#//It's extremely wishful thinking and foolish to hope the man ever would though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sukirichi · 3 years

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sweet lies [03.final]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. toxic! megumi, SEXY TOXIC MEGUMI 🥵, toxic college settings, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, explicit smut, car sex, biting, scratching, sukuna is a sex god, MEGUMI WITH A LIP RING, slight angst

note. FINALLY FINISHED THIS SERIES AAAAHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS SERIES TYSM FOR EVERYTHING! lotsa lub lub for each and everyone of you! anyways let me just say...sweet lies sukuna can politely rail me.

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

It’s…a different story when you have to move back and forth between your newly made acquaintance slash fuck buddy, Sukuna, to your actual fuck buddy and crush, Megumi.

Sukuna’s polite enough to not meddle into your business as he’s promised, which you’re extremely thankful for, but you should’ve known the bubble of happiness would pop the moment you stepped out of your apartment. You’ve left your phone unattended and on silent, earbuds always placed inside to ignore Megumi’s calls.

It’s funny, actually, that he’s never replied much to you before other than occasional dick pic and ‘you awake baby?’ but ever since you’ve been…pre-occupied, suddenly you’re on top of his contacts.

You grumble at the vibration of your phone, Megumi’s name flashing on the screen. Back then, you would’ve soared and jumped to pick up the call, voice sultry and toes pointed at the ceiling as you try to keep in your giggles. Now, you’re dreading it, glaring at his annoyingly handsome contact icon that used to make your heart skip a beat. You’re studying in the library and have been doing a terrific job at avoiding him so far, and today won’t be any different.

With a sigh, you completely flip your phone upside down and turn back to your book. You’re on the second line of the paragraph when you feel large, warm hands caress the back of your neck, tilting you upwards to meet his curious – and certainly annoyed – blue eyes.

“Babe,” Megumi drawls out, minty breath fanning your cheeks.

He looks absolutely stunning today, plain and casual yet so handsome in just a black hoodie and sweatpants, his dark hair slicked back to reveal his forehead. For a guy who sure pounded into your skill he had no interest in you that went beyond sexual, he sure did know you well enough, the slight tugging of his lips a sign he could easily read through you. It makes you huff away from him, scooting – trying is the keyword – away from his touch. Megumi’s persistence leads him into you placing you right above his lap and cages you between his arms, chin on your shoulder and his breath floating over your ear.

You can’t help but squirm in embarrassment. Half of the students in the campus library have turned to look at you, and Megumi merely smiles at the attention, audacious enough to kiss the shell of your ear.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! In reality, you really do want to fuck him.

“Why have you been ghosting me?”

“I wasn’t ghosting you, Megumi, it’s called being busy. You ever tried doing homework?”

“You’re so mean to me today,” he pouts, but that pout soon brightens into a smile when you scowl at him. Megumi, albeit never really paying attention to you, your facial expressions have registered as second nature to him now. It doesn’t take much before you soften under his hold, still as mushy as ever, and the nasty fucker basks in it proudly. “There’s a party tonight at Okkotsu’s house, said his parents were away in Greece or some rich family shit. Wanna come and get wasted with me?”

“I don’t know, Megs, I have an essay to finish…”

“Come on, it’s just one night. It won’t hurt,” he shrugs and sways you to side to side, causing your heart to sway side to side in giddiness. It’s this – moments like this – that really fools you into believing Megumi likes you. And that sweet lie only turns sweeter from his words that drip like honey, “Plus, I’ve missed you. Can’t think straight when we’ve been apart for too long, baby.”

You pretend to think about it.

That slight falter in a split second brings about a waver in Megumi’s confident you didn’t think would be possible. Not that you can blame him; you never did have to think about it whenever he invites you to fuck around with him. In fact, you say yes a lot faster than he can ask you something, but something’s been changing you lately – or rather someone.

In the end though, you’ll circle up right where you belong.

Relishing in the rarity of having Megumi coddle you with kisses and affection, his perfume still as boyish and vanilla that deluded you into his faux aura of a sweet boy, you melt one more time. Hopefully, it would transition into a one last time before Megumi’s completely wrapped you around his finger.

“Fine. I’m leaving if it’s too noisy though.”

“Awesome,” Megumi chirps, pulling you in for a long, solid kiss. It takes you back by surprise that you end up wide-eyed above him, stiff hands on his shoulders as you feel him smile through the kiss. Then, just as you’re about to kiss him back with the same passion, Megumi separates himself from you and squeezes your ass. “Promise we’ll have fun, babe. I’ll even bring extra condoms.”

You’re not surprised he left afterwards.

But are you hurt? Most definitely so.

Fuck Fushiguro Megumi.

You were going to leave him, block him, ignore him, avoid him, and carve him out of your heart for good. It’s what you deserve – to be freed from such a toxic guy like him. His pretty face shouldn’t be an excuse for you stick around any longer. That party…well, it would be your last one, you’re never going back!

Still, it’s not that easy to let go. Years of following him around with puppy eyes and spreading your legs open for him like it’s the most natural thing to do isn’t just going to disappear in a day.

It’s for closure, you lie to yourself. That’s all it is – you just need closure. So for one last time, you’ll fuck around with Megumi, then you’d leave him. For good this time.

And yet – your mind still races back to him. His throaty, boyish laughter and the stupid way his eyes crinkle into half moons, his large hands slapping his knees when you tell him a really silly joke. Okay, he didn’t really laugh that much because he’s already passed out in the times you crack jokes after sex, but the few times he did, though? It’s magical, beautiful, phenomenal.

He’s so awful yet so irresistibly charming it’s a huge tug of war between your rational mind and foolish heart.

You couldn’t focus anymore in the library. If you wanted to pass your exams, you need to be somewhere that won’t remind you of him, in a place where a stronger aroma would conceal his lingering scent. The best option was to hang around in a local café closer to your apartment than on campus, and you’ve completely ditched your usual get up to just opting for lookinglike a complete shut in – bags under eyes, heart torn over a stupid boy, the usual Iced Vanilla Latte with the condensation sticking to the wooden table and soft lofi music playing in the background – it’s just the perfect atmosphere for you to wallow in self-pity.

And wallow in self-pity you did, your cheeks squished against the pale furniture while you sighed for what seems like the hundredth time that day. At the back of your head, Megumi is still giving you one of those slow, long kisses reserved for only when he’s half-sleepy, your heart doing insane back flips as you reminisced whatever moments you once had.

You’re so lost in your own train of thought you fail to hear the scraping of a chair, followed by a heavy body plopping across you. “Well, this is kind of gloomy…”

At the sound of that awfully familiar, deep voice, you sit up straight in a frenzy. Sukuna smirks at your reaction as he loudly sips from his matcha latte – which you would’ve never thought he likes – and sits back at his chair, legs crossed against one another. Unlike Megumi, he doesn’t seem to pose any other malicious intent, so you bury your head in your arms, wishing for the ground to just open up and eat you already.

“I’m sleep deprived and haven’t eaten anything except Red Bull and coffee,” you try to explain, “I look horrible.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous all the time.”

From under your arms, you scowl at nowhere in particular, ignoring the heat rushing from the back of your neck. Sukuna didn’t seem to be flirting with you, and one peek at him swirling his straw inside his cup proves your theories.

However, the offhanded compliment falls so naturally from his lips it takes you a back, and not in a good way. Defensively, you cross your arms against your chest. You knock your toes against Sukuna’s knees under the knees to get his attention, the taller man peering at you under his lashes, tongue innocently swirling around his straw.

I fucking hate men! – is what you want to say, but something different comes out. “Why are you even here? Aren’t you asleep in the morning because of work?”

“It’s my day off,” he sets his cup down, placing his chin on both of his palms. Sukuna’s gaze travels from your face down to the abandoned papers before you, a scowl immediately making its way to his face. “Got too bored to cook so I came here for a light snack. As for you…ew, are you doing essays? I hated that shit in college.”

“Yeah, I hate it too,” you numbly agree, “Can barely function right now.”

Sukuna’s eyes lit up the moment you nearly fall on the table again, his palm quick to caress your cheek. If he can feel the intense heat of your skin from the sudden gesture, he makes no comment about it. Instead, Sukuna hauls you from your seat, nodding to your bag and papers before he rushes you out the door.

When Sukuna said he could make you feel better, the last thing you thought of was going to the nearby park. Now, you find yourself sitting comfortably with him, aggressively licking on the vanilla ice cream he’d gotten you from an ice cream man that passed by. It’s a great way to kill the time – or just to enjoy the day despite the rough start – because the sunlight feels warm on your skin, the trees above you shading you from extra shade.

Next to you, Sukuna is surveying his ice cream with the least interest, his brows furrowed as he notes, “Your crush is toxic. I suggest you cut ties with him and get it all over with.”

In part of making you feel better, Sukuna’s subtly given you clues you could tell him whatever’s going on in your mind. It makes you wonder if maybe you’ve been that obvious that even Sukuna could read you, but you’re thankful that he understood, because you really did want to rant about it. Your friends are just a one call away, but they’re not any better. They’ll keep claiming ‘Megumi just needs time’ because they know it’s what you want to hear to make yourself feel better. Though, every once in a while, you needed to talk to someone who could actually slap the harsh reality at your face, and who else would be more suitable than a mature adult like Sukuna?

Looking at him now, the contrast between your roommate and your crush is immense. Where Megumi is all bark and no bite, all needy and never giving, Sukuna’s silent and compliant, an extremely good listener with the patience of a monk.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah it is. Just block his number and avoid him. He’ll get the answer soon enough.”

“You don’t understand,” you groan in defeat. Sukuna faces you with worry written all over his face, seemingly tender in comparison to the tattoos marking his skin. Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget he’s actually a lot more decent than Fushiguro fucking Megumi, but you end up slipping anyway, turning to the sky just as tears prick at your eyes. “I…I love him, okay? I’ve always been in love with him even though I know I’m just someone who warms his bed. I know that much and yet…I can’t seem to let him go.”

Sukuna is silent for a full minute. You thought he’ll offer you some adult wisdom only people like him would now, but Sukuna simply snorts, happily licking at his ice cream as if you didn’t just break down in front of him. “Shit’s tough then.”

“You’re great at comforting, you know that?”

“Oh, I wasn’t comforting you,” he smiles and pats your knee, “Come on, let’s go home. I know just how to take your mind off things.”

With the way he’s caressing your thigh and his voice turned an octave lower, you chastise yourself for feeling aroused when you wanted to cry just seconds ago. But his fingers are inching closer and closer to your inner thigh, and he’s warm and strong – so fucking nice too that perhaps fucking him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

But like always, Sukuna never fails to surprise you.

You expected he’d take you right to his room the moment you’ve crossed the door, but Sukuna dashes for the TV before carrying a huge blanket and heaps of pillow. You watch there, stunned. He makes quick work of fluffing the pillows before grabbing your wrist and pulling you above him the same way Megumi did a while ago.

The only difference? Your heart doesn’t skip a beat. You’re not intoxicated by his scent. You’re not trying to squirm away from him nor do you feel like a silly little schoolgirl who’s fallen in love at first sight.

Where Megumi is deceivingly charming, Sukuna is more like a strong pillar to lean on, which you do exactly. Your head rests on his shoulder, both of your legs tangled under the blankets he’s covered you with. He’s blinking as Tangled plays on the TV, the faint sensation of his fingers playing with yours comforting and way too comfortable. It should feel weird to hang out with a guy like this without him wanting to shove his dick deep inside you minutes later (your movie marathons with Megumi never really finish as previously planned) but with Sukuna?

It feels natural. It feels great. It feels like home.

You’re gaping at him long before you realize it, one of your hands absentmindedly playing with the strings of his hoodie. Sukuna hums along to I Have A Dream with a small smile on his face, one that forms into a playful glare as he catches you staring at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Disney is a classic.”

You fight back a smile. “Wasn’t complaining,” burying yourself deeper into his warm embrace, you’re lulled into an early slumber with Sukuna’s humming combined with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His plan worked efficiently – for a moment, you forget your heart was aching to begin with.

After screaming internally for a good hour and a half, you arrive at the party anyway. The stench of weed, alcohol, and sex hanging thickly in the air is more than familiar to you by now. You ignore the catcalls you receive as you make your way to Megumi and fuck, he just had to look even sexier tonight.

He’s ditched his e-boy getup with a plain white shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, a Converse, and that black leather jacket he always refused to wear. Megumi really woke up and chose violence today, the minimalistic silver chain around his neck only adding to his appeal. You should’ve run away then – he literally screams trouble – but you’ve never been one to shy from that. Truth be told, you’re only pulled in harder, swaying your hips side to side as you sashay to where he’s laughing along with his friends.

Clearing your throat to get his attention, Megumi finally lays his eyes on you.

You’re glad you took the extra time to dress in your best outfit today – a lace orange mini dress that accentuates your cleavage just enough for a tease, paired with black combat boots and a white purse slung from your shoulder. Pride pumps through your veins when Megumi steps away from his friends, his hands encircling around your waist almost possessively. He smirks through your hair, those addicting lips trailing lower and lower down to your neck until, “You smell like another man.”

Now that you weren’t expecting. He doesn’t seem to be mad, perhaps a little jealous judging by how he’s grinding his crotch to your abdomen and tugs you closer, but this is Megumi in the question. He never gets jealous, so you flatten your palms onto his chest, eyes daring and red lips upturned into a smirk as you ask, “Why do you care?”

Megumi raises a brow – which really shouldn’t have been such a sexy thing – at your spunk. Normally, you’re too sweet and submissive to him, never would’ve even dared to dress something as revealing like this, but maybe you’re tired of being sweet.

Maybe this time, you wanted to match Megumi’s spice, fight fire with fire.

Megumi chuckles above your lips and swipes a thumb over your lower lip, humming when the coating doesn’t stain his fingers. He’s mentioned before he hates washing the lipstick off his dick, and the fact you remember that has him groaning at your ear. Unsurprisingly, Megumi’s already hard. He nibbles at the shell of your ear, possessive hands brushing over your collarbone as a silent promise of what he’ll be doing to you tonight.

“Like I said, this pussy is mine.”

You should say no. It’s evident in the darkness of his eyes he’s daring you to say no, but it’s too much. The cramped space that diminishes space until it becomes a myth, his hands rubbing circles at your hip, the glint of his new lip ring under the disco lights and anything, everything about Fushiguro Megumi just makes you feel so weak you can’t say no.

Satisfied with your silence, Megumi sweeps you upstairs. There’s already a round of Truth or Dare going on with a bunch of drunk and half-high college students, the lights red and the aroma of weed thick in the air.

It bothers you so you stick close to Megumi, nose stuck at the collar of his leather jacket. He’s not satisfied with just you sitting next to him; Megumi is territorial. He makes sure you’re comfy and using his lap like a throne, clasping both your hands in your lap while he boredly stares at his friends. Okkotsu Yuta, the host who used to be super shy in his freshman year but became one of the most sought after guys in his junior year, sits across from you in the circle. He’s already giggling in his drunken state while Nobara Kugisaki makes the mistake of choosing dare, flinging her bra straight at a very enthusiastic Yuuji.

They spin the bottle and it lands straight at you. Megumi hums in anticipation at the crook of your neck, his little sounds mixed with his heated touches sending fire straight down your core. It’s inebriating to have him this close, but you need to keep a straight head if you want to survive.

Fighting the arousal pooling at your stomach, you offer a flat smile. “Truth.” As expected, the crowd isn’t pleased. They holler, “Booooo,” with their hands cupped around their mouths, the others snickering at you, though you’re quite satisfied with the safety of your choice. You could be crazy with Megumi, but being crazy around others isn’t something you’re comfortable with.

Thankfully, Yuta shushes the crowd dramatically with a threat he’ll kick them out with his infamous Katana that’s been passed down by an ancestor. Once everyone’s calmed down, Yuta smirks at you, eyes wiggling as he asks, “Who’s the best dick you ever had?”

You don’t think twice about it. Someone else’s face pops up for a split second, but it’s so natural, so obvious that you would say – “Megumi.”

“Speak louder, baby, they won’t hear.”

“It’s you,” you suddenly grow shy at the attention, whatnot with Megumi shamelessly trailing hot kisses down your neck now for everyone to see. He’s shameless as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh, all the while keeping eye contact with the other guys whose eyes are zeroed in on the swell of your breasts that are an inch away from popping out from your dress. It’s the best time to submit, the perfect time to give him what he wants, and his expert hands prompt his name out of you with a single suck at your neck.

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Damn, Megumi, you’ve trained your bitch well.”

“’Course I did. My dick does all the disciplining,” Megumi cups your jaw to tilt your face at him, cooing at you as you flush embarrassed from everyone’s snickering. “Aw, don’t pout baby, it’s all just harmless jokes. You know I treat you like a goddess when we’re alone.”

“Yo, man, get a fucking room!”

Megumi ignores Yuuji’s comments and makes an offhanded comment the latter is just jealous because he hasn’t had his dick wet in days, ensuing a close dog fight between the guys. Maki has to step in and kick the strawberry haired boy back to his seat, scolding her cousin to back down. Meanwhile, you cling to Megumi like a scaredy-cat, head empty with nothing but the way he’s never hold you this close and proudly before.

Just one last time.

“Megs, your turn.”

“Dare.”

Yuuji slaps his palm over Yuta who usually gives the dares. The older guy rolls his eyes but lets it slide, knowing that Yuuji could also let loose with his dares. Megumi isn’t afraid though, he stays docile around you, leaving little nibbles at your ear and even squeezing your boobs at one point. You know he’ll never back down from Yuuji’s dares, even as his eyes darken with mischief. Now, Yuuji is a nice guy, but something doesn’t quite feel right with the way he’s staring Megumi down.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room.”

Megumi freezes.

Time must’ve stopped because everyone is chanting, “KISS, KISS, KISS!” but he makes no move. You stay there, staring up at him wide eyed with your arms looped around his neck. Your heart is beating a mile a minute in your chest the moment Megumi’s eyes gaze down to your lips, smirking as he leans closer, leans down lower, and you close your eyes, waiting for the salacious kiss that would sear at the back of your mind. But it never comes and a gust of wind flies by through you, and before you know it, Megumi’s leaned over your shoulder, his hand cupping the cheek of this girl named Alicia who you’ve heard about from your friends before that she’s Megumi’s current pick.

Alicia was never supposed to kiss him back. Your friends told you, they promised you she wasn’t the type of person to fall for the likes of Megumi, and yet she’s smiling through the kiss. You’re still in Megumi’s lap but your vision is of the audience, their jaws dropped and Yuuji slapping Yuta’s thighs. “Oh, shit! That’s gotta hurt!”

You don’t think twice.

You push yourself off Megumi and run out the room, the sounds of their chaotic laughter mocking you to no end. You know – you fucking know – you’d never quite belong in Megumi’s circle. Everyone knows you’re just another one of his bed warmers, and they also know how much you’re hopelessly in love with him, begging, hoping that one day he might return your affections.

It makes perfect sense with each step you take further from the room. This has to be staged, intentional, because there’s no way Yuuji would’ve said that if he didn’t already have an idea maybe Alicia reciprocated Megumi’s feelings.

But what about your feelings?

Does no one really care? Were you really reduced to just another body count?

Your chest squeezed uncomfortably as you pushed past the crowd, ignoring everyone’s protests from how rough you were. You don’t stop until you’ve locked yourself inside a restroom, tears freely falling down your face. With trembling hands, you fall back to the floor, dialing the only person you could trust right now.

He picks up not three rings later, voice still gruff and laced with sleep. “Hello?”

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper, pathetically wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. “I’m – can you please pick me up?”

From the other line, you can hear Sukuna shuffling for something in the background. Keys dangle and he locks the door, the sounds of his rushed footsteps so relieving to your senses. “Where are you? What’s wrong? Did someone force themselves on you?”

“No, I just…I want to go home.”

“Text me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

You text him the address and end the call. From the outside, the bass is thumping so hard it makes your head pound. You’re already feeling dizzy from crying so much, hands clutched around your chest because it hurts so much.

Stupid Megumi, fucking stupid Megumi – but aren’t you the stupider one? You’re the one who chose to keep being with him despite the warning signs. You’ve heard what everyone said about him, his reputation as a fuckboy isn’t exactly a secret, but you hoped, you sincerely hoped you could at least be good enough. But you’re not not good enough – Megumi just simply doesn’t deserve you. You deserve better and he needs to go to hell, so then why does it hurt so much the more you picture how he’s humiliated you like that?

Your dress is beyond soaked from how much you’ve cried. At this point, you just feel achingly numb. The pounding in your head is matched by the soft knocks rapping against the door, and thinking it’s Megumi or one of his lackeys, you wrap your arms around your knees.

“GO AWAY!”

“Sweetheart, it’s me. Open up, let’s get you home,” It’s Sukuna. Scrambling for the door, you push it open and jump into his arms without a second thought. Sukuna effortlestly catches you, and the dam you thought had dried up in you breaks again. He stiffens as you cry on his shoulder, fists balled around his shirt in a vice-like grip. “Who the fuck made you cry? Is it him again?” he growls, “I seriously want to knock the living daylights out of him.”

“Don’t start a ruckus, Sukuna.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he visibly softens at your state. Sukuna rubs your back soothingly and lets you cry like that, shielding your vulnerable state with his arm. He moves you to hide your face in his chest and kisses the crown of your head, so gentle and unbelievably tender. “I don’t pick on someone weaker than me. That’s bullying.”

You don’t utter another word as he leads you out of the house. He mutters under his breath on how kids are so wild these days and he really can’t imagine he was once like that. Sukuna’s car is parked on the curb, and you rush for it, eager to go home until he stops you. He wraps his jacket around your shoulders to offer you some modesty and you offer him a weak smile, allowing him to embrace you from the sides to guide you.

“Hey!” Megumi calls out, “Hey, what are you doing with her? Let her go,” his footsteps echo behind you just as you clench your eyes shit, “I said let her go!”

“Don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid,” Sukuna mutters to himself like a mantra.

“Yo, steroid guy, you deaf or what? I said let my girl go—” Megumi falls on his ass. He stares up at whoever punched him, eyes wide at Sukuna’s arm raised, but his eyes are on you. “Ow! You fucking bitch, you broke my nose!”

“Shit,” Sukuna laughs beside you as you wince at the soreness of your knuckle. “That was hot.” Somehow, you find the ability to smile. You’ve always wanted to top Megumi, but seeing him below you like this, weak and clutching his broken nose while whining about it like a little bitch, it feels a lot more satisfying.

You want to scream at him, to release all the profanities that have manifested your anger throughout the years. But Megumi crawls back with something unreadable in his eyes, the edges of his lips tinted red with a smack of lipstick, probably from Alicia.

The sight has you scoffing. Maybe you don’t have anything to worry about after all – Megumi hates lipstick stains with a passion. If he ever gets with her, they won’t last long enough.

That fact is enough for you to flip your hair over your shoulder, glaring at Megumi one last time before dragging Sukuna down by the collar. His laughter ceases the moment your lips collide, your hands teasing around his neck to brush at his undercut. Sukuna moans through the kiss, the way he’s explicitly grabbing the flesh of your ass a sign he’s aware what kind of game you’re playing. You make a mental note to apologize for this later, but for now, you’ll shamelessly savor his tongue and the minty aftertaste, grabbing at his large frame that picks you up with no ease.

You leave Megumi gaping at the lawn after that, your finger middle raised right before Sukuna speeds off.

Fuck, that has never felt so good. This feeling…it bursts through you. There’s this certain satisfaction in finally having the power at your fingertips this time around, and you you’re your wicked smile through your hair, too absorbed in your own feelings that you don’t register Sukuna’s worried tone at first.

“So…do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He doesn’t pry afterwards, just shoots you a curious look. Just moments ago, you were crying and feeling like you’re on the verge of breaking down, but this adrenaline rushing through absolutely cannot fuck around anymore. The image of Megumi realizing he’s lost you is so exhilarating, and you twist your torso to face your roommate, grinning at his handsome features. He looks so delicious like this, black button up shirt left open at the top, his veiny, muscular arms driving one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently caressing your thigh. You suck in a deep breath, licking your lips as you purr, “Hey, Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Pull over.”

“Wait, why? We’re so close at home.”

“Pull over, I’m done,” you insist with a glare, although the animosity isn’t directed at him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on the road before he spares you a glance, smirking at how you’re already unclasping your bra from your seat.

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re going to use me as a stress reliever.”

At his words, your arms still behind you. You glance up at him with wide, worried eyes that immediately reach out for his hands in assurance. “N-No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Usually, sex is a lot crazier when the other is angry. Use me as you will – I don’t really care,” he licks his lips and suddenly slams on the brakes under an empty parking lot, already flipping something in the engine. You’re taken aback as Sukuna discards his shirt in a second, his large arms carrying your frame to the backseat with him. Sukuna spreads your legs as he helps you get rid of your dress but it’s too tight that you just give up, leaving the material bunched under your boobs instead. Sukuna’s eyes darken at the lack of material under your dress, his fierce gaze shooting up to yours as he massages your inner thighs, his breath labored.

“What position do you want?”

“Fu-fuck, I don’t know, just fuck me,” you whine, spreading your legs farther to make space for him. He’s a tall guy with long limbs that he shrinks even with his fancy car, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sukuna seems a lot more focused in fucking you in that moment because he’s unhooking his belt, diving down for one more kiss that is a lot heated and rushed than the previous one for show.

“I want to get rid of his face from my mind, I fucking hate him so much,” you can’t help but bite down on Sukuna’s lip, hard enough that it draws blood. Sukuna groans into your mouth, the sound so utterly deep and sexy you drip down on his seats even more.

“You’ll still go back to him after this?”

“No…it would be stupid if I did,” you roll your eyes.

“Good girl,” Sukuna praises as his lips leave a wet trail from your jaw down to the valley of your breasts. His smile is quickly replaced with a sinister grin, one of his hands cupping your breasts at the same time his teeth dart out to playfully nip at your breasts. He really shouldn’t look so enticing under you like this, and you’re so caught by his devilishness you fail to realize he’s already rummaging through your purse. “But I think lover boy still doesn’t get the message. We’re gonna have to punch it through his dumb skull.”

He hands you your phone, Megumi’s contact right before you.

“Sukuna, what’re you doing?”

“Call him,” Sukuna moves up to fish a condom out of his wallet and slides it to his already throbbing cock, chuckling at the way your eyes widen at his girth as if you hadn’t taken him before. “Call him and let him hear how I fuck you better, sweetheart. Boys like him won’t get the message unless you tell them directly.”

His hands clutch the backseat until his knuckles turn white, aligning himself with your entrance. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily and you moan loudly at the intrusion, pretty little gasps a sign of your pleasure. Helplessly, you grip at his bicep while your legs shake from how tense you are, the tantalizing movement of his hips pulling breathless moans from you. “And what better way than to take what’s his, right? What did he call this? His pretty pussy?” Sukuna scoffs, “Fuck that, stupid little boys can’t even fuck you right, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“Ngh, Sukuna, that f-feels good, right there!”

“Right here?” he teases with a stroke of his cock that brushes against your tight walls. Sukuna’s face contort into pleasure when your tight pussy sucks him in, falling forward just to rasp in your ear. “Call him. Then, I’ll fuck you however you want me to.”

You don’t know how you’re able to swipe on Megumi, but he picks up in the speed of light like never before. Sukuna mouths loudspeaker and you follow his commands, Megumi’s voice booming through the sex-filled air of the car. “Where the fuck did you go? The party wasn’t over yet and you’re hanging out with some beefy, tattoed guy? It’s your roommate, isn’t it?” Megumi curses at someone before continuing, the aggravation evident in his tone. “He’s such a fucking creep, I swear if he lays his hands on you again I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Sukuna challenges, “Oh and mind you, she’s the one who asked me to fuck her. As her concerned roommate and the more mature adult, I believe it’s my duty to listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

“Sukuna!” You whine and slap his arm, but you’re smiling, the pleasure and satisfaction of slapping Megumi this harshly making you feel greater than ever.

“Are you sleeping with her?” Megumi sounds like he’s losing his shit, and you sincerely hope he does. “Gosh, Y/N, how low can you be? I thought you were my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Since when?” you attempt to scream, but Sukuna’s gripped your thighs and pulls your lower body closer to his cock in time to meet his thrusts. Your body slides off the seat and you’re left screaming Sukuna’s name, the latter wearing a shit-eating grin at the way you’re creaming around him. Somehow, your attention reverts back to Megumi’s whining. “You’re a fucking dick, Megumi, I honestly hope you choke on your small dick!” you shout and end the call, slapping your hand on your face as you throw your phone away. “I hated saying that.”

“Because you still like him or…?”

“No, because he was actually a good fuck and his dick is huge,” you say through pants. Sukuna must’ve hated how you’re talking about Megumi’s dick when he’s literally rearranging your insides, and Sukuna grabs your leg, manhandling you into the position he likes. You’re immediately on your knees with your back flat to his chest, your arms locked between your bodies as Sukuna takes you from behind. Your head falls back to his shoulders where Sukuna leaves messy open-mouthed kisses to your sweaty skin. “I fucking hate him. He’s such an asshole.”

“Hmm, well don’t spend too much energy thinking about him anymore,” Sukuna snarls at your skin, releasing your hands just to rub at your swollen clit. “Just let loose and let me take care of you. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even remember meeting him.”

The honest side of you wants to moan, the familiar tightening of your abdomen appearing already. He’s hitting all your sensitive spots that you can barely think, only feel, but you also feel so powerful and enraged that you cup Sukuna’s cheek, narrowing your eyes at him. You hit his thrusts by pushing back against his cock that causes him to slide in deeper, the large man groaning deep within his chest.

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, hundred percent confident, baby.”

“Let’s see what you got then,” you teased him. Pretending you’re not seconds away from coming is an even bigger challenge than leaving Megumi, but for the sake of riling up Sukuna, you would do it.

“You’re challenging me?”

“If I don’t cum at least twice, then that’s going to be a damn shame.”

“Twice? That’s not even the minimum,” he shakes his head tauntingly at you, increasing his pace until the sounds of his balls smacking your ass and both your groans are filling the dead silent night. It’s so lewd and dirty that your tongue lols out from the pleasure, eyes shut tight because you’re close, so fucking close! “You’re going to lose your fucking mind,” Sukuna said as a final warning.

You didn’t think too much of it until he pulls out of you seconds before you came. The crestfallen look written all over your face makes him laugh, but Sukuna only turns your body and goes down on his knees, hitching your legs over his shoulders. Your chest falls up and down as he dives down to your sopping, abused cunt, hands threading through his hair before he rudely flicks it away. “No. Hands to yourself. You’re not allowed to touch me,” he hissed, but his roughness is softened only by a little bit when you whimper so sweetly for him. “Don’t pout, sweetheart, you’ll get your chance when we get home. For now, since you’d so rudely woke me up and left me without inviting me for dinner, I’m starving.”

Sukuna dips between your thighs, tongue poking out to take the first taste of your juices. Your reaction is instantaneous and gratifying; head thrown back, nails dug into the seats, legs quivering and falling open wider to welcome the warm, wet muscle that licks flat from your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuuckk, Sukuna, slow down, ngh—”

“He ever ate you out this way?”

“No, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Can you take it, sweetheart? Should I stop?” You know he’s teasing you, the sniggers muffled from your pussy lips are still heard but you can’t fight back, not when your legs turn to jelly at his ministrations.

“Keep going, fuck, please, I will slap you if you don’t make me cum tonight,” you threaten, and Sukuna smartly responds by sucking your clit into his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth, careful enough not to hurt you while plunging two fingers deep inside you, curling it into a come-hither motion that stretches you pleasurably. “Too, oh, shit!”

“You can’t even talk properly,” he chuckles, and the vibrations that come afterwards shatter your entire world. “And this is just my tongue. Feels too good?”

“Yes, yes, too good!” you cry out, “Sukuna, em coming!”

Your orgasm has no build-up whatsoever. You lay there panting with a silent scream as your nails scratch against his seats, toes curled as it comes down into you in one, hard slap. Sukuna hums as he licks up the arousal trailing down your pussy to not make even more of a mess. “Already? I haven’t even started yet,” he sighs sarcastically, “Don’t think I’m done with you. I did say you’d lose your mind, right?”

Sukuna has now joined you on the seats, flipping you to the side where he hooks one leg under his arm, your other leg extended to your side that remains flushed at the seats, his thighs squishing yours. It’s utterly challenging to move in this position and you’re completely at his mercy, the sight of his tall, dominating figure above you forcing you back into a submissive space. He doesn’t give you much time to recover before his cock is pushing past your pussy once more, bottoming out in one, swift thrust.

“’Kuna, too sensitive, mhhm—”

“You’ll take it,” he breathes out while peppering kisses at your ankle, “Come on, you’re a good girl, yeah? Give me one more.”

“Su-kuna, it’s too much!”

“Just one more.” Sukuna elicits moans from you the harder he thrusts, leaning forward until you’re crying out from the stretch of all the muscles in your body. He’s being nice today by letting you cum more than twice in the exchange of holding back his, because he’s absolutely throbbing inside you. He picks up a rougher pace from where he left off, saying your name through gritted teeth as you tighten around him. You’re squealing and whimpering from behind your fists, overly sensitive still from your previous orgasm.

His hips roll in such a mind-numbing manner before Sukuna rams into you utterly deep, your bodies flushed so close you can feel the heat pulsing from his skin. Sukuna tenses above you before he brings you to your orgasm, with him following not long afterwards.

Sukuna pulls out with a groan and ties his condom in a knot, discarding it above his clothes. Upon hearing your soft sighs, he immediately rushes your side and pats your cheek to wake you up. “Hey, look at me,” he commands, though his voice is gentle and soft. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out through fluttering lashes, “Yeah, I’m just tired,” extending your arms to him, you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him close. “Come here. Want cuddles.”

Sukuna gives in to your request for a few minutes and stays wrapped up with you. It’s perfect to be in this state, to be held so close and not just touched, the intimacy of it all bringing about unfamiliar warmth that only ever makes itself present when he’s here. “As much as I want to stay like this, we’re sweaty and sticky,” Sukuna murmurs through your hair, his hands roaming all over your skin. There’s no other sexual meaning behind it even as his rough palms graze past your mound. His touches are more like him exploring your body out of curiosity, out of the desire to just have you this close. You’re unsure what to feel about it and your mind is uncannily clear after an orgasm, but Sukuna’s already sitting up with you above him before you could ponder about it any longer. “Let me take you home first, then we’ll cuddle. What do you think?”

“Oh fuck,” you cut him off upon seeing the flashing of your screen. “It’s Megumi. Fifteen missed calls.”

“Lover boy is crazy,” Sukuna snickered behind you.

“Good thing I’m crazier,” you shut your phone off and throw it to the passenger’s seat, beaming up at Sukuna and giving him the puppy eyes from behind your shoulder. “Can we get milkshakes on the way?”

“I think you got enough milk.”

“Sukuna!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he raises his hands in surrender. You pout until you feel something hard and wet poking your bottoms, and Sukuna smirks, gesturing to his erection that you haven’t noticed. “You do know that I’m still hard, right? I’ll fuck you again when we get home.”

“You could’ve just let me suck you off.”

“Nah,” he refuses, “I want to feel you come around me,” Sukuna cockily winks at you, and your mouth falls open, gasping in disbelief at how vulgar he could be. He steals a quick kiss then as he tugs his pants up, the sight of him rolling his sleeves back up to his elbows thoroughly…compelling that you’re left salivating at the ripples of his muscles. “I’ll just wait ‘til we get home. Right now, I need to treat someone like a princess and get her some food.”

“You should stop saying that,” you blurt out defensively, “Sweet lies won’t get you anywhere.”

“I wasn’t lying about anything. I meant every word I said.”

The tension thickens in an instant. Sukuna looks at you warily – or perhaps worriedly? – before he situates himself back in the driver’s seat, starting the car right after you’ve fixed your appearance. Considering it’s already late, he’s struggling to find any restaurant or diners open to appease your cravings, though he doesn’t complain about it.

You fiddle with your hands on your lap, unable to find a proper explanation to his behavior. “Sukuna…” you start off nervously, refusing to look him in the eye. “Do you uhm…do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that, sweetheart?”

“I meant…maybe you just like me for my body, you know?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head towards you, “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Like I said, the cards are all in your hands now. If you want us to just have casual sex, I don’t mind, but if you also want to be, uhm…” Sukuna awkwardly rubs at the back of his head with a clear of his throat, the tables turned because now he’s the one who can’t meet your gaze. “…something more, then I won’t refuse that either. I’m up to whatever you want to do.”

“And if I said that…maybe I’m considering getting to know you better?”

“Then maybe I would happily say yes.”

