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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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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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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession. unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller. You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve. That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face. It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you. "Hey," you purred. "Haven't seen you around before. We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm? Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk. Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist. He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice. He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress. “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself? You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby. Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step. As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate. “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered. “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh. You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly. “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him. “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had. “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered. “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand. “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment. It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did. Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state. With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor. You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar. His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms. Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way. The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled. “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker. Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers. He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds. You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him. "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it. You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure. And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second. You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden. "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started. Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal. You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could. "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to. As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly. "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you. You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself. "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in. You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in. It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down. You're too big." You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment. You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it? It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life. You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process. "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back. "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it. He enjoyed hurting you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden. You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return. Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic.

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp. “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another. He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need. It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust. You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing. "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted. "Can you come for me? Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear. You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them. He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans. Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh? You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm.

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited. “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin. It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards. This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though. You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out. When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud. A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again. Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego. “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained. You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time? On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it. “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back. “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said. I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air. Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark. “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes. He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet. Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits. This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates. Like being a Mandalorian's target. And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.

#dark!mandalorian #dark!mandalorian smut #dark!din djarin smut #the mandalorian dark fic #dark!din djarin x reader #dark!din djarin x y/n #dark!din djarin x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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kirishimaswife2819 · 3 years

Note

First off, CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU!

Also, I would like to make a request! So, for the request could you possibly do a mixture of 49, 43, and 3 for Mina? Like where Mina’s girlfriend is really struggling with depression and is really insecure about her body because she’s more on the chubby side and just finds everything about herself ugly and repulsive. She also doesn’t think that she deserves to have Mina and that Mina should just dump her and find someone that actually deserves her? sorry if that doesn’t make sense! And if you don’t mind I’m just going to describe how I would picture *name*. Preferably she would be shy/socially anxious and just really sweet to everyone except herself and just a soft person in general ya know? And no one else really knows about her issues except Mina and everyone else just thinks she’s shy? If you don’t want to do this request that’s totally fine! I hope you have a nice day!

↠Mina Ashido with Prompts 3, 43, and 49 (Fem!Reader)

↠3. “Did you just call yourself ugly?”

↠43. “If I asked you to make a list of things that you loved, where would I fall on the list?” “You’d be number one.” “And where would you fall?” “I wouldn’t be on the list.”

↠49. “Loving me is a bad choice. I would recommend that you ignore any feelings you have for me and go and find somebody better.”

↠Author’s Note: Hi! Ty! I hope Mina isn’t too ooc in this, I tried to write her the best I could. Thank you for requesting! I hope this is okay! :) -Danielle <3

↠Genre: Fluff/comfort

↠Word Count: 800

↠Notes/Warnings: Reader is chubby and insecure

You frowned at your reflection in the full length mirror that was in the girl’s showers. You smoothed your over-sized shirt over your hips, seeing if it would make you appear any slimmer, but it did no good. Your girlfriend, Mina, was going on about something that happened in class earlier that day, as she did her skin care routine before you two went to bed.

“God, I’m so ugly,” you mumbled, turning to the side to see what you looked like from that angle. Mina stopped talking, so you went to ask her why she suddenly when quiet, when she spoke.

“Did you just call yourself ugly?”

“Maybe,” you replied, realizing why she suddenly went quiet. Your eyes went back to the mirror and you continued to mentally point out every flaw that you could see. As you were doing this, Mina snuck up behind you and threw her arms around your neck. She rested her head on your shoulder, watching your expressions as you stood there for a few seconds, and then she spoke.

“You’re not ugly, Y/n. I promise,” Mina said, “Come on, stop looking at yourself like that. We have better things to do.” Mina removed her arms from your neck, and instead, she took your hand, leading you away from the mirror. You two both grabbed your things, before heading back up to her dorm for the rest of the night.

The two of you were sitting on her bed, and she could tell from the way that you were staring at your shorts and thighs that you were mentally beating yourself up again. She frowned at your state, before speaking.

“Hey Y/n, are you alright?” Mina questioned, snapping you out of it.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, giving her a small smile in an attempt to reassure her that your words were the truth, “What do you want to do?”

“We could cuddle and watch Tik Toks,” she suggested and you nodded. You crawled across her bed and to her, but then you frowned. Normally, you sat up against her, and she rested her head on top of yours, but you just came to the realization that you were kind of chubby and you might hurt her.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked, opening her arms and gesturing for you to lay up against her.

“But what if I hurt you?” You asked, causing her to frown once again.

“Why would you hurt me?” She asked, and she didn’t wait for a response before forcing you into her arms and forcing you to lay up against her, “See? It’s fine, you’re not hurting me.”

“Okay,” you replied, giving her a small smile, that she could slightly see from her head’s position on your shoulder. She started scrolling through Tik Tok, and at first you were paying attention to them, and laughing at all the funny ones.

But she realized about ten minutes in that you weren’t paying attention anymore, when you didn’t laugh a really funny Tik Tok.

“Hey Y/n?”

“Oh, what? Sorry-”

“If I asked you to make a list of things that you loved, where would I fall on the list?”

“You’d be number one.”

“And where would you fall?”

“I wouldn’t be on the list.”

Mina frowned at your words, and hugged you closer to herself, “You’re amazing, Y/n, trust me. I love you so much.”

“You shouldn’t,” you replied, nervously messing with the fabric of your shorts.

“What?” She asked, hoping that she heard you incorrectly, and you didn’t just imply that she shouldn’t love you.

“Loving me is a bad choice. I would recommend that you ignore any feelings you have for me and go and find somebody better.”

“Y/n, are you serious?” Mina asked, turning your head so that you could face her. After you nodded, she immediately leaned in and lightly kissed your lips, before pulling back, “Listen to me, baby. Loving you, never has been and never will be, a bad choice. Nor is it even a choice to begin with. Even if I wanted to stop loving you, I couldn’t. You’re absolutely perfect. Everything about yourself that you hate, I can guarantee that I love it, because I love every little thing about you. There is nobody better than you, and I mean nobody, so if you ever try saying some nonsense like that, I will call Bakugou and have him come beat some sense into you, okay, baby?”

You sat there in shock for a second, before eventually nodding. After you nodded, Mina smiled, and immediately pulled you back up against her. She left little kisses on your cheeks and neck for a while, trying to help you feel better. You eventually began to fall asleep against her, due to the feeling of being loved so much by one person. The last thing you heard before you drifted off was, “I love you, don’t ever forget it.”

#mina ashido #mina x reader #ashido x reader #mina ashido x reader #mina fluff #mina x reader fluff #ashido x reader fluff #comfort #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha drabbles #bnha drabbles

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shield-agent78 · 3 years

Text

Winter’s Lessons: Crashed Into You~ Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Clint x Reader (platonic), Clint x Bucky (platonic), Steve x Bucky (platonic), Reader x Steve (platonic), OOC x Reader (platonic) Sam x Bucky (platonic)

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, anguish, fluff, children with disabilities, mentions of autism, a little sass, cocky Bucky

Rating: R

Summary: You’re a school teacher for students with special needs who is passionate about her job but has neglected taking time out for herself. He is handsome, cocky and an Avenger. What happens when a newfound relationship just might turn out to be exactly what you both need?

Word Count: 3238

Square Filled: holding hands Marvel Fluff Bingo @marvelfluffbingo

A/N: Thank you to my beta @mindingmyownbusiness Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Dedicated to: @one-crazy-writer @averyrogers83

Since childhood, you had always wanted to be a teacher. You adored your students and they seemed to respond well to you. However, because of budget cuts, you had not been given a contract for the next school year. You stood in your classroom packing up the few personal items you had left off of your desk as your teacher’s aid walked into the room.

“So what are you planning to do y/n?” Laura sighed, as she helped you place your last remaining items into your box.

“I’m not too sure yet. I’m just thankful that I have a little time to think it over. Bucky said he wants me to come and visit him for a while so I think I might just take him up on his offer.” You grab your box as you and Laura walk down the hall of the school to the parking lot.

“How long have you two been dating?”

“8 months now," you respond happily. "He is something else.”

“I’m sure he is.” You give her a wink with a small giggle as you loaded your box into the trunk of your car. She gives you a supporting hug before leaving you to make the two-hour drive to the compound.

(Fall-8 Months Ago)

“Miss Y/L/N, does this look ok?” Darius asks as he looks up at you from his desk. His little eight-year-old hands hold up the card he made for his very favorite Avenger, the Winter Soldier. On the outside, it is a crude picture of himself with Bucky Barnes playing on swings. You beam with pride. He is doing so well in class. You had taught Darius, for over a year and a half with a special curriculum designed for students with autism. He now knows his numbers and letters and can read some basic sight words. "Miss Y/L/N do you really think that he will like it? You know he is my very favorite Avenger." You stoop down and examine his card closer as you take his little hand in yours and help him sign his name.

“I think he will love it, Darius.” The little boy looks up at you with his large chocolate eyes and smiles. His large smile could touch his eyes without even trying. Suddenly there is a knock at the door. You stand up as you run your hands down your black pencil skirt. Look professional, breathe, and they will have fun. Secretly you are as excited as your students and thankful that you had chosen your favorite black skirt with black and white blouse for today. “Ok, guys let’s give them a warm welcome,” you announce to the class. Seven little faces beam up at you as they all smile and look excitedly at the door. The kids have waited so long for this day and they can’t wait to meet their favorite superheroes.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and open the door where you are presently surprised to have three of them visit with your students. Clint, Steve, and Bucky stroll into your classroom with a round of cheers from your students. They take turns introducing themselves and shaking hands with you as well as each student. As they mingle and talk to the students you look upon them in awe. Especially one Mr. Bucky Barnes. He seems to take a liking to the students immediately. His Greek god-like features make you nervous. You watch him intensely and notice he spends a lot of time hanging out with Darius. Bucky’s eyes find you as he gives you a slight smirk. You blush knowing that you just got caught checking him out.

“So what do you think of him?” Laura, your paraprofessional, asks as she bumps down the temperature in your classroom. You eye her suspiciously as she just shrugs. “It’s 100 degrees out today and we have three very hot guys in this room….Besides, you asked me to…”

“Keep me from saying anything stupid, and keep me in check,” you mutter as you tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear eyeing the men as they visit your students.

“And?”

“I think I said, I was hoping the Greek god would cool me down not heat me up!” Laura throws back her head in laughter which in turn catches the ears of Bucky. He excuses himself from Darius and begins walking toward you two.

“Here comes the Greek god,” Laura mumbles playfully.

You look up with a wide-eyed expression. “Who has a great sense of hearing, remember?” you retort through a gritted smile. She gives you a wicked smile as her green eyes shine brightly. “Don’t you dare…”

“Me? Now would I ever do anything that would embarrass you Miss Y/L/N?”

“Every chance you get,” you giggle “but I’ve known you for how long? And outside of work you would any chance you get. Don’t you remember when…” Your words trail off as you come face to face with a set of bright blue eyes. His hair pulled back loosely, scruff, stonewashed jeans, and a black polo with the Avengers symbol on the left breast. Oh god, help me. Breathe y/n, breathe. “Augh, hi Mr. Barnes.” Laura turns and lets out a small giggle walking toward Clint who is asking about your curriculum and teaching style. You both know your job here will be might be ending this year due to budget cuts so she is determined to put a good word in with whoever on your behalf no matter when or where.

“Bucky, please.”

“Bucky.” The name tastes like sweet honey on your lips and you know right then you could get drunk on his name with just one taste.

“I was just wondering who is in the photo behind you?” He motions to the shelf behind you with his right hand as your heart stops for a moment.

“Pic…picture? Oh,” you spin around and look at it for a moment. It is a young man in a Class A Army uniform. You turn back around and smile. “My grandfather. He, ugh, he served during World War II in the South Pacific.” You beam up looking into his eyes. He smiles at you and your heart skips a beat again.

“Where are you from?”

“Y/H/S (your home state).”

“So how did you end up here? I mean in New York?”

“I wanted an adventure,” you answer honestly, “and a change of scenery so here I am. It gives me a chance to make a difference and experience the world I guess. My family thinks I’m crazy for it but you know… .” Bucky stuffs his hands in his pockets looking at you intensely for a moment.

“I think it’s very brave of you and shows that you are willing to do whatever it takes to make a difference for kids especially these here.”

“Th..thank you,” you stammer as you make your way beside him for a moment stooping down to hand Sara her card she made for Captain America. She reaches her little hand out as she rolls her wheelchair closer to Steve. She is a huge Captain America fan. You can’t help but laugh for a moment as she reaches out with her small hand and grabs hold of Steve’s right arm.

“Do you have a girlpen? Can I be et? I wike you avot.” She asks dead serious-looking up at his face. Steve smiles, stoops down and takes Sara’s small six-year-old hand in his large one.

“I think I may be a little too old for you, Doll, but you can be my best little friend until you find a boyfriend.” Sara ponders his response for a moment and then smiles widely as she hugs Steve content with his answer.

“Sorry, you were saying?” You turn and face Bucky for a moment. He shifts nervously from one foot to another for a moment while stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“How about you? You have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Well, in that case, can I get your number or better yet “On fait quoi ce soir?” (What are we doing tonight?) He raises his eyebrow in question with a smirk. You process his words quickly thanks to the little bit of French class you had in college. You give him a stern look; the one you give your students sometimes, and he knows immediately his cocky play won’t work with you. He opens his mouth to try again as you raise your eyes in question. This stops his next cocky remark dead in its tracks. You're not like the other modern-day girls he has dated. Just because he is an Avenger that is great eye candy doesn’t mean you are going to run into his open arms begging him to take you in more ways than you can imagine. “Coffee date?” he chuckles.

“Coffee sounds nice. Here,” you take your blue pen and scribble your number down onto a pink sticky note handing it to him. “Call me Bucky and we’ll go from there. Please.”

“It’s a date doll,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease, “ I mean y/n.” You feel your cheeks pink up as you return his smile.

By the end of their visit that afternoon, Bucky found a small friend in Darius and had your successfully scored number stored in his phone.

(October)

“I can’t believe you gave him the teacher look,” Laura states, pouring you a cup of coffee. You are sitting at a small table overlooking Central Park. The fall leaves of golds and oranges rushing in the trees make the park lovely this time of year.

“And I can’t believe you are working here where I am about to have a date with Bucky.” You sigh looking nervously down at your phone twisting it loosely in your hands. “He should be here in ten minutes. What if he doesn’t show Laura? What if he really doesn’t like me. He is an Avenger and damn good looking. Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into?” You ask staring out the window with a sigh.

“Y/N. Stop it,” she snaps. You turn your attention back to her as you hear the bell of the quiet shop doorbell ring as it is pushed open. In steps Bucky Barnes. His hair is framing his face, the right amount of scruff on his face, maroon Henley with a pair of dark jeans. A small smile creeps onto his face as he sees you sitting at the table. Your breath hitches and you don’t know whether it is him or not but right now you have to will your body to breathe. Laura looks up to see what has caught your glare as she whispers “breathe and smile,” before walking away as Bucky approaches you.

“Hi. Wow, you look beautiful doll.” He stares truthfully moving to sit down on the cushioned chair in front of you. You can’t help but smile. You had only changed ten times looking for the right dress to wear before deciding on a light mingled fall color hauteur dress. The matching blue sweater discarded around the back of your chair for ten minutes now. Yes, you had been early but Laura had calmed your nerves, well at least some of them.

“Thank you.” You shake your head in disbelief. No man has ever got you feeling this way and now you nervously fidget with the corner of your flowing skirt. Bucky gives you a smirk reading you perfectly. Of course, he does.

He clears his throat before speaking snapping you out of your trance. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me. I really had my doubts you would.” You cock your head at him in question.

“Why?” You ask while taking a swig of your coffee.

“Just because you're not like the typical dames, I mean, women I date. You’re, well, you’re not impressed because of my job nor care to bang me just because of it.” You almost choke in your drink and have to cough to cover up a slight giggle. Bucky gives you a wide-eyed look for a moment as you gain your composure. Boy, he is a cocky son of a bitch, you think.

“No, I’ve never been the type of wham bam thank you ma’am type of woman I guess. It’s fine for others but not me.” Secretly you're hoping that he's not that type of guy. Bucky shakes his head yes in understanding. His jaw set firm for a moment before speaking.

“Good to know because I’m tired of girls like those.” You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. He takes a sip of his coffee Laura has just put down in front of him. “Hey, don’t you work with her?” His eyes knit together in question.

“Yes, she’s my teacher’s aide. Laura works here part-time to help pay her bills; it’s hard for her to make a living on a small salary.” You give him a small smile as you take another sip. “Why did it take you forever to call me?” You ponder out loud. It’s been a month since you have given him your number.

“I was on a mission,” Bucky answers bluntly. You feel your body tense up from his tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. Great, you are blowing this big time. He eyes you as you glance down nervously at your cup then back up. Bucky can’t help but notice your embarrassment and he now regrets his tone as well.

“Oh, I augh…I’m glad you are ok. Sorry I didn’t mean to sound, I don’t know, like a bitch about it really…” Bucky shakes his head no and it stops you dead in your tracks.

“No, no please don’t apologize,” he says quietly as his eyes soften. He reaches out and rests his large hand on top of yours sending calming vibes throughout your body. “You would have no idea.” Your body immediately relaxes from his touch, causing him to give you a small smile. “Trust me, I wasn’t blowing you off I promise it’s not like that because when I see something I want I generally go after it.” Your face becomes flushed at his words as you give him a small smile.

“Good to know.”

You two spend the next two hours getting to know one another. He asks you questions about your family and grandparents. You ask him about him and what he enjoys most in this modern time. The conversation comes easy and by the time the sun is starting to set all you want is for him to ask you out again. Bucky takes your hand softly in his and walks you out of the coffee shop down the street. You shiver slightly in the cool autumn air and pull your sweater close around your body.

