his drunken antics.
"The only pleasure I'll get tonight is finally being able to get rid of your drunken ass," you finally snap, nearly dropping Kaeya once more in mortification at your own words. You couldn't speak to a prince so callously, especially when you were stone-cold sober.
Kaeya pauses before throwing himself into a fit of drunken laughter. "You're so cute but you're so mean, (Y/N)!"
You ignore his antics, realizing the best course of action is to get the rowdy prince in his room where he can scream to his heart’s content. You turn the knob of the door and shove Kaeya into the room, causing him to let out a nervous giggle.
“You’re coming in?” He exclaims and lets out a gasp of surprise. “But wait, I’m shy!” He throws his hand dramatically to his forehead, pretending to faint as the back of his palm lightly brushes it. You let out a loud grunt as the dumb bastard son of a bitch motherfucker drops the entirety of his weight on you. Unable to support him any longer, the prince falls to the ground next to you and laughs. You finally understand why the young bartender at Cat’s Tail hates drunk people so much.
“Captain, get up,” You order, exhaustion creeping into your tone. You prod his stomach lightly with your foot as the drunken prince lets out a groan in response. He closes his eye, ready to fall asleep on the ground, but you manage to muster the last of your strength to pick him up bridal-style. After you rush over to his bed, you unceremoniously drop him on his plush mattress.
Your job is now done. You could strip his clothing down to make him more comfortable while sleeping, but you’re not sure if you can muster the energy to do so. Such an action is beyond the new jurisdiction of your duties as a Knight of Favonius. Plus, you’re fairly sure you’d never be able to look Kaeya in the eye again if you did do such a thing.
“Wait, my loyal knight,” Kaeya drunkenly slurs as you turn to leave his chambers. You bite back a sigh of defeat and turn to look at him with a blank expression. Internally, you’re trying to calm yourself down, utterly frustrated with the situation at hand. “Come here.”
When a prince calls for you, you unfortunately have to listen. You trudge over to Kaeya and place a hand on your hip, looking down at him. The prince shuffles around on his bed as he clumsily sits up, leaning on the headboard for support. You open your mouth to ask him what he needs, but before you can utter the words, Kaeya heaves forward and disperses the contents of his stomach all over your uniform before falling back into his pillows, passed out.
You are speechless as you look down at your clothing, now stained with the deep red-purple hues of the copious amounts of wine Kaeya had ingested earlier in the evening. Biting back the urge to throw up in return, especially as you feel the fabric of your clothes begin to dampen against your skin. You quickly ensure the prince is asleep before quite literally tearing off your soiled pants in disgust.
Despite the oath of fealty that bound you to your job, you briefly considered threatening to quit after tonight unless you got a raise. Now, you were pantless and soon-to-be shirtless due to the sheer incapability of being able to handle somebody else’s body fluids against your skin. Your eyes darted over to Kaeya’s closet and a lightbulb went off in your head.
---
You had taken one of the younger prince’s spare uniforms in his closet and left him a nicely written note explaining the situation. Rather than saying that he threw up on you, you simply wrote that your outfit had been torn while carrying him back to the palace. Some facts, you believed, were best left as secrets. The fabric bunched over your shoulders as you adjusted it to the best of your capabilities, trying to get the odd size to fit your figure properly as you silently cursed Kaeya for having such broad shoulders.
Wrapping your now shredded and sullied uniform into a ball and tucking it under your arm, you made sure Kaeya was asleep once more before stealthily sneaking your way to the door. In a way, you felt like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, except the poor only consisted of yourself. It is not stealing if you give the uniform back upon request, you tell yourself as you quietly creak open the door. As you make your escape, you turn to face the door as you close it, gently pulling it towards you and holding onto the doorknob to ensure that the noise of the door settling into place would be quiet as possible.
The last thing you wanted was for a drunken Kaeya to wake back up and force you to read him a bedtime story. As the door settles into place, you let out a sigh of relief, only to hear someone clear their throat behind you. Your eyes widen in humiliation and fear and your shoulders cringe upwards as you stare at the door in front of you. Scratch that, this was the last thing you wanted. Rather than let it become any more awkward, you let out a soft breath and settle your expression into your typical stoic one before whirling around to face your fate.
In this instance, your fate is for your eyes to meet the familiar crimson-hued ones that you had not seen in years. Dressed in an ornate, stealthy black and white outfit, the man looks far older than when you had last seen him, as if the last two years had been incredibly hard on him. You had no doubt that they were. You watch as his eyes widen in both recognition and surprise as you fix your posture. A flash of hurt crosses his expression before his expression mimics your own neutral one and the two of you simply stare at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to make of the conversation.
You notice Diluc’s claymore is strapped to his back and he has a fresh bruise forming on his cheekbone. You don’t dare ask what happened to him. It’s no longer your place to worry over him, but you can’t help it as his irises glimmer with sadness upon seeing you. Despite his neutral face, his eyes shine with emotion, as if he’s heartbroken to see you.
“Uh, hello, sir,” You greet, breaking the silence as you try to gather your composure. You offer him a salute, trying your best to keep your arm from shaking in both anxiety and exhaustion.
“Hello..” Diluc echoes absentmindedly, as if his mind is elsewhere. He quickly seems to recollect his bearings as his eyes scan you up and down. “Did you two have a fun night?”
His tone is unreadable and, if coming from anyone else, you would assume his words to be a joke. You let out a nervous laugh and Diluc’s eyebrows raise slightly at the uncharacteristic noise. A gut feeling tells you to choose your next words carefully. Upon your silence, Diluc’s eyes narrow slightly.
“You are wearing his garments. It does not take a genius to figure out what the two of you were doing together,” He explains, his voice devoid of emotion. A wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you are thankful for the low hallway lighting as it helps hide your embarrassment.
“Oh, um…” You trail off, breaking eye contact with the redhead as you look down at your outfit. “It’s not like that. He… he threw up on me.” Your words are unconvincing. Despite you knowing the truth, your nerves make it sound as if you’re pulling lies out of thin air to cover yourself. Diluc, of course, notices such a thing as he echoes your words.
“...He threw up on you?” The elder prince repeats, disbelief coating his words as he narrows his eyes at you.
“Yes, my prince,” You confirm. Diluc seems unsettled by your verbal formalities, but you carry on nonetheless. “He indulged in a few… too many drinks at Angel’s Share. As his subordinate, I felt as if it was in my duties to bring him back to the palace. He then proceeded to… release the contents of his stomach onto my uniform. If you do not believe my words, sir, you can… look at the uniform…” You hold out the balled up uniform in front of you and the stench alone is enough to make Prince Diluc’s nose scrunch up.
“I believe you, (Y/N).” He responds after a moment of contemplation. Diluc goes quiet once more, but you still stand at the ready, not having been dismissed from the conversation. “How… how often does this happen?”
Diluc’s gaze tears away from you. He looks nervous to be asking such a question. You’re not quite sure what he’s implying with his seemingly loaded question.
“If I may request for you to do so, could you please clarify your query, my prince?” You ask as his stoic expression returns and he stands up straight, having collected his thoughts.
“How often does Kaeya inconvenience you with his immature drunkenness?” Diluc asks, rubbing his hand over his jaw in exasperation. It’s unclear as to whether he’s exasperated with Kaeya or with you. Diluc’s eyebrows furrow in thought as he awaits your answer.
You think your answer over. Lying to the king-to-be definitely wouldn’t be ideal, but it would help Kaeya. You weren’t sure what was going on with Kaeya, but you knew he was hurting. The blue-haired boy you once knew would have turned his nose up at alcohol. Now, he was damaged enough to have turned to it as a coping mechanism. You are no fool; you see the way Kaeya cringes if there are too many candles lighting up the room each morning.
However, Diluc clearly cared enough about the situation to ask and a part of you was chanting to throw Kaeya under the bus for throwing up on you. You would just be issued another uniform and it was not as if you did not have a spare one in your closet. Plus, Kaeya’s problem was spiraling out of control.
“Once a week,” You answer. “Every Friday. Normally, the prince can make it back by himself, but I am typically relegated to being the sober official of the Knights of Favonius in fear that they’ll trash the place without any supervision.”
Diluc lets out a sigh. He turns around and begins to move back around. “I’ll see to it that such behavior of his is fixed. Dismissed.” The prince waves you off with a dismissive hand and you watch as he enters his chambers, the door closing softly behind him. In return, you walk out of the palace with your head held high, rather pleased with the way the conversation went considering the circumstances Diluc had found you in.
A small part of your heart twists at such an uneventful reunion, as if you had expected something more. You shake your head to try to eliminate such thoughts. You had merely been Prince Diluc’s subordinate, nothing more. Taking the compromising position Diluc had found you in, he had been more than fair to hear your explanation out and to even go so far as to offer to assist you with your troubles. It was your duty to serve the throne and not his duty to serve you, so why did part of you want more?
---
Diluc's definition of fixing Kaeya's behavior is, in fact, not to speak to kaeya about his behavior. Kaeya is none the wiser about his own actions as well, simply issuing a new uniform and a muttered apology about how you had to deal with his behavior. Unfortunately, you aren’t off the hook for the typical Friday night rendezvous at Angel’s Share. You begin to wonder if Diluc had forgotten his words to you as everything seems to be returning to normal. In fact, he probably didn’t care. He just said that to get you off his back, you tell yourself. It was probably too much of a nuisance to readjust Kaeya’s behavior, especially when Kaeya was so far up in the Ordo Favonius’s hierarchy of soldiers.
A visionless soldier like you was dispensable, but a strong prince with a cryo vision was not. Therefore, it only made sense for the Knights and Diluc to prioritize Kaeya’s comfort over your own.
The following Friday rolls around and you finally encounter your first change. As you arrive to early morning training, Kaeya tells you that the Acting Grand Master, Jean, wishes to speak with you. Having given up on Diluc enacting any possible changes to your regiment, you’re baffled as Jean hands you a set of new orders. Confusion is written on her face as well.
“You’re the only one with new orders,” Jean had told you. You weren’t sure if she was supposed to tell you that, but you figured she hoped you would have some explanation. “Especially orders as… odd as these.”
Her words make you actually read the piece of paper in your hands, rather than respectfully waiting until you left to do so.
“Oh,” The word tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it as you gape at the paper like a fish. You have been ordered, directly from the desk of King-to-be Diluc Ragnvindr, to return to the palace to be the elder prince’s royal bodyguard once more. You meet Jean’s expectant gaze with a look of confusion.
“If I may be so brave as to ask, do you know why you have been given such orders? Prince Diluc has been kind of… avoidant when it comes to the Knights as of late.” Jean asks. Her voice is kind like always, but you note a hint of curiosity within it. You can’t help her for being nosy.
“I was his bodyguard once before but..?” You shrug, not really knowing the answer. “He found me last week after Prince Kaeya threw up on me, but I doubt such a thing would have led to such a drastic change.”
Jean’s eyes light up in faint recognition and she softly smiles. “Oh, you were the bodyguard? That makes a bit more sense…” She trails off, lost in thought. “Hm, but such a rearrangement would only happen if he was preparing to… Never mind that, you said Prince Kaeya vomited? On you?”
You feel heat rise up to your cheeks as you nod. “Prince Kaeya is… not quite aware that he performed such… actions while intoxicated, so I would appreciate it if you could keep this a secret between us.”
The Acting Grand Master’s eyes shine with amusement and she lets out a soft, chime-like laugh. “Of course. Your secret is safe with me.”
You begin to walk out of Jean’s office, but freeze in your tracks. “I have one more question, if you don’t mind me asking,” You say. Jean nods for you to continue. “Why did Diluc choose me to be his bodyguard and not somebody with a vision?”
Jean lets out a melodic giggle, her blonde ponytail shaking as she does so. “I have my guesses, but I believe that’s only something the prince himself can answer.”
You nod in response, looking back down at your orders. “Thank you, Acting Grand Master.”
---
“You’re late,” A familiar voice admonishes you as you enter the throne room of the palace. It is a familiar room you had long since given up hope on ever seeing again, with gleaming gold and green accents adorning its stained glass windows. The room holds an intimidating yet freeing aura, but in your eyes, the most threatening thing in the ornate hall is not the gilded throne nor the massive marble statue of Barbatos, but rather Prince Diluc, who stands at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the throne.
Diluc adjusts his black gloves, ones you hadn’t seen him wear before, as he awaits for you to meet him in the center of the room. The click of your uniform’s boots against the tile and the soft clinking of your sheathed sword against your belt fills the room, reverberating through the open space as the sounds fill the silent void between you and Diluc.
“My apologies, my prince,” You state, bowing in respect. Diluc stares at you with an unreadable expression.
“You always were the type for formalities,” He muses almost wistfully, but catches himself and clears his throat. “Nonetheless, such impropriety will not be viewed upon well in the future.”
You stand up straight and salute him. “Understood, sir.”
Amusement dances in Diluc’s carmine irises as your gesture. “Welcome back, (Y/N).” He says, holding out a hand for you to shake. You shake his hand firmly, appreciative to see his amiability had not disappeared in your absence. As you drop his hand, Diluc seems to sense the unspoken question that rests on your tongue.
“There are no other Royal Knights yet. I do not trust any other knights to be capable of doing their jobs,” Diluc explains briefly before moving past you and out of the throne room, beckoning for you to follow. You fall in line alongside him, listening as he details your duties. For a moment, you’re seventeen and naive again, wondering what happened to the previous impression you had of the prince.
---
Two months pass and, in many ways, it's as if you had never left. Yet, the man you are designated to guard is more reserved with those around him, but the bluntness with his emotions remains. If Diluc isn’t happy with a situation, he’s not one to hide it, except for the sake of diplomacy. Despite not sharing blood with his brother, the two of them hold the same sadness in their shoulders when no one is watching, burdened by the secrets of the world. You stare at Diluc far more often than you do his younger brother, justifying such actions with your duties in an attempt to ignore the fact that you find the elder prince easy on the eyes.
Diluc looks at you too. When your duty is to observe, you tend to pick up on things quickly, especially the long glances Diluc sends your way when your attention is elsewhere. Your thoughts often consist of the secrets Kaeya had divulged to you in his drunken state, but you shove such nonsense out of your head. Kaeya had no place to speak on Diluc’s behalf and you determined that he was likely only projecting his own insecurities on Diluc. A selfish part of you still yearned for Kaeya’s words to be true each time you would notice the elder prince’s gaze to be upon you, but your duty prevailed over all. Unable to pinpoint why you felt this way, you would simply stare straight ahead, acting oblivious to Diluc’s gaze.
The distance between the two of you closes, both physically and emotionally. Diluc stays close enough to you that your elbows brush against each other while walking and you contribute such actions to Diluc being nervous after his father’s death. He’s much more touchy, reaching out to you with subtle gestures to make sure you’re near, rather than verbally reassuring your distance. If the two of you are outside the palace grounds and the prince is distracted by something, he’ll reach out to ensure that you’re still close.
If you aren’t nearby, Diluc will snap out of whatever daze he’s in and look around frantically for you, as if you had disappeared into thin air. The sheer panic in his eyes has taught you to stay close to him.
Diluc values your opinion. Previously, when he would have suffered in silence, the two of you have small conversations about issues he may be facing in his life, such as how to deal with a petulant Fontaine diplomat who doesn’t know how to take the word “no” as an answer. Diluc enjoys the new perspective you bring to the table, but he doesn’t let you in much farther. For his heaviest burdens, Diluc elects to keep to himself.
For that reason, you do not ask about his brother. You only provide your condolences on the day of his father’s death and make yourself available if he needs you.
---
Six months into your new appointment under Diluc, you finally gather the courage to ask a question you have desired to ask since your first day. You bite your lip slightly as you drop your gaze from guarding the door and instead flicker your gaze over to Diluc, who is sitting in a red velvet armchair by the crackling fireplace. The two of you are within the spacious area of his father’s study, soon to be his own, but such a room is still rather unfamiliar to you. The unknown territory of the room pushes you to move the unknown territory of the question you desire to ask.
“Um, sir?” You ask, uncharacteristically nervous. Diluc’s eyes immediately break away from the pages of his book, startled by you speaking. Normally, Diluc was the one to initiate conversation.
“Yes, (Y/N)?” He asks patiently and you feel heat rise to your face once more. Why are you flustered? you ask yourself as Diluc gazes at you intensely, awaiting your words with earnest.
“Apologies if I’m… overstepping by asking,” You begin and a flash of worry briefly crosses the prince’s face before he raises his eyebrows in intrigue. “But… why have you not ascended to the throne yet?”
The prince flushes a deep scarlet. He fumbles slightly with the book in his hands and looks down at it nervously. Such bashfulness is uncharacteristic of him, but then again, being so forthright was abnormal for you. Had you overstepped boundaries? Nervousness begins to claw at your stomach and climb up your throat, but the feelings are quickly quelled as Diluc clears his throat and smiles softly down at his book, trying to gather his bearings before responding.
The prince looks at you, but fails to make eye contact. “My father was a bit… peculiar in the guidelines I must follow in order to become king.” His fingers tap lightly on the cover of his book as he lets out a soft sigh, clearly unnerved by your question, but not wanting to make much of it. The prince is now twenty-three. Surely you could not have been the first person to ask him such a question?
“Oh,” You respond quickly. “I apologize if I overstepped any boundaries. Thank you for your answer, my prince.” A stoic expression quickly plasters itself on your face as you retreat back into yourself and Diluc’s eyebrows furrow at your reaction.
“It was not a bothersome question, just one I… had not been expecting, that’s all,” Diluc says, reading directly into the way you had closed yourself off. He notices the way your posture relaxes at such a statement and his eyes soften. “A few others are aware of the stipulations, so there is no such way I can circumvent them.”
“Ah,” You murmur before speaking once more. “Are the conditions to become king difficult?”
Diluc finally meets your eyes, a wistful look on his face. “They aren’t. I am just… not quite sure if the timing is right or how to broach the subject of them.” His voice is barely above a low rumble, but you hear him perfectly.
Your heart clenches at his words. You don’t know why.
---
Diluc’s twenty-fourth birthday rolls around and, when compared to every prior birthday of his in the past, the palace is ablaze with life. Mond’s economy had taken a slight downturn in its luxury goods market and Diluc had agreed to help bolster the industry by hosting a diplomatic birthday of sorts. Invite the richest people within Teyvat to explore Mondstadt and all its palace has to offer, conveniently place luxury goods within the vicinity, and the markets for said items are guaranteed to increase in demand. Diluc had explained all of this to you, including going in depth on the economics, and ordered you to put together a temporary unit of knights to serve as security at the party.
Such merriment and festivities would not lead to joy for you, but rather more work hours and stress. Assembling a team of competent enough fighters was difficult enough. Many within the Knights of Favonius were kind, but easily influenced, meaning that they were untrustworthy to leave within the realms of foreign dignitaries and prying eyes. Ultimately, you had settled on a trustworthy team of twenty core knights, all assigned to different positions within the ballroom. Some were framed as servers, some were framed as partygoers, and others would simply be required to wear their knight uniforms and guard the entrances and exits.
Despite security being a massive event, the biggest outlier was not the people who would be attending the party, but outsiders wishing to take advantage of such important people congregated in a single event. For that reason, all other knights were stationed within other parts of the palace and around its perimeter, in order to secure the area for the party. You weren’t too worried about the people inside as any foul moves would lead to massive geopolitical repercussions against any evildoers.
As for you, you were assigned to be Diluc’s right-hand knight, guarding his side at the party. While you were always ready to perform your assigned duty, you couldn’t help but wish you had door duty, as such a position would not require the diplomatic ass-kissing you were obligated to perform.
Now, as you stood at Diluc’s side near the center of the room, you weren’t sure what to make of the situation. The prince was effortlessly calming and smooth in his conversations with potentially hostile foreign dignitaries. Hell, he was even being respectful to the Fatui, even though you knew he likely wanted to ram his head through a wall speaking to the sleazy minions of the Tsaritsa.
What you hadn’t expected, however, were the wine trays floating throughout the room. You and Diluc were both aware to only take appetizers and drinks alike from a specific server, not wanting the elder prince or you, the head of security for the event, to have contaminated food. However, as Diluc drank his third glass of wine, you were beginning to wonder if you would be able to keep up. Finishing off your second, you smiled politely at the server and politely declined a second glass, ignoring the look of confusion Diluc sent your way. You already felt tipsy. The last thing you wanted was to be unable to do your job.
“Ah, Prince Diluc!” A vaguely familiar voice calls from behind you and Diluc the moment Diluc finishes speaking with a diplomat from Natlan. How do I know that voice? You ask yourself before feeling your thoughts swim a bit due to the alcohol. You silently cursed yourself for accepting the drinks at all, but when the first round of drinks had appeared, Diluc himself had taken one for you. How could you have said no to a request from your prince?
You and Diluc both turn around to see the intruder and you recognize him immediately. Dottore, one of the eleven Fatui Harbingers, stood before you and Diluc, a wide grin on his face. Immediately suppressing a groan and forcing your expression to stay neutral, you silently curse the fact that Harbingers made it on the guest list, especially one as irritating as Dottore. At his best, the man was an arrogant asshat. At his worst, Dottore was downright psychopathic with little regard for the people around him. You knew Diluc was aware of such things, but the prince had to stomach such disdain for the harbinger and at least attempt for a polite conversation.
“This is quite a lovely party,” Dottore compliments, but such praise from him is only worth about as far as you can throw it. “Mond is quite a prosperous nation.”
Your gaze flickers between Dottore and Diluc as they exchange meaningless pleasantries. You lose track of their conversation, electing to scan the room (and watch Dottore) for any potential threats or foul moves. However, you’re quickly snapped back to the conversation as Dottore’s attention turns to you, his masked red eyes boring into yours.
“You are the prince’s security detail?” Dottore’s words are less of a question and more of a statement, as if he already knows the answer. You avoid glancing at Diluc and instead meet Dottore’s gaze straight on and hold out your hand.
“Knight (Y/N), sir.” You respond and Dottore laughs crookedly while shaking your hand with a grip far too aggressive for your liking.
“Ah, aren’t you an… interesting specimen,” Much to your behest, Dottore takes your hand in his own gloved one and looks at it, as if he’s inspecting you. “You are his only personal knight at this event yet you are visionless… Quite an intriguing move for a prince who flaunts his so proudly.”
Your eyes instinctively move to look at Diluc, whose brows are furrowed and eyes glistening with anger at the situation unfolding. Diluc clears his throat and immediately returns his expression to one of neutrality as he realizes your gaze is now upon him. “Dottore, are you not one to believe that humanity is more than their visions?”
Dottore drops your hand unceremoniously and you quickly retract it to your side in fear that such an event happens again. He chuckles at Diluc’s words and turns to look at the prince once more. “Of course. I just simply never took you as the type to share my beliefs.”
Despite neither of them owning an Electro vision, the air between the two men crackles with energy. Dottore grins as Diluc glowers, eager to see if the refined prince’s composure shatters. The Harbinger knows he’s pinpointed Diluc’s weak spot, so rather than continuing the rather unamusing staring contest, Dottore’s gaze returns to you once more. He casts you a saccharine smile, dripping with insecurity, as he leans in close to you.
“I must believe you have some tricks up your sleeve. I look forward to seeing what they are,” The Harbinger’s tone drops to a low, sultry one as Dottore’s hot breath fans over your face, reeking of the odd combination of mint and wine. His words are not an expectation, but rather a promise. After a second more of leering at you, Dottore is sensible enough to realize Diluc’s limited patience is waning, so he takes a step back and stands up straight. “Nonetheless, I must make my exit now. Prince Diluc, as nice as it was to speak with you, I understand your wish not to share your toys.”
Just as quickly as he had appeared, the Harbinger disappears into the crowd. You look over at the prince standing near you. He takes a sidestep closer to you and for a split second, you’re reminded of the Prince Diluc you once knew, the one who could barely contain his anger and derision and took such feelings out on his subordinates verbally. The contempt Diluc feels for the situation that just unfolded is written all over his face, but he quickly gathers his composure. Knowing him well enough, you can sense the irritation radiating off him in waves, but you dare not comment on it.
Before another diplomat can intervene, Diluc leans in close to you, voice no more than a low whisper. “Dottore is up to something.”
---
Diluc, in his typical stubborn nature, refuses to let the Dottore situation go. Two hours afterwards, long after his mood had returned to normal, Diluc is excusing himself to use the bathroom, signaling for you to follow him. However, the elder prince remains silent as the two of you walk past the bathroom and into the chambers that had been converted to house foreign dignitaries who would stay the night and leave in the morning. The prince glances up and down the hallway frantically, making sure nobody is following. His pace is hurried, as if he’s looking for something.
