Tumgik
#other than that this niche genre just makes me want to slam my head against a wall
youwontlikethisblog · 8 months
Text
Just Aiden- An Introduction
Hi!
I've been hesitant to make a post about the book because I'm so scared I'll do it wrong. You know, I read all these post about how to have a social media presence as a writer and how you have to have this niche and blah blah blah, and I think to myself "What is my niche? How will I make these post to promote my writing and engage future readers?" and the reality is I often feel like my goals don't align with others so I fear making a fool out of myself but I'm currently re-writing Just Aiden, yes, the book I thought I was done writing and sent out to an editor/agent who ghosted me when I wasn't liking the book cover ideas they had sent me, amazing, right?
Truth be told, after about a year of being away from that "Would've been final version" edit, I'm so glad the editor ghosted me lol. It wasn't all that great. I focused too much on the character rather than the story itself and while my writing style is heavily character based, characters still have stories to tell.
I had a lot of reflecting on my writing and realizations of what I want as a writer during that year break that I feel more confident in my ability to write, judge, and know when to stop and all though I think I'll never be satisfied with the end result as I am so detail oriented, I can be content with whatever version I finally decide to publish.
Just Aiden is the story of a girl who didn't have the best upbringing and I know a lot of us are tired of reading stories about wounded and traumatized main characters and would really rather read a book of someone who has always seemingly not dealt with trauma; I wanted to have a go at the traumatized main character.
Has it been fun? Yes and No. Sometimes I wish I had a brick wall in front of me so I could slam my head against it.
Aiden Kyles was born out of my disdain of Main Characters with pale skin, auburn/blonde/bright red haired girls that burn at just the whisper of the sun, who are beautiful and skinny and don't know it, yet have every guy fawning over them. Of guys who are abusive, assault, and even at times r*pe the MC is an act of jealousy and show her just how much they love them because love makes them act crazy and being told that's okay because he cried and apologized and how secretly MC liked it.
Did I mention I have an infinite disdain and hatred filled relationship with this formula in writing?
God! The amount of books I read as a teen with characters just as those two mentioned above were too much! So many different authors, universes, names, cities, and characters and each single one was exactly the same. No matter the Genre I was reading, The MC was beautiful and she didn't know it, hell even if she was strong and fierce, she didn't know it, and even if she was confident and knew her worth, she still didn't know it. Always being told she was kind, selfless, warm, and special and yet all her actions always painted her in this selfish arrogant way while I was being force fed the idea she wasn't that at all.
My Aiden is confident, she knows how beautiful she is that it's as if her own beauty was a separate character. She's sharp and witty, manipulative, mean, arrogant, really only thinks about messing with people out of boredom and doesn't care for anyone but her best friend, who follows the classic Female Main Character formula, Roxanna.
Their duo works as an Anti-Hero and Hero type of friendship. You know, like Armando and Calderon type of beat, except instead of Betty and Armando telling the story it's Calderon telling it.
If you want to know more about this world I've created, stick along. I'll try to make updates about it at least once a week!
'Til next time :)
2 notes · View notes
luminescentauthor · 3 years
Text
i’m not sure there is anything i hate more in the realm reading/writing/literature/movies than cookie cutter YA dystopia romances and cookie cutter YA werewolf and/or vampire romances
especially when there’s a love triangle
4 notes · View notes
folkloreguk · 3 years
Text
French Class [2]
A/N: I hope you all enjoy this part! I’m excited to put out more parts soon!
genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, oral (f receiving), car sex, dirty talk, college!au, nerd!reader, fuckboy!bias
words: 4.4 k
✽series masterlist✽
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez
“And then he asked me if I would wear his tie around my neck while he- Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you there?” Your roommate, Chohee, waved her hand in front of your face from across the table. You had occupied the seats in the back of the Chinese restaurant, in a niche where you were mostly hidden from other customers. Turns out, for all the spicy stories she had in store – as always – that had been a great idea.
“I swear your thoughts have been all over the place lately. Are you sure you have nothing to talk about?” She twirled a strand of her dyed pink hair around her fingers while she mustered you suspiciously.
“I’m sorry, I zoned out. It’s nothing, I’m just tired. I’ve been studying day and night. Looks like you’re the only one with the stories today. Just start again from the part where he got the whipped cream from the fridge,” you said.
“We went over that part five minutes ago! Have you paid any attention?” Chohee shook her head with a grin. Then she began her bedroom-adventure story from the beginning, because she knew as well as you, she loved talking about it.
Truth was, you had one hell of a story to tell. And no, you had not been paying attention. Not because you were tired. Not because you had studying on your mind. But because one hundred percent of your focus was currently directed at the boy only a few tables from yours. You only saw the back of his head, but there was no doubt about his identity. The mop of hair was unmistakable. Plus, he was in his famous black leather jacket. There was no mistaking this piece of clothing. It was decorated with white splatters of acrylic paint and had his name written messily across the top of his back. You could just about make out the tips of the letters as he leaned back comfortably, legs spread on his chair, chatting to his friend.
Chohee had no idea about the grip the person behind her had on you. She was your closest friend, and yet you hadn’t broken the news to her: You were hooking up (and not just once) with the so-called “hottest guy on campus”. AT least those had been her words when she had first told you about him. Lately you had to admit, you were starting to agree. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep secrets from her. In fact, on many occasions you had almost crumbled and told her the full story. Had she not been such a chatterbox, and did she not love gossiping as much as she did, you swore she would already know about your little arrangement with him.
She was aware of this much: You and him were casual friends. Study buddies, one would say. You had subtly passed over the little details of your friendship. How grocery store visits sometimes turned into visits to his dorm because of a simple text of his, or how you had sneaked out on more than one occasion in the middle of the night because he had told you his dormmates weren’t home. It wasn’t weird to Chohee that you brushed over the particularities of your “one-night-stands” when you returned in the mornings. You had never been as big on sharing as she was.
Maybe you wanted to keep things to yourself out of fear what people would say, too. You couldn’t care less whether people knew you were sleeping around. But everyone knew him, or so it seemed. Girls wanted him. Boys wanted to be him. All you desired was his friendship and some fun. You had no interest in being known on campus or having people you’ve never met giving you the side-eye over having sex with an oh-so-special boy. One day you would tell Chohee all about it. You weren’t technically lying. Just not sharing the entire story.
“Remember how I said H/N was the hottest guy ever?” Chohee suddenly said. The sound of his name made your head snap back to reality.
“Oh, now you’re listening, I see. All it takes is for me to mention your new bestie,” she teased. “You shouldn’t get too attached to him. I have a feeling that girls are interchangeable to him, either way. Anyway, I’ve decided I find his friend Korain much more attractive, since I’ve been hooking up with him.”
Would it be weird to correct her? To promise her, when you had more time and weren’t so distracted, you would lay the truth on her? He isn’t like that at all, you wanted to say. Yes, he liked female attention. But that didn’t make him a bad guy. Would it sound crazed to explain how he knew how you took your coffee, and how he sent you pictures of your favorite animals before your exams to take some of the nerves away? Or how he reported that it took him exactly 1,012 steps to get to your dorm from his place? Multiple times you had tried to count the distance yourself, but you never seemed to have enough focus to make it. Something always caught you off guard. You had doubted his credibility, but he swore he wasn’t bluffing.
Speaking of his friend Korain – who was at this very Chinese restaurant with H/N – he was suddenly making eye contact with you. Before you could slide lower into your seat like a frightened animal, he had grinned at you. Oh no. Prompted by his friend’s smile in your direction, H/N now turned his head. You were thankful Chohee was still deep in her explanation on why she had changed her opinions on the two very boys only a few tables away. If only she knew.
H/N’s eyes caught yours and a smirk plastered on his face. You assumed the tiny smile you sent him would do, but no. The two young men had collected their things and were getting ready to leave. The exit was the opposite direction, and yet H/N took the long way there. His stride was that of a model as he approached your table.
“Y/N,” he said, voice sweet like sugar candy and his smile charming like famous artwork. “You wanna hang at the library later?”
Chohee was now eyeing him as if she was your bodyguard and he was an obsessed fan who had crossed into your personal space. All you could think of was how you wanted him as your dessert. Now. But you had an exam coming up in a few days. So, his invitation fit just right.
“I’ll be there.” You smiled politely. He gave you a raised eyebrow, but then nodded, said goodbye, spun around and followed his friend out of the restaurant. When you looked at Chohee, she was already giving you eyes that asked a billion questions at once. Fantastic. Now you’d have to explain that “hang at the library” was not some sort of codeword for sex, but you had – against all odds – convinced the local prince of fuckboys that studying wasn’t such an atrocious idea after all. But fate saved you before you could begin your clarification.
“Oh no! Where has the time gone? I have to get to my afternoon lecture!” Chohee exclaimed, quickly gathering her purse and jacket. “My professor will curse me if I’m late again!”
And with that, she scrambled up from the table. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy just because I have to go! I demand a good story when I get home!”
You knew she was just being dramatic, and should you decide to keep everything to yourself for another month, she wouldn’t be mad. And yet, the urge to tell her crept up on you as you watched her hurry out of the door while waving one last time. Your morning classes had been the only appointment in your calendar for the day. So, with nothing else to do, you fished for your phone to message him for a time to meet at the library.
~
“What were you being so weird for earlier?” he asked as he plopped down on the wooden chair across from you. His books slammed on the table, and you flinched a little. Boys.
“Thanks for reminding me why I chose to sit in the group project area today. Could you be any louder in a library?” you said. “And thank god we’re the only ones here.”
“Thanks for reminding me that you’re still great at avoiding questions,” he returned.
“I just didn’t want my friend to ask questions.”
“So you talked to me like a five year old would respond to their kindergarten teacher? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? The guy with the reputation?”
“No, I’m not. Wait? What? And what kind of reputation would that be, if I may ask? The you-only-sleep-with-a-girl-once-reputation?”
“You should know the nastiest rumors mostly prove to be false. I was thinking of something more delightful. Like a gives-the-best-head-on-campus-kind of reputation.”
You snorted. “And who is going to do the research to prove that?”
“Why don’t you look around and report back to me?” he smirked.
“No thanks. I’m already hooking up with a guy who’s more than a handful.”
He faked taking offence in your words with a theatrical gasp. “Is that so? The girl I’m hooking up with isn’t much better. Always asks to hang at the library like she doesn’t beg me to fuck her the second we get out of there.”
“Let me remind you that you were the one who suggested this place today,” you said. “I was ready to jump into your bed and you had to stall time like this.”
“Are you for real? What are we still doing here, then?” he asked, and you tilted your head with a suggestive grin that mirrored his.
15 minutes later:
“Who the fuck stores five umbrellas in their car?” You kicked another one off the backseat you were lying on. Your bra was exposed beneath your shirt which he had pushed up on your chest and was now attacking the exposed skin with hungry kisses.
“That’s what you get for not getting it on in the library,” he muttered against your skin without looking up.
“We’d be asking to get suspended from there by doing that,” you said. “And I cherish my library very much.”
He only made a snickering noise and shook his head before he went to take off his shirt – and promptly hit his head on the car roof. “Ow! This sucks. I can barely move.”
“That’s what you get for not waiting until we’re at your place,” you teased him with his own words. But judging by the prominent bulge in his pants, you supposed you didn’t want him driving anywhere. Not with naughty things on his mind, and with you next to him to only make him hornier. Your eyes fell on the dark purple spots on his abdomen, and you grinned.
“Wow. Someone must have worked hard to make that stomach even prettier,” you said.
“Yeah, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He bent down to your ear and his husky tone sent cold shivers up your spine. Of course, you knew. You were the one who bit and sucked the hickeys into his skin two days ago, after all. His hands palming your boobs through your bra drew out a desperate sigh from you.
“Let’s play a game. What do you say?” he asked.
“What kind of game would that be?” Your interest was roused. He was lost in thought for a moment, hands slowly running up and down your exposed legs. Luckily, you had opted for a skirt today. All he’d had to do was to push it up to your belly and get rid of your underwear after your short but very steamy make-out session on the backseat. The cool air on your exposed core was only magnifying your impatience.
“Whoever comes first, loses.” You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his idea, and he eyed you with indignation. “You don’t like it?”
“Everyone knows women take longer to orgasm than men do,” you said. “Are you trying to dig your own grave or what?”
“That’s why I’ll have a head start,” he announced. His hands circled the skin close to your core, creeping up your thighs slowly.
“And what’s the prize for winning?”
“The loser owes the winner a favor.”
“Too vague. I don’t trust you with that.”
“I don’t trust you, she says as she waits for me to fuck her in my car,” he mocked.
“I don’t trust your crazy ideas,” you clarified. “What about this? The winner pays for the loser’s next meal when we eat together.”
“Deal.” He slid his fingers over your pussy, and you crumbled into a whining mess within seconds. No matter how much your head denied it, he really was the best. He caught your clit between his digits and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment.
“Shit, you only turn me on more if you’re going to moan like that.” He lowered his head and spit on your center, and the laughter that had been bubbling in your throat died in an instant. His fingers rubbed your nub fast and spread his saliva – without doubt his attempt at tipping you closer to the edge before he had even begun to fuck you.
“Too bad you find me so hot,” you said, and let out a purposely dramatic whimper, followed by his name in your best fake-porn-voice. His smile had something wholesome, as if he was admiring his friend making silly jokes, but also a glint of playfulness. You knew had been a mask when he bit his lip and exhaled slowly. With ease, he slid his middle finger into you. As he curled it against your sweet spot, he bent down to suck on your clit and your back arched at the sudden pleasure.
“Too bad you’re going to lose,” he said, and then continued his antics. Had he continued this way for another few minutes, his words wouldn’t have been so far from the truth. But you had other plans.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” you asked. “That’s enough of your head start.”
“I only just tasted you. Why would it be called a head start, if you’re going to stop me two minutes into giving you head?” he asked and you would’ve slapped his shoulder, had he been close enough. Instead, you closed your eyes for a few seconds. He was the competitive one here, and you didn’t mind enjoying yourself for now. Sighing in temporary defeat, your head fell back onto the seat. The sun was shining its last rays through the car window. They caught in his curled eyelashes and on his skin, coloring him golden.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, arm snaking around your thigh. He held on to you, but it wasn’t as if you could have moved away from him. Your head was right by the car door. His lips around your clit paired with his finger steadily rubbing against your sweet spot inside of you made you feel like floating. His free hand touched your leg gently, caressing your skin as if he wasn’t also simultaneously pushing you to the urge to yell out his name in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, as if you needed to do so to keep him in place. But something in the back of your mind still had a desire for winning. Trying to collect the last bits of your dwindling sanity, you hatched a plan. Good on you – you knew just what rode him into madness.
“I- I need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, making sure to add an extra layer of tragedy to your voice. “Please, I want it so bad.”
He looked up at you, a dark glint in his eyes. Of course, he did. All was going according to plan. It wasn’t like you had known him all your life, but you were perfectly aware of one thing. He could never resist your dirty talking and begging.
“Please?” you bat your eyelashes ever so longingly at him.
“Is that so?” He was now straightening up. His black pupils were dilated, and he was looking at you with the expectation of a loyal puppy waiting for his treat. You grabbed the front hem of his pants and pulled him towards you. In a moment, you had unzipped the material for him.
“I want you to fuck me like you did the first time we met. At the party,” you said. “Do you ever think about it, too?”
“Fuck, of course I do,” he said. Faster than you could register, he was ripping a condom wrapper and sliding it onto his free length. His cock stood angry and hard against his stomach. Perhaps your dramatic words weren’t so far-fetched. You couldn’t wait for him.
“Then do it, please,” you said. “Right now, this pussy is all yours. Use it the way it should be used.”
He muttered a swear under his breath and you knew he was in the palm of your hand. His hot breath fanned your neck as he bent over you, cock aligned with your exposed core. For a moment his length slid through your wetness, and he groaned at the warmth that was about to engulf him.
“I’m so fucking wet,” you moaned. “And all for you.”
You would have been lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the exaggerated show you were putting on for him as much as he did. Although, you weren’t sure whether you were allowed to call it exaggeration, at all. Your walls clenched around nothing as the tip of his cock touched your juices and he eyed you like he could’ve eaten you up right then and there.
When he finally entered you, he instantly sighed. His eyes were shut tightly as he dealt with the impact of feeling you around his shaft. A small spark of triumph went through you. That was, until he pushed your legs up and snapped his hips against yours. A sharp, sudden burst of pleasure shot through you and the coil in your stomach tightened all at once. You suspected your plan was backfiring slightly. Your words not only appealed to him and his famished mind and body. They also got to your head, and there you were, barely able to contain yourself under a load of blind hunger.
“You want me to fuck you senseless, huh?” he asked. His words went straight to your core. Nonetheless, you had a goal to work towards and you weren’t set on giving up.