You smile at how easily he lightens up the mood, feeling a smile already playing on your lips as you giggle. “Just a maybe?”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he groans, averting his eyes from the road (it’s empty anyway) to get a quick peck. You whack his arm and his laugh only grows louder; he knows you’re not really angry, because he kisses really good and you like it a lot more than you’ll admit.

“I’ll be a hundred times of a better boyfriend than what you’d expect.”

“You’re really confident, huh?”

“Oh, I’m confident I can treat you well,” he nods proudly, head tipping back to the backseat. “I did just let you ruin my leather exterior and let you walk away while I have a raging boner. Do you have any idea how much self restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Megumi would never let me go unless he’s came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy,” Sukuna doesn’t even bother to try and hide his hatred for your former crush, and you’re smiling like a lovesick fool on the seat. “You’re with me now. So, since I want to spoil you, how many milkshakes do you want?”

Back then, you were always too addicted to lies that seemed so sweet that you couldn’t be able to stop. But now that you’ve met Sukuna, perhaps the blissful truth is a lot sweeter, and it’s a much healthier addiction you’ll take any day.

taglist: @thesimpsclub @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma @sklycan @ggsmashgg @dora-the-grownup @ninefuckingoneone @ambiguous-something

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norabrice1701 · 2 years

Text

Gift

A Pirate!Horstmayer x Fem!Reader AU

Summary: Christmas Eve 1690 in your uncle's tavern brings together pirate crews who spend the rest of the year at each other's throats. As you help serve the merry crowd, you notice the one man tucked away in a corner who isn't smiling. And you can't say why...but all you want is to see him smile.

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including soft, tender unprotected sex), love at first sight, romance & heartache feels, Horstmayer needs a hug, non-graphic references to war & violence & death, infertility & pregnancy references

A/N: This oneshot totally ran away with me, y'all. Cozy up with a hot cocoa (or hot toddy), curl up in a blanket, and I hope you enjoy this bit of romance. And to those who celebrate the holiday - I wish you all a Happy & Merry Christmas 🎄😊❤️

Shout-out to @monsieurbruhl for her lovely and gracious help on the French conversation with Ponchel. And for getting me on board the Friedrich Horstmayer train (and thinking it was canon)! Fun fact: Fritz is a nickname for Friedrich, though, sounds like it probably would have been spelled Frycz back in the 1690s (and this piece doesn't strive for too much historical accuracy).

The tavern blazed bright with golden firelight. Laughter and merry cheer rose above the joyful strains of music that marked the Christmas Eve celebration. Spiced rum, warm ale, and roasted meat hung heavy in the air, doing their best to mask the array of unpleasant odors from the packed house of seafaring men.

It still amazed you, honestly. These men who spent the rest of the year at each other’s throats willingly agreed to set aside their weapons for one night of peace and revelry. Well, it was hardly peaceful in terms of noise and rowdy cheer, but violence had been replaced with smiles and tentative comradery. Largely, you suspected it was because no one was willing to directly disobey their captain’s orders, so they caroused when they might otherwise have drawn a pistol.

Given what you knew of the ever-shifting political alliances and wars on the European continent – the Franco-Spanish War, the Thirty Years War, the Franco-Dutch War, the Nine Years’ War – there was always a reason for national pride to come into play regardless of each man’s circumstances that drove him to a life of piracy in these god-forsaken waters. But your uncle had also educated you about privateers who worked for sovereign and country. Quite possibly they, too, mingled among the true lawless pirates here tonight. However, you knew far better than to assume any man’s business, and so long as they had coin to pay for their purchases, their occupation mattered little to you.

Perhaps you would prefer for them to smell a little less like salty exertion and countless unwashed days at sea, but your uncle paid you a meager sum to smile and offer service to all. It was hardly the life that your mother - God rest her soul - had prepared you for, and no doubt she’d roll over in her grave if she saw you now. A widow unable to sustain society life on your husband’s meager pension, relegated to days cleaning and nights serving in your uncle’s Caribbean seaside tavern.

Most of the year, it was the same routine day in and day out. But this Christmas Eve brought a special energy, alight with a strange sense of relief as ship captains stuck their necks out to declare a temporary ceasefire despite the ongoing hostilities of their mother nations and their own personal objectives.

Such was the way of life at the end of civilized society, you supposed – men pushed to the extremes of existence, to the harshness of warfare, and the razor’s edge of death with each undertaking. Except for this one night.

As much as you longed for a world where such peace held sway year-round, you weren’t foolish enough to get your hopes up. It wouldn’t bring your husband back, and you weren’t sure that was even what you wanted – but you liked to think that you weren’t wrong for wanting a world without violence.

Either way, the thought wasn’t enough to dampen your spirits tonight. Not when your feet ached in your too-tight shoes from one too many merry dances. Not when you’d met a Scottish priest bestowing blessings and peace to all men regardless of the colors they wore. Not when you’d shared a toast with a bevy of Frenchmen cheering their captain for news of his newborn son, Henri. Not when tears wet your eyes at the beautifully sonorous voice of a Germanic tenor who sang in a language your mind didn’t understand but with a melody that you knew in your heart.

Indeed, spirits were high and smiles were wide on this holiday night.

Well…except for one man.

He sat with his back to the wall, tucked in a corner watching the festivities with a wary eye. At first glance, you’d thought him the one captain who preferred nonstop bloodshed to a single night of peace. But his haunted eyes made you reconsider. Twin, dark brown pools that shimmered with gold in the dying candlelight from atop his table and held ghosts from a past life that you couldn’t begin to understand.

His appearance gave away his position as a leader of men. A grey, long coat bedecked with brass buttons and an unusual brown fur collar rested on his broad shoulders, shifting as he nursed his ale. The damask waistcoat that rested beneath didn’t look sea-worn, more likely something he only wore when he came ashore to project wealth and success. It was also grey, though it bore a unique red trim around the edges that lent a subtly flashy air. As did the black and white striped ribbon curiously buttoned through the second topmost button. The V-neck of his shirt sat bare with the absence of a jabot collar, displaying a visible patch of his chest – not an uncommon sight, really. But the handsome structure of the man’s face certainly was, accompanied by a well-trimmed beard and short-cropped hair.

Indeed, he looked freshly bathed and coiffed – usually a sign of one voyage ended and another about to begin. Your husband had told you enough about shipboard living conditions, and you’d seen him stagger through the door, reeking of months without a bath and his hair in long, grimy strands. But everything about this man sitting quietly in the corner caught your eye in rapt, sharp contrast.

He may have sat quietly, his face serious and drawn-in, but he had several visitors. Not that you were keeping track, really, but the French captain in his dark blue and red attire sat with him for a long spell. The two men spoke in gentle, cordial tones, and you might have even seen the fur-collared coat captain’s mouth twitch in a hint of a smile at one point. They shared a toast with their ales and a handshake before the Frenchman departed, and the captain in grey resumed nursing his ale, indifferent to the revelry around him. At least, until the Germanic tenor stepped up to his side.

The tenor didn’t dare sit, holding himself with an officious air that further highlighted the fur-collared coat man’s authority. Clipped words exchanged between them, the seated man’s eyes flashing with steely determination and decisive action as the tenor nodded in clear acceptance. But then, the tenor’s face suddenly softened, casting his captain a look somewhere between levity and pity. The captain gave a brusque shake of his head as he responded, and the tenor departed, unbothered by any rebuke.

All of it made you curious. All of it made you want to hear the accent on his voice. All of it made you want to see the man relax and smile.

You delivered the round of ale in your hands to the table of men speaking boisterous German, offering enthusiastic nods and warm smiles to their replies of ‘danke’. Holding the tray flat at your side, you turned back for the bar and wove through the thick, energetic throng.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle?”

You turned to see a pleasant-faced man with bright eyes under a sandy-brown mop of curls. He smiled in excited greeting as the musicians ended the current song to applause and hearty cheers.

“J’m’appelle Ponchel.” He continued, seeming to debate if he should doff his cap. “Voudriez-vous danser avec moi?”

Despite the pinching ache of your shoes, you returned his greeting, set the tray down, and followed him to the dancing area near the front of the tavern. You weren’t the only woman present, and other couples moved to the lively jig now playing in the air. Smiling as Ponchel respectfully took your waist and you rested a hand on his shoulder, you let him lead you in time with the jaunty tune.

Surprisingly, he was a decent dancer and managed to not step on your toes once – a welcome reprieve. A flush of exertion rose in your cheeks as the tempo increased and Ponchel increased the pace of your dance to match. Your gentle laughter mixed with an amused smile as he nodded encouragingly, spinning you in his arms. When the tune reached its jovial conclusion, the dancing crowd burst with applause and whistles, everyone just out of breath from the frenzied dance. You clapped alongside Ponchel, falling into step with him back towards the tables.

He fixed his elated smile back to you. "Danserez-vous encore avec moi plus tard?”

A flattered smile came to your face, knowing that you couldn’t promise him anything. “Peut-être. Je travaille –”

“À cause de lui?” He nodded with sly interest in a vague direction over your shoulder.

“Lui?” Your brow pinched in confusion. What man could Ponchel possibly be asking about?

“Lui – le capitaine allemand, ‘Fearsome Fritz’."

Your eyebrows climbed to your hairline as an embarrassed smile lit your face, and you fought the urge to not look over at the man with the fur-collared coat again. “Non," you shook your head, "non, je ne le connais pas.”

Ponchel’s face fell with open surprise and consideration. “Oh…vous le regardez comme si vous tenez à lui.”

You look at him like you care for him.

Your smile grew, mortified as you quickly reassured Ponchel that you didn’t know the German captain, so-called ‘Fearsome Fritz’. With his sworn promise to ask you for another dance, Ponchel dusted the back of your hand with a kiss before he melted back into the crowd.

Turning back for the bar and trying to will away the fierce blush on your cheeks, you heard a rousing chorus of cries in French, and you wondered exactly what Ponchel was telling his mates. Did he really think that you knew the man in the corner with the fur-lined coat? Had you been that obvious in your lingering gazes tonight?

Goodness.

If one man had noticed it, how many others had made a similar assumption despite your numerous dance partners tonight? Had ‘Fearsome Fritz’ himself noticed your wandering attention?

A strange, hopeful excitement burst in your chest. What if he had noticed you as you’d noticed him? Would he welcome your company? Ponchel may have called him ‘Fearsome Fritz’, but he certainly didn’t look fearsome tonight. Forlorn seemed a far more appropriate moniker - but it just made you all the more curious.

You fetched another tray from the bar, wandering between tables, glancing at half-full tankards and half-empty plates. On slow steps, your feet carried you towards the quiet table in the back and the man sitting in somber silence. Your mouth curled with a warm smile as those dark brown eyes glanced up at you. “Bonsoir,” you said as your breathing quickened. “Hello.”

He nodded curtly. “Hello.” His gaze fell from yours down to the quarter-full tankard in his hand. “I’ll get another when I’m ready.”

You shook your head quickly. “It’s no trouble, really. On the house, even.”

His eyes shot back to yours, equal parts baffled and irritated. “That’s not necessary, but thank you just the same.”

“Then, what else can I do?” You sighed as your boldness started to deflate under his intense gaze. “You’re…you’re the only person in here not smiling tonight.”

An indignant spark flashed in his gaze, but he caught himself as his jaw tensed. He gave a brusque shake of his head. “I don’t celebrate this holiday.”

Your brow furrowed in open confusion. “No…?”

His eyes bored through you, fierce and unforgiving. “No, I’m Jewish. Christmas means nothing to me.” He nodded vaguely across the room. “Now, please leave me alone.”

You withered, crushed by his curt dismissal. Not that you deserved any better – you hadn’t meant to insult him, but that’s exactly what you did. Shame burned your face as you gripped the tray tight, nodding silently as you left his table.

With each passing minute, the conversation plagued you. Regret gnawed at you.

What you wouldn’t give to go back and redo the careless moment. What you wouldn’t give to go back and make a better impression. Especially as the gaiety of the evening wore on and midnight approached. All the while, he held his position at the far table, only stepping away for a few brief minutes while the tenor stood watch over what surely had to be an empty tankard. Obviously, the tenor had to be the captain’s quartermaster – it made since, particularly when the captain returned to his seat and more words were exchanged. To your eyes, it looked like a status update – perhaps, it was the captain checking on his men without dampening the mood.

That would make sense. Just because the captain didn’t observe the Christmas celebration didn’t mean that his men followed suit. Of course, they would lobby for a night ashore to celebrate – and no wonder the captain looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. In fact, why wasn’t he on his ship? Did he have enough other friends in attendance here tonight? You remembered seeing the French captain sitting in amicable conversation with him. Perhaps…perhaps there was more to that story. But perhaps not.

As you continued to serve the other tavern patrons, your thoughts continued to race. Had he been able to celebrate Hanukkah as he desired to? Or was he at sea with his men far away from any potential loved ones or cheerful celebrations? Admittedly, you didn’t know for sure when Hanukkah was, but you suspected that the celebration must have already passed. Otherwise, why would he sit here watching others make merry when he could be elsewhere enjoying his own celebration?

You stole another glance at him as he leaned back in his chair, eyes ever watchful as he propped a scuffed boot against the neighboring chair. Was he waiting for something to happen, or was he expecting trouble? A shiver raced down your spine at the thought despite the unrestrained laughter and cheerful conversation that surrounded you.

Perhaps, instead, he just waited for you to come back and apologize. After all, he was surrounded by constant reminders of a holiday that profoundly isolated him, and you had surely made him feel worse. Regret soured your stomach as you filled a tankard and made a decision.

You approached his table on slow steps, holding out the tankard in peace offering and lowering your gaze to the tabletop as you set it down. “I…,” your words stuck in your throat despite your conviction. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it, but I…I wanted to make amends. For what I said earlier. I didn’t mean…it wasn’t my intention to insult you.”

Your heart raced as you tentatively raised your eyes to his and continued to speak. “But I can’t imagine how you must already feel, surrounded by all this,” you swallowed thickly. “All this fuss for something that brings you no fulfillment while, by comparison, there’s little widespread acknowledgement of your own sacred traditions.” Your words stalled again as he remained motionless. “I-I don’t even know…is it Hanukkah now? Or has it already passed?”

His eyes softened with carefully guarded loss as his brow creased with reproach. He forced a hard swallow. “It ended on the 20th.”

“Were you able to celebrate as you wanted?”

“No,” he didn’t even have to think, his face distant with memory. “But I haven’t been able to do that for some time now.”

Your heart ached as you gazed down at him. “I am sorry to hear that.” A boisterous call broke your attention, drawing a brief side-eye glance. “In truth, you look like you’d rather be...well, just about anywhere other than here.”

His mouth pinched to a tight line as he scanned the room. “While the excessiveness of the evening is a little more than off-putting, there is something…redeeming in it. That men on opposite sides can still come together over something bigger than all of us. And just because I don’t celebrate it doesn’t mean I disagree with it.” A loud crash sounded behind you, followed by raucous laughter and he paused, tensing as if braced for a fight to erupt. “Well…not all of it, at least.”

You watched his shoulders relax, but he still looked uneasy as you spoke. “I don’t think that you need to worry about trouble tonight. Everyone seems in uncommonly high spirits.”

“You’re a fool if you don’t see how fragile this truce is.”

You bristled, wanting to tell him differently. Wanting to tell him that just because you worked in your uncle’s tavern didn’t mean that you were ignorant of the way the world worked. But maybe…after earlier…you would let him have this one. After all, you could freely admit that there was plenty about the world that you didn’t know, and from the look of him, no doubt he had witnessed events that you couldn’t even begin to understand.

Slowly, you nodded as you spoke. “Alright…fair enough. But whatever the reason, I will welcome the reprieve from scrubbing fresh blood stains on the floorboards in the morning.”

That seemed to take him aback. His eyes raked down your body as if trying to see your life’s story, trying to understand his own thoughts about you.

You shook your head almost sadly. “If you assumed my presence here spared me from the violent truths of this world, then we are both in error tonight.”

His eyes flickered back up to yours, glittering in the firelight. “From the way you’ve danced with other patrons, the way you’ve served the tavern’s wares, the way you’ve watched me…all of it would suggest that you’re only after what you can sell.”

Offense pinched your brow as your face hardened. Maybe you had misjudged him if he considered you to be little better than a common trollop.

He shook his head quickly, regret and irritation pinching his mouth through his neat facial hair. “Forgive me, please…that did not sound as I meant it." Something sheepish and awkward came to his face. "My wife, too, would often scold me for my clumsy, blunt tongue.”

Your heart bloomed with sudden warm affection as your gaze softened. The corner of your mouth lifted as your breathing quickened. “In truth, I…I just wanted to see you smile.” Bashful heat rose in your cheeks. “I think it would suit you.” Your eyes trailed the soft sweep of his hair, the flickering light in his eyes, the neat line of his beard, and the curve of his mouth. Warmth ignited in your core, struck by his handsomeness as your smile filled out. “Surely, your wife thinks so, too.”

The noisy din of the tavern hung between you, but something slowly shifted in his eyes as he continued to regard you. Something intrigued, something appreciative, something…enticing. It didn’t detract from the general somber aura around him as the corner of his mouth lifted with obvious, sad memory. He nodded gently as he made a decision. “Yes, she did. And who can say about the rest of tonight, except…that it is still young.” He raised a hand, pausing as if to reconsider before he slowly gestured to the chair on his left. “If perhaps...you'd like to join me?”

Your eyes widened as your heart stopped. Anxious butterflies burst in your stomach at the prospect of sharing a quiet conversation with him, of seeing those brown eyes up close in the candlelight. But you knew what your manners dictated, still fully unable to shake your strict upbringing in this startling moment. “I-I wouldn’t wish…to impose on you like that….”

“Hardly an imposition if it’s my invitation.” He effortlessly reached into a pocket of his coat and dropped a silver coin on the tabletop before sliding it towards you. “For my drink…and yours.” He fixed you with a strangely hopeful look. “If you can spare the time to dance with so many others, then surely, you can spare the time for a drink with me.”

He wasn’t wrong. While there was always work to be done, there were plenty of other servers working tonight. Weren't you allowed to have just one holiday treat of your own? You bit your lip in a moment of indecision, watching as he slid the coin further forward before withdrawing his hand. The sudden urge to touch where his fingers had just been coursed through you. Would the metal be warm from his skin?

You reached for the coin before you could overthink it, nodding quickly as you turned away. Your feet floated through the crowd, your heart hopeful as you splashed a measure of spiced rum into a pewter cup and pocketed his coin in your apron. You couldn't explain why, but you weren't ready to part with it just yet.

Rum in hand, you returned to his shadowed corner and took the proffered seat. He lowered his leg from the opposite chair, sitting forward to rest both arms against the table in a copy of your posture. You each held your beverage between your hands, seemingly lost for words in the revelry around you.

“H-how about a toast?” You said quietly. Of course, toasting to the holiday jumped to the forefront of your mind, but you weren’t going to put your foot in your mouth again. You glanced at him with a tentative half-smile. “To our absent loved ones?”

He inclined his head and lifted his tankard. “To our absent loved ones.”

You met him in a dull clank of crude drinkware before taking a sip. The heady spiced rum warmed your tongue, burning the back of your throat and up into your nose. You hadn’t been a rum drinker before your husband died, but it had become a good friend over the years. You took another quick sip and wet your lips. “If I may, where is she? ...Your wife?”

His face darkened as he stared into his foamy ale. “She is at home…across the ocean, far away from here. And I am not likely to see her again.”

“There’s always a chance – she could travel here.” You shook your head, imploring. “I journeyed here separately from my husband, after he established our life. Surely, you…you could write of the same to your wife?”

“She doesn’t even know that I am here.” He exhaled sharply, mouth pinching to a tight line. “I was exiled from my homeland as a mark of shame for choosing an act of humanity and goodwill instead of violence and bloodshed in time of war. After being…subdued in a carriage, I was taken to the far reaches of my homeland’s borders without being allowed to see my family.”

Instinctively, you reached across the table to where his hand wrapped around the tankard. His skin was warm and coarse under your palm as you rested it against the back of his hand, watching the heartache unfold in his eyes as he continued speaking. “I have no doubt that military command told her of my treachery, and that she in turn has washed her hands of me.” He shook his head in sharp condemnation. “And to write to her now, all this time later, and try to dissuade her of that notion…to tell her the truth –,” he broke off with a strangled sigh. “She would have no cause to believe me.”

“Her cause would be her love for you, would it not?”

“I’m sure her love for me has long been poisoned to death. I’m sure in the face of such disgrace, she has distanced herself from my name and my legacy.”

You couldn’t deny that he was probably right. You couldn’t imagine a scenario like this man’s, and how you would have reacted if news had reached you of your late husband's betrayal to his country. No doubt your family would have pressured you to remove yourself from any association or history with a branded traitor, regardless of your feelings.

You squeezed his hand gently, not knowing what other comfort to offer. “I am sorry to hear that happened to you. It seems the kings of Europe are always at each other’s throats, but have they completely forgotten what it is to live in harmony with their neighbors? To choose acts of peace instead of war?” You sighed as affection warmed your heart. “I know this may not help…but I think you ought to be commended for your decision. Your military command made a poor decision that…who knows, perhaps one day, history will look favorably upon.”

“If our history even lives to be told….” His face scrunched with disgust as he quickly shook his head, looking down at your hand covering his as if just realizing it. “But I don’t mean to drown the conversation. Not when…when you mentioned your husband.” He blinked in a moment of consideration. “If I may ask in return…where is he?”

“God only knows.” You shook your head, withdrawing your hand in a sudden movement. “He died at sea on a naval ship, his body was consigned to the deep, and I make no speculations about his soul.” You tightened both hands around your cup. “Love was…scarce between us in the final years, so his passing was not a great personal loss.”

“But to have lived in such a marriage for so long...that is a different sort of loss.”

Your throat constricted. “I-I knew what marriage to a man of the sea, and a military man, at that, meant. I learned to live with his physical absence from the earliest days, and the emotional-.” You forced a swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. “Well, I suppose he was within his rights.”

“What cause does a man have to willingly abandon his wife?”

You took a harsh sip of your rum, letting it burn your throat. When had you last spoken of the circumstances of your life so freely? Had you ever? Your uncle certainly hadn’t wanted to listen to you, and most just looked on you with pity as a widow in the failure of society’s shadow. But maybe…maybe sitting here with this man now was the closest you’d ever come to kindred company.

And you still didn’t know his name. Not properly, anyway. Nothing about this man seemed to fit with the 'Fearsome Fritz' moniker.

At length, you sighed and couldn’t bring yourself to be dishonest. “He had cause when I failed to uphold my duty as a wife and produce children from our union. The longer that time passed without any sign, the more distant his affections became.” A demure blush grew on your cheeks. “And I don’t say that for your pity – I’m hardly the first woman to be plagued with such a failing.”

A chorus of singing rose from a far corner of the tavern. Over the joyful din around you, you could just make out the rousing words in a distinctly Scottish brogue, ‘I’m dreaming of home’.

Except you weren’t. In truth, the years passed and you didn’t miss the life that you had lost. Sure, your hands were rough from scrubbing and mopping, and you’d traded silk gowns for linen – but you were beholden to no one to dictate how you lived. Not every widowed woman was so fortunate.

The singing Scotsmen continued to fill the lingering silence at your table, and you carefully lifted your gaze to your companion’s. He eyed you with thoughtful contemplation and tender care, as if trying to understand every facet of your being. Your heart skipped a beat and you wanted to drown in the glimmering pools of his eyes.

He wet his top lip, and your eyes tracked the gentle movement before he spoke. “I would call you out for being too harsh on yourself, but I recognize the hypocrisy in that.” The corner of his mouth ticked up, softening his eyes, and you wanted to melt. “So, I’ll simply say that…I don’t consider you a failure as a wife or a woman. And your husband was a damn fool if he couldn’t see your strength and sustain his love from it.”

An uproarious applause sounded around you, but you only had ears for his voice. A tear stung your eye as you held his gaze and the air went thick. What you wouldn’t give to take his hand in yours again, or even to feel his lips upon yours. You hadn’t been strictly chaste in your widowhood, but you were careful who you took to your bed – and it had been so long since anyone stirred your body, let alone your heart.

In fact, no one had ever stirred you as this man did.

You exhaled the breath that you didn’t realize you held. “You know, I…we don’t even know each other’s names.”

Amusement sparked on his face as if he, too, just realized it. He nodded in agreement as another small smile cracked his face and wrinkled his eyes. “Friedrich.”

You returned his smile. “Friedrich. It suits you.” You gave your name as tender affection swelled in your heart to match the low pulse of arousal in your blood.

“As does yours.” He nodded with warm acknowledgement, repeating your name with his crisp syllables. A hesitant look crossed his face as he visibly swallowed. “May I…may I hold your hand?”

Your breathing quickened as your heart leapt to your throat. Quickly, you nodded, not trusting your voice as you slid your hand across the tabletop. He upturned his hand against the uneven surface, your palm resting against his as strong fingers curled around yours.

Sparks shot up your arm from the simple touch, not helped when his thumb started to stroke a delicate pattern. Your thighs squeezed together as a needy ache grew low in your belly.

He shook his head, eyes alight with awed wonderment as he gazed at your conjoined hands. “Your skin is so…soft. I thought so earlier, when you took my hand, and I…I just wanted to feel such softness again.”

“My hands aren’t soft.” Your voice was tight through trembling breaths. “Soft was when my days were spent at needlepoint and the harpsichord, and now –”

“And now, your hands are soft from honest labor to make your way in an unforgiving world.” He gave your hand a tender squeeze. “Marred from life, perhaps, but not hardened from brutal warfare or the harsh sea – and that makes your hands the softest I have felt in an age.”

Your heart threatened to burst as his eyes flickered back to yours. Who said this man had a clumsy, blunt tongue? You wanted to give him everything you had to give, and you squeezed his hand in return, hoping your eyes said everything that you shouldn’t say in this public place. His eyes blazed with yearning fire, and you wanted to burn with him. You wanted more of his reassurances whispered in your ear, more of his hands caressing your skin, more of his mesmerizing eyes holding you like a spell.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you choked on air. “Would you...,” your words stalled under a trembling sigh as you gathered your courage in a bold moment. “Would you want to…,” your eyes drifted up to the ceiling by way of explanation, “come with me?” You’d never propositioned a man so directly, but you knew that you couldn’t let him go. Even if you had to beg him to take you back to his ship.

Thick silence stretched as he stiffened on your words. A conflicted look dimmed his face, and your stomach dropped to your feet. Had you overstepped a boundary that he held in fidelity to his wife? Or was he simply working through how to escape the duties of his captaincy for a night? Either way, his face was inscrutable as you squeezed his hand again and waited in the impossibly tense moment.

When he finally made his decision, all doubt vanished from his face as he squeezed your hand in return. “Yes. Only if you are sure-.”

“It’s hardly an imposition if it’s my invitation.”

Of course, he recognized your words - a mirror of his earlier phrase - and affection sparked in his warm eyes as he nodded. With a final squeeze of your hand, he withdrew and reached for his hat resting on the far table corner. “Allow me a moment, and I will find you at the door.”

You followed him as he rose, quickly nodding as you fumbled to gather his tankard and your cup in your hands. Unable to believe your luck, heart racing and body thrumming with heated anticipation, you wove through the crowd towards the bar, taking care to finish your rum. The alcoholic warmth spread down your throat, infusing you with further conviction. Turning back over your shoulder, you saw him in quiet conversation with the Germanic tenor. It looked like he issued unquestionable orders despite the relaxed set to his shoulders. The tenor nodded his head with crisp acknowledgement before Friedrich started to move towards you.

You weren’t sure your heart could beat any faster as he came alongside you and your eyes locked to his. Even as he raised a hand, brushing your cheek with the back of a knuckle, you held his gaze and never wanted to let go. Unwilling to waste another second, you reached up for his hand and led him out into the warm, humid night. The stairs sat on the side of the building, and you disappeared into the shadows with him as you ascended. Of course, you knew how the lock worked but your hands shook and your movements were clumsy.

A small hallway stretched inside before you. Five doorways lined the space, and you knew which one was yours. Your uncle hadn’t been clear if the building was formerly a brothel or gambling hall, or both, before his ownership – but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you and your uncle were the only tenants, with rooms on opposite ends of the hallway.

The door to your room opened on its familiar, squeaky hinge and you stepped inside with your heart pounding, suddenly anxious in the vulnerable moment. You stopped in the middle, scanning the collection of simple furniture and your neatly-made bed with its sturdy headboard tucked in the far corner as you abandoned your ale-stained apron.

A gentle scrape of wood sounded, and breathless anticipation coursed through you as his boots thudded against the wood floor behind you. Your breath trembled as a strong hand fell to your waist, followed by warm, coat-clad arms wrapping around you. The broad plane of his solid chest drew up against your back, and you sighed at the reassuring contact. You couldn't remember the last time - if ever - you had ached for a man's embrace.

His answering sigh stuttered against your neck, as if he, too, had forgotten the pleasure of a tender embrace. He turned his head, the tip of his nose skimming the shell of your ear. “If you wish to stop at any point, you must tell me.”

You nodded slowly and your body continued to blossom, liquid heat burning you from the inside where you so desperately wanted him to be. You craned your neck over your shoulder to meet his lovely eyes in the low-burning light of your oil lamp. The amber-brown color was nearly swallowed by desirous hunger, and your thighs clenched at the dark promise they held. You nodded again, voice trembling. “I-I promise.”

Your gaze drifted from his eyes down to his mouth, studying the trimmed facial hair surrounding his lips. Would it tickle? Would it be coarse from salty sea spray? Or smooth from his fingers’ worried caress? Your blood sang with the thrill of anticipation as the sounds of the festive celebration downstairs faded under the heavy rush of your tandem breathing.

He leaned in and your eyes fluttered closed. His breath warmed your skin and your heart stopped at the brush of his lips to yours. A careful permission, a moment of introduction, a sparking of embers. Your toes curled, fondness welling in your chest as you leaned into his lingering contact, just able to draw a breath before your mouths slotted firmly together.

The full press of his warm, rough lips stole your breath as you both explored each other, each indulging the dizzying pleasure of a shared kiss. His facial hair did indeed tickle as neither of you parted for breath, gasping in the increasingly passionate embrace as the flames of desire intensified. You wrapped your arms around his, whimpering high in your throat as his tongue teased and begged along your lips. Opening to meet him, the kiss deepened with long, savoring strokes as your head tilted awkwardly. He tasted of ale and distant onion gravy, and you raised a hand to his jaw, holding him close as your thumb stroked the short, bristled hairs.

A low moan pitched in his chest and he held you tighter, hips pushing against you with firm intent. Liquid heat surged through you, pooling with aching need between your thighs. With guiding pressure, he stepped backwards and you moved with him, refusing to part.

You turned in his embrace to ease the angle of your neck, fingers settling to his fur collar. It struck you as a rather ridiculous ornament in the tropical Caribbean, but you caressed the worn fur with tender care before reaching under the thick material. The coat slid easily from his shoulders, forgotten as it thumped to the floor on the way to your bed. His vest buttons gave your trembling fingers no trouble, despite the distraction of his intoxicating kiss and strong hands. It fluttered to your bedroom floor and you sighed as your fingers grazed his chest above the shirt's open V-collar.

He broke from the kiss with a strangled groan, the warmth of his hands falling away as he stripped his shirt overhead. You drank in his chest, intrigued by the generous spray of tempting dark moles and surprisingly pale skin given the Caribbean's intense sun. When your gaze drifted back to his, the unspoken permission that mixed with molten lust encouraged you to place your hand over his pounding heart. He raised a broad hand to cover yours as he sat on the edge of your bed. His legs spread wide and you came to stand in between them, burning beneath your clothes.

He trailed your hand up his chest, indulging the drag of your fingertips on his skin before showering them with light, reverent kisses. He sighed in drunken pleasure, mouthing at your digits. "So soft, mein Schatz...I want to touch the rest of you."

"Yes, Friedrich..," you whimpered with breathless want. "Please."

He groaned as he released your hand to abandon his boots before scooting back and coaxing you to follow. You removed your own pinching shoes as you dropped to your knees under his guidance, spreading your legs to straddle him.

Slick arousal dampened your inner thigh as you hitched your skirts and found the hard promise of his cock so close. Would you leave a wet stain on his trousers? A primal, possessive urge flared within you on the thought, suddenly desperate to mark him - for him to set sail with your essence smeared on his trousers, for the world to know he chose you and he was yours.

He settled back against the headboard, large hands on your waist guiding you to sit on his firm thighs. Your breathing came in trembling pants as he trailed a hand to the front laces of your bodice. Heat raced along your skin as the laces fell away under his dexterous fingers and your eyes saw only him in the tender moment. The bodice went easily down your arms and your breasts fell free of the restrictive garment. Only your thin blouse shielded your chest from his searing gaze, and your nipples stiffened eagerly as you went dizzy from the thought.

Your fingers found his bearded jaw, leaning forward to capture his lips and drown in his kiss. This moment was everything you wanted since you first saw him, and you didn’t want him to doubt it. His rough fingers brushed your collarbone and eased your blouse down to bare a shoulder. Your breast spilled from the fabric and your breathing hitched when those callused fingertips cupped your supple flesh. A long moan poured from you as his lips danced down your neck, showering kisses and gentle licks before taking your nipple into his mouth.

Your hips rocked forward in unrestrained pleasure as another moan left you. He suckled you as if he’d found the sweetest ambrosia, scraping his teeth just enough to drive you mad. Your hands wove in his short hair, holding him close as you arched to further push your breast to his mouth. His growl rumbled through you, and your slick spread beneath your skirts. In the hazy moment, you wondered if he could feel your damp heat through his trousers, if he'd be repulsed to find you so wet and wanton for him.

His other hand tugged at your blouse, easing it down before shifting his mouth to lavish affection on your other breast. Scorching pleasure thrummed a taut chord from your breasts to your aching center as it never had from your husband's perfunctory touch. You were helpless to stifle your blissful moans or unclench your fingers from his lush hair as your hips rolled down against his thighs.

He shifted beneath you to settle you over the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. A debauched sound tore from your throat at the hard, thick press of him - and god, there was too much clothing still in the way.

You whimpered as his tongue continued to lave your tender nipple. “Friedrich...Friedrich, please." Your hips rocked against his erection, blindly desperate for more as groans echoed from you both.

His lips left your skin as the weight of his head pressed against your heaving chest. His breathing shook as his hands tightened on your waist. “You are so beautiful," his accent was thick with raw desire. "So perfectly soft.”

You guided him up for another kiss, pouring all of your reassurance and affection into the touch. His arms wrapped around you tight, the heat of his bare chest flush against you and the scratch of his chest hair exquisite on your oversensitized skin. His hips rolled up against you, coaxing another trembling whimper from you that he eagerly swallowed. The stifling heat of your room was nothing compared to the furnace of his mouth and you wanted to drown in his heady taste.

With great effort, he guided your hips up from his, working at the fastening of your skirt. Your fingers shook with eager excitement as you fumbled with the ties of his trousers, grazing the thick, hardened skin beneath the loose linen. When your hand finally wrapped around the hot length of him, you thrilled at his long, low groan. His fingers lost their purpose against your clothing as his eyes dropped closed, overwhelmed by the pleasure of your hand.

You leaned in, kissing his cheek and nuzzling his facial hair as you continued to stroke him. “You look so...so good like this.” You couldn’t put it into words, exactly - how beautiful, how enraptured, how undone he was at the delicate power of your touch.

“It’s been…,” his words dissolved in a moan as you squeezed and thumbed his leaking tip. “Far too long. And your soft, soft hand....” His own rose to your flanks, tenderly caressing the naked skin to savor the feel of you under his sea-hardened fingertips.

With minimal shuffling, your skirts lifted free over your head along with your blouse, and his trousers kicked free to the foot of the bed. You sat bare in his lap, legs spread wide around him as you drank in the gorgeous exposed expanse of him before you. A pale scar above his hip caught your eye but he drew you back down to him before you could think further on it.

His hand skimmed along your hip, trailing down to where you burned. Your slick dripped on his fingers as he caressed through your velvety folds with a feral groan in his throat. "I'm not even inside you yet, and already I could lose myself to you, mein Schatz."

His words lit wildfire in your heart as you clung to him, encouraging him with an approving whimper and slow roll of your hips. A shudder ran through him as he eased a finger inside your slick heat. Your soft cries sounded just for him as he stroked your inside walls before adding a second finger. His twisting, curling touch intoxicated you, coiling blissful tension at the base of your spine as your hands clenched against his broad shoulders.

The fervor of his lips stole your heart as his hand withdrew, guiding you over the hard press of his cock with blind need. Your slick coated the leaking tip of him before you eased down, pressing your forehead to his. The thick stretch of him burned with distant pleasure as you winced and whimpered at the wonderful intrusion. Your mind went blank as your thighs rested flush against his, breath punching from your chest at the fullness of him. Had you ever been so full of a man before? The implication stunned you as you fought for breath, to calm the pounding of your heart as you both trembled in the moment of intimate connection.