You’re smart enough to realize Diluc’s only silent when he desires for others to be as well, but the two of you have been walking long enough that you part your lips to speak. Before you can utter the words, Diluc is opening the door closest to the two of you.
“Here,” He mutters and before you can follow, the prince grabs your arm and pulls you in after him, immediately letting you go afterwards. You were utterly baffled as to what room the two of you were even in, considering you had barely been in this part of the palace before. “Dottore’s room.” Diluc explains.
That’s a shitty explanation, you think. With the alcohol in your system, you are spurred to question his decisions, something you never would dare to do sober.
“With all due respect, sir, why are we raiding Dottore’s room?” You state as Diluc crouches down to look underneath Dottore’s bed. You silently question why that’s the first place the prince bothers looking, rather than looking in a more normal place, such as Dottore’s desk drawers or the suitcases lined against the wall.
Diluc lets out a huff of air at your words, but doesn’t admonish you for them. “He’s up to something,” Diluc mutters absentmindedly.
“I know he’s a suspicious character and he’s Fatui, but all he did was disrespect you with his words. Does that really mean he’s up to something?” You ask and Diluc pauses through rifling through the limited possessions the Harbinger had brought to Mondstadt. Still crouched down, the prince turns to look at you with an expression of confusion at your words.
“You aren’t normally like this,” Diluc states plainly and you feel your face heat up in embarrassment. He squints his eyes in an attempt to read your stoic expression in the dark. He lets out a sigh, unable to come to a conclusion, and returns back to looking through Dottore’s stuff. “He was clearly challenging me. He’s hiding something and wants me to find it.”
With Diluc’s back turned to you, you roll your eyes. Why are men always like this?
“Maybe he was just flirting,” You suggest, your tone annoyed.
“I was n-” Diluc pauses and clears his throat. “I mean, he was not flirting with you.” He sounds outraged that you would even discuss such a thing.
“Sir, his words had that weird kind of aura to them. With all due respect, I believe I’m not ugly enough that he wouldn’t flirt with me. He just sounded kind of horny,” You say, as if such a thing should be obvious. Diluc freezes completely and stands up, turning to look at you. His eyes are blown wide at your words and, in your alcoholic stupor, you’re unaware of the egregious unprofessionalism of your words. The prince steps closer to you, his crimson gaze boring into yours.
“Archons,” He mutters after a few seconds. “They didn’t serve you grape juice, did they?”
“Nope,” You respond in a gleeful voice, popping your mouth at the end of the word. “Were they supposed to?” You ask cluelessly, leaning on the wall behind you.
Diluc lets out a frustrated huff, but it doesn’t seem directed at you. “Barbatos, they had one job,” He mutters to himself before walking over to Dottore’s desk and bending over to look at the contents of the desk drawers. “Anyways, just watch the door. That’s an order.”
Even in your tipsiness, you are aware enough to sense Diluc’s frustration at the situation, so you bite your tongue and watch the door. Your gaze flutters between the elder prince and the door, unable to focus on your assigned duty as the alcohol swirls through your system. The elder prince’s noisy actions of rifling through files draws your attention and you look over at him, eyebrows raised. However, what catches your attention is a glint of white in his back pocket.
“What’s in your pocket?” You ask, causing Diluc to let out a frustrated huff.
“I said to watch the door,” Diluc reminds you in a harsh tone, but by now, you know the prince is all bark and no bite.
“I have two eyes,” You respond combatively. Diluc sighs, knowing this is a fight he won’t win. “One to watch you and one to watch the door.”
“That is quite literally not how vision works, (Y/N),” Diluc tries to explain, but knows there’s no reasoning with alcohol. He’s encountered his brother enough times after his drunken escapades to know when to give up. “Just… use both to watch the door.”
“Tell me what’s in your pocket and I will,” Your words are dangerous and if Diluc wasn’t fond of you, he could easily have thrown you in prison for saying such things.
“We’re done in here,” Diluc states after a few moments of ignoring you, placing the final file back into its rightful position and dusting himself off. He walks over to you and pulls the white object out of his pocket, holding it out to you. “It’s a mask, by the way.”
“Okay,” You say, taking the mask in your hand. You’re not far enough gone to try putting it on, so you simply slip it into your own pocket. “What’s in the other pocket, then, sir?” You ask, a sly smirk appearing on your face. Diluc flusters at your mischievous expression as he brushes past you to exit the room.
“Nothing.” He responds, but you know otherwise. As the two of you exit into the hallway, you take advantage of the fact that the prince had exited Dottore’s room before you and you quickly snatch the object in his other pocket. You had only seen the outline of it, but now that it rests in your hands, you’re utterly baffled as to why he would hide such a thing.
“What is this?” You ask, holding the object away from Diluc as he whirls around, trying to grab the object from your hand.
“Stop acting like a child, (Y/N),” Diluc warns, but there’s a faint desperation in his voice. “It’s my Vision.”
“This isn’t your Vision,” You state, staring at him with furrowed brows. “Your Vision looks different from this.”
Before you can theorize any more about what the faux-Vision in your hands is, Diluc opens the door closest to the two of you and pulls you in rather roughly by the arm. You only tighten your grip on the object in response.
“Could you be any louder, (Y/N)? Barbatos, it’s just a Vision, but it’s not mine. Give it back.” Diluc orders, but you simply smirk at him as the two of you stand in the dark of the supply closet he had cornered you in. The light filtering from underneath the door allows him to barely see your expression, despite the overall darkness of the room. His hand fumbles against the wall before the room is lit in a soft orange light as his hand finds an unlit candle near the door.
“Hm,” You say upon seeing his glowering expression. He looks absolutely furious, but for once you aren’t living in fear of such an expression. In fact, he looks rather delicio- “Make me, Diluc.” The words tumble out of your lips, sultry and sweet, before you can even finish processing your own thoughts. Right now, for once in your life, you have the chance to make Prince Diluc beg and you are relishing in the moment, in all of its unprofessional glory.
Diluc’s eyes flash with anger and as he angrily grips your wrist and shoves you back into the shelf behind you. The wood juts into your back and you let out a soft cry of both surprise and pain as objects begin to clatter off the shelf around the two of you. Taking advantage of your surprise at his forcefulness, Diluc manages to wrangle the object out of your hand and he fastens it securely in within his breast pocket, away from your prying, tipsy hands. As Diluc’s harsh grip on your wrist fails to falter, you feel tears bubble up in your eyes, unable to hold them back. Okay, maybe you had more than two drinks, you tell yourself.
Before you can stop them, more words are spilling out of your mouth, but they’re no longer the empowered ones you wish you could say.
“I do everything for you,” you blubber pathetically and watch as Diluc’s eyes widen at your tone. “And the one time i want something in return, just to know something about you, you’re mean to me.” Before you can stop them, you’ve activated the waterworks, tears freefalling down your cheeks. The only word to describe Diluc’s expression is terrified.
“N... no, don’t cry.” Diluc’s grip on your wrist loosens, but he still holds it close, his other free arm pulling you in by your waist into a comforting hug. His gestures and words are stiff as if he’s not sure how to do this. You’re fairly sure the two of you are breaking each and every code of conduct at this moment, but for now, you don’t care. His hand rubs the small of your back in a comforting motion, his thumb trailing up and down the part of your wrist that he likely bruised. “You’re my best knight, the only one I can trust, it’s… okay. Please don’t cry.”
The prince’s words are frantic and softly spoken, as if he’s trying his best to pull compliments out of thin air to stop your tears. Despite him not being very good at comforting you, your sobs start to subside into small hiccups as you bury your head into the spot between his shoulder and neck. You feel him stiffen at the gesture. Nonetheless, he pulls you into a tighter one armed hug.
After you manage to get your tipsy tears under control, you let out a shaky sigh before continuing with your words. “Why do you never let me in? I swore my life to protect you. I’d do anything for you. but you just shut me out every time,” You whisper, voice still stained with the tears you had just cried out. In the morning, you’d be mortified with your words, but for now, you brain is encouraging you to continue. Diluc pulls away from you and cups his hands on the side of your face, using his thumbs to wipe away your tear stains.
“You’re too valuable to waste your tears on someone like me.” Diluc mutters as the pads of his fingers soak up the salty tears. His tone is saddened from your actions.
“Answer the question, Diluc, please,” you beg, dropping the honorifics once more. You stare into his eyes, searching for an answer. You watch him inhale, as if he’s trying to muster up the courage to say something.
“Okay,” He breathes, eyes looking into yours for reassurance. “Okay.” His voice is more resolute as he repeats the words. “I don’t know how to keep you close without making you uncomfortable. I don’t know how much I should let you in without scaring you off. I feel this way because for the last six years, I’ve been in-”
Before he can finish his words, the door to the supply closet swings open. The bright light causes the both of you to flinch as a third voice gasps dramatically. You blink rapidly, trying to adjust your eyes to the bright lights from the hallway in order to understand what’s happening, your hand reaching up to the hilt of your sword.
“My, my, what a scandalous sight,” the voice (Dottore, you identify) croons and the two of you look on in mortification. “A prince and his knight having an illicit rendezvous in the janitorial closet.”
The two of you look out to see a small crowd of five people having gathered -- Dottore, his assistant, Kaeya, Jean, and another Fatui agent. You’re not sure why they’re all gathered outside, but what matters is that they’re now viewing you after having been caught in a broom closet with the king-to-be’s hands cupping your face and him staring into your eyes.
Fuck, you think as Diluc’s hands rescind from your face quickly, as if the water of your tears had scalded him.
#diluc x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact headcanons#diluc headcanons#diluc scenarios#genshin impact scenarios#diluc#genshin impact#*writing#*inheritance#*diluc#*fic#AAAAAAAAAAAAA ITS HERE
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spiral
The first three months after Zhaitan’s defeat. (Or, the story of how the person widely considered “the best at emotions” was once absolutely horrible at managing her own.)
Warnings: depression, self-harm (in a very Kerra-specific way), feeling worthless, cognitive distortions (Kerra gets an idea into her head that is just...inaccurate)
Word count: 4466
I’ve been trying to work on this fic for a while, and it’s been really hard because Kerra’s my OC whose mental health issues are closest to my own. But it’s done now, and I’m sure it’s not perfect, but I’m proud of it, and it means a lot to me. So, here you go; hopefully this speaks to someone else, too.
(and @mystery-salad because forever ago you mentioned that you’d be interested in seeing this fic concept if I ever wrote it!)
It happened in the span of a single moment.
Trahearne had finally, finally joined the party. Rel had gotten his lute from who knows where and was taking song requests. Destiny’s Edge was talking and laughing, and she even saw Caithe smile. Everywhere Kerra looked, her friends and the rest of the Pact were drinking, chatting, relaxing, or dancing.
And, for once, no one was watching her.
So she tilted her head back, letting the sun and confetti (who brought confetti?) cover her face, giggling at the unfamiliar touch of colorful paper scraps. She spun around, arms outstretched and eyes closed and, miraculously, managing not to hit anyone.
It was pure, utter joy combined with I’m done, I did what I was made for, I’m done and I can just be me—
Kill the dragon.
Kerra stumbled. That couldn’t be right. Zhaitan was dead, and her Hunt was—
Kill the dragon, her mind insisted.
The world didn’t stop. It would have been easier if it had. Instead, the celebration continued, with laughter and Rel’s music as omnipresent noise.
It took everything in her not to scream.
****
The Pact wanted to lift her up on a pedestal for what she’d done. And she didn’t deserve it, so she had to leave.
She wrote notes to each of her friends and left them near their things, going mostly unnoticed as she slipped out of the party. Thank you for everything you’ve done, she said. I am going to where I can help the most, and that’s not here right now. I’ll come back.
I love you.
****
Her first stop was Caledon.
Cern was pleased to see her and told her stories of his new recruits taking down a particularly large troll in the swamps. Tatli and Cueyatl welcomed her into the Hazupl camp, and a few sylvari were there, too, talking to the hylek young. Llew gave her updates on Astorea—the defenses were holding, though Nightmare Court attacks had increased of late.
The only place she stayed overnight, though, was the Weeping Isle. Eona hugged her, congratulated her, and asked after Rel. She gave bare-bones information, took care of some wave riders, and fell asleep in the same guest room she’d taken earlier that year.
In her dreams, she walked a bloody battlefield, utterly alone. She saw so many dead faces, along with the living who mourned their losses. With each one she spotted, a memory flashed. Minei and Cio screaming and fighting to get back into the fortress on Claw Island. Ceera calling her “Commander of death.” Elli’s expression as she tore into the Risen marksman. Tybalt imploring her to trust him. Trahearne asking the Pale Tree for forgiveness as they closed the gate to Fort Trinity. The hate in Tiachren’s eyes slowly turning to fear as he died.
And above it all, the incessant drumbeat of this is your fault, your fault, your fault. You were Commander and this wasn’t what you were meant for and so every death is on your head and yours alone because you made a mistake. You pursued the wrong Hunt, and you will look at what you’ve done.
The land and the bodies went up in smoke, and she welcomed the flames even as she burned, too.
Come morning, Eona found Kerra’s bed neatly made and the Commander herself long gone.
****
In Kessex, the bandits put a price on her head.
In Sparkfly, the krait learned to flee from her on sight.
In Brisban, the Inquest cursed her as their labs exploded.
Sometimes, those she helped asked for her name. She began introducing herself as Lin. It felt…maybe not right, but right-adjacent, and it gave her a sense of distance.
Sometimes, they asked her to stay—an asuran krewe who appreciated her particular brand of dragon expertise, a rough-edged gladium who saw a kindred spirit, and a small human boy who watched her train the Claypool militia with wide eyes, to name a few.
She never stayed more than a few days. It tore her apart each time.
She slept less and less.
****
Felix worried more about her with every passing day.
Kerra could feel it, and she wished he wouldn’t, but she didn’t have the words to calm him.
“You can leave, dearheart, if this is too much,” she said once, softly. “You can leave if…if I’m too much.”
Not too much, never, Felix insisted, bumping his head into her thigh and letting out a deep purr. But you’re hurt. I want to help.
“You can’t.” It came out too sharp, and they both winced. “It’s…I’m not scratched, or stabbed, or corrupted. I didn’t break a bone.” I wish I had. I wish this pain was visible. I wish I had scars for all of them.
Some nights, she considered giving herself those scars.
That doesn’t make you not hurt, Felix insisted.
Kerra had nothing to say except but I deserve it, and she knew Felix wouldn’t want to hear that. So, she just pulled him onto her lap and against her chest, burying her face in his fur, eyes dry.
****
Her thoughts wouldn’t stop chasing each other in circles. Her Wyld Hunt pulsed at the back of her mind constantly, like the beginning of a headache.
Kill the dragon.
WHICH dragon? she’d scream back. It never answered, no matter how many times she asked.
But she could function on two hours of sleep a night. She could fight. She could help.
That’s all that mattered.
****
She stopped at the Black Citadel for provisions. She’d intended to avoid Rytlock, but one of his subordinates spotted her at a vendor’s stall and (as politely as possible) dragged her to his office.
“Commander!” Rytlock said, happily standing up and pushing his paperwork to the side. “Thought you were back at Fort Trinity.”
“I was,” Kerra said, just a little too shortly. “I’m on my way to Hoelbrak.” Not entirely false; she was indeed heading in that general direction.
“On foot?” Confusion. “You didn’t waypoint or take an airship?”
“I wanted to take the scenic route.” A small smirk, and, again, not entirely a lie.
“Fine by me.” Rytlock grinned, his smile very full of teeth. “Don’t suppose you’d care to help me take out a Flame Legion post before you leave?”
“I’d be happy to,” Kerra said, smiling back and inclining her head before turning on her heel and walking out the door. Felix followed close behind.
“Commander!” Rytlock shouted after her. He muttered something about “I was saying we’d go together,” but Kerra was halfway down the stairs by then and barely heard him.
The outpost was empty within three hours. Kerra was gone in four.
****
She’d stopped shielding her mind somewhere along the line. She couldn’t remember exactly when.
Emotions swirled through her, positive and negative and in-between. Most of them left, but their imprints remained.
She kept fighting. She kept killing, when necessary, and the pain grew and grew and grew. Her burden. Hers. Deserved, she thought.
She racked up invisible scars by the thousands.
****
As much as she told herself the pain was necessary, it also was exhausting—which is how she got her first serious injury since leaving Orr, forcibly bringing her spiral to a halt.
She was at Victor’s Point with a man named Gareth and his three children. Said children had performed some sort of ritual to summon a bear. The ritual instead managed to summon several dozen bears, and soon the homestead was overrun.
While Felix helped Gareth take down a particularly large bear, Kerra heard a scream from the nearby shed and whipped around, running as fast as her legs would carry her across the snow.
A child she hadn’t met yet, a small one with short white-blond hair, was cowering under a workbench. They held a pen in their right hand like a dagger, jabbing it in the direction of yet another bear trying to stick its head under the table. It growled at them, showcasing its set of sharp teeth.
Not wanting to risk hitting the child, Kerra unsheathed her dagger and leaped on top of the bear. But she’d underestimated its ferocity and overestimated her remaining strength, and it threw her off, slamming her into the stones of the nearby fireplace.
Holding her head, she tried to get up, but its claws gauged deep marks across her chest, and she dropped her dagger at the sudden spasm of pain. She scrambled backwards, shielding the child with her own body as they screamed. Felix roared somewhere in the distance.
She struggled to stay conscious as the bear reared up on its hind legs, trying to figure out if she could muster up enough energy to kick it in the stomach. But she didn’t have to.
A blue shield appeared around her—guardian magic, she thought deliriously. Logan? The mace that whacked the bear in the head was decidedly not Logan’s, though, and Logan wasn’t that tall, and his skin wasn’t that dark. But whoever this was, the child was safe.
“Hey, stay awake!” a voice called out urgently as her eyes slid shut. She heard a distinct crack in it and felt the owner’s concern for her. Funny, she thought in an unappreciated moment of irony, for them to care so much about someone they’ve never met.
****
Kerra must have dreamed, then, but all she remembered was what woke her up—yet another whisper of kill the dragondeep in the back of her mind.
She sat up with a jolt, nearly whacking her head on the beams above her.
Her savior was talking in hushed tones to Gareth nearby, but whatever they were saying was immediately drowned out by Felix, who meowed loudly and started purring at the top of his lungs. He gently butted his head against her shoulder. Thank you for staying. Don’t leave.
“I’m—” she coughed, clearing her throat and trying to ignore what felt like the worst headache of her life. “I’m okay, ‘Lix, I’m okay, I’m still here.” She gently laid a hand on his flank, and he turned his head and licked it with his rough tongue, making her laugh weakly and then wince as the action sent a flare of pain through her body.
“You sure you’re okay?” her mysterious savior said, approaching her bedside. “You hit your head pretty hard.”
“I heal fast,” Kerra said, meeting their eyes. They were tall, but their face was young. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem,” the tall child said. “I’m Braham, he/him. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Lin. She/her is fine. It’s nice to meet you, too.” A memory slotted into place, and she gasped, frantically looking around for her weapons. “Are the children all right? How long was I unconscious?”
“Easy!” Gareth said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture as he approached. “Yes, all the children are safe, and you were only out for about an hour or so.” He coughed meaningfully, and a snow-blond head peeked out from around his legs. “Mikkel is a bit shy, but he wanted me to thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mikkel,” Kerra said, her eyes softening as they met the child’s. “You were very brave, you know.”
The boy squeaked and hid again behind his father’s legs. Gareth just laughed. “I daresay he was! But that thanks comes from me as well, young one. We were lucky to have you with us today.”
“The thanks is appreciated, but unnecessary, Gareth,” Kerra replied, dipping her head a few inches. When she lifted it back up—slowly, struggling against the pounding in her head—she found Braham looking at her curiously. But he shook his head, seemingly dislodging whatever thought he’d had, and nodded.
“I’m glad you’re okay and that I could help, but I gotta get going,” he said, standing up.
“Where are you headed?” Kerra asked, leaning back slightly against the pillows.
“Hoelbrak,” Braham answered, frowning. “I need someone to help me defend my hometown, Craigstead—it’s been invaded by some group calling themselves the Molten Alliance. I figured asking Knut Whitebear was worth a shot.”
Kerra frowned, too, both at Braham’s words and at the implication of his tension and fear. “Who else did you ask?” And why didn’t you try Hoelbrak first?
“Tribune Brimstone. He didn’t believe me.”
“What didn’t he believe?”
Braham’s face closed, but she could feel his flare of anger; it wasn’t directed at her, though, not really. “With all due respect, sylvari, it’s not really your business—”
“I know Rytlock,” Kerra interrupted, ignoring Gareth’s shock and the way Mikkel’s eyes lit up. And though the last thing she wanted was to go back to Rytlock or any of her friends and hurt them again… “I can help; I’ve convinced him to get off his…behind…before. Let me help. What didn’t he believe? That your town was under attack?”
She could tell Braham wasn’t quite convinced that she was being honest, but he sighed and shrugged. “That, and the fact that my full name is Braham Eirsson. My mother—” He said the word with a disgust Kerra didn’t understand. “—is Eir Stegalkin.”
Kerra blinked. “Your mother is who?”
Braham crossed his arms. “You heard me.”
“No, I did, and I believe you—sorry. I just…” She trailed off, took a breath, and continued. “I know your mother, too, then. And I’m aware that I can’t move much at the moment, but if Whitebear doesn’t agree to help you, come back and find me. Either I’ll convince someone to help you, or I’ll do it myself.”
Surprise mixed with persistent disbelief and gratitude. “Okay, then. You’re an odd one, Lin.”
She laughed, dry and short, absorbing the flicker of pain that came with it. “So I’ve heard.” As he headed to the door, she added, “You better come back and at least let me know how things go, okay?”
It was Braham’s turn to laugh, though his was more sincere. He did a goofy half-bow-half-salute and said lightly, “You’ll be on my way, so sure thing, boss.”
****
Kerra wanted to leave. Gareth and his wife and his children were absolutely lovely, and she didn’t deserve any of it. But she was trapped in bed, healing. Careless.
She slept most of the time, waking up only to eat and pet Felix and thank Mikkel for bringing her water. Part of her wished she could just stay asleep, and part of her was absolutely desperate to move, to get out, to go anywhere but here where she was a burden and could do nothing. Always, constantly, back and forth.
I need to move.
You can’t.
I need to help.
You can’t do that, either.
I need to be worth something.
But you’re not.
I need you to shut up.
But I won’t.
I…I need my friends. And I need Trahearne and Caithe.
But you left them. They’re probably all angry with you.
You don’t know that.
And even if they’re not, you don’t deserve them.
…
Am I wrong?
****
On her fourth day at Victor’s Point, Kerra received a visitor.
Raised voices outside woke her. She rolled over to face the door, bringing her knees closer to her chest under the blankets.
“—asked you to state your business, sylvari.” Gareth’s voice. He was on edge and slightly angry.
“And I told you, I’m looking for Kerra. Is she here or not?”
Kerra’s eyes flew open in shock and recognition.
“There is no one by that name staying here,” Gareth replied. “I strongly suggest you try the next homestead.” A feeling of preparedness, as if his hand was on the hilt of his weapon.
Before she could think it through, Kerra called out, “Nisha?”
A brief scuffle and a shout, and the door banged open. Nisha’s clothes looked wrinkled, though still passably clean, and xe stood as tall as ever. And xe was scared and upset and relieved and so many other things that Kerra didn’t have the brainspace to work through.
Felix, however, didn’t have that problem. He leapt forward, and a very startled Nisha caught him in xyr arms. Xe stumbled backward into Gareth, who burst out laughing, animosity gone.
“Well, all right then! Lin, I see you know this person. Is it fine if I leave you two…” He glanced at a very loudly purring Felix, eyes twinkling. “Or you three to catch up?”
Nisha’s gaze caught hers and locked in, like the sight on one of xyr rifles.
Say yes.
Say no.
Say yes.
Say no. Say NO.
“Yes,” Kerra choked out, quiet but audible.
“Wonderful! I’ll be outside if you need me.” The door softly clicked shut behind him.
Silence for a few beats. Three, two, one.
Kerra took a deep breath and straightened, sitting up fully. “Hey,” she said tentatively.
Nisha gently set Felix down, a fierce edge in xyr eyes. Felix curled up next to the bed, eyes darting between the two.
“Hey?” Nisha repeated incredulously. “Hey?!”
