AN: In celebration of completing RE9: Requiem, I wrote this!
And, while I think that Leon is a pretty tragic character when you think about it and he deserves all the nice things, I found that I have to get all the thirsting out of the way before I can write anything soft for him, lol.
Anyways, I personally envision this taking place at some point after RE4 because I just really like Leon's personality in that game. Hope you like it!
Word Count: 3,424
Warnings: Explicit Language, Blood and Injury, Wound Care.
“If you got any complaints about my bedside manner you can go ahead and file them with Corporal Trash Can right there.” You said gruffly while nodding at the garbage bin –the one filled with bloodied gauze and torn wrappers from various medical supplies– that you had pulled up next to the chair that you’d practically dumped Leon into once you had dragged him inside.
You were in the middle of trying to extract a bullet from Leon’s left shoulder, the new gaping wound he'd acquired only an inch or so away from the starburst scar he’d gotten while in Raccoon City as a rookie cop, and you weren’t being nice since Leon had made the utterly idiotic decision of getting between you and a bullet like some kind of white knight.
Leon grunted as you dug around the meat of his shoulder with a pair of bullet forceps in search of the small projectile, the blond gritting his teeth harder around the ragged strip of his ridiculously tight shirt that you had been forced to cut off him in order to gain access to the injury, sweat beading on his forehead as you pushed the long metal rod deeper.
“Mmph, fucking hell!” The blond growled out between clenched teeth and you shot a glare at the blond when he spat the spit-soaked fabric out of his mouth with a harsh laugh, the weak grin he had plastered on his face twisting into a grimace after a particularly rough jab. “You ever think about switching careers? Because your bedside manner makes me think you'd make a great dentist. You've already got the sadism part down.”
“I always thought I'd make a pretty good butcher personally.” You shot back without even bothering to look away from the bloodied mess in front of you, your lips pressing into a thin line of concentration as you pulled the rod out a bit in order to readjust the angle before slowly pushing it back in.
“Jesus Christ. If you –ah– if you pull this off without killing me, I'll buy you a damn gift basket. Or a card. Take your pick.” Leon promised roughly, the blond flashing you a pained smirk when he noticed you glance at him from out of the corner of your eye. “But if you keep treating me like a goddamn pincushion, I'm telling command you're the reason I always go through my painkillers so fast.”
“You're such a baby.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing for a brief moment when the tip of the forceps scraped over something metal, before a wide grin spread across your face.
You placed a steadying hand on Leon’s thigh to keep him from flinching and fucking up all the progress you’d made as you shifted closer –all but straddling the blond's thigh– wasting no time latching onto the slippery metal with the little teeth at the end of the rod in order to carefully extract the elusive bullet.
You held it up in front of you as soon as you dragged it out, turning it this way and that in order to examine the projectile, before blowing out a near silent breath of relief once you determined that it was –thankfully– still intact so you wouldn't have to worry about any fragments, which would’ve definitely complicated matters and further hindered Leon’s recovery.
“There. Done.” You said as you unceremoniously dropped the bullet and bloodied forceps into the cracked bowl you'd found in the dilapidated kitchen of the safehouse that you and your chatty partner were currently occupying.
You moved toward the two medkits you’d ripped apart for supplies so that you could begin the tedious process of cleaning and bandaging the wound.
“Finally. I was about ready to brain myself against the wall if it meant getting a break from being carved up like a piece of meat.” Leon grumbled as he watched you grab some alcohol wipes as well as the small bottle of vodka you’d used to sterilize the bullet forceps before using it, the blond remaining tense as you collected what you’d need and turned your attention back to his shoulder.
“Hilarious.” You deadpanned as you placed a hand on Leon’s chest in order to push him back into the dining chair as you leaned closer to get a better look at the wound, ignoring the choked off sound that Leon made when he was shoved against the slat backrest.
You moved to pull away but paused when Leon’s hand darted out to grab your wrist before you could finish the movement, his face screwing up in pain as he exhaled shakily, his grasp loose enough that you could infer that he was just floundering for a way to ground himself as opposed to trying to restrain you or something. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed his touch to linger without a word of protest, giving him a much needed moment to pull himself together.
You kept your hand pressed flat against his chest for a moment, counting his abnormally fast heart beats and his purposefully measured breathing until his body calmed, the blond releasing your wrist with a look you would describe as ‘sheepish’ if you didn’t know any better.
“You know, I don't even know why I put up with you.” Leon sighed while pouting like a petulant toddler as he slumped back into the chair, obediently relaxing his left arm as much as he was able to when you tapped your finger against his bicep twice in a wordless command.
“You mean you don’t keep me around for my sheer animal magnetism? I’m shocked.” You snorted sarcastically as you ripped open a new packet of alcohol wipes and began carefully wiping at the drying blood surrounding the bullet hole.
“Oh, right… your animal magnetism.” He replied dryly, wincing when the cool wipe brushed across a particularly sensitive area. “How could I forget?” Leon scoffed, his bright eyes watching you as you tossed the blood covered wipe into into the trash and opened a new one, slowly but efficiently mopping up the mess until the swollen, irritated skin surrounding the wound was visible
“Alright. I got good news and bad news.” You stated as you threw away the fifth and final alcohol wipe you’d opened, rubbing your hands down with some clean water from your own bottle and shaking them dry before dumping the remainder of the vodka shooter onto your hands in preparation for what you had to do next.
“Gimme the bad news first.” Leon cut in before you could finish your thought and you rolled your eyes but still ended up humoring him.
“Bad news is that you’re gonna die if we don’t slow the bleeding down, quickly. The fat layer under the skin is exposed and I don’t have any dissolvable stitches on me, so I can’t properly close it. Oh, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that it’s going to get infected.” You listed off your concerns as you dug the combat pill pack out of the emergency supplies that the safehouse was stocked with, quickly locating the bottles of Moxifloxacin and Meloxicam you were looking for and shaking out one of each into your palm.
“Great. And the good news?” Leon asked as he took the offered dull red and bright yellow pills with his good hand, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a few long pulls from the bottled water that you also handed him.
“Good news is that your injury is located at a junctional area which, while not ideal because I can’t use a tourniquet, I can pack it with gauze before wrapping it up to make sure you won’t bleed out on me. It should hold up until we can get you to a hospital for proper treatment.” You said as you set all the supplies you’d need on the dining table, picking up the bottle containing a plain packing strip and breaking the seal before shifting closer to Leon, kicking his legs further apart so you could step between his thighs.
“Sounds fun. Come on, let's get this over with.” Leon sighed, already sounding resigned as he shifted around in his seat, the blond only settling once you braced your knee against the chair between his legs, holding carefully still as you positioned the end of the strip against the hole in his shoulder.
You glanced up from his wound in order to check if he was ready, doing a rapid double take when you caught the dazed look on his face as he stared up at you looming over him, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded.
You initially thought that shock was finally setting in –which would make sense with all the excitement– but then you shifted your weight and you were made painfully aware of just how intimate your current position was. Your eyes widened as you watched Leon’s pupils dilate in real time, the blond staring up at you like you were a piece of art to be admired, able to practically hear his thoughts enter the gutter with an audible clatter with how close you were standing.
“You know… for someone who claims to only tolerate me, you sure do have a soft spot for patching me up. You always seem to volunteer to be the one to play nurse when I’m injured.” Leon said, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice, and you rolled your eyes before abruptly beginning to push the cotton strip deep inside his bullet wound with your thumbs.
Leon grit his teeth and let out a sharp, guttural cry as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining with the need to move, to get out from under your steady hands and away from the pain.
“Well, if we're going by that logic, you seem to enjoy playing patient with how often you get injured.” You shot back without pausing, your eyes flicking up from Leon’s shoulder once to glance at his face before dropping back down when you made sure that he was still conscious.
“God damn it.” He cursed, panting and groaning in a way that sounded far too suggestive, the sounds coming out of him as you methodically packed the wound more fit for the bedroom. "You could have warned me, you bastard.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” You responded as you reached the end of the roll, keeping firm pressure on the raw wound to hold everything in place as you snatched the gauze pad off the dining table, tearing the wrapper off one-handed and placing it over the injury site. “Hold this.” You commanded firmly, impatiently waiting until Leon raised his good hand and put his palm over the gauze before letting go in order to reach for the roll of bandages.
“If this is your idea of fun, I’d hate to see what you’d do on a date.” Leon grumbled, his brows furrowing as he watched you open the packaging and begin meticulously dressing his wound, the blond moving his hand out of the way without you even having to ask as you wrapped the strip across his chest and around his shoulder repeatedly before tucking the end under the edge of the bandages to keep them from unraveling.
“Is that an attempt at asking me out, Kennedy? Zero out of ten, no way you’re getting any with weak pick up lines like that.” You quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when his eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise, his expression rapidly flicking through several different emotions before finally settling on embarrassment, his cheeks turning a bright, flustered red.
“I’m not– I wasn’t–” Leon spluttered as you stepped away and grabbed your own canteen in order to wash your hands over the bowl containing the bullet you’d pulled out of Leon –along with the forceps you’d used to do so– before mentally plotting where to begin cleaning up the mess you’d left on the table, as well as the ground surrounding the chair, while treating the blond.
“Uh-huh.” You said dismissively as you repacked the two well-stocked medkits –both the one you always brought with you when you were sent out on a mission, especially if Leon was your partner, and the spare that you’d found already in the safehouse– putting everything back into its rightful place. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” You continued casually, shutting the kits and securing them with a click before glancing at Leon, who had stiffened in his chair.
“Projecting much? I’m not the one with a staring problem.” Leon snapped back defensively, his tone holding a surprising amount of vitriol, and you paused in the middle of turning to put your medkit back into your bag to shoot him a dirty look.
“Hypocrite.” You hissed as you pulled a spare shirt from the bag you were crouched over and aggressively threw it at his bare chest.
“Brute.” Leon immediately snapped in response as he caught it and shrugged it on, his angry movements slowing when he had to maneuver his bad arm through the corresponding hole.
“Whatever.” You sneered, shooting him one last glare before pivoting in order to follow through on shoving your medkit back into your duffel, giving yourself a much needed moment to calm the petty anger that had sparked in your chest at Leon’s rude response to your harmless teasing. Talk about an overreaction…
You glanced back at Leon once you were feeling a little less like biting his head off, only to have the irritation that you had spent the last several minutes breathing through make a swift return when you saw him poking curiously at his injured shoulder, wincing when he occasionally hit a sore spot.
You immediately stalked back over to him and smacked his hand, Leon snatching his stinging appendage away from the bandages like he was worried that you would break his fingers if he didn’t move fast enough, looking all to the world like a scolded child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have as he placed his hands into his lap.
“Don’t do that.” You warned with a disapproving frown, eyes scanning over the wrappings to make sure that he wasn’t about to start bleeding through his bandages. “And you know what –while we're on the topic of what not to do– no removing the bandages, no getting wet, no lifting heavy objects and no strenuous activities. That includes jacking off by the way.” You lifted a finger for each rule you listed, staring Leon down to make sure he knew you were being dead serious.
The absolute last thing you needed was for him to permanently mess up his shoulder because he did something stupid.
“How charming, I’m swooning.” Leon said as he placed his hands onto his knees and pushed to his feet, his face blanching of all color and leaving him looking more like the B.O.W’s that the two of you fought on the regular once he was fully upright.
Thankfully for Leon, you were already reaching for him when he took a stumbling step forward, so you managed to steady him with a hand on his hip, wrapping your other one around his forearm before he had the opportunity to take a nasty spill.
“That’ll be the hypovolemia. Obviously.” You responded sarcastically almost on autopilot, the concern you were feeling at seeing the guy you’d personally witnessed walk off insane blows –ones he for all intents and purposes definitely shouldn’t have– struggling to just stand seeping into your voice without your say-so and taking the bite out of your words as you watched him sway in place like a drunk.