“Yes, oh my god,” you whimpered. “That’s all I’m asking for. Please, I know you can. You always fuck me so well.”
In response, he rammed his body into yours so abruptly, you gave off a noise of surprise and pleasure at the same time. He bent his upper body over yours to support himself. His hands lay flat on the seat on both sides of your head. His thrusts made your legs shake now and then, when his cock hit that one spot inside of you. It was causing you to see entire galaxies on the inside of your eyelids. When you blinked up at him, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. Darkness had always suit him better than the golden sunset, either way. The muscles in his arms flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment you called victory yours. But you couldn’t be sure for longer than a moment.
Because from one second to another he straightened up and slowed his thrusts. The gradualness had something equally as striking. He dragged his cock through your scarlet walls and his fingers found your clit. You drew out a ragged breath and cursed him for regaining the upper hand. Yet, you quickly abandoned the thought of defeat. When you allowed yourself to feel the pleasure, every last thought vanished at last. You moaned and whimpered helplessly. Without overthinking, you wrapped your hand around his wrist. He shot you a confused smirk.
“Too much, baby?” he said. “Think you won’t be able to handle it? A shame. It would really be too bad if you lost. You were doing so well up to now.”
You swallowed, hard. His patronizing voice tugged at your nerves and yet you loved when he spoke to you this way during sex. And he was aware of it – hence his knowing grin.
“Don’t stop moving,” you asked him to keep up his thrusts. “It’s not fair, otherwise.”
“Oh no. I would never dare break the rules,” he said.
He did as you said, and it only made things more mind-consuming for you. You were again reminded of the small tornado raging in the pit of your belly, threatening to consume you all over. It was only a matter of time. But what he could do, you could do better.
“Do you like fucking me in my skirt?” you taunted him, blinking ever so sweetly. Your eyes were dripping honey as you put on your most innocent gaze. “Am I pretty like this?”
“You’re the prettiest,” he muttered, biting his lip as if he was stopping a thousand moans from spilling out. “So. Fucking. Hot.”
“If I wear this skirt to class tomorrow, and you see me in the halls, will you think of this moment?” you asked. His fingers on your clit were shaky and moving unevenly. You might have been digging your own grave along with his. You didn’t care. Too many lectures you had wasted, barely able to concentrate because of the boy on top of you.
“Definitely. You weren’t wearing that earlier, at the restaurant,” he said. You wondered how many people had ever seen him this way – utterly breathless, all his cool vaporizing at once.
“Good observation,” you said, but you were struggling with your words as much as he was unable to keep calm. What was meant to sound lazy and seductive had morphed into a whimper and small sighs. “I wasn’t. I- I put it on just for you.”
He cursed again and abandoned all his remaining self-control. His grip on you was iron-tight and you clenched your fists. Oh, how you wished you could have buried your head into a pillow, or better even, the crook of a neck. Instead, you moaned his name almost soundlessly and searched for his dark eyes.
“Say my name again,” he demanded, like it was his last request on earth. So, you obeyed, only because you would have done anything for him right now, if it meant that he would keep fucking you that way.
“Oh my- my god,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop, fuck-“
“You look so hot right now, baby,” he groaned. “Shit- I could come just looking at you.”
“Then do it,” you said. Challengingly, you both smirked at each other. It lasted only the blink of an eye. You felt your insides twist before you could have prevented it. And all of a sudden, you crashed. Your intense orgasm erupted, and it took you several seconds to realize it, but then you heard it. His high-pitched moans, quiet and curse-stricken, could only mean one thing. You weren’t the only one, and therefore not the first to reach your high. A content smile spread on your face as his messy thrusts went on for a short while and you bathed in the remaining moments of bliss.
Silence set in as you both kept still to catch your breaths. You worried he would pin the loss on you, nonetheless, and inwardly braced yourself for his accusations. But to your surprise, he only laughed and collapsed on top of you. His breath tickled your neck slightly.
“We’ll be splitting the bill, I suppose?” he said. He straightened up to look you in the eyes playfully.
“Looks like it,” you said. You guessed his fighting spirit had been appeased and his energy had been spent on better things than arguing with you. You never minded it.
~
“Did you have a nice study session? Does the library lady assume you’re homeless and actually living there, yet?” Chohee teased as you entered your shared kitchen. She was typing on her phone but looked up when you only laughed.
“Is that a hickey?” she asked, and you knew you were done for. “What exactly is it you were studying? H/N’s body?”
“I guess I should tell you. Sooner or later, you’ll know,” you relented.
“Tell me what? Oh my god. Are you guys dating? Are you dating H/N?”
“No! You know I have no time for a boyfriend,” you said. “But…we’ve been hooking up.”
“Damn girl,” she said. “What do you have on him that he keeps coming back?”
“Excuse me? Am I really that boring of a company?”
“No. You’re the best company I could ever ask for, obviously,” she said, smiling at you. “But you remember his reputation. He sleeps with the same girl only once.”
“It’s just a stupid rumor,” you said. “Besides, we’re not just hooking up. He’s my friend. You already knew that.”
“Friend, huh?” Chohee asked. “Alright. So, you’re telling me he can hang out with you without trying to get it on?”
“He can, actually. And let me tell you, he’s cool. And pretty funny, too,” you said. She raised her eyebrows at you. “We’ve set some rules. We hook up, but also hang out as friends. Neither is allowed to be upset when the other turns down sex. We can both hook up with anyone else, still. No jealousy, no attachments. Just a good time.”
“Alright,” Chohee nodded. “If you’re so close, do you think you could introduce me to some of his friends sometime?”
You laughed, nodding. Chohee and H/N had quite some things in common, you realized then. Maybe that’s why you liked the two of them so much.
“Let’s see how long that lasts, then. Don’t wrap him too tightly around your finger, or he might trip and fall,” she winked. It was your turn to raise your eyebrow. Whatever she might have been insinuating – you had zero plans of making it reality. (Yet.)
490 notes · View notes
jincherie · 4 years
Text
potion 609 | pjm & ksj
Tumblr media
- COMMISSION -
✩ — pairing: seokjinx reader x jimin ✩ — genre: poly, magic au, roadtrip au, mutual pining, borderline crack, fluff, slight angst ✩ — words: 10.8k ✩ — rating: sfw ✩ — warnings: *sobbing* they’re so stupid man, they’re so stupid ✩ — notes: this took a bit longer than expected, if only because like everyone else in the world rn I’ve had a few unprecedented issues in my life pop up to deal with. I hope u all are well and if you’re not, that you get better soon. please enjoy this mess! <3
A four day roadtrip into the depths of the mountains with the two best friends you’ve recently realised you have feelings for is probably the last thing you need. It becomes a reality, though, when Seokjin and Jimin bring home a cursed doll that reacts with the potion you were making and lands you all cursed yourselves; both forced to say whatever comes to mind and bound to each other. Now stuck in close quarters with your two idiot best friends who for the life of them can not shut up for the foreseeable future while you venture to fix this, you’re beginning to doubt whether you or your heart can survive this trip in one piece.
masterlist | — posted; 24.03.2020
Tumblr media
“Oh my god… y/n. What have you done?”
You glare, hard, at the male standing dead in the middle of the room, currently in the midst of being accosted by two idiots you happen to call your best friends. If you hadn’t thought quick and chugged a silencing potion before frantically texting Namjoon, you have no doubt you’d be stuck in the same situation as them right now.
“Please, please, please help us!” Jimin is clutching your professor by the arms, shaking him like a madman. Some of the goo coating his soiled silken grey shirt flings onto your professor’s, and you watch him physically recoil. “I can’t live like this! Jin might be hot but he’s so incredibly stupid and if I have to listen to his unfiltered thoughts all day every day I’m going to lose my [quack]ing mind!”
As much as it pains you, you’re so stressed and exasperated right now that you can’t even laugh at the fact that your professor has spent all of two minutes in the room and already has cast one of his stupid censoring spells on the two of them.
“Excuse me?” Seokjin sounds, smacking Jimin on the arm. “You think I’m hot? Why don’t you tell me more often!! You know I like hearing it! You’re so stingy, honestly. No wonder y/n likes me more.”
At Seokjin’s unwitting confirmation of Jimin’s words, the shorter male turns a look of absolute plea to your professor, grip tightening. The man in his hold then turns to you, looking an odd cross between bewildered and annoyed. Before he says anything more, the two idiots continuing to bicker beyond him, a voice sounds from behind you.
“She can’t talk,” Namjoon supplies smoothly, stepping to your side and slinging his arm around your shoulder with a dimpled grin. “The potion seems to have had the opposite effect on her, oddly enough.”
You resist the urge to spin and pin the male with an impressed look at how smoothly he just pulled that out of his ass, especially after performing a strong silencing spell on you barely a minute ago.
“Well, these two can definitely talk,” your professor says, and the deadpan tone and expression coming from him, someone who is usually so mild mannered and sweet, almost makes you choke on your own spit. Even if you wanted to laugh, Namjoon’s silencing spells are no joke and you can’t let out even the slightest of chuckles.  “It seems that not only has the potion bound all those covered in its contents—the three of them—but these two in particular… It seems as though their filters are completely gone, and they’re just saying everything that comes to the top of their head. And I mean— everything.”
Namjoon makes a pitying sound, giving your professor an empathetic look. Meanwhile you are standing and contemplating whether it would be a better option to throw yourself off the nearest bridge rather than stay and deal with this mess. It’s tempting, you admit, but one thing stands in the way…
You look down, catching sight of the translucent, glowing cord of runes and sigils that winds around your wrist, trailing off in the direction of the bickering duo a few metres away. A wave of something like exasperation floods through you, tinged with hints of self-pity.
Of course one of the side effects of this stupid cursed mishap is that you physically cannot stray more than 3 metres from dumb and dumber over there. Like, at all. You’ve tried. It was a massive effort just to get them close enough to the doorway that you could go into the other room with Namjoon so he could give you a hit of magical shut-up juice.
“Please help us!” Jimin whines, louder than before. He is successful in capturing the attention of the entire room, and he stomps his foot. “Professor Lim, please! Have I not been the best student you could ever ask for? Helping in your shop and bringing you cursed items from across the globe?”
Once he starts, he doesn’t stop—which isn’t all that different from usual except this time it’s like you’ve twisted a tap on and the handle has then broken, leaving the pipe jetting out water with no way of cutting it off. You think you’re really going to go insane if you’re stuck with these two any longer.
“I can’t help you!” your professor bursts, tearing himself away from your friends’ pleading grips. “Look, I have no idea what on earth y/n was attempting to cook up in there that made it react with the cursed doll like that—”
I was EXPERIMENTING, you defend silently, thankfully unable to voice your thoughts.
“—but it’s out of my jurisdiction, boys. Judging from the runes on those bindings this is some high level magic, and kind of, uh… niche. I only know barely a handful of people that might be able to help.”
“Who?” Jimin and Seokjin demand at the same time, eyes wide with hope—for all of Seokjin’s rebuttals to Jimin’s earlier whining, he doesn’t seem too overjoyed at the prospect of being stuck with him for longer than necessary either.
At the question, your professor gives a somewhat sheepish laugh. “Uh, well… the closest is a witch I knew back in my university student days. She’s not that far geographically, but she lives at the top of one of the mountains in Dusk Dew Valley and the magic of the forest means you can’t zap in or out so… you’re gonna have to drive.”
“That’s not so bad,” Seokjin comments, at the same time that Jimin squints, suspicious.
“How long?”
Your professor clears his throat, averting his gaze—personally, you’re on the edge of your metaphorical seat. “Uh,” he begins awkwardly, like he wishes he didn’t have to say what he is going to next. “Probably about… four? …five days?”
Aside from the background sound of cursed goo sliding down the walls and plopping onto the floor in fat, glutinous globs, the room is silent. Your gaze goes from your wrist, to the ugly doll on the floor a few feet away (where it landed in the midst of the blast—they hadn’t gotten very far into the room before things went south) and then to Jimin and Seokjin, who have been your closest friends for the better part of your adult life and with whom normally you wouldn’t mind spending such an amount of time with.
Except, thing’s aren’t really as they are normally, and lately you’ve started noticing some feelings rising within you that are getting harder and harder to squash. You don’t think you can make it out of this in once piece, and a look to the side reveals Namjoon’s doubtful expression that tells you he thinks the same.
 [ DAY ONE ]
The trip, for the few hours you’ve been on it so far, has proved to be taxing in more ways than one. Case in point:
“Namjoon! Stop playing that hippy garbage and show us your mixtape! What are you, a coward?”
Next to you, you can sense Namjoon’s hands tighten on the wheel—you might have fought tooth and nail to get shotgun but he’d been coerced somewhat unwillingly into the driving seat. He has a provisional licence and still has some supervised driving hours to complete, so it was with a pout that he climbed in next to you earlier today and has been behind the wheel ever since.
The reason for the twitch that’s developed under his eye and the white tint of his knuckles as they grip the wheel lies in the seats behind you—Seokjin and Jimin have been running their mouths for the better part of the last few hours and don’t seem like they’re going to be shutting up anytime soon. To be fair, at the start they were just talking about normal things, but then one of them said something somewhat antagonistic about an hour and a half in and they haven’t stopped bickering since.
In the seat behind them, Jungkook and Taehyung – two friends who had somehow been roped into this abridged roadtrip— sit with looks of pure, unadulterated regret on their faces.
“This is my mixtape,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth, Seokjin shrinking back into his seat in response with a chastised look. It takes all of a split second for Jimin to snicker, no chance for sweet, sweet silence to bloom before they’re back to bickering once more. You almost give in to the urge to slam your head against the dash again. Almost.
“Why couldn’t they both have turned out like y/n?” you hear Jungkook question in something that must be his attempt at a whisper (yet that still reaches you at the front of the car). Taehyung sighs, like the weight of the world has suddenly rested itself on his shoulders and he now finds himself with the task of carrying it for the rest of eternity.
“They’re too stupid,” Taehyung answers, somewhat cryptically. By some show of mercy from up above, neither of the two idiots in question hear him insulting them.
You squint at Taehyung through the rear-view mirror, wondering if he’s onto you. He doesn’t seem like it, what with him now playing ‘I Spy’ with Jungkook and cheating with his magic, but then again you know Taehyung to be awfully perceptive when he needs to be. You’ll have to ask Namjoon to make sure he doesn’t blab to dumb and dumber behind you or you’ll never hear the end of it.
“You know what? This wouldn’t have happened if y/n didn’t pick you up like a stray dog in her second year!”
Ears alert at the sound of your name, you turn your head to nail the two with a suspicious look while Namjoon keeps his eyes pointedly to the front and on the road carving a path between thick rainforest greenery. Seokjin is sputtering at what Jimin just announced, eyes whipping between you and Jimin incredulously. He has the exact look on his face that a child does right before they tattle on their older sibling to their mother for being mean to them.
It really is like raising two kids though, honestly, you lament. You should see if you can get family benefits from the government.
“Excuse me? If anything, I picked you two up like strays. You should have seen her that first day she came up to me, all pleading with these puppy dog eyes, asking if I would be her mentor. She was so pitiful I couldn’t bear to say no.”
WHAT?! That’s not how that went! You glare at Seokjin for spewing mistruths, reaching for something to throw at him in the front cup holder. He has a look of regret on his face, like what he said was never meant to enter the air, but it’s out now and you’re gonna pelt something at him for it. It’s their fault they’re cursed to say whatever the hell comes to mind, anyway. It’s just unfortunate that 80% of the things that come to Seokjin’s mind happen to be things that shouldn’t be said out loud. You’d say the same for Jimin but his percentage is a little lower, more like 50-60%, so you’ll let him live for now.
“Oh my gods that is ENOUGH! Both of you shut up! Please! Or so help me Hecate I will turn this car around and dump you two on the side of the road to walk!”
Surprisingly, Namjoon’s reprimand works and the two males snap their mouths shut, eyes wide. You haven’t forgiven Seokjin for his sleight, so you make sure he sees you glaring before you turn back around. You can hear him gulp.
Before you met Seokjin in one of your classes at the academy, it had always been you and Jimin. The two of you grew up in the same gated community in the same cul-de-sac—you with your aunt, and him with his incredibly rich and highly esteemed parents. You always saw his parents before you ever saw him, and (somewhat unfairly) you judged from their stony expressions and default looks of disdain that he’d be just like them—cold, stuck up and probably someone who would bully you for not living in a home with actual parents. It was a bit of a sore spot for you back then.
To your complete and utter surprise, everything you assumed of him was turned on its head when he found you at the park one day, angry-crying in embarrassment due to the nasty fall you’d just had. Some other kids had dared you to do a trick on the swings that required some air magic, but you’re not very strong in that area. Yet, like the stupid, proud child you were, you attempted it anyway and ended up scraping your knees raw at the edge of the playground. Not wanting to get in trouble and terrified at the sight of blood, they’d fled and left you there gritting your teeth and trying not to wail in pain. You were in the middle of plotting your revenge on each and every one of them while pressing a hand to your knees when a voice had sounded from beside you and scared the living daylights out of you.