Kerra flinched, and Nisha snapped xyr mouth shut with an audible click. When xe spoke next, xyr tone was flat. “Where have you been, exactly?”
“Helping people,” was all Kerra could say.
Nisha exhaled, frustration seeping off xem in waves. “My apologies. I should have phrased that better. Why did you leave Fort Trinity?”
“To help people,” Kerra repeated, helplessly.
“Why couldn’t you help people there?! I-I—” Nisha’s face twisted, though Kerra could see xem struggling to hide it. “You left us! And you didn’t say where you were going, not even to Trahearne or Caithe or my brother.” Xyr hand clenched into a fist, gripping and bunching up the fabric of xyr pants.
She had let them down. They were mad—at least Nisha was, and if xe was, probably everyone else was, too. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she started, “I’m s—”
“Do you have ANY idea how SCARED we were?!” Nisha shouted.
Kerra’s world screeched to a halt.
Wait. What?
“We could have lost you, and we would have had no way of knowing! You could have died, or disappeared, and none of us would have been able to do anything to stop it! We were terrified for you! And not because you’re not capable,” xe added hastily, brushing away tears on xyr own cheeks, and she’d made Nisha cry, she’d done that to xem, she’d hurt xem— “You are perhaps the best fighter I’ve ever met. That doesn’t mean you can’t die.”
Something cracked in Kerra’s heart.
“Why do you—what about all the people who died because of me?” she shouted back, her voice breaking. She threw herself out of bed and onto her feet, the blankets falling in a disorganized tangle behind her. “What about them?”
“What—we were fighting an Elder Dragon! People were going to die!” Both of Nisha’s fists were clenched now. “And I hate that, but it’s the truth! If you’re saying that you think we could have made it all the way to Zhaitan with no casualties—”
“No, no, I’m not, I—all their deaths are my fault!” Kerra’s tone made Felix’s ears flatten, and she ignored Nisha’s rush of utter shock. “I don’t understand why you’d want to find me!”
“Why in Tyria would they all be your fault?” Xyr brow furrowed, and xe took one step towards her. “I disagree with the basic principle, but even if the deaths were entirely on the Pact leadership, shouldn’t they also be Trahearne’s—”
“NO!”
“Why not?!”
“BECAUSE I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE THE COMMANDER!”
The room went dead silent. Kerra abruptly realized she was breathing hard and sat down on the edge of her bed.
“I was given a Wyld Hunt to fight and kill a dragon, Nisha,” she said, staring down at her hands. “The Pale Mother and Caithe both told me that the dragon was Zhaitan, but it clearly wasn’t, because Zhaitan is dead, and my Wyld Hunt is very much still there. Which makes this the wrong path for me, and therefore every action I’ve taken that’s led to where we are, with so many dead, is my fault. I should have figured out I was targeting the wrong dragon, I should have done better, I should have…” She trailed off, overwhelmed.
Silence again. When Kerra looked up, she met Nisha’s eyes, staring directly into hers. Sadness. Anger. Frustration.
Xe cleared xyr throat twice before speaking. “You write your own future, Ker. You’re not beholden to that one.”
“But Mother told me—”
“Mothers can be WRONG!” The fabric of Nisha’s coat tore with a soft ripping sound. But just like with Braham, the anger wasn’t directed at Kerra.
“I was given this Hunt by the Dream!”
“Shoots and thorns!” Nisha yelled, xyr voice cracking. “Why are you so certain you chose wrong, that you made some sort of mistake? You can still complete your Hunt! You can go after all the dragons! And you know why you have that option?” Desperation. Determination. “Because of everything you’ve done, because you’re the Commander, whether or not your Mother and the Dream originally thought you should be! You took down Zhaitan! You proved that Elder Dragons can be defeated, and now you don’t have to fight them alone!”
Xe took a deep breath. “Yes, people died, and it’s horrible.” New tears pooled in xyr eyes. “I…I still miss Sieran. But their deaths are not all your fault, and you saved so many lives, too, and…and I brought these.”
Xe shrugged off xyr pack and fiddled around inside it, pulling out a stack of papers and dropping them on Kerra’s lap. She just blinked.
Nisha sighed, more out of frustration with xemself than with Kerra. “Can you just look at them, please?”
Kerra spread out the papers, making sure to catch a few stray sheets before they fell to the floor.
They were notes, every single one of them written in a different hand. In a quick scan, Kerra saw Caithe’s graceful but clear cursive, Elli’s “i's” dotted with little hearts, and Minei’s deliberately blocky print. She looked back up at Nisha.
“What…what are these?”
“It was Rel’s idea,” xe said, now looking anywhere but Kerra. She could feel xem trying to rein in xyr emotions, though it was a bit late for that. “You gave us all some, so he thought that, if I could find you, I should give you some from all of us.”
Words upon words upon words. Her eyes were drawn to them as if by a magnet.
From Demmi: Thanks for believing in me.
From Cio: You saw past the fire, and you’re one of the few.
From Trahearne: You are the reason I didn’t give up, little sister.
From Shashoo: Quaggan believes in you, Commander!
From Riel: You do good work, agent. Keep it up.
From Elli: Keep fighting, Kerry. You’re damn good at it.
From Minei: They’re not saying why we’re writing these, but you better come back so I can thank you in person.
From Caithe: You showed me new purpose, Valiant. Thank you.
From Rel: You’re my best friend, Ker, and I love you. Stay safe.
And there were more, from soldiers she’d talked to once or sparred with or comforted, and some from people she’d never met. They said thank you and you led us to victory and you saved me and you were a friend when I needed one and many, many variations.
Nisha coughed, and when xe spoke, xyr voice was thick. “I didn’t write one. I’m not a writer. But thank you, Kerra. You’re the third friend I’ve ever made, and I’m so glad I met you.”
“Can I hug you?” Kerra blurted, nearly cutting xem off. She didn’t expect xem to say yes, but she desperately hoped—and then the notes were being carefully placed on the desk, and Nisha was next to her on the bed with xyr arms around her, and Felix was purring loudly from his spot on the floor as he told her I love you, too.
Kerra hugged xem back tightly, hiding her face in xyr shoulder, and they stayed that way until both their shirts were soaked with tears.
****
An indeterminable amount of time later, Kerra pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I can’t do this on my own, you know,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards. I can’t go back alone. I won’t feel better if I’m alone. I need help, and I need my friends, and maybe that’s okay for me, too, just like it’s okay for everyone else. She met Nisha’s eyes. “Will you stay with me?”
“I just found you,” Nisha said, quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kerra smiled in earnest, then. “Good. Because you can’t do this alone, either.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nisha said, eyebrows raising. Surprise. Indignance. Acceptance.
“Neither of us are okay,” Kerra said, thinking of Nisha shouting about mothers (and Nisha shouting at all, when xe always stayed so composed). “And we have other people—other friends, our siblings—but…” She felt her glow flare, warming her face. “I’ll help you, when you need it, and you’ll help me when I need it. That’s the deal.”
“I wasn’t aware we were making a deal.” Amusement. Warmth.
Kerra dipped her head slightly, never breaking eye contact. “We are.” Her smile grew. “You know,” she said cheekily, “you really shouldn’t question your Commander—”
“You are aware that I’m not technically part of the Pact, right?” Nisha interrupted.
It was barely even a joke, but it shattered whatever tension remained. Kerra burst into slightly broken (but still genuine) laughter, the calm after the storm. She felt Nisha’s happiness and saw xyr grin, and it pushed back the flood farther.
It was just enough. For the first time in weeks, she pulled up her shields, shutting the world’s emotions out. It was a relief and a letting go, and she almost started crying again, but Nisha’s presence held her together.
She was far from okay—the drumbeat of it’s all your fault and the Hunt’s repetition of kill the dragon were still very much there in her head. But people cared about her. She had proof of that, though she still didn’t understand it. She was important to them, so she had to keep herself safe.
Maybe someday she’d be able to do that just for herself.
For now, she’d take the help, and she’d start to heal. And when Braham came back, she’d leave, with Nisha.
But it was all right to stay here, just for now. She was safe, and she was loved.
And she felt like she was home.
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Anon again: Thank you!! I appreciate you taking the time to answer me because I am kind of active in the community but very very new. I did know your opinions but being new I just wanted to know whether those recent posts held any weight. I want to be socially responsible with my media consumption and I was worried there was something I was missing, given I have seen specific call outs for certain cast members (Travis, Laura, Sam, and Liam) recently. Thanks again!!
Anon pt2: you don’t have to post this but for context the call out posts were as follows: Travis actively supports the military, Laura voiced a black character?, Sam did brown face??, and Liam is fake woke/virtual signaling (or something along those lines). Obviously I can find out information about this for myself but I have seen more anti-CR stuff lately which prompted my ask.
As with everything, I suggest you do your own reading on those topics, and any topic that comes up in regards to the media you watch. Below is simply my opinion. Note: this gets long.
Travis does support the military - but not as an institution. He has family in the military. He supports the soldiers. He works with Operation Supply Drop and I’d encourage you to look into OSD specifically. Whether you agree with the idea that we should even have a military or not, you cannot deny that our veterans and soldiers are given the short end of the stick. We cannot just abandon them because helping them might be viewed as giving money to the military. I have so many military vets in my disability groups. The VA is awful because it has no funding (I know good people who work at the VA too, but they just cannot help everyone like they’d want to). Programs like OSD are genuinely helpful to a lot of hurting folk and the people who shit on Travis and CR for promoting and helping them out have clearly never actually sat down and talked to a vet or a soldier before.
Laura and many many other voice actors have voiced people of color in various shows. Yes, this is a legit problem. However, obviously as with most things, the problem is nuanced. The fault mainly lies with the VO industry as a whole, in that actors actually have very little control over what they do. There was a whole strike about this very topic (though the strike covered other issues in the industry as well). In the case of Laura, for instance, she was never told what her character would look like until after the fact. And that is super common in the industry. One of the things they tried to get in the strike was more transparency so that actors could make the decisions themselves whether to voice characters or not - not just based on race or culture but also based on type of work (stressful screaming vs chill dialogue) and whether the content of the game itself was something they wanted their name attached to.
Sam’s blackface scandal is extremely old news. That’s not to say it isn’t important to note, and in fact Sam made a point to note it again back in 2018. I know people who can’t watch CR because of it, even after his apology, and that’s fine because its not my place to judge others for how they react to that kind of thing. However I know a lot of people who read his apology and the circumstances surrounding it and decided to forgive. To some people, the fact that he was asked to do so by will.i.am changes the situation. To others, it doesn’t. To some the fact that he apologized and has clearly worked to improve his behavior matters, to others it doesn’t. You have to decide that for yourself. You can read Sam’s letter HERE.
Now. Regarding Liam. * sigh * I think, and again this is my opinion, that you cannot proclaim someone you do not know as ‘fake woke.’ I think there are parts of this fandom that have it out for Liam because of a whole bunch of gross reasons, many of which I’ve spoken about before. He is sensitive and a man - that makes people uncomfy. He plays a lot of women characters and tends to embody them in both personality and body language - that makes people uncomfy. He fully embraces the bi energy (this is not to say whether he himself is or not) - that makes a lot of people uncomfy (and angry). He loves theatre and loves to explore the human condition, warts and all - that makes people super uncomfy. Now. There are people who thinks he’s homophobic. Do you know why? Its because his bi character ended up with a woman instead of a man. That is biphobia, no matter how they twist it. Bi people being “allowed” to be bi and not ‘pick the right side’ in the LG (not BT, lets be real) community IS revolutionary because its so very hated.
Another reason they say he’s homophobic is because of the jokes he is often involved in - some gay men in the fandom believe that joking about sex is him ‘making fun’ of gay relationships. As a bi enby, I disagree, and I read many of the jokes he himself makes as the kind of humor I use among my own friends. I think there is a definite disconnect between bi vs LG humor and I’m not entirely sure who would be considered in the ‘right’ on that. However, when LG people in the fandom claim that he cannot talk about gay relationships because he is cishet? They cannot know that. That is an assumption they are making. When LG fans say that he alone is responsible for this issue and not -literally every single member of CR- ? I have to question whether its really the issue and not just that they still hate Liam for deigning to make a bi character bi instead of gay.
Another thing re: Liam. Aside from Marisha, he is the one I see the most hate about. People on Twitter and Tumblr both have legit uttered death threats about him if he doesn’t do exactly what they want his characters to do in the game. Usually this is about shipping. I have seen people claim that they WISH he was ‘like vic mignogna’ so they’d have a reason to hate him more. I’ve seen a certain group of people and one in particular say they have ‘dirt’ on him but refuse to say what the dirt is - and yet continually bring up that it exists, but that they just cannot say. Why would you incessantly bring up information you possess just to say that you cannot divulge such information?
Legit issues about CR that is attached to Liam is the whitewashing issue. Some say that only Liam is responsible here because he controls all the art. I would say that we actually don’t know that for sure. He is ‘Art Dad’ and clearly has some pull. I do think that CR should address this issue, but I’m not sure they can legally do what the fandom wants them to do, which is “call-out” artists by name and denounce them.
Now, this too is more nuanced than the fandom makes out because its often way more about colorism vs whitewashing. Many people do not draw Beau as white, but they do draw her as much lighter skin tones than her original art. Colorism is a real problem, but white allies tend to go about talking about it wrong or making smaller things a bigger deal when POC would really rather talk about something more important to them. It was these same white allies that tore Mica Burton apart on Twitter because she liked and enjoyed a drawing of Reani, her own character, that was a few shades lighter than the drawing she herself had brought in, even after she had said that she appreciated the variety of skin tones due to seeing herself in each of them. On the topic of whitewashing/colorism in the fandom, I personally tend to wait to hear from POC over the masses of white allies.
The CR fandom is very big for a niche thing like DnD. As such, there are many many corners of the fandom that can get really jaded, really dark, and really up their own ass in regards to the discourse. There are legitimate issues in the fandom and with CR as a whole. Nothing is perfect, nothing ever will be perfect, and people should absolutely do what they can to do better and to ask their media to do better. That being said, there are also people who think that if you don’t do something exactly like they want, then you’re Problematic by default. There are also members of this fandom who have an active vendetta against certain cast members and will use any opportunity to co-opt legit issues in order to shore up their false arguments. These people are only using the real issues and it becomes clear pretty quickly that they don’t actually give a shit about the people they say they are trying to speak up for.
There is also some fandom drama that has occurred ONLY in fandom and has absolutely nothing to do with CR other than the fact that the people involved happen to be CR fans. Certain people in the fandom think that CR should arbitrate this issue and involve themselves, call out the individuals responsible, etc. This is, I believe, a GROSS misconception of what CR’s role is and asking way too much of a source of entertainment. The fact that CR has not involved themselves in this issue has led certain members of this fandom to claim that CR is homophobic. I would caution that most callouts of CR as homophobic are directly linked to this first issue, and also a callback to the Vaxleth drama from campaign one, and is incontrovertibly tied to bi and enby-phobia and a seriously sick misunderstanding of the responsibilities a show has versus the responsibility individuals have as viewers of said show.
That’s it for now. I could go way more in depth on this problems, but I’m tired of typing. Suffice it to say, its easy to make a list of things Problematic with CR, but once you actually delve into each topic hopefully you’ll realize how complicated and filled with nuance and Different Opinions going on back from the first episode of Campaign One... Listing problems without actually addressing them head-on isn’t a good way to deal with the problems that are true anyway, let alone tell them from the false ones.
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Wands and potions: NCT Dream & WayV
Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the upcoming chapter. Thank you.
A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post (im a mess) but i had some issues to deal with, personal things at home and some family members were feeling sick so things were a mess, as always I hope you enjoy the chapter and I’ll try to get back on track. I’m sorry if my posts aren’t up to the standard I usually output in.
Chapter 17:
[Lyra’s Pov]
[10th Jan 2005]
The first memory I had of my parents was a fight. It was one of my earliest. And one id never forget. The shouts and screams being thrown about. It was hazy and only when I began whimpering and crying weakly the blond male lifted me up into his hold. His cold icy eyes warming up for me. Melting the frozen glacier of cerulean into a deep royal navy.
I’ve been hidden from everyone and anyone around me for their safety and their status in the social wizarding world. I was a child that wasn’t ever supposed to be born and it was hurtful the longer the secret was kept. Whilst my siblings were given all the love and care in the world, lived to be around them in a comforting lovable world. I was left to be brought up by myself. Alone.
[06:18PM]
“You deserve to know, and I deserve to be treated like I’m desired, like I’m loved and wanted.” I murmured quietly my voice came out fragile and broken, its displayed the 14 years of raw emotion behind it.
“Remember when you told me you really felt we were like sisters?” I saw Selene’s expression warp into confusion her lips between teeth as she sat next to me her eyes shaking nervously. She didn’t want to glance into my own, but she nodded confirming my words.
“Well we could be, if Scorpius believes me... when I tell him, I- I’m his half-sister. His blood sister...” Selene stared as if I'd just produced a rhinoceros from my pocket. Though the expression on Scorpius face was unreadable. It was a mix of confusion, guilt and denial.
“Please say something.” I pleaded, he needed to respond. In any way possible, I needed to know how he felt. My heart was being torn by the second, this was worse than being stabbed multiple times and left to bleed to death...
“I can’t- i don’t know- how do I?” he sighed, exasperatedly. “I need some time to think about this.” He stood his eyes frantically looking around, Scorpius looked anxious wanting to leave, and even though it was freezing cold he was loosening the green tie around his neck.
“Please, don’t tell anyone. You can’t let anyone know.” I stood desperately wanting to hold or grab him. I yearned for his acceptance for so many years. My only sibling I cared about. This had to be kept a personal family secret as well.
“Scorpius, are you ok? Do you need me to-” “NO, no- I’m fine,” it came through gritted teeth...
“Selene, just stay with her? I need some space.” He quickly takes his leave frantically looking off, not once did he look back at us.
“Give him some time, he’ll come back. Don’t worry.”
“How are you taking this?” I turn to Selene who was hugging me, her arm on my back comforting me. She seemed dazed, her eyes were clouded. It’s like she wasn't here.
“You were already my sister; all you did was give me confirmation.” She held me close pulling me into her hold.
“Thank you, for being here.” I whisper clutching her robes her hair tickling the side of my face. I was glad to have her around me.
[06:25PM]
Pieces of mirror shatter breaking into a shower of tiny pieces; the amount of negative energy in the air was boundless. “Scorpius please calm down.” the rage in him needed to get out somehow? He wasn’t himself.
“He lied! HE LIED TO ME AND HER!” the bloodcurdling cry echoed; his mouth wide open as he released his inner demons. The scream made all the hair on his body stand. Albus wanted to stop him. To help him.
He couldn’t.
“He had another child, behind her back, she was thrown to the side. Like it was nothing!” The sobbing continued gales began to swirl and enter through the sides of the bathroom. Unknowingly, he was brewing a whirlwind. A storm hitting, equal to the force it felt inside him. It was building for weeks now and all Lyra did was confirm the reality.
His vice was strained, and it hurt like hell, but he continued letting all the pain and sorrow out. His head was pounding now. He wanted it to stop. Scorpius yearned for the numb feeling
“Stop you’re going to hurt yourself.” We he? Scorpius wished He’d hurt himself. Maybe that pain would distract him from the searing agony he was feeling. Pain sears through his abdomen better than a branding iron, his mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion.
Everything had been a lie.
“Want it to end. Please.” The crouched figure in the centre of the room strained himself. He didn’t want to be here anymore. “leave.”
Albus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave his friend in such a vulnerable and defenceless position. “let me help you.” A crack in his voice, it shows the pain he was feeling it reflected into Albus. the young boy stumbled back pushing from the sheer force of the gales that tormented Scorpius this whole time.
“I SAID GO!”
The pain was increasing in waves; getting bigger by the second, giving false hope of an end. But it would never end.
It was too loud to hear anything at this point the push of the wind tore bits off the wooden cubicle doors. Becoming spinning daggers of anger within the whirling storm.
Scorpius increased the howling gusts, faster and faster until they sheathed him with a spray of sprinkled sharp edges and crusted glass, they shimmered in the ill lit bathroom; the gloomy skies reflecting its dusty grey cold rays.
“Scorpiu-”
Albus had no way of coming near him he was forced out of the bathroom having no choice but to leave his friend in there suffering alone. The soft tears fell down the boy’s face, he hated the haunted feeling of having no form of control over the situation.
Across the empty acres of land, empty silent castle hauntingly still not much moving, was two figures perched up upon the north towers. A forbidden duo, though ones that felt comforted in another’s presence. The light breeze slowly yet surely trying to pull against their night robes.
“I want to get over the anxiety I have, I want to control my feelings not the other way.” murmured to the male, she had been spending most of her time. Days -and starting now- her nights were spent with the devilish Durmstrang boy.
“It’s not easy.” he spun on his own two feet looking across the edge of the tower towards her. Selene was perched upon the handle of the metallic barrier.
“I know. but I want to at least try. Will you help me?” Selene was in her sleeping robes she was twiddling with her wand spending most her days with him she had gotten extremely comfortable with the male who she has come to know for his sharp tongue and the ability to be quite convincing.
“I will. But first you need to show that you can trust me.”
“I do, I trust you.” Selene leaned off just a little further. She was content in being here silently with him. But was he? did he enjoy their secret nights alone?
“Do you think I can be like them?” letting her hair cascade past her figure, taking orders from the wind it wrapped over her -like the tentacles of the giant squid- across her body.
“Like them?” Repeating the words; he asked for more.
“My ancestors. I want to find out more.” It was like a persistent hunger that couldn’t be satiated. From a fairly long time, it was that absence of complete acceptance and love. Deep down she understood that but was she never going to admit it?
“You want to follow the prophecy?” a hesitant nod answered his questioning. the endless chewing on her dry lips and thoughts fighting against one another proved to show the utter confusion in what she really wanted. The certainty was on one thing though “I want to belong.”
“A girl, Dominique, from Beauxbaton.” Leaving the edge Selene moved towards the boy getting slightly closer. “She mentioned that the Lestrange ancestral family had a connection to France.”
“You think it could be important?” she pondered over his words for a moment. “Didn’t you mention that Grindelwald had his convocation in Paris France?”
“He did. But what’s-”
“I can find out more, what happened? Who I am.” Curling back into herself Selene hummed a soft tune she was comforted by her own arms wrapping around herself. Making her feel the soft pressure upon her own body.
“Selene.” Yangyang mumbled as he stepped closer sitting next to her “When you were at the mirror, the first time we met, it showed you something.” he grasped her two hands in his softly rubbing his slender fingers over her palm. His eyes were captivating.
“it showed me myself.”
“it showed you something else along with it.” He edged, the slight smile on his face and his eyes boring into selenes pushed her to continue. It felt as if everything was surreal, it was all a dream, why was everything so easily spilling past her lips.
“What I wanted; I want to find myself.” Capturing his eyes she glanced at the void contained the magnitude of the earth and the blackhole sucking the shimmers of light inwards. Nothing could escape.
“I promise I can help you do that, but you can’t go to France just yet.”
“I can’t go to France…” Selene murmured his eyes were captivating. As time passed slowly, she fell deeper into his gaze.
“Yes, you have something to do. First.”
[13th October]
“Someone has taken a large noticeable dose of tentacle juice, from the private potions storage. If anyone has any known whereabouts or knows of anyone having sources, you must inform your head of year or head of house. Thank you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me-” shifting to take seat next to her position next to the others the raven-haired witch sat calmly the frustration only evident in her voice. “-they wake us up at 8am for this?”
“Yeah, some bastard nicking a few drops of poison…” Irene adds muttering, every single student for a 20-meter radius was yawning uncontrollably and dozing off on the study tables but once awake you needed to prepare for breakfast.
“Where were you this morning?” Ravelle had a sly smile on her lips as she pondered not so innocently over the whereabouts of the ginger witch before her.
“Out taking a short walk.” Blowing out an exasperated huff Selene stood taking her leave from the depressing and sleep deprived circle, “You know there’s only so much ‘Ravelle’ I can take in one day.” Sarcasm slipping past her voice was what made the sneaky witch drop her innocent act.
“Really, I’ve only asked you one question you shouldn’t be so defensive… unless there is something for you to hide?”
Selene stopped in her tracks, movement stuttering for a second. The wrapping of a dusty cloth rough in her hands.
“I have nothing to hide.” The outrage in her voice was enough to alert those around them that somewhat of a fight was about to start and, like the usual- all hell was about to break loose.
“Though I must let you know that I am exceeding the amount of ‘bitchiness’ I can take from you in a day so mind if I leave?” she widened her eyes turning to face the raven and nodded frivolously, she feigned sorrow for her and a sympathetic smile came to her face as she left.