Your hands lingered on Leon even after he had regained his balance, your fingers absentmindedly flexing around his impressive bicep as your eyes ran up and down his body, eagerly taking in how the shirt hugged every dip and curve of his muscles.
Leon cleared his throat and you blinked rapidly –feeling like you were coming out of a daze– and your gaze darted away from his chest and back up to his face, your eyes widening as your cheeks heated when you saw that he was wearing his signature cocky smirk as he watched you all but feel him up.
You jerked your hands away from him like you’d been burned and quickly turned away so your back was facing him, ignoring the soft laugh that Leon breathed out at your expense in favor of sweeping the last of the discarded wrappers littering the table into the trash can.
"It's a good thing you're pretty, cause you're dumber than a box of rocks. Standing up so quickly when you've lost as much blood as you have. Moron." You grumbled to yourself in an attempt to hide how rattled you were at getting caught ogling Leon fucking Kennedy of all people, who was the most insufferable, egotistical, attractive, loyal… protective…
You quickly shook your head before your thoughts could derail completely, as if that would get rid of the little voice in the back of your head –the one that was gradually getting louder every time you worked with him– that pointed out all of Leon’s positive qualities, which far outnumbered the less favorable aspects of his personality.
“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Leon said with his usual level of smugness, the grin that you just knew he was sporting audible in his voice, and you valiantly resisted the ever-growing urge to either punch him in his mouth or kiss him stupid in order to wipe that infuriating look off his unfairly handsome face.
“Go lay down, Kennedy. Get some rest.” You sighed –sweeping your gaze across the dining room to make sure you didn’t miss any wayward pieces of trash– before checking your side arm and dragging one of the three intact wooden chairs over to the front window in order to sit down. It gave you a nice view of the snowy front yard and the long, winding driveway that led up to the cabin which gave you the advantage of spotting anyone who tried to approach the safehouse before they even knew you were there.
“Fine, fine.” Leon muttered, the blond giving an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his hair before turning to unsteadily make his way over to the ratty couch that was shoved into the corner of the main room and –in a move that was very uncharacteristic of him– gingerly lower himself down onto the shitty cushions. “But don’t blame me if I get bored and start bothering you again in five minutes.” Leon added after he’d carefully stretched out across the couch, taking up almost the entire length.
“Goodnight.” You said pointedly without looking away from the window, watching as the previously peaceful snowfall outside gradually picked up into a full-blown blizzard, your gaze straying from the white tundra outside when you caught sight of Leon in the reflection of the glass.
He had unholstered his own sidearm and rested his hands –gun and all– over his sternum and closed his eyes, the blond only managing to remain still for a few seconds before he was wiggling around again, the telltale shift of fabric accompanying the movement, as he attempted to get comfortable on the narrow couch.
You waited him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the potent combination of the drugs, pain and blood loss caught up with him and knocked him the fuck out, and you were proven right when you heard his breathing even out into sleep only a few minutes later.
Finally.
Leon was good at hiding it, but he desperately needed the rest –especially when he was in as rough shape as he was right now– and you were determined to make sure that he got it, partly because he needed to heal but mostly because you didn’t feel like listening to him whine about how he needed his beauty sleep for the next several hours if he was woken up too soon.
You watched him for a long, indulgent moment –noting how incredibly young he looked when he didn’t have his guard up– before sighing to yourself and refocusing your attention back onto the winter wonderland outside in order to take up first watch, letting the sound of Leon’s deep breaths and the faint whistle of the wind fill the peaceful silence.
CW: nothing triggering i think, reader can speak multiple languages and so can her twin, longer than my average chapter so very long for me, secret identities ig, manipulative tendencies, straight up gaslighting
TITLE: Mellifera Serpentes
You and your family⸺in reference to the Wayne family⸺aren’t close. It’s not that you don’t get along. No, it has nothing to do with getting along. You’re just not close. This is factual.
And, well, perhaps you do not get along. Maybe just a little.
(That time when Damian attempted to kill you and Diana smashed an entire cake on his face.)
So when you walk in from school, your junior year of highschool, your face fixed into a mask of indifference, the type of indifference that should radiate the idea: Please let me disappear into my room.
The stares are an unaccounted variable.
It’s unusually packed. The manor is mostly cold, rarely ever lively, and never welcoming. But today, for one reason or another, is different. All the bat girls⸺who are more often or not at the Clock Tower⸺are in the living room, excluding Barbara. But you’re more than willing to guess Barbara is somewhere in the manor, whether in her own room or the batcave.
Dick is in there, too, cuddling up to Damian on the couch. Or trying to, at least. Damian looks like a ruffled, very unwilling kitten. It’s no surprise that Jason is nowhere in sight, either probably working or at his own apartment, like a grown man should be.
And the strangest thing. Bruce, making himself some drink in the kitchenette. A half-formed joke about Bruce needing caffeine or alcohol at three in the afternoon floats into your mind, but It’s nothing but a bare wisp that’s quickly extinguished with the need to get to your room as quickly as possible without coming off as suspicious. You can’t melt into the shadows like you usually would, as much as you’d like to⸺that would just be giving your secret talent for being a sneak completely away.
You decide you are going to walk in and up the stairs to your room, in an completely orderly and ordinary fashion, in the way a completely ordinary person would.
Tap.
Tap.
You sling your backpack off your shoulders, sighing at the release of pressure on your back, only to hide your wince at the loud sound it makes when it dips lower than expected and makes contact with the floor. Nice going, [Name], you scold yourself. Their utter lack of attention to you has made you lax in your efforts to be stealthy around them.
Tap.
Tap.
You’re hurrying across the hardwood floors now. Anything to get away from all the gazes that are suddenly attached to you. Was one tiny noise all it took to get them to notice you? It had never been like that before. Why now? Why must they choose the most inopportune time? You regret your decision to hide the silence of your footsteps⸺anything to avoid the situation right now, you think a little humorously. Even if they did find it suspicious how sneaky you were. What were they gonna do? Investigate you? [Name], how come you’re silent when you walk?
Tap.
Tap.
“[Name].”
It takes everything in you to slow to a stop, just a step away from the staircase. You’d almost made it. You had been so close. Bruce clears his throat.
“[Name], how come the school called to say you were absent from one of your classes?”
Everyone is staring. You’re not anxious, not yet. It’s embarrassing, but what is something as little as missing one class in the grand scheme of life? Mostly, irritation prickles at your skin underneath your uniform. Of course Bruce has no consideration for your privacy. The whole family probably knew before you even got home from school.
You’re stranded with two choices: quickly apologize and put up a genuine front and then hope it blows over, or put on your best puppy eyes and tell him you’ve got no idea what he could ever mean. Which one will hit your dignity harder?
But then a brilliant idea comes to you.
“Wrong person,” you grunt, and then begin stomping up the stairs. The bluntness, the hard tone, the eagerly leaving footsteps; it’s all Diana. A near perfect imitation of her.
“[Name]. I know It’s you.”
You try to pretend as if you don’t see Dick and Cass nodding. Damn Cass for her freaky hyperfixation on body language⸺as for Dick? You’re not sure whether he’s bluffing or trying to play up into the idea that he knows anything, anything at all, about you.
You close your eyes, releasing a terse sigh before looking down at Bruce. “Father, you must be mistaken. Can’t you tell us apart?”
You won’t give up the act until it’s pried from your cold, dead hands.
You don’t miss the flash of hurt on his face. One, because it’s as clear as day, but also because it means it’s working. He’s beginning to believe he wrongly identified you. You press your palm to your mouth, hiding your smile, grateful for the way the shadows fall over the joyous lines of your face.
You would chide yourself for sloppy acting, but it’s hard because it’s so damn easy to trick them. It makes you want to laugh. It worked out better than you thought it would. Diana could fulfill her part of your play⸺come home, act clueless, smile a little and leave. She was more than used to pretending to be you. You two were two sides of the same coin, as both people and bodies.
The knowledge each of you had of the other was intimate, more than biggest dreams or deepest fears. It was a complete understanding of each other.
You feign a yawn. “[Name] stayed behind to study with some friends,” It’s a quick lie you made up. In actuality, it was Diana who stayed behind so she could take part in the art club. She’s probably putting on a smile, pretending to be you, and wishing she were dead right now. Or maybe that you were dead, so she wouldn’t have to put up with all your intricate schemes.
It’s hard to feel bad, though; you act friendly with your fellow students all the time. Diana can handle pretending to be you for an hour. “If that’s all, then I’ll also go to my room. To study.”
You level a glare at Bruce, before stomping the rest of the way upstairs. And you go to Diana’s room, too, just in case any of them come after you. You could always play it off as wanting to sleep in your twin’s bed if you were desperate to sleep on your own, but to you, it just seems more trouble than It’s worth. Besides, the opportunity to sleep on Diana’s bed⸺without prompting⸺doesn’t come every day. Just on the days where she needs help handling her nightmares.
You’re familiar with Diana’s room. Cozy, even. You don’t look around, just close the door behind you and flip the lights off. You said you were gonna study⸺but what self-respecting person actually studies after getting home? Not a chemistry genius like you.
You dive onto her bed face-first. The wrinkled sheets and haphazardly placed blankets⸺as if a wild boar had slept on the bed and then ran away⸺don’t bother you in the slightest. You and Diana share a lot of habits, after all, but if there is one thing different about the two of you, it’s scents.
Diana’s scent is sweet, like the nectar of a fruit, and you’re completely happy to breathe in her scent of honeydew drops and freshly sliced apples. Her scent of sugar is so sweet and calming, it completely lulls you to sleep.
You wake up to a cat sitting on your face.
You sputter, removing the cat with a quickness.
“Oh, good afternoon. You’re awake.” Diana’s sitting near her TV, scrolling through her Netflix catalog.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t wake up ever again if I was more unfortunate than I happened to be,” You cough up a few hairs. Being out done by an overly fluffy cat would be quite the humiliating way to go. “You were complicit to just allow the cat to choke me to death?”
“It is not my cat,” Diana shrugs.
“You’re so cruel.”
“She cried when I attempted to move her!”
“Get my backpack for me? Because, you know, you did just almost let me die on your bed…”
“You could have just asked,” Diana huffs, grabbing your bag and tossing it at you. You don’t miss the way her eyebrows raise. “Why’s your backpack so heavy?”
You grin, unzipping it. “Just wait and see, sister,” you pull out a metal case. “You know where I was, right?”
“Yes. With Jake’s dad.” She scrunches her nose, “He didn’t do anything to you, did he? That man is a creep. Unfaithful and unfilial. He didn’t?” And then she’s grabbing your wrist, crowding you as she moves closer, her presence becoming oppressive. Her grip is tight enough to break your wrist. It’s hard to breathe at the sight of her dark, threatening expression. “Did he?”
You smile at your sister’s overprotectiveness. It’s one thing that hasn’t changed over the years. Sometimes, you forget she’s just as trained in combat as you. You twist your arm out of her grip, “No, I’m alright. We were in public the whole time.” You push the case to her chest, “Here. Take a look.”
Diana takes it with a healthy dose of suspicion, still glancing at you as if to quickly check for physical evidence of a misdeed against you. She doesn’t find anything, of course, and so she obediently opens up the metal case⸺only to gape at all the trinkets that fall out.
“Is that a golden valve? And metal gears? A crankshaft⸺fuck, is that a motor?” Her eyes are positively sparkling. You think you’re allowed to take credit for the heartwarming sight. Or the feeling, at least. Making your sister happy is nothing short of an achievement for you.
Her excitement comes to an end eventually, of course, and she narrows her eyes as she scoffs.
“I didn’t know he was willingly giving away all his shit. If I had known, I would’ve staged a break in a long time ago,” beneath her sharp words, there’s a curl of satisfaction⸺and she wolf-whistles right after, so it’s no mystery how she feels. Diana is pleased with your gift.
You laugh, short and quick. “I wouldn’t say for free. I had to pull a lot more strings than I thought I would in order to accumulate these.”
(He may not know just how many parts are missing from his collection⸺but It’s not thievery. No, it was all willingly given to you! Even if you had coerced Jake into giving you some spare parts.)