"Pure heaven." He gasped, voice strained. "If only you knew how good you feel…."

You moaned unabashed, mouthing against his ear. "So do you." Your words shook as you struggled to find your voice. You'd never been so free with words to your husband, but there was nothing you wanted to hide from Friedrich. "You...you feel so...big inside me."

He growled with feral need, hands locking around your hips to gently lift you up. You moved with him, head slumping to his shoulder at the delicious slide of him against your inner front wall. His answering hiss seared your skin as you canted your hips to take him deeper before rising back up. With each glide of your hips, the perfect friction of his cock surged through you, making you an addict for everything about him. Again, you rocked down to take him fully into your velvety heat, deafened by his ragged groan, and a tear stung the corner of your eye.

You never knew it could feel like this.

A familiar, tense pressure started to mount inside you - an old friend from the nights you chased pleasure with your fingers against your pearl in the dead of night. But never - never had that feeling come from your husband's cock inside you. Of course, you'd heard insinuations from looser women that it was possible, but the delirium of it twisting and tightening with each thrust drove you wild.

Your hips came down with a hard jerk, a cry in your throat as he struck a deep, secret place inside you. His groaning cry muffled against your skin, speaking to every primal instinct within you. His hands abandoned your hips and his strong arms wrapped around you. With ease, he drew you down to the bed covers, and you whimpered as his cock slipped free. He shifted in the new position, covering your body with his as he loomed over you in the shadowy firelight. His tender, molten eyes held yours as he wrapped your leg around his hip and pushed back inside you.

Your back arched as your eyes fluttered, desperate to hold his gaze as he filled you so full. God, he was gorgeous - flushed and breathless, hair askew as he drove himself into you with long, fluid strokes. He found that same unknown place deep within you, and you started to unravel, teetering on the edge of mindless bliss. It built with each full press of his cock, each slam of his hips against yours, each pleasured cry.

Sweat dampened your hairline as your fingers clawed at his strong back. “Friedrich!” Your body continued to abandon your mind, the pleasurable coils at the base of your spine threatening to snap in a way you’d never known. It was all you could do to repeat his name as words failed you.

His grunts scorched your skin. “So tight...schieße, mein Liebling.” He didn't relent the pace of his hips as you moaned against him. "So soft...so soft."

With another thrust of his hips, the chord snapped and you shattered in his arms. Waves of ecstasy shot through you as your body convulsed around him, tearing an unrecognizable cry from your lips. His guttural groan burrowed deep in your chest as his hips pushed against you in a final drive, stuttering to a stop as wet heat flooded you.

In that blissful moment, you hoped his seed would take. That your belly would swell with his child even though you knew it was impossible. You wanted a part of this man always in your life. This handsome, serious man living a reclaimed life who made you feel so cherished.

Your heart thundered as your body went boneless under his solid weight. His bracing forearm gave out and his sticky, overheated skin pressed tight to yours. On instinct, your arms and legs wrapped around him, indulging every desire to hold him close as you gently rocked him in your embrace.

You brushed a kiss to his damp brow, nosing against his short, soft hair and the scent of cake soap. "That...," your cheeks flushed despite the intimacy of the moment as you grasped for words. "It never felt like that...before.”

He angled his head, ghosting kisses across your cheek. “Then, I had it right earlier. Your husband was a damn fool."

Embarrassed heat crept up your neck as you nibbled your lip, finally willing to be honest with yourself. “Perhaps you're right." In all honesty, you should probably be ashamed of speaking ill about your late husband while Friedrich's cock still softened inside you. But you weren't, and you didn't want him to withdraw just yet.

You snuggled in his embrace, sighing with immense satisfaction. “This felt...this was-.”

“Perfect.” He whispered reverentially, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. “Everything about you.”

Another tear pricked the corner of your eye as you held him tighter and a chasm opened in your chest. Would he stay if you asked him? Would he rebuke you for even asking? You hadn't gone to bed with him looking for a commitment, but you weren't ready to say goodbye. Would he be willing to write to you, perhaps? Would you even be able to write to him?

You pressed another kiss to his skin as if afraid he would disappear like a phantom sea mist. “Will you stay? At least," you quickly amended, "at least until dawn?”

He held himself carefully still, considering your words. He made no moves to pull away from you, but panic still bloomed in your stomach as you worried that you had just ruined everything.

You drew a sharp inhale. "I know that you have your ship and your men, and I don't expect - I'm not asking for more than you're willing to give. This has already been so much." An unwanted tear rolled down your cheek. "But I...I don't want-."

"Let me go speak with Sprink, and I will return to you here." His nose brushed the tear track on your cheek and he pulled back to regard you with tender concern. "Oh, mein Liebling…." His voice held no pity or reproach as he reached a hand to caress your wet skin.

Despite the intimacy of your physical embrace, embarrassment still flared at him witnessing your emotional weakness. You sniffled as you tried to not let it bother you, focusing on his words instead. "Sprink? W-who's that?"

"My quartermaster. Let me make sure command is secured, and then, I'll stay with you as long as I'm able." He pressed a kiss to your brow. "I promise."

Reluctantly, but taking heart in his promise, you unwrapped from the warmth of his body and let the room's sticky humidity wash over you. He rose from your bed, dressing in swift, perfunctory motions no doubt perfected from years at sea where conditions changed rapidly without warning. His broad shoulders filled out the line of his coat as his boots thumped against the floorboards to retrieve his hat.

As you pulled up the thin sheet to cover yourself, your heart warmed to see his grey and red vest still crumpled on your floor. It tugged a smile to your face as he settled his hat over his mussed hair. "Take my key." You said softly, nodding at the small table by the door. "You'll need it...at the top of the stairs."

With the key in hand, he stepped back to the bed with a small smile. "Thank you." He bent down to kiss you, and you met the press of his kiss-swollen lips.

Heat rekindled in your sated core as he lingered for a long moment and you wondered if you could entice him directly back into bed. But he withdrew, and you swelled with pride at his flushed cheeks and desire-glazed eyes.

The corner of his mouth lifted in warm reassurance. "Rest, mein Liebling. I won't be long."

A yawn hinged your jaw as if summoned by his words and you lay back against the pillow. You listened to his fading footsteps as you snuggled against the straw mattress, ignoring the cooling mess between your legs. A drowsy haze settled over you as you blinked against the relaxed pull of sleep. But you weren't willing to fall asleep on Friedrich. Not when all you wanted to do was keep drowning in the light of his brown eyes and basking in the glow of his kiss.

You didn't know the hour when heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway and your bedroom door hinge creaked. Rolling over, you cracked your eyes open to the most welcome sight of Friedrich removing his hat and coat. The rest of his clothing soon joined his vest on the floor, and you moved towards the wall to make room for him under the thin sheet.

Briny sea air clung to his hair and skin as he settled alongside you. His warm arm came around your waist as you lay face-to-face and intertwined your legs.

You hummed softly as he drew you close, delighting in his feather-light kisses. "What time is it?"

"Well past one o'clock."

You groaned in disappointment, burrowing further into his embrace. "So little time."

He brushed another lingering kiss, his facial hair tickling. "I've arranged to be away until ten."

Your eyes flew open, face brightening on the news. You drew back to look for any sign of jest on his face and found none.

His eyes softened with an easy smile as he caressed your cheek. "I'm glad that pleases you."

You brushed your toes along his shin as you pushed closer against him and your face split in a wide smile. "Very much. It's the best -." You stopped yourself, realizing what you were about to say.

His brow pinched with gentle curiosity. "What is it?"

You shook your head as your earlier shame flared up. "I don't...want to offend you again…."

He smiled with kind understanding. "It's alright.” He brushed his nose to yours. “Christmas may not mean nothing to me...but I’ll never forget tonight.”

Your heart soared as you melted against him, lost in the sea of his eyes. "And meeting you, having you here...is the best gift that I could have asked for."

His eyes dropped to the curve of your lips and you moved your head against the pillow. You kissed him as if dawn would never come, as if you didn’t need air, as if you could stay with him like this always. He met your slow and tender kiss, the warmth of his fingers cupping your cheek. Slow-rolling heat bloomed in your core and your hips twitched closer to his.

He moaned low in his throat as his hand journeyed down your neck, skimming the side of your breast and tracing all the skin he could reach. When he cupped your backside, pulling you closer, you whimpered into his mouth. The firm line of his erection pressed against your slick folds as you basked in the moment, just letting your bodies feel each other. You ached with desire anew, wanting him to consume you, to have you always.

You rolled your hips forward, sliding his cock through your growing wetness as you gripped his shoulders in a silent plea. He canted his hips, shifting a hand to guide himself into you, and you both gasped. Another awful tear wet your eye as you took him into your body unable to shake the feeling that he’d always belonged there. The first languorous roll of his hips stole your breath as you clung to him, enticing him to roll over.

As your back settled against the mattress under his weight, lost to the intimate embrace of your bodies, you never wanted dawn to come.

----------

You rested against his chest, fingers carding through the scattering of coarse hair as your overheated skin continued to cool. The combined mess from your fourth coupling cooled on your skin and dripped onto his, but neither of you paid it any mind. In fact, you were in no rush to wash it away. All too soon, it would be the only physical memory that you had left of him.

Snuggling in the curl of his arm around you, you sighed and tried to chase the thought away. He wasn’t gone yet. Contented drowsiness tugged at you as your eyelids grew heavy. His eyes were closed as he lay on his back, but his fingertips teasing your hair betrayed his wakefulness.

Even in all your years of married life, you’d never shared a night or morning like this. Reckless with care for sleep. Mindless with abandonment to passion. Honest with a raw ache that left your heart yearning.

And now that you had him – how could you ever let Friedrich Horstmayer go?

Your heart seized at the thought, fighting the imminent well of heartbreak that you knew waited to spill over as soon as the door closed behind him. A carriage rumbled past the window and a hailing cry of greeting followed from somewhere down the street. The sounds of town waking up on Christmas morning accompanied the bright rays of sunlight that streamed through the thin curtains, and you clung tighter to Friedrich.

It wasn’t time for him to leave yet. He was still here. He was still warm in your arms, and still holding you close.

Fortunately, if he noticed any physical tells of your emotional unease, he didn’t say anything as his fingers continued to tease in the disheveled locks of your hair. Admittedly, his touch was soothing. If you closed your eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle caress of his fingers – perhaps you would just doze off and forget the worries of your heart for a little while longer.

The heavy tolling of a church bell sliced through your contented haze. Nine bells sounded. The same nine bells that tolled the 9 o’clock hour and drew parishioners to prayer on Sunday mornings, but now drew them for a service to honor Christ’s birth.

He groaned in peaceful contentment, turning his head to brush a kiss to your brow as his arm tightened around your shoulders.

Your fingers continued to play against his chest as you found your voice, rough from lack of sleep. “Where’s your next destination?”

He hummed low, his own voice gravelly to match. “We’ll need to put some distance between us and the congestion in these waters, first. But some drunken soldiers yesterday were boasting of Spanish galleons bound for the New World that would layover for the New Year celebration.”

You forced a swallow at the thought. “And you mean to…attack these galleons?”

“If we can find them and scout them, sure.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “If they’re bound for the New World, they’re surely laden with goods that would please the crew – and if it ever got out that I had this knowledge and didn’t let it be their decision to make, then I would surely lose my command.”

“Aren’t you the captain, though? Isn’t your word…well, commanding?”

“As most of us are ex-military and naval men, we’ve all had more than enough rule by iron fist. There are command rules, of course, but autocratic leadership would not serve me well.”

You supposed that made sense, but you didn’t have much to compare against. Your husband never talked about his naval service, but you were familiar with his clipped, perfunctory nature that had surely formed from his experiences.

A question stuck in the back of your throat, but you couldn’t summon the courage to ask it. You weren’t a naive coquette who needed empty promises from a man who lived on the winds and moved on the currents. You understood well enough the dangerous nature of his life, and how any day at sea could very well be his last. As much as the romantic dreamer part of your heart wanted to believe that you were enough to make him permanently drop anchor, you were far from foolish. Instead, you just sighed and turned your head to press a kiss to his chest.

“What about you?” He asked softly, brushing another kiss to your brow with a rasp of facial hair. “For your Christmas Day?”

You shook your head minutely. “I’ll…scrub the tavern clean of last night’s revelry, and help make ready for more celebrations tonight. The tavern cook usually prepares a ham or a duck.” You paused, struggling to ignore the ache forming in your heart as realization crashed around you. “I think my uncle’s happy for the cheap labor that he gets from me, but we’ve never been all that close. And friendship turned fickle when…when I landed here.” You weren’t sure why you kept talking, but the words didn’t stop. “It’s been so long since I’ve had someone that I wanted to spend the day with…and I know it’s not your holiday, but I’m still very glad to have you here.” Your hand flattened over his beating heart, basking in the gentle thud against your palm. “Thank you for asking me to sit with you last night.”

He shifted against the mattress, adjusting your position and his until you were eye-level. The morning light sparkled in his eyes as he studied your face as if committing the sight to memory. Perhaps he was. After all, you didn’t know if you would ever see him again.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, it seemed like the least I could do after you’d watched me all night. I…It’s been a long time since someone noticed me as intently as you did. Usually anyone who watches me that closely ends up…well, not in moments like this.”

Your brow creased. “What does that mean?”

“It usually means they are out to rob me or steal my command, and end up shot or stabbed.” His eyes reflected the dark truth as hesitancy crept to the lines of his face. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean that my hands aren’t steeped in blood.”

Of course, you knew what he was, and hearing him speak of the violence so plainly as you lay entangled in the cozy confines of your bed was a sharp contrast. But no condemnation came to your face - after all, what was it he said to you last night? You swallowed carefully. “And your hands are also hardened from the brutality of war and life at sea – but you’re still just a man making his way in an unforgiving world.” You raised a hand to cradle his bearded cheek as a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Don’t start playing the role of hypocrite now.”

He huffed a breath of amusement as warm affection colored his gaze. Your heart fluttered and your mind swam, stunned by the connection that you’d found with this man in such a short time.

Your lips met in a long, slow kiss. A kiss that spoke to more feelings that either of you could voice. Your toes curled as your heart melted for him, indulging the press of his familiar, sea-breeze roughened lips.

“I should go.” He murmured, pressing a lingering, solid kiss. “Or the more I will be tempted to stay.”

“Then, let me tempt you,” your words rushed on breathless hope. “If you won’t let me beg, then, please….”

“Nein, mein Liebling.” He soothed, resting his forehead to yours and breathing you in. “I will never forget these moments.”

Tears sprang to life as you tried to swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. “Me, neither. I…,” you drew a deep breath, knowing it was now or never. “I would have this with you every night if I could.”

The breath punched from his chest as if you’d physically accosted him and his hold on you tightened. You weren’t purposefully trying to torture him or make his departure harder, but you needed him to know how much you cared for him.

Slowly, he tilted his head and pressed a kiss that felt all too final to your forehead. “And I will carry that thought to sea with me. When the nights turn windless and dark; when the thirst and hunger gnaws unrelenting – I shall always think of you warm and soft in my arms.”

Before you could respond, he pulled back from your embrace and swung his legs down to the floor. His bare footsteps creaked on the rough wood flooring as he rose and set about dressing. You also rose, reaching for your bureau to don your simple, white nightgown.

When you turned around, a smile curled your lips as you watched him shrugging his shirt over his head. You walked over to his discarded vest, holding it up to inspect it in the light. It bore wrinkles from its tenure on the floor, but the red piping along the vest’s edges was neatly stitched and the striped ribbon woven through the second topmost buttonhole still piqued your interest.

Shaking and batting out the wrinkles, you turned to meet his gaze, smiling almost sheepishly as you held it out. With an encouraging nod, he stretched his arms out and let you slide the garment over each hand and up both arms. Settling the grey fabric on his shoulders, you moved around to his front and started on the buttons.

Your heart pounded all the while. Somehow, despite the night pressed together skin to skin, this felt far more intimate than any of that. Maybe it was simply because you’d never dressed a man before – even your husband retreated to his separate bedroom to dress for the day. Maybe it was your show of silent support – that even though you wanted him to stay with you, you weren’t going to hold him back.

A trembling sigh left you as you looped the second topmost button through the matching hole, and your fingers grazed the curious ribbon. Your voice came thready in the tremulous moment. “What is this for?”

His face hardened with resentment as his eyes softened with long-borne melancholy. “It’s a commendation for military valor.”

Your face pinched with confusion. “Were you not stripped of your rank when they cast you out?”

He nodded weakly. “I was, and they talked of stripping this away from me, too. But in the end, they decided - I was told that I should live with the undeserving shame of it and let it stand as a reminder of my betrayal.”

You pressed your hand flat over the button and ribbon on his chest, heartbroken for him. For everything that he’d lost in his life simply because he chose peace in time of war.

He looked down at your hand on his chest, raising his own to wrap gently around the back of it. “But I don’t see it that way. I do not regret the choices that I made, and I am not ashamed to bear that legacy. And, at the end…whenever that day comes – I know I can face it with a clear conscience.”

Your heart warmed with love and admiration as you resisted the urge to crush him close in a hug, to beg him to never leave your side. You forced a hard swallow as a lovesick smile lit your face. “And you talk about my strength? You should look at your own.” You pushed your palm against the ribbon for emphasis. “Not every man would keep wearing a symbol of the country that betrayed him as a show of defiance. They may have cast you out…but you have hardly lost your way.”

He sighed, closing his eyes as he gripped your hand. “You say that…yet, each moment I stand here with you, I feel...more and more lost….”

Anxious hope twisted your gut as he withdrew your hand from his chest with a sudden decisive motion. He swiftly undid the second topmost vest button as he stooped to reach for a boot. A sharp, slim knife appeared in his hand, and you gasped as he pulled the fabric of his vest away to start cutting at the thread around the white and black ribbon.

“Friedrich,” you implored, watching the ribbon fall free of his vest. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing aboard my ship is safe from theft or destruction, and I have not found someone I trust to look after it.” He lowered the knife and held the ribbon out towards you. “Would you keep it safe until I return?”

Words escaped you as you stared down at the proffered ribbon and the implication behind it. You sniffled against sudden tears that you tried to blink away. “Y-you’ll come back to me…?”

He looked at his outstretched hand. “It’s the only promise I can make.”

With shaking hands, you took the ribbon and ran your fingers reverently over the strip of fabric as you tried to swallow more tears. “I’ll keep it safe for you. I…I’ll keep it close to my heart, if that’s alright…of course.”

He smiled softly, relieved as he re-fastened the button on his vest. “That would please me very much.”

You curled your fingers around his ribbon in a secure hold, nearly overcome in the moment as he re-sheathed his knife and stepped away to don his coat. Words choked in your throat as you watched him smooth out his fur collar, too many emotions roiling within you to think straight or trust your tongue.

He turned back towards you, settling his hat on his head. You sniffled, summoning a wane smile as he walked back to you with gentle footsteps. His eyes saw only you as he spoke softly. “Take care of yourself, mein Liebling.”

“And you,” you forced the words out around the invisible corset constricting your chest. “Take care of yourself. Please don’t…don't do anything reckless.”

His mouth quirked with a comforting edge. “Of course not. There’s a reason they call me ‘Fearsome Fritz’, and not ‘Foolhardy Fritz’.”

Your eyes widened as a laugh bubbled from you. “Fearsome Fritz…you know, I - I almost couldn’t believe that when I heard it last night.” You wanted to melt under the answering smile that flashed across his face and aged him so young despite the dark facial hair. “What will my uncle say if he learns that the ribbon I wear belongs to the ‘Fearsome Fritz’?”

His eyes sparked with intrigue. “His response would tell you much about how he conducts his business. But I don’t think that you should worry. I wouldn’t do anything to deliberately place you in harm’s way.”

You smiled as affection welled in your chest. Your eyes swept his face, committing every last detail to memory, still struck that this handsome man had spent the night in your arms and given you his ribbon for safekeeping.

The silence stretched as neither of you moved. Time ticked with each breath as you refused to look away from him, and surely, the requirements of his command were bearing down – but you still didn’t want to let him go.

“Goodbye, mein Liebling.” He raised a hand to your cheek in a tender caress as he leaned in. You welcomed the gentle press of his lips, the precious regard in his touch, the promise of his affection – and returned it with your whole heart. He withdrew far too soon, and your heart cracked wide open. Your stomach knotted as he moved away from you, turning for the door. You held his ribbon tight, unable to look away from him.

A heavy sigh left him as he reached for the door handle, suddenly pausing in a moment of hesitation. Your heart pounded, knowing that if he turned back to face you and you caught a glimpse of those soulful eyes – you would be helpless not to beg him to stay. To surrender his captaincy and carve out a living here with you on land.

He turned around, and your resolve crumbled. You didn’t know who moved first, and you didn’t care as you both crashed together, throwing your arms around his shoulders as his hands cupped your jaw. You held nothing back as he devoured you like a man gasping for his last breath who had nothing to lose. A whimper trembled in the back of your throat, and you knocked his hat askew, running your hands through his hair to drag him down, holding him impossibly close. The kiss bruised and burned, conveying a depth of passion that defied words. It was everything you wanted for the rest of your days.

As quick as it flared to life, his hands fell away, and the warmth of his mouth departed. His footsteps echoed like thunder as he crossed your room and opened the door without looking back. When the door closed in his wake, you were still too breathless to summon tears.

The tears fell seven hours later when you lay in bed, clutching his ribbon close against a pillow that still smelled of him.

And, again, seven days later when you finally managed to secure his ribbon using a stick pin without stabbing yourself through your bodice.

And, again, seven weeks later when the physician confirmed the impossible news that you were pregnant.

And, again, seven months later when you paused mopping the floorboards to rest your aching back and swollen feet only to see the tavern door swing open to reveal the most beautiful pair of familiar brown eyes that you’d ever seen.

Tag BrühList: @mischief-rcs @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @glimmering-darling-dolly

#lieutenant horstmayer #friedrich horstmayer golden age piracy au #friedrich horstmayer #daniel brühl x you #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl #joyeux noël

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iovelore · 3 years

Text

❝ MORTAL TALES ❞ ( O1 )

summary and word count: a certain fae can’t help but find amusement in the youngest elfhame’s prince‘s frustration. wc — 1493

pairings: the cruel prince!cardan greenbriar x fem!reader

contents and warnings: jealousy, hinting of threesome, mentions of knife (nothing extreme), suggestive content, mutual pining-ish, fluffy?

a/n: i used tcp cardan because i couldn’t see any context of y/n being used in a fic in the other books (i also need it for the next part </3). i tried my best to include the tail bit since it didn‘t come out right, ill add it in either part 2/3. cardan is a bit ooc (i made him a bit idk how to put it besides: sub?man whore. because i believe that’s what he is 😁). and y/n resembles jude just a little bit with the blade thing, but only a little because jude is neither very flirty or open up about her sexuality (more so in the first book) and that’s what i made y/n like.

also, since this was more in y/n’s perspective, next part will be more so cardans <3

Y/N's legs crossed as she leaned her head on locke's shoulder, while Poppy, a half-faerie: who Locke has shown great interest in— for all the wrong reasons — sat before them and told them of the mortal tales her father would recite to her every night or the ones she gathered on her own from her adventures back where the humans lived.

Y/N found them odd: how they all were almost nothing compared to the people here; they were fragile, but she found similar enjoyment in them all nonetheless — and perhaps she had the eldest duarte to blame for her obsession with all things mortal, and Poppy's tales weren't helping either — which has unfortunately gained her the harsh scowls from the youngest prince of Elfhame.

Though that was no surprise. The boy had never been kind enough for her to realise that his treatment towards her was almost cruel — not that it had mattered, because to Y/N it was a show; she knew where his feelings lay, and it was nothing but amusing. To everyone with eye sight as clear as day, he'd never liked her, but when in class, when he believes her to be ignorant of his stare or his wagging tail; she has a classmate whisper every move his body makes, and it fuelled her heart all too much.

"It's not quite normal there, unlike here, if anyone decided to walk around with it they'd get humiliated till they're six feet under," Poppy snorted, covering her mouth with the back of her palms.

Locke turned to stare behind him, catching sight of the prince and Nicasia — both pouting miserably (one much too obvious than the other), and at that, he smiled. "Oh you’re right, tails are quite odd aren’t they? More so on a prince,"

Y/N shrugged at that, "It's alright, I do think Cardan makes it quite, charming? He’s always wagging it around like some...was it a cat you called it?"

"Yes a cat," Poppy shook her head positively, "though don't say that out loud, I doubt he's as clueless on mortal knowledge as we think he is."

Locke hummed, a smirk growing on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on his friend, Y/N following suite of his gaze and sultry grinning at the boy from afar, ignoring Nicasia — causing his eyes to widen momentarily, before the scowl found home on his face once more.

"He's never quite liked you has he?" His words were soft against her ear, his lips landing gently beneath her ear-lobes, kissing it tenderly as he kept his eyes trained on his flaring friend — who if one squinted, could perhaps see smoke escape his ears, if they ignored the immense swinging of his tail.

Y/N smiled, a small amount of malice lacing her intentions, "hatred I'd say, though he doesn't think I'm that foolish does he?"

Poppy, who now stared at her feet, hands tugging the grass with a blush coating her tanned features, "he's looked like he wanted to murder Locke."

Y/N snickered, a sickeningly sweet one at that, as she lowly muttered, "it’s all working then, sweetness."

Later on, when Y/N was left with no one to keep her company — as Locke found himself adorning Poppy and Nicasia's presence, alone — she took notice of the emptiness of Locke's home. It was beautiful, nothing as extravagant as Hollow Hall, yet she found herself admiring the interior all the same.

And as her hands traced the designs etched on the walls, as if it were a reminiscence of her first time staring upon them, a deep, and rather annoyed cough fleed her from her thoughts.

she stayed in position, her back facing Cardan and only gripping the knife resting on her waist, "now what would the prince need at a time like this? Should he not be in his humble abode by now?"

"Should you not be with your lover boy? Or is it that you enjoy using people like he does?" His tone was hostile as he spat his words, however the light softness that rippled around it was evident and Y/N couldn't help her lips tugging upwards.

She turned around, staring at him — where he leaned cooly against one of the walls — with squinted eyes, faux contempt present in her stare, and he shifted in his spot at her gaze.

She swiftly walked, her steps careful as to not trip on her dress. And when she reached him, she, boldly, placed her hands on his chest, dragging it downwards firmly — and his thumping heart beneath his rib cage could be faintly heard from the short proximity between them.

Y/N titled her head when he clenched his fists, but found a smile etching on her lips when his eyes were lightly fluttering. "Do I really threaten you that much that your hatred towards me is the only thing that keeps you going? It's pathetic truly, especially for a prince."

Cardan gulped, mind hazy at the contact and his body was supported by his tail, that was wrapped roughly around one of his legs. He could not utter the next words without stroking her ego, and it was then he'd wished — though he'd never admit out loud — that he were mortal, because he needed to lie if not keep his mouth shut.

More so with her trapping him, her knees coming forward and slightly spreading his legs, so that the entirety of his body leaned upon the wall. And despite him towering over her due to one of her legs bending in-front of the other, he could not move, catching sight of the shiny blade securely placed on her hips and her rigid grasp on them.

She had been around a certain mortal for too long, he thought, and at that his sneer was present again.

Y/N gently bit her tongue to stifle the giggle from escaping her, "what, cat's got your tongue?"

His lips were tightly sealed, and though he already knew the effects she displayed were affecting him, greatly, he refused to acknowledge her — especially that any movement could cause his legs to move slightly forward and brush . . .

She shook her head with a light hearted laugh that had his heart beating just a little bit faster, just a little bit. Her hands releasing the grip she had on her blade, before placing it on his cheek and patting him smoothly.

"You're quite humorous you know, would be a shame if you wasted all that energy on 'hating' me when it could be used for something else, you decide, my prince." she said, her tone sensual and low, before gradually stepping away allowing room (only a small amount at that) for the boy before her to breathe, she let one of her fingers crawl delicately on his hollow cheek bones, that though looked sharp, were as soft as anything could be.

Cardan's eyes widened ever so slightly, now registering her words, "are you flirting with me?" He asked. The space between them now slightly obvious, and he hated it — almost as much as he pretends to loathe her.

Y/N raised her brows, crossing her arms in an unlikely childish manner before nodding, "you're quite oblivious you know? Yes."

"Well," the confirmation enabled a smirk to appear on his face, only to be dismissed by her voice, again.

"Well? Is that all? Because I have things to do, and if my offer does not interest you then I'll gladly leave and find another willing volunteer," she purred, ignoring the way his brows harshly and quickly furrowed, creating a crease, "how about Locke? We are reasonably close, and he does not have a tail — which looks a bit foolish, don't you think?"

He was blushing crimson now, red sparklings littering his pale cheeks, but then his lips curled up — however, he does not look as frighting as he's expecting to be, he knew that, especially with her knees still resting between his thighs (which is all he's trying to drift his mind from at the moment).

"I don't see anything off with it, I've been told it makes one interesting. You've spent too much time with mortals and those alike." Cardan's jaw clenched and his chest was rising a lot more than it was a few minutes before.

Y/N pursed her lips, "Well then, show me how interesting one can get." She leaned forward, her breath fanning atop his lips and he found his own hitching.

His eyes were wandering from her eyes, which he secretly adored, to her lips, and he subconsciously nodded, leaning forward.

Only then, her hands rested on his chest, pushing him away slightly and his head came in contact with the wall yet again, and he had to bite his bottom lips in hopes that she had no idea how much he’d needed her, all of her.

Y/N stepped backwards, finally standing straight. Her hands on her side once more and she gave the prince an alluring smile, "I'll see you later, cardan."

He glared at the spot she had been standing in once she’d left, and he knew that it was a silly game she’s playing.

And what is a game if it involves one player?

#the cruel prince #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #nicasia #jude duarte #vivienne duarte #taryn duarte #cardan greenbriar x reader #holly black #prince cardan #jude x cardan #reader insert #Locke

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devilyn · 3 years

Text

belated regrets | kuroo tetsurou

— alexa, play: remember me by umi

Cuz I'm getting older Know that I've changed But I can't go back now Nothing's the same And I won't forget how You called my name When I was afraid And now I'm afraid

— synopsis: after taking advantage of your friendship, what will kuroo do to win it back? — genre: angst, friends to lovers if you squint — word count: 3.1k

This wasn't like you. You had stopped crying over Kuroo months ago. You stopped thinking about whether or not he had eaten yet, if he had gotten home safe, if he would text you goodnight, and yet here you were. You were crying again, after claiming you moved on and healed, and after telling all your friends that you would cut him out of your life.

You wish you blocked his number. It felt mean to do it back then, but you really wish you did, because now you definitely wouldn't be able to.

"I think we should take some time apart," were the words you whispered to him over the phone one night a few months back when he was telling you about some girl he had gotten close to in his chemistry lecture.

There was a painful silence that lasted over 15 long seconds. You'd never forget. You counted, after all.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "You're my best friend. What did I do wrong?"

Your 'friendship' had always been strange, after all. Everyone told you that, and even Kenma firmly believed that the two of you would end up dating eventually. But every time, Kuroo would laugh and ruffle your hair while proclaiming he would never date you.

And every time, you'd force a smile and agree with him.

"This friendship...just isn't what it used to be," you answered. It was true. Ever since the two of you got to college, things had changed. He met different people through his classes and bustling parties, and thus different girls that he'd ask you about. You manufactured his sweet texts to them, all while wishing he'd send them to you and feel just as nervous calling you late at night. You'd help guide him through the process of asking her out, then let him come over and be sad when he was rejected.

Every aspect of your friendship became about him, him, and him. His academics were doing well--he was a surprisingly smart man after all--but they took a toll on him mentally, as they do to all college students. The same happened to you as well, but never once did Kuroo ask about how you were doing, how you were feeling, how you were coping with the sudden changes to your life.

You kept in contact with Kenma, who you'd text once in a while to tell him about how much you hated his previous captain. And Kenma would listen to you cry over the phone about his foolish childhood friend that knew nothing about your growing feelings for him. He was the only person who kept you grounded, and understood that your feelings for Kuroo couldn't be so easily tossed aside as the rest of your friends claimed. He also was the one who encouraged you to end your friendship with Kuroo gently, knowing that he would have to deal with the aftermath of Kuroo's confusion.

"Can I fix it somehow?" Kuroo asked in a panic, and you laughed bitterly. You had asked him many times to fix things--his treatment of you as if he were your therapist being the main one. He’d apologize, yet things would always end up returning to how they were before, with you being at the bottom on his list of priorities.

"Not anymore," your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat to pretend like you weren't crying. "I think you'll be fine without me."

“Y/N--”

“Don’t call me from now on, please. Don’t come over, because I won’t answer the door,” you paused. “...you’re still going to be my friend. I just need space.”

A lie. You knew it, and Kenma did too when you rehearsed your lines to him. He told you such, but you couldn’t bear to tell Kuroo the truth.

And even as you hung up, deep down, you wished he would disobey your wishes. You wanted him to text you and come to his senses, realizing he was wrong. You wanted to relive late night calls where you would laugh and talk about absolutely nothing just because you couldn’t fall asleep. You wanted to go back to him showing up at your front door with a bucket of fried chicken to reward you for studying hard for your midterm exams. You wanted to lay next to him on a grassy field again, where he was gazing up at the stars and you were mesmerized by how beautiful your best friend was, inside and out.

But Kuroo never called. You no longer sent him good morning texts, asking how his day was, and he stopped asking for your advice. It was like the two of you were less than friends. You’d only speak when you sent him an occasional meme that reminded you of him, or a song you knew he would enjoy. He’d respond earnestly, as if your friendship of over four years wasn’t shattered during that one call months ago.

Kenma called you an idiot for not cutting him off entirely, and you would have to agree with him. You were an idiot who was head over heels for a man who would never share your feelings.

It took months for you to get over it, but the distance you put between the two of you definitely helped. So why was it, all of a sudden, after you were finally healing and moving on, that Kuroo decided to call you out of nowhere?

You stared at your buzzing phone, the image of a stupid face Kuroo made flashing on your screen.

Should you pick up? Should you pretend like you didn’t see his call? During your time contemplating, his photo faded away and your phone stopped vibrating angrily against your coffee table.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat through your chest when you saw the ‘one missed call’ notification flicker mockingly at you. You stared at your phone, breath hitching in your throat when suddenly, you received a new text from none other than Kuroo Tetsurou himself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, leaning your head back against the couch and groaning loudly. Should you call Kenma? You could already feel a headache incoming.

Why? Why did Kuroo always do this to you? He’s always had terrible timing, and apparently that never changed.

You plucked your phone from the table, braving it all and finally reading what he had to say to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you fucking serious,” you grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut to chase away the anger building up inside of you. “Now? Now of all times? Does he even know what he’s sorry for?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Kuroo to apologize to you just because he knew you were upset. Still, you always forgave him solely because he was your best friend. But now, you knew better.

Fully ready to toss your phone aside, your eyes caught a new text from your ex-best friend.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

Liar.

“I’m sorry for that one time I told you I’d help you study for your chemistry exam but ended up forgetting and missing all your texts and calls.”

You remembered that day. You had confided in him about your bad grade, and when he told you he could help you study, you were over the moon at the thought of being able to raise your nearly failing chemistry grade (and at the thought of spending more time with him). You called him multiple times when he didn’t show up, but gave up when he didn’t pick up the fifth time. You stayed up all night studying on your own, but still ended up failing that exam. You dropped the class, and ended up taking it next semester to get a much better grade without Kuroo’s help.

“I’m sorry for when you couldn’t tell me why you cried the entire day but still let me over so I could complain about Kira turning me down.”

That day, you were extremely overwhelmed. Your roommate was out somewhere, so you were left on your own to cry over the endless amount of assignments you had to deal with, on top of everything else. Kuroo had called that day, clearly in distress, and though you were in tears, you wiped them away and put on a weak smile when he showed up at your front door with a pained expression.

You wanted to be there for him. He was your best friend, after all.

“I’m sorry for that time that I left in the middle of our movie night because Ayane called me and wanted to go out to eat together.”

Your heart stung at the memory. The sight of his back getting up from your couch while completely ignoring the hurt in your eyes was still engraved into your memory, even if you spent months trying to forget it. You had called his name, but he was too busy eagerly chattering on the phone to even hear you. When he turned around, it was to bid you goodbye before abruptly leaving you with a half-eaten bag of popcorn and an animated movie still running that you no longer felt like finishing.

“I’m sorry for making you think you didn’t mean anything to me.”

Did you make an impact on his life? Deep down, you had hoped you did, so he’d always remember you.

“I’m sorry for taking advantage of your friendship.”

That, he definitely did.

“I’m sorry for being the worst friend ever. I miss you so much, Y/N.”