“Thought you’d never ask…” Ravelle murmured the words she wasn’t interested in Selene herself. The antics she had grown accustomed to, -since that night with the celebratory introduction Selene had been on edge, spitting back ruthlessly and harsh words were leaving her lips- Ravelle eyed the linen wrap in her hands, it covered something, and it was important, no doubt delicate by the way she was cradling it to her core like a mother would do to her babe.
[1st November]
Many days passed and winter edged nearer, visibly shortening the once lengthy and enjoyable days. The cold let soft cotton and thick clothes layer up with the many peaking noses out of scarves turn red and pink.
The clouds of air exhaled when talking put things together but what really allowed the community to know the ending of summer solstice was the thick coat of white sheen that glistened in the early morning rays, covering the lands and lulling them to sleep.
“Anyone received any personal invites to the yule ball?” Albus whispered to the young brunette. The two now becoming much friendlier than usual were confiding in themselves after all they both had Scorpius to worry about.
“No not yet.” She glanced at him weary of the random questioning. lyra had enough on her plate already. It was harsh and difficult that her only brother wasn’t talking to her and Selene was sleeping off half her days and running of at night.
“If this is about Selene the-” “It’s not.”
“Then who-”
“I’m just asking.” She shuffled to turn towards him, sceptically reading his face the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably. “Such a liar.”
“You dummy, I can see it in your eyes. Who pushed you to do this? This is about Selene.”
“It isn’t, I swear.” His hands flew up in retaliation. The silent pause of scepticism made him sigh in relief when she dropped the accusations.
“I’m sick of this, it’s all going to hell and I cant get any of them to even sit and talk to me. It’s awful.” Lyra whined her frustration could be seen in the way she tugged at her roots the hair lengthier than it was a few weeks ago.
“Scorpius isn’t ready to face this ye-.”
“-Hell never be ready then. Albus I can’t wait any more. How does he think I feel?” the brunette boys turned into saucers at the sudden interruption. She had been waiting for the past 3 weeks and it was getting agitating for a while, but nobody understood her. The way she felt.
“Whats wrong with Selene then? He can’t talk now so whats the issue with your ginger friend?”
“Oh don’t get me started with her.” She shifts in her seat lyra was starting to remember the situations Selene was in, breaking her heart for the past fortnight. “She’s gone, really lost it.”
“Sleeps all day and sneaks out at night, its odd Selene would have never done such a thing.” She mutters, the frown on her face showed her feeling of betrayal. “I can’t get her to spend any time with me at all, it’s always ‘Yangyang this Yangyang that’!”
“Wait.”
“You mean Durmstrang Liu” if his eyes were saucers back then they were as wide as cauldrons. His hands clenched up visibly the whole demeanor he possessed was stiffened within a second, Lyra didn’t comprehend the change until she spared him a quick glimpse.
“Yeah him,” she blinked dropping her head further into her grasp as she questioned his body language “Whats got you so surprised, most girls already know!”
“Liu Yangyang that German-Taiwanese boy?” the voice crack gave him away, there was definitely something wrong, but Lyra had no clue what was happening to him, what kind of reaction was that.
“Hold on know what?” he interrupted again.
“Well, supposedly they’re in a relationship, and I don’t know… but he’s really affecting Selene.”
“They can’t be though?” the denial in his voice was giving all the wrong signals and signs, Lyra turned towards him fully, hands out of hair and eyes skimming his face, his expression wasn’t helping the previous accusations planted upon him by her.
“Why Albus? Do you like her or something?”
What came out of his mouth after wasn’t a big shocker or anything but lyra was shocked to find out such a revelation and from him, Albus, who seemed to have no clue who the boy is.
“No, its just. He has a girlfriend already,”
“Yeah Selene.” The response came quick.
“No, he’s engaged to her, its not Selene. She’s back in Germany.” He was referring to another girl, that Selene wasn’t the only one in a relationship with the male and it made Lyra's blood boil.
“HE’S TWO-TIMING?”
The two had another issue to deal with, Selene couldn’t find out, even if it meant lying to her. She wouldn’t be able to handle what was to come.
@ajuniceuajuniceu @kkuljungwoo @sensiblebutch @kangkinoa @nctzen2020 @mystic-jungkook @merryandhappylele @bcbymingi @mochischeeks @rilakunma @jaehyunspaghetti @commentgirl @99jjh @johnnys-wifeu @misaraem @apricottulips @h2ogamergirl @angelsnowflake
#Wands and Potions#nct hogwarts au#wayv series#NCT Dream Scenarios#nct x reader#chenle x reader#yangyang x reader#nct yangyang#wayv senarios#nct scenarios#Park Jisung#wayv hogwarts au#kpop fanfiction#kpop series#nct dream series#liu yangyang#school au
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Not sure if I’m late or not but here is my latest entry for @naruto-fantasy-week, a prompt for Day 5! I doubt I’ll have enough time to eek out fanfics with the last two prompts before the event ends but I’ll eventually write them and post them anyway and go back to this fanfic and the previous to spruce them up and expand on the ideas I came up with for each fanfic/prompt.
There is some violence mentioned and acted upon, especially in the end, but it’s nothing too graphic. And as a fun tidbit, cantarella was a poison rumored to be used by the Borgias but since there’s not a whole lot of evidence the poison exists, I took artistic license with it to suit my purpose of this story.
The title derives from the lyrics of Nightwish’s song “7 Days to the Wolves”.
Summary: He was a man of many faces, shapes, and ideas. Unfortunately, shapeshifters like him were a prize to be captured and then used for gladiator arenas. While he was used to the killing that didn’t mean Orochimaru never stopped contemplating his revenge. Who would have thought he would find another shapeshifter hidden right under Danzo’s nose? Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 5. Prompt: Shapeshifters. [Orochimaru x Sakura]
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“Serpents were in my heart.” — Mary Shelley, The Mortal Immortal
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The white wyrm rested, and waited, in anticipation for that small cellar door to open and here the sounds of the humans issuing orders at him, telling him how lucky he was that a wretched snake, a shapeshifter, continued to live under the generous hospitality of Danzo, and if he continued to do his part in the fighting pits, he would be fed and not lose any of his scales.
Orochimaru snarled at the door, wishing he could snap the wood in two and break the bones of the sentries posted outside his door. He heard that same annoying speech approximately 5475 times, once a day, for the last fifteen years. And sometimes they lied, for after battles, if he ended the match too quickly or gave his hapless opponent a swift, clean, and painless death, they’d drug him and pry a few of his white scales off, while the magic they used to bind and control his shapeshifting restrained him from unable to lash out. Such actions served to not only remind Orochimaru of who was in charge of his life and to sell his pearlescent scales to the highest bidder, adding a hefty, lucrative amount to Danzo’s coffers.
One of these days, he was going to swallow Danzo whole and let that fool slowly digest in his stomach. His death would be slow, agonizing, and very satisfying.
A guard eventually did open his chamber door, recited the boring, useless drivel Orochimaru heard over thousand times before nodding over to the masked mage at his side. The unknown mage wore a rodent-like mask, different from the last mage who temporarily lifted the block on his shapeshifting.
“Danzo requests your presence, your human presence, at his side. The next match is starting soon.” informed the masked mage once the yellow glow departed from his outstretched hand. Orochimaru narrowed his slitted golden eyes dangerously. He remembered what happened when they first allowed him to change shapes, to assume his human form. He acted all compliant and understanding, lulling them in a false sense of security right before he first bite off the head of the mage, then a nearby guard, before shifting out of his wyrm body and back into his human self to escape the narrow door and grab the first weapon he could find to slay the other guard who was about to raise the alarm of his escape. He was eventually recaptured before he could leave the keep, home of the fighting pits, and was whipped brutally for his attempt. Yet through it all, Orochimaru still had to laugh bitterly at their earlier carelessness. Did they not forget who he was and why Danzo decided to let him live after his greatest transgression (besides being a shapeshifter)?
Before the village discovered his identity of a shapeshifter–creatures the elders condemned as monsters, only fit for extermination–, he was a trained warrior, a skilled killer who served the town while keeping his snake-like gilded eyes hidden in his youth through glamor or shaded spectacles. His parents could hide their natural heritage and appearances better with simple alterations and had no need for glamor, since they were older and more experienced shapeshifters. Yet all their years of experience and aptitude didn’t save them from being slaughtered–by the orders of Danzo. And Sarutobi, the village’s main leader, Orochimaru’s very teacher, turned a blind eye, and let the cloak-and-dagger execution happen. And then promptly turned around to lie to his young pupil’s grief-stricken face about his parents’ deaths.
He didn’t regret killing that old bastard for lying to him after all those years. He may have not wanted his parents to die or issued the decree but his negligence, his cowardice, and acceptance of shapeshifters being lesser beings, like animals, made him just as guilty as Danzo, who hung up his parents’ skins up on his office for all to see. He had forced one of them to turn into a large serpent and the other, a small dragon, all so he could use their hide as a trophy. Such disfigurement was the most traumatizing death any shapeshifter could experience, especially if their corpse was paraded around like a proud prize for humans to gawk at.
Orochimaru was left alone in his cell once more so he could transform back into a human and change into the clothes that were left for him. Those robes were always placed so neatly in the corner, waiting for him, when he was permitted to be human. His scaly body was soon a tall, lean pale man with long, silky black hair, and he kept his signature, curved golden eyes with dark purple markings around the eyelids. Everyone already knew who he really was so why bother mask his true appearance?
By the time he was escorted and brought to Danzo, the power-hungry man was already barking orders at the serving girls to bring him more sake and food. For Orochimaru, he simply inclined his head, inviting him to take a seat and watch the upcoming match. Just like always, whenever he planned to sic some unfortunate soul in the ring with him, as a wyrm. He wanted Orochimaru to study the gladiator’s fighting techniques and movements beforehand, a sure sign that he wanted his opponent to die in the battle arena.
Most likely a political opponent of Danzo’s or a dissenter he labeled as a ‘traitor’. My, my, he’s finding so many of them these days.
The fighter down below was fast, Orochimaru would give him that, but strategy was not his forte. He dodged most of his larger foe’s attacks and was more of the type to wear his assailant down until they became exhausted and made mistakes. And he repeated his defensive blows often, another tactical error. Basically, his onslaught with him would hardly be a worthy match.
Sighing in disappointment, Orochimaru helped himself to a goblet of water, draining its contents dry before setting the cup back down. As if on cue, one of the serving maids rushed up to him to refill his drink. He turned around, about to politely thank her (after all, unlike some, he actually had manners), and he heard a sharp intake of breath. When a pink haired server came into his line of vision, his nostrils flared, and her green eyes stared at him surprise. He understood her reaction.
Here, amidst Danzo’s private posse of servants, trusted men, and soldiers, was another shapeshifter. And unlike him, she was not branded or wearing chains that restricted or prohibited her from transforming into other animals or people. Which meant…
Danzo doesn’t know she’s a shapeshifter. How bloody rich.
If he wasn’t in the presence of Danzo’s oh so charming company, he’d laugh viciously at the irony right there, on the spot.
The girl–no, young woman–whoever she was, fumbled with the pitcher during her moment of distraction and quickly averted her gaze to focus on not making an entire mess of the water and attracting the unwanted attention of Danzo. Meanwhile, as she concentrated solely on watching the water rise in his metallic goblet, Orochimaru leaned forwarded and whispered in her ear.
“Be careful, little one. Better stick to the shadows, lest someone gets suspicious and uncovers your secret. Then you’ll be chained, just like me.”
That mocking warning startled her but she uttered nothing. She merely finished filling up his cup and returned to her original location, off to the corner and out of sight. Yet she did sneak a glance over her shoulder to get a glimpse of him one more time before she returned to her duties and he resumed his bored review of the fighting before him. Hopefully, that fledgling shapeshifter had enough sense in her to realize she risked more than just her life staying here and would quit the village in the dead of the night.
There was no need for this putrid city to have two shapeshifters under their control or be responsible for another’s one death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was wrong about the other shapeshifter.
She must be lacking wits, to sneak past all the guards just so she could creep into his cell and offer him water and leftover food from the kitchens. Some might call her courageous but all Orochimaru beheld was a foolhardy woman who should have left Danzo’s service, packed her bags, and left this godforsaken place already.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he hissed, revealing his rows of sharp, venomous teeth.
The roseate haired shapeshifter ignored him, setting down a jug of water, scraps of chicken, pheasant, beef, and wild boar. The tender, seasoned meats and the spices cooked into its juices wafted through his nose and he eyed the meal curiously.
“I never thought I would see another shapeshifter,” she began, inching the food tray closer to him. “Especially one imprisoned by Danzo. I thought he had a strict ‘kill every single shapeshifter I see’ policy.”
He chuckled dryly. “He does, unless he wants to use you for his own purposes. But why are you here to see me? You risk torture and certain death should the guards notice you.”
“But I wanted to see you!” she protested. “I haven’t seen, much less talked to another shapeshifter in years. Especially one who could help me–teach me, that is!”
“Teach you what?” Orochimaru finally decided to sate his hunger and first devour the bits of pheasant, relieved to find that the chef didn’t use too much pepper and balanced the amount of herbs just right.
“To change into larger, stronger creatures,” she explained, verdant eyes sparkling with hope. “You see, I was adopted by humans and they didn’t know my true heritage. So I had to learn how to transform on my own or scavenge for any books left behind by shapeshifters for helpful tips. I can do small animals and creatures but nothing as big or impressive as this.” She gestured to his wyrm body.
That explains how she was able to skulk past all the sentries.
“Why should I help you?” Orochimaru cut in, cocking his big, heavy head at her. “Why stay here, talking to me, instead of departing this wretched town and start searching our own kind? Surely, someone there can help you better than I.”
Her green eyes leveled with his amber ones, resolute and dark. “Because I crave to kill that bastard Danzo and I believe you’ll help me do that. And besides, I want to help you escape this horrible place.”
She didn’t even know him and yet, she wanted to help set him free. This shapeshifter was a strange creature, but he understood the hunger for revenge. It was a language he fathomed all too well and the burning desire had kept him going for all these torturous fifteen years. Danzo expected him to try to escape again or at least, try to murder him, but he didn’t anticipate her. And that raised the odds a little in their favor.
“What an intriguing proposal,” he practically purred, his breathing fanning against her face and causing her pink hair to billow out behind her. “In exchange for me training you in how to change into more complex forms, you’ll help me escape from this dungeon, and somehow, together, we’ll kill Danzo. Is that correct?”
She nodded firmly. “Yes. And I don’t care how long the training takes. I want, no need, to master my shapeshifting.”
At least she was dedicated, eager to learn. Orochimaru couldn’t abide small-minded people and those who had no drive, no interest in acquiring more knowledge and skills.
Either way, he was trapped underneath the fighting pits, with nothing else better to do so why not? At least this way, he wouldn’t be so dreadfully bored.
“Very well, I will accept this offer. However, I will need to know the name of my pupil. It’s only polite after all.” He forked his long tongue at her, amused when he startled her a little.
“It’s Sakura.” She bowed her head in reverence. When was the last time someone gifted even a small measure of respect like that? “What’s yours? I need to know the name of my teacher too.”
He grinned wide, knowing full well his face probably appeared utterly monstrous and terrifying but to Sakura’s credit, she didn’t flinch or scramble away from him in supreme terror.
Good.
“Orochimaru. Now, let us begin with your first lesson.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contrary to the popular belief among humans, shapeshifters didn’t magically obtain knowledge on how to transfer into every creature or animal in existence overnight. Each attempt took time, energy, training, and practice to learn, control, and master each form, so a shapeshifter could not only move and talk in their new form but stay in it for long periods of time. The same went to altering their human appearance or body completely.
So his lessons with Sakura continued for years as she made progress with more medium sized animals or changing her human self to the point no one would recognize her. He never inquired why she wanted Danzo dead so much because that was none of his business and right now, he was not that interested in prying into her personal affairs. In return, she never asked what he did to be imprisoned so cruelly by Danzo. However, he did not miss the way her eyes would linger over his old scars or small, open patches of flesh where his scales once were and her face would scrunch up into pure, indignant rage. It was adorable, actually.
Yet he could hardly say the same whenever she was too exhausted in her training to head back to her room and go to sleep in her bed. Instead, Sakura would simply collapse amidst his coiled, scaly body and wrapped her arms around him, almost as if she was giving him a hug. Part of her features were usually resting up against his neck, so near his face that half of the time Orochimaru was tempted to shake his head or move around to jostle Sakura out of her slumber but something always prevented him from doing so. Maybe it was pity seeing how weary she was, juggling her servant duties, making sure her identity as a shapeshifter is still a secret, and then sneaking into his cell during the night to receive more lessons from him. She probably didn’t even realize she was falling asleep on him. Regardless, Orochimaru allowed this habit of hers to continue and only waited a few hours later to carefully wake her up and remind her to get back to her room before the sun rose and the other servants inquired about her absence. The routine turned into a cycle he had no motivation to stop.
While Sakura was improving with her shapeshifting and finally could move onto the larger creatures, they began to discuss, in all seriousness and not just idle musing, about escaping and slaying Danzo in the process.
“Poison would be the surest way to kill him,” Sakura opined. “There are so many different varieties out there that are slow acting and don’t show any immediate signs of poison until after death. And I serve him his meals occasionally, right after he is given his medicine. I can always poison the drink he takes to wash the foul flavor of the concoction down. He wouldn’t be able to notice a difference in taste.”
“A fine idea but Danzo is a paranoid man, especially since he knows I want to kill him and many of my previous forms favored snakes, serpents, or dragon-like beasts. I’ve heard he boosted his immunity to several poisons so if we choose poorly and select the one he’s immune to, then we wasted our time.” Orochimaru pointed out, stretching out his long, cumbersome physique in this rather cramped cell.
Undaunted, Sakura still pressed the venom route. “What about poisons that will simply immobilize him and prevent him from speaking or moving for a long time? Surely he wouldn’t have spent his time increading his defense for poison that won’t kill him outright or over time.”
Cocking his head, Orochimaru regarded her curiously at her suggestion. If Danzo was paralyzed like that, preferably in his bed, those close to him would raise their suspicions that this wasn’t natural and the work of some curse or toxin. On the other hand, if they measured the dose correctly and timed its effect exactly, then it could be possible to have the old devil at their mercy. That is, if he was predicting Sakura’s plan accurately.
“Are you suggesting we use a poison that will paralyze sometime in the night, rendering him unable to defend himself or call for help as we kill him?” he stated, making sure they were on the same page.
Sakura nodded, eyes resolved, her face grim. “Yes. Do you think that scheme would work?”
“It could, if we can get our hands on this specific poison. Cantarella, I believe it’s called. Do you know where you can obtain some?” Creating cantarella on their own would take far too long and even though shapeshifters were blessed with longevity, Orochimaru did not want to take any more risks with these nighttime lessons of theirs. Sooner or later, someone would notice Sakura’s odd nocturnal routines and investigate. And such nosiness could get them both butchered.
“Yes, I know someone. He poses as a traveling merchant and has no love for Danzo or this village. He won’t ask questions if I purchase the cantarella from him.”
Orochimaru hummed with approval. “Good, that issue is taken care of. Now, onto the other snag in this scheme of ours.” Lifting his head up, he gestured to the thick, old, and heinous brand embedded in his upper torso, located right on his upper left chest if he was a man. “This brand and the chains that bind me here prevent me from transforming. Since none of us know how to remove the brand or negate it completely, we need one the sealing rings the mages use to control whether or not a shapeshifter can change their form.”
Moving away from her spot on the hard, damp ground, Sakura approached the branded section and gingerly reached out to touch it, tracing the design slowly. “I think I can get one. It might take me a few days or a week to butter up the mage but I have a plan.” She turned her head towards him. “Trust me on this. By the end of this week, I will get us that ring and once we have it, then all we have to do next is administer the cantarella.”
“And not get caught in the process,” Orochimaru reminded soberly. “If Danzo or one of his supporters catches wind of our plot, then we’re good as dead.”
And this time, Danzo will skin me for certain, wyrm form and all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His concern on Sakura’s unspoken plan to get a sealing ring from a mage was apparently groundless. For by the end of the week, after she entered his cell in the form of a cat, he glimpsed the ring in her mouth. She dropped the item in front of her, a triumphant beam on her feline visage before steadily changing back into the petite, muscled young woman with short, cropped rose hair and jade eyes.
“How long do we have before the mage starts searching for his missing ring?” was the first question Orochimaru asked, not touching the said ring right away. For years he longed to get his hands on this trinket, to use its powers to nullify the brand’s power and finally control his own shape for a change. It didn’t matter whether he or Sakura used the ring, the magic inside would work and he could shift back into his human self again or take the form of another animal. They were lucky the sorcery within those rings could be accessed by anyone with just a simple word, a word Orochimaru heard often enough with his now almost twenty years of imprisonment.
Contemplating his query, Sakura scrunched her nose up to concentration on her estimation on the amount of time they had left to enact their wild scheme. “I think we have until morning. The sleeping potion I gave him will leave him knocked out the rest of the evening and night.”
Sleeping potion? If he had eyebrows in his wyrm form, Orochimary would have risen both of them. Only those who possessed enough knowledge and skills in medicine would boost such confidence in the lasting effects of a sleeping potion. No mere amateur could create a legitimate concoction that would actually work.
Sakura never ceased to surprise him.
“A shapeshifter and a practitioner of medicine? My, my, you must have an interesting story to tell. I must say, I’m rather impressed with your skillset.” Orochimaru remarked. He remembered a former comrade-in-arms who was a combat medic, the first in her line of work. By the time he murdered their former teacher, Sarutobi, she had already left the town and roamed the countryside to be with her lover, a civilian named Dan. If Danzo was now fully dominating this town, she would have been aghast and then incensed what became of her home.
Orochimaru hadn’t thought about Tsunade for a long time. Being chained in a dungeon and used for gladiatorial matches had a peculiar way of warping one’s memories and perception of time, it seemed.
Sakura brightened at his praise, the luster in her eyes practically illuminating his dim, dusky cell. “I’m happy to hear that, Orochimaru. Sleeping potion can be chancy, especially mixed with alcohol, but the mage I was charming earlier already wanted to spend some time alone with me after his shift. Getting the sleeping potion was actually harder than mixing it into his ale. By the time he wakes up tomorrow, he won't remember if we had a wild night or not.”
Mocking laughter percolated from the back of Orochimaru’s long, thick throat. Undone by the lust in his own loins. How insipidly easy.
“As long he won’t recall clearly and the potion lasts, we have our chance.” He nodded to the ring on the ground. “Use that thing on me. It’ll be easier for you to release the binding seal on me rather than myself.” His tail or mouth were much too enormous to hold the ring securely with dropping it or accidentally swallowing it. “All you need to do is chant ‘Release’ and I should be able to change my form at will.”
Sakura gifted him a skeptical look. “The word to use is ‘release’? Nothing else? Nothing more complicated?”
“I never said the mages under Danzo’s control were intelligent. Most of them are mindless drones. Danzo mass produces those rings to help all of his soldiers and assassins combat shapeshifters so of course he wants them to be easy to utilize.”
She glared at the offending ring on the ground prior to picking it up and slipping it under her finger. Her mouth opened and formed the lone word, her voice low, soft, but commanding.
“Release!”
He felt the brand heat up, the pin-prickling warmth uncomfortable at first prior to evanescing away into nothing. The shadow of control the brand had always rendered inside his mind and body was gone, replaced with an empty sensation that there was no magic this time to stop him from shifting.
His body grew smaller and assumed a new shape. His alabaster scales became white skin, long, luxurious hair the color of jet black cascading effortlessly down his scalp and past his shoulders and back, and he relished the feel of arms, legs, hands, and feet. The only part of him that remained the same was his golden eyes, outlined by violet markings.
Sakura stared up at him in wonder, holding the ring up for him to take and use for his own protection. “I’ve never seen you shapeshift before. You did so flawlessly...it’s like watching water move on its own.”
An indulgent half-smile slithered across his lips, accepting the ring and dropping the trinket over his pointer finger. “If you live long enough as I have, then you’ll be able to shift your body as swiftly and deftly as me.” His eyes roamed past Sakuraand over to the cell door behind them. There were no guards around but they still had to be cautious. They were so close to the final stages of their plot.
“I take it since you made plans to snatch this ring that you already are in possession of the cantarella?”
She nodded. “Yes, and I’ve been scheduled to bring Danzo his meal and drink tonight, with the physician who will feed him his medicine.” A black smirk spread across her fair visage. “I will be needed for this duty in less than an hour.”