“Hey… are you okay?”
Honestly, he had been so sweet and kind that you didn’t even realise straight away that he was the same child that lived in the house across from yours. From the beginning you couldn’t stay strong against his big, puppy eyes, and you ended up letting him help when he offered. You always were a bit better with plants and herbs, trees flowering when you tickled them and dandelions dancing around you in glee as you passed through meadows on the way to school. That didn’t help much in the area of healing, though.
Jimin, you were surprised to learn, actually was quite adept at healing magic, despite his affinity being for water—or maybe that’s part of the reason why. He’d wiped the tears on your cheeks and pressed them to your knees with small, careful hands—they’d glowed before your eyes and a tingle and a tickle later, they were completely scuff free—smoother than they had been when you were a baby, you remember marvelling in awe.
That moment then, you’ve concluded many times, was the moment you first started to like Park Jimin.
All through high school, you liked him. Sometimes painfully so. Eventually, even without the nurturing and watering that comes with requited feelings, that bloomed into something a little too alike love. Right as you entered your undergraduate at the academy, you decided to do yourself a favour and attempted to squash that flower down, to rip it out of your heart. But alas, it was rooted too deep. You were helpless but to continue dealing with those feelings.
That is, until Seokjin came along.
You could say that he was your next infatuation, but it was a little more complicated than that at the time. The way that you came to like him… is a little different.
You might have developed your crush on Jimin instantly as a child, but with Seokjin the feelings built slowly within you for weeks as you sat with him in classes and began to hang out with him outside them. It was the kind of thing that you don’t realise until it smacks you suddenly in the face one day at the most inconvenient time—for you, you realised the feelings that had blossomed within you one afternoon at an ice cream parlour after watching Seokjin shove the entire dessert into his mouth on a dare, ending up looking like a chipmunk with crushed waffle cone threatening to escape the seal of his lips every time he laughed. It was gross as hell and you’d never been more stupidly attracted to him in your life.
Seokjin eventually was absorbed into your little friend circle, and that’s how it has been for the past two years. The two of them bicker often, but it’s usually playful and it’s just the type of dynamic they happened to fall into. You’re growing a little concerned now though, because it feels like these arguments are slowly getting more and more serious now that they don’t have the ability to exercise their filter.
Frowning to yourself in thought, you turn your gaze out the window and try not to think about it too hard. This roadtrip will be over before you know it! Surely!
— X—
 “JIMIN! YOU ALMOST SET MY PANTS ON FIRE! STOP, Y—OH my god you ACTUALLY DID! JIMIN!”
Chaos.
That’s what has overtaken your small little roadside camp. As it grew dark and Namjoon grew tired after driving all day, all of you had made the unanimous decision to stop for the night and set up camp. It was part of the reason Taehyung and Jungkook had agreed to come—they’re always down for an adventure and they’d never been into these mountains.
Yoongi and Hoseok, two other friends that ended up joining your troupe as an extension of Seokjin, had only agreed to come along because they are, in fact, huge plant nerds—and this forest is full of magical flora that Hoseok went absolutely starry-eyed at the mention of. They brought their own car and hence didn’t have to deal with the vexing nature of the journey in the company of Seokjin and Jimin, but they were quickly enlightened once you all stopped to set up camp.
Hoseok is the one that screamed, and considering the flames currently licking the dark material of his slacks, you think he’s well within his rights. A part of you is worried you’re about to be set alight as well, but the rest of you is catching up with what you just saw.
Jimin’s magical affinity, as you’ve known ever since you were kids, is for water. Seokjin’s, as you found out quickly after meeting him in college because he likes to show off, is for heat, and combustion. Put plainly, his affinity is fire.
And yet, when Jimin went to magically pull the water out of Hoseok’s pants after Jungkook spilled the ramen pot on him, it hadn’t exactly gone as anyone expected. For one, Jimin’s hands had glowed pink instead of blue, and instead of seeing water seep out of Hoseok’s pant leg, the entire camp watched as a spark formed from Jimin’s fingertips and went flying towards it.
Long story short; Hoseok’s pants are now on fire and Jimin is freaking out.
The campers that aren’t currently affected (read: everyone but Hoseok and Jimin) are instead almost wetting themselves in laughter at the situation.
“If this is a joke it isn’t funny!” Jimin exclaims, waving his hand in the air. You don’t know whether to focus on him or on Hoseok leaping out of his pants behind him and throwing them on the ground to stomp the flames out. Both are funny, especially when Jimin’s frantic waving doesn’t conjure water as he desired but instead more sparks.
“JIMIN NO!”
The rest of the camp pauses their laughter and scrambles in alarm to dodge the sparks falling, diving out of chairs and rolling out of the way in their desperation—well, everyone but Seokjin, who is currently laughing so hard his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s rolling on the ground in a different way. You make a face of disdain—you could have chosen anyone in the world to befriend and subsequently fall in love with, and you chose these two? You’re a little disappointed in yourself.
“I can’t believe it!” Seokjin is howling, cradling his stomach as he curls on the ground. You wince at the leaves currently tangling in his hair. “Are you telling me you didn’t—didn’t know our powers swapped? Oh my gods, Jimin—”
Your gaze whips to the shorter male, who looks like the visual definition of both unimpressed and murderous. “Are you saying you knew? And you didn’t tell me! You ass—”
A sense of resignation settles within you as you anticipate another fight on the horizon. Their bickering has only worsened through the day, and at this point you’re not above physically gagging them. You brought spare socks, babey.
“Of course I knew! I sneezed in the bathroom earlier and had my ass suddenly embraced in cold water. Are you telling me you didn’t notice when we were drinking juice boxes before and the straws kept melting in your hands?”
Well, everything you’re hearing is news to you—you had no idea before this incident that their powers had been mixed up as well as everything else. They are masters of their own affinity, but have no experience whatsoever with the other’s, so you’re anticipating (regretfully) a lot more incidents like this.
At first Jimin’s face is contorted in something like sympathy and disgust, but that quickly shifts into embarrassment—the tips of his ears join his cheeks in flushing pink.
“No, I thought I was just sitting too close to the fire!” he retorts, pointing a finger at the older male. “I never use fire for anything, how was I supposed to know?!”
Seokjin opens his big mouth to fire something back, but is thankfully stopped in his tracks by Yoongi cramming a pizza slice in there. Seokjin immediately starts chewing like the action triggered some evolutionary reflex, like when you put a finger in a baby’s hand and they grip on instinct.
“Can you both shut up?” he grouches, only bold enough to send Jimin a glare since Seokjin is older than him; it doesn’t stop him from running his mouth at him, though. “I can and I will mix something up to knock you out. Hell, I’ll even get y/n to help—I hear her potion is part of what landed you in this mess.”
You were not expecting to be dragged through the dirt at the end of that. You send the male a glare, flipping him the bird before stomping off to go get some of the desserts from the car. He’s lucky you already silenced yourself or you’d be ripping him a new one by now.
Stupid! Stupid boys! All men do is talk, eat hot pizza and LIE!
Thankfully, you have time to cool off before dinner is over, the atmosphere mollifying now that Jimin and Seokjin’s lives have been threatened and their fear of god (or rather, fear of one Min Yoongi) has rendered them silent once more. You almost forget they were even bickering earlier until it comes time to retire for the night and tents have to be allocated.
Of course, after the day and dinner you’d all just had, it was decided unanimously by all those not currently afflicted by a curse that you, Seokjin and Jimin should share a tent. The others happily retreated to the two other tents set up by the cars, and before you could even smack someone in protest they were gone.
Ten minutes and your entire nightly routine later finds you laying on a king-sized blow-up mattress, squished between your two best friends with the blanket up to your chin. Surprisingly, despite the bickering that occurred when choosing tents, they’re silent now—but not asleep. The occasional sigh gives them away. It’s dark, but the moonlight filtering in through the material of the tent allows you to see the planes of their faces a little more clearly. Both are frowning slightly, Jimin staring at the ceiling and Seokjin looking at the runes over his wrist.
You want to sleep, but the air is heavy with the weight of something yet to be said.
“We’re… sorry, y/n.”
You turn to Seokjin in surprise, eyes taking a moment to adjust to his profile. He’s avoiding your gaze; you feel Jimin’s head turning to face the older male as well. Seokjin sighs, closing his eyes and carding a hand through his charcoal-coloured hair. 
“This is our fault,” he continues, resting his hands atop the blanket, over his stomach.
“Hyung,” Jimin voices, tone cautioning. It piques your interest and you file it away for later.
Seokjin turns his head, looking at Jimin for a long moment before turning it further and looking at you. You can’t help but wonder what he just said to the other with his gaze, but for now you’re taken with the soft glisten of his eyes as they meet your own.
“Sorry,” he repeats, clamping his mouth shut after. You squint at him for a long few seconds before releasing him from your gaze and shrugging.
You’re forgiven, I guess. Especially since this is technically also my fault, even though I didn’t know that stupid charmed perfumes could react with cursed dolls… where on earth did they even get that thing?
At your shrug, Seokjin grins brightly. “Great, now that you’ve forgiven us, I have a favour to ask.”
You’re not left wondering what he means for long, because in the next second he rolls over, turning his back to you.
“Can you spoon me? I wanna be the little spoon tonight. Makes me feel safe.”
Letting out the biggest sigh you think you ever have in your life, you roll your eyes but oblige his request and shuffle over to slip your arms around his waist and hug him from behind. He can’t see your smile, so you don’t have to worry about saving face.
“Seriously? Right in front of my salad…”
You reach behind to smack Jimin, and he laughs, quickly scooting over to follow your suit and slip his arms around your waist, curving his body around yours. It makes your heart race, and for the sake of your sanity you pretend that you don’t have one and so don’t have to deal with its traitorous reactions. Heart, what heart? It’s Donut Tuesdays that keeps your blood pumping, babey!
Now that the air is clear and warmth seeps between the three of you, runes around your wrists glowing brighter than before, it doesn’t take long at all before the three of you pass out, slipping eagerly into the tender embrace of sleep.
 [DAY THREE]
Needless to say, the tranquillity of that night did not last very long at all.
You’re on the third day of the trip, with at least one more expected to go, and for the duration of today’s drive, the entire car has been in a foul mood. Last you saw Yoongi and Hoseok, they were grumpy too, but you don’t doubt now that they’re away from the bickering duo causing you all such stress that they’re in much better spirits. Sadly, the same can’t be said for you, or anyone else stuck in the same car as you.
Today’s driver is Taehyung, and you swear you’ve seen the thought to drive the car into a ditch flick through his gaze more than twice in the past few minutes alone. It alarmed you at first, but now you’d welcome it, to be honest. Anything to escape your current reality.
You already knew that Seokjin and Jimin enjoyed talking and hearing their own voices, but never before have you been faced with such a long, extended situation where they just do not shut up. It’s wearing you down, you have to admit. As Namjoon’s silencing spell wore off last night, you almost blew your cover and tore into them for it. They just can’t help themselves! They’re lucky that your priority is making sure that your thoughts aren’t revealed to the air, so much that you forwent killing them in favour of topping up the silencing spell.
There are some things that have been lurking on the tip of your tongue in the past few months that you just cannot risk saying aloud. You’d rather lose said tongue.
Everyone has long since given up attempting to shut your two idiot friends up, and so your suffering continues, unabated.
“You wanna bring up all the times someone has ditched for selfish reasons? Alright, how about we talk about all the times you skipped movie night because you ‘had a pop quiz to study for’, when really you were out sleeping with half the students in your Aquatic Magics class!”
While you might have been expecting something petty to come out of Seokjin’s mouth, you most definitely weren’t expecting that. Your head whips around at lightning speed, wide eyes locking onto Jimin who looks like he’s just been electrocuted. He sputters, eyes flicking from you to Seokjin rapidly.
Lately, in the past few months, Jimin has been calling in rainchecks for your weekly movie nights. Usually the three of you relish in the opportunity to sit back and relax, and none of you were inclined to skip, but Jimin had told the both of you that the professor he’d gotten this semester is particularly fond of giving weighted pop quizzes. Now that you’re thinking about it, he’d actually skipped more times than he’d attended this this year so far...
You hadn’t even suspected anything before now, but meeting his gaze reveals all you need to know that he’s guilty of what Seokjin said. Immediately, you’re incensed.
You selfish—
He’s lucky you’re magically silenced right now, but Seokjin can still talk, and that seems to be a problem for him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies, scowling at Seokjin.
“I saw you on my cousin’s tinder and she told me all about what you’ve been up to the past few months! Said you’ve made your way through almost all of her friends at this point, and always on a Friday—our movie day!” Your mouth drops open as Seokjin flings Jimin’s dirty laundry into the air for all to see. Jungkook lets out a hiss through his teeth, wincing.
“My god, hyung, you’re a whore—”
“I would have said fuckboy,” Namjoon interrupts the youngest to supply helpfully, keen to exact some form of revenge on Jimin for the suffering he’s had to endure in the past three days.
“I am NOT a fuckboy!” Jimin squawks and his face goes so red you’re sure he’s going to combust. “I’m not just some—I have feelings! I’m capable of having feelings for someone!”
“Yeah, you’re really proving it with all your escapades you ditcher,” Seokjin folds his arms, scowling at the younger. Nice! You applaud him in your head. “Good to know your friends mean so much to you that you’ll drop them at a moment’s notice for a quick fuck!”
“How can you say that when you know that just like you, I like—” As quick and heated as he starts off, Jimin suddenly cuts off, snapping his mouth shut with wide eyes.
The car is silent, even Taehyung’s ears perked in their direction. Confusion takes up most of your brain space—had he just been about to reveal that he likes someone? At once, your heart skips a beat and squeezes painfully. Do you want to know who it is, when you also know it can’t be you?
Because why would Jimin blow off nights he is meant to spend with you to play around with other girls, if you were the one he liked?
Trying to keep your face schooled, you turn back to the front, sinking into your seat slightly and missing the way Taehyung’s gaze flicks to you as you do so. You wish that things had stayed as they were, when you’d moved on from Jimin and you only had Seokjin on the brain. It wasn’t that long ago, but unfortunately for you, it’s no longer the case. Your brain and heart have never been so overloaded.
Evidently feelings for Jimin aren’t like the chicken pox, and you can catch them again.
Even stewing in your own thoughts as you are, the prolonged silence confuses you when you notice it a few moments later. Unable to help yourself, your eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror, catching sight of the way Seokjin is sitting, scowl from earlier replaced by a look of deep thought, his brows furrowed and arms still crossed. For a minute you puzzle over why exactly he is being quiet when Jimin was the one under fire, replaying the events of the conversation over in your head once more. You freeze when it strikes you, your own face scrunching in thought.
"How can you say that when you know that just like you, I like..."
For a second you sit in shock, a slight cut of betrayal skirting around your heart. Are they serious-- both your best friends have feelings for someone and have told each other, but not you? Disregarding your own refusal to admit your crush/es to them (mainly because they are the crush/es in question), you don't think you've ever felt so betrayed in your life. If your crush wasn't incriminating to admit out loud, they would be the first to know! You focus on the feelings resulting from their treachery that are drifting over you so that the sting of knowing that they like someone else is a little less noticeable.
This trip is a disaster and as soon as you can speak again you're filing for friend divorce.
x--x--x
Oddly enough, the rest of the day is spent in almost silence. Apparently that last little argument finally taught the two of them a lesson, because they haven't uttered a word since. You caught them glaring at each other once or twice, but apart from that there was a distinct lack of JinMin bickering. Taehyung's mood was quick to turn around after that, and he made sure to turn the music up so that if they started talking again he wouldn't hear it. Jungkook and Namjoon seemed relieved that they could finally have their own conversation, and you... well, you spent the rest of the day's trip staring out the window and blasting your own music, like a moody teenager.
Needless to say, you're in a bit of a funk. One might even say you're upset.
You can't believe them! How much else do they withhold from you and only tell each other? You feel like you don't even know them right now, and do your best to make sure they know it by glaring at them every time they meet your eyes. Because of this, setting up tonight's camp teeters on being a slightly uncomfortable affair.
You're so annoyed (and hurt, but you're not acknowledging that emotion yet) that when dessert is brought out, you even go so far as to take the last piece of their favourite one. The looks on their faces as you cram the entire strawberry crepe cake slice into your mouth in one go is almost funny enough to redeem them, but by this point you've had all afternoon to stew and you're not going to be having a change of heart any time soon.