“How did you get these?” Diana asks, though you can tell she’s only half listening, immersed in observing her motor.
“Horse racing,” you answer. “Jake’s father was surprisingly into it. We placed bets on the horses. If I won, he would give me machine parts.”
“Rich men,” Diana sighed, then smirked. “I bet you beat him by a long shot.”
A matching smirk curves your lips. “You bet I did.” You leaned a little closer, “And I had Clevian rig the whole thing. Mr. Leron didn’t see a single penny.”
Diana shakes her head and laughs gleefully. “How much money did you win?”
You whistle, then pout, “You’re asking the good questions, but I wanted to surprise you with it, my good sister.” You say, tone sulky.
Diana rolls her eyes. “You can keep all the money if you wish,” she says, dryly, “But that fucker better have reimbursed you properly for your time.”
“Language, love,” you sigh wistfully, but dutifully pop open another case, watching as Diana’s eyes widen in wonder.
“So I guess he wasn’t a complete waste of time. This is more than I expected,” she relents. “But not enough to forgive a fool like him for hanging out with a schoolgirl.”
Seemingly over your sin of throwing him off Diana’s bed, Mr.Cuddles brushes up against your leg.
“Is that what you’re angry about?” you muse, smiling, “Say, do you think you could pretend to be me and go out with Jake’s dad this Thursday?”
“What?” Diana shrieks, appalled. She crosses her arms, one eyebrow delicate raised, jaw slack.
“Please? All you must do is laugh at his bad jokes. I can give you which bets to place.”
You already knew you had Diana, even without the please. But you still slip in a little incentive⸺it’ll be a slice of cake for Diana. You let her know that, eagerly. Lord knows she’s pretended to be you in higher stake situations.
“Ugh, for one afternoon, I suppose I could.” But Diana’s begrudging acceptance is quickly replaced by anger, “That man wants to take you out again this Thursday? Shouldn’t he focus on his own wife? Or is even his own son too much to ask for?” She’s practically vibrating in place, “I should remove his fingers one by one and then sodomize him with it. He is undoubtedly lacking in the department of both father and husband⸺or even human decency.”
You withhold your laugh with such an ability that it is impressive, even for you. You don’t wish to enable this behavior, but you don’t wish to squash it, either. You know that the only place Diana can dump the burden that is her emotions off her chest is with you, in private. Even if it’s anger or comments too inappropriate to share in public spaces. Only with you can she be the girl with a glass heart and clumsy feet. Only with you can she be the lost girl who is stuck in the shadows while everyone else is found.
To others, she may be judgemental and cold. Jaded and cruel. But to you she has always been your little sister, the small thing bruised and crying as she tucked herself into a little ball, the missing part of your rib. Diana is your own. And you’ve always protected your own with the fierceness befitting the heiress of the Rhodendron family.
To others, Diana Wayne she may be, but she has always been Diana Rhodendron to you.
Your one and only twin sister, bound by both blood and flames.
“Hey,” you click the case shut, smiling⸺her quip had been funny, after all, and you are not immune to humor, despite your aunt’s best efforts⸺and set it to the side. “Why don’t we take down all your new parts to your workshop?”
“But you’ll get bored there,” Diana murmurs after a moment. “You don’t know the first thing about machines. And I need to finish an old project first.”
“Rude,” you tut, “And I can sit there long enough. I’ve got new ballet shoes to break in. They’re in here, aren’t they?”
Diana gestures toward her dresser, where a pair of hard vermillion ballet shoes, still laced together, sit prettily.
“Perfect,” you hum, sweeping them up by the laces. “I knew I had forgotten something here yesterday. Let’s go.”
The whirr of machines scraping hardly cracks your concentration. It doesn’t even chip it. Instead, it serves as background music⸺you’re completely zoned in on your shoes, which you bend over your knee and slap against the floor with all your might before you slip them on and begin to slowly bend your feet to different degrees.
Diana doesn’t say anything, also focused on her work, where she’s elbow deep in a car engine. Car grease streaks her arms and practically paints her hands. She’s wearing a jumper and some bright camp t-shirt, which you know she isn’t scared to get dirty because it already is.
Finally, when you begin hesitant pliés, Diana’s eyes flicker over to you. “You’re going to get your pointe shoes dirty, you know. You should go to the studio Bruce built for Cass’s ballet.”
“I know. But this corner is kind of clean⸺you haven’t gotten your robot juices on it. And it cannot be worse than when Clevian bled all over my white heels,” you wrinkled your nose. “Nothing can be worse than that. I had to throw those away in a dumpster and come home barefoot. I had to say I got mugged and wasn’t allowed to go anywhere unsupervised for a month...,” you took a breath, “do you wonder if Bruce knows about your little workshop?”
“I don’t think he cares,” Diana answered flippantly. “Beyond maybe that I received one of his cars that he thought was too old to work anymore. He probably thinks I keep it sitting here to look pretty.”
You smile. “I remember having to beg Alfred for that car⸺he had looked at me as if I had lost my head. It took all my charm and more to get him to agree.”
“Yes well, he probably doesn’t know you handed it off to me the second he turned around.”
“Yes, well, what’s mine is yours,” you shrugged with a chuckle, before moving your arms for balance. The shoes were a little stiff, but that was a problem that could only be solved with time. You guided your feet in the familiar pattern, ignoring the itchy tightness on your feet.
There was a grunt from Diana, the growly, frustrated one.
The kind you were familiar with, that didn’t mean any good. You stopped dancing and removed your pointe flats⸺not wanting to actually dirty your shoes⸺and opened one of the cabinets, the one not filled with metal, and grabbed a black towel, clothes, a water bottle, and an energy bar out.
“Alright, Einstein,” you said, a dry humor in your tone, “Time for a break. You’ll end up breaking your delicate pieces if you keep working with so much anger. You know how it is, for us. An unfortunate side-effect. Tone it down a little. You are aware the pieces are expensive to replace.”
Diana exhaled. The pent up tension in her frame leaving with it. You watched as she calmed down from her angry state, deflating. “You’re right,” she let her wrench drop to the ground. “Yeah.”
“Having difficulties?” You asked, already wiping her down without asking. She would still need to change, but at least after washing her down with the bottled water, she wouldn’t be stained a dark muddy gray. Still a little gray until she showered, but still.
“Yep…” Diana huffed, “A lot of this engine is obsolete if i modify it, and I just⸺why didn’t he take better care of it? No wonder it broke down. Of course, he’s a billionaire, so he can get a new car whenever he pleases, should he please⸺but still. If he had cared about it, even at all, it’d be a lot easier to modify. As it is, the old engine won’t work with modified parts. Ugh.” She scrubbed at her face, leaving a dark streak, “It’s annoying, but I can figure it out. Maybe I can modify the old parts, too⸺but I might need to switch out the gas tank and the tubes…yeah.”
You waited a beat once she finished. “Wanna go fire guns?” You asked, smiling.
Diana smirked at you sideways. “I remember archery to be more up your alley,” she jabbed.
“I’m proficient at both,” you huff, wiping her face. “C’mon. We have an emergency stash of clothes for this reason⸺look at your mess,” you chide.
“Sorry,” Diana says, sheepish. “I can shower before we go.”
You consider it. “Don’t worry about it, sister.” you reply, “No one goes down there besides Alfred. No one will notice.”
Diana nods mutely. You smile, finished wiping her face.
“Yeodongsaeng, gin-jang pul-eo.”
(Sister, at ease.)
Diana huffs a little. “Ce n’est pas un problème,” a beat, “Sœur.”
(It’s not a problem…sister.)
You laugh.
“Hold steady.”
Diana huffs, short, a little exasperated. “I know, sister.”
Your lips curl, cheesy, unrepentant. “I know, too. But each time still feels like the first time.”
Diana looks up to the sky; probably praying for patience. “Well, it is far from my first time. I’ve come a long way since then. Many years have passed.”
“They have,” you agree, easy, narrowing your eyes onto the sight of your gun. You align the sights with your target, and after a moment, you fire.
“Bullseye,” you declare. Not a boast, but definitely not humble. Pride simmers beneath your nonchalant facade. It’s what you’ve been trained for since you can remember⸺you’d be a disappointment if you weren’t good at it. Your eyes flicker to your gun, just freshly fired, and a sense of nostalgia itches at the edges of your skull. There used to be a sense of excitement about it⸺firing a gun, hitting the bullseye⸺underneath the pressure to be perfect, to be the best. Now, it’s a necessity⸺this is something you need to survive. It’s not a class you can ace or get praise for.
But still, it’s something, and you’re fucking good at it. What isn’t fun when you’re good at it?
Diana doesn’t even blink. She fires her gun, once, thrice, all shots landing exactly in the Bullseye territory. Your pride comes back threefold. You beam at Diana, almost dropping your gun to hug her. She’s come so far from the little girl who couldn’t hold her gun longer than thirty minutes or line her sights up to aim. “Tu as un grand talent, sœur.”
(You have great talent, sister.)
Diana blushes, the delicate color crawling from her cheeks to her forehead. “Danke.”
(Thank you.)
You roll your eyes, equally peeved as you are amused. Diana has always had this unwritten rule where if you speak to her in a foreign language, she will always reply in a different one, no matter which language you speak to her in⸺so you switch to her favorite one. It’s fair game: after all, she already switched to your favorite, German. “Como siempre has hecho, hermanita.”
(As you always have, sister.)
“Grac⸺Bedankt,” Diana’s soft voice takes a sharp curve, nearly tripping over her words. She glances at you, as if checking to see If you know that she knows that you know, before going back to her gun with fumbling fingers. Cute.
You’re about speak again, not quite formed or thought-out words on the tip of your tongue, when the tell-tale hiss of the elevator⸺the secret elevator that leads to the underground firing range⸺nearly shocks your soul out of your body.
Someone is coming. Someone was going to be here, in a matter of seconds, going to stumble upon Diana and you each with a gun in hand.
Fuck.
You chuck your gun towards Diana, who catches it with something a little less than grace and ducks behind the display case. The not glass one.
“Young Master Diana?” Alfred’s polished shoes click across the floor. “Pray tell: what’re you doing here?” He sounds a cross of confused and concerned. He doesn’t know you were firing guns down here just a second ago.
“I’m so sorry, Alfred!” It bursts out your mouth, like a bubbling shame finally popping. “I got lost by my own accidental mistake. I, um, meant to grab Diana something while she was in the shower⸺but I… lost my way? I’m really sorry, I thought I should just leave, but then I got distracted and came in here, I⸺I never meant to snoop! But what is this place anyway, Alfred? Wait, no, you don’t have to tell me. I deeply apologize, Alfred! I had no intention of ending up here…” Forced tears spring to your eyes as you blink at Alfred.
“Please calm yourself, Young Master [Name],” replies Alfred, having realized which twin he was talking to, a mixed expression of exasperation and relief⸺which sets off your red flags⸺as he retrieves a handkerchief from his suit. “I understand you got lost. I am not mad. I won’t say anything. Here, do not cry,” he hands you the handkerchief with the gentlemanliness expected from a butler. Truly, it almost makes you smile: had he been born into your family or hired as a servant, he would’ve made a stellar confidant. A shame, really.
You dab at the fake tears in your eyes. You could stop crying in as little time as 1.37 milliseconds, and it took around 8.157 seconds for your face to lose the signature flush of someone freshly sobbing. “Thank you, Alfred,” you sniffle anyway, because to stop crying suddenly would put your whole act in jeopardy. You need to get Alfred out of here, and as soon as possible. Alfred nods. “I only came to search for you. Young Master [Name], there is a gala invitation addressed to you. There’s one for Young Master Diana as well.”
Fuuuuuuuck.
Your eye twitches, despite your best efforts. Galas are a waste of time. Time is not something that has ever been on your side, not now and not for the foreseeable future.
Net-working potential, you try to remind yourself as you smile. “Oh, how splendid! I’ll make sure to attend. I will give Diana hers, as well.”