He expected such news but the information was so welcoming and pleasing to him that his half-grin soon morphed into a smirk identical to hers. “Perfect. Go and make the preparations and let me know when it’s done. When night has fallen, we will shapeshift into an unnoticeable animal to enter his room. After that…” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if the two of them would just be wishing Danzo goodnight instead of murdering him in his bed. But the sinister, vindictive gleam in both of their gazes belied the softness of his tone. Orochimaru could imagine Danzo’s blood on his hands, coating the entire wall in a crimson palette. “Well, let’s give the people of this...amusing establishment something to chat about tomorrow morning.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The priceless, alarmed look in Danzo’s eyes would be forever burned in Orochimaru’s mind. There was a small fragrance of fear emitting from the usually prideful, smug hunter of shapeshifters, the tantalizing smell hovered so deliciously over him as the two shapeshifters approached the bed, a candle in both of their hands so Danzo could witness his assassins. The cantarella worked wonders for even now, Danzo could not move nor speak to save himself. All he could was listen. Listen and wait for his demise to come.
“I warned you all those years ago that killing me would have been wiser for you,” Orochimaru intoned darkly, his whispery words surely evoking the same memory from Danzo. The candlelight illuminated his amber eyes so clearly in the vacant darkness of the room. “But I shouldn’t be so rude and hog all the introductions. Sakura, dear, why don’t you jot Danzo’s recollection of you? Judging by the confused expression on his face, I say he doesn’t recall you.”
Danzo wheezed and grunted, mouth hanging up like a fish, but his fear was now replaced with utter rage.
In an instant, Sakura held a dagger over his chest, a silent snarl overcoming her mouth, her face promising no mercy and a slow, painful death. She glared at Danzo like he was vermin, not fit to even exist in this world. “I doubt you remember me, you bastard. Why would you, when you banned the women in this village the right to become warriors? And why would you care about some girl all those years ago, from a civilian family, who could not possibly be a threat to you? After all, it was her friend, that orphan boy whom the neighbors whispered about having shapeshifting powers and that he acted more like an animal than a boy? Isn’t that right?”
By now, in the midst of her ranting, Sakura had already begun to sink the blade into Danzo’s stomach and the old coot hacked, and then gurgled out wordless noises, his eyes wide as saucers. Although Danzo could not scream out his agony, Orochimaru still tore some of the bedsheets and stuffed them in his mouth, just in case. Sakura retracted her hand, only to plunge the dagger into another area of his abdomen once more.
“He was just a boy, Danzo! And he was my friend!” she growled, jade eyes ablaze with retribution, fury, contempt, and grief. Emotions Orochimaru comprehended all too well. He could never forget behelding his parents’ hides decorated in Danzo’s office, no matter how hard he tried. “His name was Naruto and you executed him for being a mischievous shapeshifter.” Again and again she stabbed, garnet holes oozing out of him and spreading outward to create morphless, endless streaks and designs, staining his clothes and sheets until the entire bed cover, once a bland beige color, now was dyed a deep burgundy hue. “But you missed one. You missed me, Sakura. All this time, I’ve been serving your food, pouring your drinks, and you didn’t fucking realize a shapeshifter was amongst you this whole time.” She spat in his wrinkled countenance, giving the dagger another savage twist before she rend the weapon out and handed the blade to Orochimaru.
Your turn, she seemed to convey.
He tilted his head at her as a silent ‘thank you’, the hilt of the sanguinary, jagged dagger warm, consoling, and solid against his palm. He rested the edge of the dagger against Danzo’s throat, the point delicately piercing the skin of that center bulge. “I know based on how much blood you have already lost thanks to Sakura’s wonderfully enthusiastic work that you don’t have long for this world. So in your last fleeting moments, I am going to fulfill my promise to you and take my pound of flesh.” Danzo’s eyes bulged in recognition, his chin soaked with his drool.
Orochimaru cackled. Excellent, he still remembers my first threat to him before he cast me into the dungeons.
“That’s right, Danzo. I’ve come to carve out your heart at last.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he and Sakura changed into bats and flew out of the open window Sakura had left ajar hours earlier, when she added the cantarella into Danzo’s drink, the sun was barely reaching the tips of the hills and bringing faint tinges of purples, pinks, and oranges to the night sky. By the time the servants opened the door and witnessed the gruesome display of what little remained of Danzo, the two shapeshifters would be a distant memory and far from the village’s reach.
“What will you do now that Danzo’s dead? You can shapeshift on your own quite well.”
At his question, Sakura frowned. “I’m not sure. I always assumed I’d die right after assassinating Danzo so I never really figured out the part of what comes next.” She combed through her lush, pink hair, her fingers untangling any stubborn knots. “But I recently heard some shapeshifters live away from humans and formed their settlement. Perhaps we could find them and live amongst them?”
Funny how she included him in her idea. Yet Orochimaru didn’t protest. It wasn’t as ifhe had any fine plans of his own and besides his parents, there was no one else in the world who cared about him. Save for Sakura.
“I suppose that idea has merit,” he admitted, pretending not to notice the delighted sparkle in her verdant gaze or the way her lips curled upwards in triumph. “Let’s give your plan a try and see if we’re lucky enough to find more of our own.”
Much to his surprise, she reached over to grab his hand and held onto it, a small smile gracing her lips. “Even if we don’t, we won’t be alone. I’m…” She swallowed briefly before resuming. “I’m grateful...and delighted to have you in my life, Orochimaru.”
He squeezed her hand fondly, the right words caught in his throat. So was he.
Regardless, Sakura understood his unspoken sentiment and continued to grin ever brighter for the rest of the day.
#narutofantasyweek2020#narutofantasyweek#naruto fantasy week#naruto-fantasy-week#OroSaku#Sakura x Orochimaru#Shapeshifters#my writing
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A New Possession One Shot- Christmas Date
Hello Saiino nation, long time no see. It’s been about a week since my last entry and a lot has happened. An update on me is that unfortunately the anti-depressant I started taking caused my ill-feeling these past couple of days. I was luckily able to get some time off of work to recover, but it’s a holiday weekend over here in the U.S. so my personal situation will probably be ongoing into this week.
But enough about me! We finally have the Christmas chapter, or should I say, one shot. I decided to post this as an extra one shot to better lure people from Archive onto my journal. But it’s also because this is the first narrative piece written in over a year. This time with actual dialogue. I realized from my previous entries that I am capable of writing like this, and I did enjoy writing like this. I do plan on writing more narrative tie-ins to the journal, so you can expect to see more. However, this particular story line I had a bit of trouble, since I know in the timeline it’s still a bit too early for Sai and Ino to get together. I decided to take inspiration from multiple fics in order to get a coherent idea. I particularly took a running theme in omegafire17′s classic fic Art Date.
I also want to once again shout out my bf for listening to my dribble and helping me edit this. He wants to complain, but I know he enjoys doing this.
This was my first true hurdle since beginning this project, so I am excited to finally overcome it so I can continue on with the story proper, I hope you also enjoy it. I also hope you enjoy angst, because this has got plenty of it.
Also on AO3
“Are you doing anything Christmas Eve?”
Ino froze at Sai’s words, trying to process them. Of all the things she expected to come out of Sai’s mouth, which was quite a list mind you, she had never expected him to ask about Christmas. She had her back turned to him as she had assumed he was only visiting to ask more overly-complicated questions about the journal she gave him.
But Sai of all people asking her about plans on Christmas Eve?
If she were still 16, the idea of being asked out on Christmas Eve would’ve given her enough joy to last her a lifetime. But she was now 19, and this was Sai.
Perhaps he’s been sent to inform her of a group gathering. She turned around, applying a small smile as an attempt to enforce a casual atmosphere.
“Nothing in particular. I will be working here a bit, but we’re closing early. Is there something going on?”
His expression then grew pensive, as if he had realized that he once again slipped into his mask. He was truly a challenge for a highly skilled interrogator like her to read, but the more she spoke with him, the more she could pinpoint the cracks in his false demeanor. With this, she could tell that he was having a bit of difficulty with communicating his words.
“Well, I was thinking about inviting you over to celebrate with me.”
Ok so the group gathering was out the window and now her mind was taking a slow but steady nose dive into panic. Sai asking her out on Christmas Eve of all times seemed too unbelievable to be true.
Don’t get her wrong, she still found the young man incredibly attractive. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the finer points in his appearance. Like his face, or his hair, or his body...
“Uh-” she stammered before he continued.
“I figured since you have given me so much during the span of our friendship, that I could perhaps repay you. Christmas just seemed to be good timing.”
His eyebrows raised slightly, reflecting the utter innocence in his request. Ino inwardly sighed, relieved at his clarification.
More like bad timing… Of course it would be as pure intentioned as him.
It’s not as if she would’ve rejected his advances if it were a date. In fact, she’s been wanting to pull back more of the layers and dig into that inner psyche of his since they met, but that was before she realized how delicate his situation truly was.
The mission to the Land of Silence proved to her that the only way she could truly connect to Sai is if he’d let her in. His trauma ran deep. Deep enough to cover up his true smile and emotional responses.
Seeing his smile in the depths of his subconscious made her heart weep and flutter all at once.
She truly wanted to get to know him better, but he had to get to know himself first. This was her intention when she gave him that journal to write in, and based on his accounts it seemed like it was doing the trick. It also helped that they had engaged in more small talk when he visited the shop.
But now a true opportunity has presented itself to Ino to finally delve into that mysterious aura that had once allured her.
Okay, maybe it’s still a bit alluring now.
As she relaxed, her nervous grin fell into a soft smile.
“So tell me more about this gift of yours…”
________________________________________________________________
Ino followed Sai as he led her through the village, absorbing the environment around her. Christmas Eve in Konoha had always been nothing short of festive; Strung up lights floated above the heads of those walking along the snow ridden paths. Gazing at the ground before her, she couldn’t help being overcome by memories of her childhood perched atop her father’s shoulders as their family strolled through those very same sights. Christmas hasn’t been the same without him. Nothing was the same without him if she were honest. Especially to her poor mother, who had insisted she depart with Sai while she finished closing up for the night.
She glanced at her companion walking beside her. Sai’s expression was unreadable as ever, but she couldn’t help but be transfixed by his cold and focused eyes staring forward towards their destination. She quickly turned her head away as his gaze moved towards her, face growing warm and ponytail whipping behind her. She had tied it up for this outing in order to restrain her hair from being harassed by the winter wind.
Why am I like this? I know this is only him being friendly.
But she couldn’t help him being so beautiful.
Hoping he had shifted his focus back to the road, she turned her head once more in his direction, only to find him still staring down at her.
His expression softened in moderate confusion. “Is there something wrong?”
“No!” She tried to clarify through frivolous waves of the hand. “I was just remembering something…” Ino trailed off for a moment, trying to assess the interaction before deciding on a new route. “Do you spend every Christmas with girls?” She resorted to her typical method of teasing in hopes to take some of the heat off. That may be difficult with what she was working with. He probably couldn’t even understand the nature of her words.
As expected, his confusion was still as strong as ever. He lifted his gaze back to the road.
“The few times I’ve experienced this holiday have been at the gatherings that Naruto puts together. You’ve attended a few of them yourself…” Sai paused in his speech before returning his dark stare down to her. “Were you so inebriated that you have forgotten?”
She found herself flushed once more, covering her face with both hands. She wanted to scream, or at the least groan in frustration, but didn’t want to discourage him. Ino needed to be patient with him. She took a deep breath before throwing her hands down to her sides accompanied by an audible exhale.
“I remember Sai, I was just poking fun. You have to know what teasing is, right?”
The curt nod he gave her had enough force to shake the dark bangs that covered his eyes. “Of course. Teasing is an act intended to provoke someone in playfulness. It is still a little hard for me to identify a teasing remark, however.”
As he looked away, his frown deepened, giving her the impression that he was disheartened by that fact. To prevent him from caving in on himself, she lightly placed her hand on his bicep in encouragement. He shivered, eyes wide and pale skin looking even paler as she quickly pulled away. She tried to keep her tone as gentle as she could muster so as to not startle him further.
“It’s okay. I’m sure you will someday.”
Sai only hummed in acknowledgement, peering at her from the corner of his eye. His body was still tense, reeling from the contact.
Mission failed. I just want him to be able to trust me.
Just as the awkward silence dropped on them like a weight, they had arrived at their destination. The silence continued until they entered his small apartment. The flat wasn’t very homey, but it seemed to have suited Sai. The bare necessities with his supplies littered around the room. An easel accompanied by a short stool sat in the center of the floor. Another stool was placed across from it.
She watched as Sai hastily padded around the space, grabbing small things here and there in preparation for the painting.
Ino had been surprised when Sai proposed the idea of painting her given how naturally intimate the process seeme. He would be giving her his undivided attention, something she had always yearned for, and creating something entirely out of her image. It was a fairly high ranking gesture on the romance meter if you asked her.
“Ino?”
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that he had already taken a seat and was gazing at her expectantly. Shaking her head clear of thoughts once more, Ino slowly made her way towards the stool that awaited her across from him.
She readily noticed the artist’s calculating eyes upon her when she took her seat. His head was slightly tilted, a pale hand covering his mouth.
“Is there anything in particular you wish for me to do?”
He said nothing for a few moments, still processing his vision she presumed. She watched intently as his hand slipped down to uncover his mouth, focusing only on the movement of his lips.
“I planned on having you pose yourself, but I would personally prefer your hair down for this.”
She felt warmth rise into her face, averting her eyes from his gaze once more as she brought her hands up to remove the tie from her hair. Her fingers combed at her golden locks that cascaded down her back.
“Is that better?”
She returned her eyes to him to find that his expression had remained static.
So much for looking seductive
She let out a frustrated sigh and relented to placing her hands into her lap.
She still found his face unchanged. He almost looked troubled. Regarding her for a moment more, he rose from his stool and stepped over to her, grabbing her face without hesitation and positioning it slightly to the right.
“Apologies, this seemed much easier than directing you.” Once seated, he peered at her from the side of the easel, a grin stretched across his face
“But to answer your previous question, yes.”
Ino’s hands reflexively lifted from her lap to wipe at her face in aggravation.
Sai’s face reappeared from the side of his canvas, this time sporting a look that was far less amused than before.
“It would be better if you tried not to move or speak during this process.”
Silence suddenly blanketed the room. A common theme with him. She could tell he had started his work because she could only hear the sounds of his pencil scratching the canvas. Outlining, she assumed. Ino had also noticed how often he peeked from behind his canvas to look at her. It was quite amusing to watch his ever-changing glare from her perspective. His thin eyes narrowed, growing even thinner. Sometimes she would be graced by the twisting of his lips, exposing dimples she never would’ve guessed he had in the first place. She especially couldn’t help but notice the way his brow lifted along with one corner of his mouth, almost as if some part of her was particularly interesting to him.
But what was so interesting? She could easily find out if she put her mind to it. Perhaps all Sai needed was some careful instruction and physical persuasion to bring out those feelings she knew he had. He would probably be eager to learn if she truly insisted. Tonight could present itself with a teaching opportunity if she looked hard enough. He’d probably be up for it, maybe his invitation meant something more.
What am I thinking?! Of course it didn’t!
Ino left her mind to wander into dangerous territory and she had finally become aware. Her resolve was crumbling more and more by the minute and they had only just begun. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the concentrated silence that enveloped him, or that strange lift in his voice. The one that otherwise betrayed the more dreary expression that usually occupied his face.
He’s just trying to be friends! And yet-
Ino shot up from the stool, stiff as a board. She caught a glimpse of Sai from behind his canvas before he noticed, a serene smile adorning his face.
He was really enjoying himself. And she was about to ruin that…
“What’s wrong?”
Genuine bewilderment had spread across his expression.
“Sai, I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”
Sai sat rooted in his seat, pupils shaking as his mind was incapable of processing the situation
“I-I don’t understand. Wh-what do you mean?”
Ino wanted to explain, but the thoughts couldn’t form. She didn’t quite understand what was going on with her either. She picked up her discarded jacket and made a move to leave, but was impeded by Sai’s hand tightly gripping hers.
“Please, at least explain what I did wrong. I thought this was what friends do.” His eyes pleaded with her. Pulling away from his grasp was what finally uprooted him, but he stood frozen in place as she fled towards the door.Her eyes watered as she looked back at his still form and dejected expression. She was really going to break his healing heart, and it killed her.
Ino’s control had vanished, leaving her vulnerable to her oncoming feelings. She needed time to think about the door she was about to enter, and getting worked up over it now would only make it worse.
What could’ve happened if her thoughts strayed any further?
Would she have acted upon her deep-rooted desires?
It doesn’t matter what I want. Sai just doesn’t need that...
“It’s not you, I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all me. I’m sorry-”
The door slammed shut behind her before he even had a chance to think over it.
And that makes this one shot complete. Angsty as hell. I hope that I did Ino justice with this one. I didn’t want to break Sai’s heart, but it had to be done for the sake of forwarding the plot
Also to properly convey, Christmas Eve is a romantic holiday where couples go out and spend time with one another, similarly to the western Valentine’s day. Not yet sure when the next entry will be posted, but it is coming. I do have multiple ideas for how the story develops after this occurrence. Hopefully I’ll have enough content to get through until the next milestone, the Sakura Hiden.
Thanks for sticking with me during what is considered a difficult time for me. And until the next one,
-Saikage
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Choices (Chapter 2: New Girl)
Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!Reader x Jim Mason
Words: 2,957
Summary: Palos Verdes was the place to be for a fresh new start. It would be hard to adjust with such a change, though it was all too perfect. The families here seemed vibrant and happy, although it’s only when Y/N comes across Jim and Michael Langdon, that she has to make a choice…
Warnings: fluff, mentions of swearing, High School AU
A/N - Posting the chapter then I’m outieessssss!!!
The weekend had flown past like a breeze. It was as though you were on clockwork, bustling in and out of the house, unpacking boxes in each room, trying to help your parents in refurnishing the house and assembling the furniture, only to be delegated, from time to time, the job of baby-sitting your younger sisters. By the end of the weekend, you were completely exhausted. And as a consequence for that, you were already late to your first day of school…
You’d arrived late to your meeting with the Principal, although she was quite understanding, yet her time with you was in a rush, considering she had other appointments and meetings to attend to: She’d greeted you, informed you about the rules and policies of the school, as well as warning you of the various students to potentially avoid.… Michael Langdon was one name amongst the many. She’d encouraged you to take pride in your studies, just as you always had, hence, there was no need to remind: you always strived to be a diligent student. Although besides, what you’d already known, she’d wished you luck before you had the chance to ask any further questions. She’d directed you to one of the office ladies, who then led you to your first class, excusing your lateness to your English teacher, personally.
You’d walked into the classroom, and felt an intense feeling of fear gush over you, as you felt the burning sensation of multiple pairs of eyes staring at you intently. It was as though they were soaking in every fine detail they could of you, hearing a couple faint murmurs here and there, before you’d walked over to your seat beside the window. It seemed after that, everyone returned to whatever it was that they had been doing before you’d arrived so abruptly.
“Well welcome, Y/N! I will be your English teacher, for the remainder of this new year, Mr Smith. I do hope you’ve already managed to settle in to our lovely town, and that if you need anything, our staff will be more than happy to help. Now I do hope, you have read the study outline, so we can just get right into the nitty gritty of our topic, Shakespeare! So as I was saying”
Nodding to his kind words, you felt a little relieved, to say the least, that at least he wasn’t mad for interrupting his class. And much to his pleasure, you had managed to skim through your study outline…You always preferred to be prepared. Just as you were unpacking your notebook, and stationary, you heard a faint ‘psst’ sound, from behind, and gradually turned to see the same, homily blue eyes you’d first met a couple nights before…Jim.
“Looks like we’ll be tackling Shakespeare together huh?” He whispered, with that familiar, friendly smile spread across his face, as his body leaned eagerly over his desk.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here. What are the chances,” You utter, trying desperately to keep your voice low, your excitement and relief discrete, as you at least, had one familiar face to count on already.
Before Jim had the chance to exchange his excitement, the loud ‘ahem’ sound that escaped from Mr Smith, left you both aware of how you’d once again interrupted his monologue, before he could resume again. You gave Jim a slight nod of approval, before turning back around, the biggest smile on your face, as you knew from then, you were in safe hands.
For the duration of the period, you’d focused on Mr Smith and Mr Smith only. He was quite impressed to say the least, as he’d approached you, whilst you were busy packing for your next class, confessing how glad he was to see how attentive you were despite being the ‘new girl.’ As you’d thanked him, you’d made your way towards the door, your eyes glued to your time table as you tried to figure which lesson in which room exactly you were needed in next.
“Let me help you with that-”
Looking up, once again to be greeted by Jim’s glowing, tanned face, your modesty had taken the best of you.
“Jim, really it’s fine! I’ll figure it out, I have to some time soon. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your next class now because of-”
“Y/N, please I insist…”
Before you knew it, his hand had snatched the paper from you, as he studied your week.
“Biology, wow, okay! So your next class will be in the labs! Here, I’ll show you.”
The feeling of his large hand instantly gripping your wrist, had caught you off guard. He gently began to tug your body, leaving you no choice but to follow, as you he pushed through the crowded hallways, making sure, at least, that your pathway behind him was clear.
You’d felt so embarrassed, so ashamed to have already become a burden on him, that along the way, you’d repeatedly apologised, only to be met with that fucking smile, and a kind ‘no need to apologise’ sort of look. You’d managed to make it to your class, in time for the second and final bell to ring, before insisting that Jim leave right away, before he’d be caught late.
“Wait-Here’s my number, just message me if you need anything, okay Y/N? Let me see who’s in that class, just don’t hang around with those girls there, or those guys by the back and-”
“Jim, please! I’ll be fine, now you need to go, Mr!” You insisted, as you gently pushed his body away from the class’ entry. Your palms pressing against his firm chest, you could feel yourself blush and dared not to look up at him. You could feel him looking down at you, a slight chuckle escaping his mouth before he’d agreed and walked off down the hallway once more.
You’d entered the lab, with a less intrusive feeling, as students were still unpacking, talking amongst themselves unaware of the stranger that was you. You’d found a spare, vacant seat and immediately dropped your books to the desk, not wanting to risk losing it.
You obeyed Jim’s advice, in practically staying clear of the right half of the classroom: you were certain to avoid any sort of trouble, at all costs. You really didn’t want to fuck up this new chance of life. As you’d made yourself organised and comfortable, the teacher made their way, and this time, was less lenient on the late comers rushing behind her.
“This year has no room for disobedience!-”
Not even a welcome, perhaps? You really wouldn’t want to get on her bad side, you’d thought.
“I’ll start with roll-call, and need I remind you…Lateness will no longer be tolerated in this class anymore. Principal Harley has granted me the discretion of forwarding detentions, do I make myself clear?”
Silence…
“I said, do I make myself clear?”
The jointed muffled sounds of ‘yes’ was all that she’d gotten, before rolling her eyes in annoyance of the poor attempt. It had come to your conclusion that she really must’ve had issues with her past, fellow students from years before… As she’d began yelling out the names of her students, all obediently responding back with ‘present’ you’d seen her face contort with confusion, as you knew she must have finally come across yours…
“Do I have a Y/N Y/L/N here?”
Hesitantly, your arm raised up awkwardly into the air, causing her head with the heads of nearly everyone else in class to direct their attention towards you.
“So you’re the new girl, huh? I had a read over your file, and saw that your past involvement in Bio was quite….Exemplary. let’s hope you can continue that sort of performance here, perhaps you’ll finally be the saving grace this class really needs,” She scoffed, chuckling at her somewhat poor attempt of a joke, before marking you down as ‘present.’
You hadn’t even responded to her compliment: though as your head gradually turned towards the remainder of the class, had you noticed that the rest were still eyeing you out. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but you’d resumed your gaze back to your books, hoping desperately that the unwanted attention would drift away.
“Oh for Christ sake-”
The poor excuse of a whisper, as you keenly heard your teacher swear beneath her breath, distracted your thoughts away from the issue at hand.
“Is Mr Langdon here? Michael Langdon?”
Silence at first, before one of the girls Jim had pointed out from the group, a dark-haired brunette with pretty features had readily answered, as though on his behalf.
“Oh no, Miss Shaul, you must forgive Michael. He told me to give you this-” Ardently she stood from her seat, and made her way to the front, handing the teacher a crumpled piece of paper. How childish, you thought…Surely this wasn’t Jim’s twin.