By the time it's late enough for everyone to be retiring, you've pointedly ignored the two males enough that when you look up and don't see them anywhere, you have no idea where they've gone. Apparently your confusion is in plain view for the rest of the group to see, because Namjoon snorts. When you look over, he speaks.
"They went to grab their toiletries from the car," he informs you, rocking dangerously on the camping chair he's currently seated in. "I heard one of them call the other a tart on the way over though, so they're probably fighting again by now."
You huff, wondering if they've even noticed you're upset with them. Well, it's not like they'd said anything to you-- then again, that is precisely the problem. But still, they're stupid and you don't know if they've connected the dots yet. It's not that hard though!
...Are you overreacting?
It's possible. Learning that they like someone, and intuitively knowing it isn't you, well... it's done a bit of a number on your ego and your heart, and maybe you're overcompensating. Not for the first time, you wonder if there is a potion that can numb your heart and cancel out feelings. That would be great!
"You're wondering if they've noticed you're mad at them?" Taehyung's low register surprises you when it sounds next to you-- you didn't realise that he'd moved seats. Given your attention, he continues, "They most definitely have. Although, they're kind of stupid, so they can't agree on why you are."
"To their credit, they both realise it's something they've said." Namjoon drags a hand down his face with a sigh, "Except the thing is, they've both said so damn much."
You frown, tilting your head in thought; your eyes end up staring unfocused at Jungkook where he sits across the fire, poking his finger in the dirt and making flowers sprout. Your best friends? Having some degree of self-awareness? It seems almost too good to be true.
Yoongi and Hoseok have plodded off in the midst of your zoning out, apparently going to look for a certain mushroom that has unique magical properties and happens to grow near here. Gradually, the other three sitting with you disperse and you use a minor spell to reduce the flames of the campfire to a smolder. You figure it's been long enough that Seokjin and Jimin are probably back at your tent by now (you were really zoned out just then, so you have no idea if they went past or not), so you head to the car to grab your own toiletries and go about your nightly routine. Just because you're on the road doesn't mean you can afford to neglect your skin.
Considering you expected silence and an empty space when you rounded Yoongi's car and turned towards the van, you're more than a little surprised to both see and hear people. Immediately, you halt, expecting them to turn and notice you, but they’re so wrapped up in their own conversation that they have no idea you’re there. It only takes you a moment longer to realise it’s Jimin and Seokjin, who apparently haven’t succeeded in actually getting their toiletries and have instead been talking this whole time. 
Well, you don’t know if you can call it just talking.
They’re arguing again, you can tell that clearly, but for once you have no idea what is being said. What you can catch of their voices is hushed and somewhat vexed, emphasised by the occasional arm movement and finger jab. You’re tempted to step closer just so you can hear what they’re discussing so angrily, but don’t even get a chance to properly consider it before Seokjin is snapping loudly and answering your unspoken question.
“You know what we read! We both read it! So the fact you almost said in the car—”
“But I didn’t say anything,” Jimin snaps back, sounding crankier than you’ve ever heard him. His eyes are dark and he leans forward as he speaks, tense. “But you know what, if it bothers you so much, and you want it to be you, then why don’t you say something? Why haven’t you said anything before now? Nothing is stopping you!”
Seokjin’s response is lower than you can catch, heated if the tension in his shoulders is anything to go by. What Jimin says next is also spoken lower than you can hear, but Seokjin does you a favour in the next second when his voice raises in outrage.
“--you wanna know why? Huh? Maybe it’s because I realised lately that it’s not just that—  I like you!”
You freeze, an ellipsis materialising in your brain in the stead of any coherent thought. The world around you and the conversation in front of you doesn’t wait for you to catch up.
 Jimin blinks, mouth open in preparation to throw back a retort. He shuts it, something passing through his gaze that you can’t quite discern. He speaks a moment later, but you can only catch bits and pieces of it. “Both…? Seokjin… stupid idiot…”
The next bit comes clear as day to your ears, though.
“I like you too…”
All at once, the situation comes crashing back up to speed in your brain and everything catches up with you. Your head doesn’t really know how to process it but your heart is already ahead and shrinking in your chest.
Are you fucking kidding me.
You don’t know what comes over you, but from what you can discern it seems to be a cocktail of incredulousness, anger, and heartbreak. Ruining your cover, you stomp over to the van and march right between them to the boot, yanking it open more aggressively than you need to. The two of them exclaim in surprise to see you, but are left reeling as you simply grab your toiletries bag and turn on your heel before stomping away, ignoring them completely.
You cannot believe the cruel twist that fate has just slapped you across the face with, like a massive silicone dildo giving you a black eye. Earlier today you learned that your two best friends — who you’ve recently realised you have feelings for— actually have feelings for someone. And alright, that shit hurted, but you could have seen yourself getting over it some time in the future.
But to find out that that person they like is each other and you’ve essentially been third wheeling for the entirety of your friendship? Call you a drama queen but you have such a mix of emotions in you that you almost feel nauseous. For the sake of simplicity, you decide to label that concoction anger and wash your hands of it.
Storming back through the camp to your tent, you ignore a bewildered Yoongi and Hoseok emerging from the treeline and instead try not to rip your toiletries bag with the harsh grip your fingers have on it. Throwing it into the tent that you’d left open after setting up, you follow it inside and then turn to rip the zip down. You’re tempted to simply leave it at that before you decide that’s not enough and you hold out your hand, charming it  so that it wont open for anyone but you. 
Satisfied with your last spiteful act of the night, you rush through your routine and head to bed, blood boiling all through the night until you wake up the next day.
x — x — x
“Did you kick Seokjin and Jimin out of your tent last night?”
Not lucid enough to have noticed him standing next to you by the van as you munch on your cereal with half-closed eyes, you jump in fright when Namjoon’s voice crosses your ears. 
And what if I did? You have the impulse to voice that thought, but the slight itch in your throat reminds you that, for the time being, you’re still silenced. At your own behest, sure, but not being able to quip sassy retorts back at people has been steadily getting at you these past four days. 
Instead, you simply shrug, and Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Trick question! We know you did because they came to our tents last night pleading for us to let them in because they couldn’t get into theirs.”
Well, you suppose that considering the three of you are bound and can’t be more than a few metres apart, it’s lucky that their tents were so close to your own. You frown at what he says though, squinting at Namjoon. Your point?
As though he’s perfectly in tune with your thoughts, he readily elaborates. “So what did they do to warrant that? I didn’t realise you were that upset with them.”
His words make you remember what you’ve been trying not to think about: last night. 
Your mother always told you that sleeping on it would fix almost everything, but you’d woken up in just as bad of a mood as you’d gone to bed with. It’s petty of you to be angry at them for liking each other, just because it’s not you, but there is also the fact that they’re your best friends and hadn’t told you a single thing. The betrayal of it all is one of the things that stings most, as dramatic as that is. Whatever, you’re allowed to be upset and you’re going to exercise that right. 
Namjoon doesn’t get an answer because you scull the remainder of your milk and cereal in one go (leaving him in something akin to a state of shock) and promptly walk off to get dressed. 
When everyone piles back into their respective cars today, it’s with a lighter air than the days previous. This is because, as Jungkook had announced excitedly before you all departed, you should be arriving at the witch’s home in a little over a few hours. Honestly, you’re ecstatic, because you don’t think you can handle being around Seokjin and Jimin for a while after this. 
In your bid to think about literally anything but the two males boring holes into the back of your head with their eyes, you instead allow yourself to daydream about how things are going to be in the next few hours. The witch is probably old and nice, wise and knowledgeable. She’ll get it, and she’ll probably support you if you call the boys names. Sisterhood of witches!
x — x 
Hours later and you’re standing outside of an industrial concrete home, not too dissimilar to the Cullens’ house from Twilight, except it’s overrun by plants and vines that curl and flower across the mass of grey in gorgeous patterns. The door has just slammed in front of you after Namjoon explained who you were and why you were here, and you’re now listening to the sound of many chains and bolts sliding on the other side of the wood.
The witch is nothing like you thought and you feel like your fate has fallen into some questionable hands. 
When the door opens once more, now unrestricted by chains, you’re met with the sight of the woman you’d driven four days to see and plead with. Needless to say, she isn’t what you expected at all— somehow despite the fact that your professor had literally explained what to expect before you left on this little roadtrip.
She stands, somewhat short but still graceful with long inky hair that curls down her back untamed, slipping over her shoulders at the front. Her skin is the kind of bronzed that tells of time spent in the sun and out in the wilds, and the loose clothing hanging from her form is light and breezy looking. Her eyes are dark and sleekly lined for a cat-like effect, lips stained dramatic red in contrast to the rest of her chill get-up.
She’s really out here living her best life, you think in wonder.
“Lim said you’d be coming… I’m Sunmi,” she voices, staring shrewdly at all eight of you one at a time until her gaze passes over you, Jimin, Seokjin and the runes binding your wrists. Her nails tap against the doorframe that she’s braced against as she hums in thought. “...Come in.”
When she turns and moves further into her home, the rest of you hover awkwardly before kicking into gear. Yoongi and Hoseok dismiss themselves, having spotted some ‘exciting’ plants back by the treeline, and so it is just you, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon and those other two you don’t want to think about that are left to follow the witch into the house. 
You follow her as she walks around the whole floor, gathering certain things as she goes. At her request, Namjoon fills her in on exactly what the issue is— he’s apparently a bit intimidated by her keen gaze and grumpy disposition, because he stutters a few times while recounting your situation to her. Taehyung and Jungkook, considering that they’re just along for the ride, spend the walk looking around in awe. Sunmi has a lot of artefacts on display in her home, some with runes you’ve never seen before in your life, not even in textbooks— kind of like the ones on your wrist.
“Alright, you three wait here,” Sunmi stops all of you in what seems to be a sitting room of sorts decorated with soft greens and white, pointing at Namjoon, Taehyung and Jungkook, and then the lounge. “If I’m going to fix this… curse...I will need only the three of them. It shouldn’t take too long.”
Her words are polite, skirting along the edge of being curt. Obediently, like puppies, they follow her instructions and take a seat with wide eyes. Satisfied, the witch turns to you and the idiots behind you. 
“Come, in here. Be quick about it.”
Hastily, you follow her finger and enter the room situated off to the side, hearing Seokjin and Jimin scramble behind you. What greets you is dark blue walls with stars smattered across them in metallic gold, the carpet plush, dark grey. There is a desk pushed against the wall, and a large table in the middle of the room that is framed by a few plushly upholstered chairs. You get the sudden urge to cough, throat itching slightly, but hold down the urge as best as you can and ignore it for now.
Sunmi closes the door behind her, taking a moment before moving to the table and placing the items in her arms down. She then leans forward, eyes pinning all three of you in place; you hear Seokjin let out something like an ‘eep’ from just behind you, and have to remind yourself that you’re angry at him so you can’t find it cute. 
“Look, I moved all the way out here so I didn’t have to deal with people,” she begins, straightening and crossing her arms. You avoid her gaze, instead focusing on the large window behind her, and then the vase of white and violet blooms in the middle of the table; you wonder if they’re responsible for the sweet, syrupy yet musky scent that accentuates the room. “Let me cut to the chase so that you leave and I can get back to what I was doing sooner.”
Somewhat taken aback by her words, you’re left blinking in surprise while she simply continues, pointing her finger at your wrists and then in the general direction of the boys.
“These runes are specific to a certain deity, one that isn’t often invoked because of how temperamental he is, but one that usually deals with things in the area of love. Specifically, unrequited.”
As she spoke, she started to move around the table, now approaching your little huddle. On instinct you take a few steps back, shifting slightly behind your two friends. You catch a glimpse of their faces as you move, and you’re surprised at how pale and stiff the two of them have suddenly become. Jimin’s silver hair begins to steam slightly, the tips of his ears flushing red.
“Now, usually what people return with after visiting him, is blessings. These, however,” she points to the runes, “Are what happens when one insults him.”
Jimin gulps, and Seokjin swallows before speaking hurriedly, “We didn’t mean to take the doll! We didn’t know it was his…”
Sunmi rolls her eyes, holding her hand out. “Give me the doll.”
You hadn’t even realised it was in Jimin’s hands until he jerked and hastily placed it in her hold. It’s as ugly as ever and you can’t help but glare at it. 
“This isn’t about the doll,” Sunmi says, cocking her hip and appearing the epitome of unimpressed. “The runes reveal that the insult lies within a request for a blessing. You did something wrong, and the doll became a conduit for his retaliation. You must have been desperate to go to him of all love deities, so how on earth did you manage to mess up the simple process of requesting a blessing?”
While you're standing with a blank face, struggling to keep up with all the information being unloaded on you, the two men beside you bow their heads in something like shame. When your brain catches up, you realise with chagrin that she’s saying they went to a temple or shrine of a love deity to ask for a blessing— and bitterly, you connect that it was likely for each other.
“Wh— but we did everything right!” Jimin is the one protesting now, eyes wide and fingers fiddling. “Isn’t this because of y/n’s potion?”
Bastard! You can’t believe he’d try to pin the blame on you! 
You’re beginning to simmer, throat tingling as you swallow angrily, and like he can sense it, Seokjin sends you a nervous look.
“What? This has nothing to do with a potion,” Sunmi scoffs, sending you a somewhat pitying look. You pretend it’s because she’s sympathising with you for being stuck with these two. “All the potion would have done is cover you in goo. This is—” she grabs your wrist suddenly, turning it to observe the runes on the underside before making a noise of realisation. “— this is because you went to a deity that specialises in unrequited love and asked for blessings in love that wasn’t unrequited.”
Sunmi releases your hand and you’re left reeling, quickly realising that they must have asked for blessings in love with each other— which, as you’d overheard last night and are now painfully aware of, is anything but unrequited. Oddly enough, the two boys next to you appear confused.
“No, that can’t be right—” Jimin starts, but Sunmi doesn’t let him finish.
“The runes don’t lie,” she says plainly, moving back to assemble some things before taking something that looks incriminatingly like a bong into her grasp; you don’t even remember her grabbing it on the way here. “They’re like a signature, almost. I know what I’m talking about, baby boy.”
Jimin goes bright red, hair steaming even more, although you can’t tell whether its from anger or embarrassment. Knowing him, probably both.
“Jimin,” Seokjin warns, shooting the younger a look when he opens his mouth to retort; apparently having Seokjin’s magic has made him that much more hotheaded. Seokjin shakes his head and Jimin clenches his jaw with the effort it takes him not to talk.
“Right, well, it seems like the three of you have some things to unpack— it bound you in particular for a reason. I’ll break the curse for you, but I need to drown this doll in some blessed water before I can get started.” Sunmi is already turning on her heel and walking towards the door before she even finishes. “Stay in here and don’t cause trouble.”
And then she leaves, and for some reason the resounding thud of the door swinging closed behind her is like a metaphor sealing your fate.
For the first few seconds after her departure, the room is silent. The two men beside you are frozen, but it doesn’t take long for them to pick up on the waves of anger beginning to emanate from you. They turn, sharing a similar expression of nervousness and slight fear. They look like they’d like more than anything to disappear right now, but of course that isn’t an option, especially when the curse currently afflicting you all means that whatever comes to their brain is immediately blurted into the air.
“Look, y/n, uh… we can explain.” Jimin takes a step forward, holding his hands out as though to placate you. For some reason even just that is quick to irritate you further, and you glare at him. How is he going to explain, you wonder? The witch has pretty much already spelled out everything you need to know about exactly why you’re in this situation. 
They went to the shrine of some obscure love deity to receive blessings on their ‘unrequited’ love — which happened to be requited because the person they were asking for blessings for was each other — and then proceeded to insult the deity and take a doll from the shrine, which the deity then used as a conduit to curse the three of you. You get all that, loud and clear. What you really want to know is why the hell you got roped into this punishment and forced to experience all this shame and humiliation.
“Look, about the shrine— we didn’t only go for personal reasons! We knew there was a doll there that the professor would be interested in,” Seokjin hurried to elaborate, before throwing a dirty look to the side and proceeding to incriminate his friend. “Actually, the only reason we even went at all was because Jimin suggested it.”
You don’t know why they’re so eager to shift the blame; you’re happy to include both of them on your shit list. 
Jimin seems to grow so incensed at Seokjin’s comment that his mouth grows that much looser and he’s speaking before the thought can even materialise in his brain. “What the fuck, dude— we both agreed to go because we both read that page of her diary that we found the cat playing with! Stop trying to pin this on me, it was a group effort you jerk!”
For a second your brain is filled with white noise as what he said sinks in.
Then you’re pissed.
So pissed, in fact, that you don’t even feel the familiar tingle in your throat when it occurs and you’re exploding before you even realise that the silencing spell has worn off.
“Are you kidding me— YOU READ MY DIARY?!” both boys flinch, eyes shooting wide as they take a physical step back. You’re so angry you’re almost shaking. This is ridiculous! Faintly, you realise that you should shut up but now that you’ve started you can’t make yourself stop.