Bucky stops and moves in front of you. He removes his black bomber jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.the coolness of his left hand sends delightful shivers down your spine. He gives you a cocky smile and pulls you closer to him. You stand there frozen for a moment trying to make a comprehensive sentence, however you are lost in his sapphire eyes. His eyes flicker to your lips and back up almost asking for permission to kiss you. Your lips part for a moment to speak but nothing comes out. He cups your face with his right hand stroking your pink lips slightly with his thumb. He bends down and softly tastes your lips. His kiss sends shock waves through your body. Your lips move in sync with his almost like they have been waiting for his plump lips since the beginning of time.

After a moment Bucky breaks the kiss.“Go out with me again. In fact, date only me. What do you say, Doll?”

“Ye-Yes," you stammer as your heart races so fast that you know he can hear it. Bucky looks down at you and smirks.

“So,” he drapes his arm around your shoulders as you both continue to walk down the sidewalk “you know I’m at the compound now upstate.” You hum in agreement still coming down from your high. “We have to work out the distance thing.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing that I have my cottage in upstate New York.” You snuggle closer to him enjoying his warmth.

“Cottage?” He gives you a sideways glance. “How can you pay the rent in two places?”

“The cottage I inherited from my grandparents. I’m up there almost every weekend and especially on breaks. Why?”

“Like I said when I see something I want Doll, I usually go for it hard,” he answers cockily while giving you a smirk. You stop walking and look up at him. His cocky soldier ways work great on the battlefield but that is something he doesn’t need to do in order to impress you and you hate the name Doll he keeps using. What are you? Plastic or something. Might as well address that now.

“Are you always this cocky Winter?” You tease. Buck cocks his eyebrow at you giving you an amused puzzled look that you can’t help but giggle at.

“Winter?” He draws the word out slowly as to be testing it on his lips.

“Yep just figured if you were calling me Doll I needed to call you something as well.” You say with sass.

“So I gather you don’t like Doll. Hmm how about honey?” He takes his large hand in yours. You shake your head no as you scrunch up your nose.

“That’s even worse. Sounds like I’m Winnie the Pooh or something,” you answer giving him a teasing smile that Bucky returns.

“Ok, how about Darlin’?” He questions with an eyebrow raised. You smile widely and he knows right away that is what you like.

“So Darlin’ it is.” Bucky chuckles causing a small blush to creep up onto your cheeks. He pulls you closer to his side as he walks you to your black Accord. You click the unlock button on your remote and he opens the door for you as you slide into the driver's seat. Bucky leans down and kisses you again softly. “I’ll call you tonight Darlin’.”

“You better Winter.” He beams down at you as you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Oh, your jacket!” You hand it to him. Bucky pulls it on now having it smell like your perfume. He knows Sam will probably rag him about it but he could care less. You kiss him on the cheek and drive away as every fiber in your body is calling out to you to stay.

(Later)

“How did the date go with Y/N?” Steve asks as he plops down beside Bucky at the kitchen table.

“Yah man,” Sam joins in, “You haven’t told us anything. She’s not like the typical girls you bring home.”

“Whatcha mean by that Bird Brain?” Bucky growls glancing up at Sam as he takes a bite of his burger.

“Nothin’ man, just that she’s smart, attractive and seems to really like you.” He notes each one my checking them off on his fingers. “Damn you must have done something to impress her.”

“Guess so,” Bucky grumbles. “Or, maybe I’m just damn lucky.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #avengers #robin writes #steverogers #clintbarton #sam willson #marvel fluff bingo #winter’s lessons #nicolasfam #bucky x reader #darlin' writes #mcu fanfic #avenger fanfiction #marvel fanfic series

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super-secret-sick-fics · 3 years

Note

LOL I’m the one that requested a sakuatsu fic unless more than 1 person did so kinda perfect😭 -person that gave feedback

Request:

Hii! Could you write a sakuatsu fic where atsumu wakes up in the middle of the night from food poisoning after they went out to eat and sakusa takes care of him? Thank you!!

Well you’re in luck! I got super carried away w this one lmao.

It ended up being a little more about Sakusa than I intended, but I hope it’s still kinda what you wanted!!

Sakusa is probably v ooc as well, but lowkey I hc that he completely lets his guard down in front of Atsumu and is a major touch-starved simp.

Here it is!

I love you: a Sakuatsu sick fic

Pairing: Sick Atsumu, caretaker Sakusa

Word Count: 3,446

Warnings: vomiting, swearing (probably)

———————————————————————

The ending credits of the movie Sakusa and Atsumu just watched rolled slowly down the screen, some sappy love song playing in the background. Sakusa picked up his phone to check the time and was briefly blinded by the bright screen. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and checked the time.

It was only 10:30, but the lump that was his boyfriend was attached to his side heavily, informing Sakusa that Atsumu was fast asleep. He pinched his eyebrows together in confusion.

He and Atsumu had the day off tomorrow, so they decided to spend their evening at a nice restaurant and then snuggled up on their couch watching a movie and sharing a bottle of one of their more expensive wines.

Atsumu buzzed with excitement all week, seeing as it was their first date night since the regular season started. Sure, they lived together. But most nights, they either stayed late for extra practice, or were too tired to really do anything but watch Netflix and order take out. Tonight was a big deal for the couple.

Which is exactly why Sakusa was so thoroughly confused at that moment. Atsumu was a night owl by nature and didn’t usually go to bed before midnight most nights (a schedule adjustment that did not come easily to Sakusa when they first moved in together). That, coupled with how much looked forward to their evening, should mean that he would still be wide awake right now. Not drooling on Sakusa’s shoulder.

Sakusa placed a hand on his boyfriend’s forehead. Maybe he was sick. In which case, Sakusa would need to call Osamu to come help take care of his brother. (He’d come a long way with his fear of germs, but he still struggled with sickness. Even if it was Atsumu).

He frowned when his temperature didn’t feel any warmer than usual. He pursed his lips and, somewhat relieved, shrugged off his concern. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that Atsumu was simply exhausted. They had been traveling so much for their games and practice had been pretty grueling the last few weeks. It could completely make sense that his fatigue caught up with him on a night they could thoroughly relax.

“Atsumu,” he shrugged his shoulder and Atsumu’s head bobbed up and down with it. However, his boyfriend did not wake up.

“Atsumu,” he tried again, “hey wake up, baby. Let’s go to bed.” He brought his hand up to gently pinch the sleeping boy’s cheek. Atsumu’s nose and eyebrows scrunched up and he blinked several times before peering up at Sakusa.

“Mmmm” he sat up and rubbed his eyes, “what time is it?”

“It’s only a little after 10:30,” Sakusa answered and Atsumu turned to him. His face was paler than usual, noticeable even in the dim lighting provided by the TV. Sakusa’s concern returned immediately.

“Are you alright? Why are you so sleepy?” Sakusa asked as he took one of Atsumu’s hands in his own. Atsumu yawned.

“Not sure. Just got real tired all of a sudden and musta fallen asleep. Probably just ‘cause we’ve been so busy,” Atsumu brought their joined hands to his lips and pecked Sakusa’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Omi. I know this was supposed to be a special night.” Atsumu said as he cuddled into Sakusa once again. Sakusa wrapped an arm around Atsumu and fiddled with the ends of his hair. Within a minute, he heard Atsumu’s breathing slow down and felt his body relax more fully. He frowned again.

“Oi, come on.” He tugged on the piece of hair he was playing with and Atsumu whined.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said again. Atsumu groaned, but sat up. A moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply.

“Really, babe. Are you alright?” Sakusa questioned, his worry increasing. He put a hand on Atsumu’s back. Atsumu opened his eyes and nodded.

“Yeah. Just sat up too fast. Got a lil dizzy.”

“Okay,” Sakusa hesitated. Atsumu clearly wasn’t going to admit that something might be wrong, so he let it go.

The two of them stood up and Sakusa surveyed the coffee table in front of them. Empty bowls from the ice cream they had earlier as well as their empty wine glasses and the empty wine bottle stared back at him tauntingly. He sent Atsumu off to bed with the promise of being in right after he finished cleaning up.

Normally Atsumu would offer to help, but he simply nodded and slowly stumbled his way to the bathroom.

By the time Sakusa finished cleaning up and got ready for bed, Atsumu was already passed out, curled up in the blankets.

***

“—lease. Omi, wake up,” Sakusa jolted awake when a sharp pain crossed his shoulder. He looked up to see Atsumu sitting up, slightly hunched over. His heavy, slow breathing the only sounds in the room.

Sakusa sat up and turned on his bedside table lamp. When he looked back at Atsumu, his worry from earlier returned with ten times the intensity.

Atsumu was bent over, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. His shoulders heaved with heavy, shaking breaths and his face was pinched and shining with sweat.

“Atsumu? Baby? What’s wrong?” he questioned as he scrambled to sit in front of his boyfriend. He cupped Atsumu’s face in his hands and gasped at the heat he felt.

Atsumu opened his eyes and tears immediately rolled down his flushed cheeks. Sakusa’s chest tightened. No, no. He could not be sick. His hands pulled back and he felt himself start to move away from Atsumu.

Every instinct he had told Sakusa to get away. But he couldn’t do that. Atsumu needed him right now. There was no waiting for Osamu. He needed to help him right then. He could fight through his fears to help his boyfriend. Sakusa moved back towards Atsumu.

“My head is pounding, but my stomach hurts worse, Omi,” Atsumu choked, “it hurts so bad. I feel so sick.” He slowly closed his eyes again and brought the back of his hand up to his mouth.

“Are you… do you think you’re going to be sick, baby?” Sakusa asked nervously. Atsumu nodded quickly. Sakusa cringed, but did everything in his power to keep himself rooted to his place in front of Atsumu.

“Okay,” he forced out past the knot in his throat. “Okay. That’s fine, Atsumu. Let’s go to the bathroom, alright?” His voice was shaking, but if Atsumu could tell, he didn’t show it. His only response was a fast shake of his head, his eyes still glued shut, and a small heave.

“Not—“ he heaved again, “no. Can’t move.”

This was Sakusa’s worst nightmare.

He scanned the room and got up quickly. Atsumu started whimpering.

“Hey, no, no. It’s okay,” Sakusa reassured when he sat down by Atsumu once more. “I was just going to get a bin, see?” He placed their trash can in Atsumu’s lap with trembling hands.

“Aren’t ya going to—hnng— call Samu?” Atsumu asked, staring down into the trash can. Tears hit the plastic with gentle plops and Sakusa felt his heart break.

Atsumu knew even in his current state that Sakusa was not mentally equipped to handle this situation. He knew that Sakusa would much prefer for Osamu to be taking care of this situation. It made him feel horrible.

“Not right now. It’s late. I can call him in the morning. Right now, I’m more worried about you. I’ll be okay until then. I promise,” he stated as confidently as he could. Atsumu looked at him, fever-glazed eyes wide and teary. His bottom lip quivered before he nodded gratefully.

The next few minutes were painful for both of them. Atsumu winced and whined as cramps tormented his stomach, the occasional gag or airy burp popping up. Sakusa’s own anxiety was trying to fight it’s way to the surface, but he tried with all of his being to push it down. This was his boyfriend. The man he loved. Osamu would not always be a call away to come and care for his brother.

Finally, with a terrible wretch, Atsumu doubled over the trash can and vomited painfully. Their dinner, dessert, and the wine from earlier making a less than pleasant reappearance. Sakusa wanted to run away, but instead, he put a hand on his boyfriend’s sweaty back and rubbed small circles between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, baby. It’s okay,” he swallowed his own nauseas when Atsumu vomited again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu panted over the trash can, his eyes wide.

“Kiyoomi, it hurts so bad. Please make it stop,” he cried before a belch brought up more vomit.

“I wish I could, Atsumu, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. It’ll be over soon hopefully.” He said gently.

Atsumu was starting to get more frantic as the vomiting continued. His body wasn’t giving him any reprieve. Painful heaves and body-shuddering wretches seemed to be plaguing him non-stop. Deep burps brought torrents of puke into the nearly half-full bin.

“I don’t—huurlp— please, Omi—blrg—“ he was dry heaving and full on sobbing now and Sakusa was growing more and more concerned as it didn’t seem like Atsumu was getting any oxygen.

“Oi, Atsumu,” he tried to get his attention, “hey, babe. Listen to me. You’re making it worse. You need to breathe, Atsumu.” He moved the trash can away and sat in front of his boyfriend again. Atsumu’s eyes were wide in panic and his chest heaved as he tried unsuccessfully to take in any air.

“C-can’t—“ he gasped.

“Yes you can. I promise you can,” Sakusa reassured, holding Atsumu’s face in his hands again. He brushed back his sweaty bangs soothingly and started taking deep, over-exaggerated breaths. This was how Atsumu helped Sakusa through anxiety attacks, so the wing spiker was sure that he knew what was happening without needing an explanation.

Within a few minutes, Atsumu had calmed down and was breathing mostly normal again. He was still crying, but that was okay. Sakusa could handle that.

“See? You’re fine. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen, okay baby?” Atsumu nodded. His eyes were drifting closed and his entire face was slack with exhaustion.

“Lay down. I’m going to go replace the bag in the bin and get a few things to make you feel better, okay?” Atsumu simply nodded again and curled into their sheets.

Once Sakusa was in the bathroom, he replaced the bag in the trash can, placing the old one in the tub for now. He scrubbed his hands in the sink for probably too long and then put the lid down on the toilet and sat.

He looked down at his trembling hands and took a deep, shaky, breath. He did it. He helped Atsumu. He needed to continue helping until the morning when it was reasonable to call Osamu. He could do it. He loved Atsumu. That was more than enough reason to try as best as he could to put his own anxieties aside for now.

After he collected himself, he went back to their room, the clean bin, various meds, a thermometer, and a glass of water in his hands. Atsumu was still lying in a tight ball, but his eyes were wide open, staring at nothing in particular. They rolled to look at Sakusa when he found his spot by Atsumu again.

He ran his fingers through Atsumu’s hair once more and Atsumu sighed. It was peaceful for a bit, but Atsumu’s gurgling stomach interrupted the quiet. The setter groaned.

“Still feeling bad?” Sakusa’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled together in a tight line. Atsumu only nodded again. Sakusa didn’t like how quiet he was being.

“Well, sit up for just a minute. Drink some water and take some meds, and then we can lay down and you can get some sleep.” Sakusa commanded and helped his boyfriend sit up.

Atsumu smiled gratefully at him and did as he was told. Even looking as sickly as he was, Sakusa still found him incredibly beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Omi-Omi. I know you’re probably pushing away a lot of anxiety right now,” Atsumu said as he laid back down.

“Yeah,” Sakusa chuckled forcefully, “but I love you,” he smiled. He wiped down Atsumu’s sweaty face with a wet rag he brought with him. Atsumu didn’t respond, but when Sakusa looked at him again, he was crying.

“Thank you,” was all he said. With that, Sakusa laid down beside Atsumu, the trash can within reaching distance, and pulled his sick boyfriend into his side. Atsumu tensed for just a moment before relaxing and cuddling into Sakusa’s side.

***

Sakusa woke with a start again not even an hour later at the sound of retching coming from behind the closed bathroom door. He trudged over and opened the door, leaning against the frame.

There was his pitiful boyfriend, face resting on the toilet seat (gross). His face was slack and he panted heavily. Sakusa sighed and shook his head before moving to sit beside Atsumu (on the bathroom floor—gross).

“What are you doing, idiot? Why didn’t you wake me up?” He pulled Atsumu towards him and settled the sick boy in his lap. Atsumu shivered and curled into himself.

“It’s okay, Omi-Omi,” he breathed, nuzzling into Sakusa’s thigh, “I can handle it, I’ll be okay.”

Sakusa’s irritation flared up. What a self-sacrificing idiot.

“Atsumu, don’t do that,” he nearly snapped.

“Omi?” Atsumu whimpered, his eyes wide as he looked up at Sakusa. Sakusa huffed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, but don’t be so stupid okay? You’re my boyfriend. Like I said, I love you. I want to help.” He ran his fingers through Atsumu’s hair.

“But I don’t want you to push yourself into doing something I know you’re uncomfortable with,” Atsumu replied. His voice was raspy and there wasn’t any snark behind it like normal. It made Sakusa unreasonably annoyed. He hated that Atsumu was feeling so bad and was still putting Sakusa first. But then again, his selflessness was why he fell in love with the cocky setter in the first place.

“And I don’t want you to push yourself when I know that you’re uncomfortable already. You’re more important to me than anything else. I’ll be fine. Thank you. I love that you’re willing to accommodate my anxiety, but please. Let me help you.”

Atsumu started crying again, his eyes wide and his mouth trembling.

“Why are you crying, dumbass? If you throw up on me, I don’t think I’ll be able to back up my words.” Atsumu shook his head.

“No just...thank you, Kiyoomi. I love you so much,” he cried and sniffled. Sakusa chuckled and wiped away Atsumu’s tears.

They chatted idly for a while about mindless things. Sakusa almost believed that they were in the clear and Atsumu would be okay.

At least until the setter shot up from his lap, nearly head-butting Sakusa in the process.

“Atsumu?” the wing spiker asked tentatively.

Atsumu answered by throwing himself over the toilet followed by a wet burp and a slurry of vomit splashing in the toilet. He remained in that position for another minute, sputtering and heaving, nothing more than bile coming up.

Sakusa grimaced. Atsumu turned and placed his cheek on the toilet set, tired, foggy eyes gazing back at Sakusa.

“Poor baby,” he soothed, wiping off Atsumu’s mouth with some toilet paper. Atsumu whimpered.

Sakusa washed his hands and turned to leave the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later with their pillows and comforter.