Why were you crying again? Your hands came up to wipe at your cheeks before hurriedly video calling Kenma’s phone.

When he picked up, the first thing he did was sigh at the sight of your disheveled appearance. If you weren’t completely in tears, you may have laughed at his attitude towards the situation, but all you could do was let out a weak whimper.

“I think he’s drunk,” he spoke without you needing to say anything. The thought of Kuroo only texting you because he was inebriated hurt you even more.

“He’s such an asshole,” you managed to croak out between your cries. Kenma only nodded, eyes clearly focused on the screen of his PC. Briefly, they turned to look at you again and his expression softened.

“You should’ve blocked him,” he mumbled, and a weak laugh left your lips. “Are you going to reply?”

You were quiet for a bit, before shaking your head.

And with that, Kenma hummed softly. He stayed on the phone with you until you finished crying over his childhood friend, and only hung up when you finally promised him you’d call him again the next day.

Tomorrow came quicker than you thought it would, and you managed to ignore Kuroo’s messages without giving into the temptation to text him back. Your life went back to normal, relatively, aside from one thing.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you for not understanding me when you gave me advice. I was childish, and only wanted to hear what I wanted to hear.”

Now, Kuroo was texting you everyday with something he was supposedly sorry for. And now, you were calling Kenma everyday to beg him to tell Kuroo to stop, to just leave you alone so you could move on. And every day, Kenma would tell you that you both knew how stubborn Kuroo could be when he put his mind to something.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you whenever you needed me even though you were always the first one to worry about me and how I was doing.”

At this point, it had been a few days since the initial text, and you wanted nothing more than to find him and yell at him to leave you alone. You were fine with brief interactions, pretending like your feelings for him never existed and he never regarded you as someone he could trust with his deepest feelings. You were fine with that.

“I’m sorry for being stupid and being able to understand everyone else’s feelings except for my best friend’s.”

But now he was pushing your boundaries. He was asking for more than what you could give him without giving him your entire heart again. You knew, and Kenma probably knew too, that if Kuroo kept doing this, you’d end up forgiving him. You’d give up on all the work it took over the past few months to get over him and go back to being his best friend if he asked you to. All that courage you put in to cut him off in the first place would disappear, and you’d be back to square one.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you liked me, and that I like you too.”

That was the last straw.

“You’re a prick.”

His response was almost immediate.

“Can I call you?”

Before you even had the chance to reply, your phone was buzzing in your hand and you nearly dropped it in your surprise. Without thinking, you picked up. And you cursed yourself for doing that.

“Y/N,” his familiar voice calling your name in that teary tone nearly made you cry again. Instead, you bit down on your lower lip to prevent the sadness crawling up your throat. You could hear the noises of cars passing by on the other line. He must’ve been outside

“Y/N, I missed you so much,” Kuroo’s voice was weak, and cracked a bit as he spoke, as if he too was holding back tears. “Thank you for picking up the phone.”

There was silence between the two of you for a bit before you shakily breathed in.

“Please stop texting me,” you finally managed to mumble. “Please stop thinking that you actually have feelings for me just because I was a comfortable person to fall back to when you didn’t have anyone else to go on dates with at the time.”

“That’s not the case--”

“If that’s not the case, then what is, Kuroo?” you interrupted, voice trembling. “I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, and now all of a sudden I’m gone and you like me too? Fuck off, I can’t believe you of all people would think so lightly of my feelings.”

“Listen,” his voice was pleading. “It’s not like that. Can I talk to you in person?”

“If I see you, I’m just going to cry again,” you laughed bitterly. You could hear shuffling on the other line.

“Then I’ll hold you until you stop crying,” he retorted firmly, and your heart jumped in your chest. How long had you waited to hear him speak like that about you? Like he just might share the same adoration for you that you did for him?

“You won’t even be able to find me,” you mumbled more to yourself than to him. It wasn’t like you were at your apartment, after all. You needed to get away.

“If you really think that,” you jumped at the sound of his voice closer than you thought. Looking up from your feet, your traitorous heart rate raced at the sight of those familiar almond eyes and unfixable bedhead. “Then I must’ve been a really bad friend, huh?”

You spent an excessive amount of time just staring up at him from your spot on the swings, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He had bags under his eyes, and his bedhead was a little messier than it had previously been. Despite all that, the man in front of you was undoubtedly the best friend you’d caught feelings for.

“...how’d you find me?” you finally asked as he took a seat on the swing next to your own.

“I wanna say that I’m just a genius, but honestly, you never removed me from seeing your location.”

Your eyes adjusted to the brightness of his screen. When you spotted the familiar profile photo of your smiling face on the map, all you could do was sigh. Anxiously, you ran your sweaty palms along your pants to wipe them off.

“I’ve said it a dozen times at this point,” Kuroo tucked his phone back into his pants, “But I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I get it,” you mumbled, exhausted of his apologies at this point.

“I don’t know what more I can say besides I’m sorry,” he admitted weakly. You couldn’t find the courage to lift your head to look at his probably desperate expression. “I’ll be honest. I wanted to respect your wishes at first. If you wanted distance, I’d give it to you. But the more time passed, the more I missed you.”

You fiddled with your fingers and the edge of your shirt, trying to find any distraction so you didn’t have to listen to his explanation.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, “I thought I was an idiot, for treating you the way I did. I took advantage of how comfortable I was around you, and when you finally left me, I realized how lucky I was to have someone I could be so myself with.”

He turned to look at you, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. Your heart ached. He looked so tired.

“Have you been eating?” You asked quietly.

“See?” He smiled bitterly. “You care so much about me, and all I do is take that kindness and give nothing back.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes again as he took your hand and placed it onto his cheek, the familiar warmth of his hand reminding you that you truly would never be able to get over him.

“I hate you,” you lied through the tears slipping down your cheeks, “so much for everything you’ve done. For making me fall for you.”

“I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you if you’ll let me,” his other hand reached up to brush your tears away. “As your friend, and as someone who finally realized his feelings for you too late. And if I’m lucky, I hope you’ll let me back into your life.”

“It won’t be the same,” you admitted honestly. Truthfully, your friendship would never be the same after all the hurt you endured because of him. Things that may have seemed so small to other people hurt you deeply, solely because you trusted him so much.

“I trusted you to be there and to understand me,” you told him, “and you ignored all that. You can’t expect that to be fixed so quickly.”

“I know,” he brushed your hair behind your ear. “So I’ll give my all to build a new relationship with you. One where I’ll be better, and won’t hurt you ever again.”

The two of you were silent as you cried. Through your tears, you could see his wet eyes. The sight brought a weak laugh to your lips.

“Kenma said you’re way too stubborn when you put your mind to something,” you smiled sadly. “This is your last chance, Kuroo. Don’t ruin it.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #hq #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou angst #kuroo tetsurou imagines #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu!!

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Aspiration Part 2. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part one!

“You’ll hurt your neck if you keep craning your head down like that.”

What good it does to chastise you on an insignificant action like this is beyond you. There isn’t much else to do until you land in this “unknown” destination that he’s spoken of earlier, yet the thought of entertaining conversation with him doesn’t feel appealing either. Being kidnapped will have that effect on you, he shouldn’t expect otherwise but seems to.

“Nothing a few painkillers won’t solve.” you respond with forced disinterest, flipping to the next page of the magazine Chrollo gave you earlier. It feels like a minor loss to entertain him with a response, your cold shoulder treatment temporarily lifting.

You’ve read this magazine at least three times by now, hoping that giving your mind something to focus on will steady you in reality. The lackluster stories about summer sales, latest keto recipes, and what celebrities have been up to lately offer none to little substance. Yet your eyes continue scanning them dutifully as if it’s a sacred text recovered by a forgotten civilization.

Letting out a small yawn, you continue to read until you get to the familiar final page once again. Fully intending on completing the cycle of rereading it, Chrollo interrupts this by plucking it from your grasp before you get the chance. All you can offer in return is a halfhearted glare and grimace.

“Hey! I was reading that.” you protest with a frown, feeling vulnerable without anything to hold onto.

He ignores your agitated exclamation, placing the magazine out of your reach by his side. “I don’t believe you’re missing out on anything of importance, seeing as you’ve read it multiple times already.”

Huffing but not humoring him with a response, you cross your arms and stare out the window. The clouds below you are an enticing sight, still not enough to maintain your attention for the remaining thirty or so minutes of this flight. When traveling, it’s always the last amount of time before reaching your destination that feels like the longest.

Chrollo lets out a disapproving sigh at your actions, then pulls back his sleeve to check the time. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll attribute your current behavior to being hungry.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” you finally look over at him, lips pursing indignantly. “And there’s the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by an A bounty criminal and am currently heading to god knows where at four in the morning.”

“You’re by all means welcome to rest.”

How he can calmly rebuke all your thinly veiled sarcasm is a special talent, like water off a duck’s back. You don’t want to admit it, however, you’re grateful he isn’t hotheaded and offended by your boorish remarks. Watching your tongue would be how any sane person would deal with a threat like this… then there’s you. Making poor decisions and winging it. A life motto, really.

An invitation to rest your weary eyes isn’t easily declined, an alluring proposal. His presence makes it a challenge to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, that state leaving you entirely vulnerable. When you’re awake you have some tandem of control, even if it isn’t much.

“Where exactly would I do that? I don’t see any beds in here.” You emphasize your rebuttal by glancing around the room you two occupy, as if one would materialize at your words. Now that would be a useful nen ability, if he happened to have it.

Chrollo smiles, in a way that doesn’t sit well with you. “Why not rest on my shoulder?”

“W-whatever happened to your previous care over the well being of my neck? That’ll just hurt it after five or so minutes.” you stutter back, face flushing as his lips quirk further upwards. Amusement is dancing within his dark eyes, drawing out further discomfort from you. He seems to like exchanges like this, flustering you with the same ease as breathing.

“Painkillers. You said it yourself,” Chrollo throws your previous statement before you, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. “I’d be happy to get them, if that’s the only reservation you have about sleeping on me.”

Inhaling sharply at his teasing assault, you close your eyes to prevent yourself from doing anything foolish. Gritting your teeth and balling your fists by your side, you remember why you were giving him the cold shoulder earlier. Talking to Chrollo is exasperating, all of his composed words like needles in your skin. Not wanting to swat at the wasp nest any further, your mind starts drifting, in a last ditch effort to distract yourself.

It’s been an eventful night. The most memorable night of your life, if you’re being honest. You had always acknowledged and accepted the risks of looking into the Phantom Troupe. The stories of their unabashed cruelty served as an appropriate warning. Playing it close to the chest usually entailed fear of death, so never in your wildest dreams were you expecting… whatever this is.

At least it beats dying? So you’ve got that going for you.

There isn’t anything you can do now, is what you’ve been telling yourself. Playing along with his whims is all you can think to do. It isn’t the ideal situation, but your only option now is to wait for an opening for escape. Even though Chrollo has more strength than you, he is still human. The thought offers a glimmer of encouragement, knowing that people aren’t infallible. You’ll take advantage of any weaknesses you can find.

Getting more information out of him is a path worth pursuing for the time being.

“I hope we’re not camping,” you murmur, shuddering at the horrific thought. “Bugs eat me like I’m the last supper.”

“We won’t be camping. And despite the name, the last supper isn’t actually the last time the disciples ate.” There’s something extremely ironic about a murderer correcting you on this.

“Please forgive me for not being up to date on biblical theology. I’ll be sure to correct that before the next test,” you deadpan before a realization hits you. “Wait, so what exactly are we doing? How am I even allowed to be on this blimp without my passport? God, none of this makes any sense…”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever ask. To answer your questions, we’ll be staying at a hotel for a few weeks. I know some people in the area who are interested in purchasing what was stolen earlier.” Chrollo explains with a casual air, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt.

It all hits you again. This is really happening to you. An inescapable reality where you’re at the complete mercy of this man, who despite showing no interest in harming you, is fully capable of doing so. Your contempt style of speaking until now has been a pitiful defense mechanism to help you cope with the extremity of this situation, not doing anything aside from momentarily distracting you. Running a hand through your hair, you feel your heart pounding within once more.

Chrollo takes note of how you shift in your seat, and tilts his head. “I understand this has been quite a lot to process. I meant what I said earlier -- about having no intention to harm you -- unless you do something that forces my hand.”

He smiles, the warm action not matching up to the dark implications of his words. It makes your blood run cold, how a monster can wear the skin of a human. There isn’t any benefit of getting yourself further worked up, so you continue rambling on. Life is all about testing the boundaries of what you can and can’t get away with.

“I still… don’t really get it. I know I was looking into information about you guys, but in that case, why not just,” you gulp, fearful that saying it will solidify the possibility. “Kill me? Even more so now that I know more.”

For the first time all night, Chrollo doesn’t offer an immediate quip in response. He carefully considers your words, in a way that leads you to believe he doesn’t entirely know the answer himself. It’s not that you have a death wish, yet your curiosity is overwhelming. Whenever he does decide to grace you with an answer, maybe you’ll find out something that’ll prove useful to escaping in the future.

“There’s no simple reason that’ll satisfy you. You piqued my interest, and that’s a dangerous thing to do with a thief,” he leans over, clearly assessing you as you back away in response. “I confirmed my suspicions when we spoke earlier in the car. So for the time being… I want to observe you.”

He was right when he said the answer won’t be satisfactory. His response leaves more questions than answers, some of which you don’t want to delve into. Backing down from this befuddling conversation, you focus on something else.

The soothing night sky outside elicits butterflies in your stomach. Darkness allows for the city lights beneath to stand out, little twinkling dots of light growing closer as the blimp descends. You can’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you’ll be on the ground soon, a sense of claustrophobia constricting you in this room with no escape. His suffocating presence doesn’t help on that front.

Chrollo is finally considerate enough to leave you to your thoughts. Within a few more minutes you’ve made your landing, leaving through a private terminal with what has to be forged ID. A black car rental car is waiting for you outside the airport, Chrollo opening the door to the passenger seat for you. The gentleman-like act almost causes you to roll your eyes, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything other than sitting down obediently. You’ll save the cheek for a later time.

He shuts some luggage into the trunk, then starts the car with a low hum, driving off to where you presume the hotel he mentioned earlier is. Looking out the window, you squint as the sun begins to rise into the sky. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second, in spite of how desperately you cling to consciousness. Eventually, the world around you grows distant, and you’re lulled into a deep slumber.

Dreamless rest is stolen from you, Chrollo gingerly shaking your shoulders and bringing you back to cruel reality. Letting out a low groan at the unwelcome interruption, you feel like swatting his hands away. “What… oh, it’s you.”

“Good morning to you too,” If he’s bothered by your unenthusiastic greeting, he doesn’t show it. Taking out the keys from the car, the vehicle ceases making noise. “We’re here now. You did mention wanting to sleep on a bed earlier, didn’t you?”

Craning your neck to look out the window, you see only about half an hour has passed since you first fell asleep. Outside is a grandiose looking building that must be your hotel. As much as you hate to admit it, you find yourself staring at what has to be the very expensive venue. Much more than anything you could ever hope to afford. While you’re appreciating the sight before you, Chrollo gets out to get his luggage.

That’s right. What are you supposed to do for clothes anyways? All of it’s stuck back at your apartment, and you don’t think Chrollo was generous enough to pack for you. At least a hotel will have toiletries, so that won’t be a concern.

‘Oh well. I guess we’ll cross that bridge once we get to it.’

“Do you need me to carry you?” Chrollo calls over from the curb, two large suitcases in hand. You realize only one of them has a lock on it.

Not even humoring him with a response, you get out of the car, keeping your distance from him. To your understanding, attempting to flee or signal down anyone will earn “unwanted consequences”, or at least that’s how he put it. It’s one thing to endanger yourself in a daring escape, but you can’t justify putting other’s lives on the line.

Morning chill prompts you to wrap your arms around yourself, warding off the cold. Following Chrollo’s lead, you head through revolving doors into a breathtaking lobby. Warm, yellow light from a glass chandelier basks the room in an ethereal glow, accenting the white marble flooring. He walks up to one of the employees behind a desk, checking in and getting a key to the room.

In the liberating few minutes away from Chrollo, your eyes sweep the surroundings for any openings. Is it possible to make a run for it for one of the cars outside? He’s fast -- you’ve seen it for yourself -- undoubtedly more than you. Such an obvious attempt at escape will only be met with failure. The lobby is wide open, no possibilities for hiding evident.

‘There goes that idea.’

Your insistent glancing around the area must’ve given you away, Chrollo placing a warning hand on your shoulder, and giving a firm squeeze. “Let’s head to our room. You must be exhausted by now.”

Once again offering no signs of protest, you head to an elevator together. Chrollo hits the button with the highest number on it. Ascending upwards, you watch the lights around the rims of the buttons with interest until it reaches level thirty. The elevator adds to your dizziness, a fuzzy feeling budding in your head.

With a ding, the door opens to reveal a long hallway. Chrollo checks the number on his key once more, before navigating to a room.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he opens the door to your shared suite. The lobby clued you in earlier that this is no cheap hotel, the suite confirming that. Since it’s at the top of the building, the entire city is visible to you. It’s a breathtaking sight, one that keeps you entranced as Chrollo shuts the door behind you. Looking out the window, you see more signs of life as the morning progresses.

The glass opens up to a balcony, the handle locked and cold to the touch. It’s probably not a good idea to walk out without permission, not sure of the act could be interpreted in a negative way.

Chrollo takes a place by your side, a little too close for your liking. Amidst the beauty before him, he’s more interested in looking at you. “I take it you like the view?”

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” you tell him, eyes wide and mouth agape at the breathtaking scenery. “If I had known we’d be staying here, I would’ve let you kidnap me sooner.”

“That’s a joke, by the way.”

He chuckles lowly at your rushed cover up, thinking little of it. “Are you hungry?”

Now that gets your attention. You can only imagine how wonderful the food here is, and you haven’t had anything to eat since your dinner last night. Having gone so long without food you’re surprised you aren’t ravenous, the kidnapping likely stunting your appetite. Still, you won’t be turning down the offer.

You nod your head to confirm his words. Chrollo walks over to a phone in the room to place an order for room service, quietly listing off a variety of breakfast foods. While he’s occupied doing this, you look around what will be your residence for the next few weeks. He must not take any issue in your wondering about, seeing as he’s covering the only possible exit. How considerate of him.

While he’s busy placing an order, you wonder off to take in your surroundings. From the door that leads to the hallway is a small closet on the left, and an expansive kitchen in the middle of the room. To the right of which is a living room, all surrounded by glass windows. That leaves your sleeping arrangement.

Saving the bedroom for last, your fears are confirmed. You realize that even in such an expansive suite, there’s only a single bedroom, with a king sized bed. Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side. Well, it’s not like you can’t sleep on the floor or couch if the opportunity presents itself. A nagging voice in the back of your mind tells you Chrollo won’t allow for that, unfortunately.

Plopping yourself down on the right side of the bed, you could almost melt into the comfortable mattress. Tempting as it is to fall asleep, you don’t trust Chrollo enough to give that a shot. Frowning at your fancy evening wear from the previous night, your previous concern about not having any clothes to change into returns. The bathroom did have a fluffy, white robe in it.

‘That feels too vulnerable... I’ll take my chances with the dress.’

Getting up before you fall asleep, you look around for anything that might be useful. The phone in the living room might be an idea, if you could somehow call and alert the staff of your predicament. Something tells you Chrollo has already taken that into account, and you write off the idea as soon as it appears.

Speaking of Chrollo, he enters the bedroom with an inviting cart of food in front of him. Everything from hashed browns, scrambled eggs, pastries, pancakes, bacon and waffles sit atop silver plates.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got everything. Help yourself.”

Not needing to be told twice, you grab a plate and go to town. Chrollo grabs a steaming cup of tea, taking a sip and sitting down next to you. The bed creaks underneath his added weight, you too occupied with eating to care about the implications of his action.

He raises the glass to his lips. “Is there anything else you want to ask me, [First]?”

Swallowing your previous bite, you give his question some thought. There is plenty on your mind that you’d love to know. A better, more conclusive answer for why he kidnapped you at the top of that list. You recall how he looked detached from reality when you asked him about it on the blimp, leading you to believe that asking again will earn a similar result.

‘It’d be best to play it safe for now.’

“Yes, actually,” you take a bite of a blueberry muffin, wiping your mouth before continuing. “Am I supposed to wear this damned dress for the remainder of this... arrangement?”

"As lovely as you look in it, no. One of the suitcases has clothes for you, among other things.”

Blinking at this new information, you wonder if he ever intended on telling you this. In your short time of being acquainted with Chrollo, you’ve picked up on how he rewards you for conversation. Humiliating as it is to play along with his tune, you’ll have to do just that.

“Other things...?” you repeat back in a faint murmur, showcasing your confusion by tilting your head. Chrollo nods his head in affirmation to this, setting his now empty tea cup on a nightstand with a faint click.

“You strike me as the type to want something to do, so I went through the trouble of procuring a few of your belongings. A few books, and the like.”

‘Ah. How terribly considerate of him.’

It’s not much, but knowing you have some of your personal possessions is comforting. Anything is better than being stuck alone with him, or your thoughts. The worst possible case scenarios.

Your meal now finished, you get up and place your dirty plates back onto the tray. Chrollo continues relaxing, eyes still following your every moment. How is he not exhausted? The only thing keeping you awake is your fear of what could happen when you’re asleep, and even that is beginning to wane. Maybe some caffeine will help with that.

“I’m gonna get my stuff.” you call over, holding your breath in anticipation of a response.

At his lack of protest, you assume this action is approved of. Helping yourself to the suitcase without a lock on it, you unzip it to find it’s just as he said. Some of your clothes from home, your switch, books, a few offline games, your favorite perfume, shampoo and body wash.

It’s creepy to know someone went into your residence and took your stuff, but that’s the least of your problems right now. While grabbing a change of clothes, a thought hits you. Looking up towards the phone Chrollo used to call room service earlier, your hand twitches by your side. It’s a temptation, taunting you over the possibility of freedom.

‘He’s in the other room relaxing. Maybe, just maybe I have enough time...’

Cautiously, as not to alert him of your scheme, you begin to silently tiptoe over to the phone. Time feels like it goes slower, not even trusting yourself to breathe in fear of him hearing it. Hand hovering over your possible saving grace, your fingers grow closer to pressing 9.

That’s when he appears in the corner of your eye, leading you to hurriedly bring back your hand and straighten your back.

“I already cut the wires. It was a good idea though.” he calls over from the doorway, leaning against it and smiling in a way that makes your stomach curl. Not a single detail has gone overlooked, but what were you expecting from a mastermind criminal who has managed to go this long without being caught?

Checking to see if his words hold any merit, you find it’s just as he said. Wires cut in a single clean motion, biting your lip as your hopes evaporate in front of you.

It reminds you of Tantalus. Who was cursed to be hungry and thirsty forever, in the taunting reach of food and water that’d recede whenever he went to partake in it. An eternal punishment you’re now being subjected to.

‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t have been so easy. Still, how could he have not made a single sound? I didn’t even hear the bed creak.’

Laughing nervously at being caught, you step back as to avoid further consequence, cheeks flushing at being caught in your measly attempt. “Just... checking to make sure all is in order, aha...”

Walking away from it, you look to change the subject. Chrollo doesn’t seem bothered by your defiant actions, having clearly already anticipated your idea. He rolls out the cart from before, leading you to stiffen when he walks past you. Heart pounding away in your chest, you silently observe him opening the door to place it outside.

He looks back at your anxious form after shutting the door. “I’d rather not have to constantly monitor you. Whether or not I do will be determined by how you act.”

There’s a thick pressure in the room from his words, one that pushes down on you like a heavy weight. Unable to maintain eye contact with him any longer, you look to the side, clutching your clothes to your person. Chrollo doesn’t have to resort to infuriated threats or physical violence, his presence commanding enough on its own.

To ease the tension in the air, Chrollo speaks up. “If I happened to leave out anything you need, let me know.”

Grateful for the change in subject, you nod your head in a daze. From now on you’ll have to be more discreet. Mentally slapping yourself for not giving your earlier actions more consideration, you move on at Chrollo’s lack of reprimanding.

“Is it alright if I get changed?” you speak up, voice meek enough to remind you of a mouse. Chrollo considers you before nodding his head. You jump at the opportunity to be alone, borderline running to the master bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Looking in the mirror, you see your frowning reflection staring back. Placing a hand to your face, you inspect the bags forming underneath your eyes. Peeling off the dress feels heavenly, using a wet rag on the sink to quickly clean your body. Showering with a murderer in the other room isn’t a tempting proposition.

Putting on your clothes, you feel like a new person. Straightening up your hair and splashing your face with cold water, you place your hands onto the cool marble counter top.

‘I’m going to get out of this. It’ll be okay, [First]. Stay calm.’

Finishing your mini pep talk, you fold your previous outfit and place it on the floor. Will Chrollo even allow someone into your room to clean it? Not that it matters, seeing as you spotted a washer and dryer earlier.

He’s sitting up in bed when you open the door, a book now in hand. At your presence, he looks up to acknowledge you. Chrollo’s dark hair frames his face, and you flush at his admittedly handsome appearance. How are you supposed to remain composed in his company?

“I can close the blinds if you intend to sleep.” he offers before turning to the next page of his book.

Oh, that’s right. Now that you’re wearing pajamas he must assume you want to sleep. The next hurdle of this headache inducing dilemma, Chrollo having the expectation of you resting next to him. Eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you wonder how much coffee would be necessary to keep you awake.

That’d still be delaying the inevitable. Coffee or not you won’t be able to stay conscious forever. Earlier, when you fell asleep in the car, he didn’t do anything weird... right? Nothing that you can account for.

He looks up at you, noting your lack of response. Unfreezing from your prior stiff position, you make the decision to sit down next to the bed. Chrollo most likely wants you where he can see you after your previous stunt, and sleeping on the floor isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Aside from the back pains.

Making yourself comfortable, you fully intend to fall asleep on the floor. Chrollo closes his book at your antics, coming over to your side of the bed and frowning. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to sleep.”

“... On the floor?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

Unreadable grey eyes pierce through your being, sending chills down your spine. From your previous interactions with him, you thought a measly sign of resistance such as this one wouldn’t matter. Your initial assessment must be incorrect, as he sends you a disapproving look.

“There’s no reed for that.” he reasons with you, leaving little room for argument. Not wanting to give in, you remain planted in your spot. Without wasting anymore time, he gets up and crouches next to you. You wonder if he’s going to chastise you further for your childish actions.

He instead lifts you up in a single, fluid motion. A small noise of shock leaves your lips at the sensation of being hoisted up, scrambling to clutch onto him in fear of falling. It doesn’t last long, as he places you down onto the bed with gentleness that you didn’t expect him to have.

Arms receding back to his side, Chrollo returns to his previous position as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. You feel your face burning, a bright red glow coupled with it. The scent of his cologne lingers, memory of his touch flustering you further.

Clearing your throat to play off the events, you still can’t manage to look at him. “I was planning on sleeping here, actually. Was just testing the floor out.”

He opens his book back up to its previous page, lips quirking into an amused smile. “I’m sure you were.”

Having no other options, you lay on your side facing the wall. Muscles taut and incapable of relaxing in his presence, you squeeze your eyes shut to no avail. All you hear is the gentle hum of the air conditioner on the wall, and the occasional page flip from him.

More time passes, at a snails pace. An hour ago you would’ve entered slumber easily, now it taunts and eludes you. Huffing at your inability to rest, you adjust yourself against the soft mattress.

Sighing quietly in defeat, you attempt to make conversation to pass the time. “Do you not ever need to sleep?”

“I’ll be fine for a while longer. Are you concerned for my well being?” You can imagine the smug visage on his face, clear as day. It’s tempting to want to bite back with no, you’re not very worried about his health. You bite your tongue and instead ignore the teasing.

Sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest, you look over at him. His guard is still on high alert even while he’s reading. There’s an immeasurably gap in strength between you two, accented by his casual demeanor.

“That makes two of us. I don’t feel tired now,” you narrow your eyes in his direction, wanting desperately to know what it is he’s thinking. “Something tells me we’re not going to be sitting here all day.”

“For a majority of it. I’ll consider taking you out for dinner if you continue acting agreeable.”

Tempting you with food, huh? It’s a most valiant effort, one that almost threatens to win you over. Especially since cities always have a variety of nice restaurants to choose from. Giving his proposition some thought, you realize there might be a catch. There always is with these kinds of ordeals.

“What is your definition of... agreeable?”

Disliking the way the word feels on your tongue, you purse your lips. Dehumanizing is how you’d describe it, knowing that your actions are being analyzed and studied. If Chrollo notices the bitterness in your voice, he doesn’t feel a need to mention it.

“I don’t care much for labels, but I’d equate it to wanting to date you. I told you earlier that I had taken an interest in you, that’s what I meant.” Chrollo explains to you with ease that tells you how much thought he’s given it.

When he had told you he was interested in you earlier, you thought he meant it in an entirely different way. Like how you find a certain movie interesting or entertaining. Now you’re unsure what to think. Mind swarming with thoughts ranging from maybe it’s a good thing, to what do you do now?

Finally, you deliver your eloquent and delicately woven response, having put every level of care into it.

“Oh.”

Glancing over at your dumbfounded expression, he can’t help but laugh airily at your mortified look.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

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archonanqi · 3 years

Text

fragile as dust / 12 - smile

a/n: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist for this story. Thank you all for the kind comments! ;-; @fishyfish-y @writingmi @just-some-stars @kawaiitinybunny @juhlydrawsblog @cherryvane @kaenyas @loadingrat

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ch 11 | dreameater

For a minute or so, you stared at the dragon’s tooth. Reached out to touch it, every scratch and indentation on its smooth surface exactly the same as you remembered. You ran your finger around the blackened, charred ring around it, remembering how you had plunged the tooth into the blazing shield of fire, how the Abyss Mage had screamed.

You winced at the memory of the past… day? Two days? You weren’t sure how long you had slept, and each time you tried to call upon any memories, your head hurt terribly.

“Zhongli,” you barely managed to whisper.

As though he had been waiting just outside your room, the door swung open almost immediately. Zhongli strode in, though the relief you felt at his presence was quickly overshadowed by the fear of what you’d done, of how he might punish you for it. “Hansi,” he said, voice carefully composed as always, but you had known him just long enough to pick out a slightly different note of— worry? “You slept for two days.”

“Oh no, I missed work,” you deadpanned, desperate to dredge even the smallest of smiles from Zhongli. Zhongli’s frown didn’t even quaver. The very idea of Zhongli being annoyed at you sent chills down your spine. Just then, a memory came back to you, and suddenly, you were desperate for something else. “OH— work… Xiangling—!” You tried to throw back the covers to stand up, but the sudden movement sent hot and cold chills through your veins and almost sent you retching over the side of the bed.

“When you mentioned Qingxin,” Zhongli said. “I knew at once that she wasn’t bringing you to Cuijie. That girl knows the flora and fauna of Liyue almost better than I.” You remembered his slight unease the morning you left, that odd exchange that you thought nothing more of.

Of course, Zhongli would have known the whole time; how foolish of you to think you could keep anything from his calculating gaze.

“But what reason would she have had to lie?” Zhongli continued, “and so, though I did not want to intrude upon your expedition, I paid Jueyun Karst a visit with Chef Mao when you two did not return. We found her halfway up the mountain.”

“Is she— is she okay now?” You could barely bear to hear the answer, “I need to go and see her.”

“I don’t believe you’ll be able to go anywhere in your current state,” These were stronger words than you’d ever heard Zhongli utter at you, and it finally snapped you out of your haze of panic. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you noticed his stiff posture, his slightly furrowed brow, and felt a pang of guilt. You had acknowledged that he might worry over your disappearance, but not to such a degree.

“If it puts you at ease,” Zhongli started, “I visited Xiangling this morning. Dr. Baizhu personally saw to her, and she is well on her way to recovery. She was similarly distraught about you, and she mentioned that you tried to hold off the monster on your own for her sake. Is this true?”

You nodded.

“Admirable,” Zhongli said, and you noted that his voice had not lost its edge, “if not extremely rash. You could not have known what a powerful artifact the tooth was, though it is partly my fault for not explaining it to you. If I had not shown up when I did—”

You blurted the first thing you were sure of. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

Zhongli let out an audible breath, and shook his head. When he next spoke, his voice was tinged in disbelief. “To think that after everything, that’s your takeaway from this? What you and Xiangling did was incredibly dangerous. I believe that I’ve made more than clear to you, how dangerous Jueyun Karst is to mortals.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, the guilt rearing its head in the pits of your stomach..

Sighing softly, Zhongli held your gaze. “Though, I also miscalculated. Xiangling would have been able to handle no less than a Mitachurl; perhaps even a Lawachurl, but these intelligent creatures — Abyss Mages? It’s quite troubling that they’ve begun to appear in Liyue, so soon after Rex Lapis’ departure.”

“Did you kill it?” You couldn’t help but ask, though you already knew the answer.

Zhongli fixed his unflinching gaze on you. “Yes.”

You had already held the evidence of its death in your hands — there was no way the creature had given up the dragon’s tooth without a fight — but still, the truth was like a slap to the face. You had scarcely been able to escape from it with your life, and yet Zhongli... You glanced him up and down. Zhongli didn’t look so much as shaken from the confrontation.

“It was a hazard to Liyue. And it had threatened you,” he added, taking your awe for confusion. “Similar monsters have been growing in rank and number… Even the Adepti are on high guard, it seems, if Mountain— if one of them has started trapping civilians. Though Xiangling can fight, I’m afraid that the situation may be too much for you to handle right now. I would ask that you limit your ventures to Liyue Harbor—”

You couldn’t stand the heavy tension of the room, couldn’t bear the thought that Zhongli might be angry at you. He had made no move to approach you, standing his usual, respectable distance away from your bedside, but anger— anger always meant someone got hurt, and usually, it was you.

Quickly, you opened your mouth to swear that yes, yes of course, anything you want, I’ll never leave again, but Zhongli held up his hand to stop you. “Think carefully before making any promises to me. Are you content with staying within the harbor for the rest of your life, Hansi?”

You hesitated. He was right. Going on ingredient hunts and seeing the beautiful mountains of Liyue had been the time of your life. You wanted to go further, wider. To see every bit that the world had to offer. And more than anything, you wanted to do it— with Zhongli.

“I will ask you one last time, then,” Zhongli said, “ do you wish to learn how to fight ?”

You couldn’t help but glance at the drawer where your Vision was, quickly dragging your gaze back to him and hoping he had not noticed. You swallowed. Yes, yes , you did. And what better teacher for your Geo Vision than Zhongli?

He had just saved your life. The least you could do was trust him with it.

Before you could respond, you were interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door.

“Just a moment, please,” Zhongli called in response. When he turned back, his expression had softened. “I… may have been too harsh. I hope you can understand that my words are borne only from concern for your well-being. How are you feeling?”

Like you had just been hit over the head with a large wooden pole, but the last thing you wanted to do was worry Zhongli more. “A lot better than two nights ago,” you smiled, hoping to ease his concern, but it came out a little more like a grimace.

“I see. You had quite a fever last night, so I requested a home visit from Bubu Pharmacy. It looks like they’re finally here. Please wait a moment.” It seemed as though Zhongli was back to his usual self, sweeping out of the room in all his regal valor. You heard him open the front door and greet whomever was there. A doctor? You grimaced at the thought of some strange man touching your body. But for Zhongli’s peace of mind, you would endure.

Finally, Zhongli returned. You looked around for the doctor— then down. A young girl, whose brow reached around Zhongli’s knees, wobbled in, holding a basket that seemed to weigh more than herself. Under her little hat was tucked a paper talisman; the kind you’d find plastered on the dead.

“Hello. Qiqi is a zombie,” she said by way of introduction. “Nice to meet you.”

—-

You stared at her, then Zhongli, wondering why he had just let a literal child wander into his house.

At the bewilderment on your face, Zhongli stepped in to explain. “Qiqi is from Bubu Pharmacy. She is indeed a zombie, though her story is perhaps one better told another time. Rest assured that she is more than qualified to treat any mortal illness. Qiqi, this is whom I was telling you about. I believe she might have a fever—”

“This room is cold,” Qiqi murmured, siddling closer to your bedside. She dug around in her basket and produced a waterskin. “Good for Qiqi, not good for a fever. Please close the window and fill this with hot water.”

“Of course,” Zhongli nodded, rushing to comply. After he left, Qiqi merely continued like she had not just ordered Zhongli around in his own house. The way she peered at you was so intent that it made you squirm, and each time she put her hand against your skin, it was so cold that you could barely resist, out of politeness, the urge to jump.

“How did you get sick.” Qiqi asked. For a moment, her voice was so monotone that you hadn’t realized it was a question. You scrambled to answer, cheeks flushing warm.

“I was… climbing a tall mountain and got caught in the rain.”