“This is unbelievable! Not only did your stupidity and your stupid heart-ons for each other end up dragging me into being cursed, but then you went and made this the worst four days of my life!” You jab your finger at them, voice so loud it’s ringing in your own ears. “I can’t believe I like you two! I’m so fucking angry at you— when we get home I’m performing a cutting spell so I don’t have to love you anymore, so fuck BOTH of you and go kiss behind a tree or something!”
You’re slightly out of breath by the time you finish, still fuming but feeling like a weight has been lifted off your chest. About a second later you realise that the spell has worn off and you just tore their heads off, but your brain is a little preoccupied with everything so you decide to deal with the mental repercussions of it later. 
Both boys are silent, looking at you with wide eyes. You’re just beginning to wonder why when Jimin starts to speak, eyes shifting. “y/n did you just… did you just say—”
At his words, you reflect on exactly just came out of your mouth and instantly horror washes over you, your heart dropping through your chest. 
Yeah, you like reading about accidentally confessing in fiction but now you’re suddenly feeling a lot of regret and you’re not so sure you’re a fan of it anymore.
You’re saved from having to muster a response in the current black hole that has become your brain by the door opening, Sunmi returning with three squishy, heavy-looking items in her hand that you quickly recognise as water balloons. The realisation comes a little too late, though, because you don’t even have time to move before she’s pegging them at all three of you and next thing you know, you’re standing there soaked, sputtering and shocked.
“What the hell—?!” Seokjin spits out the water that got in his mouth, gagging. 
“Specially blessed water, procured by yours truly,” Sunmi says simply, moving into the room just to place the doll back on the table, along with a bowl. She reaches into it and throws something like ground stardust on you, sending you all into a coughing fit once more. “Alright, the curse is dissolved. Your speech issues should be solved, but the runes that bind you… they might take a little longer, a day or so, to wear off.”
She smacks her hands together, dusting them off as she delivers the three of you with a sly look. “I’d tell you good luck, but while I was soaking the doll I realised why the three of you in particular were bound. It’s the same as I said before— your feelings aren’t unrequited, for either of the people that you requested blessings for.”
“Either of the people?” you echo, regrettably inclined to talk now that you’re able to again. Sunmi sends you an amused if somewhat exasperated look.
“I’m sure they’ll tell you,” she says cryptically, before angling her body to the others. “Now my work is done, get out. I miss my solitude. Also, I’m keeping the doll as my fee. It’s ugly as hell and is gonna look fantastic on the wall by the dining table.”
Still processing what she said before all of that, your group is hassled out of the house in a blur and before you know it, all six of you are standing in front of her door and witnessing it slam in your faces for the second time today.  
Namjoon is the first to recover and is ridiculously cheerful as he speaks; you’re confused as to why until he sends you a knowing look and you realise that he, along with the other two youngest, probably heard your loud, shameful confession to both boys. He’d never said anything about knowing of your feelings, but you knew he knew. You could feel it in your bones. Also, his expressions aren’t as impassive as he’d like to think they are.
“Right, well! Back to the car everyone! Someone go get Hope and Yoongi. The sooner we head back, the sooner I can forget the weird things I saw in that living room!” He then grabs Taehyung and Jungkook around the shoulders, turning with them and steering them away in the direction of the car. “The sooner I can also get those fish bread things at the market near my house. Gods, I miss them.”
“You have an addiction, hyung.” You hear Jungkook say, his voice growing fainter the further away he grows. You stop attempting to listen after that, turning back to the other two males who you’re surprised to see haven’t budged and are looking straight at you.
“We went to the shrine for you,” Seokjin says suddenly, before you can ask them what they want. You blink, shock smacking you in the face. “We read a page of your diary— which we didn’t realise was a page of your diary until it was too late — and saw that you liked someone, but it didn’t say who.”
“We both wanted it to be us,” Jimin intercedes, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes. His cheeks, along with Seokjin’s, are flushing pink. “Because as you no doubt heard last night, although we like each other… we liked you first. So I think you were drawn into this mess because we both like you… and each other.”
“And, um, like the witch said,” Seokjin gulps, now somewhat tentative. “Our feelings aren’t unrequited… which means that you like us too…?”
“Well, yeah,” Jimin mutters, smacking the other male on the arm. “That’s literally what she said while yelling at us, idiot.”
What they’re saying… is this a love triangle with all sides filled in? It’s a lot to process at once, and they give you a second as they watch the gears turn in your head.
“You…” you pause, struggling to put words together. Finally, you give up trying to be eloquent and slap a hand to your face, closing your eyes. “You both are so stupid— so stupid. I can’t handle this right now.”
When you open your eyes, you’re met with looks of fear. You squash that emotion by jabbing your finger at them, runes still faintly on your wrist. “When we get home, I’m gonna beat you. Then, I’m gonna give you a kiss, and then I’m gonna beat you again, and then we’re going to talk about this. Got it?”
They’re fighting grins at your words, Jimin snorting as they both nod hastily. 
“It’s a date,” Seokjin says cheekily, cackling when you raise your hand at him.
“Can we have a hug, y/n?” Jimin hazards a plea, stepping forward with puppy eyes directed full force at you. “It’s rough when you’re angry at us.”
“You deserved it for all the shit you two said,” you say, rolling your eyes but opening your arms nonetheless. They exclaim in happiness and dive forward, almost making the three of you fall over in their zealousness. You feel your heart ease as you hold them both in your arms and they hold you. 
Maybe this trip and whole ‘getting cursed by a cranky love deity’ thing isn’t a complete disaster after all. 
Then again… you still have the trip back.
Tumblr media
a/n: to the commissioner, I hope u like it!!! thank u for reading and if u enjoyed it please lmk with a like and/or rb!! thank u !! love u !!!
621 notes · View notes
ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years
Text
Not Broken: BTHB Slammed Into a Wall
Tumblr media
@badthingshappenbingo​ Slammed Into a Wall with Nate, requested by Anon!
CW: Noncon touch, noncon kissing, dehumanization, pet whump, knives, and blood - and heartwarming fluff! (Uh, eventually.) Also some internal dehumanization and (very, very brief) self-injury
This is part of the current narrative and continues directly from So Broken (Read Here).
Tagging the Danny crew: @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @finder-of-rings, @whumpywhumper​ @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken​
Be good.
Red is very good - he is good when the man’s mouth is on his jaw, shivers and trembles just the way he’s supposed to when one hand slides up into the back of his hair while the other closes gently and without pain around his neck. Red is a good boy when the man pulls away all at once, sits back to look him with a one-sided, wicked sort of smile.
He smiles back, faint and nervous and eager-to-please, and he’s not entirely sure where he is. He’s not where he’s supposed to be, anyway, but this man has Abraham’s name in his mouth and Red knows how to be good - he wants to be good.
“I would pay a lot of money to get to fuck you up,” The man says in a voice thick with an emotion Red recognizes - and somewhere inside, Danny beats against the inside of his own mind to try and get up, screaming run, run, run. But Danny is the one with the wrong thoughts, the one who gets punished for defiance, the one who is hurt again and again and again.
Red is good.
He is only hurt when Abraham wants to feed on it.
When the man orders him to stand, he moves without hesitating, pushing himself to his feet, unfolding long legs and swaying lightly, towering over the dark-haired man whose name he still does not know, but he doesn’t need to.
Good boys don’t need to know.
He is good when he is led out the door, the man’s hand closed warm around his wrist. The man is not Abraham, but he knows Abraham, and Red’s body does not belong to him. If Abraham wants him to go with the man, then he will go, because what happens when he is not good is so much worse than what happens anyway when he is.
Someone speaks, and Red looks back at her. She is short and he knows her from somewhere, although he couldn’t say how. She wears an apron and has pink hair pulled back in a short low ponytail at the nape of her neck, and he knows her.
This is a safe place.
Red swallows, hard, trying to think of why this place is safe.
“Are you okay, Danny?” She asks, and he can hear her better now, her voice sinking down below the rush of blood in his ears and the way he repeats, again and again, what he needs to remember to be good. Never pull away. Never flinch. Do what he says. My body does not belong to me. This body belongs to Abraham Denner and it will do whatever he wants.
Red blinks twice at her, feels his head drift a little to the side on a neck that does not quite want to hold it up any longer. “M-My name is-”
“He’ll be fine,” The man cuts in with a flash of dazzling white teeth, smiling so brightly the girl seems to smile back reflexively, without any thought, an expression that does not match her eyes. “He’s just having some trouble - you know - and he needs some air. Right?” The man turns to look at him and there’s a warning in his dark eyes that Red thinks the girl cannot read.
She never had to learn how to read warnings in smiling faces, after all - and he did.
“I do, I just need some air,” Red says, his voice slightly flat, and it seems good enough for the man, who smiles back at the girl. Her eyebrows furrow together just a little in further concern.
“Oh, is he having a moment?” She asks, with the earnestly soft voice of someone who has experienced these moments before. Red has no idea what she’s talking about.
“Yeah, seems like,” The man says easily. “So I’ll just have him right outside, no problem, won’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Oh-Okay, I’ll… I should go find Mr. Vandrum to tell him, they always come together-”
“No need, I told Nate myself.” The man grins one more time and then his hand pulls on Red’s arm, the hand curled around it just above his elbow, and Red is very good and he follows the man out the door, without looking back at the girl who watches them go.
He doesn’t see her face when the door closes behind them and the little bell stops jingling. He doesn’t see the concern drop and replace itself with suspicion. He doesn’t see her glance around, take off her apron, and toss it on the counter before telling the other barista to take over.
He doesn’t see her move further into the bookstore, heading with stubborn certainty for the back corner of the store where the more niche genres are, like poetry, self-help books, and folklore & mythology.
Red only sees the back of the man’s black T-shirt, his eyes strangely caught on the slightly heathered cotton fabric, compared to his own heavy knit sweater. Red is always, always cold - because you have to earn the warmth, and he hasn’t, yet.
He walks with a stumbling, thoughtless gait, not really looking ahead or around himself. He is aware of the people that move past him - and Danny, somewhere inside, is screaming for help - but Red does not scream unless he’s supposed to, and he’s not supposed to right now. He doesn’t need a command to know that.
He’s so good.
He’s so good.
When they turn the corner and there’s an alleyway - just trash cans and dumpsters and bags of refuse, just dirty broken pavement and gravel, chipped bits of concrete and asphalt, the walls on either side, Red only blinks and wonders why they would come here.
“There, this is better,” The man murmurs, to himself and not to Red, and pulls him further, the sound of traffic and people’s laughter seeming muffled as it filters through Red’s ears into his slow-moving brain.
He is afraid, but fear has never saved him, and Red focuses on the only thing that ever has: being absolutely, perfectly good.
Think good boy thoughts.
“I have my own orders, too, you know,” The man says conversationally, with a hint of cheerful good humor. “All the things I’m not allowed to do, not allowed to touch… honestly, Red, it’s not fair. You know, I’ve worked hard this past year to make things nice and easy for him, and that’s not exactly a cakewalk in prison, you know?” He pulls a box out of one pocket and a lighter out of another, lights a cigarette and Red watches the smoke that comes from his mouth after the first drag, fascinated by the way it looks like fog dissipating, falling apart.
Then he turns to look at him - his dark dark eyes catch on Red’s vibrant blue. Red swallows against the look of consideration he is given, a look he knows very well. Abraham deciding how he could hurt best today, what way to make him scream.
But he is good, and if he takes the smaller hurts sometimes there are no larger ones that follow on their heels.
“But you know… just because I can’t get my hands on much, doesn’t mean I can’t do anything… put your back against the wall.”
Don’t do this, don’t do what he says, he’s not Abraham, you don’t have to
I have to I was never free
You are free, you are, all you have to do is walk away
Red begins to shake, an allover motion, hands trembling as he fights between twin urges to obey and to run turn tail and run as fast as he can - a fight to close his throat and to scream for Nate, for the bookstore girl, for anyone.
The dark eyes narrow, and Red’s heart stops.
No, don’t be bad, don’t be-
Hands grab at the front of his sweater, yank him forwards close to the man, to the sudden influx of his cologne in the air around him mixed with the bitter ash of cigarette smoke, and he stumbles before he is just as quickly shoved hard, tripping over a black plastic garbage bag full of something, stumbling, and the world is off-kilter and out of balance when he finds himself grabbed again, sees the cigarette clamped down in the man’s teeth with embers burning in the ash on the end.
Red’s back slams into the stone wall behind him and he cries out - nearly a yelp - as the back of his head smacks into it, a bright flash, exploding white behind his eyes, followed a half-second later by the ache.
He knows this feeling.
It’s why he can’t remember anything, why he doesn’t know what day it is or week or month sometimes, why he can’t drive why he can’t think on bad days when the headaches are bad why he can’t sometimes stop himself from getting so angry and why he can’t-
He’s not-
He’s not good.
The man is in his face now, staring up into his eyes, and Red stares back, halfway between terror and the creeping anger, the sense that he doesn’t have to be afraid, that he could fight back, that he could do something.
But the fear is stronger.
“Stay. Right. There.” The man’s voice brooks no argument, and his eyes are not like Abraham’s - he is not giving Red’s pain to whatever moves behind and in him when Red is crying - but they are eyes that hold him where he is, and he jerks a nod, just barely.
This is not Abraham, but this man knows the rules and his puppy name and what he looks like when he is bleeding, and when he tells Red to put his hands out, he does what he is told. The man smiles at him, then, around the cigarette still held in his lips off to one side. He takes one of Red’s wrists and then the other, pushes them behind his back until his palms are flat against the cool stone, slightly scratchy from age and the way the salt in the air, this close to the bay and beyond that to the ocean, wears away at everything.
“Don’t move your hands,” The man says, voice low, as he unclips the top of the sheath on his belt and pulls out the knife. It looks exactly the way Red thought it would look - wicked, curved just a little at the end, a hint of serration along the edge. He’s seen this knife before, or one like it, and Red stares down at it dully.
He has seen so many knives.
“Did you hear me, puppy?”
Red’s eyes jerk back to the man’s, and he nods slowly, pushes his back more firmly until his shoulder blades are aching from the pressure and his hands are freezing and he lifts his chin, slowly raising his eyes, to stare up at the slice of sky he can see between the two buildings, the narrow line of something other than this above his head.
He is very good.
He is a very good puppy.
And when the man grabs onto the hem of his sweater, Red doesn’t lower his gaze to see why. He doesn’t move when the hem is twisted up and pushed down through the neckline to hold it there, baring his ribs and stomach to the cold air around him. Goosebumps raise on his arms and he pretends he can’t feel them, prays for someone else to step in, but he had his chance and someone else is gone.
There’s only Red, now, and the voice inside his head whispering this doesn’t have to happen, you don’t have to be good.
But he does. It’ll be so much worse if he isn’t.
The first prick of the knife makes him jump in surprise, before Red grinds his teeth together and fixes his eyes up and up and up, forces himself not to look down, to stare at the sky he can’t reach. Somewhere past the atmosphere there are stars and there is a vacuum, he remembers that much. If you go up high enough-
If you just get high enough-
“Hey. What’s your name, puppy?” The man’s voice is low, amused. The blade is in Red’s skin, slicing delicately into the skin of his stomach, and pain begins to blossom along the places where skin splits as easily as silk.
There are tears in his eyes, and Red lets them fall, running down from the corners to trickle against his earlobes and down his neck, hissing through his teeth. “R-Red, sir, my name is Red,” He says, voice strained with the effort of holding still even as the pain grows and grows and grows.
“My n-name is Red and I, I belong to Abraham D-D-Denner…”
“Good, so let’s make sure you don’t forget it.” The man’s voice is a coo, a purr, and now he sounds like Abraham, and Red swallows hard, tries to hold onto the distance, the sense of being away from this moment. 
His knees want to buckle, to give way, but he locks them hard to stay standing, listens to the man’s low tuneless humming as he carves and carves and carves into the skin just below Red’s navel, the flat plane of his pelvis and abdomen, the place that Nate kisses sometimes because he’s been gaining weight and making everything a little softer, a little less bony, a little less Red.
The pain is getting worse, and he pushes his hands into the wall, digs his shoulder blades in, knocks his own head back against the wall to distract himself, slowly closing his eyes, letting out a strangled whine of pain as the knife cuts deeper, too deep, it’s going to cut too deep and-
It doesn’t, it slides back out of him again, but the pain is still there and he whimpers, he can’t quite stop himself. He can feel the air around them change, the way the man is enjoying this the way Abraham does - but not the way Abraham enjoys it at all.
He takes a deep breath.
I belong to Abraham Denner.
Hold for five.
Exhale.
I was never free.
The knife leaves for one blissful second and then starts again just next to it, and it sinks in to Red that the man is carving his name into his skin, his own name, his puppy name. What he had felt was the rounded curve, the straight line, the diagonal of the R.