Atsumu had moved to leaning against the wall, his head tilted back and arms wrapped around his knees. A steady flow of silent tears rolled down his flushed cheeks and Sakusa dropped everything he had and rushed to his side.

“Atsumu? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked, thumbing tears off his boyfriend’s cheeks. Atsumu opened his eyes and sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Omi. I j-just feel s-so bad,” he took in a shuddering breath, “and— and I thought you left and that was fine, b-but I also wanted you to s-stay even th-though that’s selfish o-of m-me,” he cried. Sakusa shushed him gently and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad about that. I already told you I’m not going anywhere,” he stroked Atsumu’s hair.

“I just went to get our pillows and comforter. I figured,” he continued, “I figured it’d be best to stay in here and I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Atsumu pulled back to look at Sakusa.

“You’d sleep on the bathroom floor with me, Omi?”

Sakusa chuckled, “yeah. Unfortunately that’s how much you’ve changed me Miya Atsumu.”

Atsumu gave him a wobbly smile before he gagged and turned back to the toilet to puke again.

Sakusa’s nose scrunched up, but he rubbed Atsumu’s back up and down as he threw up again.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped repeatedly in between heaves. Once his body gave him a moment, he sat back and shivered.

“Looks like this is going to go one for a while,” he whispered, hoarse.

“That’s alright,” Sakusa smiled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu’s only response was to start heaving again.

***

The two of them sat at their breakfast table, Atsumu in much too good a mood for having kept Sakusa up half the night. Sakusa held a cup of coffee in his hands as the freshly-showered Atsumu nibbled on some toast. He was still pale, but he looked much better than a few hours ago.

Sakusa’s entire body was heavy and his mind exhausted from the lack of sleep and fighting off anxiety all night.

Atsumu woke them up a few more times in the night to be sick, but around four in the morning, seemed to be down throwing up for a while at least. The two of them collapsed into their bed and didn’t stir again until about two in the afternoon.

By the time they woke up again, a lot of the color returned to Atsumu’s face and his fever was broken. He told Sakusa his stomach was still crampy and felt hollow, but he didn’t feel nearly as miserable as he did all night.

“Must’ve been the chicken from the restaurant,” Atsumu shrugged after Sakusa questioned what could possibly have made him so sick, only for him to be nearly completely better a few hours later.

“What do you mean?” Sakusa asked. Atsumu shrugged again.

“Looked a little pink.”

Sakusa could have smacked him.

“Then why on earth did you eat it?” He questioned, glaring daggers at the imbecile across from him.

“Because Omi-Omi,” Atsumu rolled his eyes, “I thought I was being paranoid. The lighting in the restaurant was pretty dim, ya know?”

“You’re such an idiot. Please just trust your instincts next time,” Sakusa offered him a long-suffering sigh. He stood up and Atsumu followed him with his eyes.

“Where ya going?”

“To shower and change the sheets and sleep for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll change the sheets, Omi,” Atsumu stood up.

“No you should rest. Even if it was just food poisoning caused by your own thoughtlessness, you were still sick and we still have practice tomorrow.” Sakusa yawned and pecked Atsumu on the top of his head before making to leave again. He was stopped when Atsumu grabbed his wrist.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Omi. I know it wasn’t easy,” he stared at Sakusa, his eyes wide and earnest. Sakusa blinked at him for a second before he smiled.

He placed a hand on Atsumu’s still-clammy cheek and leaned down to give him a lingering kiss on the lips. When he pulled back Atsumu smiled gracefully at him. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Can’t just kiss me like that, Omi-Omi. Ya made me pretty dizzy there. I’m still recovering, ya know,” he laughed weakly.

“I told you. I love you,” he smiled. Atsumu smiled again and looked at Sakusa lovingly.

“But you’re an idiot.” Atsumu’s face immediately dropped into a pout. Sakusa pecked his lips once more (now that he knew it was food poisoning, so not contagious, it was fine) and made his way to the bathroom.

“Mean, Omi!” He heard Atsumu shout.

And when Sakusa finished his long, warm, cleansing shower, he came back to his room to an already made bed with fresh clean sheets, the corners tucked in exactly how he liked it and he felt his heart swell.

And yeah. He really loved Atsumu and that always gave him plenty of strength to combat his own anxieties.

#sakuatsu #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #sick Atsumu #caretaker sakusa #my fic #haikyuu sickfic #sakusa is a simp and you can’t convince me otherwise #Atsumu is a child when he’s sick #he just feels so bad and he hates it so he cries #vomiting #food poisoning #Atsumu is also an idiot #but sakusa loves him anyway

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whump-town · 4 years

Text

Take Me to Church

Here it is: my religious!Hotch fic turned Bisexual!Hotch fic. I hope you enjoy my hard work, tears, and disaster bi-thoughts

Warning: language, sex, homosexuality **there’s no real need for a warning for that but I’d just like to market this to my fellow gays**, religious trauma, Catholic guilt, child abuse, smoking, mention of AIDS in passing but no one has it, character death(s) **not anyone major**, Aaron Hotchner’s mega big boy grande sized guilt complex, ooc bc Aaron Hotchner has the proper emotions, and just general all around intense feelings

The only Heaven I'll be sent to, Is when I'm alone with you, I was born sick, but I love it, Command me to be well

Word count: 5,794

Praying never made much sense to Aaron Hotchner.

As a child, he’d prayed with crimson teeth and a bleeding tongue for his mother to be spared in his father’s rampant beatings. The priest always said that prayer shouldn’t be selfish. As he sat on his bruised knees and whispered between sobs, he hadn’t been thinking about himself. He’d been thinking about the little brother in his mother’s womb. About the pregnancy that wouldn’t survive if his father didn’t stop hitting on her. About his poor mother who looked sicker each day.

He must have done something wrong because when God had answered his prayers...

“Come on now son. Don’t be difficult,” the priest’s heavy hands pull him away from his mother’s grave. His suit hadn’t fit well that morning but logged with the rain pouring overhead, it now hangs from his bones. They make their way back home. Back to his miserable son of a bitch father.

That night, the priest had tucked him into bed and Aaron rolls over in his bed to put his back to the man. As the old man turned to cut the lights, Aaron finally speaks for the first time all day. He’d found his voice deep within his chest and laced it with his father’s unhinged anger. “I killed her,” he whispers, hot tears running down his cheeks.

The priest shakes his head. “No.” And, the old man could never know this, but what he said next would stay with Aaron for the rest of his life. “It was her time, son.”

God had killed her.

That day was the first time Aaron had ever seen his father cry. He’d stood in the hallway and watched his father sob on his knees, cursing God and swearing up a storm. At seven-years-old, he wondered if God had a sense of humor. He must, after all, to leave Aaron all alone.

Ten-years later he stood in the same spot his father had kneeled in. He’d looked up at the ceiling and prayed again. He’d begged for his father’s life to be spared. “Just this once, okay, just this once---” but his father had never been a good man. A shitty excuse for a dad but Sean thinks he’s a good man. That’s what mattered: Sean. That’s the only thing that had ever mattered. “For Sean, please? He’s never done anything wrong.”

His father died two days later. A heart attack. The doctor’s called it mercy. For who? The man who beat him senseless for fifteen years before he just sold Aaron off to a boarding school. Calling Aaron’s inability to make friends and emotional outbursts the product of the devil and not his senseless beating. The same man who called Aaron writing with his left hand the simplest proof that his mother had been a whore. She had to have cheated to have created a bastard like Aaron.

Mercy? Is that really what he’d deserved?

He has bible scriptures carved into his back. Thin white lines left by his father’s heavy hand and the black belt he wore to court each Tuesday. The only mercy he’s ever known is the black surrounder right before he falls asleep. That twisted hope that maybe his dad hit him too hard. That he won’t wake up this time.

It felt like communion-- Eucharist, standing to receive his bread and wine.

The body of Christ.

“Daddy please-” he makes no sound as the belt comes down over his shoulder. Any noise is a symbol of greater guilt, a better reason to keep hitting. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t move.

Amen.

Remember, God is always watching. No bullshitting, he knows.

Aaron cums with a cry. A sob really.

Sam lifts his head from where he’s buried it in Aaron’s neck, leaving the hickey he’d been sucking to die on its own. He sits up, his arousal forgotten as his heart pounds in his chest with fear. “Are you alright,” he asks, pulling them apart with a quick jerk. His hands are traveling down but he stops when Aaron’s hand grabs his wrist. “Baby, if I hurt you---”

Aaron shakes his head but the tears streaming down his face says otherwise. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he can’t stop the tears. Sam moves out of the way of his legs, giving Aaron the space necessary to curl into himself.

Sam still has no idea what’s wrong. It had been fine. Things were fine.

It occurs to him a moment too late.

“Fuck,” he curses, seething. Not at Aaron or the mood now officially lost--- but for the boy that Aaron never got to be. To the God that Aaron believes so feverishly and unwavering in. “It’s alright,” he soothes, moving along the bed to where Aaron is. He pulls his boyfriend into his lap, holding Aaron to his chest. “Nothing is going to happen, Aaron. It’s going to be okay.”

Sam has never been religious. It wasn’t something his parents had considered important. Standing at over 6’5 and two hundred pounds of just muscle, no one even suspects he’s anything but straight. People who do know… no one’s going to say anything to a guy like him. The same thing goes for Aaron. He may be a little on the scrawny side but he’s 6’2 and no one blinks an eye at the two of them spending so much time together.

It’s not people they have to worry about.

They can be cruel and unaccepting but AIDS is still rampant through-out not only the college’s campus but through-out the gay community.

But Aaron’s a little too preoccupied with God.

Sam’s not even sure if there’s such a thing.

“Aaron!” Picking him up by his shoulders, he pulls Aaron upright. They’ve passed sobbing and moved to a panic attack. “Alright,” Sam fails to soothe. He pulls Aaron off the bed, holding him close when his legs shake beneath him. “Easy,” he mumbles, his heartbreaking--- Aaron can’t walk. It takes a great bit of work on Sam’s part but with a grunt, he lifts Aaron off his feet.

Stumbling in the direction of the bathroom, he carries Aaron. “It’s gonna be alright,” Sam promises. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Sam would like to think he’s a good boyfriend (he is). He did as much research as he could. So that he would know how to help Aaron the next time one of these events started happening.

Into the freezing shower they go.

Clutched, naked body to naked body, they rock until Aaron’s broken sobs die down. Until Sam can feel Aaron’s breathing steady out, hot exhales washing over his goosebump riddled flesh.

Against the bare skin of Sam’s shoulder, Aaron whispers Hail Mary to himself. His long fingers tapping against his thumb like counting rosary beads, “---of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now---” It’s the only coping mechanism he’s ever learned.

Sam presses a kiss to his temple. Aaron hates that he turns his head for more. Turns his head until Sam’s hands are tangled in his hair and holding him tightly. Sam kisses him softly, full of love. He doesn’t deserve that.

“Sodomy is a sin,” he whispers, against Sam’s lips.

Sam smiles, shaking his head. He doesn’t care. “Did you like it,” Sam asks, voice husky. He wraps himself back around Aaron, shaking from the cold of the water still pouring down over them. Fingers moving up Aaron’s back, he tangles them in his hair.

Aaron… knows the answer. He also knows that sin is often appealing. Sam is the sin that Aaron can never walk away from. What he always comes back for. “Yes,” he answers, honestly. He had liked it. He’d liked it a lot. Sex with Sam is gentle and overwhelming and--- sin. It’s still sin.

“That’s all that matters,” Sam presses kisses back to Aaron’s neck. Smiling against his skin when Aaron arches into the touch.

Aaron can never make Sam understand that this principle isn’t that simple. It’s a black and white morality. Heaven or hell.

But, maybe…

Sam reaches around behind him and cuts the water off, Aaron shivers against his chest leaning closer to the touches that are trailing down his body. Sam pulls him closer so that Aaron’s in his lap. With a grunt, Aaron allows Sam to push into him and mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure he falls into Sam’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” Sam curses, pulling Aaron closer. “You---” he moans, tilting his head back. This time, Aaron’s sets the pace. Slow and steady. It hurts but it’s an ache he’s familiar with. The lube from earlier mostly washed away but he’s prepped and anything is better than thinking about Hell.

His doomed eternity.

“You’re so good, baby boy.” Sam holds him close, his fingers digging into Aaron’s hips. “Fu-Fuck---”

Why is it that the only thing that has ever made sense to him a sin?

Sam dies in the middle of first semester their Junior year. Though it’s never stated, it’s Aaron’s fault. Sam wouldn’t have been on the road that if Aaron just prayed harder or been a better man. Panic attacks are a product of a shaky relationship with God and Aaron wouldn’t have had one, he wouldn’t have called Sam freaking out, if he’d just… believed harder.

Aaron knows it’s his fault. He never gets over that guilt.

He marries Haley at the end of Senior year and they invite Sam’s parents to the wedding. No one knows the true extent of Aaron and Sam’s relationship but Haley knows something was going on between the two. They’d been high school sweethearts, separated by his years spent away at college. Separated by Aaron’s love for a man.

He comes home different but she loves him. She also knows that her mother approves of Aaron’s God-fearing ways. Religion is good in a man like him, her mother had warned, you can see the darkness in him. She bites her tongue and moves on.

Until she sees the darkness too.

The divorce breaks him.

He starts having panic attacks again, worse than the ones in college. No one notices. He knows they just write him off as a dick. He’s just a robot to them. Emotionless and he can work with that. So, he is a robot. Just marching through life and flying by the seat of his pants, hoping that it all goes well.

But he knows… each night as the panic bubbles in his chest and has him falling to his knees that hell is the only place he’s going. It’s going to take more than prayers to save a sinner like him.

“Hotch?” He jumps at the sudden intrusion. Looking to his left, none other than Emily Prentiss is standing on the balcony. She’s grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head. “What are you doing up so late?”

The cigarette trapped between his lips should answer that well enough.

The thing is, he’s not as slick as he thinks he is. She’s noticed him pulling away. Dave has noticed--- hell, everyone has noticed something is wrong. So, when Emily Prentiss had been tossing and turning in her own bed and smelled the wafting, faint scent of cigarette smoke she’d gotten curious. She certainly hadn’t expected to find him.

“Mind some company?”

And with those three simple words she’d pulled him from the edge.

That night they burned through four cigarettes. Sin, that night, had been just as he remembered it once being. For a moment, as he stood--- her leaning against him and him leaning against her--- he had managed a smile. With a cigarette between his teeth, he’d taken his first real breath in years.

Foyet attacks him in his apartment and as he lies bleeding he hopes this is it. That the world will flicker out, he’s just a candle drowning it’s wax. Will there be a light or…

He wakes up in the hospital and he’s never been this cold in his life.

It’s Emily’s voice that pulls him from the white walls and the pain. She’s saying something about cigarettes and the seasons changing. He smiles, drugged and submissive, when she proposes the team go to Dave’s and get drunk. He doesn't’ even think about God, about the sin and the eternity in hell waiting for him. He just thinks about his team and the only family he’s ever really been a part of.

He wakes up thrashing--- a broken sob on his lips. There’s so much pain and he can’t think about anything other than death. Death and Hell and sin and the pain, oh fuck the pain.

Thin fingers wrap around his, squeezing and he looks up and finds JJ softly soothing him. Her fingers are ghosting along his forearms, rubbing circles into his pale skin. “Just breathe,” she instructs and he’s reminded of Sam and that freezing shower and the---

“Aaron!” she calls and the fortitude, the conviction in her eyes sobers him. “You have to stop,” she tells him, her touch turning hard and that he can focus on. That pulls him back down. “Breathe,” and slowly he relaxes again. She’s softened and he watches the tears pool in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she chides, softly.

He manages to squeeze her hand.

“We almost lost you,” she whispers and that hadn’t occurred to him. His death happens to other people. It’ll just be… nothing. He must be very high or maybe broken because he thinks of nothing. The nothingness that happens after death and not raging, flaming pits of hell.

JJ presses a kiss to his temple and he closes his eyes. It’s a tender love he… he’s forgotten. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she says, her thumb rubbing against his hand. “I don’t like job hunting.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that the team wouldn’t fall apart if Foyet had chosen to kill him.

She doesn’t know how to tell him that isn’t true.

Foyet does kill Haley and for a long time, it’s like he’s killed Hotch too.

“Hotch!”

The last he’d seen of Emily, she was displeased with his decision to decline his invitation to girl’s night. First, of all, he’s not that dumb. He knew damn well that they wanted him to tag along because Emily had told them about his date with the cute blonde at the coffee shop had gone tits up. Of course, she’d chosen to leave out that his date had failed because she’d entered the shop and wolf-whistled at the sight of him.

But, she has chosen to blame the entire thing on him because he should have told her.

Ah, silly him.

Now, he’s waiting on his front porch for Will to drop her off at his place. Does she have an apartment of her own? Yes. But she’s a clingy drunk and it’s custom for her to come to sleep in his bed. Besides, who else is going to hold her hair up while she pukes?

He smiles when he sees her. God… leave it to him to pick Emily Prentiss, of all people, to be his best friend. Well, he’s not really sure he chose or picked her so much as ended up within her mercy. “Emily,” he greets softly, smiling when she walks right up to him and headbutts his chest. She just falls straight into him.

He shuffles to accommodate her weight but they do this little dance frequently. With one hand on the back of her head, he raises the other to wave to Will that he’s free to go. The detective nods and pulls the car into reverse, JJ and Garcia in the back shouting their own goodbyes.

“Alright,” Hotch rubs her shoulders, shivering from the night’s chill. “Pigging back ride?”

She nods and it’s only with practiced ease that they manage this so easily.

As he stands, he gives her a second to adjust herself before he starts walking back towards his porch. This is the exact reason he does squats at the gym, so his thighs don’t shake as he carries her up the stairs.