“Of course he’s ill… Perhaps Heather, he should be the one giving this to me, instead of seeking you out, convincing you to do his dirty work, hmm?”
As the girl, or ‘Heather’ you’d realised, had given her teacher a what seemed to be a neighbourly smile, was in fact a false reaction. As she turned on her heels spontaneously, strutting her way over to her seat, where her friends sat huddled, ignorantly laughing in defence, had she rolled her eyes to the words of her teacher.
Now you knew exactly why Jim insisted you’d avoid them…
This lesson now, was not so much eventful. You did however manage to met a new friend, who wasn’t related to Jim nor Medina, nor Michael of that matter.
His name was David, and to be quite frank, he was extremely sweet: quite the geek too. He was just as interested in Biology as you were, and much to your teacher’s approval, she was pleased to see her star pupil befriending the next hopeful candidate, that was you. And both on your behalf, she’d allocated you two as lab partners for further practical lessons, as she had with the remaining class. Many were displeased to be separated from their friends, though you had to admit, you were glad to know you were once again, in safe hands.
Just as the class had been dismissed for recess: you felt your nerves creeping back up. You found yourself completely alone, before realising you still had the small, ripped parchment that held Jim’s number. You immediately dialled for him, messaging him for his whereabouts. You felt like a hopeless fool, asking for help, when you knew, at a time like this, you needed to be independent… You couldn’t keep relying on Jim, that was just unfair for him, but before it was too late to delete the message, he’d replied instantly, giving you the directions to the cafeteria seats outside, where he stood waiting for you by his table.
The sudden brightness of the sun and its rays made your face contort away, holding your hand up to shield your eyes, you began to scan the vicinity of the field, trying desperately to find Jim.
His arms waving, as he gestured for you to join, it was only then that you’d noticed Medina sat in the opposite bench completely and utterly by herself.
Before you’d even walked over to Jim, he’d noticed you looking over at Medina, before looking back at him. Pointing at yourself as you pointed towards her, he knew exactly what you’d met and nodded in approval, although you could sense some disappointment in his eyes, as he slowly sat himself back down, inattentive to the surrounding conversation.
“Hey Medina!” You gleefully exclaimed, as you seated yourself opposite of her. It seemed you’d caught her by surprise as she slightly jumped in her seat, before realising it was only you.
“Sorry about that-“ You sincerely uttered, your eyes growing worried, unsure if she’d even recognised you.
“Y/N, no that’s fine…Not use to company that’s all-” She laughed, before hastily moving her books from your end towards her, sparing you some space.
“So how’s your first couple classes been so far? You enjoying Palos Verdes High?”
“They’ve been okay, I suppose! English was a breeze, considering Jim’s in my class, the teacher was pretty nice, unlike my Bio teacher, Miss Shaul, is it?”
“Yeah, she’s known to be one of the strictest teachers alive…You kind of get used to her ways though.”
As Medina, resumed to eat, you were sort of hesitant to tell her about Michael. Unsure of if you were in the rightful position to tell her that her own brother had missed his first class of Bio for the year. Although, it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, as you felt yourself blurting out the words.
“Your brother Michael is also meant to be in my Bio class, actually…” Your tone at first was loud, though as you carried on the sentence you felt it becoming quieter.
“What do you mean by ‘meant to’?” She smirked, as she looked up at you with a hint of confusion.
Surely, she must have been aware of her older brother’s ways.
“He -uhh, didn’t show up to class. I was hoping to meet him, but I guess I’ll have to wait”
You tried to laugh it off, hoping that would elevate the mood, but it seemed Medina was unstirred.
“Oh yeah, Michael isn’t one to show up. It’s ever only on the rare occasion where the teacher’s sort of threaten him with expulsion will he attend… He hates getting my parents involved, but he isn’t 100% committed either. Never was, so don’t mind him. Not to mention, Miss Shaul and him, kind of hate one another, he annoys her and she annoys him, it’s just a cycle.”
“Oh… I mean, I guess that’s understandable! It happens…”
For the remainder of the break, Medina sidetracked from Michael or anything related to school and delved into the topic of surfing…It seemed she had quite a passion for it. And you didn’t dare interrupt her, although your mind still remained on Michael. You were really anticipating to meet him now, more than ever, but it seemed ‘fate’ just wouldn’t allow you.
Not that you were expecting to, although you were simply curious…
The ringing pitch of the bell had dragged you back to reality, as you noticed Medina was already mid-way into packing her things. You immediately realised that you had History, though had no clue as to where the class was. You pulled out the timetable, hastily asking Medina for the directions, in which she insisted you go through the shortcut.
“Just go around the building here, turn left and you’ll see a white door. Walk in down the hall, and you’ll find the classroom, they usually have the name of the room up on the door anyways! Sorry, but I gotta run, I’ll see you soon!” She rushed, before bolting away, disappearing into the crowd of students that were bustling their way back through the main entrance. You would have followed them all, but she’d given you the directions through the back way, where you noticed, no one seemed to take. Looking back to where Jim once sat, he was already gone, so you really had no choice but to trust Medina’s words.
You began to power-walk, by the dodgy looks of the shortcut, you were certain this would be a one time thing only. You were even looking forward, too busy looking behind and back down to your timetable, trying to memorise the name of your room, until you felt yourself walking into a solid wall. You would have fallen back painfully, if it wasn’t for the quick instincts of the person you’d walked into.
You were embarrassed beyond measure, as you felt yourself growing red, unable to look up at what seemed to be a tall, brooding figure. Knowing your luck, you must have walked into the wrong type of person, considering they hadn’t said a word.
“I’m so very sorry, I really didn’t mean that. I wasn’t looking where I was going and-”
“Ah, you were in my Bio class…The new girl.”
Interrupted mid-way into your rambles by a voice from behind the, you’d recognised the face of one the boys Jim had pointed out to you. You looked at him with fright before you felt your gaze travel up instinctively towards the boy you’d just so ignorantly walked into.
You felt his grip on your arm release, as he looked down at you. All those stares you’d felt before in those classes, would never have amounted to how intimidated you’d felt as of this moment. But those eyes…They looked incredibly familiar, yet so unnerving.
This was no boy, surely. He had a towering, broad frame and his features were far too mature than most of the students you’d come by. And his hair, strawberry blonde and long: flawless you’d thought. He even dressed quite peculiar yet unlike the average teenage boy in Palos Verdes, with the denim on denim action.
His chest heaved deepily, making him look much larger than he already was, much more menacing before exhaling.
“New girl…” Was all that escaped those plump lips, the deep vocals of his voice for that brief moment was all that you had heard, before you felt your body move around the group hastily, not wanting to spare another second in their unwanted company.
You practically began jogging to that white door Medina had mentioned, finally disappearing from their view into the building.
You knew only now, that you’d finally met Michael.
Taglist (for “Choices” series) - @jimmlangdon @langdons-rep @bademliimagnum
#michael langdon#jim mason#Michael langdon x fem!reader x Jim mason#michael langdon imagines#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon fanfiction#michael langdon fanfic#jim mason imagine#jim mason imagines#jim mason fanfiction#jim mason fanfic#ahs apocalypse#tribes of palos verdes#cody fern#american horror story
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Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, chapter 17
Summary: After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
It seemed like winter would never end.
Demyx and Ienzo sat in the library on cushions in front of the fire. This was the only way to stay warm. Ienzo could not quite recall ever being so cold. Even in two layers, with a blanket, by the fire, he only held the chill at bay. Stone was truly a terrible insulator.
Ienzo could see the tension in Demyx’s shoulder even with the shell of the blanket. “I’ve never done this before,” he said. “Therapy.”
“I’ve never counselled.” Not for good, anyway. “It’s not as if you can make mistakes in this process. Take things at your own pace. We’ve got time.”
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Maybe start with how you’re feeling.”
The firelight cast thick shadows on his face. “I feel… mostly numb. And anxious. And jittery, like someone’s going to come around a corner and get me. Sleeping is hard. Eating is hard.”
“You’ve barely touched your sitar.”
“Exactly. It’s like my whole head is quiet. Even before I had all my memories, yeah I was messed up, but I still wanted to be alive.”
Ienzo was glad that his hair covered half his face. “Do you want to die?”
“Not… die,” Demyx said. He twisted a corner of the blanket in his hands. “Just… not exist, you know.”
He took a deep breath. The scent of woodsmoke steadied him. “Unfortunately, you’re feeling this way because you’re whole,” he said. “Often the human mind can’t fully comprehend a traumatic situation until after it’s over. Once you’re out, the symptoms become more prominent. It doesn’t help that you had to repress years and years of your time as a Keyblade wielder. It’s a lot of work for the mind to do all at once. It’s actually a miracle you’re as stable as you are.”
“That’s because of you,” Demyx said quietly. “Not because of the power of love or all that. It’s when you were in my head. I know the memories are still there. I remember them. But at the same time, something about it stopped it from hurting so much.”
“I can’t say for certain what I did,” he said. “As I remember it, I was brought to a beach and I found you in the water. I took you out of it. And that’s all. Though--” He wondered if the water had symbolized trauma rather than memory, and if by removing him he dulled the emotional impact of these memories--like a good medication. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this new power of mine, at all. I’m not even sure I can replicate it.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Demyx said. He picked lint off of the blanket.
“The good thing is that by processing these things, the symptoms will lessen,” Ienzo said. “But you’ll have to feel these emotions instead of bottling them up.”
“Oh, goody,” he mumbled.
Ienzo tried to smile. “I’ve been where you are. I am where you are. It’s not easy. But you have to. And you have to want to.”
“I do,” he said. He exhaled. “I want to be happy, and I want to be good, and frankly it really royally fucking sucks that now we have to deal with this shit instead of just, like, hanging out and going on dates and living . Like what kind of negative fucking karma did I gather in my previous life? Was everything I did as Demyx that bad? Do I somehow deserve this?”
“You’re not alone, feeling that way.” He sat up a little straighter. “You and I have had abnormal childhoods, and abnormal adolescences, constantly under the control of one adult or another who was playing god with us. Now that we’re real people, and adults, coming to terms with that utter lack of agency is almost impossible.”
“Agency?” Demyx asked. “God damn it. You’re right.”
“From now on I choose my own path,” he said, nearly to himself.
“But how?”
The million munny question. Ienzo shrugged. “Demyx, I really don’t know. We both want to help people, right?”
He nodded.
“And yet, we cannot adequately help others without taking care of ourselves. As I’ve learned.”
Demyx leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
“It’ll be best to take things easy for a little while,” he said. “Do what you can, when you can. This cold doesn’t help either. But getting stagnant will only keep you in that mindset.”
For several minutes he was silent. Then Demyx said, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you feel?”
Ienzo looked down. Honestly? Since he’d woken up from the coma he hadn’t given it much thought. He took a few minutes to try and unpack it. Mostly, Ienzo felt cold. Physically and mentally. Not… numb. His panic attacks had severely decreased in both quantity and strength (not that they ever fully stopped ). It was a bizarre sense of being both settled and uneasy. “I feel…” Those infallible two words. “Since I regained the lexicon, I feel stable. But at the same time it seems like a false stability. And I’m not sure if that certainty of falsehood comes from a place of truth or a place of paranoia. Hardly anything in my life has ever been stable.”
“So it feels wrong for things to even out?”
“I… yes. It does. And it shouldn’t. I know that much.”
“I know what you mean.”
The fire was getting low, casting odd shadows in the room. “Do you want to keep talking, or take a break?” Ienzo asked.
“We can keep talking. It’s even colder downstairs.” He took a few logs off of the hearth and put them in the flame. “How did you ever grow up in this place, anyway?”
“Well, to be fair I only lived here three years. From after my parents died, up until I became a Nobody.”
“...Is it starting to feel like home again?”
He considered this. “Yes and no,” he said. “There are terrible memories tied up in this place, and deep, unshakeable betrayals. And yet. As I’m learning to forgive everyone, and myself, those bonds are healing. And you’ve given me some good memories here, too. But this is as much home as I’ve ever had. At this point I have to create these concepts for myself. I never had them before.”
“What? Of home?”
“Of family,” he said softly.
Demyx curled a strand of hair around his finger. “I never really had that,” he said.
“No? Not even when you were a child?”
He snorted. “How do you think this child army thing worked?”
“I do not understand.”
Demyx started fidgeting again. “Well I mean. There were all sortsa different levels to it. Like, there were the wielders who were nobility, and kept passing it down to each other. And then there were just regular families who kept their Keyblades in their family line. And then there were just random ass people who happened to be “worthy” of it.” He said this bitterly. “Lucky me, I was part of the last group.”
“So wielders were the majority group?” Ienzo could not conceive of such a thing.
“I mean, kinda yeah. Even if you didn’t use it, or train with it, you still had one. There were whole sects who spent their lives doing whatever they thought it took to get a Keyblade, just to look better. Remember that there weren’t Heartless or anything then. It’s purely a status symbol. But around the time I was a baby Heartless did start popping up, taken from the future via the Book of Prophecies or what the fuck ever. And the Foretellers realized they had all this free labor to do the fighting. To gather the light.”
Ienzo leaned forward. He wished desperately for a pen, something he could use to write all this down.
“But of course all the rich snobs aren’t going to do jack shit. And the people that were willing got their asses kicked, or straight up died, and a lot of them had families of their own. But kids, you know, have strong light. What better way to get people to hand them over then feed them a bunch of propaganda about honor? And if they were poor, a promise of three hots and a cot?”
“And that’s what happened to you.”
Demyx nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even really remember my parents, at all. I used to have a picture of them, but… well. It’s lost now. I sort of remember that day. I was real little. Like little enough to not be able to make long term memory. They had this test to see who was worthy. Made it seem like a real ceremony. They took the kids aside, and then each of the five Foretellers would ask the kid a question. I swear I can’t remember any of it, but I’m sure it was all a vague test of character. And then they take you over to a table with some toys on it.” He pantomimed the table. “And they tell you to pick the toy that you like most.”
“That’s the real test, isn’t it,” Ienzo said.
Demyx nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even really remember my parents, at all. I used to have a picture of them, but… well. It’s lost now."
Ienzo took a moment to digest all this information. “So you were really on your own.”
“Yeah. The older kids would kind of look after the little ones until they were big enough to go out on their own. If you were lucky, you became part of a fighting party and made friends. I was part of a couple, but there’s all the typical drama and infighting and cliquishness. There was a lot of fighting. A lot of fighting.”
“Your parents couldn’t visit you?”
“I’m not really sure,” Demyx said. “I visited them, in my spare time. It was my mom who taught me music. But they... you know, it was hard for the two of them to get by, and they moved around a lot. Eventually... I couldn't find them again."
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He sighed. “I’m sure they had their reasons.”
“I also know what it means to be abandoned.” His voice had dropped to a near whisper, barely audible over the crackling fire.
“It really righteously sucks.” He tried to inject some humor into the words, but it fell flat. “Oh boy. Haven’t had to unpack that in a while. Yikes.”
““Yikes” is right.”
He laughed, a stifled, awkward sound, and touched his brow. “I always get thrown to the wolves,” he said.
“Let yourself feel it.”
These were slow, quiet tears. Ienzo crossed the distance between them and pulled him close. “I feel sick,” Demyx said through his teeth. “These fucking -- These people are supposed to care about us. Why don’t they?”
“I don’t know. I don’t…” Ienzo could feel that pain too, sharply and acutely, as though he were being stabbed. Your master abandoned you.
They told me you’d gone mad!
His breaths were short and shallow. He tried to fight off this distress automatically. But to not take his own advice would be hypocritical.
They held each other. Cried a bit. It was an odd attempt at catharsis, but he had to admit it was somewhat effective. After all this they lay by the dying fire.
“Why do people cry?” Demyx asked.
“Well, interesting thing about that. When certain emotions rise to high in the body, tears are produced to return the body to homeostasis. Which explains the numbness while crying, and the sense of relief afterwards. Why is it you ask?”
“Just… wondered,” he said slowly.
“Do you feel a little better?”
He laughed weakly. “I kind of don’t want to talk about feelings right now. If it’s all the same.”
“Yes… I am tired.” Ienzo looked up at him. Demyx stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and unfocused. When he realized he was being watched, he flashed a smile. “We should go. It’ll be getting cold soon.”
“I… I want to stay a little longer,” Demyx said. “It’s nice here by the fire.”
Ienzo sat up a little. “If you would like to be alone with me, you need only ask.”
He touched Ienzo’s face. “Isn’t it kind of messed up though? That after this whole deep and complex conversation I want to--”
“I’m sure there’s some kind of deeper reasoning behind it, but frankly right now I do not care,” he said, and kissed him.
It was the sort of kiss that was slow-building. Ienzo felt himself being pulled close, his callused hands slipping under both layers of sweater. In the midst of all this he was no longer cold. With all the layers Ienzo could not find his skin, and laughed despite himself. Demyx kissed him along his jaw.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“There is altogether too much fabric. It feels like fondling potatoes.”
“Oh my god.” He started giggling too. Ienzo realized he’d heard Demx cry far more than he’d heard him laugh. “Maybe we should continue this in your room?”
“I should… I should like that.”
They returned, dodging potential obstacles along the way. Ignored Aeleus and Dilan in the sitting room. Ienzo should not have found such sneaking around amusing, but he did. This was very nearly normal.
Demyx stripped quickly and crawled under the covers.
“Not exactly erotic, is it,” Ienzo mumbled.
“You want erotic, come back to me when it’s not negative eight thousand degrees in here.”
He rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt it’s that cold.” But when he undressed the air was punishing on his bare skin and he could not help but curl tightly under the covers until he stopped shivering. “There’s months more of this yet.”
“God--makes me want to scream.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to contain yourself and be very quiet. Where were we?” He kissed him. No. Here it was not so cold at all. The light in the room had a soft, silvery look to it. He wasn’t sure why, but he was nervous, like this was the first time all over again. So much had changed in the past two months, even if he’d been unaware most of the time.
Demyx brushed the hair out of Ienzo’s eyes. “You still cold?”
He shook his head.
“What do you want to do?”
He felt the color rise to his face. This was normal, he reminded himself. “Make love to me.” Saying it, he felt embarrassed.
Demyx nodded. “Okay--yes.” He shifted his weight, teasing apart Ienzo’s thighs and resting on top of him. The skin there was soft, more sensitive than he thought, and he stifled a breath. “You can tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, you know,” he said softly. “I can’t read your mind.”
“It would be so much easier if you could.”
He chuckled. “Having someone else in your head isn’t all that much fun.” He traced circles on Ienzo’s inner thigh. “It’s right there, isn’t it?”
Ienzo kissed him. He could feel the flush of want in practically his whole body, curious and interesting. It was so bizarre to focus on the body. Most of the time he was so detached from anything. Demyx’s hand left his thigh, crept up past the curve of his hip to his side.
“And here?” He kissed it. It was a lush, electric sensation and Ienzo covered his mouth to keep from making too much noise. He could barely reciprocate. His other hand was caught in the hair at the nape of Demyx’s neck. Already there was a tightness forming in the pit of his stomach. He uncovered his mouth and touched Demyx’s cheek. “I love watching you,” Demyx said. He was slightly breathless.
Ienzo let his hand slip down against Demyx’s chest to his own sides. He gasped. “I thought so,” Ienzo said. He moved still farther down, between his legs. Demyx stifled a sound against his shoulder and then kissed him.
“I think maybe now is a good time to--” Demyx sounded weak.
“It’s in the same place. The lube.” His joints seemed to have turned to jelly, though it was rather pleasant. At least now he knew what to expect. The finger inside him was no longer uncomfortable. He had just enough reason to wonder why that was.
“You okay?” Demyx asked. He was flushed.
“It’s a lot less tight.”
“That happens,” he said. The second finger also went in fairly easily.
Ienzo laughed a little.
“You’re cracking up today,” Demyx said.
“Kind of an inside joke, with myself,” he said. “You’ve helped me change so much. Of course it would be there too.”
Demyx snickered. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a weird guy?”
“Sometimes a little weird is okay.”
“I think it’s kinda hot,” he said. He withdrew his fingers. This time Ienzo could enjoy being taken. Now that he knew what to expect it was no longer so overwhelming. Demyx moved against him, gently but not nearly as tentatively as before. “Slower? Faster?”
“Slow is good.”
“...I was hoping you’d say that.”
With every thrust Ienzo could feel him coming up against him in the exact perfect way. His dick rubbed gently against Demyx’s waist, providing much needed friction. The tension was almost unbearable, but every time he thought he was getting close things would get still tighter, still more intense. There was a lot about his own body he still didn’t know. Finally it all snapped. His vision went gray for a moment, like he might faint. He felt his hands trembling at Demyx’s back. “You okay?” Ienzo asked.
“Dizzy.” He got off of Ienzo and lay on his side. “I think we came at the same time.”
“Is that unusual?” He reached for a handkerchief to wipe off his belly. He wrinkled his nose. It was a shame the whole process was so messy.
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
Despite the stickiness, it felt good to rest against him. “So people really just do this whenever they want?”
He snorted. “You don’t need, like, a special occasion to have sex.”
“Some things still seem rather bizarre to me.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
Now that the heat of the moment was fading, Ienzo pulled the covers up more tightly around them. “How old were you? The first time?”
Demyx blew a raspberry. “Seventeen. There was a guy in the Dandelions. We went on a few missions together. We’re all thinking, like, the end of the world is coming, and post-fight adrenaline plus teenage hormones is hard to resist. Yeah. But we weren’t like… in love, or anything. He was the only one I slept with. Before you, I mean. Why is it you ask?”
Ienzo shrugged. “Merely curious. So there was no one in the Organization?”
He raised an eyebrow. “ In the Organization?”
“While we were in the Organization.”
He shook his head. “Nah. I know some of the others tried that to feel something. I didn’t really care though.”
Ienzo nodded and lay back down. After all that he was exhausted. “I should like to take a nap,” he said.
“I’m getting good at wearing you out,” he teased.
“Amongst other things.” He yawned.
#beyond this existence#ienzo#demyx#zemyx#demyx/ienzo#beyond this existence: counterpoint#trauma#depression
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V3 boys Reaction | being forced to jump out of a plane without a parachute
A/N: I ended up posting this way later than intended. Just finished it at 2 AM. Who cares about school and responsibilities Thank you for the submission anon! I enjoyed writing this. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it to be a sacrificial situation or not. So, I wrote some of them where they sacrifice themselves and others where they jump together. I think for my next written reaction I’ll keep it just a little more simple because I tend to confuse myself with time, some stuff is written in past tense and some in present. I also apologize in advance if my punctuation isn’t that well. I am not native English.
V3 boys x Reader
Genre: angst
Submit a request here [X]
Gonta Gokuhara
"Y/N, Gonta know what to do," he said looking into the ground with determination. I looked at him dumbfoundedly and placed my hand carefully on his shoulder. I knew we had not much time left before the plane was going to blow up, but I couldn’t help worrying about what could be on his mind. It wasn’t often Gonta would react in such a serious tone.
“What do you mean?” I replied attempting to make him look at me so I could read him better. He let out a soft sigh and stood up from his seat. His gigantic figure pulled me into a soft, but protective hug. I quickly realized what he meant.
“Gonta you can’t!” I shouted, tears starting to form in my eyes. He quickly pulled away and our eyes met. He had an expression I’ve never seen Gonta with before.
“Gonta has no choice. Gonta must save Y/N” He gently caressed my face and wiped some of my tears away.
“You can’t leave me. Let’s just do it together okay?” I suggested with hopeful eyes. Gonta smiled gently, keeping his act together.
“Gonta thinks this is right decision. Take care for Gonta, okay?” he said leaving a few voice cracks behind. At this point, tears were rushing down my face and every bit of me was shaking in fear. I looked at Gonta only to see his calming smile. Even in a situation like this, he stayed calm for me. I closed my eyes wishing to never imagine this moment gone. Until it was.
Kiibo
“What are we going to do?” Kiibo spoke tensely not being able to quit fidgeting with his hands. He was pacing back on forth not being able to comprehend the situation.
“Kiibo calm down and take a deep breath. We’ll figure this out” I declared looking at him with uncertainty. Kiibo sat down next to me, continuing to fidget restlessly. My mind racing faster than I could keep up I was trying to think of a solution.
“Leave it to me” Kiibo yelled suddenly. I snapped to attention and saw Kiibo with clenched fists and a resolute expression. He stood up searching every inch of the plane. He returned to me with disappointed eyes. His expression quickly changed back to what it was before he started searching.