The cards have a showy font and are trimmed in gold. Kind of tacky.
“Shall I escort you out?” asks Alfred, ¾ away from the elevator. You remember to smile as you shake your head.
“Oh, no, Alfred. Give me a moment to read these, please. You can tell father we will both attend⸺and oh, please, Alfred. Do not mention anything to father, I would simply die!”
Not really. You don’t care what the old man thinks of you firing a gun⸺It’s just that he isn’t supposed to know. Alfred doesn’t know you were firing a gun, which is a relief, but you’ll explode in anger if Bruce somehow connects the dots. He was already too close to seeing through your disguise as Diana earlier.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” replies Alfred before boarding the elevator. Whatever the hell that means. But you take it as meaning he’ll keep his trap shut.
“Good grief, finally,” groans Diana, voice laden with irritation.
A/N: im soooo sorry it took me this long to get this out, I really have no excuse other than me not liking it and obsessing over for it for weeks before I js told myself fuck it. I just write for fun so im gonna put it out even if the timeline is sloppy and the characters have no depth and inconsistent writing. The good thing is that the next part should come out fairly soon🫡 and yes I did change the header, because i wasn’t being completely unproductive during my away time
AND NOW THE REQUEST can you please please please do reo mikage (my boy my husband) x artist!reader? who has an art gallery at only 17 years old and they met at school, being a couple until reaching blue lock? what happens next I'll leave to your imagination! thanks in advance bestiee!
'Shocking news! Mikage family breaks off marriage contract to Asō Clan daughter'
'Mikage family chooses famous Edo-period artist Utagawa Atsushi descendant over Asō Clan daughter'
The headlines of the top story of the Society news of the morning newspapers screamed.
“Dad,” Reo swallowed his mouthful of tea. “Won't the Asō Clan...”
“The Asō Clan has no say in this; the marriage contract between my family and the Saga Family came earlier.” it was Mrs. Mikage who answered her son.
“Saga ...” Reo's eyes widened. “One of the cadet families of the Minamoto Clan...”
“I met with Saga Ken'ichi.” Mrs. Mikage continued. “His granddaughter, the girl you're supposed to marry, is an artistic genius that is said to appear once a millennium.”
“This is the address of the Saga art galley.” Mr. Mikage penned down an address on a piece of note paper and handed it over to his son. “Take a trip there and have a look at your future bride this weekend.”
Before dawn that morning...
Saga F/N was already on the Hakuho High School campus, her arms cradling the rolled up art paper as she hurried to the empty classroom that had been designated as her art room.
Spreading one of the art paper on the heavy wooden table, F/N prepared her ink on the slate inkstone. Lifting a paintbrush, she dipped the brush in the ink and started on another crane flock sumi-e painting.
On Saturday...
Arriving at the Saga Family art gallery, Reo stepped out of the limo, only to be informed by one of the art handlers that F/N had went to the Nagano Province get inspiration for her next art piece.
Without skipping a beat, Reo returned to the limo and had the driver drive to the Nagano Province.
Meanwhile, in Hakuba Valley, F/N was strolling through Oide Park and taking photos.
The following week...
Reo finally managed to catch a glimpse of F/N when he dropped by the Saga Family art gallery; the Family was apparently putting the newest works of its prodigal son on public display. Said prodigal son, Saga Toshi, was also F/N's father, aka the internationally renowned artist whose works were always sold at auctions with a minimum bid of £300 thousand.
At dinner that evening, Reo cast a questioning look at his father, “Father, did you know that my betrothed is the daughter of your favourite artist?”
“Is she?” Mr. Mikage sipped his white wine.
After school on Monday...
Reo located the very few friends F/N had in school and got the information he wanted; where F/N's art room was.
After knocking on the door and receiving no response, Reo slid the door aside and entered the makeshift art room. “Amazing...” the Mikage heir breathed in astonishment when he stepped in and saw the numerous art pieces scattered all over the room: the walls were littered with a mix of traditional and Western art, both completed and uncompleted.
“Ano...” F/N's confused voice sounded from the corridor.
Reo snapped his head around and spotted the puzzled girl. “Er... hi?” seeing the bucket of water in F/N's hand, he hurried over. “Let me.”
Moments later, Reo was sitting on the 2-seater couch in the visitor section, biting on a senbei that had been served on a round tray as he watched F/N continue working on her watercolour piece.
From that day on, Reo and F/N settled into a comfortable companionship; with Reo adding several of his personal touches to the art room; like for example, the expensive hanging censer, complete with accompanying incense and an exquisite tea set and its various tea boxes.
All that changed when Reo crossed paths with Nagi about a month later; the Mikage heir had set his sights on winning the World Cup and chanced upon the surprisingly talented Nagi and managed to rope the unmotivated teen into playing soccer.
After Reo ditched her at lunchtime for Nagi for the fifth time, F/N simply just returned to her usual routine; a quick lunch of onigiri before going back to complete her newest commission.
Five months later...
“Ba-ya handed me an invitation letter from the Japan Football Union this morning.” before soccer practice, Reo managed to catch F/N and handed her the invitation letter.
“'Certified athlete'.” F/N read the short letter. “Interesting phasing. And you're informing me of this; why?”
“I figured you'll be wondering why Nagi and I won't be in school from next week onwards.” Reo shrugged.
“And how is it any different from the past five months?” F/N reminded flatly.
Reo let out a hiss in realization, “I've really been neglecting you, haven't I?”
“Oh really?” F/N rolled her eyes. “I haven't noticed. Actually,” she turned to Reo. “There's one question I've always wanted to ask: what happens after you win the World Cup?” she threw the flabbergasted Reo the final question before entering her art room.
“Young Missus.” Uesugi Junichi, F/N's long-time bodyguard, made his presence known shortly after Reo left for soccer practice.
“Uesugi-kun, report.” F/N stopped mid-brush.
“Asō Kamiko...” Uesugi started his verbal report.
Three days later...
“Asō and Saga are in the principal's office!” one of Reo's busybody classmates shouted from the corridor after school. “Saga's accusing Asō for defacing her artwork but Asō's denying it.”
Reo's eyes widened. He hurriedly packed his book-bag and dashed off.
In the principal's office...
“I'm innocent!” Asō Kamiko, the Hakuho High school beauty, argued. “You don't have any proof!”
“My Kamiko is a good girl.” Mrs. Asō defended her daughter.
“Are you sure?” F/N was unfazed. “Uesugi-kun.” she turned to her bodyguard.
“At once, young missus.” Uesugi bowed slightly and headed out, returning to the office minutes later with an USB flash drive.
“You see, Asō-san.” F/N started, as Uesugi handed her the flash drive. “I've have had past incidents where my art work are defaced before. That's why I always made it a point to install at least one surveillance camera in my art room. Principal, would you mind playing the recording?”
“Very well.” the school principal nodded and plugged in the flash drive.
It hadn't taken long for the video to clearly show Kamiko splashing ink on F/N's unfinished painting.
“Vice President Asō.” Inaba, the head appraiser of the Saga Family's appraiser panel entered the principal's office. “Me and my team have properly appraised the damage done to Miss Saga's artwork and this is the reparation cost.”
“Are you kidding me!?” Mr. Asō exploded, seeing the massive restitution amount on the bill. “There is no way a measly painting could cost...”
“Then perhaps, you would like to explain to the King of Spain as to why his daughter's birthday present is delayed, Vice President Asō.” F/N drawled.
At that, the two Asō adults paled considerably.
“Fine.” Mr. Asō spat and pulled out his cheque book.
“Oh no, Vice President Asō.” F/N tsked, shaking her head. “I have no wish to touch a single yen from the Asō Clan. After all, this is Kamiko-san's debt, is it not?”
“I see.” Mr. Asō understood what F/N was implying. “I'll wire Kamiko's monthly allowance to your bank account until the restitution cost is paid off.”
“I'm glad you're so understanding, Vice President Asō.” F/N smiled. “I believe we're done here, Principal.”
“Yes...” the principal breathed in relief.
“Principal, the flash drive, please.” Uesugi reminded.
“Right.” the principal returned the flash drive to the martial artist.
“Daddy, you can't!” Kamiko wailed, as F/N left the office with Uesugi and Inaba.
“Inaba-san, I appreciate the help you and your group provided.” F/N turned to her grandfather's personal appraiser. “Please send my regards to grandfather.”
“I will, Ms. Saga.” Inaba assured.
On cue, murmurs from the gathered students started erupting.
“Did Saga just take down Asō?”
“That's so hardcore!”
“I thought Saga's just an ordinary artist.”
“The King of Spain!? Just how good is she?”
“Serves Asō right. Actions have consequences.” that was from one of Asō's bullied victims.
“Young missus...” Uesugi started.
“It'll be fine, Uesugi-kun.” F/N assured. “You forget.” she tapped the side of her head. “I still have the original concept in here.”
On the Blue Lock admission day...
Reo fingered the mandarin duck jadeite charm in his trousers pocket F/N had Ba-Ya pass to him.
Two days after the Blue Lock Eleven vs. U20 exhibition match...
Anri returned to the facility with a package from the deliveryman; a charcoal sketch from F/N, depicting the Blue Lock Eleven players from an aerial point-of-view.
After Reo returned from his outing with his Blue Lock teammates...
“Young Master Reo,” Ba-ya handed Reo an envelope with gold and silver glitter trimming. “Uesugi-san sent this over on Saga-ojou's behalf.”
“From F/N?” Reo blinked, taking the envelope and instantly recognizing the Spanish Royal seal at the back of the envelope. “This is...” breaking the wax seal, he took out the mother-of-pearl birthday gala invitation.
That weekend...
Reo and F/N had flew to Spain two days earlier to get their gala outfits specifically tailored by the royal seamstress team.
On the night of the birthday gala, the fully-decked out Reo was adjusting the cuff-link of his black tuxedo when he heard the sharp clicking of stiletto heels coming down from the spiral staircase. He turned his head up and felt his throat go dry when he saw F/N descend the stairs in a V-necked mermaid diamond evening gown. “You look beautiful.” he whispered, offering a hand. “Shall we?”
In the ballroom where the birthday gala was held, Reo watched in astonishment as F/N weaved through the invited guests, both local and foreign nobility alike, and conversing flawlessly with different groups in their languages. When he saw the hand of a foreign delegate linger over F/N's hip, Reo saw red. Still minding his etiquette, he left his half-empty champagne glass on a table and made his way over. Wordlessly, he snatched F/N to his side and pulled her out to the corridor.
“I don't like it.” Reo growled, pinning F/N against a stone pillar. “I don't like other men touching my treasure.” without even waiting for F/N to respond, he picked her up in a bridal carry and left the birthday gala.
In their shared hotel suite...
Reo discarded the tuxedo jacket after putting F/N on the king-sized bed.
“I'm your treasure?” sitting up, F/N gave her fiancé a sceptical look. “I thought that was Nagi.”
“Whoever said I'm allowed only one treasure?” Reo's eyes darkened, climbing over F/N and pushing her back on the pillows. “We have a lot of catching up to do, Wife.”
A/N: (Mentally preparing for the girlish squeals coming my way)
A/N 2: In Japan culture, mandarin ducks symbolize marital love, fidelity, and conjugal bliss. So, F/N giving Reo the mandarin duck jadeite charm means that despite their rather frosty relationship, she still intends to marry him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I'm making a Vlad/Reader for the depraved, except I'm doing this to practice realistic relationships while keeping the humor and dialogue as close to canon as possible. . Chapter 1 has been released, I'm planning to add more. posting fanfic here as well.
You were the outsider of your college group. Maddie studied biochemistry, her and Jack both studied mechanical engineering together, Vlad studied both alongside Maddie, and you? You simply studied computer science.
Sure, you later studied robotics and delved more into artificial intelligence, but at the time you were falling behind the trio. What makes matters worse is that you were in love with Vlad. He was too busy being in love with Maddie. Maddie and Jack were too busy with their Science.