The man starts on E.
Inhale.
My name is Red.
Straight line up.
Hold for five.
Short straight line across.
Blood running warm and then cold down his stomach, staining the waistline of his jeans and trickling beneath his boxers.
Exhale.
No one is coming to save me.
Short straight line across.
Pain, a constant gnawing sharp pain in his stomach, skin that slips too easily apart, that bleeds so well. You bleed so well for me, puppy, Abraham whispers into his mind, and Red shivers because he is so, so good.
Short straight line across.
He takes a shuddering breath, preparing himself for the last letter, and the man chuckles from down near his hips, that darkly attractive laughter, loving the moment, the perfect red against pale freckled skin, the way Red is so very good at taking the pain.
“That’s a good boy, sweetness. One letter left. Hold so still for me, okay?”
The man begins to carve the straight line up.
Red inhales.
My name is Red and I want to be good.
Hold for five.
The man begins to carve the half-circle curve.
Exhale.
I belong to Abraham Denner and no one is coming-
“What the absolute fucking hell do you think you’re fucking doing?”
Nate’s voice is loud and clear and completely stammer-free, and Red’s head whips to the side even as his eyes open, his knees finally buckling as he sees the near-silhouette standing with the road behind him.
Nate’s muscled shoulders barely hidden beneath the green sweater that matches his eyes - the one Danny bought and Nate pretended he didn’t want but then he wears it all the time - and behind him there’s the pink-haired girl from the bookstore, her hands on her hips, glaring.
The look in Nate’s eyes is one of pure and unbridled fury as he walks slowly forward, no sign of the hint of a limp he has sometimes on rainy or humid days, when the knee that Abraham hurt bothers him a little, and Red drops finally to the ground as his legs give out, the skin of his stomach a raging agony of pain.
The man backs away from them both, eyes narrowing, licking Red’s blood off his thumb as he goes. Red feels a sick lurch, but that’s not new either - Abraham used to lick the blood off his back when he carved Red full of flowers and vines, took his pain and turned it into something like art, like-
Red forces his eyes shut, and he jams the palms of his hands against them, breathing in harsh gasps as it starts to crash in and the careful comforting distance starts to break apart, to shatter under the weight of the person who wants so badly to get out.
Nate came to save me, Nate came, he came for me, he always saves me
“You interfering little bitch,” The man sneers - at the pink-haired girl, Red thinks without opening his eyes, trying to hurt himself enough to break out, to come back. He throws his head back, welcoming the flash of light and the ache from the wall as it connects with a thud. 
Nate is here to save me
God damn it let me out
“Call her that one more time and I’ll fucking end you, you piece of shit, how dare you fucking touch him.” Nate keeps approaching - Red can hear his footsteps crunching in the gravel and broken-up bits of stone that fall off the buildings - and he’s not moving fast but he doesn’t have to.
There’s another building at the back of the alley, there’s nowhere the man can run to. Only one way out.
“Prince Charming,” The man says, and his voice still has that hint of dark charm but there’s an edge to it now, something not quite fear - more like worry.
Caution.
“Are you okay, Danny?” The girl calls from where she stands, not moving closer but not backing away at all, either. “Are you all right?”
“My name is Red,” he replies, it’s all he can think of, can focus on. But Nate is here, is here for him, someone is coming for him, and it’s that simple fact that he uses to tear down the walls inside of his head the way he protects himself from the things Abraham makes him do.
Red was the one to close his eyes.
Danny is the one who opens them.
“Oh, Jesus fuck this hurts,” Danny hisses as the pain lights him up much worse when he’s back in control of himself. His stomach hurts and his hands kind of ache and the back of his head is a pounding pain now. Did he hit his head on the wall?
In front of him the man has his knife out but Nate doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t stop his slow and inexorable move closer. When the man holds up his knife, a knife with Danny’s blood still smeared on the end of it, Nate smiles.
It’s not a good smile, and Danny stares at the face of a total fucking stranger wearing the body of the man he loves.
“You don’t want to do that,” Nate says softly. His voice is low, and deep. “Stand still and let me call the cops and nothing has to happen to you.”
“To me?” The man snorts. “I’m the one with the knife-”
Nate grabs out all at once with his good hand, going for the blade, and the man laughs as he jerks his hand back - but Danny stares wide-eyed as Nate closes his bad hand into the fist - the crack of the badly-healed bones forcing themselves past pain into a position that once came easily and now Danny knows comes only with effort and agony - and punches the man right across the cheekbone.
The man drops hard to the ground, as surprised as he is hurt, landing hard on his side. He tries to scramble to his feet but Nate is already on top of him, grabbing the knife out of his hand this time - Danny sees bright red where Nate cuts himself but doesn’t seem to notice it at all, and he throws the blade until it clatters to the ground further back.
Nate stands, pulls the man up with him, and turns on his heel, slamming the man hard into the stone wall, punching him again, and again, and again. Pulls him away from the wall and slams him back. Punches again. 
Slam.
Punch.
Cry of pain.
Nate’s green eyes don’t glow. Nothing moves behind them.
But Nate doesn’t stop.
Danny stares, and the girl in the alleyway entrance stares, as Nate’s fist lands in the man’s jaw, his eye, across his mouth - busts his lip, Danny sees more blood - hits him in the stomach until he doubles over and Nate grabs him and slams him back up into the wall again.
Droplets of blood spatter across Nate’s face and he doesn’t notice.
Nate is perfectly focused, and he doesn’t stop.
He won’t stop.
“Nate!” Danny finally manages to cry out, and his voice seems hoarse and like he hasn’t used it in weeks for some reason. He tries to get to his feet, then drops back to his knees. “Nate, please!”
Nate lets go with his good hand and steps back all at once, as quick as a gunshot, and the man thumps heavily and gracelessly to the ground. His bad hand is still a fist, locked there by rage. He breathes heavily, and Danny can hear the sound, nearly rasping, even staring at Nate’s back. When he turns his head to look at Danny, he can see the blood drops, standing out even in the dim light in the alley.
“How badly did he hurt you?” Nate asks, and his voice is totally flat.
“J-Just, um, my stomach, N-Nate… He just cut my stomach-”
“Nothing else?”
“... no, nothing else, I don’t, um, I don’t think…”
Nate nods once, a jerk of his head, and turns to look at the girl in the alley entrance, the barista from the bookstore. Melody something-something. She flinches at the look in his eyes, the blood on his face and his shirt. But then she steadies herself. “Will you call the c-c-cops, M-Melody, please? This m-m-man assaulted D-Danny and I’d l-like to file a r-... report.”
“Um… uh, yeah, Mr. Vandrum, I’ll… I’ll do that.” Melody pulls the cell phone out of her back pocket and starts to dial, and Nate doesn’t move - stands there perfectly still staring at her - until they all hear her say, “Um, hello? I need, we need… we need cop cars and maybe an ambulance this guy, um, he hurt someone… yeah, he assaulted him with, a, um, a knife?”
Then Nate seems to jump inside his own skin, all at once, and turns to look back down at the man groaning on the ground, holding his face, mumbling threats that are incomprehensible around the damage already done to his face, the reds already blossoming into bruises and a black eye.
Danny knows how it feels to look like that.
“Wh-what’s your name?” Nate asks. 
When the man doesn’t answer, Nate kicks him, and Danny jumps at that, too, curling himself up a little against the way Nate still looks so distant, so angry. When there’s another pause, Nate snarls and slams his foot against the man’s leg, and the man crumples all at once with a shout and a groan grabbing at it. “I asked y-y-you a fucking queh-question.”
“Connor Manning!” The man cries out in pain, but it’s a thickly pronounced mumble that comes out more like Bonner Baddig.
“G-Good. The cops w-w-will want to know who they’re putting in a j-j-jail cell.” Nate takes a deep breath, slow and steady, even and calm. Then he turns around to look at Danny, and the distant fury is gone from his eyes.
Danny was someone else when Nate planned a murder in the cabin up in Alberta. He was someone else when the flames licked up the side of the cabin. He was someone else right up until Nate kissed him and woke him back to life.
Danny had never seen the Nate that could commit cold-blooded, premeditated murder before.
He has seen him now.
“D-Danny?” Nate moves towards him as the sound of sirens starts to cut through the usual city noises behind them. Melody has moved out towards the street, ready to flag them down, the phone still held to one ear. “Are y-you okay?”
Danny looks up at him as Nate drops into a couch.
He reaches up his hands, dirty from the stone walls, to either side of Nate’s face. His palms must be freezing cold, there must be grit on them, but Nate doesn’t pull back or move away. He only looks at him, suddenly looking inexpressibly exhausted, so deeply bone-deep tired.
“I’m okay,” Danny says softly, and leans forward until their foreheads touch, his eyes open and searching Nate’s, finding everything he wants to see there and more. On his left ring finger Danny is wearing the ring that says SURVIVOR, the ring that Nate gave him, but Danny wouldn’t have survived without him.
He slips his hands up into the short black hair, grounds himself with it, with the warmth of Nate’s skin.
“Are you okay?”
“N-No,” Nate whispers, something he has to admit against his will, a confession. “Y-You were g-g-gone, I was s-so scared I wouldn’t find y-y-you…”
“I’m right here,” Danny says softly. He hurts - he aches - he’s bleeding - but it can wait, it can always wait, until they have reminded each other what matters. They’ve done this dance, or dances very like it, so many times before. “I’m right here, Nate. Listen, listen to me. You came for me. I was gone and you, um, you came for me-”
“I’ll always c-c-come to h-help you,” Nate says, and closes his eyes slowly. The sirens are louder, and they can hear the scrape of Connor Manning trying - and failing - to get back on his feet. “Every t-time, Danny, every t-t-time, I-...” His voice cracks and cuts off, and there is a tear trying to force its way out from under the eyelashes of one eye, and Danny stops touching his face and throws his arms around his neck instead.
“I l-love you,” Danny says into his ear.
He feels Nate’s body shift underneath his touch, the sudden tension in his shoulders - and then Nate’s arms are around him, too, and they are bleeding all over each other’s clothing but they’ve done that before, too.
“I love y-y-you, t-too, D-Danny.” Nate’s voice is cracked but they are both cracked, they are cracked together, and when he needed help Nate came to save him all over again.
Nate will always come to save me.
“My name is Daniel Michaelson,” Danny whispers.  “I love you.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and tightens his grip around Nate’s neck. “I think I got blood on your shirt.”
Nate makes a noise that might be choked-off laughter. “I th-think I got blood on y-your... on your neck.”
173 notes · View notes
ryntaia · 7 years
Text
Title: Etwas Passierte Diese Woche
Fandom: Yu Gi Oh
Rating: M (Strong child abuse) 
Genre: Angst/Friendship
Pairing: Implied KaiJou/Puppyshipping/Violetshipping
Summary: Kaiba Seto, eleven years old, and learning German from Kaiba Gozuburo. He doesn’t have time to be distracted. Yet for one week, he is. 
Status: Complete
Read on Ao3!
Read on FF.net!
Or read below the cut.
Sunday – Sonntag
           This week, he was learning German.
            Last week it was English. The week before that it was Finnish. It’s all blurring together at this point for Kaiba Seto. In the back of his young mind he already knows that the mush these languages are blending into will infuriate Gozaburo. As if instinct his hand lifted to his neck to caress the marks around it; cuts and bruises from a tightened collar. He has passed out enough to know that his adoptive father is not joking when he pushes the riding crop under his chin and tightens the loop around his collar.
           His eyes blurred; it has only been a year with the megalomaniac but it felt like decades off his life. In the back of his mind he blearily tried to remember why he’s there; faintly he thought of wild black hair and lost dark eyes. A child weak and meek, to protect. Seto grimaced; his folly has put him right out of the frying pan and into the fire. It had taken all he had to distract Gozaburo from Mokuba and even after all of that effort, the man would barely let him see his brother.
           “Sie hat einen Vogal, sie hat niche alle Tassen im Schrank.” He processed his boorish pronunciation of the words in the book before him and shook his head. It wouldn’t do; his accent was still too thickly Japanese. Gozaburo had snapped the riding crop for far less than that. “Nul acht funfzehn…”
           A buzzing sound broke him out of his reverie.
           The young child cautiously strode to the door of the library to catch an entourage of guards rushing down the hall. Glancing back and forth down the hall, he slipped out of his room to creep quietly down the halls. The bodyguards were busy and Gozaburo was likely happily snoring in his sleep—Seto wrinkled his nose at the thought, bidding back a dark feeling that had been growing over the past few months to interrupt his adoptive father’s sleep with a knife in the neck. He never would do that, though.
           It wouldn’t be quite enough.
           Instead he carefully followed after the trope of guards. The back of Seto’s mind questioned his logic; he had work to do, even if it was only Sunday. He couldn’t slack or else there would be consequences to face. But there was that small piece inside him, that very obnoxious annoying child that stomped its feet and demanded to know what was going on. Usually easy to ignore but…well, it was late and he was a bit out of it. So after them he followed.
           Passing through the double doors that lead outside the house, he was greeted with a bit of a strange sight. The massive guards of the Kaiba manor….holding up a small child by the cuff of his shirt as the boy struggled vehemently and swore loudly. Seto wasn’t unused to the sight of the guards hurting children, per se—they would do it to him on Gozaburo’s command—but they rarely would push violence onto children outside of the manor or the KaibaCorp building. Too easy to stir up ugly press if anyone saw the employees harassing children.
           Then again, if the boy’s screaming expletives and obnoxious kicking was any sign, he wasn’t the type who encouraged people to want to be around him. He would’ve thought that any child with common sense would know not to yell and kick at six foot tall men with bulging muscles in suits, but apparently this one either lacked that sense or was arrogant enough to just not care. Judging by his behavior it was possibly a combination of the two.
           “What’s going on?” Seto’s voice was soft and quiet, yet commanding and icy. It sparked some sense of pride in him that it brought pause to all of the men in front of him, cautiously looking backwards at the young heir to the company. After they didn’t answer his question, he pressed on, his tone more demanding. “Did you not hear me? What’s going on here?”
           “Y-young master,” The largest man stumbled over his words, trying to find what to say. The boy dangling from his grip shot him an annoyed look; Seto could see the small hands curling into fists. “We saw this child on the surveillance camera. He was trespassing in the manor’s gardens.”
           “So instead of simply tossing him out, you’re sitting here picking fights with eleven year olds?” Seto said, making the annoyance in his voice as clear as possible. The bodyguards exchanged looks. They were all under the control of Gozaburo yet something about the youthful Kaiba ward made a lot of the housing staff nervous. He liked it better that way, the lot of fools they were. The less they liked him the less likely it was that they would bother him.
           “We thought that, uh, he might be…trouble,” The guard said lamely.
           “You thought that a grade schooler would be trouble.”
           “I, well, it’s possible?”
           “Put him down, you idiot.”
           “Y-yes, young master.”
           The minute the other boy hit the ground, he turned on the heel of his foot and spat at the foot of the bodyguard. Seto’s eyes widened a fraction; did this child have no sense of self-preservation? Apparently not, as he immediately launched forward to kick the massive man in the knee right afterwards. A howl of pain filled the quiet night and a vein of frustration pulsed at Kaiba Seto’s forehead as the odd boy turned to run off through the gardens and towards the gates.
           Before he did, though, he hazarded a glance at the brunette.  
Monday – Montag
           Hazel. Yes, they were hazel eyes. The color had evaded Seto in the moment that the other boy had glanced at him. He tapped the tip of his mechanical pencil against the paper absentmindedly. It had been a long time since he had felt this unfocused, and his stomach turned at the idea of being caught acting so nonchalant, but his own mind had fixated on the odd happenings of the previous night. The cowardly, idiotic guards and the mysterious boy who seemed to be fueled by pure aggression.
           In retrospect it was more than the aggression. The boy they had caught was, for lack of a better word, a bit unusual. He stood out. Seto hadn’t focused on it the actual evening prior but when he mused on the events, the pieces started to click together. Hazel eyes, those weren’t uncommon, although they leaned more towards that odd shade that looked like the honey that Gozaburo’s maids put in his tea. But the Kaiba family lived in Japan. One could find plenty of hazel-eyed children in Japan, but one could rarely see a blonde child running around haphazardly.
           And so aggressive. American, perhaps.
           But he realized that couldn’t be right either; the child had possessed features that were definitely Japanese. Seto groaned in irritation, trying to focus back on the homework sheet in front of him—he had a good twelve more to finish before noon and yet he had spent a good whole of the morning dwelling on the happenings of the previous night. With a groan, he stood to slam open the window; perhaps some fresh air would clear his mind.
           It didn’t.
           Mostly because down in the garden, crouching by the entrance of the hedge maze, was the same boy from last night.