“It’s for the better if I do this,” he said quietly. I look at him with sincere worry and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Kiibo let me. You are much more useful than I am” I nodded with my feelings finally resolved. I knew what I had to do, and he couldn’t stop me. Before I could do anything Kiibo quickly grabbed the seat belt and tucked me in.
“Kiibo what are you doing, stop it” I snapped immediately trying to push him off, so I could get out. He had tightened the belt so much I couldn’t even get it open. I started to panic and shake violently.
“Y/N let me do this. This is my purpose” Kiibo yelled with a slight hint of sorrow in his voice. This can’t be real. He wouldn’t do this. That was the last thing Kiibo said before leaving me stuck in the seat as he acted out his “purpose”.
Kaito Momota
The second we knew the situation we were in Kaito seemed to freeze. He looked terrified and was trying to grasp the situation. I shook him desperately attempting to snap him out of fear.
“Kaito please” I whimpered, tears running down my cheeks in fear. Kaito’s expression changed and his face quickly returned to color.
“Y/N listen to me. No matter what happens I want you to never forget how important it is for you to be strong. You are one of the strongest people I know so this will be an easy task for you. You must live on and never give up to this evil world. I know you can do that” His speech was brave and encouraging, but left a hole in my heart. Kaito’s cheeks were stained with tears from his words. I think he was trying to convince both of us.
“Kaito what are you saying?” I spoke in a quiet voice already knowing the answer that would follow my question. Kaito closed his eyes followed by a faint smile. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, before instantly turning around.
“Don’t ever forget me, alright?” he chuckled lightly as he started to walk away toward the exit. Everything in me wanted to run after him and stop him before it was too late, but his powerful words had left an incredible impact and I knew what the best outcome would be. I had to make Kaito proud.
Kokichi Ouma
“I knew something felt off” he mumbled to himself, scratching the back of his head with a startled expression. He started to pace back and forth deep in thought. I sat down trying to grasp the situation and calm myself down.
“Maybe they are bluffing?” he suggested, but then shook his head and continued pacing. The situation was getting more direr, as more time was wasted.
“Kokichi what are we gonna do?” I spat out voice filled with panic and fright. Kokichi snapped looking at me with worry.
“Jeez, why do you have to be so loud. I don’t like that” he mumbled crossing his arms. Kokichi’s childlike behavior never ceased to show. Even in a situation like this, he couldn’t take it seriously. As much as I was terrified of what was going to happen. I knew what I wanted to do.
“Together?” I murmured unsure of his reaction. Kokichi probably doesn’t want anything bad happening to me, but I refuse to leave his side. He suddenly smiled, placing his arms behind his neck in his typical stance.
“Nah why don’t you take care of it” he chuckled leaving me in shock. He must be joking right? That little turd is probably lying again. I was just about to yell at him once again, but he cut me off.
“Truly I wish no harm to you, but I also can’t leave you. How about we never leave each other’s side?” he suggested this time. I studied his entire expression and figure to predict his lie, but he seemed genuine about his statement. Kokichi really felt that way? I took his hand with a determined expression. Normally Kokichi would never feel comfortable with this, but he followed me by my side, as we walked into our faith together. We really did never leave each other’s side.
Korekiyo Shinguji
Kiyo showed no sign of emotion whatsoever. The realization of the situation was hitting the both of us, but yet he managed to stay calm and collected. His signature mask was hiding any fear he might be showing, therefore, I couldn’t tell how he felt. The silence was getting louder, by the second. One of us had to think of something to do.
“Kiyo what’s going to happen to us” I managed to say in between long uncontrollable breaths. Without saying anything Kiyo left me alone only to return not long after.
“So the information given wasn’t false. There truly is no way for me to save you, Y/N” Kiyo declared in his ever so calm voice. I will never be able to understand his willpower and composure.
“What option do we have?” my voice was shaky and unstable. After a few seconds, a very deep sigh escaped Kiyo’s lips. I could sense the worry in his eyes as they were darting all over the place trying to come up with a solution.
“Y/N I am afraid we don’t have many options. I always want to shield and protect you from any harm that may be caused, but I believe I have to act selfishly as it is my last option. I cannot leave your side nor do I wish to do so” Kiyo’s words were clear and his statement was as well. I didn’t want to leave his side either, therefore, we walked into our destiny hand in hand with no regrets.
Rantaro Amami
“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh” he mumbled quietly and sat down in one of the passenger seats. I sat down next to him in utter silence. I could slowly feel the panic starting to build up, but I had to keep it contained. I had to stay strong. No, how the hell was I supposed to stay sane? The situation was life or death. I got out of my seat abruptly causing Rantaro to shift his eyes to me. Slowly my feet took me to the opening of the plane. I couldn’t help, but stare out the window in hopes of finding some strength. I suddenly felt a pair of hands on my shoulders.
“Are you afraid?” he asked in a soft voice, pulling me closer. I shook my head although a few tears were making their way down my cheeks. I had to show my courage to him.
“You know I’m always gonna protect you right?” he stated, also looking out of the window. I turned around to wrap my arms around him. Perhaps this was gonna be the last time I’d be embraced with Rantaro’s scent.
“I know. And that’s why we’re going to do this together” I replied knowing I had finally found the courage I was searching for this entire time. Rantaro had no choice, but to accept my decision. I refuse to accept anything else.
“You know you don’t-” My eyes made contact with his, as I cut him off.
“We are doing this together. I am not taking no for an answer. I’m not scared anymore Rantaro” I stated with determination. Rantaro’s expression shifted from worry to perception. I nodded one last time reassuring him that this is what I wanted.
Ryoma Hoshi
In a situation like this, I was truly too shocked to read Ryoma’s feelings. It looked like he was trying to assimilate the situation. Knowing his view on life I knew I had to think fast. Before I could say anything, he did.
“Don’t make any drastic decisions Y/N. I truly don’t mind taking care of this” he replied crossing his arms as if his opinion or plan couldn’t be changed. I was about to stand up and complain my heart out to him, but Ryoma’s reaction seemed to make me freeze. I had never seen Ryoma with such sorrow in his eyes. I know he isn’t particularly fond of his life and doesn’t have a lot of willpower, but I can’t let him do this.
“Ryoma are you even listening to yourself? I can’t accept this. Let me do it” I declared not backing down from my words. As I expected Ryoma seemed to quickly build up a lot of anger. He looked like he was about to throw a tantrum at me.
“Stop trying to fight for something as worthless as me. If you are doing this for my sake, then let me do this” he yelled, causing me to back away a little. Was he right? Should I let him go for him to be happy? I closed my eyes in defeat and sat down in the passenger seat.
“Thank you,” he said in a soft voice before the sound of footsteps started to get more and more faded.
Shuichi Saihara
Shuichi’s breath was quickening as he was trying to find some self-control. The second we found out the situation we were stuck in, Shuichi had started to panic and hadn’t been able to calm down since then.
“Shuichi look at me. Calm down please” I spoke up in a loud voice to grab his attention. Shuichi finally looked at me, but his face was filled with dread and worry. Without thinking, I pulled him into a warm embrace. I know I was stepping over some boundaries, but I had to get him to focus.
“T-Thank you” he murmured. I pulled away only to see him feeling calmer. I smiled softly and pulled away from him again. It didn’t take long before his mood shifted back into worry. I sighed placing my hand on top of Shuichi’s hand.
“I need you to focus for my sake. For our sake” I declared showing him that, I too was worried. Shuichi nodded trying to comprehend my words. He seemed lost and too shocked to figure out what to do.
“It’s not too late. I can protect you Y/N” he suddenly blurted out, getting up from his seat and making his way towards the exit. I quickly ran after him pulling him back.
“Shuichi you can’t..” I whispered softly, tears forming in my eyes. Shuichi, for the first time, seemed truly sad more than scared. Slowly I took his hands and pulled him close again.
“We can do this together. You are strong enough” I whispered in his ear and quickly pulled away, continuing my walk to the exit. Not long after could I feel the warmth from Shuichi’s hand in mine.
~ Mod Ibuki
#danganronpa#danganronpa imagines#danganronpa reactions#danganronpa requests#danganronpa blog#dangan ronpa#drv3#drv3 killing harmony#mod ibuki
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@doodlelolly That other post is getting way too long, so let’s at least fight like civilized people with “Read More” cuts, yes?
I’ve quoted the portions of your post as I respond to them, since the initial post isn’t here. Also, for those who wish to see what has occurred before (and to prove I am not trying to “hide” anything in there and truly am just trying to save my followers’ dashboards) the post is here.
Ok. So here’s what I’m getting from your repeated condescending tone and aggressive responses. You believe you’re in the right and nothing is gonna change your mind. It kind of seems to be a trend that I’ve ignored until now because, as you mentioned before, it’s only a small percentage of your actual content. But we’re this far in already so I’ll continue to throw my 2 cents in cuz, hey, why not.
Of course I think I’m right, as do you. That’s literally the foundation of every single argument in the world. BOTH sides believe they’re right, otherwise they wouldn’t be arguing. So please don’t point a “You think you’re right!” finger at me as if you’re making a profound point about my character. It takes two to tango, and YOU are the one who asked me to dance tonight.
So let’s break down the responses you gave as mentioned above. To the first anti Jen sentiments, you expressed outrage and disapproval immediately, and then when someone disagreed, as in the case with Jen’s two defenders, you tried to maintain that air of neutrality. What does that say to your followers?
It says exactly what my words stated. My initial reaction is to think what Jen said is rude to the cast, crew and writers of the show, but I am withholding official judgement until I see a video for myself. That is what I said, in full, in my initial response - and what I continued to state, in part, in my further comments on posts I made explicitly to amplify the comments made in Jen’s defense. Had my response to those comments been the impetus for posting them, I could’ve put them in the replies portion of the post. I POSTED them, with a simple response of my stance on the subject, to GIVE VOICE to the positive interpretations of Jen’s words.
Honestly, I’m curious what you would’ve preferred me do, instead of what I did. Should I have ignored the positive comments entirely, as I ignored the negative ones? Should I have made sure my response to all three comments were identical by adding the part about thinking the comment (as reported) was rude? Either of those options seem like they would’ve legitimately given the impression that I was being “anti jen” - and, frankly, the options of me either not sharing my opinions at all or lying and saying I was convinced by the defense when I hadn’t yet seen the video I’m waiting on aren’t things I am willing to do.
And I never once said that your anti Jen tag inconvenienced me, not did I allude to it. I simply pointed out that if you use that tag, you’re probably going to find something anti Jen. I’m not asking you to change it. I wouldn’t expect you to. I think it’s absolutely appropriate.
You stated that by USING the tag, I knew there was “anti jen” sentiments within the post. I explained that I use the tag, even for mild criticism or what might be construed as criticism, out of respect for a follower who ASKED me to do so. Polite, civil, valid, and/or respectful criticism is not “anti” anything, though I have a strong suspicion you probably think it is - and perhaps that’s where our problem lies in communicating with each other. We seem to have wildly different ideas of what constitutes “bashing” someone.
And for you to be so ready to discuss the so called “ammo” for season 7 antis and shut down the asks about whether or not this is the right place for one if your followers is another huge red flag that you are playing favorites. Why is an ask that someone flat out calls Jen out in “well thought out” and someone looking for information on the content of your blog (with a compliment to you, no less!) “dropping bullshit”? That seems very biased to me.
It IS biased. I answer almost all of my asks, and I will answer one asking my opinion on something one of Colin’s former co-stars said about the project they worked on with Colin MUCH differently than I will answer an Ask that perfectly fits an established pattern of trolling asks I receive whenever a specific catalyst occurs - and said catalyst has just occurred.
I’m sorry that you’ve gotten hate for your opinions in the past, but neither of the anon responses to this subject, to me, appeared hateful. The first anon was expressing their opinion (which I didn’t agree with either, for the record) and the second was concerned on whether or not they should remain a follower. I don’t know this person, and neither do you, so your assumptions that they are not a follower and trying to stir the pot are only assumptions, just as mine are that their intentions are genuine.
However, MY assumptions are based on a pattern of events that have continually and predictably occurred for MONTHS now. Jen gets mentioned on the blog, or some non-CS ship gets attention, or I make a critical comment about Jen/Emma/CS... and I receive two rapid-fire Asks in my box: the first one a pro-Jen/CS/Emma rant about whatever topic set them off, and the second some “I’m a long time follower, but this concerns me!” nonsense. Sometimes (as tonight), there is a third one that goes on with the pro-Jen sentiments and adds some anti-Colin ones for good measure. I didn’t post that one, but it DID arrive - as expected.
Also, it bears mentioning that an Ask doesn’t have to be “mean” to be trolling. Some of the asks this individual sends ARE mean, yes, but it’s the repetition, insincerity, and lack of relevance to my blog’s subject that offends.
YOUR assumptions are based off of seeing two random asks on my blog and coming to your own conclusions about them based on the Asks themselves. I’m sorry, but in this case... this isn’t just a difference of opinion here. Your assumption is being made without the full picture, and I understand that, but I am GIVING you the information that led me to make the assumption I made - and as I said before, I am standing by it unless someone wants to admit they SENT that Ask and I made a mistake in interpreting its source/purpose.
And I’m sorry you misinterpreted the way I worded my hypothetical. Allow me to rephrase. Simply take all of the instances where Jen’s name is mentioned and replace them with Colin’s. Would your response be different? I expect st least your initial one would be. You would be much more likely to take an immediately neutral stance instead of rushing out the gate with a negative comment. So no, they weren’t completely different questions. Just replacing one actor’s name with another.
My apologies. It was my misunderstanding. Allow me to adjust my answer.
I am being 100% honest when I tell you my initial response of saying it’s RUDE and that I am withholding judgement until I see a video would be the same. Although, in the interest of full honesty, I probably might have expressed a disbelief that he ever WOULD say such a thing, as I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever heard the man utter anything (in seriousness) that is even in the same ballpark as that kind of comment. However, I know this from having followed his career, interviews and comments for some time. I do not follow Jen’s, and therefore have no reasonable expectation of what she would/wouldn’t say.
As for the rude comments from others... I would have ignored them, just as I did tonight - unless they got excessive. In which case, I would have pointed out to those making them that the OP is a Colin fan and could they please have their conversation elsewhere than on my post. As I said elsewhere, I do not “police” people’s opinions, unless they’re based on something proven to be false or seem grossly misguided in a way I feel I can help them with.
I tend to believe people who are eyewitnesses to the occurrence. Eyewitness testimony stands up in court so I mean, it’s a huge shove towards the truth in my opinion. But I intend to watch the video when it surfaces as well and I will continue to support your decision to do so.
The problem here is that someone directed me privately to the Twitter post from someone at the panel where they quoted Jen as saying she carried the show. You’re assuming that all we have here is heresay and the comments from two people who were there - but the initial “quote” that started all of this is FROM someone who was there. Hence, I am withholding my judgement until I see the video, myself, and know EXACTLY what was said and can determine from her face/tone how it was intended.
And you know the same could sentiment could be said for your accusations and assumptions of me. I disagreed with your post. Vehemently. And you have willfully misinterpreted most things I’ve said as evidenced by the clarifications, redirections, and explanations I’ve given above to support your argument as you see fit. It’s absurd and I don’t appreciate having my words twisted or ones I never said put in my mouth.
Ah, but I am the one being accused of “bashing” Jen and being hateful towards her. The onus is on YOU to PROVE these accusations, and you have not done that. I stated an initial, honest opinion - that I admit is critical of Jen, but not overly so - and then did my best to AMPLIFY the defense of her and IGNORE the harsher criticisms of her - and yet you STILL persist in insisting you’re right and that I somehow acted hatefully towards Jen tonight. I haven’t. I said her words were rude - and, if it turns out she didn’t say what she reportedly said, I will take that criticism back.
And you are correct, this time you aren’t bashing Jen, either directly or indirectly. You’re clearly coming for me directly and I don’t think anyone thinks otherwise. I’m totally fine with that, bee tee dubs. But I agree with the tag once again. Doubly so this time cuz, hey, my name is Jen too ;)
Need I remind you once again that it was YOU who began this fight and YOU who is making baseless accusations against me without any actual evidence of them? Tell me, what have I “come at you” for? What have I accused you of? I think you’ll find I’m merely defending myself here.
Honestly, seeing the things others ARE saying about Jen, both on Twitter AND Tumblr, over this supposed statement... I am truly confused how my simply saying such a comment is “rude” and the way I handled someone who I sincerely believe has been trolling me off and on for over a year warrants the sort of attention this is being given. I mean, there’s literally dozens of other people you could be “calling out” for bashing Jen right now who are actually bashing her quite horribly... Am I truly the hill you want to plant your Jen Defense Squad banner on? XD
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in where my body is an anthology, and literature knows more about people then we do
Today I feel ugly, my facial features angular and put together in a way that makes me feel like someone cut pieces of faces from a magazine and placed them together to create me. My clothes feel confining, probably because I haven’t worn regular clothes since lockdown and probably because I’m fat and most of my clothes fit this way anyway. Today I crave a discipline my body and mind cannot give, and this desire makes me melancholy and agitated. I keep thinking about this boy - or man, because he’s over 25 and at this stage even if we don’t feel like adults we are still deemed thus by society - who sent me a link to a tumblr page at 4 in the morning last night. I had been asleep, going to bed as early as 6 or 7 these days with little energy spent, but had woken up to the link and a casual text forewarning of nudity. The post, titled “why chloe moretz eating spaghetti from wooden boxes? why everyone lookin in the camera?? WHY SOME DUDE SUCKIN DICK???” (linked) had several comments below the picture (which showed exactly what was titled - Chloe Moretz eating spaghetti, several people in the room looking directly at the camera, and two dudes in the back, with their pants down, glimpsing over their shoulders at the camera while one of them received oral stimulation by another man). The comments all posed questions about the absurdity of this picture, revealing pieces of it to be false or photoshopped, and finally presenting the “legitimate” picture of the two men receiving blow jobs, that culminated in a scene with a large black bear walking casually by as they did. I’m confused by this, and if I’m honest, I’m also disturbed. It’s not that I’m without a sense of humor. Most of the time I believe my humor to be flexible and sarcastic, as long as it’s not offensive or insensitive. But like most of the absurdities of men, I’m confounded as to where the humor of such a post lies. Is it the homosexual blow job itself? Is it the actress consuming a meal in public? Or the fact that someone decided to photoshop such random components together in an attempt towards the casualness of such absurdity? Clearly there is something humorous about this, otherwise it wouldn’t have received such attention (241,846 notes on tumblr), and I’m left thinking that maybe I’m more ordinary and less obscene in my character after all. But beyond that, I wonder why this man decided to send me this at the time that he did. How did he come upon the link? And why, at a time when you can presume a stranger to be asleep, did he think of me and decide to send it?
We had met only once before, and had been talking casually for the last couple of weeks. This mostly consisted of me listening to him talk about how tired, stressed and hopeless he was about the current state of his life and the world in general. It has not been an unusual connection; most of my intimate interactions with men have been like this - men needing to be heard and I playing the role of a vessel to be poured into. It’s only lately that I’ve found the act of “making space” rudimentarily extractive and imbalanced. And a lie to myself. There have been these small ways in which I’ve consented to this “extractive” practice, you see. Listening endlessly to men talk about their unloving fathers, their insecurities around mediocre sexual performance, their lack of careers or intelligence, any culmination of experiences that they deem traumatic, etc., This willingness towards extraction on my end has come about from a configuration of ideas I’ve put together in order to convince myself that this is the ultimate level of intimacy, and thus one I’ve been craving all along (to know what is not knowable to others, to know what hurts or is tender or needs healing).
In other ways I’ve not consented to what’s been extracted - my body, my emotional entanglements, my intelligence, my victimhood that comes along with the rage of my own vulnerability. Tumblr-man is not different or far from this pattern of giving and taking, of capturing both the spaces available and the spaces I wish to be beyond grasp. I considered a series of actions to acknowledge the text he sent me, to reduce awkwardness and thus affirm that he was not wrong in sending me adult porn unsolicited or without evidence of past history of such behavior being acceptable. I considered creating further space through question and curiosity, to let him know that while I might not have appreciated it, nothing was off limits when he deemed it actionable. But as of now I can only muster enough energy to think about my own psychological patterns. My contract with this phenomenon (the “rudimentary extractive” one) makes me want to dig deeper into the superficial agreement of our relationship, to a place where I reach farther then surface level grief or joy. I want to hear, and have heard, deeper sensory, sensational information that at once makes me feel as much as the person is feeling by telling me something they’ve never considered uttering to a stranger before. I know this is just my own lack of experience around me. I am bored and perhaps numb from the lackluster stimuli that is at my disposal, and thus I want to find it in others - in men - so that it can replace my sense of unworthiness in myself with a false, brief sense of importance to someone else.
I’ve lived in the South almost all my life. I’m more regionally Southern then most of my current peers, and yet, the culture of ‘Southern living’ did not meet me until I moved to rural Tennessee. Here we eat boiled peanuts (a practice I learned came from the dietary patterns of civil war soldiers) and biscuits with gravy and sometimes fried chicken. Here the tea is sweetened unbearably so, and moonshine is a thing, although never anywhere authentically anymore. More then anything my fat body despairs at these dietary rituals. I feel alienated from my own practices and find it hard to enjoy things. It’s really not that uncommon, however. As a millennial, feelings of alienation and displacement are common.
Tumblr-man (which previously I’d deemed LARPeg - since he both enjoys this strange phenomenon called live action role playing, and being pegged) tells me he is jealous of my ability to enjoy reading. He, in a bizarre series of events, is a Creative Writings major at an obscure liberal arts college in Asheville, NC (the same one, he informs me, that James Franco went to). He tells me that he really “likes the idea of dropping a big plot piece...” and that “writing a big, long, cheeky complaint with lots of pith is very attractive” to him. He recommends I read ‘Consider the Lobster’ by David Foster Wallace, and I do, mostly because I’ve read everything he’s sent my way thus far, and I wasn’t going to prove my own behavioral patterns wrong that day. He sends me memes about Dungeons and Dragons and LARPing that I assume I’m suppose to understand but I do not, although by his own admission, an immigrant like me is not meant to, and is hardly to blame for not understanding “cultural references.” I don’t get it, either LARPing or D&D, but I read both essay assignments he wrote for the semester around a fictional LARPing scenario. I do this because he’s a socialist, and half Venezuelan, and because I can’t help my own internal desire to show a man that I am fully engulfed in his own preferences and passions. I am not entirely foolish, I express my own passions and desires, and hardly authentically adopt theirs, but if he does not ask I do not say, because it’s always easier to listen and be seen listening, then to explain and feel the potential signs of disinterest and boredom. I am not boring. But men can be, and I do not wish to engage with bored men. Anyways, I read ‘Consider the Lobster’, the essay in the book titled the same, and it was, surprisingly, spectacular. How thrilling that something, anything, this particular man had suggested spoke to me in such a way. I preceded to read reviews and an excerpt from a New York Times article titled “How Should a Book Sound? And What About Footnotes?” in where DFW says “Most poetry is written to ride on the breath, and getting to hear the poet read it is kind of a revelation and makes the poetry more alive. But with certain literary narrative writers like me, we want the writing to sound like a brain voice, like the sound of the voice inside of the head, and the brain voice is faster, is absent any breath, and it holds together grammatically rather than sonically." I find this beyond interesting - it jolts me deep down where I safe keep my ideas around literature and its realities. I want to send it to Tumblr-man because it reminded me so specifically of what he had said right before recommending DFW: “I only recently have come to understand that the real sort of fingerprint of a writer can be where they place periods and commas. Because “She left, yesterday.” And “She left. Yesterday.” Sound similar if read aloud but read differently.” I wonder now if he, too, read this quote and had his sense of literature jolted in an inexplicable, but concrete way.
I’ve once again picked up ‘Normal People’ by Sally Rooney. Thus far, my favorite lines are as follows (of the first U.S edition by Hogarth publishing group):
“This “what?” Question seems to him to contain so much: not just the forensic attentiveness to his silence that allows her to ask in the first place, but a desire for real communication, a sense that anything unsaid is an unwelcome interruption between them” (pg 26);
“One night the library started closing just as he reached the passage in Emma when it seems like Mr. Knightley is going to marry Harriet, and he had to close the book and walk home in a state of strange emotional agitation. He’s amused at himself, getting wrapped up in the drama of novels like that. It feels intellectually unserious to concern himself with fictional people marrying one another. But there it is: literature moves him. One of his professors calls it “the pleasure of being touched by great art.” In those words it almost sounds sexual. And in a way, the feeling provoked in Connell when Mr. Knightley kisses Emma’s hand is not completely asexual, though its relation to sexuality is indirect. It suggests to Connell that the same imagination he uses as a reader is necessary to understand real people also, and to be intimate with them” (pg 72);
“Connell paused and took another drag on his cigarette. This was probably the most horrifying thing Eric could have said to him, not because it ended his life, but because it didn’t. He knew then that the secret for which he had sacrificed his own happiness and the happiness of another person had been trivial all along, and worthless” (pg 80);
“He kisses her closed eyelids. It’s not like this with other people, she says. Yea, he says. I know. She senses there are things he isn’t saying to her. She can’t tell whether he’s holding back a desire to pull away from her, or a desire to make himself more vulnerable somehow” (pg 96).