You used to be closer during your first years. Then you drifted apart from the group.
Or the group drifted apart from you. But you phrased it the other way to feel better about yourself.
At least Maddie was nice. But it turned out that Maddie had a crush on you. You softly turned her down and told her you did not swing that way. She understood, and Vlad was elated that she stopped focusing on you.
She was surprisingly supportive, though, so she starts being more casual with her physical affections—she leaned against you and gave you hugs, at most, but never kisses of any type. Vlad glared at you every time.
You couldn’t handle Vlad’s glare towards you. You just couldn’t. You were so madly in love with him.
This wasn’t what you wanted for college. You wanted to thrive with less drama, not thrive in the drama of a love square. So you decided to turn it into a love triangle.
How? With distance.
You start making excuses about why you couldn’t hang out with them anymore. Maddie seemed pretty sad that you were becoming distant, and urged you to hang out with them more. Jack gave you puppy eyes, because it turns out that he enjoyed your dry wit and casual gifts—both clothing and food that you made.
Vlad looked...conflicted. As if as he did not know what to do with the slowly growing empty space. Every look he gave you after the start of you leaving seemed like he was having conflicts inside his mind.
But he did nothing. So you continued on with your life.
That was the start of your isolation.
You were pretty depressed now that you did not have anyone to accompany you. For the first few months of your departure from the group, people did not bother to include you in their friend groups due to your relationship with the “resident weirdos”.
You got into a robotics class and was forced to group with 2 other nerds, Gabin and Feen. It turns out, they were gay too. Dating, even.
Then the three of you started becoming closer in a platonic way. You were included in every conversation, arguments, and acted as a mediator for their spats which end up being resolved amongst the three of you.
Until the couple mutually broke up. You were devastated at the news, but it turns out all three of you were better as friends. Gabin turned out to be Bi and married a tall country Bisexual girl, and Feen turned out to be poly and married a few other people.
Even when the friend group grew larger, the three of you kept each other on your toes as you challenged each other to make robots. At some point, you made a lion-sized guard dog that read any sort of unique identification, like a treasured object, and chased intruders out of your home.
You gave this machine to a marketing professor as a joke. It ended up saving his life, which you did not intend to do at all (the machine dog was purposefully made with weak scraps for a chance for the victim to escape, in case it went haywire.) He was so grateful that he got you hired into a major tech company—Wayne Enterprises.
You got an award for it. Something close to a Nobel Prize. You’re pretty sure you were dragged out of the house with a blindfold, and were dropped onto the stage to receive the award. Or maybe you had too much coffee and dissociated the entire time.
Who knows. Photos of you taking your award in smudged eyeliner with a baffled expression became viral years down the line.
Gabin’s girlfriend also went out of the way to teach you “spellcraft”, which you thought was cool. She said that she could sense your “powerful bloodline”, and you entertained her by learning the basics.
You thought it was fun. Until a forced family reunion made you realize that Gabin’s girlfriend was absolutely not joking. Not fun.
Then it was your last year of college. You were forced to take a semester off due to the consequences of that disastrous family reunion. That year, you were having the time of your life while suffering with your thesis and OJT’s.
You almost missed the news of Vlad’s unfortunate accident. When you heard about what happened, your heart dropped to your feet.
Yes, you were trying to get over Vlad, but he did not deserve to almost die. You tried to visit him in the hospital but the nurses pushed you away. He needed something, anything, even if it is just to cheer him up.
You left some tupperware full of menudo and coconut milk pumpkin soup for the nurses to feed him. Nobody bothered to tell you that he left the hospital. He probably did not know that you cooked a large meal for him.
So you continued on with your life. You tried to reach Vlad a few times when you saw him back on the campus hallways, but he seemed too focused on...something. You did not want to bother him.
Life went on, and you managed to graduate in time. For your next couple of years, you worked as a robotics engineer for some more companies. Then you started a company with your friends several years down the line. You sold some patents, kept some patents, and you lived a comfortable life with enough money to support yourself, your needs, and your leisures.
You never got into a relationship, because you never tried. You were too afraid to be hurt.
Vlad Masters simply became Masters. He swindled, scammed, and stole with his newfound powers to become a billionaire. He’s seen some of your inventions sometimes, but what you made never really interested him.
Or rather, he was still conflicted at the thought of you.
You were dared by one of your socialite friends to post photos of your outfit before your flight to Illinois, and announce your arrival on your barely active social media. You’ve always loved the gothic aesthetic and mastered your outfits throughout the years—though you slowly shifted your outfits to be more modern while retaining the aesthetic.
For some god damned reason, you got a somewhat larger following than you thought—more than 10,000 people were interested in your life. You mostly posted your projects, but your outfits got more attention.
The youth kept calling you “DILF” along with other unholy comments, no matter how much you tried to discourage them. They seemed to flock to your socmed ever since that photo of you receiving your awards became viral. They also kept calling you “pookie bear”, whatever that meant.
You tried to restrict comments, but a few of your friends kept disabling the restrictions. They enjoyed your suffering.
You were beyond your 40’s, sipping a cappuccino as you left the airport while holding your luggage in the other hand. Suddenly, a notification popped up in your phone. The sound from your phone indicated that it was a text message, and not another weird ass comment that required you to say “aren’t you disappointing your parents with these DILF comments?”
Your leg hooked around your luggage as you pick your phone up from your pants with one hand. It’s a message from...Jack Fenton?
0xxx-xxxx-xxxx: Hey Bucko! Remember me? Jack Fenton? Heard you were in Illinois! Do you mind meeting at our place in Amity Park and meet Maddie and I like old times? :-D
Oh shit. It’s your old college friends.
You cringed a little as you remembered the way you ghosted the first two people who were decent towards you. Sure, you had your reasons, but it wasn’t fair to them. You checked the rest of your schedule on your phone and find that you still have free time to spare. A quick google search about the town, and you found that your convention is just at the town next to Amity.
So you made your decision and decided to make this up, let bygones be bygones.
You: Sure! Give me the address and I’ll meet you there!
Summary: Spencer gets worried the longer he doesn't hear from you, and then he gets unexpected visitors that only make him more anxious.
Spencer was growing more anxious by the day. You still hadn't called, and all the hubbub of the city around Christmas wasn't helping him either. He flinched at backfiring cars, his gaze laser focused on the things around him. His mind was still in Iraq, still with you and Alijah, sitting on mountainsides and looking through binoculars.
He'd spent each day with the team, and Christmas morning finally arrived. JJ went down to Louisiana with Will and the kids, Rossi with his daughter and grandson. Even Luke and Penelope planned a getaway, so Spencer spent the day visiting his mom and then with Emily and Tara at a soup kitchen.
His mother at least recognized him, but she spoke to him like he'd been visiting every day for months. He was both grateful and devastated by it.
He felt good helping out, and they invited him over after, but he declined and instead made his way to his empty apartment. He knew you had a house outside the city, and he looked forward to spending time with you and the girls in the open air of Virginia.
Spencer decided to make the walk from the soup kitchen. The brisk air chilled straight through his coat, which admittedly wasn't warm enough for a white Christmas. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and drove on as you'd say. The frigid air was just another thing to deal with until he got on the flight back to you.
Cars slid through the slush on the streets, spraying his ankles with black and gray slurry. The lamplight gleamed every ten feet, flickering under the weight of the cold. Spencer angled his head down to avoid the freezing breeze, but his ears and eyes were hypersensitive to his surroundings in a way he hadn't felt before.
This place was so different from Balad. It was almost like he'd never lived here before and had only seen it in pictures. Everything was so familiar but foreign at once. He was so out of place.
Turning the corner, Spencer stopped short as he spotted a small group huddled outside his building. The spotlight in front of the badge access door hit the tops of their heads, casting them in shadow. He was about to walk past and take a turn around the block when one of them called out.
"Doc!" Spencer recognized a familiar voice, and she sounded scared.
"Peanut?"
Spencer made his way closer and sure enough, Garrett, Morello, Barretti, and Peanut were waiting for him. They didn't have their families with them, and the stiff way they held themselves sent a shiver of fear down his spine.
"What's wrong?" Spencer asked solemnly.
Garrett stepped forward, "Have you heard from the boss?"
Spencer shook his head, "No. She was supposed to call the night we got back."
An exchange of glances only solidified his worry, which up until now he'd chalked it up to you being busy.
"We should talk someplace private," Morello decided, glancing around the tall windows that surrounded them. "We're too exposed."
Spencer agreed and ushered them up into his apartment. Even in their worry they were still curious about his living situation it seemed. Garrett went straight for his bookshelf, clutching his hands behind his back and eyeballing the spines in the lamplight. Morello stood in the doorway, watching them all protectively while Barretti plopped down on the couch like he owned the place.
Peanut waved toward his hardly used kitchen even before he went halfway across the world, "Should I make some coffee?"
Spencer nodded and followed her in. It was pretty small and cramped, and admittedly coffee was one of the only food items he even had in the apartment. Spencer pulled out the container of grounds and handed it to her, and she went about filling up the carafe and filter.
Leaning against the counter, Spencer listened anxiously as it percolated. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, which had become a habit after months in the desert when before he felt best shoving his hands in his pockets. He used to show anxiety as a shield, but now he chose to project strength like this. It was a strange turnaround for him, one JJ pointed out the night before, but it felt natural now.
"Something's happening," Spencer asked, but it came out more like a statement. Peanut just watched the machine drip black gold into the pot, refusing to meet his gaze. She had her tight kinky curls down, when in Iraq they usually were pulled into a tight bun. They puffed out over her shoulders, impeded by the thick bulk of her coat, but her dark curls were beautiful in the dim lighting.
"I'm hearing chatter I don't like," she replied quietly. "Something isn't right, but I can't figure out what."
Fear rotted in his gut like an acidic apple. The lining was slowly tearing away from itself, and his legs wobbled beneath him. Surely, the floor would soon open up to swallow him whole.
Spencer opted to pull out some mugs instead of falling into his terror. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, but he trusted you to lead… the only problem was that you weren't here to do so.
Peanut took two of them in her small hands, and he grabbed the rest by the handles and followed her out into the living room. When he got there, he nearly dropped them at the sight before him.
Barretti was standing on his couch, pulling open the light fixture on the ceiling. Morello was elbow deep in his old school record player, digging down in the horn. Garrett was sifting through the bookshelf, pulling out books and setting them gently on the ground, then searching the empty spaces.
"What the he-," he began, but Peanut waved a coffee up in front of him to stop him. The liquid sloshed over the rim, barely missing his chest before splattering on the hardwood.
The guys didn't even look, and Spencer stood in shock as Peanut held that cup in front of him until they were done. Spencer watched with his jaw dropped as they put everything back in its place, and only then Morello turned on the old record player.
"Let's play some music, yeah?" he said confidently, but his jaw was clenched tight. "I haven't had a chill night in a long time."
The player had a bluetooth option, as it only looked old. Emily got it for him, though he had suspected it was only so she had a chance to play music other than classical when they all came over now and then. A familiar song from his first trip outside the wire came on as Morello took out his phone.
He set it on the desk the turntable was on, and one by one they all set theirs next to his. Without much thought, Spencer handed Garrett a coffee mug and put his phone down too, then gave Morello the other. Peanut gave her second one to Barretti, and they moved silently to the center of the room and sat on the rug.
"If there's a fire in your kitchen. And when your roof just won't stop leaking," it played, not quite loud enough to bother the neighbors, but higher than he would have normally put it with company. "I got your back without you even asking. If I gotta whoop somebody's ass, I'ma do it with passion."
Huddled in the circle, speaking just under the volume of the music, Garrett leaned in close, "Boss hasn't called all week, and she's not answering any form of communication. She's gone radio silent."
"That's why we were looking for bugs," Morello said, nodding. He looked straight at Spencer. "She always calls on liberty and checks in. She wouldn't stop otherwise unless she was dead or incapacitated."