           Seto could feel irritation pounding at his ears as he stormed downstairs, homework forgotten; none of the maids stopped him, only exchanged worried glances. They knew all too well that the ward of the household was beginning to pick up on Gozaburo’s less desirable tendencies, most particularly his paper thin patience and irritability. If the master of the house wished to do something about it then he could but for now, the house staff let him by without a complaint. The brunette youth was soon standing out in the garden with an incredulous look on his already sharp features.
           The other child was digging around in the hedge.
           “What,” Seto asked slowly, letting his shadow fall over the blonde. “Do you think you are doing back here, exactly?”
           The kid looked up, apparently surprised. Then he stuck his tongue out obstinately, returning to digging through the thick leaves of the hedge maze. Seto fumed internally; he had helped this boy from getting his idiotic self hurt only the night before, and this was how he was going to treat the brunette? This shameless, low bred…
           “Bonkotsu!” Seto snapped. That caught the blonde’s attention; he whipped his head up to glare at the other boy and rose to his feet to step threateningly towards the wealthy heir. Seto didn’t as much as twitch. The intruder was not taller than him and he was not older than him, and chances were that if he wanted to pick a fight that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own. The Kaiba family had already enrolled him in regular self-defense lessons.
           “What’dya call me, huh?!” The blonde barked. “Screw off!”
           “One would think that you’d show some modicum of respect to someone who had HELPED you.” Seto replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his crossed his arms and glared harshly at the other. The blonde’s look of annoyance didn’t fade, lower lip jutted out in annoyance, but he didn’t seem to have a retort for that comment. Silence overtook the two boys for a slight moment.
           “….’m lookin’ for my sister’s ball.”
           Seto was a bit thrown off by that. He hadn’t actually expected a reply that was anything but cursing; that was all the blonde kid had done so far anyways. With his voice more controlled, Seto could detect the slightest hints of an accent he couldn’t quite peg—Kansai, maybe? He wasn’t sure. All he could tell was that the boy was kicking his hole filled sneakers back and forth in the dirt that lined the pathway of the hedge maze, eyes squarely focused on his feet. As if he was embarrassed with himself or something. One half of his mind was proud of himself for humiliating the boy. The other half tugged at his chest when he heard the word sister.
           “Was that why you came in last night too?”
           “Well, yeah. She knocked it over earlier and I jumped the gate.”
           “…I see.” Seto took a deep breath. “If its still here then its already been taken inside by the garden staff. It won’t be out here.”
           “Wha…huh? Are you serious?” The blonde gaped stupidly. Seto nodded slowly. “Oh maaaan, are you SERIOUS?! I jumped the goddamn gate twice for nothing!”
           “Come back tomorrow. I’ll…see what I can do.”
           Seto wasn’t sure what had compelled him to say what he said. Maybe it’s the panic in the blonde’s voice, or maybe it’s the little bit at the back of his head that has sympathy for any brother looking out for a sibling. Maybe it’s the fact that the blonde clearly didn’t think any of this through and his idiotic overreacting is charming in its own way. Whatever it is, he received a weird look for it.
           But the blonde nodded anyways.
Tuesday – Dienstag
           It’s probably the first time that Kaiba Seto had a guest since he and his brother moved in with Gozaburo. Although it’s hard to call the weird kid, whose name he didn’t even know, a guest. The blonde seemed to agree; his eyes were darting back and forth nervously. Judging by the state of the kid’s clothing, Seto could easily figure that the ratty mess had never set foot anywhere near a house as nice as the Kaiba Manor. His earlier insult of ‘bonkotsu’ might have been too generous, even—the boy was so out of his element that it was almost funny.
           “Uh, this place is…uh, big.” The blonde said lamely. Seto nodded, a smile threatening to flicker on his lips. “This is all just for one family? I thought it was a club or somethin’…you like, super rich or something?”
           “My family is quite wealthy.” Seto replied shortly, resting his hand on the cool metal of the doorknob to the garden supplies room. “My…father owns a company that produces a large amount of military technology. It’s quite lucrative. Now, are you coming or not?”
           “Wha…oh, we’re here?”
           As if he expected us to be walking forever. There’s only so much manor here.
           Behind the door is a bevy of gardening supplies for the always short handed gardening staff. It was impossible to ever be fully staffed for the huge expanse that was the Kaiba Manor gardens. Despite any of this, though, the blonde immediately dove into a pile of the supplies in an effort to find what he wanted. Seto raised an eyebrow; he certainly wasn’t going to find his sister’s ball alongside the garden sheers.
           “If its here then it will be in the basket in the back.”
           Immediately the blonde looked up, nodding determinedly as he dove into the basket. The outsider didn’t have any of the tact that the staff of the manor had. He acted more akin to the wilder children of the orphanage. Seto narrowed his eyes at that; his time now was certainly not pleasant but he had no love lost for that filthy rathole either. The other children behaved like animals, treated THEM like animals, treated Mokuba like a disposable punching bag. It was the determination of desperation to be the last man standing in a hellhole.
           All that had let Seto hold on was his brother.
           I’m looking for my sister’s ball.
           He paused.
           “What were you and your sister doing over on this side of town?” Seto asked, fingers tightly gripping together behind his back. Like hell he was going to let a stranger see his frustration and confusion. The blonde looked up with his head cocked to one side, then coughed awkwardly into his head. “Well? I believe its fair to say that this isn’t your neighborhood. So why were you loitering around our Manor?”
           “…It’s none of your business.”
           “I won’t let you have your sister’s ball back if you don’t tell me.”
           The blonde paused, irritation scrawled over his features as he looked back to the brunette. Seto didn’t feel particularly proud of himself—his word had come out like a little kid who was upset about not getting the right fast food toy. He had put himself above the child but not by much thanks to his poor delivery. Deep in his head he swore that he’d improve on that; he couldn’t be sounding like a child, even if he was one. It would allow too much potential room for Gozaburo to punish ‘unworthy’ mannerisms.
           “…M’dad dumped us there, alright?” He sighed. “He does it sometimes when he’s really drunk. Are you goddamn happy?”
           Dumped?
           Seto suddenly wished he hadn’t pushed the issue. The room went silent for several minutes as he observed the blonde move carefully through the basket, finally bringing up what looked like a pile of deflated rubber. It was hanging off a pair of old and rusty garden sheers that had been out of use for god only knew how long. The rubber had bright pink and yellow patterns across, and what looked like small white cats printed across it.
           The blonde sighed in irritation.
           “Great.”
           “I believe there might be a suitable replacement. I’ll have to check with the staff about it.”
           There he went again, saying things that he never intended to say. Seto felt a bit like a fool under the gaze of this other kid, a feeling he wasn’t quite used to. Despite the other boy’s somewhat punkish behavior and clothing, he had eyes that could drill right into the back of a grown man’s skull. He was somehow both intimidating and not at all, intimidated and yet fearless of the situation he had placed himself in not once but twice.
           “Come back tomorrow.”
           Was auch immer sein wird, wird sein.
           Whatever will be, will be.
Wednesday – Mittwoch
           “I didn’t catch your name.”
           Seto blinked as he handed the ball to the blonde boy; it’s an old one that Mokuba used to play with, now replaced with a newer one with some sort of cartoons on it. It wasn’t as if the one he was giving away had any sentimental value. If anything, it had nothing but memories of blood and beatings from orphan fists attached to it, so the brunette was more than willing to give it away. It certainly wasn’t ‘cute white kitties’ like a little girl would prefer but it was something and he dared the brat’s sister to challenge it.
           “And I didn’t catch yours.” Seto replied sharply; it was more of a challenge than it was a genuine question. The blonde raised a brow at this, cocking his head to the side; apparently Seto’s aggression didn’t quite get to him. Carefully he bounced the ball a few times to test it out.
           “I’m not tellin’ you my name, rich boy. You’ll try to sue me for trespassing or something.”
           “I assure you, bonkotsu, if I wanted to do that then I would’ve done it already.” Seto said irritably; the blonde boy bit his lip in frustration. He seemed to really dislike that nickname. The brunette filed the thought to the back of his mind to remember (the commoner doesn’t like being called a commoner) but made no move to apologize. Finally, “If it annoys you so much then just tell me what your name is.”
           “I thought this was to get YOU to tell me YOUR name.”
           “I suppose the odds changed against you, then.”
           “Katsuya. It’s Katsuya.” Seto waited patiently; there was no more. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not tellin’ you my whole name.”
           “Why not?”
           “It…its not a common last name.”
           He was lying, Seto could tell, but there was no point pushing the issue. It was obvious that Katsuya was not planning to reveal much of his personal information. Again the brunette found himself wondering why he even cared. Maybe he was just so far removed from other children that actually encountering another boy his age felt near novel. Gozaburo didn’t allow Seto much interaction with other children; the only one he was really allowed to speak to on a regular basis was his younger brother and even that was heavily controlled.
           This was not. Nothing about this felt controlled.
           Seto wasn’t sure he liked that, but then, he wasn’t even really sure what to make of this situation as a whole.
           “Do you like games?” He found himself suddenly saying. Katsuya stopped bouncing the ball in his hands to stare blankly at the brunette. “I mean like card games and board games.”
           “Uhh, I don’t really play board games much…” Katsuya scratched his cheek awkwardly; he clearly was having trouble figuring out why the brunette was keeping him up like this. Seto would’ve liked an answer to that question himself but he was not about to let it show.  “…m’dad taught me some card games, though. I can play blackjack.”
           “I see…”
           Silence. Again.
           “Y’wanna play blackjack?”
           “…I suppose.”
           He should’ve been doing his worksheets, and he knew that. He should’ve been reading those thick German books with their words that sounded like choking on spit. He should’ve been refining his accent in the language and perfecting it for business practices. He should’ve been doing anything other than sitting down in the garden supplies closet to take out the deck of standard cards in his pockets to lay them down and play several rounds of blackjack with this stranger who he barely trusted and who barely trusted him.
           Yet he did anyways.
           Kaiba Seto had been surprising himself a lot, lately.
           The other boy was clearly no prodigy in gaming like he was, though. Certainly it could be said that blackjack was a game of luck in the end but one usually had to utilize some kind of logic and sense to really become good at it. Katsuya seemed to  have streaks of random good luck but his form was sloppy, almost as if his learning of the game was second-hand rather than genuinely taught. He surprised Seto once or twice but never on purpose.
           He ended up playing the blonde enough rounds to get all the way to sunset, though, so there was something to be said for Katsuya anyhow. Somehow, when the boy was leaving, he ended up being invited to come back again.
           Surprising that he would agree without asking for Seto’s name again.
           An unfocused mind, indeed.
Thursday – Donnerstag
           The blonde didn’t come on Thursday.
           Seto couldn’t comprehend it. The boy had come back every time before when he was asked—no, TOLD. Irritation itched at the back of his skull as he scribbled down German phrases. The brunette had gone back to his assignments from Gozaburo almost immediately, as they had been nagging him the entire week. But it was now hard to focus; his mind was going on over the rounds of blackjack and the one or two hands that Katsuya had won. Stressfully trying to remember the details of their little game, mildly remembering how he noticed the sunset because it dappled the blonde of Katsuya’s hair.
           It was frustrating.
           Sehr nervig…very annoying.
           He couldn’t even figure out why he should care, anyways.
           The assignments still lay half done for hours.
Friday – Freitag
           “Why didn’t you come yesterday?”
           Katsuya looked up from the blackjack game that Seto had engaged him in again. He wasn’t wearing his usual ratty clothing, now replaced by a suspiciously oversized sweater. It was very ill suiting for the weather—the boy was more than likely sweltering in the heat. Seto wasn’t about to ask questions, though. He already had figured out that Katsuya did what he wanted and wasn’t interested in any questioning towards his actions.
           He did hate when the blonde didn’t answer his questions, though.
           “Katsuya.” He pressed. “Erklären.”
           The blonde gave him a weird look and Seto had to resist a groan. He had been using German all throughout the day, all throughout the blackjack game, and he had gotten the same glance from the blonde every time he had done it. But he couldn’t focus just on these petty games. He just COULDN’T. He could feel the collar already tightening around his neck just at the thought, the burning riding crop scars on his back protesting at the mere idea.
           Katsuya was still staring at him blankly.
           Seto sighed.
           “Explain.”
           “Oh. It’s none of your goddamn business. Hit me.” Katsuya said easily, as if he had said the same thing time and time again. His voice was still muffled by the sweater; Seto studied it carefully as he placed another card out in front of the blonde. As Katsuya swore up a storm at his bad luck—pulling a king, putting him way past twenty on—the brunette carefully reached a manicured finger out to pull the sweater away from his face.
           Blood.
           A huge, welting bandage on his cheek that was coated with dried blood.
           His finger snapped back immediately; that imaginary collar around his neck seemed to tighten more as Katsuya slapped his hands across the sweater and pushed it over his face. The cards dropped between them, hitting the floor and echoing in their ears. Seto processed quickly that the blonde was glaring almost homicidally at him now. Defensively, like an animal caught in a trap.
           Aber Warum…But why?
           Nein.
           You aren’t stupid, Seto. You know WHY.
           He played the rest of the game through quietly, not mentioning the sweater or the dried and bloodied wound on the other boy’s cheek. Katsuya seemed to appreciate the withdrawal from discussion.
           It wasn’t like Seto wanted to talk about when Gozaburo hit him, either.
           The hand played through.
           No one won.
           Not really.
           But something tugged at Seto and made that person across from him feel a little less distant, even as he tried to ignore the appreciation in the blonde’s eyes.
           Komm morgen zurück?
           Come back tomorrow.
           I’m starting to miss you.
Saturday – Saamstag
           He hadn’t been expected to be summoned to Kaiba Gozaburo’s study first thing in the morning. Certainly, he was expected to have an audience with the man at least once a day for ‘personalized training’. But it wasn’t like the man had any personal interest in either of his sons. Seto was more like a toy for the man to play with as he willed, and Mokuba may as well not be there for all that Gozaburo cared. Though Seto had to admit the latter was probably for the best. The last thing he wanted was Gozaburo focusing his attention on Mokuba.
           Mokuba watched him with huge, fretful black eyes as he entered the polished study of the megalomaniac that he laughably called a parent. Seto turned around to pointedly shut the door in his little brother’s face; the last thing that Mokuba needed was to see whatever it was that Gozaburo had in mind for him. It was cruel but it was what had to be done.
           He tried to remind himself of this as he clicked the lock shut and turned to the middle-aged businessman.
           Gozaburo stood with his back facing the boy, dark against the morning light of the window. One hand held out from his massive body, gesturing the small child forward to stand beside him. Seto swallowed his fear, ignored the tugging sensation that ghosted his neck, and strode up as confidently as he could to stand aside the intimidating creature that called itself his ‘father’ now.
One thick hand grasped tightly—too tightly—on his shoulder. Seto bit back the sensation of pain as he stared out the window with Gozaburo. They looked out on the garden that faced towards the gate, down at the hedge maze that Seto had been in just a few days ago. Down at the doorstop where, in this early morning light, no one stood.
           “Your friend is coming, Seto.”
           His resolve was immediately chipped at.
           Katsuya was standing at the gate—he had just arrived—and was being spoken to by one of the maids. Their conversation didn’t seem to be unpleasant but considering where he was, Seto could only have a bad feeling about the direction this was about to go. Especially as Gozaburo’s grip on his shoulder increased to a near burning level.
           “Hold out your hand, Seto.”
           He obliged the older man, biting his lip furiously and narrowing his dark blue eyes. In his hands Gozaburo placed a small button controller. Seto looked at it curiously, unable to control a feeling of discomfort twisting up in his stomach. He hazarded a quick glance at his adoptive father; he wore a smirk across his aging features, malevolence gleaming in his eyes.
           His grip tightened.
           “Report the child to security, Seto. He’s trespassing.”
           “No he’s not, I invited—”
           “No, Seto. You didn’t. Because if you did, then you have failed to learn a damn thing.” Gozaburo interrupted. The brunette felt as if his shoulder was about to dislocate with the grip held on him. “You are a Kaiba. That down there is a commoner. Your duty is to present me with what I need, do the work I require of you, and become worthy of this name. That down there has nothing to do with any of it so therefore, has nothing to do with you.”
           “What…”
           The hand on his shoulder loosened, rubbed Seto’s sore arm almost soothingly; somehow this was even more unnerving. He clutched the remote in his hand tightly as he looked down on the maid and the blonde child. He still was wearing that ungainly sweater, covering that sore on his face. But…
           “You know, the more time you spend with other children the less time you have to spend on my lessons. If you’re that unworthy than perhaps I’ll switch my focus to Mokuba.”
           He pressed down on the remote with his thumb, hard.