“Oh,” Emily whines into his back, where her face is buried. “I hope I didn’t wake Jack.”

He’s overly careful to make sure he doesn’t hit her legs as he steps into the door. Stopping to shut the door behind them he tells her, “he’s not here.” He scowls with concentration as he moves down the hall. “He’s spending the weekend with his cousins.” He’d told her this earlier, too many times. It is one of the smaller reasons she’d invited him to girls night: so he wouldn’t have to be alone in his house.

They share many secrets. He’d been the first person on the team to know she’s gay. He still remains one of the few who know. JJ and Garcia know-- tequila always makes her lose her grip. He also knows that she wants to have a family and about her giant crush on JJ.

Just like she knows that sitting in his empty house stresses him out. He turns into the empty walls and all he can think about is being completely alone while Foyet was trying to hunt down his son and Haley. She knows this and… she’d left him here all by himself.

“Emily,” he whispers, feeling her hot tears soak into the back of his shirt. He’s not mad or even frustrated, he’s just sad. He can’t do anything about it just yet. So, he takes her back to his room. He helps her out of her blouse, replacing it with his George-town hoodie so she can curl her legs into.

Only once she’s situated, his back turned so she can hiccup and dry her tears while she slips into a pair of her own shorts he kneels down in front of her. “Emily.” He shakes his head, she’s still inconsolable, so he pulls her to his chest. “Emily, I’m a grown man.” He rubs her back, “I can handle being in my own home.”

She only cries harder and it hurts him because whatever it is that’s really bothering her he can’t fix.

“Would you love me more if I wasn’t a lesbian,” she asks, sobbing into his shoulder.

Well… he blanks. What is he even supposed to say to that? Now she’s really crying and he’s-- he can’t think of a single thing to say. “Emily…” he shakes his head. “I--I don’t care that you’re a lesbian.” And why would he? How many times have they had the ‘it would be like kissing my brother/sister’ conversation? Or the ‘even if I were straight…’? He doesn’t feel sexually attracted to her.

He just… he loves her because she’s his family.

“You don’t,” she asks, sniffling. She pushes his shoulders away from her so that she can see his eyes. So she can see if he’s lying. “You don’t hate me?” Because she’s certain that he does sometimes. Like he can stand the thought of her.

He shakes his head. “It would be very hypocritical of me to hate you for being gay,” he says, without really thinking about what that means. At what he’s admitting.

Though she doesn’t say anything, the admission sobers her. With tender care he tucks her into bed. Smiling softly when she pulls him down beside her.

They fall asleep on their sides, facing one another. He falls asleep first. Too exhausted to wait her out. Between them, she gently reaches over and brushes her thumb over his cheek bone. Trialing it along the facial hair he’s let grow over the course of their long weekend off.

He breaks her heart.

“So, are we just not going to talk about it?”

They’re watching a basketball game from earlier in the week because it’s Tuesday and she gets to pick what they watch on Tuesdays. Granted, it’s sports and he hates sports which means that he gets to pick whether or not they sit close. She knows something is wrong because he puts the entire couch between them. They’re not even sharing a blanket and he always lets her have some of his blankets.

She gets cold easily.

“Talk about what, Emily?” The way he says her name… it’s not right. He always says Emily kindly, loving. He says her name and it makes her proud to be Emily but this time it’s a reprimand and she sees it for exactly what it is—- an attempt to push her away. To make her feel afraid to push on.

But she’s been gay for so long, openly gay. It takes more than a little bit of attitude to scare her off. “You,” she says, softly. “You’re gay, Aaron, and—-“

He flinches at the word gay. Recoiling. “Emily,” his tone shifts to pleading.

“You—-“ she shifts too. She turns her body to face her, no longer relaxed. “Aaron, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

Sodomy, Aaron thinks. First and for most, there’s sodomy and it’s a sin to love a man. A sin to love men in a way he could never love Haley. Which Emily would understand if he told her about his sex life with Haley. Rather, his nonexistent sex life with Haley. He loved Haley so much but he could never love her the right way. The way God had intended.

By the time he manages to raise his eyes to hers, there are tears streaming down his face. He’s so helplessly broken and he can’t even hide it.

“Oh, Aaron.” Emily pulls him against her chest, rubbing up and down his back as he sobs. “I…” she doesn’t know what to say. She knows it’s the Catholisim here at play but her youth was so very different from his. Matthew had saved her from the fate Aaron had succumbed to. Matthew had shown her the churches many faults and…

Aaron had no one.

No one but the Bible and a God who never answered back.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” she whispers, rocking their bodies gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you Aaron.”

He sobs even harder. He wishes he could believe that. He does. He wishes he could but…

They agree to never talk about it. Meaning, Emily begrudgingly lets it go.

The universe isn’t ready for Hotch to shove it under the rug though.

There’s this barista at the coffee shop downtown--- more than a barista, he’s the owner, actually. He’s a giant. He almost makes Hotch feel small in comparison. In college, he’d been a football player but he’d messed his knee up pretty bad Junior year. He became dependent on the painkillers he’d received after surgery. He’d dropped out of college a few months later.

Hotch learns all of this only after two coffees.

One that he has Monday with the man’s phone-number and name scribbled onto the side of his cup. His cheeks had turned a furious shade of pink when Morgan had asked who Charlie is and if she was pretty. For some reason, despite coaching himself over and over in the mirror that he’d never go back--- Hotch goes back to the coffee shop Thursday.

This time as Hotch is handing the other man a five dollar bill he adds his own phone-number and name attached with a simple sticky-note.

He’s not even out the door yet when his phone vibrates.

“I thought I’d scared you off, mysterious FBI man.”

It makes him stop in his tracks. A smile tugs at his lips and there isn’t a single thought in his head about church or God or his father just this impossibly good feeling in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s done the flirting thing but he replies: “As good as mysterious FBI man sounds, I typically go by Aaron. Besides, it takes a little bit more than a phone-number to scare me off”

The texts keep coming and Hotch doesn’t mind.

Charlie tells him about college and Hotch tells him about the team. It’s out of character for him to be so open but it’s just coffee and flirting and a really hot barista.

The feeling is very mutual.

“Kiss me, g-man.”

Hotch shakes his head, chuckling when Charlie throws his hips over Hotch’s waist. “You’d better---” whatever threat he’s making half-heartedly turns into a groan when Charlie starts planting open mouth kisses along his collar. Sucking a hickey under his ear where it will be painfully obvious to the team.

When Hotch lets out a grunt, his hand grabbing at Charlie’s shirt and the other going to his hair Charlie laughs. He buries his face in Hotch’s neck, his hand traveling down to the front of his pants. “Is that your gun?” he pulls back with a smirk.

Lightly, he pushes Aaron back on the bed. Charlie’s nimble fingers wrap around his jeans, pulling the tight fabric off of his ass.

“I don’t remember asking for this,” Hotch grunts, fist clenched tightly in the bedsheets. It’s the only way he can assure that he won’t go bucking into Charlie’s palm the minute he starts touching again. He’s not going to cave like that.

To his credit, Charlie stops. He plants his hands on both sides of Hotch’s hips, his mouth sending a dangerous gust of warm air over Hotch’s straining cock. He lifts an eyebrow, “say the word, Aaron.” Say the word and it stops. They don’t dance along fancy lines like that. Charlie wouldn’t do that.

Sitting up, Aaron wraps his legs around Charlie’s hips. He runs his fingers up through Charlie’s hair, kissing him. With a smile he pulls away and whispers, “fuck me, Charlie.”

And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do just that.

Sodomy is way better than Aaron remembers.

They’re about three months into this when Charlie learns that Hotch hasn’t told a soul about him. At least, not really. Not past the point of passing in conversation. Hell, he hasn’t even told them that Charlie isn’t some bombshell blonde woman but a 6’4 black man who owns the coffee shop.

“Fine,” Hotch caves despite the anxiety leaving him so unnerved he’s shaking. “Do you want to come with me to Dave’s this weekend?” He’s got an edge to his tone. He’s hoping Charlie takes the bait and rolls his eyes. He almost hopes for a fight.

Charlie nods his head, “I would like to, actually.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s far from it.

He sits on edge for the rest of the week. Begging for a case. None come.

If Charlie has anything to say about Hotch letting go of his hand when they step out of the car, he doesn’t say anything. He does offer him a supportive smile, reaching between them to squeeze Aaron’s bicep.

“Dave,” Hotch breathes the other man’s voice and Charlie can hear the panic seeping into his deep tone. But then he just blanks.

Charlie stretches his hand out, “I’m Charlie.”

Dave gets over his momentary shock very quickly. “Charlie,” Dave shakes his head with a smile. He avoids the hand being offered and pulls the younger man in for a hug. “I have heard so much about you! I was just a little shocked. I was expecting--”

Charlie laughs, “a woman.”

Dave claps him on the back. “Well, yes, I was.” He smiles at Hotch next, pulling him in for a hug too. Dave can feel just how unnerved Hotch is but he doesn’t comment. He just squeezes him a little tighter. “More so,” Dave says, “I was expecting a blonde. He really likes blondes.”

Charlie glances back at Aaron, keeping his smile in place even when Aaron can’t look up from his intense battle with the floor.

“Well, come on in! I’ve got enough bourbon and food in here to feed a small army!”

Charlie steps inside first, Aaron hot on his heels.

Charlie turns around, to look back at Aaron. Calling the other man’s name for attention. “Aaron,” he calls softly, grabbing his hand. “Show me to the bathroom.”

Hotch nods his head, eyes vacant as he moves on through the room. Ghosting. “It’s, ugh,” Hotch points lamely to the door.

Charlie pulls him into the small room. Aaron making a small grunt of protest. “Look at me,” says, stern but not overbearing. “Aaron, please.”

It takes a moment but Aaron pulls his eyes off the floor. He grimaces when a tear falls down his cheek, ashamed of this display of emotion. This vulnerability.

With a sad smile, Charlie wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. “They didn’t know did they?”

Leaning forward, Hotch buried his face in Charlie’s blue t-shirt. It’s old and soft and it does nothing to slow his tears. He shakes his head. “They didn’t.”

Fuck. Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch, pulling him close. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

What other options are there? If Charlie hadn’t forced his hand Hotch would have happily died in the blissful lie he’d created. He could have died alone. No need to come out. Hell, if he’d just found another blonde woman he could have married her and died “straight”.

Anything is better than this in-between.

“Aaron,” Charlie breathes his name sadly. He doesn’t know what to say. His family had disowned him. So, he can’t just reassure Aaron it’ll be okay but Dave took it so well. “Have you even given them a chance?”

Well… Dave did take it very well and Emily already knows.

“No,” he answers honestly.

Charlie presses a kiss to his temple, asking, “maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt?”

A knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Hotch,” Reid whines from the other side. “I really have to go.”

Hotch smiles and that makes Charlie smile. “Good?” he asks.

Hotch nods, “good.”

The pair step out of the bathroom.

Reid blushes and slides past.

“You don’t think he thinks we were…”

Hotch nods, “more than likely.”

Heading back down the hall, Charlie leans into Hotch’s side. “Which one was that?”

“Reid.”

Charlie hums his understanding. Cuter than he’d imagined. Aaron had said tall and thin but it really did the genius no justice. He’s an attractive young man. “You didn’t tell me he was cute.”

Wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist he pulls the other man closer. His heart is beating hard in his chest but he kisses the other man, closing his eyes and enjoying this moment. Separating just enough to say, “I think he said he plays for your team. If you’re interested.”

“My team,” Charlie repeats. He runs a finger along Aaron’s brow, sweeping his hair back. “My team is you,” Charlie rolls his eyes. “Doofus.”

Hotch’s jaw drops. “Doofus?”

Charlie smiles, “my doofus.”

Emily stops at the mouth of the hall, having heard the dee rumbling sound of voices “That’s fucking adorable.”

Hotch groans, pushing his face into Charlie’s chest.

“Don’t groan at me,” she says. “You’re the bastard that came out to me. Ghosted me. Then went and got a boyfriend.”

Hotch grimaces, “Emily…”

She waves him, turning her attention to Charlie. “You,” she sticks her hand out and they share a handshake. “You got yourself a good one. He can be an ass though.”

Charlie chuckles at that, “he really can be. Also, insufferable.”

Emily opens her mouth in happy shock. “Right? What about him being a know-it-all?”

Charlie nods, “don’t forget being a tight ass.”

Hotch feels a comment about their sex lives attempting to roll of his tongue. Something along the lines of Charlie saying he’d liked his ass last night— instead he just grunts. “Enough about me,” he grumbles.

Emily smiles at both of them. She really is happy. Hotch deserves to be happy. With a smirk she motions for them to follow her. “Come on, drinks?”

Somehow, despite everything Hotch had convinced himself, everything is fine.

Charlie ends up wondering off with Morgan. The two deep into a conversation about a beam Morgan’s building around. Hotch had watched Charlie gag down Garcia’s awful shots and listen to Reid talk about thermodynamics.

And when Hotch’s anxiety started getting bad again, Charlie was right there. Hotch hadn’t said anything, he didn’t even close himself off. Emily had just excused herself to go yell about something with JJ, leaving him leaning against the bar in the kitchen. But Charlie had come up and squeezed his hand. Winking for good measure. Hotch’s anxiety, like his heart, melted into a puddle around his feet.

“Goodbye,” Emily wishes them a farewell. She kisses both their cheeks and holds on to Hotch a moment longer than she normally would. “So, does this mean we’re back on for movie nights?”

Hotch nods. He’s missed their movie nights. He’s missed hanging out with her.

In the end, it’s the two of them and Dave.

Hotch’s anxiety rears it’s ugly head. Another painful reminder of the childhood he’ll never escape. Of God and sin and hell. The Catholic Church is solid force in Dave’s life and he’s askin Dave to choose. And Aaron knows he’s not going to be chosen.

“You boys good to drive home?” Dave hands Charlie a Tupperware container of leftovers.

Charlie nods, “we’re okay.”

Well, Charlie is. Hotch is little tipsy and one wrong word away from throwing up on the porch.

“Be safe,” Dave says, pulling Charlie in for a hug first. He pats his back, lowering his head to whisper. “Take care of my boy, you here?”

It makes Charlie smile. They’d briefly discussed Aaron’s real father but Charlie can see exactly what Aaron had meant when he said Dave had been the man that raised him. He’s gentle and firm and Charlie is glad Aaron was able to find a father. “Of course,” Charlie responds. “Someone has to.”

That makes Dave chuckle. Damn right.

“Come here, son.” Aaron’s always been bigger than Dave, not that he minds. He pulls him down into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lowering his voice he whispers, “I’m glad you brought Charlie. He’s a good man. I’m proud of you.”

Hotch feels the dam break. He wraps his arms tighter around Dave, all of his youth and sexuality and feelings finally making sense. He doesn’t have to chose. He can be himself and be happy, it’s allowed.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t kill his mother or his mother. He’s always done his best and that’s all he can do.

“You’re a good man,” Dave whispers, rubbing his back.

And… Aaron might just be starting to believe him.

#criminal minds #tw child abuse #out of character #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #sean hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #haley hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #tw cigarettes #lesbian emily prenitss #george foyet

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crystalstar8 · 3 years

Text

The Eye of the Sky

Ch. 1

Pairing: Namjoon x oc

Genre: heist au, action

word count: 1,285

warnings: action, violence, gun violence, car chases, car crashes, swearing, blood probably

notes: heist au, action, adventure, crime, enemies to lovers, ooc namjoon, because he has his license lol

Summary: Ten years ago, Namjoon's father was killed by his best friend and partner in crime, A man who now goes by the name Hawthorne. Now, Namjoon wants to get into the family business in order to avenge his father's death. After finding the man who killed his father, Namjoon builds a team and creates an elaborate plan to finally take the man down.

But will they be able to get through Hawthorne's state-of-the-art security system? And will they succeed with a mysterious assassin chasing them? Let's just say, it's a good thing Namjoon's team members keep surprising him with useful skills.

@mozy-j @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @daechwitad-2

It should have been the perfect job. It was airtight, they thought of everything.

And in fact, it did work perfectly. The Sky’s Eye was in their safe and someone else was getting arrested for its theft. Junghoon didn’t know who it was getting framed, his partner took care of that. It didn’t matter, since it wasn’t them.

Junghoon and Montgomery celebrated in their office. The necklace was finally theirs.

With the first sip of champagne, Junghoon knew immediately what was happening, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t believe it; his best friend and partner in hundreds of jobs…

Montgomery knelt down in front of Junghoon, who’s flute fell from his hand and shattered on the ground. Montgomery took a slow sip from his own glass and said the words that made Junghoon’s blood run cold before finally slipping away.

“Do you think your wife can pay your son and daughter’s way through college from prison?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten Years Later

Namjoon looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. He was looking sharp in his fitted grey suit, but he figured today was worth it. His younger sister was graduating college, something he was immensely proud of her for. He himself was a recent graduate, receiving his PhD as the youngest of his class. He knew how much work it was. He knew how much work it was without their parents.

Namjoon and Geongmin supported each other throughout their middle school and college years; ever since their father was killed and their mother was arrested, they only had each other.

Namjoon adjusted his left cufflink one last time, making sure it wouldn’t fall apart again; he already had to fix it that morning once.

Down in the parking garage, Namjoon unlocked his black Audi SUV and hopped in. His cufflink caught on the door and pulled off. He cursed under his breath as he shoved it in his pocket and drove off.

The graduation ceremony was outdoors. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining and the temperature was mild. The graduates were seated in the front section of seats. He tried to pick out his sister among them, but he couldn’t recognize her within the sea of blue hats.

Once he was seated and the speeches began, Namjoon pulled the cufflink from his pocket and tried to fix it one last time. The tiny latch was broken, and Namjoon only made it worse by detaching the little screw and dropping it into the grass. He supposed he didn’t like this pair very much anyway.