Spencer's heart dropped down in his stomach. If something happened to you, who was protecting Alijah? If something happened to the both of you, how was he expected to go on?
"I got wind from Agent Garber that there's been some chatter about Sayeed, that he's been spotted where we found Alijah six months ago," Peanut continued as Spencer clutched his coffee cup tightly. The heat grounded him, but he was sure to disappear into nothing soon enough.
He rarely saw his CHUmate, but remembering that he worked in the satellite tents it made sense that he'd hear word of one of the biggest heroin distributors in the Middle East.
“An emergency, or when you just can't sleep, and I'll slide through for ya with that urgency,” Teddy Swims came through around them. As sweet as the song was, a solid blanket of dread covered the room.
“Then we get on the next flight and go back early,” Spencer offered, but Garrett shook his head.
“No communication means someone is listening in and watching. If we go back early it might tip them off that something’s going on. Boss is sending a message.”
“Yeah, to be careful,” Barretti grumbled. He frowned down at his big hands. “We just have to follow her lead. She spent years in MARSOC, doing all sorts of clandestine shit. She knows something we don’t.”
“We can’t just sit here,” Spencer insisted, waving a hand. “Not if she needs our help.”
“Morning after next we’ll go to Anacostia and head back to Iraq, doc,” Garrett told him firmly. “We can’t go before our leave ends unless we receive orders.”
“I’m an agent! I can go back whene-,” he began, but was overruled with a flat palm facing him.
“Boss will tell us what to do when we get there. She’s got more answers than we do right now. You could set something worse in motion by making a move.”
“Aren’t you worried at all? She’s not a military robot. She can’t do it all by herself.”
Garrett sighed and flashed Morello a look, who shrugged. He turned back to Spencer, “Of course I’m worried, doc. I worked with Teddy before he died, and he got real paranoid towards the end. I didn’t know much about what he was working on but when Y/N asked for my team’s help I agreed because even though Teddy started to lose it, I knew he had a good reason.”
He sighed again and scrubbed his face with his hand, dragging it down his chin. “This mission is bigger than just the girl and the heroin. The person we’re looking for has hooks in places we probably don’t know about. We don’t make a move without her say-so.
“You gotta remember, doc,” he finished, giving him a knowing look. “The boss always knows more than we do. You have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”
Spencer nodded in defeat. He was right. You always knew more than you let on, and he suddenly got a sneaking suspicion that even before this there were things you hadn’t told him. Was it because you didn’t trust him? Or had you existed like this for so long that you didn’t know any other way to be?
He just hoped Garrett was right.
He hoped you had a plan.
Spencer sat in JJ’s bathroom the day after Christmas. She’d nearly force-fed him leftovers and dessert for dinner, then dragged him in here by the wrist. Spencer put up a good front for Will and Henry and Michael, chatting and pretending to be interested in the things his godsons were talking about, but his mind never left you.
JJ draped the little cape she’d bought just for him years ago when he first asked her to cut his hair over his shoulders. She tightened it and went about wetting his hair and combing through it.
“I can’t believe how long you’ve let this get,” she exclaimed as she raked a brush through it. Thank god she never had daughters, because this was torture. Spencer tried not to wince each time she caught his roots, since she did give him good cuts… besides the time Hotch asked if he joined a boy band. That was the last time he ever gave her free reign over styles.
“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally. Instead, he fiddled with some army man toy Michael had left on the sink. It pointed a nondescript gun out, legs akimbo in a wide stance as he prepared for danger.
“Michael’s been taking those everywhere with him,” JJ went on as he turned the green piece of plastic in his fingers. “He tells everyone how his uncle Spencer is a hero.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Spencer mumbled, frowning to himself. “It’s like saying what we did at the BAU was heroic… it wasn’t. It was just bloody and sad.”
JJ stilled, her hands freezing mid-air. Her blue eyes blazed as she watched him in the mirror, “Then why the hell are you going back?”
“Because… There’s a future there that isn’t a black hole of loneliness and murder,” he decided, and her jaw clenched tightly.
“You’re going back to Iraq for a girl?” she pressed, getting angrier. “Spencer, I know you’ve always been a romantic but that’s fucking insane.”
“It’s not just that,” he replied calmly.
“Then what?”
Spencer sighed, his eyes meeting hers. He was so tired all of a sudden, weighed down with the enormity of the possibility of loss that could come tomorrow. “I have hope. Honestly, I haven’t had that in such a long time, JJ. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep searching for that final happiness. Y/N is a lot of things…”
“She’s mean and crazy. She charges headfirst into every door without caring that something on the other side would hurt her. She’s only focused on protecting those behind her. She’s not known for telling you everything, and I’m trying to be okay with that because for once, someone knows a lot more than I do. She leads, she protects, she cares. Most of all, she’s kind. Even when she’s mean, she’s kind. She only pushes as much as you can take.”
“She sounds like Hotch,” JJ muttered, and when Spencer stared at her wide-eyed, she burst into a laughter he couldn’t help but join in on.
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!” he guffawed with her. They laughed until their bellies hurt and JJ had to sit down on the tub edge to hold herself upright.
After it died down, she looked at him with a spark of joy, “I really hope it all works out. I just worry about you. You’ve changed so much in the twenty years I’ve known you, and you always came out the other side somehow. I just want you to come back, even if you’re different, I just want you to love the life you live.”
Spencer reached out a hand and she took it, squeezing him tightly. “I’m learning a lot about myself. Sometimes… you just gotta suck it up and drive on. The only way through it is to get through it.”
“You seem so different again,” JJ whispered, her eyes filling with tears he wasn’t sure were happy or sad. “But… not like you’re broken. You seem more confident, not like after prison when you were so angry. You seem like you know what you’re capable of.”
She made a face, “Does that make sense?”
Pride filled his heart and he nodded, “I think I finally know why I went through everything that I did. I can’t talk much about it, but I really think that I’m about to get everything I ever wanted.”
JJ smiled. Spencer smiled back.
“Hope looks good on you, Spence.”
You hadn't really slept in days. It was Christmas, five days after Spencer and the unit left for America. The stress of what you were about to do was eating you alive, and each time you managed a nap you woke up in a panic.
You were being listened to. After Mercer's confession that he'd found bugs in your office, you tore the whole thing apart in near silence until you found three more than he had. You went through your CHU, found two more. One under your bed and one in your bookshelf. You searched Spencer's next, but surprisingly found nothing. The rest of the unit's bunks were clear too.
You were starting to feel as paranoid as Teddy sounded before he died. He sent you his coded words but they were filled with veiled messages, as if someone besides you and him were reading. You had nobody to talk to besides Mercer, and even then you kept him at arm's length. You didn't trust him, but still he was the only one who knew of your plan. Even the unit wouldn't know until after, and you still might never tell them what you were going to do.
Spencer and the unit were all the way in America. They wouldn't be coming home for two more days, so you were sending Mercer to meet them. Alijah had thankfully been hidden enough through false paperwork that there were no bugs in her room. It seemed you had become the mole's target.
Without Spencer, you couldn't enact your plan. You had to explain to Alijah many times why, and eventually she agreed and understood. You needed him here to stay behind and keep her safe while you went after Sivan and Sayeed.
You didn't destroy the bugs in your office. You told Mercer to go on doing so, to keep acting like he was struggling with himself. It would make those watching think everything was going according to their plan. So, you kept the bugs, and here you and Mercer sat in your office, going over the FRAGO for the day out loud and writing notes to one another.
You lounged on one of the old metal chairs, your heavy boots set on the table. You tried to sound dreadfully bored and irritated, "There's been a few scuffles in the nearby villages, but we can't go out without the rest of the team since your dumb ass let your guys go home for Christmas."
You quietly slid a paper his way. You didn't put your pen down, and you wrote slowly to drown out the sounds the best you could.
Is everything ready?
Mercer nodded, but he leaned back and let out an angry harrump for the ears listening in. "I thought you'd have your lackies around. I only gave my guys what was coming to them. Your stupid fucking team hasn't done shit all year."
All you needed was for your team to come back, then you were going outside the wire to kill Sayeed al Hafiz. Mercer was going to make sure that happened.
"Fuck you," you spat.
"Fuck yourself," Mercer snapped back in reply. He got angrily to his feet and stomped out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him for good measure.
Let them think you still hated him. You didn't trust him, but you were coming around on him after Hitchens died. That didn't mean you hadn't fought in the last two months. He was still an asshole.
Everything was going according to plan… so far. You had to remind yourself that this could all fall apart. You could die on the twenty eighth of December of this year. Sivan might not make it if you didn't succeed.
But you had a backup plan.
You always did.
Spencer was the first to arrive at Anacostia on December 27th. He’d said his goodbyes to the team and their families the day after Christmas, teary eyed and filled with dread. They clung to him like he wouldn’t come back alive, and even if he didn’t Spencer knew he had to get back to Iraq.
You needed him.
You were all alone out there protecting Alijah. Sayeed was hiding in the desert, waiting to strike. You had no one to back you up and he knew he needed to be by your side. Even if it all ended in flames, Spencer would be with you and the girls and the unit until the very end. He wouldn’t want it any other way.
Spencer had no idea what he was walking into once he stepped foot back on base. His mind conjured images of firefights and explosions, a dramatic entrance to the scariest day of his life. The ground would thunder and the sky would alight with red washes of fear and smoke. But he would find you. He always would.
He walked through the dark hangar at 0500, much like he had four months earlier, clutching his pack and fighting the urge to sit down and melt into the concrete. Shadows lurked as he approached. Spencer took a deep breath, adjusted the pack on his shoulder and made his way toward the plane.
It was such a strange familiarity. The Antonov An-178 transport plane loomed ominously above him, blanketing him in darkness as its shadow cast over him from the lamplight. He left America for the first time in August. Now it was almost January, and the cool shadow under the plane was ice cold.
He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Captain Mercer leaning against the frame of the walkway into the belly of the plane. His arms crossed over his big barrel chest, a confident smirk washing over his weathered face as he saw Spencer with his mouth agape.
“No cryin’ on my plane, boy,” he drawled like he had what felt like years ago.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer seethed as a sudden rage overtook him. He didn’t exactly trust Mercer, but if he was in America who was with you and Alijah?
Spencer was about to stomp his way up the ramp but Mercer sauntered down. He seemed far too jolly until he reached the bottom, where he pulled Spencer by the arm a bit away from the plane.
“I know you don’t like me, and you’ve got every reason not to,” Mercer whispered as he and Spencer huddled close. “But I’m in this until the end. I know you know about Ted.”
Spencer managed a silent slight nod, so he continued. “He was a good guy, and I’ve never really managed to be anywhere as good a man as he was. I’m trying. The boss sent me here to make sure you all made it on the plane.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Spencer asked softly. Mercer’s eyes told him what he meant before he even opened his mouth. The fact that he called you ‘boss’ when a few months ago he used another choice word somehow made him more worried than ever.
“Accidents happen,” he grumbled ominously. “Brakes go out, carbon monoxide detectors stop working… sometimes transport planes blow up midair due to mechanical failure.”
He knew something then that you never told him. Teddy’s death wasn’t an accident, or at least you didn’t believe it was. The plane crash was an assassination, and you weren’t going to let it happen to the unit if you had any power to stop it. You didn’t trust Mercer enough to stay behind with Alijah, but your faith was enough to send him to keep them safe over the ocean.
It made his heart weary. Were you just growing paranoid as Teddy had? Were you justified in your worries? What the hell was about to happen?
What the hell were you planning?
Notes: Y'all ain't ready for the end of Part 1 of this story... Shit is about to go DOWN
Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Warnings: None, just good ol’ fluff and some angst (don’t worry the ending is happy)
Summary:
As the crown princess, you're expected to behave every bit like a lady. Except you frankly don't care and live how you want much to the dismay of your parents. When Charlotte visits your kingdom, a banquet is held.
Somehow you manage to get yourself grounded a few days prior, but it's no big deal, you'll just sneak out like you always do. Except Griffith happens to foil your plans every time.