“Hmm,” she said, “not good. Bring an umbrella next time.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, watching as she produced a large wad of paper from her basket — how many things did she have in there? — and began scribbling, just as Zhongli returned with a filled waterskin and a glass of warm water. The warmth of the glass against your skin was heavenly, and you quietly sipped the drink while waiting for Qiqi to finish her writing.

“Mr. Zhongli,” she said, tugging at his sleeve for his attention. Zhongli all but bent down to meet her at eye level. “Mr. Zhongli’s wife will be okay.”

It was all you could do to keep the water inside your mouth when you choked.

“Hansi is my friend,” Zhongli corrected, gently.

Qiqi peered up at Zhongli, then at you — wrapped in what were clearly three layers of his clothing — then back at Zhongli. “Mr. Zhongli’s friend will be okay,” she amended, rifling so furiously through her papers that you were worried she would tear the pages. “She must rest for...three days. And eat wet things.” The girl squinted more closely at her notebook. “Hm. No. I meant, drink more fluids,” she amended, going right back to her scribbling. You peeked at it, but couldn’t understand a word she had written — was she drawing a flower?

Finally, she ripped the page off with surprising gusto and handed it to Zhongli, who had to once again bend down to reach her little hands. “Here is a prescription for huang’lian medicine. For the fever.” The little girl said, thumbing through her pages. “I can also prescribe Windwheel Aster syrup. But Windwheel Asters can only be found in… Mondstadt... It can cost a lot.”

“How much?”

Qiqi went completely still as she thought about it. It was a little unnerving. At last, she reached a conclusion. “One million mora.”

To your horror, Zhongli nodded. “That is acceptable,” he said. “Please give us three bottles.” You didn’t even know what to begin to say to that — you knew already that he was hopeless when it came to haggling, but three million mora was an unthinkable amount. And more ridiculously, spent on someone like you? Before you could protest, Qiqi shook her head.

“No. I will not charge Mr. Zhongli so much. Three thousand mora will be fine.”

“Won’t you get into trouble with Dr. Baizhu, my dear Qiqi?” Zhongli asked.

“Hm. I don’t care what Baizhu says,” Qiqi frowned, “Mr. Zhongli has helped me many times.”

“Well then, I will accept your offer of generosity. On behalf of Wangsheng Funeral’s accountants, thank you, Qiqi.”

“I will also prescribe... gu’fen . It will help her wrist recover faster... Oh, no.” Qiqi sighed so heavily her little body shook. “Never mind. We are out of bones.”

“ Gu’fen - powdered bones?” Zhongli asked. “What kind do you need?”

“Geovishap will work best, although hatchlings will also be okay.”

“Very well,” Zhongli said, heading for the door without a moment’s hesitation. “Please give me a few minutes.”

“Two will be enough,” Qiqi called after him, barely lifting her gaze from her notebook.

You heard the front door open and shut. “Did he—” you glanced at Qiqi, then out the window, where the unmistakable silhouette of Zhongli was striding off towards the mountains north of the harbor. You knew what Geovishaps were, Zhongli had told you of their story: descendants of the King of Dragons that had long been sealed beneath the earth by Rex Lapis. “Did Mr. Zhongli just leave to go hunt vishap bones? Is he safe?”

“Yes. He is strong,” Qiqi stated matter-of-factly. “Mr. Zhongli could not fulfill his contract… for Cocomilk… So Mr. Zhongli helps when Qiqi gather herbs... in Jueyun Karst.”

Cocomilk? Zhongli had… fudged a contract? You wanted to ask her to elaborate, but another tidbit of information caught your attention. It was undeniable, then, that Zhongli could come and go safely within Jueyun Karst. You shuddered as you remembered how overwhelmingly powerful the Adepti had been. How could Zhongli willingly set foot in there, and how can he do so unharmed? A distant memory arose, something about him… karst crawlers… protection?

Qiqi was tapping on your leg for attention, so you quickly shook yourself free of your ponderings. You could revisit them later. “Sorry. Yes, Qiqi?”

“I asked,” Qiqi said, “do you need contraceptive medicine? I can prescribe...”

“ What ?”

“Please do not be alarmed,” Qiqi said calmly, severely misunderstanding your almost-scream. “This is part of life. As a pharmacist of Bubu Pharmacy, I am able to prescribe—”

“No,” you said quickly, very quickly, “No, we really are just friends.” The word tasted sweet on your tongue. Friend — Zhongli’s friend.

“Hm, okay,” Qiqi responded, blinking upwards at you with clear magenta eyes, and though there was no inflection in her tone, you could almost hear the incredulity. “Where did you get these injuries?”

You debated lying, but she was looking up at you with such seriousness that you couldn’t find it in yourself to. “Mount Hulao,” you admit with a hint of remorse. “I went there with a friend… we both got badly hurt. It was a bad idea. I don’t remember much, other than that.”

“Baizhu was called to treat Miss Xiangling yesterday. She was your friend?” Qiqi thoughtfully waited for you to nod. “You were… also sealed in the amber? It can cause memory loss. Sweetflower tea will help... with the headaches.”

You wanted to ask how she knew about the headaches, how she knew about the amber, but the look in her eyes was answer enough. For the adepti to harm such a small child— in the pits of your stomach, you felt such a hot surge of anger that you surprised yourself. Qiqi’s small hands rested on yours, her big, earnest eyes staring right into you.

“Hmm,” she repeated, “not good. Bring Mr. Zhongli next time.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I will,” you promised once more, jokingly. “Though I’m not sure how I’ll fit all that muscle into my backpack—” You trailed off at the inquisitive look on Qiqi’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just friends,” she commented shortly.

“We are just friends!” you cried, stopping yourself quickly as you heard the front door swing open. A few minutes, just as Zhongli had promised. And slung over his back was a sizable sack, bulging with what you knew were dozens of bones.

“Two was enough,” Qiqi murmured as Zhongli placed the sack before her. There was no way the girl was lugging that back to the pharmacy , you thought, just as Qiqi carefully lifted it with one hand. By the Archons, what were they feeding the pharmacists at Bubu?

“I thought it would be best to err on the safe side,” Zhongli replied, “please do put any leftovers to good use at the pharmacy. And also,” he said, pulling out a vibrant strand of violetgrass from his coat, “this is for you, my dear Qiqi.”

Qiqi’s expression did not waver, but you thought that she looked just a little pleased as Zhongli tucked the flowers into her hat.

“Okay.” Qiqi said, handing Zhongli the last pieces of paper from her notebook. “Please come and collect your prescriptions tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Qiqi,” Zhongli answered, helping to hold the door open as the girl wobbled her way back out as unsteadily as when she came. “Have a good evening.” When he returned to stand by your bedside, you carefully eyed him. There was a smear of dirt on his left sleeve, but otherwise, it looked like he had just returned from a walk at the harbor — not from battle.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Zhongli?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He blinked, then absently said, “ah. The Geovishaps? Not at all. They are quite easy to combat, once you learn of their weaknesses.” You wondered how many he’d fought; how many things he had killed in his life, that fighting ferocious monsters was barely an ordeal of note for him.

More importantly, he had done it for you. Had been willing to pay three million Mora for your well-being. You found yourself blinking back tears once again; you would not let anyone see you cry.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhongli.” You said, and you hoped that he would understand all that you meant by it.

“Of course, Hansi. Though, before I forget, I do have a question,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing a chunk of Cor Lapis, “when I found you at Mount Hulao, you were gripping this like your life depended on it. Is this what you went there for? Why?”

Oh. The flush in your cheeks burned red hot, and you scrambled for a lie — any lie. Nothing came to mind. Finally, under his scrutinizing gaze, you withered and told him the foolish truth with slumped shoulders: “it was meant to be a gift for you, Mr. Zhongli. It’s probably… it’s probably nothing compared to the one from your friend.” You could barely lift your head to look him in the eye, and you were vaguely aware that you had begun to ramble. “But it’s the only one I could find. I ended up causing you more trouble in the end, I’m sorry.”

“Goodness,” Zhongli said, his voice thick with emotion for the first time that you’d heard. You glanced at him in surprise, but his face betrayed nothing as always.

Zhongli held the Cor Lapis up to the light, looking at it carefully. After a terribly long pause, his gaze fell back on you. “This is one of the clearest, most luminous pieces of Lapis I’ve seen in my life. Thank you for going to such lengths to get me this, Hansi.”

Your relief at his lack of anger and your pride at his praise was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the way your heart fluttered warmly at the bright smile on his face.

“Though of course, I would have appreciated such a precious gift regardless.” Zhongli continued, walking to the door. “Now, I must ask that you rest for a little while, as per Qiqi’s orders. Will you be alright alone? Please call my name if you need anything at all—”

You were only half-listening. It wasn’t fair, how his smile could wrench the air right out of your lungs.

—-

A memory:

“There it is again, that infamous frown,” the young woman waved her hands, her billowing sleeves whipping about in the howling gales of Qingyun Peak. “Why do you never smile, Morax?”

“What is there to smile about?” he asked truthfully, because he had long since stopped trying to decipher her odd mannerisms. Below them, underneath the clouds, the war raged on.

“What is there to—?” She exhaled in exaggerated exasperation, throwing her arms out to the wind. “The birds in the trees! The clouds in the sky! It didn’t rain today for the first time in weeks, so we made it all the way up here to watch the sunset! Do none of these things mean anything to you?”

“Yet when night falls, we will once again have to fight.” His fingers twitched around empty space, every moment he wasn’t holding his polearm — at her request — almost painful. He detested being in this form, but it was cold in the mountains, and his adepti form would do little to help him with temperature regulation. “We should return soon. I hear that Osial has been rallying his forces for another attack, and we were barely able to fend off the last one.”

She sighed, and he knew that meant he had disappointed her — though he did not know how.

“Morax,” she breathed, barely audible over the wind. “What will it take to make you smile? Tell me, and I’ll do it. A contract. That’s the only kind of thing you understand, right?”

That, he did. “When the war is over,” he answered. She was leaning precariously over the edge of the cliff, and it brought about some strange, foreign feeling deep in his gut — something different to the wounds and scars he was used to. “And our people are safe from the threat of strife and war.”

A brief pause. She showed no sign of getting down from where she was standing, and in fact, had gotten on her tiptoes. “You might fall,” he warned.

“You promise? You promise that once the war is over, you’ll try to smile more?”

“You have my word,” he swore. He did not understand her intentions even a little, but promises? Those he knew better than life itself. Something so trivial as a smile seemed scarcely worthy of a contract. But it seemed important to her, and so he would honor it. “You should step away from the edge. You might fall,” he repeated.

“Oh, but you’ll catch me, won’t you?” Her pale hair whipped about in the wind, framing a wide, bright grin. There was a twinkle in her eye that he, unfortunately, knew all too well.

“Guizhong, don’t—“ he said, rushing forward, but it was too late. She tipped backwards, disappearing into the clouds below, just as his arms closed around empty wind. Muttering a series of ancient curses he thanked the heavens that Ganyu wasn’t here to hear, he leapt after her.

The transformation always hurt a little, though after meeting Guizhong (and her incomprehensible insistence that he stay in human form when in front of human children) he changed forms so often that he barely even noticed anymore. He relished the sting as lithic claws, scales and fangs tore their way out of his deplorably soft human flesh— and then, he was free to rip through the clouds and wind. Frightening and powerful, as he should be.

As he had to be.

It was not hard to locate Guizhong, especially not with the way she’d gleefully screamed all the way down. He angled himself right under her, bracing for the impact, and she landed squarely on his back with an exhilarated squeak.

“Wasn’t that fun, Morax?” She clambered up towards his head as they tore through the skies. He could feel each of her warm fingers gripping his horns tightly. “No? Still no smile?”

“What?” He growled. “You could have died.”

“You wouldn’t have let that happen,” she waved it off, “though you did let me hit a few more trees than necessary on the way down, didn’t you?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Fine,” he could hear the pout in her voice. “When the war ends, I want to see a huuuuge smile from you, alright?”

“I already gave you my word.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Well, that is, if I’m there to see it,” she laughed lightly. “Not everyone is as big and strong and scary as you, Morax.”

There it was again, that feeling — a dull blade that pressed deep into his lungs, his stomach, his heart. Fear? No. The God of War and Contracts did not know fear.

“Of course you will. We will both be there to see this to its end.”

—-

At the end of the war, when he finally felt the searing power of the divine settle within him, Morax stood alone.

Mountains of bodies, bones picked clean by birds and sinew laid to claim by beasts, surrounded him for as far as the eye could see.

Guizhong was not among them, for she had been killed years and years ago.

He felt his lip curl into — something. It fell a little short of a smile.

—-

Outside of your room, Zhongli leaned his head against the cool wood of the doorframe, and steadied his breathing. Carefully, he placed back into his coat the Cor Lapis that you had gotten him; that you had almost died trying to get him.

How ironic, that even after exactly three thousand, seven hundred and twelve years, two months and eighteen days, he still found himself scrambling to protect someone who seemed to lack all sense of self preservation, and who surprised him to no end.

Guizhong had not been strong enough to fend off those who sought to claim her life, but you could be — if only you’d show him what you were hiding in the drawers by your bed. He could feel its resonance, each time he entered your room — the Vision he had given you; a reminder of the strength that you could use, to fight back, to protect yourself.

Guizhong had not been strong enough.

A breath in, a breath out. Zhongli closed his eyes.

He would not make the same mistake again.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #genshin #genshin fanfic #fragile as dust #my writing #anqi writes

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sardonicallys · 3 years

Text

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

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𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Band Singer AU!Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Fluff, Touch of Angst

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, Alcohol Consumption, Pining Over an Ex

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: When spring melts away the exuberance of winter, you're left collecting what was supposed to bring an abundance of blossoms only to find it somewhere closer to summer.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7,124

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I wanted to wish a happy birthday to @bart-man! Thank you again for being my very first comment, it means the world to me. I hope you enjoy my little gift to you. I hope this fulfilled the request you had for me!

I have a note at the end that details a little bit of my inspiration for this work.

Just slight of snowfall, there is a deafening silence that consumes every noise for distances into a hushed whisper that withers away like how your breath does when it fogs glass panes, only ever lasting just a moment before being frozen back over. Whether it is because the cold captures your throat so aggressively that you do not allow your words to go to waste or because the wonder in the way snow drifts from the sky as if the stars were trickling down the navy sheet — a secret to whoever was cutting holes and letting the light from the other side seep in — there was something sacred about snowfall.

It was sacred in the way that climate used all its forces to brew together a prayer that included chill, humidity, and rain. Although it was an occurrence partially guaranteed, there was something about the anticipation of the glimmering flurries that never allowed one to relinquish that breath of waiting. Right before the first snowfall every year, there would be a period of continuous rain, blanketing Seoul in the melancholy ash skies that delivered the premature wish of winter. Though you hadn't minded it much in the past, recent years have made your commute strategically difficult.

The word is petrichor, but it smells more like the way you imagine a wet stray dog does when you're on the subway, crammed with the aromatic hints of human and pollution. The end of your day had already arrived as the sun bid farewell just before you shuffled down the steps into the train tunnel — not that you could have seen it from the thick masts of cotton that shrouded the sky — but nonetheless you were ready to be back in the comfort of your home. Checking your watch, you listened to the speaker announce the next stop, just one away from your own, while you shifted against the bar you were propped up against. Your feet were pulsing from your pinched heels that were a sorry excuse for support while you stood all day. The door slid open as you arrived at your stop, led by the wave of others, you headed with the current before resurfacing to the street. Sliding your umbrella out from its cover and launching the automatic release mechanism, you carried it over your head as you scurried down the street and towards the alley of your neighborhood. Right as you hit the home stretch, it occurred to you that your excitement to wash away the day's customer rants and murky rain had to be halted when you remembered your refrigerator was empty. Cursing yourself for not picking something up at a convenience store — now a ways away — and knowing that at this hour, there were no restaurants within a block you could simply order from, you marched back towards the main street.

Had you decided to simply starve that night, perhaps you would have never had the chance to meet him. It's an extreme way to express how you had spun the situation a million times over, wondering if there could have perhaps been a different outcome, but the resulting factor was that it had already happened and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. There was no reason to linger on something that was no longer tangible, even if somewhere in the crevices of your thoughts, you continued to do so. As you exited the store, produce in tow, the rain had subsided and instead exchanged you for the falling starlights of snow. Dragged by the weight of your groceries and captivation to stay just a bit longer to watch the flakes drift from the sky, you stalked up the hill towards your apartment building. Neck craned to observe the particles coming into full view, you could have completely missed the stranger on the corner who was plucking away at his guitar. The strums pulled your focus the same way his fingers tugged at the steel, and you listened to the way he posed his voice like the flakes above — cold and clean, but somehow it felt like he was praying. To who or what, you weren't sure, but honestly you didn't need to know. It's was methodical, soothing, and every note of his melody had meaning.

That's how he said your name too, months later when you had decided you were irrevocably in love. A plethora of songs written like love letters delivered to your ears, the subtle intimate moments where he stared at you between mundane actions like sharing dinner or reading a book. And he kept you warm through the winter, you like to think. You like to think he wasn't the chill that left you shivering, alone, when he finally melted away come spring. You like to think that the sudden gap in messages — your fair warning that you did not heed to because you were in love, blinded by the spell of snow — that spanned at first, as a daily occurrence and slowly grew into a weekly one, and then none at all, were all because he was busy. But when the crashing wave of realization came to you, you liked to think, you weren't thinking at all. Because maybe you weren't. Maybe, none of this had happened, and you were simply dreaming through the illusion of winter. None of your friends had a chance to meet him anyways since your schedules never quite lined up, so perhaps, he was less like waking up to a blanket of snow and more like watching flakes melt the moment they kissed the pavement. Maybe you weren't cold enough to keep him, or worse, too warm to preserve.

"Please, please please, you missed every lunch date we have had for months," you listened carefully to your friend, her voice carrying with desperation into your receiver as you somberly smiled, "The least you can do is let us have dinner with you for your birthday!"

What was there to celebrate? You had finally stopped living in a delusion and blaming yourself for the disappearance of someone who you thought you may have had a future with, but other than that, you still lacked the confidence to be fully present with others because it wasn't necessarily that he left but more that you waited, made up excuses, and tenderly hoped for something that deep down you knew wasn't going to happen. You felt foolish, and honestly, swallowing laughter was stiffening your facade. Never quite gaining the courage, you had told everyone around you that you both realized you were no longer interested in whatever relationship you were cultivating. It wasn't their fault, but the timing never felt right and how could you possibly seek comfort when your short and quick burn of a relationship would only earn responses even neighbors and passerby's could offer.

Oh that's too bad. You deserve better. I'm sure there's plenty of fish in the sea.

You didn't want to hear these generated answers pointed to your aimless plight, so you stayed silent and nursed your wounds on your own.

"I don't know, you know the shop has been busy lately," your excuse is mumbled as you peer up to check if a customer would magically fabricate and you could use them as a way to hang up, unable to continue lying.

"Someone can cover the evening shift I'm sure. You always go in so early just to do all those arrangements anyways," you hear a pout on her mouth as her whines increased.

"It's best to do them fresh or the flowers will wilt!" Chuckling softly as you twirled a piece of ribbon around your finger, a silence drifted between you two, "Please, I know you have been busy, but I miss you."

I miss you too.

But you didn't have the heart to see the faces of your friends, not when it took everything in you not to feel the rushing rapids of emotions that were still tittering between apathy and desperation. You found yourself crying into cups of coffee when it tasted too sweet, or when you arranged roses in a vase and the light bent against the convex glass. You felt frustrated and rage filled while you emptied the laundry drum and the clothes were sopping wet because you put it on the wrong setting, and even more upset when you'd see the milk would expire next week. Nothing felt like anything and yet felt like everything, all at once.

"Just for your birthday," the soft whisper of your friend emitted as you sighed, succumbing to your people pleasing antics, "Okay. Just dinner though."

And it was just supposed to be dinner. Everyone promised you. That is, until they all got drunk off the wine that was at the table and begged you with slurred speech to go to some bar with them. You should have figured honestly, but trapped between the loving affection of your missed company and the guilt that you had been deceiving them with a smile all night, you begrudgingly accepted. There was some popular live band playing, so your friends had been thrilled that they got to snag a table just early enough before the place got packed, but for you, this was how you began concocting your escape plan, oh sorry, I got lost in the crowd and couldn't make it back in! easy.

Execution was key here, and commencing meant to perfect your timing. Any misstep and you'd be sent back to this table, to your detriment, where you may have to remain all night. This was your limit, and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold up. While the band was setting up on stage, you managed to keep up your air of confidence amongst your drunken friends — whether you were actually good at acting or they were just too shit faced to notice didn't really matter at this point. Sipping through half your ombre cocktail that didn’t have enough juice, you managed to hold out through the first song of their set before mentioning to your friend beside you that you were headed to the bathroom. As they arranged themselves to let you out — smart that they trapped you between the wall and table — you took a deep breath before brisking towards the crowd.

An unsolicited but familiar shout of your name ruptured through the murmurs from the crowd, through the melodic guitar strums and echoing high hats, through your body as — by nature — you halted and swung your head towards the owner of the voice. Fingers wound tightly around the strap of your clutch, your eyes met with your winter, with your snow, with your melted river that had departed to the ocean. But the voice didn't come from him it came from her, an acquaintance of yours that you only associated with because of a friend of a friend of a friend, or something like that. You can't even remember her name, honestly. Here she was, the degrees of separation so much closer than you thought, with her arms hung from someone who was now a stranger to you. It took you a moment to meet her gaze, so fixated on him as if you were finally met with a reality check, a reminder that he did indeed exist. At least, at one point.

"I knew it was you! Hey!" The chiding excitement in her voice indicated booze before you even needed to lean in and inhale it. Peeling her arms of him, she embraced you in an awkward hug as you patted her back gently, some weird sick feeling of comforting her for this compromising situation that scrapped your escape route entirely. While being held by the drunken almost stranger, you looked over at him to see a deep rooted wall between you, this creation of amnesia that erased your existence from his knowledge all by choice. It was in the way he directed his gaze past you as if you had not been standing there, in the arms of his — new? — lover. You were so entranced by this warmth, this coddling from someone you would have least expected to see in contrast to the cold chill that you were delivered from the eyes of a stranger who once loved every inch of you. Pulling away, you heard her pipe up, "What are you doing here?! Is everyone else here?"

You can't remember what you responded that had her gingerly waving as she dragged along her love — perhaps you directed her to the table where everyone was waiting — but you suddenly had no energy to leave. No energy to go back, but none to move you from that very spot. If there weren't a crowd of individuals surrounding you, wedging your weight from one to another, you may have collapsed right there. You wondered if this was the ultimate form of jealousy, where every atom in your being had suddenly felt like it did not belong to you, but it wasn't necessarily part of anything else either. The feeling of isolation in your own vessel, so hardened and cold, that even if you wanted to lash out at her, there would be no reason to. Not because he didn't belong to you anymore, or that the way you watched them walk away reminded you of how you two once were, it was simply because you did not want to be here. Not at this bar. Not in these clothes. Not in this body, not in this mind. You suddenly felt such a detachment to every identifiable piece of you, and all at once nothing mattered.

Was it your ego speaking? Is this really how you felt? You were unsure, but now at the bar, nestled in your very own corner with three shots and eight cocktails in, the numbness was the only emulation of what you could find befitting for your current state of mind. It helped that the band was actually as good as your friends mentioned, your head swaying to the beat as you giggled to yourself in reminiscent memories that floated through your eyes, the thick and viscous waft of nostalgia rendering your current state useless. Had you been just slightly sober, you would have realized the tears that festooned your waterproof mascara — thank goodness for makeup that repelled any kind of liquid right? The bartender had pitied you, watching as you cried between each sip of your drink, and really didn't have the heart to shoo you away.

While the band announced an intermission, the lead singer shuffled down the steps and towards the counter eagerly to finally grab a drink he had been promised since the start of the set. Had he not overslept, he would have been buzzed like the rest of his bandmates, but his fucked sleeping schedule said otherwise. Dropping into one of the stools, he propped his elbows up while leaning into the counter to read the labels that were doused in fluorescent blue lights. Gaze trailing up and down like he was scouring a crossword puzzle until his eyes fell onto you — head against the wall and glass cradled in your hand. Honestly, it would have been more surprising if he hadn't noticed the mourning individual — you — in the corner. Peering towards the bartender in an attempt not to make you feel so conspicuous, he ushered her over to order.

"Is she okay?" muttering quietly as his drink was being prepared, she nodded softly in response before whispering back, "I don't want to bother her, she seems like she wants to be alone."

"...What happens when it's time for closing?"

"I hope she leaves by then," pouring the caramel tinted liquor over the block of ice as it cracked against the glass, she tucked a napkin beneath it before pushing it towards him.

"You hope? You know how emotional drunks are, Somin."

"Yeah yeah, I know I know, but she looks harmless."

"Looks," rolling his eyes, he took a sip of his drink as she ran the faucet, wetting her hands and retorting, "You know, I kicked your drunk ass out of here all by myself, Jaebeom. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Ooo, scary," feigning a shocked expression, he stole another glance at you, your head propped up from your palm, your elbow a makeshift stand against the counter. It wouldn't be a stretch to say he knew how you felt, a man with a mess of a relationship track record where he was notorious for giving a little too much for those who never gave enough. But he wasn't one to impose on others, he told himself, so he simply observed you.

"Besides, today is her birthday."

"...You're joking."

"Nope," Somin lifted the license that was in her possession to hold the tab before reading the month and date out.

"How can you be sad on your birthday?" It's sort of rhetoric, but in many ways, it left an acrid taste in the back of his throat knowing just how many melancholy birthdays he had spent — probably more than his current lifetime. Taking another sip of his drink, he wondered what kind of night you had that led you here, somewhere full of people but longing for solitude. You were traveling through your own daydreams, though, whimpering by yourself and unable to notice that there was another individual at the bar, even with how deeply he stared at you — or even the other two that were approaching you from behind.

"Hey! You know everyone was looking for you," the acquaintance of yours who you still could not manage to name happened to find you for the second time that night. Your rationale was running low, however, and had you not been wearing waterproof makeup layered beneath a waterfall of setting sprays and baked on powder, perhaps she would have seen how tormented you truly were, "They left already, but if you want, my boyfriend and I have a table!"

Something about the new strangers that approached the frame suggested to Jaebeom that these weren't your friends, your body language warping in discomfort. The dried tears were preparing to resurface as you straightened yourself out, hoisting in your throat, a polite way to decline without turning int a sobbing mess. Your boyfriend, huh? You had so many questions you wanted to ask, these words you could not find swimming in the depth of your skull between the cocktails and old, meaningless song lyrics. Your inquiries fall into your hands and slip past like snow, disappearing at your touch. You must have stayed quiet too long because you see your acquaintance's face light up, "Oh! Speaking of which, where is your boyfriend?" Craning her head around excitedly, it takes all your strength not to let your jaw fall open. Teeth clenched, you cursed whoever mentioned to her that you were seeing someone, and even more fervently that they failed to include that you had stopped seeing him.

Jaebeom wasn't one to eavesdrop — nearly always disassociated to his surroundings — but he had heard more than enough. Reading beyond just this interaction, he had a few assumptions that he could safely make. Honestly, he definitely didn't have enough to drink just yet to attempt the brewing plot he had patchworked together in his mind, but perhaps he felt pity for you. There was something familiar about your feelings and how they surfaced, so in some ways, he thought of it as saving himself. Downing the rest of his glass of whisky, he stood up and strode over towards where you were, affectionately running his fingers up your arm and around your shoulders, "Are these your friends?"

"...Wait! Oh my God why didn't you say you were dating the lead singer?!" The tone of her voice is absolutely thrilled and starstruck but you're unable to register what is going on, the amount of liquid depressant in your system truly slowing every moment down. The only thing you capture is the face of your ex contorting with some tinge of disgust you are unable to quite fathom. Unsure if it was directed towards you or your acquaintance's reaction, you peered up at the stranger who was holding you — ready to deny his claim and inform him that he had the wrong person.

"You didn't introduce me, love?" Looking directly at you, the jolt of his gaze is so immersive you felt your breath diminish — unsure if it left your lungs or simply combusted, "...Sorry."

You're not even sure why you apologized.

"No wonder you didn't want to sit with everyone!" Having a conversation all on her own, you're unable to figure out a way to evaporate, so focused on wanting to disappear at this very moment as if manifesting your wishes would be instantaneous. The discomfort of the heated glare Jaebeom felt from the other male confirmed his suspicions — that's who she's crying over huh. But according to this interaction, it seems they're the only ones who knew of their secret. So he played along.

"I have one more set to play, can you wait for me?" You simply nodded in response, suddenly deaf and mute to your surroundings, particularly because of the way he created this energy around you that made you feel so overwhelmed with warmth and focus, it emulated the flare of sun when your eyes just didn't quite dilate enough. Watching the stranger trail back up the stage, your acquaintance and ex had disappeared back into the crowd, while you replayed the events as if you were watching someone else in your mind.

The velvety vocals that matched the nylon strums yanked your haggard thoughts that were swimming in the volatile pit of your core sloshing with flammables, recapturing your dazed confusion. Though you had vaguely remembered enjoying the vocalist's performance earlier — or what you could manage to recall from it — the shapes and color from the sounds spun more effortlessly in your mind, your focus long gone from your self pity and now redirected to the honey dipped tones of the stranger. You both captured one another's gaze as you felt an elusive moment where the spotlight carried on his presence amongst the crowded bar, hazed with smoke and laughter that wasn't meant for anyone in particular. There must have been something in your drink, because you swore you were going to be sick with the onslaught of this rush. Thank God you were well trained in autopilot, if there was a degree for it you'd have the highest prestige. Before the end of the last song, you managed to crawl out of your trance — barely — while your body carried you towards the exit.

Trudging through the crowd proved to be more difficult than you initially anticipated as the wave crashed towards the barricade of the stage. The shortness of breath that constrained your throat and lungs confused and manipulated your directional sense, every time you managed to spot the blaring neon sign that led back outside, you lost it between the swarms of people. It really didn't help that your vision was an impressionable vertigo from your reckless regard to how much you could actually handle drinking. It felt like you were swimming, except the current was stronger than you were — waded through the crowd like a piece of mere driftwood and much less like a person. You empathized with the emptiness of the inanimate object though, stumbling along before feeling your arm hooked by a firm hand right as you managed to escape the labyrinth swarm, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

It seemed so much harsher than it sounded, but you were relieved there was some sort of humanity between the sea of people. You had been told long before that sometimes things that were desperately trying to be seen, would be, even if they weren't in plain sight, "I need to go."

"You owe me one," the singer gently dropped your arm as you shifted your weight between your heels, awkwardly, unable to figure out a proper response between the repetitive numbness of the beating drum against your skull and the fact that his gaze was just as warm now as it was earlier.

"Look, I appreciate it, really, what you did back there," vaguely gesturing towards the bar you took a short step back, "But I really need to go."

Honestly, Jaebeom would have let you go had he not watched you be jostled between the crowd during your attempted leave. At this point, he questioned if you knew just how drunk you were, the pupils of your eyes blown to a pretty deep dilation but painted with a backdrop of red he assumed came from the dehydration and your cry fest from earlier.

"Where?"

You don't know how to answer him, "...Just, just anywhere, not here."

"Then let's go together, Cinderella."

You liked to think that the amount of loneliness outnumbered your logical reasoning one hundred — no, one thousand to one. There were no fronts to put up because this was a complete stranger who didn't even know your name but his recognition seemed to be just high enough that if something were to happen to you, there would be no way he could simply disappear from the consequences. Your decision to trust him is rather vague, but you don't have the ability to really question it. It doesn't take you long to decide and he sees the flame of interested that burrowed into your pupils as you both disappear backstage and out the door towards the parking lot where you see some of his bandmates loading up a van full of their equipment and instruments.

"Let me take the car," directed towards them, he helped lift an amp into the trunk before one of them scoffed, "Hell no. You're not going off to get laid this time, Jaeb."

Other than the two conversing, you heard laughter and couldn't help but feel the infectious spark that coaxed you to do so too even if you were the butt of the joke, technically. Eyes rolling, the singer nudged him aside as they took apart a mic stand together, "I'm not, I wanted to get her home."

The sudden looks you received from every band member had you awkwardly pulling the hem of your skirt down as you tittered in place, trying to keep still but your vision still hazy.

"You know if you're so jealous of Jaebeom getting laid, maybe you should try singing, you always say the lead singer is the one that gets it in," a different person attempted to continue the joke while you swung you bag in front of you, letting it tap at your knees. So his name is Jaebeom.

"Seriously, please? It's her birthday—"

"...Oh?" They simultaneously looked at you again as you flinched in place, half paying attention to the conversation but mostly just listening to the chattering of those who stepped out for a smoke, "...Huh?" Registering what they were talking about, your brows knit in confusion, "Wait, how did you know it was my birthday?"

"You forgot to pick up your bar tab, sweetheart," Jaebeom held your license up between his thumb and index, waving it around as you suddenly felt your lungs crash into the pit of your stomach. As if this night couldn't get any worse, you really were making yourself out to be the best fool you could concoct. Whether or not you decided it was a good idea to have followed him, you realize now that it wouldn't have mattered because he had your ID. Though, he didn't seem hostile? Or so you hoped.

Finally given a set of surrendered keys, you climbed into the small two door with Jaebeom as the others told you both to be safe and ushered you away, "No more pretty girls exclusively for you after tonight, Jaeb!" The comment had left your cheeks flushed, hidden only beneath the well applied makeup. After dropping your license into your lap, he pulled out onto the main street while you peered at him curiously, "...You're not holding my ID for, I mean, as a...As hostage?"

"Why would I do that?" Wrinkling his nose, he stole a glance at you before laughing and rolling the windows down to let the warm evening air waft in while you slipped the card onto one of the pockets of your clutch, "...You came along all on your own, didn't you?"

And the flush on your face must have deepened, whether you could spot it or not, you felt it. Well, it was either that or the alcohol spiking in your system as you felt your mouth go dry and that tunneled dizziness set in hard while in the moving vehicle. Jaebeom must have noticed because he kept peering at you, gently placing a hand on your knee as you got quiet, "Hey, you good?"

"...I feel sick."

Not wanting to make a mess out of the communal car, you waved him away as he cursed beneath his breath. Obviously not at you, but the fact that it was getting late and that left him with fewer options to help remedy the situation. Of course he should have listened to Somin when she offered him to take some water along, but that honestly was even before he found you wandering the crowd with no way out. Pulling up to the side of a convenience store, he murmured a curt "be right back" and before long, returned with a small bag of items. The only thing he handed you was a massive water bottle longer than your forearm before instructing you to drink. Propping the passenger door open, you simply nodded while taking shallow sips. The soft bell of your phone perked your ears as you unzipped your clutch and, right before your eyes, watched the device somersault from the safety of your bag and onto the pavement. Wincing, Jaebeom flinched from the sudden crash and your whimpering before asking if you were alright.

"...Yeah, but," with a soft cry, you lifted the now shattered screen of your phone to show him the damage you caused from your clumsiness.

"Would you like to use mine?"

"Who the hell memorizes phone numbers in this day and age!" Tilting your head back against the car's rest, he found himself attempting not to vocalize a chuckle he desperately wanted to release. Your antics were rather cute, especially for someone who had drank themselves under, but he didn't want to add gas to the fire.

"...Well, it's still useable right now. I think. Would you like me to respond for you?"

"Who'sit from?"

Squinting at the lockscreen, he took a moment to formulate what the sender's name was between the cracks and chipped glass, "Kyungah?"

That was her name, Kyungah. That bitch. But you stopped yourself. Was she? Honestly she probably had no idea the history you had with her boyfriend. Exhaling softly, you took another swig of water and secretly thanked that your phone was crushed.

"...Ignore it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, ignore it."

After half the water was consumed between your head tossing back and forth with your eyes shut while Jaebeom sat quietly beside you, you finally felt a sense of normalcy return. But that relief was only diminished by the suddenly embarrassing sound of your stomach croaking in hunger. Stiffening, you tried to rush out a response as the engine turned, "Cool, I'm hungry too."

How you two end up in this retro western themed diner is beyond you, but it was open, nearby, and it seemed clean enough. The cherry red interior somehow helped perpetuate a sobering ritual that was calming you between its glitter and chrome finish. You can't remember what you ordered, but you're so caught up in how warm you feel again, but this time simply from the silence of your company. It's more welcoming than you'd felt in ages, and somehow it released the tension that you had been feeling for months, completely constrained in the worry of yourself. Even when Jaebeom finally broke the silence, it didn't feel like anything was taken from you, "...I'm assuming Kyungah was your friend at the bar." The way he said it hinted the term loosely as you shrugged, taking a sip of water, "Sort of."

"And I'm also, just assuming, that her boyfriend might be your crush or something like that?"