           In a way he could say he didn’t want to see this, that Gozaburo had held him there against his will. But he hadn’t. With dull, fading blue eyes he watched over the whole ordeal as blood splattered and the wound on the blonde’s cheek tore open again. Spit and blood was left where the boy had been talking with the maid, now left aghast as the guards bodily threw Katsuya out the gate of the Kaiba Manor. He could say he didn’t watch all of this of his own will.
           He could say that.
           But he wouldn’t.
           Because watching it helped what was left of him die.
           “A Kaiba shouldn’t be interacting with the common people. You have so much more that you have to do to prove yourself to me, Seto.”
           He was silent for a moment. Then…
           “Da liegt der Hund begraben.”
           Gozaburo chuckled darkly.
           “How morose.”
           That’s where the dog is buried.
5 notes · View notes
Text
Not Another Vampire Romance: Chapter 5: “The time for childhood dreams are long past their expiration date.”
‘I most defiantly will not have fun.’ I found myself thinking the moment she pulled me into the crowd that had gathered around the plaza. It was a beautiful place on its own, decorated for the festive season that was coming upon us. Garlands frosted with fake snow and strings of twinkling lights climbed up every lamp post, strung across the gazebo where the band played and down the banisters. Red Crushed velvet was draped in bows, and poinsettia’s dotted the plaza by the dozen. The holiday cheer filled by all around us was the antithesis of what my gut was telling me to feel. 
My spine felt tight, ready to jump, while my fingers itched to reach for the handle of my blades. I scanned the crowd over and over again, looking for that familiar, villainous face I was after. I couldn’t banish the frown that had grown on my face, and I wondered if she could see the anxiety that I felt tied up in knots within my stomach.
Jackrabbit was here, somewhere, ready to strike.
So too, would I.
“Not a big fan of country?” She asked, her voice distant but clear enough to bring me back. I shifted my focus to her, and felt my chest tighten. Her eyes looked sad, heavy and burdened.
“Aw,” I thought if I should lie, but the truth came out before I could make up my mind. “No.”
“Yeah, me either.” She shrugged. I watched her, wondering if she was only saying that to go along with what I said.
“You might not have guessed by looking at me,” She continued, “But I tend to gravitate towards the heavier brand of music.”
“Like?”
“Oh, just rock, metal… and then the bit more obscure genres.”
“Huh. Who is your favorite band?” She was right, she didn’t look like the kind that listened to rock or metal. 
“Oh, I doubt you’ve heard of them.” She waved me off as if she listens to some obscure band. I had to hold my humor and disgust back when a thought came to me that she might mention Nickleback.
“Try me.” I wasn’t a music buff, but I’ve heard a good portion of the music out there. Far too much of it sounded the same.
“Well, have you heard of Avatar?” She asked. The first thing that came to mind was the James cameron movie about those blue monkey people.
“That James Cameron movie?” I questioned, unsure of what she meant. 
That made her burst out in laughter. 
Her eyes became like shining jewels held up in front of a hot summers sun, and her laugh was musical and almost perfect, then she snorted. She slapped her mouth from the loud noise, and tried to muffle her laughs till they finally died down.
“I’m sorry, but no. Avatar is an avant-garde heavy metal band.” She explained, pulling out her phone and showing me a web link about the band. The singer was decked out in a full jokers outfit, and the lead guitarist was referred to as the ‘King’ of Avatar Country. They had quite the cult following.
“You are right, I have no idea who they are, and you certainly don’t strike me as someone who would enjoy that.” I admitted. Heavy metal, as far as I knew it to be, was garble trash that I couldn’t understand a single lyric to.
“Their music is beautiful, tortured and inspired. I am moved every time I hear any of their songs.” She frowned.
“I didn’t mean to insult your taste in music.” Not directly, anyways.
“You didn’t insult me… And I wouldn’t expect most people to understand or appreciate their music…”
“You see,” She continued, “When I hear their music, it takes all the things that I am battling inside, the anger, pain, sadness, loneliness, hate. For a time, albeit it short, I am able to let it go.”
“Music does that for a lot of people.” I agreed.
“I just need the stronger kind for it to work I guess.” She smiled, turning her head back to the music up on the stage. They were just finishing their last set and introducing the upcoming band.
“You don’t have to let music take on all the burden.” I whispered down into her ear. She whipped her head to look me dead in the eyes, and I saw the terror in them. 
“Do I frighten you, my little doe?” I asked, searching her, hoping I could give her any comfort in this solitude she seemed to keep herself within.
My eyes couldn’t help but soak in what was only inches away from them, and when they landed on her vermilion lips, I was entranced.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming out today-“ I heard announced over the mic. I hardly heard the voice over the crowd, and I only wanted to hear what she might have to say.
“You don’t even know me.” She looked down, perhaps studying her functional brown sneakers. They certainly seemed more practical that those red ice picks she wore last time.
“Then let me.” I asked.
“I-“
“I am Jackrabbit.” The voice crawled up my spine like a spider. I snapped out of my daze and looked straight to the stage to see the new band. 
“That narcissistic bastard.” I growled. He had named the band after his own alter ego. He was front and center, and starring directly at us. He wore his typical black leather cowboy get up that was decades out dated. He had found his niche when all the Americans began sputtering out manifest destiny and heading west to claim land that was never theres to begin with. He found the West suited him well, and it was over too soon, at least in his eyes.
“Looks like tonight is going to be interesting, filled with plenty of fun.” He smiled, then tilted his head to and fro as if to ponder a thought. “Maybe a little blood shed… But don’t worry about that.”
“Now who is ready?” He roared, lifting up both of his fists in the air. The crowd cheered and did the same while Jackrabbit glared greedily at us.
“Good.” He chuckled like a literal demon from hell.
I heard the shrill scream of a woman before I ever saw his flesh tare away like wet paper. Amplified by the sound system on the stage, the cracks of his bones as they contorted to form his true self echoed through the entire plaza. He grew in size, tripling his human husk. Two pairs of leathery wings broke free from his back and shot him up and out into the air, his hooked feet catching several poor souls. Illuminated by the full moon, my eyes watched in disgust as his first victims were tossed up and then consumed whole by his dislocated jaw; much like that of a ravenous snake. Finishing off his gruesome scene, which sent the crowd into a spiral of fear, the entirety of the plaza was covered in a spray of blood.
“Grey?” I heard Alyra whisper behind me, her hands clutching my arm and her knees visibly trembling. I looked to her for only a moment, to give her the slightest assurance that this is why I was here. For her. I would protect her.
“Stay behind me.” I instructed.
Whipping my head back to face Jackrabbit, I seen he had already landed on his hooked feet, making his way towards us. With one fluid motion, I withdrew both blades from my personage and leapt towards this beast.
“Esheton Grey,” Jackrabbit laughed as I swung the blade at him, only to miss by a mere inch.
“Making a bit of trouble again, Jackrabbit?” I asked, taking another attempt to strike him down.
He leapt back from my quick and fierce swings of the blades.
“So you have come out of retirement, and mean to slay the beasts once more, and for what, because I want to have a little fun?”
“This isn’t just a little fun. It is a message, and I hear it loud and clear. I mean to reply in kind, so if you don’t mind, let us fight.” I stuck my feet securely on the ground and prepared for a fight.
“So you know this is a job?” He questioned, still not making a move against me. “Do not tell me you are protecting that little morsel?”
“Enough Jackrabbit, fight!” I roared, leaping up and bringing my blades down. Quick and blurry he escaped my attack and slammed a blow to my back to send me down into the brick plaza with a great force.
I felt the wind drawn out of me, and it was only then that I realized that I was weak, out of practice, and dying of thirst.
“The problem with your diet, Grey, is that your are dying from it.” He chuckled, sending me flying back with a kick to the gut.
I hit the ground and rolled. I finally came to an abrupt stop when I struck the trunk of a tree.
Shaken, I rose to my feet. I lifted my arms to attack when I realized both blades had been flung out of my hands and were scattered across the plaza. My normal blade was closer, but the Morning Star would be needed to end this beast. Taking not a moment to think, and working solely on instinct, I ran for Morning Star.
“Hm, what is this now?” Jackrabbit smiled, reaching for the gleaming blade. Taking it in his grip was a foolish mistake on his part, and everyone heard that it was. He bellowed from what I assumed to be a scorching, enduring pain that he could never heal from. He flung the blade away in a panic, dancing away in terror. 
Not more than a few steps away, I took Morning Star in my hand and pointed it towards him.
“Did you already forget how great this blade is?” I asked the tortured demon.
“Clearly, and that power… Am I wrong to think it is missing its other half?” 
“Still enough to mortally wound you.” I smirked.
“Have you washed your hands of us all so much that you are no longer affected by it?” He grimaced, the pain in his hand apparent. The wound was making his leathery skin bubble like goo, and it was quickly trailing up his forearm. In time, were I to leave him as he is, it would take over his whole body and kill him in a slow and tortured death.
“Are those your final words, Jackrabbit?” I asked, taking great strides straight up to him, the intent to separate his sickly soul from his mortal coil. Killing him now was a merciful thing, and Jackrabbit knew it; I could see the realization in his black, evil eyes. Right before and during their death, these beasts always seemed to exhibit the mark of a soul about to meet the other side. Terrified and worried for their eternal damnation.
I held Morning Star at his heart, pushing in slowly.
“I won’t be the only one to come after her… And now that you have intervened, I doubt you can remain in the dark about your involvement.” He warned.
“Do you know why they have such an interest in her, or are you so low on the food chain you only do what you can for the scraps?”
“If I told you, would it change my fate?” 
That question made me pause. Would he, could he know anything about their plans? 
I knew I had to remember that this was Jackrabbit, never a member of the elite four, or even an underling for the hundred. He was a simple Headhunter, scraping by for bounties, vying to be noticed but never seen. Still, could he have heard something?
“I can’t risk your life for hers.” I apologized.
“Either way, I doubt what I have would have to say would have been enough.” He was a tricky devil.
I plunged Morning Star into his heart till I ran out of blade.
“Blood.” He whispered.
“What?” I asked, unsure of what he meant.
“Her blood.” He whispered right before he turned to ash.
I rose up to stare at the pile of ash at my feet, the breeze slowly spreading it across the plaza, I completely unaware of the group that stood at the outskirts of our skirmish.
“Grey, I think we should go.” I thought I heard Alyra say, but I couldn’t be sure. I felt in a daze, still trapped by his final words. Her blood. What about Alyra was so extraordinary that they would be concerned with her blood? 
“You look hurt, are you okay?” She asked me, but I couldn’t speak. My head was dizzy, spinning with thoughts of what the devil was cooking up and what his plans may be.
“I need to get you cleaned up, do you want me to take you home or-“
“We can’t stay here.” I muttered, wandering off to one direction, her hands guiding me in another.
My mind was still warped in thought when I numbly got into a vehicle.
“Maybe I should take you home?” She asked. 
I felt myself shake my head no, unsure of how to proceed. I couldn’t understand why they were so desperate for her blood, and perhaps the next time someone came after her, I would be too late if I wasn’t there to stand guard. 
I made up my mind before she had driven more than a block away.
“Go home.” I instructed.
She didn’t say a word, or even nod. 
‘Perhaps she could sense the danger she was in.’ I thought as I watched her. She didn’t even take a peek at me as I studied her, keeping her hands firmly on the steering wheel and eyes on the dark road.
The long, twisting ride was uneventful.
‘Thank Gods.’ I muttered to myself as we pulled up to what I assumed to be her home. It was much larger than I thought someone who lived alone would need. Not to mention the cost. I suddenly began to wonder what employment she had that could afford such a big home.
I went to get out when I noticed her sitting stiffly in her seat. Her fists tight on the steering wheel and made the leather wrinkle and knuckles starch white, the absent eyes and labored breathing; I hadn’t noticed until now that she was terrified. 
“Damn,” I cursed under my breath and walked around to her side and opened the door. Her skin didn’t even seem to recognize the cold air as it breached the inside of the car. “Come on now, let’s get you inside.”
I lifted her gingerly out of the car and placed her hesitantly on her feet. Making sure she was steady before letting go, I tried leading us towards the steps but she didn’t want to budge.
“Alyra?” I looked back when my tugging didn’t move her.
“They are after me, aren’t they.” It didn’t sound like a question. I meant to open my mouth to answer, but she turned around and swung the trunk open and filled her arms with bags. Mindlessly, I began taking bags too and followed her inside as she placed them upon the kitchen island.
It looked like a dream kitchen for a chef.
“You must love to cook.” I heard myself mumble as I did a 360 around her kitchen. 
She shrugged.
“I used to.”
“But not anymore?” I questioned as I helped unload her bags of produce. 
“I do it out of necessity to eat, but I don’t really enjoy it. I probably stopped enjoying it the same time I stopped enjoying food.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips and looking at the plethora of things on her counter top. I could only wonder what she was thinking.
“You’ve picked up a lot of food for not enjoying it.” 
“As I said, out of necessity. Also, I buy in bulk to save on price and because I prepare my meals ahead of time.” She explained. Suddenly, she twirled around and opened up a cabinet and began fingering through shelves that were filled with books.
“There must be more than fifty books in there.” I was surprised to see she had that much. At one point it must have been an obsession.
“Uh, yeah. Something like that.” She muttered, pulling out one thats spine looked well worn and flipped to a page in an instant. Recipe page numbers memorized, swift movements as she grabbed her tools and effortlessly began working made me see just how masterful she was. Could she be more than just a home cook, a chef perhaps?
“Ever work in the food industry?”
She paused, and then laughed.
“Yeah, for like a second. I was a terrible waitress. Got sacked pretty quickly.” 
“But never a cook?” I prodded.
“No. I only cook for friends and family. At least that’s what I used to do before…” I thought she might continue, but she just stood silent as she worked, lips tight on their secrets.
“Before?”
“It’s nothing. Uh, do you want to help a bit?” 
“I’m terrible at cooking.” I admitted outright. “I would probably burn anything you wanted me to cook.”
“Well, if you manage to burn onions by dicing them, then color me impressed.” She laughed.
“Dice?” I didn’t know what that even meant.
“Oh for heavens sake, just cut them into small chunks as evenly as you can manage.” She set out a wooden cutting board and knife and motioned for me to start.
I eyed the work hesitantly.
“You look terrified.” She giggled.
“Do I?” I grinned. She nodded her head and went back to work. 
I took the knife in my hand and felt the edge of the blade with my finger tip. It was slightly dull, and it would not cut so precisely as she might want.
“Oh, did I give you a dull knife?” She asked, looking over. “I have a knife sharpener in this drawer.” She nodded to the one behind her. As I went to dig through the drawer, I found myself thinking back to the things she has said. This woman said the most strangest things that frankly, gave me concern.
“Finding it okay?” She asked, breaking my thoughts.
“Uh,” I moved things around unable to find it. I closed the drawer to try another when I found myself frozen in confusion. I reopened the drawer to see the brightly colored dishes and children's utensils.
“No, not that drawer!” She shouted, slamming the drawer closed and pulling open the one above it. She quickly pulled out an steel rod with black rubber handle and held it out for me to take. “Here.”
“Uh, thanks…” I wasn’t sure how to respond to what I saw, or to her reaction.
“Alyra, do… Do you have kids?” I asked, having not heard or seen a single bit of evidence that she did. That is, until I actually looked. On the front of the fridge were drawings done terribly, yet they made me smile from their waxy appearance and simplistic concepts. One side was covered in cars, trains, airplanes, and robots. The other was flowers, rainbows, animals. But the star piece of art was of a family of three. A mother with three long yellow strands for hair, with two yellow stringy haired kids holding her hand.
I am sure there was more I missed, but what I missed the most, were the actual kids running around in the home.
I turned around when I noticed the chopping Alyra had been doing stopped. In her hand was a small locket with fine detail. It was open and she was smiling with trails of tears falling down her face.
“Alyra?” She looked so fragile, I was afraid that if I touched her, or spoke too loudly, that she would crumble.
“Their names are Charolette and Clarence. Fraternal twins, but you could still hardly tell them apart.” She whispered, turning the locket around to show me their pictures. I had to move in close to view them properly, they were such small pictures of what I could only describe as angels.
Their hair were like halos and eyes shared by their mother.
“They look like you.” I smiled. 
“Yeah, everyone always said that.” She turned the locket back around and gazed down at them. A small finger rose and caressed their cheeks. “But if you look at old pictures of my father, you would say Clarence looked more like him.”
“If you think about it, we all probably look like those from our past.” I agreed, thinking how people often compared me to my father and grandfather in likeness; but it was my mothers eyes they said I had inherited.
“I suppose we do.” She smiled.
“How long ago was it…” I tried asking, “That they…”
I couldn’t say it.
“Died?” She nearly choked on the word herself. 
“Six months.” She finished.
“They look so young.”
“They were five when these pictures were taken.” She nodded. “Only a couple months before…”
“What happened?”
0 notes