---------
"I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping."
"I wouldn't call it escaping," you mutter under your breath.
"And what would you call it, dear Princess?"
"I'm simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle."
"As far as I recall, walks don't usually involve scaling buildings."
"What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—
Note:
This was requested by @Bravo6_go_in_dark on Wattpad and I am so sorry for taking forever to write this. I've been writing this on and off for about a month and a half but it's finally done! (Note my username on Wattpad is @Parascythe- )
Request: "Can u do griffith with a fem reader who is Charlotte's royal best friend from another kingdom who is very chaotic childish bold and a trouble maker and once the king and queen of her kingdom has to drag her by the hair and keep her in her room but her multiple tries of escaping didn't work cuz griffith is outside her palace"
I will say that I do not like Griffith for obvious reasons, but I can respect who he was before a certain point in the manga/anime. I think some of my bias leaked into my writing, and as a result, this is not pure fluff. The realist in me demanded something more realistic.
I also never intended for this to be super long, but here we are at around 7k words. Maybe the long fic will make up for the amount of time spent waiting lol.
I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. On with the fic! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
You never were the ideal princess your parents wanted. Some find it hard to believe that you’re royalty and would say so if it didn’t mean treason. While your parents made every effort to raise you properly, there was always your brash attitude that none of your tutors could tame. Etiquette and grace were drilled into you. You acted like a perfect princess—diplomatic and reserved—at events and official settings. Outside, however, is an entirely different story.
“Princess! Please come back! Her Majesty says you must look presentable for your upcoming betrothal meeting!” Your maid shouts, failing to keep up with your running.
You toss your head back with a laugh and continue gleefully dashing through the castle. “If he really wants to marry me then he should accept me as I am,” you refer to your pants. “Having to dress up to impress some man I might not even like is foolish.” As you run, you pass by a familiar white knight—viscount now—and meet curious blue eyes. Griffith is here to guard Charlotte while she’s visiting your kingdom. Flashing a cheeky smile, you wave and continue on your path to meet your potential fiance, unaware of his lingering gaze.
You stand in front of the drawing-room and enter unannounced before any of the servants can stop you. “Princess! It’s a pleasure to meet—” a man immediately stands up to greet you, pausing mid-sentence when he notices your attire. If you remember correctly, he’s the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. You also recall that your parents were adamant about signing a trade treaty with them, hence the sudden need to join the two kingdoms through marriage. The slight furrow of his brow already puts you in a bad mood. “Is the princess not able to come? I must say that I have never seen such a rude maid barge into a room, let alone one dressed so inappropriately. Are those pants?” You swear you see red but the diplomatic voice in your brain begs you not to cave his face in to avoid instigating a war. Instead, your fingers curl into a fist and you can feel the sting as your nails dig into your palms. You school your expression into something neutral and not at all the seething rage boiling underneath your skin.
“You’re speaking right to her.” His face pales. “I wasn’t aware that they skipped lessons on proper etiquette in your kingdom. How barbaric.” You look at him with disdain, already deciding that you wanted nothing to do with this man. His complexion quickly flushes with colour. He takes quick, angry strides towards you and grips your wrists tightly. Where were the guards?? You glance around the room and notice that it’s only the two of you and that there’s no commotion from outside. Part of you is scared, but another part of you is furious—furious at this man who looks down on you because he thinks you’re an easy target.
“Listen here, Princess,” he spits out your title with venom, “I would watch my tone if I were you. Your kingdom needs mine, not the other way around. My parents have left the decision up to me whether the treaty is signed or not.” His other hand drifts uncomfortably low and you glare murderously. “You should smile more, otherwise you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours; after all, that is your only redeeming quality.”
“To hell with the treaty.” Deciding that you’ve had enough, you rotate your wrist and pull your arm out of his grip. Taking the efficient route, you deliver a swift kick between his trousers and he crumples to the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut. “Don’t you ever threaten me again.” You rest your foot on top of the area you kicked, noting how he winces. “Do you understand?” When you receive no response you add pressure to your foot. “Do. You. Understand?” You emphasize each word. The question of whether this man would be able to continue his family line lingers in the back of your mind.
“Fucking bitch!”
Before you can stomp your foot down, your parents enter the room.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Your father demands as your mother drags you away from your fiance—ex-fiance now.
“He started it!” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
“Honey, we have talked about this,” your mother tries to soothe you, “you cannot keep making such childish excuses.”
“He threatened me! H-he tried to touch me!” you sputter, voice rising as your shoulders go rigid with tension. You whip your head and see his cocky smirk that immediately changes into a tearful expression when your parents glance over.
“She just suddenly attacked me!” He sobs pitifully, his acting even worse than that jester your parents hired. “I went to greet her and she kicked me without hesitation. What will my parents do when they hear their only son may never be able to produce heirs?” You feel one of your eyes twitch in annoyance, but the look on your father’s face keeps your mouth shut.
“We can still sort this out.” Your father sighs and turns to you. “You are grounded, young lady. You are to stay in your room until the upcoming banquet.” You open your mouth to begin protesting. “Not a single word from you. Guards!” At his command, a group of guards enter the room. Where were they when you needed them?? “Escort the princess back to her chambers.” His tired eyes look over you once more. “Drag her if you must.” The guards salute and nudge you out of the room. Eventually, they do end up dragging you because you insisted on going back and reasoning with your parents.
You spend the next day locked up in your room, grateful that you were at least allowed visitors. And so here you were, sitting with Charlotte as she listened to you over a cup of tea. She frowned when you mentioned the man’s rude behaviour, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when you got to the part where you kicked him in the balls.
“I mean, honestly, Lottie. How could they expect me to marry such a pig?!” you exclaim indignantly. She pats your hand as a comforting gesture. “What’s with that look on your face?” You lean back in your chair and try to analyze her expression.
“I am surprised and envious of your boldness,” Charlotte admits. She is a lot more demure compared to you, something you assumed was a product of her father’s doing.
“And look where that boldness got me.” You gesture to your temporary confinement and the noticeable increase in guards around and in your room.
Charlotte laughs, and it’s what you would expect a princess’s laugh to sound like—melodic and light. “When has that ever stopped you?” She raises a brow and her lips lift softly into a smile.
You clamber out of your seat and rush to give her a hug, adoring the way she squeals joyfully in your arms. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You grin at her, already planning an escape in your head.
There are three more days until the banquet, which means three more escape attempts. On the first day, you decide to try climbing out of the window. Your room was only on the third level and you managed to gather enough silk sheets to form a rope. During the day there were guards inside your room, so you decided to wait until the evening to put your plan into action.
Once the pale moon rises into view, you walk to your closet and pull out the pile of ‘rope’ and quietly carry a chair to your door, wedging it beneath the doorknob. This way you could give yourself more time before they realize what you’ve done. Tiptoeing to your window, you secure one end of the rope around the lantern hook next to the frame and carefully lower the rest of it. A light breeze brushes against your face and you shiver as you stare at the dark abyss below. You’ve read in books about heroes and heroines doing this countless times. How hard could it be to execute in real life?
Not as hard as you thought, but a lot harder than you expected. You never considered what would happen if you were to slip or fall before reaching the ground. But to be honest, this is a fanfic and you’re feeling fairly confident in your plot armour.
With the fourth wall broken, you begin your descent towards freedom (hopefully). Thanks to all the horse riding and swordsmanship, it takes you less than half an hour to reach the ground. You internally sigh with relief when your feet come in contact with solid ground.
“I believe you are supposed to be under room arrest, Princess?” A familiar voice shatters the small moment of victory and your shoulders immediately tense up—your back straight as a rod. Lucky for you, there’s a layer of amusement in his tone, so you’re probably not completely fucked. Turning your head, a small gasp falls from your lips. You already thought he looked handsome during the day, but the moonlight did wonders for his ethereal beauty.
“Is your hair made out of moonlight?” The words escape before your brain has time to process them. Your eyes widen and it feels like you’ll snap in half if your body becomes any more rigid. “Shit—I mean, pardon me.” Your breathing quickens and heat flushes from the crown of your head to the base of your neck.
“I can practically see the steam rising off your head. And no, Princess. My hair is simply just hair. Although the colour seems to intrigue most people.” He comes closer and makes an attempt to grab your arm. His fingers send a jolt of electricity and you jump back, the castle walls trapping you from behind.
“I’m not going back, not yet at least,” you refuse, flinching away from his touch again. His lips turn into a small frown but it disappears when you blink again. His expression is more neutral now and that polite smile is back on his face.
“I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping.”
“I wouldn’t call it escaping,” you mutter under your breath.
“And what would you call it, dear Princess?”
“I’m simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle.”
“As far as I recall, walks don’t usually involve scaling buildings.”
“What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—
A squeak escapes from your throat as the ground suddenly vanishes beneath your feet. Instinctively your arms cling around his neck. You glance up and notice that Griffith’s face is significantly closer to yours now. When did he get so close?
“W-what are you doing?” you ask, unsure whether to faint from excitement or embarrassment.
“I am escorting you to your chambers,” he responds in a matter-of-fact tone, carrying you with ease.
“I figured as much, b-but I’m capable of walking. Y-you don’t need to carry me like this.” You stumble through your words, oblivious to the way the corners of his lips curl up.
“I believe you and Charlotte called this the ‘princess carry’ during one of your book discussions.”
You furrow your brows and think back to all your recent interactions with Charlotte. Had he been paying attention all those times? Your heart skips a beat and you begin to sweat. If he remembers this then he probably remembers how the two of you drooled over the male leads in the romance novels you’ve been reading.
“I didn’t expect you to eavesdrop, Sir Griffith.”
“One can hardly call it eavesdropping if the entire conversation consists of loud screams and squeals over fictional men.”
“Touché.” You look around and notice that he’s walking away from the main castle. You unconsciously tighten your grip.
“Not to worry, Your Highness. I am still under orders to escort you back to your room.” He squeezes you gently in reassurance. “The length of time, however, was not specified. We are taking—what did you call it?” He flashes you a dazzling smile. “The scenic route?”
Blood rushes back to your cheeks and you turn away bashfully, hoping he doesn’t notice the dopey grin on your lips. “And pray tell what the scenic route entails?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation.
“Through the gardens. I hear the flowers are lovely this time of year.” You reach the familiar archway with ivy woven between its frame. He sets you down gently and offers his arm. “M’lady.”
You accept and hope the lighting is dim enough to hide your glowing cheeks. “Thank you, for—“ you try to find the right words “—for everything tonight.” You admire the petals of the peonies nearby. “You could have taken me straight back to my room, but you didn’t. So, thank you.” Shyly, you tuck some hair behind your ear and smooth out your blouse.
“Terribly stuffy, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him. “The aristocrats and nobility.”
“As difficult as it is, it’s a responsibility I was born with.” You shrug. “One I hear you hope to also carry?” Your question was innocent enough but his expression falters for a second.
“I do aspire for my own kingdom.” He looks down at you with a serious gaze; there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “It is a lifelong dream.”
You nod thoughtfully. “Is that why you and Charlotte…?” On numerous occasions, the two of you have gossiped over Griffith and his godly appearance. Lately, you’ve noticed the two of them growing closer.
“Charlotte is lovely but I do not care for her as a lover,” he admits without hesitation.
“Are you sure you should be telling me—her best friend—this?” you tease, nudging him playfully.
He bends down and you can feel his warm breath tickle your ear. “Perhaps I wanted you to hear it.”
“Is that a confession?” You tease him, not expecting a serious reply.
“Would you accept it if it was?” His words cause your steps to falter and you have to tightly grip his arm to steady yourself.
“In your dreams.” You try to deflect your embarrassment. Griffith raises a brow; your flustered appearance does not go unnoticed.
“Well, in my dreams I would present a flower—“ he plucks a rose from the garden “—like this and—“ he tucks it behind your ear “—and proceed to claim how no other flower is more beautiful than the one blossoming in front of me.”