"Wow you found out all that from stealing my license?"

Biting back a grin, he shook his head in response, "I didn't steal it, you left it behind. And I mean, you practically showed it."

Slowly tipping your head back and forth, nodding in silence, you let out a soft sigh while contemplating what you wanted to tell him. Or rather, how much you wanted to tell him, "He's my ex." When the words leave your mouth, you feel a sense of liberation in a way you hadn't, even when you told yourself that many times over. When you woke up and recalled a dream that felt more like a memory and less like fantasy, when you came home and had to stop yourself from announcing your arrival. All these moments that piled up and reminded you that you were a singular entity, on your own, and though being alone didn't equate to loneliness, this was sadly not mutually exclusive in your current state. Perhaps it needed to be relinquished so you could feel that sense of release, it needed to be told to someone, anyone, so that you could finally stop causing your wound licking suffering.

"Ah, I see," hands folded in front of him, you offer him a smile even before you meet his gaze — afraid to see that stupid look of pity that you were dreading and why you held these words so close to you, even in the presence of your closest friends. But rather than that, you get a look of understanding, the expression of someone who wanted to listen. There was no sorrowful sympathy or pained empathy, there was only understanding.

You're so taken aback, you can't seem to form another word in relation to the subject before deciding to change it entirely, "You know you're carrying a bag bigger than mine?" Gesturing towards the crossbody that was slumped beside him in the booth, he peered over at it before laughing.

"Why didn't you leave it in the car?"

"Because the stuff I picked up at the store while I was getting you water shouldn't be left in the car."

"...What's inside?"

"A surprise."

The food arrived, consumed — mostly by Jaebeom to your surprise, my God that man could eat, and plates departed between a few short stories about nothing really at all, and somehow you weren't quite ready to leave. You realized that the company was soothing and healing in a way self-isolation could never have been, and you regretfully felt apologetic to your friends' missed shopping outings and dinner dates, the endless brunch invites and parties that you could have been participating in, letting your mind drift and heal instead of letting the wounds fester out of control. So caught up in your thoughts and the individual ways you were planning to apologize to each friend that you had dismissed during this time, you don't realize the check had already arrived at the table and that Jaebeom was already prepared to return it.

"Oh wait! Hold on!" Grabbing your clutch, you opened it to your horror. Where was your wallet? Shifting around the stray receipts and your compact as if it would magically surface what you were looking for, you dug through frantically while the waiter took the folded checkbook. Lifting your head to look at Jaebeom with a confused expression, you began apologizing immediately.

"Don't worry about it, I was planning to pay anyways," pausing, he peered towards the edge of the table, "...Maybe you left it in the car?" Fishing the keys out from the pocket of his bag, he handed them to you as you rushed out to check. Scouring beneath the passenger and driver's seat — in case — you peeked at the floor on the off chance it may have been kicked to the back. Nothing under the car or around it, you leaned your forehead against the frame of the automobile in defeat, tapping your skull along as if it would make you generate your thoughts properly. You couldn't catch a damn break tonight.

"Did you find it?"

"No."

"I have a key to the bar, we can go back and check," Jaebeom began shrugging off his bag as he gently placed his palm at the center of your back, causing you to shiver at his fervent touch, "Don't get worked up over nothing, you know?"

Emitting a sigh, you nodded in agreement as you tugged at the handle. Surprise. You peered through the window to see the keys gingerly sitting on the driver's seat, all doors locked. Parting your lips, you can't even make a noise at this point, because you simply want to crawl into a hole and rot inside of it. Jaebeom only laughs, pulling you away from the car as he started down the street and back towards where the bar was, "...You know you could have just said you wanted to spend more time with me."

Almost completely silent for the next block, feeling as though your presence may have been a complete burden, you are proven wrong as you watch his hand direct your vision towards a building, "You know that cinema used to be a regular theatre?"

"...Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid, my stepdad had a little shop out front and he must have felt so bad during the summer when I got stuck helping him that he used to let me go see a movie like once a day," chuckling softly, you felt guilty for smiling at this shared memory, still so frustrated that you had to put him through such a night, "...They show art films here now right?"

"Yeah, nowadays," humming softly, only the sounds of both your steps ricochetting off the empty and barren sidewalk, you stopped when you saw a forsythia tree still in bloom. Jaebeom barely notices as he took a couple steps back to match with you, "Hm?"

"...It's kind of late for these to be in bloom," mumbling softly, you stared at the yolk colored blossoms illuminated only by the street lamps above.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the green stays around but the flowers usually fall away..." neck craned as you wandered around the tree, he mimicked your action while observing the plant.

"You know a lot about this tree."

"I'm a florist."

"A flower artist."

Bursting out laughing, you nudge him gently, "Yeah, something like that." Both of you quiet back down, but this time, you felt less like a nuisance and more like you were strolling with a friend. Well he was kind of like your friend now, right? He even knew something none of your other friends knew.

"...Hey, I want to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Do you really get laid that much?"

Swinging his head to face you, though still matching your short strides, his expression is plagued with shock. You're not quite sure if he'll answer you honestly or laugh.

"Are you still drunk?"

"No!" Smacking his arm, you tilt your head back as the laugh that came from your diaphragm swam up, "I mean it! Your friends said—"

"They say that any time any of us ends up grabbing attention, don't think about it too much."

Smiling, you continue, "And how do I know you're not lying?"

"Well we're just walking, aren't we?" His smirk could practically drown you.

"Ah, touche."

Creeping through the narrow alleyway, stumbled thumping up the metal steps, and through the back entrance, you hid your giggles behind your teeth. There was something that offered exhilaration, as if you weren't allowed to be here regardless of Jaebeom's key. Even after the mess of the evening you made at this very location only hours ago, it felt like there was something welcoming you as you both entered the dark end of the stage. Filtering the lights on, he led you towards the main hallway and into the bar.

"I'll wait for you here," wandering onto the stage, he collapsed his weight in the center before propping his arms back and reclining. It takes less than a minute for you to spot your wallet, jammed between a barstool and the counter at the corner you were taking salvation at. A breath of relief left you as crouched down and retrieved it, pushing it into your clutch as you went to return to the stage. Squinting from a distance, you wondered what Jaebeom was unfolding in his hands as scarlet wrappers were being discarded beside him. Flipping open a matchbook, you walked up the steps and saw several stacked Chocopies tiered up to resemble a cake. Coiling a paper around a match, you watch the flared light as he shoved it in the center of the highest tier before singing the soft, familiar song while clapping his hands for added percussion.

If it were any other time, you'd be rolling on the floor, laughing. But tonight, you felt like you needed exactly this. Settling beside him as he wrapped up the song, you closed your eyes and really did wish your hardest before blowing it out. You both clapped before he grabbed one of the pies and shoved the entire thing into your mouth, to your disgust and surprise. Taking one of your own and having a bite, you tucked your legs close to you, "...So this is why you carried such a big purse huh?"

Rolling his eyes while chewing, you imagined he had a good comeback for you, but he doesn't. Rather, he asked what you wished for. But you tell him it's a secret. After that, you can't really remember what else you both conversed about, but when you wake up against the stage you're reminded that you really can't make any of this any worse. But somehow, it is better than you expected, as you peer up and see the warm glow of what feels like the sun, waiting for you.

Your wish was that this would be the first of many birthdays to come where Jaebeom felt like summer, and summer never ended.

While I was reading through one of my poetry books, I felt some kind of pull. I decided to go ahead and attach it with a translation, in case you wanted to know where my inspiration came from:

종이배 하나 접어 Fold One Paper Boat

어제 내린 눈이 마지막 눈이길 바랍니다 I wish yesterday’s snow fall would be the last 지금 불어오는 바람이 마지막 북풍이길 바랍니다 I wish the wind blowing from the north would be the last 혹시 내가 그 마음 얼어붙게 한 적 있다면 이 제 용서하세요 If I ever froze your heart would you ever forgive me 봄빛 닿는 곳마다 눈부신 빛이 일어납니다 When the spring light reaches out and blinds you while it rises 강 위에 잠시 머물던 얼음 다 녹아 바다로 흘러가면 The ice that once was still on top of the river melts and flows into the ocean 물속에서 놀던 고기들과 만나 지난겨울 이야기 나누다가 As the water enters the ocean, meeting creatures, reminiscing about last winter 종이배 하나 접어 가만히 강물에 띄워 보내겠습니다 I will fold a paper boat and let it travel down the river and float to you 강물이 햇살 없이 저 혼자 그리 아름다운가요 Can that river be beautiful without sunlight 봄이 결울 없이 저 혼자 그리 눈부신가요 Can spring shine beautifully without winter 흘러흘러 그대에게 이르는 마음 아니라면 Flowing, flowing if my feelings don’t reach you 이 마음이 무슨 소용일까요 Then what’s the point of having feelings

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lightrises · 3 years

Text

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

#hollow knight #hornet (hollow knight)#hornet hollow knight #hk hornet #the radiance #hk radiance #herrah #hk herrah #hollow knight meta #sup folks it's been a minute since i dropped a whole dang essay but Here We Go!!!!!!

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS SONG Bloody Night Vol.Ⅱ Mini Drama “Ruki VS Azusa”

Original title: 録り下ろしミニドラマ｢ルキVSアズサ｣

Source: Diabolik Lovers VERSUS SONG Bloody Night Vol.II Mini Drama [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Takagi Sakurai & Daisuke Kishio

Translator’s note: I believe this is the first time I have translated some sort of VERSUS track featuring two Mukami’s and it does have a totally different feel to it, as to be expected. Even though there is still an obvious competition between the two, they aren’t nearly as hostile towards each other, even relying on the other or allowing their ‘brother’ to join in. This sibling bond between the Mukami’s is honestly what I like best about them and I’m glad it shows in this CD!

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

*Chop chop chop*

Azusa: Eve...What are you doing...?

You squeak.

Azusa: Ah...I’m sorry for scaring you...

You explain.

Azusa: You’re making...dinner? Hmー

Azusa paces around you.

Azusa: Hm...What’s on the menu for today? You chopped up...a bunch of vegetables, huh?

*Rustle*

Azusa: Ah! That knife...It cuts extremely well, doesn’t it? I sharpened it...the other day. So I’d be able to cut...even the hardest materials...You see? I’m sure it could even...slice through bones and flesh with ease...Fufufu~

Your face goes pale.

Azusa: Want to...put it to the test? No, you want to try it out, right? I can tell as well, Eve...

*Rustle*

Azusa: Say...Try it on me? Right here, please?

You refuse.

Azusa: Justin, you see...He’s about to fade away. So...Please? Cut me here? ...Come on. You want to, don’t you?

You shake your head.

Azusa: ...Why not? Why would you say no? That’s strange. We should be...two of the same kind though...Ah! That’s wrong. You want it first, don’t you? I see. Of course you would.

He suddenly pins you down.

*Thud*

Azusa: Haah...I’m sorry for not realizing sooner. To make it up to you, I’ll make it...especially painful, okay? Fufufu~ I hope that’ll make you happy~

*Cling*

You start struggling.

Azusa: It’ll be...okay...Just leave it...up to me...Ugh...

*Shatter*

Azusa: Ugh...Nn...Keep still...Eve...Come on...You can’t do that...Ugh!

*Thud*

Azusa: Haah...Fufu~ Like this, you can no longer move, can you? Ooh...But I can no longer use the knife like this...Hm...What to do...? Ah! Right!

He leans in close.

Azusa: Instead, I’ll give you this pain...which you’ve loved for so long...Haahn...

Azusa bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

*Gulp*

Azusa: Nn...Haah...Delicious...Eve’s blood...I wonder if it’s because...you enjoy pain...?

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: In that case...I’ll make it hurt even more, okay? By doing so...You get to feel even better...and I get to...savor more of your...delicious blood...It’s basically a two-for-one deal (1), right...? Fufu~

*Rustle rustle*

Azusa: Haah...Well then, this place is up next...Your ear...

He bites you again.

Azusa: ...Hm? Mm...What’s wrong, Eve? Don’t look at me...like that. Rest...asssured. I’ll make sure to give you pain...just like you wish...Not from your earlobe but...right here...if I suck from the upper part...I’m sure it’ll hurt.

Your eyes widen in horror.

Azusa: Come on...Relax. Then my fangs can...sink into you and...give you pain...from inside...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Nn...Hah...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Mm...

*Shatter*

Azusa: Haah...Nn...Mmh...Haah, haah...Seeing you have a hard time...Somehow made me feel good too...Fufu...Fufufu~ It looks as if I almost punctured a hole through your ear...In that case...Let’s put a pretty accessory in here. To symbolize that...I was the one who pierced these...Shall we give it a name too? Like Justin and Christina...Say? Don’t you like the sound of that? Fufufu~

*Rustle*

Azusa: Haahn...Mmh...

*Sluuuurp*

*Gulp*

Azusa: Mmh...Nn...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Haah...It’s my turn next, okay...?

Azusa moves away.

Azusa: Come on, hurt me with this knife...Give me a new kind of pain...I’m begging you.

*Cling*

Azusa: ...Eve? What’s wrong? Hm...Come on, stand...

Ruki enters the kitchen.

Ruki: It has been awfully rowdy in here. What are you doing?

Azusa: Oh...Ruki.

He walks over.

Ruki: Haah...Care explain this to me? Livestock, explain. I should have ordered you to prepare our dinner?

You frown.

Ruki: From the looks of it, rather than actually preparing the food, all you did was make a mess of our kitchen. You truly are hopeless. Can you not even prepare a single meal without messing up? Haah...Show me your hands.

You hesitate.

Ruki: Show me your hands, I said!

You present him your hands.

Ruki: This is your punishment.

*SMACK*

Azusa: Ah! Wait, Ruki...I’m the one one who...!

*SMACK*

Azusa: Ugh...Ah...

Ruki: Azusa, do not interfere.

Azusa: I’m the one...who got in the way of her cooking so punish me too...

Ruki: Cannot do. You simply want to feel the pain, no?

Azusa: Oh...

Ruki: Regardless of the circumstances, the fact she ignored the orders given by her master remains unchanged. I need to punish her. Azusa. You restrain her, okay?

Azusa: ...Eh?

Ruki: Hurry up.

Azusa: Understood...

Azusa keeps your arms behind your back.

*Rustle*

Azusa: Keep still, okay? Eve...

Ruki: That works. Livestock, I shall tame you right now. You should be grateful. Hmph.

You shiver in fear.

Ruki: Good grief...I can’t believe you would ignore your duties behind your Master’s back, only to indulge in your own selfish pleasures. You are quite the livestock. ...Hm? Are these fang marks Azusa’s? In that case, to start things off, I shall suck from this nape...

*Rustle*

Ruki: Mmh...Nn...

*Rustle rustle*

Ruki: Don’t move. It makes it hard to suck.

*Sluuurp*

You continue writhing around.

Ruki: Tsk. Livestock. I told you to keep still! ...Azusa, keep her in check.

Azusa: Mmh...

Ruki: I cannot believe you can’t even simply stand still and keep quiet...

*RIIIIIP*

Ruki: Seems like I will have to be a little more strict with my training. To ensure your body actually remembers. You can decide where I shall punish you next. Your throat? Or perhaps, your shoulder? Come on, choose.

You keep quiet.

Ruki: Good grief...To think you are this foolish, it almost seems refreshing. Show me your hands one more time. Hurry up.

*Rustle*

Ruki: Hmph. The whip has left clear marks behind. I’m sure it must sting painfully?

You nod.

Ruki: In that case...I shall add onto said pain even more. Like this...

*Rustle*

Ruki bites your hand.

*Sluuuurp*

Ruki: Mmh...Hah...Fufu...Those are lovely sounds...Cry out more!

You collapse but Azusa catches you in his arms.

*Rustle*

Azusa: ...Oh! Eve...? Are you okay...? I wonder if it simply felt too good...? Hey.

Ruki: Oi.

*Smack*

Ruki: Wake up. ...You’re gravely mistaken if you think your punishment ends here. Oi, Azusa. You join in too.

Azusa: Ah...Are you sure?

Ruki: Hmph. It’d be more effective if the two of us discipline her simultaneously. Help me out.

Azusa: Mmh...Gotcha. Eve...This time...I’ll give you pain too...Are you happy? No...You obviously are, aren’t you?

Ruki: You should accept your penalty, admitting to the crime you have committed towards your Master.

Azusa: In that case...I’ll go for this...shoulder. You like it here, Eve...Don’t you?

Ruki: Fufufu...Try your best to remain conscious, okay?

Azusa bites your shoulder.

Azusa: Mmh...

*Sluuurp*

Azusa: Nn...Ah...

*Rustle*

Azusa: Eve...? Does it feel good? ...You ahead...You can lean against me more...By doing so...My fangs can sink in...even deeper.

Ruki: Livestock. Open your eyes. Watch closely. At these wedges (2) piercing through your own wrist.

Ruki bites her as well.

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Eve...Feel my fangs too...

*Sluuuurp*

*Gulp*

Azusa: Mmh...Ah...You want...more and more...right? This shouldn’t be...nearly enough to satisfy you...

Ruki: Azusa...Give it to her harder, and deeper. Despite her cries, that’s what this woman desires. I can tell.

Azusa: Mmh. I know. ...I’ll give it you as you wish, okay? After all...Eve’s desire...is my desire as well...Haahn...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Nn...

Ruki: Your sweet blood is spreading inside my mouth...Mmh...You sure know how to entice a man.

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Haah...Hah...Eve...You’re so pretty...Dyed in this deep crimson blood...Mmh.

*Smooch*

Azusa: See? My lips are bright red too, aren’t they? Fufufu~ We match~

*Rustle rustle*

Azusa: Ah...It’s okay...Don’t worry about getting dirty?

*Rustle*

Azusa: Oh...You’ve got bite marks all over you...I bet it hurts a lot...Mmh. Oh. I suppose I shouldn’t be too rough with you, right?

Ruki: Oi, Azusa. She’s a nosy woman, but it’d be troublesome if she becomes unable of saying anything.

Azusa: Mmh. I know.

*Rustle rustle*

Azusa: I’ll be careful, okay?

*Rustle*

Ruki: Well then...Next up, I’ll do it from behind like this. Let me engrave a pentalty into your nape. Haha...Have you even lost the energy to muster up a response? Good grief...You really always crave to be punished, don’t you? Being too greedy is problematic as well.

Azusa: Hey, Eve...Look at me...Okay? You’ve been looking at...Ruki this whole time, haven’t you? I have the right to make you mine as well...So...Please? I’ll give you...more and more pain...See? Like this...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Mmh...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Nn...Mmh...

Ruki: Do not let Azusa’s words sway you. In the end, you are still my livestock. I am the one you should prioritize.

Azusa: ...I won’t lose either, Ruki!

Ruki: As you wish. Fufufu...

Azusa: Say, Eve? We are two of the same kind. Therefore...I will give you everything...your heart desires...

Ruki: Heh. Aren’t you rather desperate, Azusa? It is rather uncommon for you to get this worked up.

Azusa: Because she is the one thing...I don’t want to hand over, not even to you...That’s why...

Ruki: Heh. I see. In that case, I shouldn’t sit still either. ...Oi, Livestock. Drown in me more. Mmh...Nn...

Azusa: Me too...! ...Hey, Eve? You can...have high hopes, okay? Mmh...

*Sluuuurp*

Azusa: Mmn...Nn...

Ruki: I am sure this situation is all you’ve ever dreamt of, isn’t it? Well, go ahead and enjoy it to the fullest. After all, you are a woman who feels joy from being pinned down. We still have plenty of time. I shall show you a kind of pleasure you have yet to ever experience.

Azusa: Eve...I will give it my all as well...Until you are thoroughly satisfied, okay?

Ruki: Hahaha...You are in luck. Seems like your punishment is still far from over.

The door closes.

*Creaaaak*

*Thud*

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) Azusa uses the expression いいことづくし or ‘ii-koto-zukushi’ which literally means ‘all sorts of good things/joyful happenings’.

(2) I’m not sure why Ruki refers to his fangs as 楔 or ‘kusabi’ (wedge) here but I suppose they have a somewhat similar shape.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ruki mukami #azusa mukami #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd #diabolik lovers versus song

154 notes · View notes

sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Feed The Wolves

A/N: your local zoyalai stan neighbor is here yet again for another content but this time it’s for @wafflesandkruge‘s birthday!!! I went way overboard with this ig but the Vincenzo fever we’ve been on for the past two weeks was still strong and the ending still tugs at my heart. So pls have this mess, Tiff, I’m sorry HAHDKLHJAFDS Happy birthday, dearest! 🥺🥺

Word count: 13 874

CW: graphic depictions of violence and gore. Read at your own risk.

The Lantsovs have finally taken their move to overthrow the Brums’ tyranny to the extremities. They thought they already have the upper hand and that the odds are finally on their side. But in a game that two players have nothing and everything to lose, there is always a catch in every move they make, and with it also comes a price.

How far are they willing to take it?

If Nikolai could be proud of one moment, he knew it would be today. One couldn’t just make an easy audience with the head of the Brum Family; usually it would take nearly a week to set up an appointment. Jarl Brum was one of the first men to establish their own Families, along with the Tabans, Lantsovs, and the Morozovas, and he was the most powerful among them.

For now.

When one of the biggest Families was in a war and planning to attack another with the same reputation, it was only necessary to play carefully. Especially going against a cunning opponent like Jarl Brum. Today’s predicament was tricky; one wrong move could cost them the chance. Or worse—their lives. Either way, it was dangerous. But if they didn’t at least try to keep the Brums at bay, it would only be a matter of time before they take over all the cities, including Os Alta. And considering how they handled things, lots of lives could be lost.

There was still another way out of this, but it involved extreme measures and there would be no returning after that. He could only hope he wouldn’t have to settle for that last resort no matter how slim his chances were.

Nikolai snapped the lid of his lighter closed, his loud mind finding solace in the metallic clink it made. His eyes caught on the engraving on the side of the lighter. Consigliere Idiot. He fought a smile. The lighter had been a gift to him by Zoya on his birthday a few years back, and it somehow became his talisman ever since. It was a weird kind of gift at first, with Zoya knowing too well that he didn’t smoke that much. But he still got attached to it.

You never know, it might come in handy when you suddenly have an urge to set some place on fire, was what she had told him.

He scoffed at the memory, and then took a deep breath as he focused on his current situation. The risks of having this meeting turn to the bloodbath Nikolai was expecting were high, and if he were to be honest, winning a fight against the Brums was almost impossible.

But he was never the one to believe in impossible. Only improbable. The one thing he could do now was to put faith on the odds being at their side at the end of the day.

He flicked his lighter open and closed again before checking his watch. The bright numbers glared back at him like a countdown of a time bomb nearing its detonation. 17:48. Twelve minutes.

If his estimate was right, Zoya and her men would have arrived by now and started their raid. But knowing the Lantsov Underboss to be careful and precise, they would need a bit more time. It only meant Nikolai had to continue making small talks with the man to try and see if he could settle a score with the Don without the use of violence. Talking proved to be a bit difficult, though, as the head of the Family was being attentive to focusing on his paperworks rather than Nikolai’s presence.

"The numbers are really unstable in the past two weeks and it's mostly plummeting," said Jarl as his eyes scanned the paper he was holding for the last time. Then with a dramatic sigh, he opened the drawer to his right and put the file inside, plastering a rather fake smile on his lips afterwards. "There's been a lot of visitors."

Nikolai could see right through the man's displeasure. He almost laughed. At least the feeling is mutual. "Tell me about it," he said with a light laugh. "Having your business overrun without any reason sure does something to you."

A shadow crossed the Don's face, but Nikolai only smiled innocently and held his gloved hand out for a handshake, a sort of formal gesture between a Don and a Consigliere before and after every meeting. Anyone lower than the Underboss aren't allowed to touch the head of a Family, and they could only do as much as bow in respect for the Don.

Jarl accepted it reluctantly, his grip firm as if he were contemplating breaking Nikolai’s hand. Nikolai was grateful when the man didn't. Maybe because it wasn't a good sight to have and talk business to a Consigliere with a broken hand.

"A pleasant afternoon, isn't it?" mused Nikolai as he took a sip of the coffee. It tasted good, but not nearly as good as Genya's brew. No poison. Or maybe there was and the effects just weren't kicking in yet. He suddenly wished for the woman's knack on any poison. "The perfect chance to kill time.”

The Brum Don laughed lightly, the sound mildly threatening as if he had just thought of something vile. “Indeed, Consigliere,” he said, leaning back more comfortably in his chair. “Is the coffee good? I apologize if it isn’t, but I do hope the atmosphere is comfortable.”

Nikolai fought a wince. He had been here a few times before. Jarl’s office was ice white—ranging from the walls, floorings, and the ceiling. Even the chair he was sitting on had been white. The only thing that gave another color to the pasty room were the furniture and a few appliances. At least his couches were blood red, and the view of the huge window behind his desk was different in shade. Nikolai was thankful for the change of scenery.

“No, no. Everything is good.” It sounded fake, considering how he despised the man's office. But he shook it off. He tipped the mug up in a toast. “I appreciate it, and thank you for accepting my appointment.” He found it funny and silly, when Jarl’s caporegimes used the term “appointment”. It was as if Nikolai wanted to get his teeth checked by a dentist, and considering how the man’s office looked, maybe it really was one. “I thought it would take me another week to wait for the confirmation.”

“You’re a Lantsov, from the first pioneers of the Families.” Jarl paused, a hint of a sneer appearing on his face. “You needn’t to be delayed.”

There was something the way Jarl spoke that didn’t sit well with Nikolai, like the man knew something he didn’t. A thought crossed his mind, but he shook it off. There was no way Jarl knew about that. Or was it? It was not impossible—the Brum Don had a wide network of informants. Rumor had it that there were a few in Os Alta, the city that the Lantsovs had control over.

Him knowing about Nikolai’s real father would only give him power against them. But then Nikolai still decided to brush it off, though its dangerous possibility still lingered at the back of his mind. It wasn’t the time to think of it. They had to take back the territories that were once theirs, even if they had to do it by brute force. It’s what Zoya would have preferred, anyway.

“That’s good to hear,” said Nikolai with a tight smile.

The man crossed his hands over the table, a glint evident in his eyes. Nikolai didn’t know what to make out of it. “So let’s hear it, Consigliere,” said Jarl. “What brings the Lantsovs here?”

Straight to the point. Nikolai put his mug back to the desk and removed his gloves, exposing his scarred hands. Jarl’s eyes flitted to Nikolai's hands for a moment before looking away, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Nikolai felt a sneer twitch on his lips. Scars weren’t new to people like them—they had new ones very often, depending on the work they were doing that time. It was their brand, and they wear it with pride.

But if people knew the history of the scars you bore, especially when you had gotten it from being the vicious Enforcer who once intimidated the streets of Halmhend, you would have an ace against your enemies. And for Nikolai, he exactly just had that.

“We’re eyeing the areas in Halmhend and Ulensk for expansion,” he said, and he noticed the Brum Don perk up a little from his chair. Now Nikolai had his attention. “I heard that the two properties in those locations require some...changes. Big changes, if I may add. So I would like to propose an offer to buy the property for double its actual value.” He stopped to consider, putting a finger to his chin. "No, wait. Make it triple."

Jarl didn't answer for a while, and his expression was in between being offended and amused. Nikolai wondered if the man thought that his offer was a bluff.

"I think you're quite mistaken, Consigliere," he said mildly, his tone having an underlying disbelief. "We do not place our properties up for purchase or any sort of deal."

The properties you had taken from Families by force, Nikolai wanted to say, but he bit back his tongue. The feel of the lighter in his other hand was enough to ease the sudden flare of anger in his chest. He put on his signature grin to cover it up. "Ah, but I thought your numbers were plummeting for the past two weeks? I think my offer would help the numbers to be friendly and rise up nicely again."

"Is that what your father told you to do?" Jarl asked as he leaned back further into his chair. The look on his face had gone from slightly friendly to threatening. "To try and sway me with money?"

"Don't we all want to be swayed and pampered by money?" countered Nikolai, the grin never leaving his lips. Jarl’s expression only became darker, and it made Nikolai want to goad him more. "Think of the numbers finally rising, Jarl. I know you want that."

"It’s foolish to think that I’d willingly sell properties that we have the ability to look after just quite well, Consigliere.” The Brum Don shook his head with a disappointed expression. “I never thought you would be this desperate.”

This ticked something inside Nikolai, and he found himself suddenly saying, “Is that why you worked with the Radimovs to overthrow our territories?”

There was a tense silence, and the expression on Jarl’s face turned from angry to mildly surprised, like he hadn't expected Nikolai to know about the Brums involvement with the assault. They weren't the only Family with spies stationed in different cities; the Lantsovs had just as much informants as the Brums have, if not a bit less.

Nikolai took the silence as his chance to continue. "Ah, let me make that clear. The Radimovs doing the dirty work and the Brums happening to ‘buy’ the two properties the following day from them. That's pretty much all of it, right? And it's not different from what you did with the Tabans and the Demidovs. And somehow the Morozovas too." He chuckled darkly. "Though it's probably pretty much the Morozovas' payment to your Family for protecting their ass, so I wouldn't really take that into account. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

Jarl’s jaw was set, as if determined not to admit to the accusation. His eyes were hard, but Nikolai could notice the man's hand suddenly fiddling the pen within his reach in tense movements. He has such an obvious tell. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm merely joking, sir. I mean, I am indeed a genius in certain aspects, but I didn’t learn about that information by connecting the dots. I knew about your tactics from an informant," said Nikolai with a kind smile. "We may have been spiraling a bit out of control since the attempted murder of my father, but we're not as stupid as you think."

The Brums had used the Lantsovs’ distraction in prioritizing the Don’s security to their advantage, going as far as making frequent appearances in their properties, and even in Os Alta. One of the instances he couldn’t forget were the three Brum soldiers who had caused disturbance in their bar in Kribirsk, and it stirred up the brewing dispute between their Families.

Nikolai wouldn't even be surprised if the Brums had something to do with the assassination. And if he were to really think of it now, it was most likely possible. The Demidovs weren't that powerful enough to do something as bold as trying to take down one of the most powerful Dons in the country, unless there was a much bigger hand controlling them.

The only Family who had the ability to pull off a stunt like that was the Brums. But knowing them, they always used someone else to do their dirty work for them as they wanted to maintain the 'clean slate' of their name.

They could always put out the fire, but they can never cover up the smoke.

Jarl considered Nikolai for another moment, and then he let out a loud laugh. “I get why Alexander appointed you as Consigliere and not your older brother. A clever boy, you are,” he said. "Can't be fooled easily."

"I'd take that as a compliment, sir," said Nikolai.

He reached over to the mug of coffee again, but his hand suddenly felt stiff and rigid as if something was keeping it from being able to move. Then his vision blurred slightly for a moment before it sharpened again, making him blink.

It took him a second, and a quiet laugh bubbled from his chest. His suspicions were right, then. He gripped the lighter tightly in his hand like it was the only source of his strength. Coffee was the last thing he had expected to have poison in it, and disbelief muddled his mind.

Cheeky bastard, should have put it in brandy or whiskey instead of slandering coffee this way.

Nikolai held the mug with a bit of effort in his outstretched hand, trying not to let his strain show. But when he looked up back to the Don again, there was no denying that he had already noticed Nikolai’s difficulty in moving, and the beginning of a smirk was evident on Jarl’s expression. The knife hidden under the lapel of Nikolai’s coat suddenly felt heavy.

This was going to be a pain to get through again.

"How's your father, Nikolai?" the man asked. Even his voice sounded faraway now. "Is he recovering well?"

"He is. Quite well, I'll say. He might get discharged next week," Nikolai replied before raising the mug to his lips again. It was only when he took another sip of the coffee did he finally recognize the slightest difference in the taste of a purely black coffee. Genya would have scolded him for not recognizing it right away. Cyanide. Cheap. "He sends his regards, by the way."

Jarl smiled. "I appreciate it." He paused, his eyebrows furrowing in mock concern. Nikolai wanted to laugh. "Are you alright? You seem to be looking quite unwell."

Nikolai shrugged, the movement requiring much more effort as he was still adjusting to the toxins in his body. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff. The coffee had a bit of a kick in it."

"Ah, but you did like your coffee without sugar, right?"

"Yeah, makes it more bracing." He gestured to the mug with a nod before placing it back to the desk. A dull tremor shot through him, and he fiddled with the lighter in his hand to keep it from going completely numb. "So, is your answer really a no?"

"You make me laugh, Consigliere. Here you are, alone, wanting to have an appointment to meet with me just to offer some nonsense."

“I wouldn’t actually call it nonsense I would say ultimatum, but that sounds too threatening so I think I’d tone it down for a bit,” said Nikolai, his tone light. He checked his watch. 17:58. Almost there. But then another tremor shot through him, and this time, he wasn’t able to stop a pained groan from tearing in his throat. He raised a finger. “Wait, give me a second.”

Nikolai closed his eyes and breathed deeply, flexing his fingers open and close. This was becoming rather embarrassing for him, to give threats to someone of a much higher rank than him while looking he was about to throw up, but he took his time. After a few more moments, he finally regained his composure. When he looked back up to the Don, Jarl had an amused expression on his face as if he were thinking of Nikolai as a big joke.

"Consider it a friendly warning," Nikolai said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want to spew threats yet when I still haven’t tried to convince you to change your mind.”

Jarl’s expression darkened. "This is a three-hectare property. No one would notice the Lantsov Consigliere not coming out of here."

"Oh, dear me. Are we doing threats now?" Nikolai laughed, or more like wheezed, and shook his head. "Three hectares, you say? So if I burned down this side of the compound, firefighters won't arrive in time, no? Or even just shooting you, I'm pretty sure no one else would hear."

"You're in my compound, Nikolai. My territory."

Nikolai shrugged. "Hasn't stopped me before."

"There are guards patrolling around right outside the hall. They will immediately barge in the moment I hit the alarm."

"Ah, let them. I like that kind of attention. Boosts my ego exponentially." The watch around Nikolai’s wrist beeped softly, and he glanced down at it to confirm that the numbers had already turned to 18:00. "I also did like my coffee without poison, actually. But I appreciate the improvised addition. Cyanide as an alternative to sugar? Genius. Gave a rush of thrill in my blood."

If Nikolai could frame the look of the evident shock on Jarl’s face, he would have made a whole exhibit just for it. People needed to see such a rare sighting of the Brum Don getting caught off guard. The man blinked repeatedly, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing in front of him.

Trust me, this will get useful at some point, Genya's voice echoed in his head. Nikolai silently thanked their caporegime's insistence for him to develop poison immunity. All those days of handling mild paralysis and unconsciousness was worth it.

"Oh, pardon me. Was I being too straightforward with that?" He chuckled lightly. "I can repeat it though. You got me good there, I can already feel it kicking in. But if you wanted to kill me, I think I would prefer a bullet to the brain just to be sure. That's a hundred percent chance I wouldn't walk out of here alive, or just mix in as much cyanide as you have. A sprinkle won’t be enough."

Jarl let out a laugh of his own, but the sound came out nervous instead of threatening. The man was evidently pale and he was now holding the pen so tightly in his fist he could have snapped it in half. "But that would be messy now, wouldn't it?" he said with a grin. Even his smile looked forced. "As you've told me, we don't do the dirty work.

"Hmm, fair. But there would be no thrill at all, would it? Having to hide behind your coffers and let others do the labor? That's icky." Nikolai shook his head. There was another tremor that shot throughout his body, but it was much weaker than the ones before it, and he almost smiled. At least that was over. Bless you, Genya. He leaned forward for a bit, his eyes narrowing curiously. "Do tell me, Jarl. How would it feel when someone else takes over your business by force, and brutally kills your men and innocent workers in the process? They’re not a threat, Jarl. Much less an enemy. Why involve them in the mess? We don’t do that. That is against our principles. But I guess that's never in your book, was it? You just do things that would satisfy your greed and thirst for blood."

“Getting bolder now, aren't we, Consigliere? I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you. Do you think the Lantsovs could handle another loss, especially their Consigliere?” The Brum Don shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “Who would try to handle things diplomatically?”

It was threat after threat. “That is a good question, sir,” said Nikolai. He flexed his fingers on both hands and put them on his knees. “I know Nazyalensky can be diplomatic if need be. But I also know she prefers to use rather drastic measures than talking. ‘It’s the easier way’, she always says. I would have to agree with her at certain times.”

“Are you implying something?”

Nikolai plastered a grin on his face. “Only the fact that you’d be facing lesser diplomatic meetings with the Lantsovs if I ever not make it out of here alive,” he said. A soft ping resounded, and he took out his phone from his coat pocket. He checked the alert, his grin turning smug and menacing, the kind that people rarely see the Lantsov Consigliere ever did. “And that you’d probably be dealing with it sooner than you thought.”