The keynote speaker stepped up to the podium and began his speech. The audience cheered when they saw him. Namjoon saw several women throughout the audience swoon and giggle. He smiled and rolled his eyes. Jin just had that effect on people.

Jin’s speech was long and didn’t make any sense, but Namjoon figured the audience wouldn’t care. He was a celebrity and a handsome face, people were just happy to see him in person.

Finally, the graduates were announced and their degrees were given. Namjoon cheered loudly when his sister walked across the stage. After the hats were thrown into the air, Namjoon stood up to find his sister.

Families were mingling and taking pictures all around him, but he found her easily enough.

“Congratulations,” he said, hugging her tight.

“Thank you,” said Geongmin. “If only graduation was tomorrow instead of today.”

“I know,” said Namjoon, pulling away from her and grimacing. It really was a shame that their mother would miss Geongmin’s graduation by only a day.

“Are you going to find Jin?” she asked. Namjoon nodded. He had been friends with Jin since they were children, at least until Jin started getting famous.

“You better hurry, before his security team whisks him away,” Geongmin said with a giggle.

“You’ll let me take you out for dinner, right?” Namjoon asked.

Geongmin grimaced and said, “Well, I was supposed to go out with some friends…”

Namjoon held up his hands and laughed, “I figured. Another time then. Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, waving before bounding away to find her friends. Then she turned around and shouted, “Maybe tomorrow, when mom gets home!”

Namjoon chuckled and made his way behind the stage, where his friend was waiting for him. Jin greeted him with open arms and a charming smile.

“Namjoon!” Jin shouted, hugging him tightly. “Is your sister joining us for dinner?”

“No, she’s with friends tonight,” said Namjoon.

“Right, of course,” said Jin. “Well, let’s get to it.”

The restaurant was way fancier than anything Namjoon’s ever stepped into, but Jin seemed right at home. The hostess knew him and sat them immediately.

Once they were seated, Namjoon said, “I was going to wait to bring this up with you, but now that we’re alone-“

“Oh my god, are you about to ask me out or something?” Jin asked. “We agreed we wouldn’t work out as a couple.”

“What? No, Jin…” Namjoon stared at him. “No.”

“Okay, please continue then,” said Jin.

“I have a job for us,” said Namjoon. Now it was Jin’s turn to stare, lowering his voice once his shock wore off.

“Joon-ah, are you sure about this?” asked Jin. “I thought you said you would never get into this business.”

“Jin, do you know a man named Cliff Hawthorne?” Namjoon asked.

“Of course,” said Jin. “He produced half my movies.”

“He has something I want,” said Namjoon. “I have a plan to get it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jin said, holding up his hands. They paused in their conversation as the waitress set down their drinks and appetizer. As soon as she left, Jin continued. “Why are you doing this? Why Hawthorne? I though you said you would never get into the family business. I said I wouldn’t get into the family business.”

Namjoon eyed his friend.

“Are you in or not?” he asked.

“Well, you haven’t even told me what your plan is, so I guess I haven’t decided yet,” Jin said with a wave of his hand. He crossed his arms and leaned back.

“I was watching the news yesterday and there was a story about a party Hawthorne is throwing,” said Namjoon. “Have you heard anything about his party?”

“I may have heard about it,” Jin said.

“Anyway, they showed his face and I immediately recognized him,” said Namjoon. “He’s famous, but he’s hardly ever on TV. Do you know why I recognized him?”

“Namjoon, you’re driving me crazy here, just tell me,” said Jin.

“I recognized him because he was my father’s best friend when I was growing up,” said Namjoon. Jin went silent and knitted his eyebrows. “I recognized him because he’s the man that killed my father.”

Jin’s eyes went wide. “But… I thought…”

“Hawthorne is Montgomery,” said Namjoon.

Jin closed his mouth and stared for a few moments. He slowly took a sip from his wine and then said, “So this is revenge. Namjoon, I don’t know…”

“I won’t kill him,” said Namjoon. “Everyone gets out of this job safe, but we’ll have the one thing he’s been keeping for himself all this time.”

“You’re not thinking about stealing the-“

“That’s right,” said Namjoon. “The Sky’s Eye.”

“Were you going to talk about this with your sister here if she had come?” Jin asked with a chuckle.

“No, definitely not,” said Namjoon. “She’d never let me go through with this.”

“Alright, well you have my attention,” said Jin. The waitress came back to set down their entrées, and as soon as she left, Jin spoke again. “I assume you have a plan?”

Namjoon nodded. “I do. But we’ll need a team.”

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izukyu · 4 years

Text

𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 - keigo takami x reader

this is a birthday gift for my crackhead wine aunt, @waddle-yee. katie i love u so much it’s unreal! i hope you enjoy the crumbs m’lady!

reblogs are appreciated bc i worked really hard on this, heart eyes.

pairing - keigo takami (hawks) x reader.

word count - 2.3k.

warnings - very vague manga spoilers for pro hero arc, possibly ooc hawks, swearing, and just. a lot of fluff.

summary - hawks needed to gain the public’s hearts once again, and attending a charity event seemed like the way to go, but falling for the cute artist in charge of him wasn’t something he planned on.

★ - requests are open

“your ratings are falling, hawks”

being bothered during his lunch break wasn’t something keigo was particularly fond of. the one time of the day he could let loose in his office, ruined.

“is that so?” he could only hope his agent would understand his words in the midst of his chewing, making a point he was only half-interested in the newsletter.

“the hero public safety commission reached out, you need to get your approval up again before they intervene.”

keigo gulped.

what a mouthful. they were never good news - the last time keigo met with them he was deployed as a spy, for crying out loud. needless to say, he was still their subordinate, and rejecting their demands was nothing more than a heavenly reverie.

“so, got any ideas?” keigo put down his plastic plate, lamenting the unfinished state of lunch.

“well, there’s this charity event coming up, and they’re calling for - ”

“i’m in! send me the time and place and i’ll be there,” sadly. it’s not like he had any personal vendettas with charity events or the public per se, but the simple fact he had to be shoved into one to please his superiors was enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

next time he’d attend to one of his own accords.

“i’ll send it to you by email.”

keigo gave the poor intern a frown, his eyebrows drawn. “just send me a text, sheesh.”

maybe if he had paid more attention to the text then maybe he wouldn’t be stuck in this quandary of graphite and stillness

“you do this to every guy you meet?”

you scoffed, eyes never once leaving the canvas before you. “yes, every model i work with is required to stand still, if that’s what you were wondering.”

keigo was glad he put on a smile from the start, or else you would’ve chewed him out for moving too much.

the event was still a couple weeks away, but portraits don’t grow on trees. in all fairness, keigo was a killer model - every magazine featuring him sells out within the hour, and the photographers he’s worked with never fail to shower him in compliments and praise.

his charm didn’t seem to carry on to drawings, apparently. as you’d put it before, he was but ‘an over-energetic city pigeon that would chase around little kids for fun at every given opportunity’.

oddly specific, but it got a chuckle out of him.

“i’m almost done, so just stand still for a little longer.”

“won’t be a problem, dove, i’m already a pro,” keigo had to suppress another snicker as you hid behind the canvas, your face growing warm at the dumb pet name. another tally for hawks in his imaginary scoreboard. although standing still for longer than ten minutes wasn’t something he could see himself doing ever again, teasing you would definitely be a must in the near future.

anything for your flushed, annoyed expression.

“your wing did the thing again.”

of course it did. keigo wailed silently, dreading the sound of your pencil meeting the cotton before you, scratching and imposing.

the passing of time seemed like a foreign concept the longer he posed in front of you, amber eyes preying on you. every movement, every speck of graphite staining your hands, forever engraved in his mind. you didn’t question his sudden quietness, too engrossed in finishing the first of many portraits you’d have to make for the event.

would every other hero be as jittery and energetic as the man standing before you?

would every other hero grow uneasy at the idea of standing still for no longer than fifty minutes?

“alright, you’re good to go.”

startled, keigo nearly fell off the small stool. “oh, was that all?”

you felt your eye twitch, choosing to ignore his wit, “it’s weird to think your portrait will probably go beyond five digits, someone’s gonna willingly pay to have those bushy eyebrows in their living room.”

keigo choked on his spit, coughs laced with laughter overruling the silence of the studio. “where did that come from?”

with a shrug and a triumphant smirk, you start to usher him out of your studio, “it had to be said, but you’re still cute, so i wouldn’t count it as a loss!” there were projects that needed your undivided attention and care, some with scary deadlines, and a birdman wasn’t exactly someone you needed to prioritize now. “see you at the event, yeah?”

“wait, hey, i wanna see what it looks like - ”

“no can do, have a great afternoon!”

before he could protest, he was already out and gone from your studio, the door nearly slamming on his wings. without much thinking, he turned around, his knuckles grazing against the door repeatedly. “c’mon, not even a sneak peak? i promise i won’t tell!”

someone clearing their throat behind him tore keigo away from the piece of wood in a heartbeat.

“endeavor-san, nice meeting you here! y’see, i left something inside, and i was just knocking so - “

“i don’t want to know.”

what was it with today and everyone interrupting him?

keigo snapped his fingers, “copy that.” from the corner of his eyes he spotted a neat pile of presentation cards, almost begging to be noticed and put to use.

fine, if you didn’t feel like letting him into your heart he’d just have to irk you over text.

knowing better than to bother endeavor again, keigo simply stepped out of the room, his fingers eagerly keying in the digits into his cellphone.

spoiler alert, it wasn’t you who texted him back, but your assistant was a delight, and set him up for another session after the event.

keigo has a strong, abhorrent opinion on wearing suits. they’re stuffy, constricting, and make his wings itch more than normal. despite having a custom-made, tailored suit, the sentiment of being under lock and key only ever went away as soon as he lost the jacket and shirt. something he couldn’t quite do in an event like this.

“what do you mean they’re running late?”

your second in command sighed, eyes still glued on their phone. from the brief texts they had shared, keigo would be proud to admit they’d found a friend in your friend, if that made any sense. “there were some supplies left in the studio, had to run back to get ‘em.”

keigo sighed. just what he needed in this trying time.

“but the portraits are already up if you want to check them out.”

oh.

among the sea of bidders inspecting the canvases on display, keigo’s feeble attempts to get a closer look were fruitless. his wings usually gave leverage when his height failed to do so, but flapping in such a close environment would bring more trouble than it’s worth.

with a defeated sigh (admitting to lacking in height was… disheartening) two of his feathers flew down to his feet, giving him the small boost he needed.

he most certainly didn’t expect to come face-to-face with himself.

minutes passed, and keigo remained under a trance. it was simplistic, the graphite morphing to cast an umbra on portrait-hawks. he could picture almost perfectly the light and shadow dancing together in both the canvas up for bidding and your skilled hands, the same ones that had left a nasty smudge on the back of his coat.

lo and behold, you were right, his unruly eyebrows were rather prominent.

“sorry for the delay, the traffic was horrible and the cab - don’t get me started on the cab,” you ranted as you walked through the busy hall, chanting apologies left and right. “the auction hasn’t started yet, right?”

“no, but there’s someone waiting for you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. the people attending were either eager to see their favorite heroes in ritzy clothing or aching to take one of them home - in a canvas, of course. “don’t get me wrong, i love getting the work going, but i swear these deadlines are gonna be the death of me.”

“no need to fret,” keigo stepped down from his feathers, and you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. happy? tired? finally becoming the paragon of tenderhearted? “i’m part of your schedule already, booked a sesh and all.”

“... you mean the one I just cancelled?”

his wings drooped almost comically, “the one you just what?”

teasingly, you pushed him back, consequently making him bump into someone else. “i’m just messing around, i’m actually looking forward to it.” you could only watch as he gave the person a brief apology, posing for a selfie milliseconds after. heroes.

“is that so? i thought i was a bad subject,” keigo tugged at his collar, making a mental note to burn the shit out of the suit once home.

“the worst, actually,” more people began migrating to the opposite side of the room before the auction started. “but you’re fun to be around, so i’ll manage.”

keigo couldn’t contain his smile this time. it wasn’t his signature snigger you’d have flooding your timeline after his photo sessions, rather just a simple, genuine tug of his lips.

“and maybe you’re kinda pretty, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

and just like that, the warm smile contorted into a smug smirk. “you got me there, dove! wasn’t expecting that to come out of your pretty mouth.”

you huffed, diving to give his cheek a good pinch before dragging him to follow the rest of the guests. “that’s one creepy way to phrase it. now take a seat, i’ve got to hand out a couple of endeavors and edgeshots.”

keigo, still savoring the compliment like a kid would with a sweet, took an extra second to process those words. “they got more than one?”

cut to his second private session. five minutes after your scheduled lunch break, some leftover fries and ice cream exiled to your desk.

“alright, something’s on your mind.”

keigo remained stationary. this time it was just a mere pencil in your hand, waltzing on the canvas without a worry on its nonexistent mind. calculated. precise. free. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you sighed, tucking the pencil behind your ear, sparing the finished sketch a last glance before walking to the brooding bird before you. “your wings, they’re not doing the thing.”

“and what about it?”

“well, for one, it was much easier to jot them down, i can assure you they’ll look great once i paint them,” keigo shuddered as you stood closer, how did you even get a lead stain on your cheek? “but i think i know you well enough to deduce something’s up. you’re not even being a cocky cockatiel.”

keigo let out a long, long sigh. “i’m not a cockatiel.”

“and you’re not being yourself. c’mon, why’d you even come here if you’re just gonna be grumpy?”

a brief flash of cold, burning blue clouded his mind. “work’s getting to me, i guess.”

you weren’t a pro hero of any sorts, the only context you had regarding that chaotic world would come from whatever hashtag was trending, and the occasional hero dropping by your studio to talk business. nevertheless, you knew how to spot and comfort a gloomy friend.

“you wanna paint yourself?”

“what?”

that seemed to get his attention, and it brought a smile to your face. you bit your lip eagerly, “i need to go get some paints, but you look like you need some cheering up, so you’re not leaving this room without painting your own portrait”

keigo’s lip trembled involuntarily, your words tugging at his already-soft heart. “i’ve never - i’ve never touched a paintbrush in my life.”

“woah, not even at school?”

“homeschooled.”

your hand moved on its own, ruffling his naturally messy hair. “i’ll get you acrylic paint.”

he could only tap his foot anxiously in your absence, running a hand across his face. the commission, as per usual, found great joy to bother him through day and night, almost as if his suffering tickled their ribs. keigo wouldn’t mind playing the part of the asshole kid who took tickling way too far when it came to them, hero regulations and spy work be damned.

not to mention the dust-up he had with a certain cremated acquaintance a couple days back, leaving him featherless and vulnerable for a whole day.

but as you approached him once again, a number of paints cradled in your arms and pockets, keigo could feel the weight in his shoulders slowly mitigating.

“okay, what do you think feels like the way to go?”

thankfully, his wings could twitch to their content while wearing your apron. he would’ve been just fine painting without any safety measures, but your flabbergasted expression urged him to realize clothes are expensive.

keigo gripped the paintbrush with one hand, the other holding a red paint tube, “this can’t be rocket science, i got this.”

your boisterous laughter as he squeezed some paint straight into the paintbrush told him that maybe it was rocket science after all.

“it’s not a toothbrush, keigo!” god, he loved his name rolling off your tongue.

“oh my god, next time try cleaning the paintbrush before you start to paint with another color.” he was certain your giggles could keep him going through endless crimes and stacks of paperwork.

“hey, that’s cute, you’re using different colors for your suit.”

keigo chuckled, “can’t have the piss color scheme spicing up my living room.”

that was the final straw, and you both rightfully lost it. leaning into each other to prevent falling to the floor as a result of raw elation. even your snorts were adorable, your babbling a melody to his ears, and shrieks of amusement making his heart thump faster.

at the end of the day, keigo left the studio with a gorgeous painting, as you’d generously put it. the first time he’d truly felt unbound to everything to be forever remembered with a mess of colors and sloppy strokes hanging proudly atop his bed.

the first time keigo ever felt truly free on canvas.

★ - check out the rest of my works!

★ - wanna get tagged in my stuff?

general: @brattyquirks @quirkless-fics @tooloudarts @bringingpinkbac-k @thewaterlily @kittyatemytaco @nyantodamax145 @iachan03 @imconfusedanditsok @nishigo @torrpe @bakugo-baby @lovingshoto @yuueimagines @shigarakis-fifth-hand @uwus-for-bnha

hawks: @witchy-anna

#bnha x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks #keigo takami #keigo #takami #mha x reader

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embersrpg · 3 years

Photo

TRUST IN YOUR BRETHREN ---

Since you woke up, the sounds of the train have kept a steady beat of your wary heart.

The chatter is light. No one is making small talk as they used to. Tributes are tense. Mentors are reeling. Even some of the escorts don’t have the gusto to rally their team.

Breakfast was hard to get down. Even harder to get down when you kept being reminded of what this was. But you stayed to yourself and that’s that.

Right at lunch, you feel the train lurching to a stop. But why? The train had picked everyone up, what was the point of all this? You even came out to the rest of your team to ask. No one knew why.

It was two hours with no answers, and you even began traveling to different cars where the other districts were staying. No one knew what was going on. And then... the intercom clicks on.

“Dear riders.” It was a covered voice. Protected under the veil of a voice altering device. It was untraceable. Unrecognizable. “This train has been seized by Panem rebels. We have taken this train, as well as it’s sister train, hostage until further notice. We demand the freeing of all tributes and mentors from this year’s Quarter Quell, which aims to use bodies as their tool to silence and control citizens of Panem. Your conductors have been silenced and if you want your precious Games to continue, you’re going to have to go through a great deal of trouble to get them back. You wont find us. And you wont figure out how to regain controls.”