I am struck by the way the book’s composition demonstrates a realness unfamiliar to the readings I often take on. The book reads the way people speak, and cares very little about the grammatical composition of words/sentences. Instead, characters and their thoughts and the narrators own mind speak the way one speaks in ones mind, unfiltered, scattered with anxiety and directness, with an approach to ones own truth above all else. ‘Normal People’ reads almost opposite to the narrative guidelines David Foster Wallace deems necessary, and yet, it embodies his sentiment almost as if the two had been birthed from one another. I wish I and those around me were as brave and as vulnerable as the compilation of sentences in this book. And yet, we’d all fall apart doing so. I want to recommend ‘Normal People’ to Tumblr-man, along with a series of other writings I have not yet finished but have found impactful nonetheless. I know, ultimately, that I won’t, in the same way I won’t send the NYT’s article. Maybe this is an inability to be seen on my end, or a foolish willingness to be something for somebody else without being an actual something to that somebody. Or maybe it’s too much labor and I’m satisfied with thinking through these things on my own, knowing the depth of my own thoughts without needing them to be seen or understood. In the same way my ears strain and struggle to hear noise while wearing my noise canceling headphones while no music plays, my body strains and struggles, leaping for noise and yet feeling bound by the confines the lack of it creates.
I think about my own mortality often, and wonder whether this existence, this very moment even, I am dead or dying, with only a delusion of existence playing forth in my mind. These thoughts cause congruent sensations in me - anxiety, because of the potential of this reality that has not been proven incorrect or impossible in my mind, and strangely, a dissociation that elevates me beyond that anxiety. I think to myself, and know deep in my bones, that it is true, that it turns out I’ve been dead all along, and that my body has just been decomposing in motion this whole time, waiting for my bones to turn to ash.
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Dear White People, You’re Not That Well-Intentioned
On my way through town, after work, I pulled up to a stop light in a quiet part of town. There was some construction and the stop was longer than normal, but not obscene. This particular intersection stands as a portal of sorts to an infamous stretch of street where, growing up, the local police would ticket anyone going over the posted 25 mph speed limit. I think they still do.
As I was waiting a few cars deep, a white woman, probably in her late 60s, walked up to my car. She was holding a picture, printed on regular white paper, of her grandkids. I had no idea who this woman was, but I rolled down my window. She handed me the picture. Cute kids. About 10 or so in all. All of them were white, except for one. The young child in the center was Black. This matters.
When she approached my window, after handing me the photo, the woman said, “I saw the message on your car and I like it. But I can’t say ‘Black Lives Matter’ because all of my grandkids lives matter. All lives matter.”
Here’s a photo of the back of my car.
Sitting behind me at a traffic stop, this woman was so...moved? Distraught? Guilt-ridden? that I wrote this on my car that she had to absolve herself of the reasons why she can’t bring herself to say “Black Lives Matter.” This matters.
I didn’t catch the woman’s name. She seemed kind, I suppose. As kind as walking-up-to-a-stranger’s-car-at-a-stop-light-to-show-him-your-grandkids-so-he-knows-that-you-have-9-white-grandkids-and-1-Black-grandkid-and-you-can’t-bring-yourself-to-say -“Black Lives Matter”-because-the-lives-of-your-white grandkids-matter-too can be.
If I’d had more time I would have taken the photo out of my sun-visor of my 3 kids. I’d have shown her that I think their lives matter too. And yet, I can still say “Black Lives Matter,” because there’s nothing about loving my children that takes away the urgency with which we need to recognize and honor Black lives.
If I’d have had more time I would have explained that her Black grandchild’s lived experiences will be different from her white grandchildren’s lived experiences. That her Black grandchild will face barriers that were established at the very founding of this nation to ensure that Black people don’t have access to the same opportunities and resources as white people. He will have to navigate a world where the police can walk into his home and shoot him in his own bed and be charged with a property crime. He will have to navigate a world where an entire major political party (the GOP if you weren’t sure) targets millions of Black voters for suppresssion campaigns - gerrymandered voting districts, closing polling locations, voter ID requirements, and the sordid list goes on. This matters.
This woman wanted to convince me that she was “well intentioned.” But she wasn’t well intentioned. She said she “liked the message on my car,” only to explain to me why she didn’t like the message on my car, or at least to imply why she was too cowardly to stand up for the only one of her grandchildren born without the advantages that being white affords. This matters.
White people like this woman don’t want to be called racist. They don’t like it. But they don’t dislike it with sufficient frustration to change their behaviors or change their words or change their attitudes. But that’s what moral conviction should do - it should change our attitudes and behaviors when we feel guilt. And that’s what she was truly expressing: guilt. When you are compelled to engage a stranger because of the words on his car, but not engage your own attitudes, for whatever reason, you’re a moral coward.
So she wasn’t well-intentioned at all. This matters.
It shouldn’t be hard for white people to acknowledge that Black Lives are deserving of dignity. It shouldn’t be hard for White people to acknowledge that Black Lives are threatened in ways that white lives aren’t. And yet, white people like the woman who approached my car struggle to find the room to acknowledge either of the above sentiments, as if doing so would betray her to her white grandchildren. It doesn’t. My white children are my heart and soul, and they are not betrayed by my commitment to fight the oppression and violence against Black Lives.
Shortly after this encounter, on September 29th, I started writing this blog entry. I never finished it. A month later, I put my thoughts into the following Twitter thread from my @prosserjohn account. I’ve decided to merge these two pieces of writing together with the hope that these words will help white people learn how to become more than well-intentioned; I wish for them to become well-actioned.
The October 20, 2020 Twitter thread:
1/ p v ~ p. This symbolic sentence, read as “p or not p,” is a tautology, meaning it’s always true. Either the proposition p is true & satisfies the truth of the sentence, or its denial is true & satisfies the truth. E.g. The kitchen light is on or the kitchen light is not on.
2/ Tautologies like the above are not controversial. They don’t express a ton of information, but they are useful in logical reasoning. We know that if a proposition is not true, that it’s denial must be true. And that if a proposition is true, it’s denial must be not true.
3/ E.g. We know the proposition “Bananas are blue” is false, so it’s denial, “Bananas are not blue,” must be true. It doesn’t tell us what color they are, but we know what color they aren’t. So the proposition “Bananas are blue or bananas are not blue” is always true.
4/ “The sun rose today or the sun did not rise today.” This statement is always true. p v ~ p, where p stands for the proposition “The sun rose today.” This is not controversial.
5/ “It is raining right now, right here, or it is not raining right now, right here.” This statement is always true. p v ~p, where p stands for the proposition “It is raining right now, right here.” This is not controversial.
6/ The p v ~p tautology is always true and never controversial. Well, almost never controversial. There is a special controversy right now, with this very tautology, that has some people very angry. Can you guess the tautology?
7/ Now, let p stand for the proposition “Black Lives Matter.” So p v ~ p reads “Black Lives Matter or Black Lives Do Not Matter.” This tautology is still true. Not controversial. But what makes this statement true & informative, is that p itself is true: Black Lives Matter.
8/ And this is where the controversy suddenly arises.
When I say “Black Lives Matter,” I’m uttering a proposition, a statement about the way the world is. I’m declaring that Black lives do indeed matter. That Black lives have value and worth. That Black lives deserve rights.
9/ But when I say “Black Lives Matter” and someone gets angry at this statement, they reject proposition p, which means, necessarily, they assert proposition ~p. That is, to deny “Black Lives Matter” is to, necessarily, assert that “Black Lives Do Not Matter.” p v ~ p.
10/ Either p is true, or ~p is true. One must be true. So denying the claim that “Black Lives Matter” means you are arguing in favor of the truth of its denial, I.e. ~p, I.e. That Black Lives Do Not Matter.
11/ The oddity within this “controversy” isn’t that there are racists and racists don’t value Black Lives. We know racists exist & we know they don’t value Black Lives.
12/ No - the oddity here is that the ppl who reject the proposition “BLM” refuse to admit that they believe it’s denial is true. They will simultaneously erupt in anger at the claim “BLM” & throw a tantrum if you clarify “So you’re saying Black Lives Don’t Matter?”
13/ Try it sometime. Find someone who thinks “Black Lives Matter” is offensive, then ask them “So you’re arguing that “Black Lives Don’t Matter?” And guarantee they’ll say “That’s not what I’m saying!” or “I’m not racist. All lives matter!”
14/ Except it’s patently true: if you reject the simple, uncontroversial claim that #BlackLivesMatter, then you necessarily assert its denial, that Black Lives Don’t Matter, and this...this makes you a racist. It really is that simple. So don’t be a racist. Support Black Lives.
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A Lucky Night- Chapter 14
Here is my multi-chapter pic featuring characters I do not own from Criminal Minds, Alvez x Garcia, in a story of my own creation. It picks up at the end of 13.5.
Warning: Some chapters contain smut. While many do not, the ones that do are definitely 18+, NSFW.
Please feel free to re-blog and review! Please ask for permission before posting on any other platform.
Brigitte returned, and Penelope was soon hustled into a stylist’s chair to have her hair curled and styled and her makeup expertly applied. Luke was shown into the dressing room, where he discarded the robe and got dressed in his slacks. This time however he donned the burgundy button up he had brought. He spent several moments perfecting his hair and applying some aftershave.
About twenty minutes later he emerged from the changing room. Brigitte informed him that Penelope was nearly done having her hair and makeup arranged. Luke popped out of the salon for a few moments, notifying Brigitte that he would return momentarily.
Meanwhile, Penelope was amazed how quickly the stylist had worked. In only a matter of a half hour she had expertly placed large, loose curls throughout Penelope’s hair. She had straightened Penelope’s long side bangs and arranged them perfectly. After inquiring what Penelope would be wearing, she applied a dramatic, dark winged liner and a shimmery gold shadow to her eyelids. She slicked mascara onto Penelope’s’ eyelashes, gluing in small clumps of false eyelashes to fill them in until they were long and luscious. She applied foundation, highlighter and bronzer expertly, setting it all with a professional finishing powder. Last but not least she selected a deep rose matte lipstick. After applying it, she gave the tube to Penelope for reapplications later.
Escorting Penelope out of the chair once the stylist pronounced her perfect, Brigitte led Penelope down to the changing room and unlocked the door. “Mr. Alvez just stepped out and asked me to let you know he will return momentarily. Do you need any assistance getting dressed?” she inquired politely.
“I think I can manage, thank you,” Penelope said, stepping into the room. She closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, and then set about getting dressed. She pulled on the clean lingerie she had brought- the black and fuchsia high-cut panties with garter clips and the matching lace edged plunge-cut bra. She pulled on the black, thigh-high lace-edged stockings, clipping them to the garter clips. She stepped into the glittery heels, bending at the waist and tying the bow at each ankle. She shimmied into the ruffled black mini skirt, pulling it up over her hips. Then she wrapped the corseted, sparkly rose-gold top around her waist, slipping her arm into the cap sleeves and then fastening the clips up the center in front of her. She looked in the mirror, making sure nothing was out of place. Reaching into her bag, she removed the jewelry she had packet. She tucked the rose gold flowered clip into the curls of her hair, pulled on toe rose gold bangle bracelets, and lastly fastened on the large rhinestone necklace that dipped perfectly into her cleavage. She quickly packed the rest of her stuff into the bag, her stomach fluttering with butterflies. “I hope this outfit is a good choice for wherever we are headed,” she whispered softly to herself as she admired herself in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt over her hips. Carrying only the shrug and the essentials she had shoved into the small black clutch, she crossed to the door that led back to the main salon area.
Penelope stepped out the door, and she heard a chorus of gasps. Brigitte, Kara, the masseuse and her hair stylist were standing in the lobby. She mentally made a note that this was her new salon of choice- everyone had been so kind and caring. She would definitely be returning. Brigitte’s smile beamed, while Kara actually clapped her hands several times. Her hair stylist let out a cat-call whistle, and the kind masseuse merely pronounced her “stunning!” But the one she was hoping to wow wasn’t even standing there. Before she could ask any of them if her prince charming had made a run for it, she heard the tell-tale chime as the salon’s front door opened. In stepped Luke, holding a single red rose. Well, doesn’t he look dashing in that burgundy shirt that might as well be molded to his skin. And she loved when he wore that black leather jacket. Just then Luke looked up and caught sight of her. Penelope watched his jaw literally drop in shock.
“Penelope,” he said, breathlessly. “You look… ravishing,” he practically groaned. In three long strides he had crossed the room. He pulled her tightly to his chest, tipping her head back swiftly and taking her lips with his in a heated kiss. In some corner of her mind not completely overwhelmed by the feel of Luke’s slightly roving hands and plunging tongue, Penelope recognized the sound of someone clapping again. After several moments longer than was at all appropriate, Luke finally pulled back from their kiss. He pressed the rose into her hand, and wound his arm around her waist, keeping her pressed tightly to his side.
“Thank you all so much for a lovely evening,” Luke said, turning to the assembled team. He passed an envelope to Brigitte. “We are so grateful to you, and will gladly refer others to your wonderful establishment. I’m afraid we must be going, we have a reservation to make,” Luke said, leading Penelope out the door to the truck that was now waiting at the curb.
Luke again held open the door and helped her up, his hand roving from her lower back to trail down the curve of her hip and onto her exposed leg. He slipped one finger under the lace edging of the stocking to caress the sensitive skin of her thigh, his eyes impossibly dark. “Woman, you are trying to kill me,” he groaned. Penelope shivered at the touch. She couldn’t even respond; her throat was choked with desire. He closed the door, before he lost control of the desire pumping through his veins. He rounded the truck, stopping for a few moments at the back to draw deep breaths and think of the frigid showers he took while out in the field hunting a fugitive- anything to help slow his heart rate and dampen his arousal just a smidge. Penelope would probably be the death of him, but at least he’d meet his maker with a smile on his face.
Luke finally joined her in the truck. The sun had set while they were inside, and the streetlights were on. He pulled the car onto the street and drove them several blocks. “You hungry, Chica?” he asked, squeezing her hand. “You know,” she responded, “I didn’t realize it before you asked, but yes. I am definitely ready to eat. Is dinner the reservation you mentioned?” she asked. “Indeed, it is,” he replied with a smile.
Just a few moments later, Luke pulled the truck over at the valet stand in front of a brightly lit downtown building. Penelope looked out the window at the elegant building with people streaming in and out the door, and somewhat of a line forming. “THE SALSA ROOM?!” she exclaimed, nearly screaming in exhilaration. “There is no way you got a table here, it takes weeks!” she asserted, smacking him on the thigh playfully. Luke chuckled. “Penelope, have you not yet learned that Luke Alvez, Special Supervisory Agent with the FBI, and former Army Ranger, is not the kind of man to give up at the first sign of difficulty. I am nothing if not persistent, how do you think I won you over?” he uttered in a low, yet teasing voice. Penelope didn’t know if it was his voice or the anticipation of dinner at one of the hottest, hard-to-get-into places in the DC-metro area, but she was now practically shaking.
Luke climbed out of the truck, handing the key to the parking attendant. He opened Penelope’s door for her, his eyes closely following the long lines of her legs as she stepped down from the truck. He wrapped his arm around her, stopping to receive a valet ticket, and led her up the stairs and into the restaurant. Penelope could sure get used to the comforting, arousing feeling of his protective hand at the small of her back.
Penelope could feel the weight of others’ glances on them as Luke led her to the hostess’ desk, his arm still firmly wrapped around her waist. She glanced around surreptitiously, clutching her purse tightly to her waist. Quite a few people, mostly couples, waited around the foyer to be sat, and it seemed all of them were observing her and Luke. Some of them with annoyance, likely people who’d grown tired of waiting and were frustrated for yet another party to compete against in order to be sat.
But others looked at them and seemed to be envious or intrigued. One well-dressed, but slimy looking man looked her up and down like she was a piece of meat. She shivered, ugh. What a pig. An older woman looked at them curiously. Penelope looked down at her ensemble, which was a bit flashy compared to the subtler outfits most of the women wore. For a moment, she wished she’d chosen to wear something a touch less revealing and a touch more elegant. Perhaps the woman wondered why she was so dolled up. Maybe she’s wondering what we’re celebrating. Or if she was a little-known reality show star, lol. And then, there were a few who looked at her next to Luke with disbelief. She could pinpoint one or two women who stared at her with both envy and resentment, and seemed to think it was a waste that such a model of male perfection was here with her.
Thankfully, Penelope was spared further torture as the hostess Luke was speaking with gathered menus and led them to be seated right away. “Mr. Alvez, won’t you and your guest please follow me to the table you reserved?” she asked, turning and leading them into the restaurant. Penelope allowed Luke’s hand to propel her forward but she was shocked, still contemplating how they could have possibly gotten a reservation at such a sought-after restaurant and then been sat without any wait. It was mind boggling.
Luke’s hand tightened on her hip, pressing her rhythmically in an affectionate, comforting gesture. The hostess led them to a lovely table near the center of the restaurant. It was fairly unique however, as it was situated on a small raised platform. One climbed two stairs to reach the small alcove that was partially flanked by large waist-height planters overflowing with lush flowers. A beautiful, wrought iron chandelier holding 12 candles in glass lamps hung above the table. The gleaming mahogany table and curved bench of the secluded booth had an unimpeded view of the dance floor and band, yet were given privacy by the curved planter and cascade of colorful blooms. In the center of the table sat a glass vase holding a riotous arrangement of brightly colored freesia, ranunculus, and camellias. It was probably the single most perfectly situated table in the entire room that invoked thoughts of old world Barcelona fused with a Miami club. It was beautiful, yet tasteful. Romantic, yet trendy and vibrant. She loved it.
Luke helped her up the stairs, just as he had helped her off the curb while out in the field a few weeks ago. He removed her black shrug for her, and waited patiently as she sat down and scooted slightly across the lush suede of the bench. He rounded the table, scooting into the booth from the other side until his hip was pressed into hers. He put his arm around her shoulders, resting it on the backrest. The hostess provided them with menus, smiling as she nodded once. “Your server will be with you promptly, Mr. Alvez. May you and your lovely guest enjoy your evening,” she said, taking her leave.
Penelope’s eyes roamed, taking in the rest of the room. There were tables of course, most of them occupied by groups of two or four, a few with larger parties. At the front of the room, a large platform dominated the center of the space. A variety of instruments were arranged on the stage: a drum kit, several guitars, microphones, a piano and several brass instruments. There was a large, gleaming dance floor that started just before the platform and stretched across the room, ending just several feet from where they sat.
Luke watched her as she took in the room. He briefly allowed his own gaze to take in the ambiance. It was a lovely space, and perfect for what he had planned. Mostly though he enjoyed watching her eyes widen in pleasure as she took in the room. She was so incredibly lovely and he couldn’t believe he had been lucky enough to convince her to give him a chance… to give them a chance. He sighed contentedly.
“So, shall we order some food to share?” he asked her, bringing her attention back to their table. Penelope looked over the menu. It appeared they served Latin-American and Caribbean cuisine, with an emphasis on Puerto Rican food. There weren’t many dishes she recognized but they all seemed amazing from the descriptions. Many appeared to contain meat though. She couldn’t help but think bitterly that Luke probably would enjoy it more if his date shared his love of red meat. “Well, why don’t we each order our own? That way you can enjoy something with meat,” she responded.
Luke placed a hand on her thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “There are plenty of dishes we can both enjoy. And certainly, I can order one or two things with meat. Although, since I met you I’ve been trying to cook with it less and less. Plus, they have a lot of dishes with fish or shrimp. I recall that you eat seafood on occasion,” Luke said.
They returned to looking at the menu, just as their waiter arrived. He was young, probably working his way through college or grad school. He wasn’t much taller than Penelope probably, but he was a good-looking guy. His curly, raven black hair was pulled into a trendy low pony tail, which was a striking contrast to his piercing blue eyes. The rolled-up sleeves of the white button down her wore showed off the tan skin of his muscular arms, revealing the colorful ink of the tattoos he appeared to have in two full sleeves.
“Holá, I’m Paulo,” he said with a perfect accent on the Spanish. “What can I get you to drink this evening?” Luke glanced down at the section of the menu that covered their drink selections. “I’d like a Jack and coke please, extra ice,” he said. “And for you, bella?” the waiter said, flashing Penelope a megawatt smile. When she smiled back the young man had the audacity to wink at her. “I’d like a piña colada if you have them,” she replied. “For you, cariña, we have anything you’d like. I will be back with these en un momento,” he said, turning and heading for the bar.
Penelope watched him leave, then turned to see that Luke was scowling. “What’s wrong?” Penelope asked. “Did he say something insulting in Spanish?” Luke shook his head, still glaring. “Not to you no.” he replied. “Let’s choose what we’d like to order when he returns.” They chose a few items, just in time for a bar-back to bring their drinks.
A few moments later, Paulo returned to take their order. “How does that piña colada taste, princesa?” he inquired, staring down Penelope’s top briefly. Penelope, oblivious to the young man’s leering gaze, assured him it was delicious as she took another sip. “Well, what can I get for y’all to eat?” he asked, his pen poised over the pad in his hand. Luke responded, “We’d like to start with an order of the tostones and the guacamole, then we’d like to share a bowl of the chupe de camarones, the Caribbean salad, and the enchiladas de mariscos. Oh, y una empanada por favor. Y, si podria, deja de coquetear con my novia. Ella es mía,” Luke warned sternly.
The waiter met Luke’s steely gaze briefly, then nodded grimly and departed. Penelope looked at Luke, puzzled. “Really, Luke. What is going on with you and the waiter?” she asked, befuddled. “Well, Chica, we just had a misunderstanding and I had to set him straight about the fact that you are most certainly taken,” Luke drawled lazily. Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, don’t tell me you gave that poor boy a hard time just because he gave me compliments! I’m sure he’s just angling for a good tip. You didn’t need to take it seriously and apparently threaten the poor boy. I’m probably nearly twice his age, his flirting is harmless,” Penelope scolded, though not very harshly.
“I don’t care if he’s 18 or 81, he needs to find his own cariña and not be making a cake of himself over a woman who is with someone. He’s supposed to be working,” Luke growled. Penelope continued, “What exactly did you say? He was so stern when he left.” Luke waved his hand, “It was nothing. I didn’t say half what I could have, nothing insulting. I merely told him to quit flirting with my girlfriend and find his own girl, because you’re mine,” Luke said, his voice still low and intense. Penelope looked him in the eyes, her heart thundering in her chest. “You told him… that I’m YOUR GIRL??” she clarified hesitantly. Luke nodded decisively, “Yes, Chica. I’ve been trying to say something to you for months, and I can’t blame you not realizing how I felt… what with me taking my sweet time.” He brought his hand up to cup her jaw, his fingers caressing her cheek. “But I think I’ve been pretty direct, being that we’re on our 5th date in 24 hours. Penelope Grace, eres mía. You’re mine, if you’ll have me,” he whispered.
Penelope couldn’t speak. She couldn’t force her mouth to move, to form words. Luke was looking into her eyes, waiting for an answer and she was frozen. She could see that he was starting to doubt, starting to misinterpret her silence as rejection. But she couldn’t even think words, her head was swimming with the knowledge that this achingly handsome, generous man could want her. She had to do something though, she couldn’t just sit here and let him think she was rejecting him! She did the only thing she could think to do- she placed a hand on his thigh, and the other on his neck and she pulled his face to hers. She kissed him fiercely, pouring every ounce of wonder and surprise, and desire- so much desire- into the movement of her lips and tongue against his. He pushed his lips against hers, his hand caressing her neck. The hand on her face slid into her hair, anchoring her head as he moved his face to change the angle of the kiss, taking control. His other hand snaked around her body to the small of her back. He pulled her closer to him, fitting her against him as closely as possible given their seated positions. What started as Penelope showing Luke how she felt turned into Luke demonstrating just how hungry he was for her and how skillfully he could bring her pleasure.
The kiss lasted several moments, and they only broke apart as the food began to arrive to the table.
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