A look of confusion bloomed on the Don’s face, and then, as if on cue, the telephone on the side of his desk blared, the sound startling Jarl and making him jump slightly on his seat. He looked at it with suspicion. Nikolai wanted to laugh, but he figured that it would be rude. Besides, the whole ordeal wasn’t done yet—a lot could still happen, and he was still reeling from the effects of the poison. But he could already see the odds on their side.

“I would answer that if I were you,” Nikolai said calmly, his fingers finding the lid of his lighter again. He flicked it open and back close. He could still feel the strain in his hand, but at least it he could move it properly again. “It’s probably important.”

Jarl narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s your deal, Consigliere? Why are you really here?”

“Just answer the telephone, sir. Maybe it will give you the answer.”

There was another tense silence. The Brum Don suddenly didn’t look like he was having fun trying to get him cornered. This was the best part for Nikolai, the thrill he always got whenever the upper hand his enemies had against him was suddenly taken away from them and he would watch them crumble slowly and back away until they were the ones cornered instead of him. It was such a satisfying view to watch.

And Nikolai were to look at it now, it was exactly how he wanted it. One didn’t just easily get Jarl Brum on the edge of his seat.

“Well?” Nikolai mused.

The frown on Brum Don’s face only deepened, and then reluctantly, he reached for the telephone and slowly raised the receiver near his ear. A few beats, and then, “Yes?”

Nikolai watched the man’s face pale, his eyes shifting everywhere with the look of evident panic in them. His hand tightened around the receiver until his knuckles were almost white from gripping it too much. There was just so much anger radiating off of him that Nikolai was surprised the Don hadn’t even pointed a gun at him yet.

Then Jarl’s attention snapped to him after a moment, his eyes murderous with every intent to kill. Nikolai returned his look with an innocent grin, and the Don’s jaw was set in complete rage. If were some other person, he knew he would have cowered back in fear. But years trying to prove himself he was worthy to be an official member of the Lantsov family despite his bloodline contributed a lot to the name he had built for himself.

The Demon Prince of Halmhend—the people had whispered his name in both awe and fear. And with each dark and nasty scar and blood he got on his hands, the stronger his reputation grew. He would get the job done, and he would use whatever method he had to, even if it meant having to have a staredown with death himself.

It would take much more than some Don’s murderous look to derail Nikolai from his goal.

He watched patiently as the Don put back the receiver to the cradle, his dark gaze turning from enraged to cold fury, like he had finally accepted whatever was said to him in the call. Jarl stared down at him for another long moment, and Nikolai could practically see the gears in the man’s head working.

“Alright, Consigliere. You made your point.” The Don kept his face expressionless, but his eyes told Nikolai otherwise. “What do you really want?”

Finally. “Stop the unnecessary attacks and killings,” Nikolai said. “You can’t keep that act up and expect the others not to turn against you.”

“No one would dare go against us. We both know that.”

“It’s because we’re still holding back.”

A shadow passed over Jarl’s face, and his expression darkened even more. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” replied Nikolai. He reached up to fix his tie. “If I were to be honest, the Tabans could take you any day. They just don’t choose to. Waste of resources, they say. But really, I understand. It would be too easy for them.”

“The Tabans don’t choose to fight because they’re cowards,” Jarl said with a huff. “Not because they don’t choose to do so.”

Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “Tell that to Madam Makhi’s face, and you’ll see your throat by the end of her sword,” he said. He leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “She keeps a very sharp sword in her office, by the way. And she knows how to use it, so I don’t really suggest going against her.”

Jarl shook his head, the smirk still evident on his lips. “And if I don’t agree to your motion? What can you possibly do with—”

“You would find my family retaliating,” Nikolai cut him off, and the Don reared back in mild surprise. “The attacks would continue, and I will let it go on. Don’t try fighting in a war where you’re going to lose.”

The Don didn’t say anything after that. Nikolai gave him a smile, feeling a bit more confident than before that maybe they had driven Jarl Brum into a corner. Then, to his astonishment, Jarl did something entirely beyond his expectation.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t the desperate type but rather a genuinely amused one, like he had just heard the funniest joke that Nikolai could have ever done. Instantly, his grin faded. Jarl Brum was actually laughing. Nikolai could only look back at the Brum Don with utter confusion as uneasiness settled in his gut. The man acted as if he was one step ahead of them, and whatever confidence Nikolai had in himself the moment he stepped inside the man’s office was gone.

“The White Island, huh?” Jarl said through his laughs. He shook his head, dramatically reaching up to wipe the nonexistent tears from his eyes. "That hotel is quite a sight, but its location in Ulensk is utter shit. You can burn it down all you want, I wouldn't mind. You didn't have to hide the fact you would raid it just to make a point."

Dread washed over Nikolai. It felt like this was the real poison taking effect in his system and halted his thoughts completely. How in the saints' name did Jarl know about the raid? Were Tolya and Tamar safe? Which part of the Don's terrified look had been real?

He watched the Brum Don stand from his seat and walked to the drawers behind his desk. He bent down to pull a bottle of wine out along with two glasses, humming happily as he went along. It was a baffling sight to see Jarl’s shift in his demeanor, especially from the perspective of a person who knew their way around manipulating their own emotions.

Was this how he looked like to other people? Awful and terrifying?

"You're a lot silent now, Consigliere," mused Jarl as he poured wine onto the two glasses. He didn't even need to turn around for Nikolai to know that the man was having fun having the upper hand once again. "Did I surprise you?"

Nikolai's hand clenched into a fist to keep it from trembling badly with suppressed fury. It wasn't the right time to act yet. He glared at the Brum Don's back, and with slow, silent movements, he carefully reached for the knife under his lapel and slipped it in the edge of his sleeve. The distress and fear clouding his mind may have been overwhelming enough to make him unable to answer, but he wasn't going to let any chances slide. The Brum Don took his silence as a cue to continue.

"Ah, don't worry. Your guys leading the raid in White Island Hotel is fine," said Jarl with a light laugh. "I didn't put extra security there tonight on purpose. So your guys are probably done turning the place upside down by now." Then he paused, lifting his head up to stare out the glass window in front of him. "It's actually your people who went to the arms factory I'm worried about."

Whatever composure Nikolai had in himself crumbled to nothing. No—

"You're probably wondering how I knew about it. Well, like you, I have my informants too. And that huge shipment of firepower last week? What other reasons did the Lantsovs have to have that kind of shipment aside from going to war? Doesn't need to take a genius to figure that out." Jarl walked back to his desk and placed the other glass of wine he was holding in front of Nikolai. "And what's the most convenient thing to hit during a war? The arms factory and its warehouse. It's only our luck that you sent Nazyalensky to her own demise. I did put more security in that place."

For once, Nikolai didn't have anything to say back. He usually prided himself of being able to make people bow down to his wishes, even if it meant threatening them to the extremes or just simply having a conversation with them.

And yet the mere thought of Zoya in danger was enough to spiral him out of his thoughts.

"I did surprise you now, didn't I?" Jarl chuckled, taking another sip from his glass. "You see, this is what I meant when I said no one dares to go against us. I'm always a step ahead."

Nikolai gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging at the Don. "What did you do to her?"

"Do settle down, Consigliere. She's not in danger. Oh, at least not yet. I haven't given them any orders." He paused, frowning as if he had said something wrong. "But that may change in a moment. Unless you do something for me."

"What do you want?"

Jarl raised an eyebrow. "That was fast, I haven't even blinked," he said. "It's quite a sight to see the great Lantsov Consigliere quickly bow down just because his woman is in danger."

"Just say your conditions, Jarl."

"You will agree to sign a contract that would legally make the Lantsovs as the Brums' subsidiary."

Nikolai looked at the Don with utter disbelief like he had just grown another head on his shoulder. Jarl must have been joking. Maybe Zoya was alright and had already handled the situation at Halmhend. Nikolai's irritation suddenly flared. His thinking was becoming too unstable—which wasn't ideal for his current situation. And if he continued to let Jarl’s words get to him, he would certainly lose this fight.

"In fact, it's still quite a generous offer." Jarl tipped his head in respect. "It's for seeing through that coffee I gave you. And even surviving it."

"And what if I don't?" Nikolai asked, voice nearly a hiss.

Jarl smiled. “Then Nazyalensky dies. Very simple.”

“How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

Then as if on cue, Nikolai’s phone rang again, tearing his attention away from wanting to lunge at the Don. He looked at the screen, and it showed a restricted number was trying to make a call. And even though it didn't exactly show who was calling, Nikolai already knew who was on the other line.

"I would answer that if I were you," said Jarl, his tone smug as he repeated Nikolai’s line from earlier. With a confident smile that almost ticked off the last Nikolai’s patience, Jarl added, "It's probably important."

Nikolai looked down at his phone again, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough at the bright numbers glaring back at him, the call would stop and prove that the Brum Don was just bluffing.

But when it continued to ring, it stabbed fear into his heart. Zoya never called him during an operation, only quick signals and messages.

"Well?" Jarl mused. He took a sip from his own glass and raised an eyebrow. "Nazyalensky won't wait all night."

The urge to act upon his anger was now stronger than his will to keep on a neutral face, and yet Nikolai still held back. He wouldn't do anything unless he was sure he had every reason to.

But the mention of Zoya's name from this despicable man's lips was making it hard to keep himself from killing the Don.

"If you lay even one finger on her," Nikolai said, voice low with threat, "I will burn every single place you have until the flames reach you and you will be burning down with them."

A shadow passed on Jarl’s face, but it was gone as soon as Nikolai could blink, and there was the sneer on his face again. "Just answer the call, Consigliere."

Nikolai did what he was told and he swiped the icon to the right. He slowly put the phone to his ear, his gaze never wavering from Jarl.

The other line was quiet, except for the occasional strained breathing in the background. He fought the urge to call out for her name—it wasn't the time to give the Brum Don more leverage against him. So he waited.

Zoya, he pleaded in his mind. Please be alright.

It was a desperate thought, one he hoped that would be true, because he would have to settle for the last resort and the Don wouldn't see another sunrise after tonight.

There was another silence, more ragged breathing. Nikolai's vision was starting to tunnel as he fought for composure, and Don's smirk was only adding fuel to the fire in him that was waiting to be ignited.

A beat, and there was a pained voice that said, "Nikolai—"

Something in Nikolai snapped, and he was suddenly flicking the knife out from his sleeve and then hauled it at Jarl Brum.

It hit the man on his shoulder hard enough for his chair to tip back, and he fell over with a shout. Nikolai shot up from his own chair and slid over the Don's desk, landing on the ground next to the man and kicking the man's arm even before he could reach for the alarm button under the edge of the table. He kept Jarl's arm pinned to the floor with his foot, and when the Don tried to reach for Nikolai's ankle with his other free arm, he pressed his foot harder against the man's arm he was sure he heard a soft crack.

Dizziness hit nim like a tidal wave that almost threw him off balance. His vision swayed. Waiting for his body to adapt to the toxins would still take a bit of time, but he was being driven by his rage that he almost forgot he wasn’t here to kill the Don.

"Did I catch you off guard?" Jarl asked with a strained laugh. "She really is your soft spot, eh? If I had known earlier I would have—"

Nikolai didn’t let him finish and brought his foot down with force, completely breaking the man's wrist. Jarl opened his mouth to let out a scream of pain, but Nikolai's other foot had already hit the Don across face before he could make a sound. Blood dripped from the side of the man's lips, and he spit it out to the side.

“I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you,” Nikolai said. With casual ease, he nudged the handle of the knife with his toe, and it earned another shout from the man. A smirk twitched on his lips at the sound of the Don's agony. There was always something satisfying in hearing your enemies scream in pain. "Not looking so tough now, aren't you, sir? But do scream all you want. Your office is soundproof, isn’t it?"

Despite himself, Jarl still hadn't cowered back in fear. If possible, he only became much angrier than when Nikolai was goading him before. "The Families would know about this assault," he said through gritted teeth. "You're making a big mistake by attacking the Brum Don."

"Am I now?" Nikolai leaned closer, resting his elbow on his bent knee. He reached out his other hand and patted Jarl on the cheek. The man flinched under his touch. "And 'Brum Don'? All I see is a dead man."

Jarl’s eyes widened in fear. "You won't kill me."

Nikolai huffed lightly. "That's what our enemies in Halmhend used to say." He shrugged, and then reached for the Don’s uninjured arm. "Look where it got them."

With a hard tug on the man’s wrist, Nikolai kicked the desk until it was farther away from Jarl’s reach. He wasn’t taking any chances of the Don trying to sneak and alarm his men to his office. At least not just yet. They had the time for games later. Nikolai dragged Jarl to the wine drawer, throwing him off to the small wooden doors with a resounding thump.

Jarl groaned in pain, and yet it still sounded restrained as if he were keeping himself from making another shout. He was cradling his broken wrist on his lap, shoulder hunched forward enough for him to not show his face.

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Don't be shy now, I know you want to shout," he said as he grabbed the Don's fallen chair, standing it upright again and pulling it in front of Jarl before sitting down. He pulled out the lighter from his pocket. "I don't like it when they don't scream in pain."

There was no answer for a long moment, with the Don still in his hunched position. Nikolai eyed him sideways. The man's shoulders were shaking with every breath he drew, and the spot where the knife was lodged continued to leak of blood.

It was new to him to see Jarl Brum in such a vulnerable state. But he was still trying to put up the tough persona a Don should have, and Nikolai was determined to break him slowly. Inflicting immense pain was one of the strengths Nikolai learned in the streets that gave birth to his name.

“Still good, sir?” he asked in mock wonder. “You’re not as strong as I thought.”

The man shot up from his place on the floor, his other arm stretched out as if to reach for Nikolai’s neck, but the Consigliere had already anticipated it. He simply leaned back and grabbed the man by both of his arms. His movements stopped.

Nikolai gave him a sneer. "Courageous," he said with genuine respect. "But still slow."

He kicked the man on the chest, sending him crashing back to the drawers in a heap. Then Nikolai brought his foot down to Jarl’s ankle this time. There was another resounding crack, followed by a howl of pain. He almost smiled.

"Now that's the shout," Nikolai said. He stared down at the Don with pity. Jarl looked incredibly smaller for the Brum Don that terrorized everyone else. It was amusing to see how pain made anyone kneel to its extremities. "I thought your pride would still forbid you to scream. Make it louder for me, yeah? It sounds better."

"What do you want, Lantsov?" Jarl spat as if the name were some poison that stung his mouth. “Or should I say Opjer?”

Nikolai’s jaw ticked in annoyance. He knows too much. "Not 'Consigliere' anymore? I feel sad about that, sir." He bent down and reached for the man's arm, bringing his hand close to him. He opened the lid of his lighter and put one of the Don's fingers in between the edge of the lid and the case. "I'll be brief, which I rarely do as I prefer talking more." He paused. "Call off your men."

Jarl let out a laugh. "Too late for that, Nikolai. But I can almost assume that they're already leaving now that the threat was handled in the—"

Nikolai forced the lid of his lighter close, and the Don screamed in pain. The tip of his finger was set in an odd angle, with blood leaking from the damaged nail. It dripped onto Nikolai’s hand and his wrist, and then to the cuff of his sleeve. He inwardly winced in displeasure. It could be taken care of later.

He kept his expression impassive and moved to another finger. "Call off your men," he repeated.

Jarl’s face was twisted in cold rage, but there was no denying the agony he was under that he was still trying to put up with. When he didn’t answer, Nikolai closed the lighter onto the man’s next finger. Another howl of agony. He moved to another finger.

“Eight remaining fingers, eight remaining chances,” he said. “I will say it again. Call off your men, Jarl. I’m still being generous with giving you chances.”

The man only smirked, and just as Nikolai was about to break off another finger, a loud thump resounded somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The doors to Jarl’s office were rattling, almost threatening to come off its hinges. The Don's men had a good way of knocking.

"As I've said," Jarl wheezed, making Nikolai turn back to him, "too late to do that."

Nikolai tsked. "Very well," he said, and then clamped the lid to the man's third finger. He let go of his arm, and Jarl crumpled down to the ground. "A reward for being able to sneak past me."

His men were still trying to barge the doors down, but they were almost succeeding in doing so when Nikolai caught a glimpse of the light outside the hall through the small space by the door that was beginning to grow wider. He turned back to the Don.

"Let's make you a bit more presentable, shall we?" said Nikolai.

He grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to stand before dragging him to the chair. Jarl wheezed in pain as he tried to fight back, but both of his hands were so badly damaged he couldn't make use of them. The Don could only give Nikolai as much as a glare.

He forced the man back down to the chair. "No need to look so angry, sir."

"You won't get out of here alive, Lantsov," growled Jarl. "You are totally outnumbered. My men would—"

"Ah" —Nikolai patted the man on the cheek— "let's not get ahead of our predictions. Let me borrow this for a second." He swiftly pulled out the knife from Jarl’s shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"You and Nazyalensky are goners, Consigliere. Both of you are not going to make it through the night."

"We'll see about that."

Nikolai eyed the still rattling doors, and glanced at the bloodied knife in his hand. He would be at a total disadvantage, he knew, but it was better than having nothing. Besides, he'd had far much worse situations that he got out of, some that involved using bare hands and teeth just to survive.

Tonight wasn't any different either.

He approached the doors just as there was finally the sound of a wood splintering, and he pressed himself against the wall beside the entryway. With a twist of his knife in his hand, he reached up to remove the tie around his neck with his other, letting the ends fall loose onto his shirt. It would only be a hindrance to his movements.

The doors barged open and men in gray overcoats came rushing in. Nikolai tightened his grip around the knife and counted heads. Seven. Jarl should have invited more.

The man nearest to him hadn't noticed him yet, and he took his chance.

Nikolai stepped forward and pushed his knife behind the man's throat.

One.

He immediately pulled the knife out, letting it fly towards the other Soldier to his right. Blood spurted from the man's neck. He crumpled to the ground with a gurgling sound.

A sneer twitched on his lips.

Two.

He started humming. The remaining men finally turned to him with their guns raised, but Nikolai was already on the move. He collided with the third one. His hand closed around the gun barrel and the other to the man's hand, pointing the gun to the other Soldiers.

Nikolai pulled the trigger. It hit the other Soldier on the head.

Three.

He turned a bit to the left and fired twice on the fourth Soldier's chest.

Four.

Nikolai twisted, using the third Soldier as a shield just as the shots erupted. The body convulsed as it took the barrage of bullets. Then the shots stopped, and he pressed the barrel under the man's chin before pulling the trigger.

Five.

He grabbed the gun, aimed over the dead man's shoulder, and fired at the other Soldier. He immediately crumpled on the ground after the bullet went straight through his skull.

Six.

With a push, Nikolai finally let the body fall to the ground. He turned to find the last Soldier, but he wasn't fast enough.

A shot rang out, and pain burst on his ear. He stopped humming and blinked. The remaining Soldier looked at him with a terrified expression, his hand trembling so badly as if he was out enduring the cold winter night. Then he dropped the gun completely and he fell to the ground.

Nikolai approached him slowly, like a predator cornering his prey. The Soldier started to back away. But the tremors quaking his body were too much that he couldn't even move fast enough.

A moment later, Nikolai was hovering above him, with the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, and he immediately raised a hand to protect himself.

"No—"

But Nikolai already pulled the trigger before the Soldier could even plead, and he crumpled to the ground on the pool of blood from the hole in his head.

Seven.

The room went silent again. Nikolai reached a hand up to his ear, feeling the sticky wetness around it along with the sting of pain. When he looked at his hand, his fingers were drenched in blood. He huffed. At least they were able to nick him.

He turned back to Jarl, who was still sitting idly on his office chair, the expression on his face was a mix of horror and bewilderment.

"There'd be more of them in a few moments, right?" Nikolai asked mildly as he went and got his knife from the Soldier's neck. He wiped it at the edge of the Soldier's gray coat, staining it red. Then he put it back behind the lapel of his coat. “How many are there left?”

At the Don’s silence, he scoffed. He walked back to Jarl by the desk, grabbing the man by his collar and forcing him up to his remaining good foot. It’d have to do. An audience was still an audience no matter how few they were, and he wanted Jarl to see every drop of blood shed by his men for everything they had done, and for every life they had ruined.

For hurting Zoya.

Because in the end, he would rather let himself be the one to end all this rather than branding himself as a traitor for selling his own Family out and risking any chances of putting Zoya's life on the line even more. He could only hope Tamar would be able to reach her on time.

There was no turning back from this.

This tyranny had to end tonight, as it would only continue until the point of time where no one could stop them.

It was time to be the monster that he had been once more.

Nikolai dragged Jarl outside the doors of the office. “Let the hunting party start, then.”

---

Zoya struggled against the restraints bounding her hands behind her. But then pain shot up to her side from where a bullet had grazed her during the shootout earlier. She grit her teeth, glaring at the man in front of her. She would definitely break his neck the moment she got free.

The storage room where they had been holding her was guarded with three other men in gray overcoats. They looked stiff and alert, their guns poised readily to aim at her the moment she tried to do something funny. Zoya wanted to laugh. She understood the hostility around her, especially when there's only several of them left in the warehouse.

It was supposed to be much lesser than Zoya had expected—the arms warehouse should have been empty except for a few guards on patrol and a Brum Soldier staying in the upstairs office.

But instead of that, Zoya had walked straight up into a trap instead, with the number of Jarl’s men tripling and they were being led by Ivor Kravchenko, the notorious Brum caporegime known for his brutal tendencies when it came to taking down his enemies.

She had come to think that there might have been a leak of their own plans to orchestrate the simultaneous attacks against the Brums. They had been able to reduce a great number from Jarl’s men, but it cost all the lives of Zoya's men that were with her during the attack. Their blood would forever be on her hands.

The other thing she could hope for now was that Nikolai and the twins were alright on their sides of this predicament.

“You shouldn’t have left your Don’s compound,” she said. It was taking a lot of her remaining strength to speak. "You all left your boss' to the wolf's mercy."

The man, whom Zoya remembered as Ivor and Jarl's notorious caporegime, gave a dark laugh. "A wolf, you say? It doesn't matter, a lone wolf is no match for a whole pack," said the caporegime. "Your Consigliere might even be dead by now. Just like the rest of your men here. Don't get too cheeky now."

Zoya's rage flared, the urge to make the man suffer stronger than before. "You seem to be forgetting that I killed half of your men alone," she said. "You better make sure I don't get out of these bounds because it will be your blood spilled on the ground next."

This seemed to annoy Ivor, making him step forward in haste with a murderous expression on his face. But then he stopped abruptly as if he had just remembered something, and he straightened back up. "I could kill you right now and be done with it, Nazyalensky," he said in a low voice. "But I still just choose not to. It's fun to see the great Lantsov Underboss tied down at the Brums mercy."

"Chose not to, or you're still waiting for your Don to give the order like a good puppy you are?" Zoya said back, savoring the look of new rage on the caporegime's face. She gave him a sharp smile. "It's been an hour since you called my Consigliere and tried to rattle him down. You haven't even heard from Jarl ever since then."

Ivor snarled, and then he was grabbing at Zoya's hair and pulling her head back, his knife suddenly pressed to her cheek. Zoya smirked triumphantly. It was so easy to derail him—the whole Brum Family if possible. They were all bombs that were ready to detonate at any time.

This would be fun when she finally had him under her mercy later. But having to reach that point seemed very difficult and almost next to impossible, especially when there were ropes bounding her hands.

An realization dawned in her head when her eyes trailed down the knife near her face. She just had to make the man drop it somehow.

"Do not test me, Nazyalensky," Ivor growled as he pressed the knife harder to her skin. Zoya felt a trickle of blood run down her face. He traced the blood with the knife point lightly before hovering it to her skin again. "I can be merciless at certain times."

As can I, Ivor. "Suits you, then," said Zoya simply. "I have the freedom to choose when to be merciless. Unlike you, who still has to wait for a go signal from his person before he can bite."

With a growl, Ivor tugged at her hair harder. "Did you know what Jarl told me before I left to go handle the mess you will try to stage here?" he hissed. "He said that the Lantsov Consigliere and Underboss are the ones keeping their Family upright. If they were the ones to go first, they would all crumble, and he planned to do just that." Ivor smiled wickedly, the kind that spoke of a triumph gotten from a dirty play. "Starting with your Consigliere. I wonder how things would be if the Don suddenly decides to get rid of him."

She clenched her fists behind her, her fury burning cold in her blood. Nikolai was a lot smarter than the others give him credit for. There was never a dire situation that he hadn't gone through before—he could always find a way out of anything.

But their current standpoint only struck fear and doubt to Zoya. He was in their enemy's nest, the place where they had the absolute authority on everything. She had been reluctant for him to go alone, and yet he had insisted, saying that he had a plan just in case something went wrong.

And now that there had been a hole in their planned attack, Zoya could only hope that his plan didn't involve him risking his life more than he already did.

She would come and drag him out of hell if needed to.

"I'm pretty sure your Consigliere would run out of ideas at some point," added Ivor thoughtfully. "Tonight might be the time."

You can all dream.

Zoya gave a short laugh, and then she tipped her head back and struck Ivor's nose with her forehead.

The man shouted as he pushed back from her, dropping his knife and putting a hand up to his face. She quickly took the advantage and tipped the chair down sideways. Pain shot up to her side when she hit the floor, and her vision blacked out for a few moments. The blow to her head earlier only added to the dizziness that made her vision spin. But she shook the ache away and her hands felt around for the knife from the floor as the three men were still occupied with coddling their boss.

When she finally grasped the knife handle, she immediately tucked it to the insides of her sleeve before looking back up to Ivor.

Blood seeped through his fingers that were tightly holding his now broken nose, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Zoya felt a laugh bubble from her chest.

"Can't even take a hit, eh?" she called to Ivor, who only glared at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. "Come and train with our men, you'll learn how to brush off a punch to your jaw like it's merely dust."

Ivor let out an angry growl and started to walk his way to her again, but one of his Soldiers stopped him.

"There aren't any orders for us to kill her yet, sir," the Soldier said with finality. He looked a bit younger than the other men, but he had a sway on them that even Ivor stopped to consider his actions. "We should be patient."

Zoya huffed silently. Another well-trained pup, then.

The door to the room suddenly opened, and another one of Jarl’s men appeared by the threshold. "Sir," he said, gesturing outside, "it's urgent."

Ivor sighed in frustration. He gave Zoya another pointed look before turning to one of his men again. "Get her up and keep a close eye on her," he said stiffly, still holding a hand to his nose. "I might finally be allowed to kill her after."

With one last low gaze to Zoya, he stomped off the storage room. She huffed in amusement as she watched the Caporegime's retreating form disappear by the doorway.

"Petty ass," she muttered. But when Ivor's footsteps finally receded, she slid out the knife from her sleeve and started to cut through the ropes.

It was the younger Soldier that moved to lift her chair upright, his movements brusque and rough it made the pain on Zoya's side shoot up again.

"Easy with the moving, will you?" she hissed at the Soldier.

He sneered at her, pushing the chair roughly back down to its feet instead. "Witch," he hissed back, and Zoya had to laugh. The Soldier pointed the gun under her chin. "The only thing keeping me from firing is that the Don didn't want you dead just yet, and we're just waiting for the go signal." He pressed the barrel to her chin harder for emphasis. "Don't get too smug."

Men and their egos. "Sure thing, hon," said Zoya mildly with a shrug.

It seemed to be enough for the Soldier as he put down the gun and started to back off. But then ropes finally cut loose, and a smirk twitched at her lips. She kept her arms behind her and flipped the knife in her hand so that it pointed forward.

"Lapdog," she muttered, making sure the Soldier heard her.

And he did, because he suddenly stopped walking and turned to her again, a look of rage evident on his face. His jaw was set when he reached her again in a few quick strides.

He bent down and grabbed at her face. "What did you say, you—"

His next words came out in a gurgling mess when Zoya's hand shot up and pushed the knife into the man's throat.

She reached for the man's gun with her other hand just as the two other men noticed what was happening. She aimed and fired at the two of them before they could even raise their guns to shoot, and they crumpled to the ground with a thud.

The Soldier clawed at his neck desperately, his movements panicked. Zoya looked at him pitifully before yanking the knife out. The man fell to the ground.

She wiped her bloodied hand and knife to the squirming man's coat for a moment, staining the fabric blood red. His other hand still tried to reach for her ankle, but Zoya merely stepped away.

Then she pointed the gun to the Soldier's face. "For gunning down my men," she said before shooting him in the head.

He slumped to the ground, lifeless. Zoya winced at the sudden sting that pierced her side, and she almost doubled over. She checked her wound. The long line of the bullet graze was still oozing with blood, but much lesser than before. She would have to put up with it for now; she needed to have a talk with Ivor first.

Rushed footsteps echoed outside just as she neared the door. She immediately pressed herself against the wall beside the doorway and waited. A few moments later, the door barged open, and Ivor and another man came rushing in.

They hadn't noticed her yet, and Zoya sprang.

She raised her gun and shot the Soldier in the head. Ivor turned just as she aimed the gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger. He reared back with a shout, and Zoya swiped the gun up and whacked him across the face with the stock. Ivor crashed to the floor.

But when she finally got a closer look at the man's face, she realized it wasn't Ivor at all. The Soldier was only wearing the Caporegime's coat.

Zoya gritted her teeth as she pointed her gun to the man. "Where's Ivor?" she hissed.

He didn’t answer, and it made her anger flare even more. She put her finger closer to the trigger.

"Where—"

A crack of gunshot, and then a flash of excruciating pain on her other side just below her ribs. Zoya backed a few steps, dropping her gun and putting a hand to her side. When she checked on it after a moment, her palm was already covered in red.

"Miss me?" Ivor called out from the door.

Zoya didn’t have the strength to turn completely, and she crashed to the floor. The surroundings blurred into a mess of colors, the sudden flash of lights adding to the swaying of her vision. She put a hand to her wound, and she stifled a groan when another wave pain shot up to her body.

Ivor's figure appeared in her line of vision, his steps slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world. Zoya could only do as much as glare at the Caporegime, at the broken nose that had the faint traces of dried blood around it, and hoped for the Saints to give her enough strength to kill the guy right then. But her wishes were ignored and the pain only became worse.

"You think you could get out of my watch that easily?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you were better than this."

"Come closer and I'll show you," Zoya snarled.

"A real tough one, aren't you? Even as you lay dying, you can still make someone cower in fear." Ivor laughed loudly, and it was like the sound of a chair being scraped off a tiled floor. "I had to admit I was impressed on how you got that knife. That was neat."

Zoya blinked. He had known?

As if he had heard her thoughts, Ivor chuckled darkly. "Oh, I did notice. That's why I staged a little dress up with one of my Soldiers here after the phone call. Always did the trick."

"Staged?" Zoya laughed, but it came out as a wheeze instead. "Did you really just use your men as bait just to kill me dramatically?"

"Ten points for Nazyalensky!" Ivor announced before raising his gun and pointing it at the Soldier he had made to wear his coat. "We're busted, unfortunately. Thank you for your service." Then he pulled the trigger.

Zoya winced at the sound of the dead body falling to the ground. She shook her head. "You're mad, Kravchenko."

"That, I am. But you know who's worse?" He bent down a little as if to tell some secret. Then he pointed two fingers at her. "You two." He paused to laugh again, and then he started pacing back and forth.

She took the small distraction to pull the handgun closer to her and hide it under her back. And when he stopped and stared back down at her, she noticed something strange. There was a wild look in his eyes, the deranged kind of glint of a paranoid man.

Ivor waved his gun carelessly in the air. "Oh, don't worry I finally have the order to kill you."

Zoya turned to her bad side slightly, bearing the pain that washed over her again and reaching for the gun she had hidden behind her.

"Worry not, Nazyalensky. You're going to meet your Consigliere soon," said Ivor. "The Don never planned to let your Consigliere get out of there alive, you know. The chance was too good to let it pass. He was a dead man the moment the Don accepted the meeting."

She knew Ivor was trying to get to her head, and she knew better that she shouldn't let it, but it was proving to be difficult when it was Nikolai’s safety being used against her. It was then she remembered this was what Ivor was known for—tormenting his enemies rights before he killed them. But Zoya knew to herself that she would have preferred physical torment than this. She wouldn't even have the chance to know if Nikolai was safe from any danger.

A bittersweet laugh bubbled from her chest. Even in near death circumstances, Nikolai was still her headache. She could only hope he would be able to get through tonight.

Zoya gripped the gun tightly. She wouldn't this man torment her until her last breath. Not without bringing him down with me.

Ivor was seething when he was checking his gun chamber. Something was definitely wrong with him. Had something come up after that phone call?

"This is a payback to your Consigliere for acting stupidly. And for what he's done," he said and he shook his head, fury and annoyance evident on his face. "He's so going to pay for that. I can't wait to kill him myself—" He stopped abruptly and turned back to Zoya. "You'll meet him soon, Nazyalensky. Don't worry, I'll make it—"

With what's left of her strength, Zoya lifted her arm and fired at the Caporegime, emptying the whole gun's whole clip at him. Ivor convulsed with every bullet he took, his eyes wide in shock as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

When the gun only gave a click, Zoya let her arm fall. A triumphant smirk twitched at her lips as she watched Ivor's bewildered expression. His hand fell limp at his side, and he looked down at the holes on his chest.

A scoff tore from his throat, and along with it came blood that leaked from his lips. His expression turned from shocked to angry in a blink. With a shaking hand, he pointed his gun back at her. "You witch—"

There was a crack of gunshot. Zoya closed her eyes and waited for the momentary pain before the end.

But it didn't come.

There was a loud thud, like the sound of a body falling to the floor, and she opened her eyes again.

Ivor lay on the floor, lifeless, his wide, empty eyes still open. Blood started to pool around his body all too quickly.

"Zoya," a familiar voice said.

Through her blurry vision, Zoya could make out a figure of a woman approaching her in rush. Tamar.

She immediately held out her hand, and felt Tamar take it right away. The woman's other hand came to put pressure on her wound. "You're okay," Zoya said. Her breaths were starting to come out in short bursts. "Is Tolya—"

"He's fine, General, you should think of yourself first. Save your breath. You'll be fine." Tamar let go of her hand to pull out her phone. She dialled a number and started speaking to someone, but the words faded into echoes of distorted sounds.

A moment later Zoya heard Tamar's voice again. "Stay with me, Nazyalensky." She clasped at her hand, gripping it tightly as if it would give Zoya enough life again if she held on tighter.

Nikolai, Zoya wanted to ask her. Is he safe?

But the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming for her to stay awake, and she found her grip on Tamar's hand loosening with every ragged breath she drew.

Have I done enough?

She didn't know.

Be safe, idiot.

She took another breath.

Then everything went dark.

***

Zoya opened her eyes.

Immediately, a dull throb washed over her body that almost made her pass out again, but the gentle touches she felt on her hand kept her anchored down to consciousness. She drew in a shaky breath.

She was still alive. She has survived the ordeal. Tamar and Tolya were safe too and—

Nikolai.

Where was he? Was he alive?

Zoya turned to her right in haste, but she stopped when she spotted a mess of blond hair on her bedside. The grip on her hand tightened, and she felt her eyes sting.

He's okay.

"Hey," she said, voice still rough from sleep.

Nikolai instantly bolted upright. He looked like a mess, with his hair ruffled and the bruises and cuts on his face. There were traces of dried blood on the side of face down to his collar, his coat, and even on the edge of his sleeves. His hands were no different; the skin around his knuckles were torn open and red. But the worse one he got was his left ear—or what was left of it. He was tired and in pain, and yet he only had the look of utter relief and warmth in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.

There was an unexpected prick in her heart. Zoya wanted to reach out and hold him to her, to tell him that she was glad he was alive, but she couldn’t do anything of those as her body still felt heavy like lead due to the exhaustion and medication.

A tear fell down from his eye, and Nikolai quickly wiped it away with a tired laugh. Then he shifted closer, his hand reaching out to smooth the hair away from her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned against his touch almost immediately.

“You’re a mess, dear,” he said, his tone light with amusement.

Zoya huffed weakly. “You should see yourself.” She nodded at his state of dress. "It's not you to have your suit ruined like that."

“There’s always a first one, you know.” Nikolai gave her a wink. “Just not the thing I prefered. I can always throw it in the laundry, though.”

“You, doing the laundry? I know you’ll break the washing machine first before you can get anything done,” she said, and Nikolai laughed lightly. A small smile appeared on her lips, and she laced their fingers together. What she expected to be a gentle touch was a trembling grip instead. His hand was badly shaking. Concern washed over her as she looked at him in worry. “Nikolai?”

“I’m fine. I just—” Nikolai stopped. He laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob of relief instead. He shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. He still looked like he was about to break any moment, but it was gone in a blink and he put on his signature grin that brightened up his features. “But I guess I didn’t have to worry that much now, yeah?”

Tears stung Zoya’s eyes again, and she smiled ruefully. I almost lost you too. But she covered it up with a smirk. “They can’t get rid of me that easily.”