Then, the intercom clicks off, and you’re met in silence. Nothing makes sense but what is for certain is, right now, you’re a hostage to the rebellion.

OOC -----

First off, everyone please give a huge thank you to Becky, who put ‘hijack a train’ in her response form. A brilliant idea that I couldn’t just pass up.

Bear with me here. You might have a bunch of questions and hopefully I’ll answer them. Or the big ones at least. But you’ll also have to be a bit flexible on some details and suspend your disbelief for the sake of this cool drop.

Firstly, remember when I said I wanted everyone to be able to interact with each other again? That was kind of a lie. You’ll be able to interact with half of everyone again. Apart from that, there is zero contact between the two trains which are held hostage (unless you get creative, but please run that by me first). Below I’ll list which districts are on each train. I have tried to carefully pick so that some folks are outside of their typical circles, while keeping things even. As always, I’m up for feedback if you’re not comfortable with the list provided.

Second, this is the day after the reaping. The train has picked everyone up. Let’s just not think too hard about the process of picking up other tributes I spent my eight hour work shift trying to figure that one out and couldn’t so shhhh just go with it please I beg. Each district had their own train car but the train has a multitude of cars with a number of Districts. Just... don’t think too deep into this stuff.

Post opens, plot with folks, go off in all sorts of ways with what to do here. Obviously, everyone is still processing the reaping, but now the rebels are here? to release the tributes? What?

The rebels have made note that they’re not actually here, but pulling the strings from the outside. You can’t interact with them but if there’s something you think your character might want to do here, just come to me! We can probably figure something out.

As stated before, please let me know if there are NPCs you want to write against. While I’m still deciding if I can even handle that, you are MORE THAN WELCOME to approach me to hc/rattle back and forth of your character interacting with an npc. Could be any npc you’d like. I’m trying to create backgrounds for the npcs and even give them some leel secrets. And who knows, some of them might want in on your cause and proven useful. But no matter what direction I go with writing them, you are always more than welcome to approach and come up with stuff behind the scenes to use.

This is going to be a longer event. The last one was super quick and so I want to give us some time with this one. I’m going to set an tentative three-and-a-half-week length for this task but I have no qualms with extending it if the end date approaches and we feel we could use more time here. I don’t want anyone to feel rushed or pressured so really ease into this one!

You know what to do with your Qs! I’m around pretty much all day.

TRAIN ONE:

District Two, District Four, District Six, District Eight, District Nine, District Twelve

TRAIN TWO:

District One, District Three, District Five, District Seven, District Ten, District Eleven.

THE FACTS

Start date: Right now

End date: May 21st

Tag: Chapter Three

#embersplot

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gch1995 · 3 years

Text

OMG! I’m watching the 2016 PPG reboot on reboot to make fun of its awfulness by comparing it to the far superior OG cartoon from 98’-05 version, and I just got finished watching the atrocious episode “Musclecup.” I know the girls are supposed to be very precocious for kindergarteners-first graders, and I know that Buttercup is the “toughest fighter.” However, I still am in awe at the sheer stupidity of the writers of this episode, who thought it would be a “genius” idea to write a storyline in which Buttercup, a super-powered little girl in the first grade, actually gets addicted to steroids because she wants to bulk up her muscles!

First of all, Buttercup is a child, so this storyline feels gross and unnecessary, even if she is the “toughest fighter?”

Secondly, it doesn’t even make any sense as to why Buttercup thinks she needs to bulk up her muscles to a beef-cake level since she was born with superhuman strength that easily allows her to overpower the average person, anyway.

Thirdly, it’s annoying that Blossom and Bubbles are yet again rendered to be completely helpless and ineffectual by the writers together against one villain together without Buttercup, the brash and brawny tomboy, there to swoop in and save them. I know I’ve complained about Buttercup occasionally getting the short end of the stick when she had centrics the OG cartoon in which she was either getting into trouble, getting punished, getting double standards, and/or suffering exceedingly and/or unfairly with the world getting turned against her, sometimes to the point of needlessly mean-spirited overkill of character derailment for either her and/or other characters in the episode she cared about. Yeah, the writers not knowing how to write Buttercup centrics where she was framed in a positive light, being treated fairly, and/or granted the same individual compassion and emotional support of her loved ones that she normally had otherwise, and that her sisters were granted individually in their centrics when they were in the wrong or feeling down, was an occasionally recurring flaw in the writing on an overall great show that started showing up sometime in her centrics in S2.

However, in the 2016 reboot, the writers seemed to have overcorrected the writing flaw of Buttercup’s occasional designated butt-monkey status in the OG cartoon by turning her into the main character Mary Sue of the show, who gets the most centrics, and who does all the saving by herself without the other two girls most of the time. In the reboot, this now has created a new problem of diminishing Blossom’s and Bubbles’ individual strengths and relevance in the story.

Not to mention the fact that reboot!Buttercup’s personality is pretty shitty. In the OG cartoon, she was generally portrayed as a jerk with a heart of gold. Here in the reboot, she’s been flanderdized into an openly arrogant, crude, exceedingly aggressive, disrespectful, loud-mouthed, mean-spirited, obnoxious, petty, nonchalant, and selfish brat. She disrespects Ms. Keane and mocks her when she’s teaching a grammar lesson to be a class clown in “Painbow.” In “Professor-Proofed” she gets her dad hurt by causing him to lose focus, sneeze, and get hurt when he’s working in his lab with a dangerous chemical by peppering her pancakes right in front of him, then doesn’t ever apologize to him for it, and even ends the episode doing it again with an evil smirk on her face right in front of him, causing him to get hurt all over again after sneezing when the pepper goes up his nose. She tries to steal one of Bubbles pigtails in an attempt to catch a crawdad in “ClawDad,” and didn’t apologize. In “Little Octi-Lost,” she steals Octi from Bubbles in the dead of night when they are all asleep to “teach her a lesson” for being so into it, which isn’t a good reason at all, then realizes she wants to go play with Octi herself, takes him to a state fair, and then tries to cover it up when she loses him, rather than tell the truth. In the episode “Man Up” she violently blows up in an aggressive rage, recklessly destroys an entire state fair, and accidentally gives Bubbles a black eye all because a villain calls her “princess,” and she hates being called that. The moral of the episode was supposed to be learning to temper her aggression, but unlike in the OG Buttercup centric, “Makes Zen To Me,” the lesson doesn’t actually end up sticking with Buttercup at all, and she ends the episode reverting back to being an overly aggressive and obnoxious jerk because “status quo is comedy gold.”

Granted, out of the three girls in the OG cartoon, Buttercup did have the greatest tendency to be the most aggressive fighter with the greatest instigator and rebel tendencies, and she had some ooc instances of suddenly being a very uncharacteristically greedy, sadistic, and remorseless jerk than usual to fit certain contrived plots in bad episodes, such as “Moral Decay,” though almost everyone in the fandom despises that segment the most of the OG series and pretends it never happened because it was such ridiculously out of character and mean-spirited derailing writing for both Buttercup and her entire family in order to turn her into the villain and punish her harshly in ways that didn’t feel fair or make any sense.

However, generally, og Buttercup genuinely did have the heart of a hero and love her family more than anything. While she did have trouble apologizing to Elmer for teasing him in “Paste Makes Waste,” she genuinely did still feel bad about it, even if she had some trouble apologizing for it, and she did learn to swallow her pride and do it at the end. She and Blossom tended to argue a lot because they both were very stubborn people, who had trouble making compromises, and admitting to it when they were wrong, and she liked to mess with Bubbles the most. However, she generally hated seeing either of her sisters getting hurt, and she was always quick to defend them in battles against threats. She generally felt bad about hurting her sisters, and apologized all the time.

Buttercup occasionally got irritated when the Professor became a doting, sentimental, and overprotective Dad™️ with her and/or her sisters in the OG cartoon in episodes like “Uh Oh, Dynamo,” “Mr. Mojo’s Rising,” “PowerProf.,” and “Oops I Did It Again,” especially because she didn’t like to be doted on. She got in trouble with the Professor more than her sisters, partially because she was genuinely caught being disobedient, making bad choices, or instigating fights with her sisters by him more often than they were, but also partly because the writers dealt her an unfair hand in the world in her centrics since they liked turning her into the designated butt monkey when she got in trouble in them in a couple of instances, such as “Moral Decay” and “Down ‘n’ Dirty.” However, even at her worst and most OOC, she would never have tried to deliberately hurt her dad for shits and giggles like she did in reboot episode “Professor-Proofed.” She and her sisters also never would have deliberately sabotaged one of the Professor’s romances for their own benefit because they wanted him to be happy in the OG cartoon.

Fourthly, I know he’s not in the episode, but if the girls are this irresponsible and stupid in the reboot, then why would Professor Utonium ever think to trust them to stay at home alone, while he goes to work for the day? Oh, right...It’s because he’s also been reduced to an idiotic, incompetent, irresponsible, neglectful, reckless, and selfish parent 9 out of ten times in the reboot, who has little to no knowledge of how to actually be a good parent at all, and usually only appears to make things worse whenever he does appear anyway by being a cliche and mostly unfunny bumbling bad sitcom dad. In the OG cartoon, it’s different because the girls are mature enough to handle staying by themselves for a few hours, even while he’s out at work, though he got babysitters for them when he was out at night to be safe, but in this reboot version, the girls shouldn’t be trusted to stay at home alone by him.

Finally, that’s the other issue in the reboot. All of the adults are morons who have no common sense most of the time. The writers really expect me to believe that an adult would be totally okay with giving a little girl steroids without any thought to just how gross and unethical that is? Yeah, I know it’s a cartoon, and even in the OG cartoon, the city of Townsville were complete idiots at times to fit certain plots, but I don’t believe any of them would actually ever be stupid and unethical enough to give steroids to a little girl with superpowers to help her bulk up her muscles, especially not without warning her first about how it could be dangerous.

#anti PPG 2016 reboot #ep: musclecup #I can’t believe they actually did a storyline about a superpowered first grader getting hooked on steroids!#the classic PPG wasn’t always a good show but overall it was a really great cartoon #they have completely turned buttercup into an obnoxious tomboy Mary Sue in the reboot #granted they’ve ruined all of the girls in the reboot but I’m focusing on buttercup in particular here #they completely ruined buttercup’s personality in the reboot!#buttercup utonium #bubbles utonium #blossom utonium

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 3 years

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How do you think Kou would be as a dad?

Oh, I have no doubts that Koushirou’s a great dad, mostly because we’re directly told in canon (at least the dub). It’s the line in the epilogue, “[Koushirou] and his daughter have their own language,” and just their small interaction is pretty sweet regardless. You can’t be a terrible or absent dad and still be able to have a connection strong enough to communicate with your daughter like that. But even if we didn’t have that I think canon gives us enough that I can declare it without it being OOC for him.

You can kind of boil Koushirou’s arc in 01 down to several things: connection, family, and a mix of communication and honesty. It’s more complicated and not all of it, but just for simplicity we’re going with those. Because his parents didn’t communicate properly with him (they are not villains for it, nor does the show paint them that way—they want the best for their son and like most parent’s aren’t completely sure what that means) Koushirou spends a lot of time after accidentally learning he’s adopted by shrinking away from people. In the novels it states clearly that he doesn’t interact with people much because he doesn’t know who he is, and thinks others can’t accept the true him either because of it. This could honestly be its own post so I’ll simplify further in saying: he grows and completes his arc by finally having an open and honest talk with his parents and they grow closer and more loving as a family because of it. And because Koushirou has the pieces he was missing, it’s easy to say that the condition for his disconnection with other people is completed on some level. Not to say things are ever really that easy and it doesn’t necessarily change Koushirou’s personality a full 180 (I would also argue that in some way he had the ability to connect with people all along seen in how a lot of the characters rely on him, even at the lone wolf stage Yamato shows trust in Koushirou), but I would say it more probably changes his perception of himself and his worth and how he sees other people seeing him, if that makes sense? Like he doesn’t have to change himself, just becomes more himself. And I do think that happens, but again I’m just touching lightly because I want to point out that these elements are pretty strong in Koushirou’s character arc and it feels like giving him a happy, honest, close familial relationship in the end makes perfect sense. So to make Koushirou a terrible or distant dad would be to completely disregard his canon storyline— you know, like the ending of Naruto lmao.

He’s also pretty good with the younger kids in canon, not just in 02, but with some of his few interactions with Takeru and especially with Hikari and protecting her, even though he himself falls into the category of “younger kids” (by a year, but still).

Anyway that’s all why I feel justified in my nonsense:

Anyway, Koushirou’s probably not the type of dad who gets down on all fours to play horsey, but I think he can definitely be talked into a tea party or other such activities. Him having a special relationship with his daughter I do think stems in some way from the fact they share special interests, but considering that Koushirou spent many years of his life being close with Taichi and honestly even just the whole friendship between the digidestined when none of them are really alike to start with, it’s not a stretch to say he could and would try to care about interests that are not particular to him. He just maybe would need his laptop or something else to preoccupy him, but I think he would still try. He’d probably even do special research to understand it, like, “You want to be a princess? I found this speciality dress shop let’s go there and you can wear it to this very accurate medieval village restoration I found ten hours out of town,” you know? Like he got Taichi tickets to a pretty big soccer game and wasn’t like, “Take someone else who’ll enjoy it,” but rather, “Let’s go together.” Koushirou would definitely be a dad who listens!! He probably gets caught up in projects and will give his kid(s) a, “One minute,” and unprompted that could probably turn into two hours, but then he’s all ears. Undivided attention. He’d also be more laissez-faire I think. In that way where you know you’re safe and not disconnected, but where he also trusts his kid(s) to leave them their space. “Make good choices.” And if their actions get them into trouble, he probably talks it out with them, makes sure they know what they did that was wrong, and maybe even be that parent who negotiates the punishment like, “And would me taking your xBox away for a month be adequate?” And they can be like, “I think that’s too long. Two weeks feels like enough,” and they come to that decision together. Like he trusts them and keeps the communication open and honest and so the kid(s) feel like they’re able to talk to him. There’s no proverbially shut doors. Also just his constant loyalty and belief in certain characters makes me believe he’d put that onto his kid(s), like they know he loves them, they know even if they get a D- on their test, Koushirou’s love isn’t going to waver— it’s unconditional. I don’t necessarily think Koushirou is the Fun Dad(tm), but I have no doubts he’s a great, loving dad regardless.

#replies #winged-wolf-dreamer #shut up lala #to no one's surprise it got long!!#Digimon is a Fun Series

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kingdomofbretonxrpg · 4 years

Text

Parties: Our Villain and (In order of appearance) Liana Romano, Jadon Floch, Kit Chareonsuk, Rory Pierre, Aramis Gagne, Julia Pelan, and a security team.

Date: October 12th, 2022

Location: An unknown location in Vannes.

Triggers: violence, abuse, kidnapping, threats, horrible language, neglect, gun shots, gun wounds, fighting, and probably others.

@lianaromano-ofmaine @jadonfloch @kit-chareonsuk @rory-of-nantes @aramisgagne @subjuliapelan

ooc// A conclusion.

Liana tried for the umpteenth time to swallow the lump in her throat. When she had first seen some shady happenings going on at one of the buildings she passed daily on her way to one of her job sites she instantly got a bad vibe, but tried not to think too much about it. She had seen worse in Verona. Then she realized something bad was happening with Jadon, and then others, and that building meant much more to her. She reported it to Cyrus and after some surveillance, a team was dispatched to the location for a rescue mission. She was asked to tag along to help the team get to the location but was under very strict orders to not leave the car. Anticipation and dread both filled her as she fidgeted in her seat, especially as they got closer to the building.

Jadon sat perched in the corner of his cell, no longer willing to look in the mirror at the shaggy head and thick beard that covered his sunken features. “You know what really grinds my gears about all of this?” He mused aloud to no one, indifferent if the others heard him but obviously perturbed, “I’m gonna die not knowing who the hell one this library challenge. I had a really good bet going against Eliane.” His fingernails chipped at the paint on the wall. Jadon had lost track of the number of days he’d been down there, making him cynical, “Anyone care to sprinkle some optimism on this shituation?”

Kit jumped at the sound of a voice before realizing it was Jadon’s. They’d sat in silence in the dark for some time, long enough for Kit to get lost in his thoughts and anxieties, wondering where Aramis was, if he was okay, and when the bastard who kidnapped them was going to come back down to check on them. Kit had to be ready with more shitty things to say to him. But Jadon’s statement took him out of his head. Was this guy serious? The library challenge thing? That’s what kept him up at night? Or whatever time it was. Time felt weird in this basement dungeon situation. “Pretty sure whoever won the library thing, Eliane won between the two of you just for not ending up in this basement.” Kit was not exactly the person to go to for positivity. “But we’re alive still? I think...?”

“Ayyy, take that back. I bet her ears are burning just by you whispering those words into the universe.” Jadon groaned into the cement wall, but the corners of his mouth tweaked into a small smile. “Not a chance in hell she beat me.” Running his fingers through his shaggy locks he let out a sigh, “What day was it when you got here?” He’d kept quiet for the most part, not mentioning the grazed wound on his arm or the promise from their kidnapper. Jadon still didn’t think they were getting out of this alive, even if Kit thought otherwise. So he bit into his chapped lips every time a meal turned up hoping that the last memory he had wasn’t seeing this guy kill his companions.

“What universe? There’s only this basement.” Kit tried to remember what the date had been. It could only have been a matter of days, right? “September 30. Wednesday,” he told Jadon. He’d tried to keep track of the time by counting, but gave up on it quickly. Time was an illusion anyway. “What about you?” He knew Jadon had been here longer than him. What had Kit been doing when Jadon had been taken. How long had it been for him? How long would it be for all of them before they were either found or killed by the madman who’d taken them?

“The nineteenth.” His steely blue gaze squinted over in the direction of Kit’s voice. “Got me when I was leaving J2.” He hesitated, scared to even ask. “Does anyone even know I’m missing or did they just assume I was out getting the life that Javan kept insisting I go out and get… Rory turned up not long after me.” Jadon had tried not to think about what was happening out there, now he was cursing himself for his boyish curiosity, what good could come out of it?

As Liana pointed out the area in question, she felt the car begin to slow. Anxiety bolted through her as she wondered what they would find, if anything. If they did find something, how bad would it be? She honestly wasn’t sure if she was mentally prepared for all the possibilities so she did her best to focus on the positive. They were doing something. They were trying. They had a chance. When the car stopped she took her seatbelt off so she could crane her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going to happen.

The nineteenth. Kit frowned deeply. More than ten days before his own kidnapping. “I don’t know. I hadn’t heard anything,” he admitted. He knew that Aramis would know something was wrong. He’d texted just before he had that gun shoved in his face. “I’m sure someone knows by now though. About all of us.” They had to, right? He sighed, wishing he could actually be sure. “I texted my boyfriend to let him know I was on my way home. I’d just left work. And…he knows who this guy is. Our kidnapper. He’s going to figure it out. Soon.”

It was hard to not take the news too personally. This wasn’t, after all, about him- he’d told Cyrus as much when he’d suggested the self-defense classes. With a long sigh Jadon tried to channel his pre-kidnapping optimism. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. If you got a message out that you were on your way home and obviously Rory’s dog is just out there alone… I’m sure someone’s out there looking…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence that someone was looking for them, not him.

Rory had no idea how long she’d been in that cell. With the lack of windows in the basement to let in any light, day and night had become the same. She tried to keep track of the time based on how often she and her fellow cellmates were brought food; but considering she now spent most of her time sleeping and fighting off severe waves of lightheadedness, any sense of time she may have had was long gone. Between her inability to eat the food that was served without feeling sick to her stomach and the fact she’d not taken any of her much needed medications in God only knew how long, she’d gotten to the point she had some trouble registering what was going on around her. And then whenever the lights were kept off in the basement, forget about it. In the darkness, she was alone. Alone and sick and scared and confused.

Our Villain: He was irritated. He was tired of cooking for these fucking capitives (although pasta noodles and tinned sauce was scarcely a hardship) but still. He wanted this foolish project over with. He had been waiting for days for further instructions. Although in preparation, he had already taken the time to prepare the holes in the yard for a swift vertical burial (horizontal holes could get you caught. That was the kind of shit the Watch looked for). He walked down the stairs, plastic bowls of food and three water bottles in hand. He dropped the bowls through the tray slots created for this purpose, unconcerned if it spilled everywhere. The bottles of water fell afterwards, uncaring again as they tumbled across the floor.

Jadon looked at the food and up at their captor, “Hey, what’s in here...in this sauce?” His gaze moved from the food to Rory’s cell. He was already wondering if she’d be able to touch it without getting sick. His worry on her and not being able to help her if she had an allergic reaction. This guy clearly didn’t care.

Our Villain: “If you don’t want it. Starve.” He stated flatly. “Frankly you’ll be easier to bury if you lost some weight anyway.” He continued with a shrug as he finished ‘serving’ the meals to his captives. He would have left them down here to rot but the boss said ‘alive’ so alive they would be. For a while anyway.

Maybe it was what Kit had said about not having heard any news, but Jadon was already feeling defeated. The sense of doubt and despair kept him huddled in the corner of his cell, ignoring the slopped over meal. He’d already lost weight, didn’t expect to get out of this, and there was little fight in him to do much but pass his food along to one of the others.

Kit glared at what was trying to pass as food and then up at their kidnapper. He wasn’t surprised the guy wasn’t exactly sympathetic to any of their dietary needs. “Wow, thanks, Mom. Guess we know why you made a career out of shooting people and kidnapping instead of becoming a chef or some shit. Though, you’re not really a good shot either, are you? Remember? You missed and shot a librarian instead of a duchess? Remember that? Armand must really like how you suck his balls if he keeps you around.” He really felt he was channeling his inner Dean. He’d have to thank his friend later when they reunited.

A slight vibration travelled across the basement floor as a tray of food crashed down upon it, a vibration that mixed with the prior vibration of heavy booted footsteps was enough to alert Rory it was dinnertime. Slowly, she opened her eyes and glanced over to the tray of pasta and a questionable sauce that was splattered on the concrete of her cell. The mere blurry sight of it made her stomach lurch; though she knew she should at least try and eat something, even if it would lead her to feel sick again. The sick feeling was better than starvation; and despite the fog in her mind, she knew the importance of trying to keep her strength up right now. But she still hesitated, her eyes lingering on the tray for a long moment as she contemplated whether or not she could get up from her ratty cot without stumbling and falling over again.

Our Villain: He had ignored the girl completely now. She had been a good choice - she didn’t say anything or make any sort of fuss. He might actually sell her in another country rather than kill her. Someone was bound to enjoy a girl who didn’t speak. Then the pretty little bitch-boy was yapping again. “Listen here you little piece of shit. I’d be fucking delighted to use your corpse for target practice …. After I fuck your …..” Then he stopped. Was that a car? What the fuck? He turned and raced up the stairs. No one should be on this road, even by accident.

Aramis nervously wrung his hands together as the security team rolled toward the building they were sure Kit was being held. Well, Kit and the other captives - they’d discovered that he wasn’t the only victim of this crime.

His stomach was so twisted that it hurt. Aramis’s worst fear came true - Kit had gotten hurt because of his past. Even more people had gotten hurt. But now that Katarin knew the truth, the full truth, he knew he’d soon get what he deserved. Kit just had to be okay first.

When the van parked, Aramis was the first one out, though he was roughly grabbed by a member of the security team.

“Look, you’re here only because Duchess Katarin allows you to be. If you get in our way, you will be left here in the van. Do you understand?” the other man said gruffly. The urge to punch the other dominant was strong, but Aramis relented.

“Fine. Just... how the fuck do we get in?” he asked, impatient. If their intel was correct, Kit was just inside. All Aramis could think about was the possibility that his boyfriend was hurt and it killed him inside.

“You need to wait by the van, let us do a perimeter check and see if we can get any details on the building. Stay put. If you go in headstrong, you could jeapordize the mission and put the hostages in harm’s way. Including your boyfriend.” The other man gave Aramis a stern look and bumped his shoulder as he walked away, indicating that he wasn’t up for any kind of argument.

To his credit, Aramis did do as he was told and stayed put by the van, though he swore he was pacing through the asphalt as he waited anxiously. Every minute they spent talking felt like a minute wasted. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s hurt and I can’t get to him?

“Aramis, we have a plan.”

He all but bolted in the direction of the security lead, ready to hear exactly what the plan entailed.

“We need you to go in first to locate the kidnapper. We’ll have two people on the roof working their way down, and we’ll also have four people behind you as backup. We don’t know exactly where the hostages are located, nor do we know how we’re contained. Your job is to lure this prick out until we can safely detain him. Got it?” The security lead finished, giving Aramis a serious look. The plan was risky for him, but there was no way he would say no. Whatever it took to get Kit back safely, he’d do.

“I can do this. Just let me know when we’re ready,” Aramis replied confidently, looking over at the building.

“Five minutes while we get into position. I’ll let you know when to go in.”

Aramis was already heading toward the front of the building, though he did pause and wait for the signal before stepping inside. He wasted no time trying to draw out the kidnapper.

“Hey, you son of a bitch! We’ve got unfinished business,” Aramis hollered into the hall, stepping inside. “Where the fuck is Kit?” He walked further inside, his voice raising. “Where is Kit?!”

Jadon had been about to give Kit a look for his comments about the food, about to tell their kidnapper to fuck off himself when he started popping off again, but he’d lacked the energy and as soon as his mouth bobbed open the guy was running off. His steely blue eyes looked over at Kit and Rory, eyebrows knit together as if to say ‘what the hell was that’ and then he swore he heard it, someone yelling.

A lot happened at once, and Kit struggled slightly to keep up. One second he was listening to a slew of threats coming from their captor. The rape threats had escalated to necrophilic threats, so that was new. But before the threat could be completed, the man was running up the stairs, seemingly alarmed. Kit perked up, listening closely. Then there was yelling. Aramis. Both fear and relief filled him. They’d been found, but Aramis was here. Aramis was in danger now too. He got up so fast, he was nearly lightheaded as he gripped the bars of the door keeping him contained, shaking it, trying to make as much noise as he could. “Aramis!” he screamed as loud as he could. “We’re downstairs! Aramis!” He didn’t even know if Aramis could hear him. He was shaking as he gripped the bars, definitely feeling a bit weak from days of being kept literally in the dark.

Being in the cell closest to the door Jadon panicked, “Kit, are you sure?” He ran his fingers through his hair, still tucked against the wall in the back of his cell. “What if it’s just more of his people… a boss or something?”

Kit didn’t even spare a look for Jadon. He kept shaking his door, as if it would do anything to free him so he could get to Aramis. “I know my boyfriend’s voice. It’s him. I told you he’d figure it out,” he said. He’d been right. Now they had to get out safely and they could go home. “Aramis!” he shouted again, his dry throat feeling raw.

Jadon nodded, pulling himself up and moving to the front of his cell, joining cacophony of screaming and rattling in the basement. His eyes darted between the door and the others, still not daring to hope they all just weren’t hallucinating. Picking up the water bottle he splashed water over at Rory and signed ‘people’ and pointed to the door before going back to shouting and shaking his cell door.

As water was splashed on her from the direction of Jadon’s cell, Rory glanced up in confusion, her eyes squinting in the darkness in order to make out what it was Jadon had signed to her. ‘People’? That didn’t seem right. Why would he be signing ‘people’? Her eyes then darted to where Jadon had pointed towards the door; and she watched him begin to shake his cell’s door. And then she noticed it seemed as if Kit was doing the same, shaking his cell’s door as well. Now she was even more confused as to what was going on; but at least she had an answer to what was causing the new set of vibrations she’d started feeling.

When the shouting began, Aramis lost sight of the mission. His goal had been to draw the kidnapper out, but now he just needed to find Kit. He was fairly sure he’d pinpointed his boyfriend’s voice. There was also a good chance he was hallucinating; he’d barely slept since Kit was taken.

“KIT?!” Aramis cried out, heading in the direction of the voices. “KIT?! Baby, where are you!?” He began jogging through the building, trying to find anyway he could to get to a basement. “KIT. I’M HERE. I’M GOING TO FIND YOU.” He wasn’t sure how well his boyfriend could hear, but he was going to keep trying.

“ARAMIS!” Kit shouted as loud as he could, shaking the door to his cell. “The door in the garage! The door in the garage!!!” He knew it was Aramis, even if the voice was muffled by the distance between them, the walls and floors keeping them separated. He’d managed to mostly keep his cool, experiencing his anxiety in his own body without showing it. But now, he felt like his whole body was shaking, his throat tight with it. Everything was about to come to a head, surely, if Aramis was here, and he was terrified, but he was also so close to going home.

Aramis stood still, panicked as he tried to make out the words shouted at him. No doubt it was Kit. He was so close.

Garage. He could easily make out the word garage. Aramis began running through the place as fast as his feet could carry him, hanging onto that word. Garage. Garage. Garage.

When he finally found it, he spent no time checking any surroundings. His eyes zeroed in on a door beside the entry - no doubt the way down to the basement.

Aramis checked the door, but it was, of course, locked. However, the whole thing was only a flimsy piece of plywood. He could break through. Determined, Aramis heaved his shoulder against the door, already hearing the material creak under his effort. Deciding a kick might work better, he stood back, putting everything he had into it.

The door splintered. Growling, Aramis kicked it again. And again. And again. And finally, it busted open.

Whatever the plan was with the security team, it was now long forgotten. It didn’t cross his mind that Armand’s man could be down there, or there could be any series of traps waiting for him; all he knew was that he had to get to Kit. Quickly, he made his way down the stairs, suddenly terrified of what he might find.

When he finally got sight of his boyfriend, his knees nearly buckled; Kit was alive. Probably not well, but alive.

“Fuck, are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not okay - but did that motherfucker hurt you? Are you hurt?” Aramis asked, panicked as he made a beeline straight to the cage. He reached through to grasp Kit’s hand, as if the other man might not be real.

The joint fear and relief hit Kit again when his bleary eyes caught sight of Aramis, elated, even as his heart dropped at the thought of Aramis being in danger with them. Kit was sure he looked like a mess when Aramis saw him. Bags under his eyes, hands shaking as they gripped Aramis’s, and tears just looming in his lashes because even in this state, he refused to let himself become a sniveling mess in front of the others, in front of their captor, should he reappear. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to control his now hoarse, shaky voice. “You have to be careful. He’s still in the house I think.” He didn’t want Aramis to get hurt. “I don’t know where he keeps the keys. Are there others here with you? You’re not alone, right?” His eyes pleaded, hoping Aramis hadn’t done something as stupid as coming here alone.

Aramis moved close to the bars, wishing he could rip them apart so he could hold his submissive in his arms. He took Kit’s hands and brought them to his mouth, gently kissing his knuckles; it was the best he could do for now.

“No, baby, I’m not alone,” Aramis promised, refusing to let go of the sub’s hands. “There’s a security team here sponsored by the houses. As soon as you didn’t come home, I knew something was wrong. I told Kat everything that night and she started working on a plan. I would’ve been here sooner, but we had to figure out where you were...”

He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from Kit’s long enough to survey the room. There were two others down there as well; Rory and Jadon. Aramis felt his stomach clench; more innocent people hurt because of him.

“Alright. I’m going to go back to the garage, see if there’s anything I can find to get this lock open. I’ll be just upstairs, baby, and I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you here.” He squeezed Kit’s hands, reluctant to let go.

As Aramis walked by Jadon called out and asked, “Who? Who else came?” He wondered if it was security or maybe his brother looking for him, finding a sliver of hope for the first time in days.

Aramis looked over at the other dominant and shook his head slightly. “I - I don’t know, really. All people I haven’t met before. I think one guy’s name is Mark? Marcus? Marco? Look - point is there’s other people here and they’re supposed to be right behind me...” Though he was beginning to wonder what exactly was taking so long.

Jadon just nodded in return, trying not to be defeated. “What can we do while we wait?”

Our Villain: He had made it to the grounds and he was tempted to bolt for it but damned if he would let these fuckers off. That pretty little bitch in the basement needed two between the eyes so fucking badly that he could taste it. He circled around and saw a lone woman sitting in the vehicle. He narrowed his eyes and considered his options for a moment. Patting his pocket he realized the fucking keys were sitting on the kitchen counter. Fuck! What the hell did he do? All right, that settled it. He’d grab the little bitch in the car as a hostage and get out of here.

Liana had picked her fingers raw while she waited, trying her best to be patient. Each second felt like a lifetime when she thought about Jadon and the others, whoever they were, in that building. She rolled the window of the car down a bit in an attempt to get herself some air and to maybe hear if any progress was being made. She hoped she heard something good, soon, rather than something terrible she couldn’t let herself imagine.

Julia felt like her heart was in her throat from the moment she'd been asked to go along with the others. She'd known something was wrong for weeks- Jadon had stood her up, not returned her calls or texts, Rory hadn't been seen.... She felt guilty for coming to worse conclusions til now, but now that she knew they could be in very real danger, she was pushing her own thoughts and emotions aside, just wanting to help. But now this, just laying down in a car...it wasn't helping. She looked over to the other woman in the car with her and let out a breath, shaking her head as she sat up. "I can't just sit here anymore." she announced as she moved, grabbing the handle and climbing out of the car, none the wiser to anyone nearby watching them.

Our Villain: Shit shit shit … there were two of them. Two dumb bitches just sitting around. Getting their dumb cunts wet he bet while the men went off and tried to play hero. Grabbing one of them would be stupid now since he couldn’t safely control two of them while he drove. Circling to the side, he tried to get out of eye-shot. He knew these grounds well. It had been a safehouse of his for years. These fuckers being here meant they would also inconveniently find the graveyard and the predug holes in the copse of trees behind the house. Dumb shits. He debated re-entering the house but those bastards that Aramis had brought with him looked like they knew what they were about. Pulling a knife from his boot, he dug it into one tire and then the other. He just needed the dumb broads to get back out and head toward the house. A couple of well-placed shots and one of them would be injured enough to scream for help and he could get in the remaining operational vehicle and get the fuck out of here. He was not going down for this - no way, no how. He did not deserve this betrayal. Fuckers…. His bosses needed to hear about Aramis turning on them.

Liana was doing her best to stay in the car per Cyrus’ orders, but when she felt the car jolt she knew something was wrong. Her adrenaline was at an all time high when she climbed from the vehicle, looking around and wondering if she could throw some lucky punches if anyone was near. If only she had her gardening tools… That was a silly thought, but she’d been much more comfortable with a pair of gardening scissors in her hand than nothing at all. She stayed close to the car, peeking around the back in an effort to figure out what was happening. When she saw the slashed tires she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise on end. “Julia- Run!” She wasn’t sure where they could run to, but she had to at least try to warn her. If they both ran maybe they could distract the bad guy long enough that he wouldn’t get either of them.

Aramis squeezed Kit’s hand for a final time before pulling himself away from the cage. “I’ll be right back, baby, I promise,” he assured the sub as he took steps back, forcing himself from the submissive. It was not easy for him to do, but he had to find something to get them out of the damn cages.

While reminding himself to work on cardio and not just strength training, Aramis flew back up the stairs and back out into the garage. He searched the area quickly, trying to find tools or even something to pick the lock with. Frustrated by finding nothing, he moved on back into the house, searching each room he came across for something to help.

Part of him was cognizant of the fact that Armand’s man was lurking somewhere around here and would no doubt kill him given the chance. But Aramis pushed that away for now; he had to focus on getting Kit out of that cage.