"I know."

Silence fell around them. It was unusual for her to have a quiet as she was used to hearing all types of noises, whether it be the angry and rising tones during meetings or the gunfire that followed after when the negotiations went wrong. Even at nights, which was supposed to be when everything was in peace, were still haunted by the voices of the people who had died under her jurisdiction, and their blood was on her hands.

Having this moment struck dread to her, because good things, even the smallest ones, always came with a price. And she wasn't entirely sure if she was willing to give up anything.

"Do tell me your thoughts, dearest Zoya," Nikolai said, breaking the silence. He smiled as he continued his ministrations on her hair. "When you're quiet like that, I'm worried that you might be planning someone's death."

Zoya huffed. "How can you be sure that it wasn't your death I was planning?"

Nikolai chuckled. "Please, you can't plan something that's already done," he said in amusement, and then his face fell after a second as if he realized what he just said. He smiled but it was half-hearted than his usual ones. "I like being one step ahead, you know."

"What happened, Nikolai?" she asked softly, not wanting to risk him shying away. Her hand tightened its hold on his. "What did you do?"

"I did what I had to do," he said simply. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he stared down at their joined hands. He rubbed circles around her skin, his touch feather light. "There was no other way."

"Did you—" Zoya stopped. She didn't want to say it. She wanted to believe that if she didn't, it could change the truth. But the defeated look in his eyes only solidified the truth.

“Jarl Brum is dead," Nikolai said. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he looked back up at her. “He died when his compound had caught on fire due to faulty gas pipes. And the Lantsov Consigliere died with him in the fire. It’s what the people would hear by morning.” He paused, and breathed in deep. Then he smiled his usual grin again. “He put up quite a fight, though. It ruined my suit doing it. What a sad mess.”

Zoya could only stare at him in melancholy. She didn’t even have the heart to answer his joke back. That was their last resort. They both agreed that if things had turned out the worst, he would have to settle with killing the Don. But that was before, when they thought that their plans were foolproof.

I should have known and done better.

Nikolai must have seen the look on her face, because he shook his head gently and his grin turned into a rueful one. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do that to yourself. I don't regret doing anything,” he said. He took her hand in both of his. “He was going to force me to hand over the Lantsovs to them, saying he’ll have you killed if I don’t. It was a deadend. There was no guarantee they won’t hurt you even if I agree. And I was never going to sell us over, anyway.” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'd rather get hurt a thousand times more than lose you."

A tear finally fell from the side of her eye. If this was the price she had to pay for having this moment with him, she did not want it. She would give up anything else to pay the price. Just not this. Not him.

“So, I guess this is our last night together,” Zoya said, her voice breaking slightly.

His hand reached up to her face and wiped the tear with his thumb. There were also tears clouding his eyes. He nodded gently, the sad smile still on his lips. Zoya leaned in his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I promise to annoy you to death so you would have enough spite for me to last in a long while.”

Zoya huffed in amusement. She had never hated him so much than she did now. How could he make it sound so easy when he was going to leave? “I already have enough spite to last for the rest of my life.”

Nikolai laughed back. “That’s good to hear.”

Another short silence filled the air, and Zoya looked him over. If it was the last time she would see him, she wanted to bask in the warmth radiating in his eyes and remember all the quirks he had, as if she hadn’t memorized everything about him before.

She lifted her hand slightly, and Nikolai went to hold it back in his. He turned his attention to her forearm, tracing the dark lines of the tattooed dragon on her skin. It felt like he was doing the same, memorizing a distinct feature of her that he would carry with him.

“I’ve always thought this one’s cooler than my wolf one,” he said softly, running his fingers on her skin. “You always get cooler ones than me.”

“Where would you go?” Zoya asked instead.

Nikolai stopped his ministrations, his fingers coming back to lace with hers. “It would be better if no one knew,” he replied solemnly. “Besides, I wouldn’t stay in one place for long.”

Zoya took a deep breath. This was their reality, and she should know better than lament over it. She wasn’t the type to let emotions take over her. But for Nikolai Lantsov, she would always be willing to make an exception.

“Maybe I can mail something from time to time,” he said. “Postcards and pictures, how do you feel about that?”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

Her Consigliere chuckled lightly. “No, I am entirely serious.” He shrugged. “Mail is the safest thing to get something across without the risk of being traced.”

Zoya shook her head with a light laugh. I’d take anything. “Whatever you say, corn salad,” she said, and Nikolai laughed. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over through her. The medicine must be taking its effects now. No, not yet. A few more minutes. “When do you leave?”

A beat, and then Nikolai said, “Soon.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You don’t have to be so excited.”

“Idiot,” she mumbled. There was a twinge in her chest with the nickname she had of him, knowing that it would be the last time she could tell it to him in person.

Nikolai tightened his hold on her hand, and she felt it trembling again. His eyes were bright with tears when he said, “I’ll miss that nickname.” I’ll miss you, was what never said aloud, but Zoya heard it all the same.

I’ll miss you too. Zoya gave him a small smile. “Just look at the engraving in your lighter, it will remind you.” Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she found her eyes drooping slightly.

Zoya heard him laugh softly, making her blink to shake the drowsiness away. Nikolai reached up to brush at the hair on her forehead again.

“Go get some more rest,” he said. His hand came down to her cheek, and he gently caressed her skin with his thumb. “Don’t fight it, I know you’re still tired.”

"I'm not tired," she grumbled back.

"Whatever you say, dear."

Her eyes were starting to feel too heavy for her to stay awake, but she still fought the drowsiness from taking over so she could still see him for a little more time.

"Go rest," he said again.

Zoya squeezed his hand. She was never the first one to ask. To their world, everything was a trade—you give and take. A request meant a desperate wish, and you should always be willing to pay the price.

But she had already paid for it, and it was only fair if she wished for one final request. Be it a selfish, impossible kind.

"Stay?" she asked. Even just for a moment longer. "You've always made a good bodyguard."

Nikolai smiled softly. I can't, was what his eyes said, and yet, aloud, he still said, "Of course." He tucked the blankets higher to her shoulders, his movements gentle and careful. "Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."

They both knew it was a lie.

Zoya closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't bear seeing him leave, and she'd rather have him do it while she was asleep.

Then he started humming. His shitty, off-tune humming. Her shoulders shook as her body racked with silent sobs, her eyebrows drawn tight together to keep her tears from falling. But they still did, anyway.

She felt him press his lips to her knuckles, and small droplets fall against her skin. She didn't even have to open her eyes to know that it was his tears.

"Good night, Nikolai," Zoya whispered in a shaky tone. Farewell. Be safe.

A short, heavy silence, and she heard him draw a ragged breath. "Good night, Zoya." Goodbye, Zoya.

His voice and the feel of his hand tight in hers were the last things she knew before sleep took over her.

And when Zoya finally slept, she dreamed that she would never have to let him go.

***

News about the death of the Brum Don because of the fire that caught his compound was heard early on the next morning. Television news, radio, newspapers, and even the social media boomed with the word, and it spread like wildfire.

It went even bigger when the Lantsov Consigliere was also reported to have died along the fire, with all the current evidence proving that the fire had been intentional. But none of them pointed to Nikolai. The investigation was still open, and it will probably go on for quite a while. The only thing that lightened the burden on Zoya’s chest was knowing that he was alive. He had known how things would go beforehand, and made sure that none of them ended up implicating the Lantsovs.

Always the well-prepared one.

The chair where Nikolai had sat last night was empty, as if he wasn’t there at all. The only traces left of him was the lingering scent of his perfume and the dip on her bedside where he had laid his arms on as he watched her with all the warmth in his eyes, the same warmth he took with him when he left.

Zoya felt her eyes sting with unwanted tears again as she looked out the window, but this time she didn’t try to keep them from falling. She smiled ruefully, a bittersweet feeling left in her heart. It was probably bad fate that had them cross paths, and it was also what separated them. But either way, it was still what had brought them together. She was thankful for that somehow, even if they only had limited time.

But then it struck her, that it didn’t always have to be fate that should handle things. She was the Lantsov Underboss, the one who drove the saintsforsaken Family out of the mud with the Consigliere. If there was something they were good at, it was handling things their own way and bending the odds to their will.

A near death experience had her questioning herself if she had done enough. She didn’t know the answer by then, but she did now.

I am not done yet.

She wouldn’t give up on Nikolai that easily. Even if it took her years to do it. She would bring him back.

Because she knew he would do the same for her.

I’ll see you again, Nikolai, she vowed. And it wouldn’t be the last.

Zoya would make sure of it.

***

A/N: if you’ve reached this far, please know i appreciate you ;-;

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 3 years

Text

General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: I have been sitting on this chapter for so long I know @daydreamsofren is not looking forward to this one even though she’s read some of it already 😢

Warnings: Implied abuse, don’t judge Hux too harshly, Kylo knows more than he lets on. Many, many people die.

Word Count: 3195

Read Chapter 17 here on AO3.

Judging by the amount of meals you’d been served, you had been in this dank cell for two weeks. Either they didn’t know what to do with you or they had forgotten you, leaving your shivering form in the bowels of the ship to rot. No one had stopped by, everytime the door opened, hope flared that it was Hux, even Kylo but it was always just a trooper holding a tray of food or a quick trip to the shower, until today.

The troopers roughly grabbed you from the corner in your cell. You resisted until one raised his hand to strike you across the face, cowering, your eyes closed, you waited for the pain but it never came.

“Think about where we’re taking her.” You cracked your eye open to see the trooper drop his hand, the other one half body blocking you. “She may be a treasonous bitch but there’s nothing to stop the Grand Marshal from killing us if we lay a hand on her.” He stooped down and hauled you up by your arm. “She will cooperate.” You winced at the right grip he had on your arm. “Right?” You nodded slightly as hope surged through you.

Were they taking you to see Armitage?

Has some information come to light?

Maybe some evidence to help clear your name?

Your feet skimmed the floor in uneven steps as the troopers dragged you through the ship, the cuffs binding your wrists were unforgiving against your skin but you took the hurt. Your excitement grew the closer you got to the bridge, officers, admirals and lieutenants littered the corridors all speaking in hushed tones as you were dragged passed but the spark of hope burned brightly inside you. If you could just see Armitage’s face you’d know what fate awaited you.

You were thrown onto the floor at their feet, Kylo Ren had his mask on, barely casting a glance in your direction but you didn’t care about him. Your attention was solely on Armitage, his overcoat hid his body but you could see from the tension in his neck and the way he ignored the sound of you falling to the floor that this wasn’t good.

A blue holo-image of General Pryde was standing before them, a knowing smirk on his face as he cast a glance in Hux’s direction at your undignified arrival. You wanted to spit at the man’s feet, knowing what he’d done to your husband all those years ago but you didn’t dare. If only you’d known before, maybe if you survived this you could finally tell him what you really thought of him.

“We are ready, Allegiant General Pryde.” Rumbled Kylo from his mask. “You may begin.” The blue image paced to the left and he shouted an order to prime the cannon, now your gaze was drawn to the planet that loomed below you. The permanent grey clouds roiled across the surface, the rich green land and the deep blue seas hidden beneath the thick blanket of weather, but you knew it was there. This was Arkanis, your home planet, Hux’s home planet.

You flinched as Kylo moved, stepping behind Hux to haul you to your feet, the cuffs falling away to your surprise. His mask dipped to your eye level, the black sightless pits seemingly boring into your soul and you tried not to shiver at the feeling.

“Behave.” His grip on your sore wrist emphasised his command and you gave a single nod in understanding. He dragged you to stand next to Hux and you sneaked a look at your husband's face. He was wearing a blank expression, his eyes glassed over as though he was bored with this whole show but you saw the muscle twitch in his cheek, the subtle flex of his jaw and you knew he was stressed. Maybe seeing Arkanis again was enough to bring this reaction out of him, but you got the sense something else was at play here. The amount of personnel on the bridge made you slightly nervous, you’d never seen it so busy before. Mitaka stood rigidly to the side, his gaze sliding over you like you weren’t even there.

Kylo pointed and your gaze followed the line of his arm seeing another destroyer in orbit next to the Finalizer, the resurgent-class ship was facing the planet, a huge axial super-laser cannon nestled on the underbelly started to glow and your gaze flitted to the holo image of General Pryde. Horror dawned on you as soon as the word “Fire” left his mouth and without thinking your hand snatched Hux's in a tight grip. The shots flew from the gun, firing with extreme accuracy and power, penetrating the surface of your homeworld.

The reaction was slow, the wound in the crust ripped at an agonising pace from up here, debris rose high into the atmosphere, the red lava from the centre of the planet was evident through the clouds and you blinked tears out of your eyes at the sight. All those people, your people. No warning, an entire planet eradicated before you, a planet whose allegiance was to the First Order. You felt Armitage’s fingers close around yours and a slight gasp escaped you at the sensation. It felt like your entire life was being wiped before your very eyes, your history, your home, friends, family, everything that had made you was burning away.

“Isn’t it glorious?” Someone mumbled and you wanted to whip round and say something scathing but Hux’s hand tightened even more around yours in warning. You couldn’t help the soft sob that made your chest heave, your gaze pulling away from the destruction to look at your husband. The reflection of the growing fireball highlighted in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line as he tried desperately not to react. You looked down at your feet before turning to look up at Kylo, his mask turning to see your tear stained face and you wished you could see his face. Just this once, so you could read his emotions, but all he did was tilt his head towards the spectacle that everyone else was watching with a sick sense of awe.

Memories echo at the back of your mind, the sound of the Arkanis rain on the leaves, the rippling water on the pond you had stood next to when you first met Armitage. The house you had grown up in ringing with your childhood laughter, your mother’s grave, your friend's wedding, all blown out of existence. A blinding light made you inhale sharply as the planet began to collapse, the surface in burning turmoil until it became so unstable it finally exploded. You hoped the debris that was left would knock into the ships and kill everyone but they were too far away, the shields protecting them from any that did make it and they were out of the gravitational pull of the destroyed planet.

You closed your eyes, the tears still falling unchecked as the intense light of your dying world shone through your eyelids. You went to lean against Armitage, curling your other hand around his arm to seek some comfort for you and him but he moved, his hand untangling from yours as he went to check on the status of his ship leaving you standing alone. You heard General Pryde chuckle and anger blazed through you, your eyes fixed on the smirking form and you went to take a step forward, your mouth open to unleash your fury but a pressure started in your throat making you pause. You could still breathe, but the blockage rendered you speechless, you turned your fury onto Kylo but he just regarded you coolly from the protection of his mask.

“Take her back to her cell.” He commanded with indifference. The troopers grabbed you giving you no choice but to leave, making you realise this had been a show to get to you and Armitage. To make you realise that now you had nowhere to go, no homeworld to run to, no support system to hide you, in this vast Galaxy you and your husband were now more alone than you had ever been before.

You wanted to lean on him and let him lean on you, but that would never happen. He had made up his mind about you, he had what he wanted with his position within the First Order. He never needed you, he had said as much in Canto Bight. You wondered if those words you’d heard him say held more truth than the ones that followed, that supposed declaration of love. You were shoved along the corridors, your heart flaking away with each thought, knowing that you were going to die here. No one to save you, no evidence to clear your name and hopelessness fell heavily on you. When the door to your cell closed leaving you in darkness you wept, feeling the grief of loss at everything you had ever known and the knowledge that hope was just a dream for children.

After you had been dragged away Hux had taken his leave from the bridge, highly aware of Ren’s hidden gaze on his retreating back but he didn’t care. He needed privacy. He stood in the quiet of his own quarters, his hand flexing as he remembered the way your fingers curled around it. The feel of your trembling body against his as you both watched the destruction of your home world, obliterated in moments, everything you’d both ever known eradicated in a blaze of fire. He hadn’t expected his feelings to be so strong on this, he had hated Arkanis and the awful memories it possessed for him but also it held memories he cherished. His mother, the maze where he spent most of his childhood and meeting you, who made him realise he was allowed to have a moment of happiness. A foolish, fleeting moment. Your marriage had been filled with war and he wished he had not been blindsided, this is what his father had been trying to teach him. Weakness would bring his downfall and he had fallen into that trap and not even realised. If you’d stayed on Arkanis after the wedding none of this would have happened….or maybe it would have. His wife, you would have still been on the planet, moving in the same circles and probably moved over to the Resistance a lot sooner.

And you’d be dead. But he wouldn’t have felt the love for you growing in his own chest, he wouldn’t have experienced your warmth, he wouldn’t have felt your body shiver under his. He never would have breathed in your scent, or touched your soft skin and your death would have been easier to cope with. Because he wouldn’t miss you, he wouldn’t miss what you had shown him.

His hand flexed again, the shadow of your touch still affecting him even now. He stood silently staring at the table top, his gloved fingertips gently resting on the surface lost in his swirling thoughts. You were going to die anyway, you had performed an act of treason and he couldn't save you from this, not without losing everything he had worked so desperately hard for. Was it worth it? He clearly didn’t deserve the happiness you had bestowed upon him, and now he had to make the decision if he could live with or without you. He felt anger manifest in his chest, he shouldn’t have to make this decision, if only Ren had kept his hands to himself, the petty jealousy that the oaf harboured had ruined this for him…..hadn’t it? Hux visibly deflated with a sigh, he was the one that agreed to be a suitor for you. His father had owed your father a favour and Hux had agreed to repay, so he was responsible for this, all of these events that had led…to this. He had the power to say no, he had the wealth to pay your father off but he knew it would be squandered and you’d still be left with nothing. And now….you only had your life left and he was probably going to take that too. He had lost the few people that were close to him, the Galaxy just proving his father was right yet again.

Raising you is such a waste of my time.

You are such a waste of space, a useless fool!

What are you good for boy if you can’t even carry a tray of drinks?!

You are an embarrassment!

So disappointing…

You think I would turn this project over to you? Brainless idiot, you are not worthy of the glory it would bring.

You are not worthy of anything…

You don’t deserve the life I have given you.

No one could ever love you….

But you had. Even if it was fleeting, it had been there blazing, alive, existing. And it was going to end like everything else.

A notification made the screen of his datapad light up and his gaze was drawn to it, your prisoner number leaping out at him and the decision he had to make was now upon him. He straightened, clearing his thoughts and focussing on the task at hand. He adjusted his cuff, his gloved hand brushing the material in such a simple, comforting motion and he felt everything falling away. He slipped behind the mask that had protected him all through his life, the blank face that showed nothing of his inner turmoil. The armour he placed over himself had grown impenetrable over the years and he leaned on it heavily. He was going to need it now, more than ever.

He hated it, the way your face lit up when you saw him at the door of your cell. You were huddled in the corner, your head buried in your hands, tears streaming down your face and he nearly, nearly halted this whole thing. But he couldn’t, he had no choice, the wheels were in motion, there were rules, regulations. He had to harden himself more, if anyone else under his command had performed the treason you had they would be dead already. Because that's what it was, an act of treason. You rushed to him, hushed pleas falling from your lips as you begged him not to go through with this, you were innocent, you didn’t know what you were doing even though he’d found you at a Resistance sympathisers wedding. He concentrated on the evidence and how it stacked against you, he couldn’t ignore it, he couldn’t forget the echoes of pain that clawed at his heart. You had done this, you. Betraying him, the First Order, the Supreme Leader…

You pawed at his paralysed form, tugging on his uniform with your desperate hands as he just stood there staring at the wall over your head. Finally his hands grabbed yours in a vice like grip to stop you touching him, he needed you to stop. He said your name in a deadpan voice, listing off your treasonous act followed by the sentence. Death. You were frozen, your mouth open in horror that he would go this far, that he would allow this to happen but he had no choice. You had gone against him, you had sided with the scum of the Galaxy and he would treat you as such no matter how much it obliterated his soul. The troopers moved into the cell, ripping you from his grip and he found himself holding on for just a moment, to feel your soft skin, to smell your wonderful hair. Just a moment, frozen in time so he could remember the feeling of you for the rest of his life and then you were being dragged away. Your screams echoed down the hallway but he couldn’t move, his boots were rooted to the grated floor, tears threatened to fall but he grit his teeth and fought them.

Please! Please no! Armitage! Please, please! He could not show weakness, he could not show feeling, if he did he would lose everything. But you were his everything…

He blocked out the inner voice, wishing for the first time in his life that his fathers voice would override his feelings like it always did, snapping him back onto the right path with the brutality he needed, but it didn’t come. Just your pleading screams, still echoing around him tearing pieces of him away with every screech. He finally moved to the cell door, leaning against the frame heavily as his breath left his body. He couldn’t get enough air in, he needed you. Where were you? He whispered your name, but you weren’t here and he couldn’t hear you anymore.

A shot rang out down the hallway and Hux's head snapped towards the sound.

“No….” He had to see. He stumbled forward, the corridor swimming before him and he had to use the sides to steady himself. The troopers closed the trash shoot just as he got there, Kylo Ren standing watching, making sure the task was done. Making sure you no longer existed. The pain that lanced from his heart was excruciating, making his legs give way so he fell hard to the floor drawing all their attention.

“You, take the General back to his quarters and get a medic, you, come with me.” Kylo went to turn away but the trooper just stood there staring at Hux. “Trooper! Don’t make me send you for reconditioning!” The trooper jumped and hurried to Kylo’s side leaving a struggling Hux in the arms of the other.

Kylo marched through the corridors of the Finalizer, the trooper hot on his heels. He could tell no one knew what he’d done, the other trooper he had bent to his will, he’d have no recollection of what had transpired. He could still feel the ripples through the force from Hux no matter how hard he tried to shut him out until finally a medic sedated him and the waves stopped, the force becoming still once more. Or so he thought, the chaotic energy that followed the trooper behind him was distracting but he had to focus. At the far end of the hangar TIE’s lined the bays and he paused at the stairs, the trooper nearly colliding with his back.

“Take this TIE.”

“I-I can’t fly it!” Kylo looked round seeing a pilot and called him over.

“You! FL-6194!”

“Supreme Leader?” Kylo raised his hand, feeling the pilot's mind and taking control, it was so easy bending them to his will, they were all so weak minded, so ready to obey.

“You will take this trooper and fly to these coordinates. Once you arrive at your destination you will terminate yourself.” Kylo could feel the thoughts falling into place, the settling of the mind, stripping the pilot of his panic and replacing it with purpose.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“K-Kylo!”

“Go. Now.” He turned with a flare of cloak, you needed to leave. Before anyone knew what he’d done, before anyone suspected, you needed to go.

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danwhobrowses · 3 years

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Castlevania Season 4 - My Thoughts

So we return, for the end Well, the 'end', there's possibility for expanded universe stories they say but for our current trio this is how we finish it

I've just binged it all so it's fresh in the mind, so I'm gonna look at the ups and downs of it all

You can also look at my review of season 3 if you'd like

Spoilers for Season 4, Watch it and get back here

So yeah, another great season, it had its downs but a lot of it had its ups too, which we will get to soon - but first let's get the negatives out of the way

What wasn't so good Nothing is perfect, and while a lot of these will be negatives they are mostly small negatives, stuff I felt could've been done a little bit better.

Saint Germain's heel turn could've been hidden So Saint Germain turning bad under the deception of death was a good way to establish conflict and pull back the rebus thing he mentioned in Season 3. But I kinda wish we didn't immediately know that he had broke bad, like we could've been super sly and coy about the fact that he's back and this time encountering Alucard only to be the orchestrator, like imagine the shock we could've had with learning what he was doing in the Castle then getting the flashback which drove him to it.

The rules of the ring change Last season Hector made the foolish decision of trusting Lenore, and while he got to bed a sexy vampire it had cost him all his freedom and the ring would prevent Hector acting against the coven of four sisters. But come this season it turns out that Hector was easily able to scheme against the sisters and invite the downfall of Camilla. Was a bit weird to establish that last season only to ignore it in the next.

The Patented Slow Start Castlevania has had a bit of a knack for starting slowly and Season 4 kinda did the same, things only really kicked off halfway through. Now of course we had to establish things; Trevor and Sypha being exhausted, the plans to resurrect Dracula, Alucard taking in the village and whatnot but we did linger on it a bit too much.

Striga's 'Day Armor' doesn't get enough time Striga took an ambush like a champ with a specialized armor that allowed her to fight in daylight. It was awesome and striking and looked absolutely badass...but that's the only time we saw it. It was just a shame really, granted it ended up that this was Striga's only time to fight, but we could've then used it for other characters, like the ambush dude who had his armor picked apart by the trio, or the Slavic vampire, just felt we could've done more with it.

CGI is sometimes a little shoddy The animation quality was mostly excellent, but that made it very glaring when some of the 3D rendering kinda hit an uncanny valley. I think the one that was most iffy was when Varney jumped into the mirror and then the mirror fragments just kinda wiped into the ground - even though Isaac's mirror tore a hole in the air - it was just a bit off-putting at times.

Couple of things left behind So when we ended it felt like we wrapped a lot of things up...except 2 things. One, where is Saint Germain's unnamed kickass lover? We caught her silhouette just walk away so we know she wasn't killed by Death, she's just 'out there' now. We also never got back to Targoviste, whose survivors must be wondering how to function since Sypha their only hope kinda disappeared on them, they'll also learn that their royals are dead, so it would've been nice to wrap that up.

Our heroes decide to use weapons sparingly In terms of arsenal we knew that our trio had a lot. The weird thing is that in some fights they just wouldn't use what would've been handy to them. There's of course Chekov's god dagger - which we didn't get too much explaining on - but Trevor would often just not use his Morningstar or Vampire Killer at times, even against two vampires, Sypha also seems to have forgotten how to use her wind magic or used her ice buzzsaw extremely sparingly and now Alucard can suddenly have bird wings...which could've been useful in prior fights.

We still lacked intelligent Night Creatures, and the badass vampires were underused So I still feel like it was very missed that the sentient night creatures of Season 1 didn't return still, especially since they were death's creatures. The one's dialogue with the priest is still among Castlevania's best and it's a shame we missed out on seeing more of it. In addition, the Ambusher's squad of vampires looked pretty cool, but like Dracula's council ended up just being swatted away after one fight, the same can be said with the Slavic vampire that was rolling with Varney. They didn't even get the pre-battle slaughter that Dracula's council did, Godbrand got more than these guys and that's a shame.

We don't get Bloody Tears or the Full Opening So the music was good, but we didn't get Bloody Tears again. For the final chapter of this saga it would've been better than using the opening song when the trio were together. Speaking of the opening song, we could've had the full length opening that we loved to see, small stuff but it would've elevated it.

Sypha is pregnant, because...because! So Sypha being pregnant is sweet, but it wasn't really needed aside from the throwaway 'trefor' joke which Alucard did better. Also that baby has gone through a lot, it's not like Sypha's been skipping in a meadow these past few weeks. Also they really gloss over how Trevor knows this and she doesn't

Some of this could've been done in a Season 5 This is more the fault of Netflix I'm guessing, since it does feel like after Season 3 we had much more to tell, but it did feel like some of the characters skipped a load of development. At the end of Season 3, Hector was beside himself in the fact that Lenore enslaved him, Isaac was still very bent on killing everything, Camilla is soaking in her genius and Alucard is more closed off than ever, but in Season 4 Hector is much more content and now has some legitimate connection to Lenore, Lenore is treated as sympathetic, Isaac is eating berries with a new outlook and Alucard decides to rescue a village because they asked, also he has a shield now. It does feel like half of what Season 4 had could've been in a Season 5, and then Season 4 could've built between having the growth be showed; Lenore feeling left out and confiding in Hector, Isaac deciding to bury the dead and rebuild the city, Trevor and Sypha having some friction in their relationship and Alucard not helping someone in need and then regretting it. As I said, this is probably not the show's fault, they were likely told that Season 4 would be it and they had to make do with it but in a vacuum it would've been nice to have had a little more build.

What was Awesome about it So I could easily just say 'the rest of it' but I guess I can afford to be a little more detailed.

Great Animation Aside from the CGI at times the animation was a top grade of excellence. I mean I watched the current My Hero Academia episode which really was pushing its budget and still I'm impressed by this animation, the artwork and settings were excellent too.

Downside: You're turning into Trevor, Upside: You get a strong warrior woman as a love interest While Alucard could've used some more time to go from emotionally scarred by 'the twins' to sympathizing with the town's plight, his character dynamic with Greta was great. Greta herself proved an excellent late addition being both a capable fighter, a strong independent leader and someone who was more than just an Alucard love interest. If you don't like strong women you're doing it wrong basically, and Alucard realising how he's turning into Trevor was some lightheartedness to Alucard combatting his loneliness and depression.

The Dialogue remains just as enthralling as the combat One of Castlevania's great strengths especially in seasons 1 and 3 were their use of gripping dialogue, the philosophical confrontations of different parties envelop the characters in greater depth thanks to the excellent script, primarily for Isaac and his chat with the bug man. The Slav Vampire also had a fantastic monologue.

Characters remain complex After four seasons it would've been easy to make some characters one dimensional, including the side villains, but Castlevania kept with the morally grey. The psycho noble clung hard to her delusions but her motives remained pure, as much as she was someone on the heroes' side she also infuriated Sypha, Saint Germain was driven to evil out of desperation but he still believably made amends in the very very end, Striga, Lenore and Morana were all on the side of the villains but had doubt about the scope of Camilla's ambition and made them consider their very nature. Simply put, it bodes well when characters have struggles that affect their motivation.

Layered Scheming 'Bring Back Dracula' was a simple premise, but the show did really well in connecting the channels between 3 plot areas, Trevor and Sypha learned of the plot by continually walking into scholar vampires attempt it, in Season 3 it was via a Night Creature in Isaac's name to start it all too, this connects to the Hector & Isaac story through Varney who schemes with the former to enact the plan, but this also connects to Alucard's story thanks to Saint Germain also plotting too. It was a clever way to entwine all three separate stories which would eventually bring things together.

Action still kicks a lot of ass Castlevania has good action? In other news water makes things wet. But still we got some great brutal action we've come familiar with in Castlevania. It could've been easy to go overboard like other shows had, which'd zone in on one thing like gore or nudity but Castlevania remained consistent in their action, looking for new lengths of creativity that never pushed its bounds. Of course building up to the final battle where we took it up a notch for the crescendo. Also I continue to call her Sypha 'Fatality' Belnades because god she kicks ass.

Isaac and Hector grow up It could've been easy and satisfying for Isaac to just roll up to Styria, take his revenge on Hector and leave, acting in both anger and mercy. But instead the characters grew beyond it, Isaac finally decides to heed what the shopkeeper and ship captain were saying rather than the crazy witch, Hector accepts his fate but works to try and make amends his own way. When the two finally cross again we see that both have accepted their humanity and instead of working for someone else they look to seek their own happiness, they forgive humanity in a way and it saves themselves. Their understanding to 'let Dracula rest' also grants them payoff from being Dracula's loyal commanders.

Camilla goes out swinging Where was this Camilla hiding huh? Brutal, Lightning powers and a crimson sword, I mean the wardrobe seems to be a bit less than last season and not battle-suited but dammit did Camilla grip you in her scenes. Her desperation and madness in taking over the world set her up to her downfall where she was betrayed and overwhelmed by Isaac's forces, but rather than let him have the satisfaction she kills herself. It could've easily fell flat because Camilla had just been sitting around like a vampire Cersei Lannister last season and end up proving her frustrations right by having a man take her life but instead she took control of her life and went out strong.

The bittersweet ending of Lenore At the end of season 3 the scheming Lenore claimed herself 'the diplomat', but having been shelved and fonder of Hector than usual it opened the door to explore her own grasp of control. The theme of enduring being prominent in this season for all the arcs we had. We learned the tragedy of Lenore's situation though, as a child of war diplomacy was her escape, she isn't comfortable with peace or total control, she can only live for conflict. While she does like Hector, she ends up valuing her own freedom in the end; and though we could've given more time to earn that sympathy we still accept it as she decides against a quiet life of surveillance freedom with Hector - ironically as Hector has lived under Camilla's captivity - and instead chose death. It was a much more poetic death than gruesome as well, after mulling how she mourned her sister because she understood the nature of greed she elected to make a choice rather than live without making any, looking at the sun for once and getting one last banter with Hector before immediately fading to dust. In a show that almost prides itself on hypergore and graphic deaths, this one was perhaps the most tranquil deaths of the show.

Striga and Morana overcome the greed Which leads to the final two of the four sisters. Camilla consumed herself with greed and died fighting for it, Lenore had no greed but also had no freedom so chose to die in order to be free, but lovers Striga and Morana were not in Styria for Isaac's attack, they were on the outskirts fighting and seeing the struggle firsthand. Their conflict over how they agreed and disagreed on certain aspects of the fight was intriguing, with the intermission of Striga on a tear in her swanky armour to tilt the tone to Striga's side of the argument. A Soldier and a Politician, both agreed though that Camilla's ambitions only worked on paper, so when confronted with their castle overrun and their sister dead it became a matter of duty or survival. Instead of dying in a good fight, Striga looked past her desire of battle and agreed to follow Morana in living, and Morana gave up any political power she could have under an empire to be a mercenary. They didn't overreach, and it spares them their lives in a surprising conclusion where the 'bad guys' still kinda get to live happily ever after.

The ReHumanization of Alucard Alucard has always been a fan favourite, but in the world of Castlevania he still acts as an outcast. While helping the village and getting close to Greta helps bring out some positive emotions in him, it's his dedication to saving the people that gives the show some of its lightest moments, especially when he toys with the kids. In a way it's what he wanted from the twins, but they had lived to not trust and wanted to kill rather than survive, and he grew a community out of it. Allowing the town to settle is the ultimate payoff for Alucard too, because it fulfills his mother's dream, now there are people who know the knowledge that his father did.

Bringing the old band together We all knew that Trevor and Sypha were gonna reunite with Alucard sometime near the end, I mean it's a shame they ditched a city that cannot organize themselves but they were kinda needed in the castle. What's best is that the moment came in it was like they never left, perfectly in sync and bantering off each other, when they fought the top level vampires it was their teamwork and synergy which made them overcome - which is great battle narrative too because alone they were getting beaten. It's just the stuff you love to see.

Trevor is tougher than Death The final battle being Trevor vs Death was a proper Attack on Titan-esque boss fight, just peeling away at the enemy and trying not to get hit. As well as a feast for the eyes it proved to be an entertaining climax - in spite of the limited info we got on the magic 3-piece dagger - and in a way it paid off Trevor's character journey. When we first met him he was an outcasted drunk that wanted nothing to do with the world let alone his family, but now he's here fighting death to save innocent people, his half-vampire buddy and his pregnant speaker magician girlfriend, being willing to give his own life for something bigger than himself, and succeeding...thanks to Saint Germain who owed him a favour and one very clever unsung hero of a horse. To tell you the truth when I saw the trailer I was expecting Sypha to have died and Trevor to be pulling her out of hell by fighting death, but this still worked really well and was perhaps a bit more logical to the canon they set.

Death is temporary, Dracula is forever With all the attempts to revive Dracula one had to work eventually. But back at Season 3 I'm sure we all thought about what would Dracula's reaction be anyway. I mean, yeah he's dead but his wife is there, you really wanna be the guy who ripped him from his wife a second time? It worked though because the people loyal to Dracula never truly understood his grief, they only wanted to further their own agendas through him. So when Dracula does come back in the final scenes with his wife, we see that Vlad Tepes is no longer the vicious killer he once was, not for now anyway. Reviving Dracula may make people think that Trevor and Sypha's actions in Season 3 and 4 were worthless because he still revives but you do have to remember that they do still save a few lives and make a few less night creatures. In addition if they want to expand the universe long into the future they can bring Dracula back in older and disillusioned again if they see fit.

He has many faces, but you still know him At about episode 8 I was really ramping up to tear into the Alchemist and Varney for being practically useless characters, but then the show went and hit me with a great twist by having both characters being guises of Death itself, the proper big bad of the season. It was a fantastic twist which validates the characters, because it was super suspect that the alchemist know where the girl was and said you can't look at her rebus, and that Varney felt like a beta Godbrand but still managed to slither away from the fights. His design was excellent too, the crown was really menacing.

A Surprise Happy Ending! Like, could any of us imagined that? The fight ends, Trevor and Sypha live happily to make a family, Alucard has his friends, a girlfriend and a community that appreciates him, Isaac has his own kingdom, Hector doesn't get the girl or a finger but he still has his freedom, Striga and Morana have each other, it mostly wrapped up very neatly and was earned, a satisfying end which closes the chapter on our trio.

Conclusion

It is sad to see great shows end, Castlevania's use of anime-style animation with gore and a strong voice cast has done extremely well, especially for a show who only got 4 episodes for a first season. It did feel like Netflix didn't give it a chance, but it pulled it off big time and escaped Netflix's cancel hammer long enough to bring a satisfying story, and one can hope we see more of this style and universe either in more Castlevania stories or even the rumored Devil May Cry adaptation.

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