He was beginning to feel hopeless until he got to the kitchen. And there, sitting on the counter, was a ring of keys. “No fucking way it’s that easy...” Aramis muttered to himself, carefully looking around the room as if someone might pop out and shoot at the last second. Steeling himself, the dominant rushed forward and quickly grabbed the keys before heading straight back down to the basement.

Triumphantly, he held up the ring of keys to the three prisoners. “Now the fun part is figuring out which fucking key. Any of these look familiar?” Aramis asked, passing the keys through the bars.

Jadon spoke up immediately. He’d been in there long enough to know which key it was. He may have been uselessly silent in that cell but he’d been observant. Moving to the bars he looked at the keys on the ring, for once glad that his eyes had adjusted well to the dark after years of nothing but night shifts. “Third one, real tarnished copper.”

“Be careful.” Kit felt his anxiety peak when Aramis had to step away from him, but he knew it was necessary. He listened closely, as if waiting to hear something terrible happen, sure that there would be some kind of run-in with their captor. Instead, thankfully, Aramis returned safely with a ring of keys, some relief filled Kit again. He reached through the bars for Aramis, not for the ring of keys. He opened his mouth to remark on the keys, but then Jadon spoke up with such certainty that Kit didn’t think he, himself, would be able to possess. There were many details he remembered from the day he was kidnapped. What the key that locked him in looked like was not one of them.

The second that Jadon’s cell was open he followed Aramis to Rory’s door. “Hey kiddo, let’s get home.” He clapped a hand to Aramis’ shoulder in thanks as he went into Rory’s cell and signed ‘home’, offering an arm to help her up. Despite his weight loss and the homeless filth of him, he’d always been in top shape, a daily runner, and with his adrenaline pumping his only focus was on Rory. Jadon was sure Aramis could help Kit.

Rory hadn’t opted to get up from her cot the entire time she watched the exchange between Aramis and Kit and Jadon. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to stand. But as she watched the door to her cell open and Jadon walk inside signing the word ‘home’, she knew it was time to get up. Like Jadon said, it was time to go home. A small smile began to spread upon her pale face for the first time in days? weeks? She really had no idea how long it had been. Slowly, she moved to a seated position, shutting her eyes momentarily as a wave of dizziness came over her. And once she opened her eyes again, they fell to the strong arm Jadon was offering out to her. She didn’t hesitate to reach out and take it, slowly making her way to her feet, wobbling as she found her balance. Home. She signed, glancing up at Jadon as her tired smile widened further, before leaning into his side for additional support.

Jadon did his best to support Rory’s small frame, tucking her to his side as they made their way to the stairs out of the basement. It was a slow and tired slog and as they made their way to the top he felt Rory needing more and more support, “C’mon, almost there.” His blue gaze fell to her face, full of concern as the sunlight stun his eyes. “Almost out, c’mon. You got this, kiddo.” With no idea where their kidnapper was or where these other people that Aramis had mentioned were, he took a risk. Adjusting Rory’s weight at his side as he squinted into the blinding sunlight. Throat dry from shouting in the cell, he called out for help, wondering if he should keep pressing on with Rory or if he should help her sit down against the wall of the building.

Rory continued to lean against Jadon as he began to lead her up the basement stairs and towards their hopeful freedom. She felt as if she was going to trip up the stairs with each step; but the feeling of a strong arm wrapping tighter around her frame helped to keep her as upright as possible. Her eyes trailed up to Jadon’s face; and she could’ve sworn she saw his lips moving. But she had no idea what he was saying. She couldn’t focus enough to lipread right now. All her focus was on not tripping up the stairs. And somehow, she managed to make it to the top. They somehow managed to make it outside, into the blinding light of day. She quickly shut her eyes and let out a soft groan of discomfort.

The second his cell door was opened, Kit wasted no time wrapping his arms around Aramis, hugging him tightly, doing his best to hold back tears. “I knew you would come. So stupid. Why did you come? You could get hurt...” He was so mad and so relieved at the same time. Taking one more second of comfort in Aramis’s arms, he pulled back. “We should make sure the other two are okay. They’ve been here longer than me, and Rory didn’t look so good.” Taking Aramis’s hand, he started after his dungeon companions, climbing up the stairs carefully. When they made it outside, the light blinded him, and he had to shield his eyes from the sun with his free hand, still holding tightly onto Aramis.

Aramis held onto Kit tight, almost afraid if he loosened his grip that the submissive would somehow slip away from him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the other man’s neck, taking comfort in his boyfriend’s warmth. He was back in his arms, he was alive, and though he looked worn, he was okay.

“I had to know you were okay,” Aramis admitted, pulling back slightly just so he could look at Kit’s face. He rested his forehead against the sub’s, sighing softly. “I didn’t trust anyone else to come get you.” It wasn’t like he had any special skills that the security team didn’t have; he was strong, but wasn’t the best fighter and had no medical knowledge. And yet. He still wouldn’t trust anyone else to get his boyfriend back.

Aramis fought the urge to pull Kit back into his arms when the sub moved away, but he knew they had to get out of there. The other prisoners needed help and somewhere in the house, the asshole was still wandering around. Reluctantly, he grasped his boyfriend’s hand and headed out from the dungeon with him, pulling him a little closer once they reached the top.

When Liana heard the call for help she immediately knew it was Jadon’s voice. There was no mistaking it. Her concern about the other woman and what was happening with the cars was pushed aside and she ran towards his voice. “Jadon? Jadon!” She ran until she saw him, somehow feeling both relieved and devastated all at once. He was alive and okay enough to walk, but he also looked horrible. Never in her life had she wanted to murder someone like she wanted to murder the person that had hurt him. She wasn’t to his side yet but she was close enough to call out “We’re here! Oh my god, you’re okay.” She wanted to sob and scream and cling to him, but knew that they weren’t out of the woods yet. That was what made her keep running in his direction.

It wasn’t until Jadon had heard a voice that he realized his heart was racing, ringing in his ears really. His eyes searched for the sound and saw nothing but stars in the bright light until she was closer, but still too far and he was too tired and weak holding Rory to close the gap. “Liana?” His head was fuzzy, confused as to what she would be doing there with Aramis. Then, behind her he caught sight of a too-familiar dark frame and he could have sworn his heart stopped, breath catching in his throat.

Our Villain: There we go. Okay … he needed to get fucking practical. Right fucking now. So what to do .. what to do. He needed his keys and some essentials from inside the house. Which meant he needed a distraction. He rose to his feet and reached for the closest brunette and hauled her back against him as he raised his gun and pointed at the pretty beefcake. “Guess I should make up for that wild shot earlier … huh?” He intoned with a snarl. He needed it to be slow because he needed them to think there was hope to save the dumb fucker. So as tempting as it was to hit him straight through that fucking pretty face, he put one shot in his abdomen and the other in his calf. Shoving the pretty blonde in his hands forward, causing her body to bounce off the vehicle in front of him, he ran for the side entrance to the house.

Liana was so close to Jadon she thought she could almost reach out and grab him, but then the ground shifted beneath her feet. Before she knew what was happening she was pulled against someone and she let out a yelp, trying to claw her way out of his grasp once she realized this wasn’t someone she knew. She struggled as hard as she could, determined to break free and to lash out at this horrid person. Then two shots rang out, stunning her for a moment before she screamed. Her voice didn’t sound natural to her ears, almost as if it wasn’t really her screaming. She was still in shock when she was shoved against the car, hitting her head hard enough that she felt it bounce off of the panelling. She laid on the ground for a long moment before she was able to manage to pull herself up and start stumbling towards Jadon. “No! No, oh god, no.”

The confusion about Liana’s presence, the sight of his captor behind her, the panic of her getting hurt before he could say a single thing about what he’d thought a million times over in that cell… it all melted away with two ringing sounds and the hot pain searing through his body. In an attempt to keep Rory safe the second he’d seen the bastard, Jadon had put himself in front of her, but the action had made them both unsteady. The pain, at first, seemed like he’d moved too fast and hurt his old tired frame. The falling, at first, seemed like Rory collapsing and taking him down with her. At first. Then he heard Liana screaming, his gaze moving down in confusion to see the blood pooling steadily warm down his dingy clothes. Jadon pressed his palm to the first wound, unaware of the one to his leg as he pushed his other hand toward Rory. “Go. Go, run. Don’t look. Run, please.” His vision blurred, this time with the sting of tears. As he laid on the ground his head rolled back over toward Liana, head thumping, everything somehow unbearably loud and yet muffled. It seemed like too much of an effort to speak, to try and see if Rory had run, if Liana was okay. The truth was he couldn’t bear the thought that the second bang had been for her, couldn’t open his eyes and see her dead. All of this time, repetitiously playing every turn from the ride to this place in his head like he could escape and get home, every little mental speech, hours of time had gone by and he’d realized he was holding out more hope than he’d realized. Now it all felt like too much for Jadon, his hand slipped from the wound, his blood soaked clothes no damper for it and he felt the last ounce of will go with it.

Rory felt a shift in how Jadon was supporting her; and she hesitantly opened her eyes. Her first thought was that their captor had learned of their escape and caught up with them; and her first thought unfortunately happened to be correct. The next thing she knew, it seemed as if Jadon lost his grip on her; and she stumbled forward, catching herself just enough not to face-plant. Once she caught her balance, her attention shifted towards Jadon; and her eyes went wide as she registered the words on his lips and the reason he’d lost his grip. He was bleeding. He’d been shot. She brought a shaky hand to her mouth as she stumbled backwards in shock, this time unable to catch herself as she bumped into the wall behind her, ultimately sinking down against it, her gaze never once leaving the sight of Jadon’s bloody body. Her chest ached; and her heart felt as if it was beating a mile a minute. The ground and wall felt as if they were swaying beneath her as black spots began to dance across her already blurred vision. But how she felt was the last thing on her mind. All she could think about right now was that she couldn’t lose Jadon. The two of them had been through so much together during their time in that basement; and he’d become quite important to her. He couldn’t die. She needed him to be okay. One of them had to be okay.

The sound of two gunshots came just as Kit’s eyes adjusted to the light outside. Sight bleary, he saw Jadon go down, Rory with him as he’d been supporting her, and their captor running. And he was pissed. He remembered screaming at trees with Elle, and right now he would scream at them that he’d been afraid for too long because of this man, because of Armand. Before he could think, he’d let go of Aramis’s hand, sprinting as fast as he could towards the man. He’d always been one of the faster members of his soccer team, and with his body full of adrenaline, he intercepted this villain of theirs, throwing himself at the man and tackling him to the ground. Kit scrambled to get the gun away from the man, not so he could shoot him, but so that he could safely wail on him without getting his brains blown out. “What the fuck is wrong with you, shooting innocent people? Haven’t...” Punch to the left jaw. “...you...” Whack. “...done...” Bam. “...enough to us?”

Our Villain: He liked to think he was prepared but honestly the pretty little subby boy coming at him full body was unexpected. He hit the gravel of the driveway so hard it briefly knocked the air from his lungs and left him momentarily stunned. He spun in the younger man’s grip and nailed him in the abdomen with one fist, as hard as he could before aiming a little lower with the second blow. His head felt like it was reeling but fight adrenaline was now coursing. He was a dirty fighter, always had been, and wasn’t holding back. Still, Kit’s fists were catching him hard.

At the sound of gunshots firing, Aramis ducked and tried to yank Kit down with him. But his boyfriend had other plans. In a flash, the sub was sprinting away, heading straight toward the son of bitch who’d caused so much turmoil.

“KIT!” Aramis screamed, taking off behind his boyfriend. Kit often complained about him taking too many risks with his own life and now look - the sub was running headfirst into a killer.

He was slower than Kit and by the time he’d gotten to his boyfriend’s side, the two had already been exchanging blows. He put his hands under the sub’s arms and drug him off the son of a bitch on the ground, then moved between them. “We’ve got to talk about your decision making,” Aramis replied, exasperated. The talk would have to wait until later.

Aramis leaned down to the asshole laid out on the ground and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “You never should’ve touched him you fucking prick,” he growled. “What did you think I was going to do? Let you and Armand take him?”

Kit grunted when he felt the blows to his abdomen, and was about to go for another hit when he felt someone yanking him up by the arms, causing him initially to fight this person too until he realized who it was. Aramis. “My decision making?! He shot Jadon! He shot Adelaide!” As if that explained his actions. He kicked at the man on the ground before Aramis placed himself between them. Kit reached out for Aramis’s arm, trying to pull him back too. Aramis, frankly, was a fair bit stronger than Kit, so not as easy to move. “I told you,” he said to his captor. “I told you I was going to be your mistake. And you laughed.” Kit stayed close to Aramis, hand still on his arm. They could surely distract this guy until the security team could take him away, right?

Liana’s head pounded, but that pain seemed dull compared to what she found when she reached Jadon. She grabbed for him, desperately wishing she could have stopped what happened. What if she had fought harder? What if she had fought less? Could she have stopped it somehow? “No- No Jadon. You don’t get to die. Don’t- I need you here. Please.” Tears streamed down her face and she reached for the wound on his abdomen, trying to stop the blood. Then she remembered that Julia was there in part because of her skills in the medical field. “Help! Please help!” She screamed the words, hoping that some higher power might hear and take pity on them.

Julie didn't really know what would happen, but she absolutely didn't expect this --Liana being yanked away just feet in front of her, and then seeing Jadon shot twice and her screams mixed in the air with those of others. Everything kind of blurred after that. She ran without thinking much of it, falling to the ground so hard and fast beside him that she scraped the skin of her bare knees- but the sting of broken skin was nothing compared to everything else. Liana screaming at her as well kind of blurred into the background as she looked at the blood pooling out of the man with whom she'd grown close to and she swallowed hard, hands shaking as she moved her fingers to immediately press down against his abdomen. "J-Jadon, come on Don't. You...--fight." she practically whimpered, hating how his blood oozed out between her fingers and she swallowed hard, trying to focus. "Focus okay? Please?" She asked before she looked to Liana, "His leg. Help me take his shirt off or...or something. We need to rip half for his stomach, half for his leg. Now!"

Liana knew they had to stop the bleeding somehow, so when Julia started giving her instructions she didn’t hesitate. She pulled her overshirt off since she had a tank top on underneath and ripped it in half as best as she could manage before handing over one half to Julia and using the other half to tie around his leg. She placed it above the gunshot and tied, wincing at how hard she knotted it. “Like that?”

Julia was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get the sight of Jadon’s blood staining her hands out of her mind anytime soon, but she tried her best not to think about it and she glanced back, seeing just how tight the material was nodded. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Good. Perfect. I left my bag in the car….it has some emergency stuff. It..” she swallowed, taking the material offered to hold it tightly down against his abdomen, “It can help til we get him to a hospital.” With one hand pressing hard to his side, she used the other to reach up, gently jostling his face, keep him awake, “Hey. Jadon, open your eyes, look at me. Come on. Please.”

Everything after she stumbled back and slid down the wall was a complete blur for Rory. She struggled to register anything that was happening around her. The pain in her chest begun to intensify, almost to the point she felt like it was getting harder to breathe thanks to how her heart was racing. And the black spots dancing across her vision were growing bigger and bigger as she fought, and ultimately failed, to stay awake. She thought she felt someone trip over her outstretched legs; but as she was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness at that point, she had no idea if she’d simply imagined it.

Our Villain: He was still trying to throw punches, lost in a heat of rage when the subject to them (who was giving back as well) was pulled off. Dragging in deep breaths, he managed to stumble to his feet. That’s it. He needed to get the fuck out of here. No more pussy-footing around. He stumbled past the group and broke into a run. Blood dripped into his eyes but he knew the property well. He knew where he was going. At least he thought he did. Then he was on the ground again. Glancing back, he noted little miss complaint on the ground. Had the little bitch tripped him? Fucking hell. He had no further thoughts about her though as he was suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun. His gaze flicked up and straight into the eyes of a professional. Fuck. Mercenaries. Like recognized like and he slumped to the ground again. Fuck.

When Liana heard Julia’s words she nodded and looked around, yelling when she saw a member of the security team running towards them. She told him where to find the bag full of the supplies and then turned back to Jadon. She was so close to having him back and the thought that he could still be taken from her infuriated her. Even if he changed his mind about her after all he went through, she needed him to be around and alive. She would rather see him well and move on from her than the alternative. In her mind she bargained with whatever gods might be listening, begging them to let him live. She would do anything if they would just let him live. “Please… Please Jadon? I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please.” She could stop herself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a quick, maybe selfish, move but she needed him to know she was there for him.

Following the sound of gunshots, the security team quickly made their way to the sound.

Marco took the lead, arriving to the scene just in time to shove the barrel of his gun into the kidnapper’s face, forcing him to stay down on the ground. The traitor and Kit were just behind him, clinging to each other as if one of them would be stolen away again.

Two other members of his team began to assist Jadon who lay injured on the ground, practically having to peel the submissive Liana away from him to get him help. His team saw that Rory was cared for as well and taken immediately to a hospital right behind Jadon. Julia flitted between patients, trying to stem Jadon’s bleeding while also tending to the weak and woozy submissive. Christ, this fucker had done a number to these people.

“Alright, you son of a bitch,” Marco started, nodding for another member of his team to cuff the kidnapper. His gun stayed trained on the man on the ground; no way this asshole would be getting away after all of the trouble he’d caused. “How about I lock you up in my dungeon, find out a little more about you, yeah?”

Once the kidnapper was cuffed and hauled to his feet, Marco put his gun away and began leading him away to one of the vans. There were some questions Kat and the other heads of houses would have for him, and after that, Marco already knew he had carte blanche over this shithead’s fate. He’d definitely be getting a taste of his own medicine.

#tw violence #blood tw #abduction tw #gun tw #abuse tw

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