The blush on your cheeks puts the rose petals to shame. “I wasn’t aware you were such a wordsmith, Sir Griffith.”
“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” He flashes you a smile that borders on a smirk.
“And do I get the pleasure of learning about them all?”
“That depends.” He stops walking and you realize that you’re back at the main castle. Bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Goodnight, Princess.” He leaves as swiftly as he appeared. You begin to process what just happened tonight and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. Shaking your head, you realize the only way back to your room undetected is to climb up again. With a sigh, you begin your journey back to your window.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
The security is laxer the second day and there are no longer any guards inside your room. So when the guards rotate for their shifts, you pull out a spare maid uniform and change into it. For good measure, you put on a wig and remove any makeup you had on. Using the pretense that you’re a maid the princess called for earlier, you manage to walk right past the guards. You tell them that the princess ordered you to pick up her favourite pastries from the capital for tea later. With a solid excuse, you are free to venture into the capital. You even make it past the gates until you’re hit with a sense of déjà vu.
“We meet again, Princess.” You don’t dare look behind you, opting instead to increase your pace into a brisk walk. He matches your speed with ease since he’s on horseback. He tilts his head curiously. “Taking the scenic route again?” The grin in his tone is evident. “A walk through the capital this time?”
“If you’re here to stop me, it won’t work,” you stubbornly say. The fabric of your skirt bunches between your fists and you force yourself to let go before any damage is done. Griffith smiles and shakes his head slowly.
“I am simply here to escort you back to your room again.”
“Like you did last night?”
“Precisely.”
“Does this include a complimentary tour on your horse?” you cheekily ask. While the capital isn’t too far, riding a horse is much quicker than walking.
He extends an arm to you and hoists you onto his horse. You sit in front of him, caged between his toned arms. The rhythm of riding a horse is unfamiliar to you, but you quickly pick it up, comfortably swaying in tandem with Griffith. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the way and neither do you. You lean into his chest, missing how he tenses slightly, and close your eyes to enjoy the warm sunlight. In your oblivious state, you remain unaware when he brings his arms closer until they hover just beside your waist.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
This was not what he planned for, not at all. He had meant to take you back straight to your room, just like how he meant to last night. However, if someone were to ask him to explain why he didn’t, he would simply have no answer.
At first, you were just Charlotte’s friend—her obnoxiously outspoken counterpart. But something has changed during the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point where even those around him have noticed a difference.
There was something refreshing in your behaviour. He was used to lowering his head, spewing false words of compliment to please the nobility. Despite being the crown princess, you were humble and kind, but stern and level-headed when necessary—someone fit to stand by his side. He always knew that he would need someone to rule beside, an equal if possible. However, from his many encounters with noble women, the chances were close to benign.
He honestly didn’t think there would be a woman who would catch his eye. Most of them reeked of perfume or were trying to sleep with him to bolster their husbands’ reputations. And on occasion, he would accept their advances if they benefit him enough. But you, you were different. The first time you met, you were dangling from a tree branch to get a laugh out of Charlotte, hoping to make tea shoot out of her nose. When he saw you scaling the castle wall last night with leaves littered throughout your hair, it reminded him of that time.
You’re honestly everything he would want in a partner, as difficult as it is for him to admit. Maybe it was your warm smile that sent his heart palpitating or your flustered appearance that made his chest puff with pride. Maybe it was because he found you so damn lovely that he unconsciously wanted to spend more time with you. And he didn’t know how to feel about it all. He was always in control, there was nothing he couldn’t sway in his favour, no person who could shake his calm exterior. Well, you came in and obliterated all those beliefs. Destroyed them with your sparkling eyes, the way your lips twitch when you hold back a laugh during meetings, and…
Fuck he had it bad for you.
A small movement breaks him out of thought. You were squirming in front of him, trying to match the rocking of the horse. He could have turned back and handed you to the guards. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t know why. If he moved his arms any closer, they would be resting directly on your waist. A small feeling of pride swells in his chest when he notices how you ride the horse with ease now. He tries to ignore how you’re at the perfect height for him to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. Impulsive thoughts like these scare him with their unfamiliarity.
The outskirts of the capital come into view and he decides to break the long silence.
“What brings a princess to disguise herself?” He asks, noticing how your wig is starting to slip off.
“Pastries.”
A deep belly laugh wracks through his entire body, and he feels you tense between his arms. “My apologies.” He manages to pull himself together after a few moments. “I wasn’t expecting such an answer.”
You giggle, snorting a little. The sound sends pleasant tingles through his body, and he ignores the urge to squeeze you tight. “You’ll find that my priorities are rather different than most princesses.” You turn your head back and smile in amusement. “What were you expecting?”
He shrugs and meets your eyes, mirroring your amused expression. “More scandalous novels about forbidden love and status gaps.” You let out a noise of indignation.
“I would never!” you deny, lips lifting into a smirk. “Not without Charlotte, anyway.”
“Yes, you have been a wonderful influence on her.” And he genuinely means it, but you seem to take it the wrong way when you snap at him.
“Look, I already know it’s disgraceful how my ‘unconventional’ behaviour has rubbed off on her. I don’t need another person to chew me out on it.” The bite in your tone stings, wounding him unexpectedly. Why did it upset him so much if you were upset?
Why did he care?
All he knows is that this growing affection for you will be the death of him.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
The bakery quickly comes into view and you sigh with relief, desperate to get away from the awkward atmosphere. You feel Griffith flinch at your remark and dread instantly punches you in the gut; he meant it as a compliment. He was trying to be nice and you bit his head off after misinterpreting his intentions. You mentally scolded yourself for being the biggest idiot in the kingdom. Suddenly the space behind you is empty and you notice that Griffith has dismounted and is offering you his hand. You gnaw on the corner of your bottom lip and hesitantly accept his help, unable to look him directly in the eyes.
“Hey—” a million words go through your mind but none of the combinations you create are good enough “—I’m….” Whatever poor excuse you scraped together dies in your throat. “Shit, why is this so hard,” you grumble to yourself. Griffith remains the perfect gentlemen and waits patiently for you to say your piece. Running your fingers through your wig in an attempt to fix it, you clear your throat and flick your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier; it was undeserved. I understand you were trying to praise me, but I misinterpreted your words.”
He smiles, although there’s now a warmth that you don’t normally see behind it. “Sometimes ‘sorry’ is all that is needed to convey what you mean.” Bringing a hand up, he hesitantly pats your head. His smile gently curves at your wide eyes. You were panicking. If you got this embarrassed with a wig on, what would it be like if he patted your actual hair?
“A-anyway. Shall we head inside?” You avert your gaze again, cursing yourself for acting like a love-struck maiden.
“Certainly, I hear that the princess is often impatient when demanding items from the capital. I hear she sometimes sends guards to storm the local bookstore to obtain new books that are popular amongst women.” His teases do little to rile you up.
“I’ll have you know that gossiping about the royal family can be seen as treason.” Your face hurts from smiling so much. “Besides, that only happened once and I would have had to wait another month if I didn’t do anything.”
“M’lady.” He offers his arm to you again. You become aware of the increasing attention the two of you—mostly Griffith—are drawing.
“I am but a humble maid, Sir Griffith.” The last thing you wanted was to have your identity exposed. Your father would most likely increase the duration of your punishment and then you would really die of boredom.
“You are a lady nonetheless.” To avoid further embarrassment, you grab his hand and tug him into the bakery. The timbre of his laughter sends your heart racing. Your hands begin to feel clammy and you release your grip, praying he doesn’t notice. “I underestimated your enthusiasm for baked goods.”
Your lips turn up into a wry smile and you wipe your palms on your skirt. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good tart.” You head to the owner, Sadie, and greet her. She’s one of the few people who know your true identity. When Charlotte isn’t visiting, you are often in the bakery helping Sadie. She has voiced her disappointment many times that you would be a great baker if you didn’t have a kingdom to run. While she heads to the back to retrieve the order, you tell Griffith that he can pick out anything for himself. “My treat,” you insist.
“I can’t say I’m a fan of sweets,” he admits, browsing the displays of various cakes and other desserts.
“Then how about a muffin? Or maybe some cookies?” you suggest, unsure of what he would like. “Of course, I can always offer you something else for your trouble?” Your bottom lip feels raw from the abuse it endures as you worry it between your teeth periodically. Flinching when a metallic taste fills your mouth, you swipe your tongue over the wound, hissing quietly at the sting.
“I sense that this is causing you distress.” His brows furrow and concern fills his gaze. He walks over to a shelf lined with bags of cookies and picks an assorted mix. “This will suffice.”
“Are you sure that’s enough?” There’s a tinge of doubt in your voice and the corners of your mouth tug down. Griffith ponders for a minute. You fidget under his calculating gaze.
“Then perhaps the privilege to call you by your name.” You suck in a breath; will you really allow this man to have such power over you? Your heart already nearly combusts when he calls you ‘princess’. Hearing your name fall from his lips will surely cause your heart to stop. On the other hand, you feel guilty seeing the simple bag of cookies in his hands. He offered you a ride to town and his protection instead of handing you to the guards.
“No titles?” You start biting your lip again, yelping when the forgotten wound reopens. Griffith rushes over to you and takes out a handkerchief, pressing the fabric firmly against your bottom lip. “I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter, the cloth impeding your ability to talk a little. Griffith’s face is close, his eyes are focused on your lips and you swallow nervously.
“You should be more careful, Princess.”
“You can say it.” You avert your gaze.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name. I’ll allow you to call me by my name—but only in private. Father and Mother will kill me if they find out I let a man, especially one who isn’t my betrothed, address me informally.” Your eyes flicker back to him and they widen at the smile that spreads on his face.
And so he does. He says your name in a gentle whisper, testing it on his tongue. Hearing it sends fireworks exploding in your rib cage; your heart pounds loud enough that you’re afraid he can hear it.
“Then please just call me Griffith, I insist.” His kind smile sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.
“G-Griffith,” you hesitantly say. The pure joy in his expression is worth all the embarrassment you feel. Your lip has stopped bleeding by now and you stare guiltily at his handkerchief that you’ve stained. “It seems you’re always there in my time of need.” Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a question that’s been bothering you the past few days. “Why are you so nice to me?” His expression falters and the handkerchief scrunches up in his fist.
You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen how he interacts with other women besides Charlotte. Disingenuine. Similar to how all of high society socializes, where smiles hide sneers and insults are disguised as compliments. Sure you’re Charlotte’s best friend, but that shouldn’t mean anything to him. And so you tried to ignore the little voice in your head, telling you that he’s treating you nicely because he wants something from you.
He pulls away and smiles ruefully. “Indeed. Why am I nice to you?” Only one side of his lips curls up, and his tone is melancholic. You fold your arms and hug yourself, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
“I asked you first,” you whisper. The silence in the store is deafening. Now would be a really good time for Sadie to come back—
“Delivery for the princess coming up!” Sadie cheerfully strides back into the room with an elegantly wrapped box in her arms. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long. It turns out that nobody packaged any of the sweets despite my reminders.” She shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “Here.” She presents the box to you and you thank her profusely—grateful for the interruption—and hand her the payment along with a generous tip. You look around and deduce from Griffith’s absence that he already left and is waiting for you by his horse. “He left a few minutes ago.”
Your head snaps back to Sadie and you smile sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”
“Honey, you have no idea.” You consider Sadie as an older sister. When everyone scolded you for your unladylike behaviour, Sadie encouraged you to find healthy outlets to express yourself with. She is also incredibly perceptive much to your dismay.
You fiddle with a stray thread on your sleeve, unable to bring yourself to look her in the eyes. You already know that she’s looking at you with concern. “I like him—maybe a lot more than I want to admit.”
“But?” Sadie asks, sensing the hesitation in your voice.
“But I know his type and I know what he wants to accomplish.”
“And you think he might be playing nice to get what he wants?” Her blunt words sting with the truth. Your shoulders slump and she steps around the counter, taking the box from you and setting it aside. She gently grabs both of your hands and squeezes them, and it takes you every ounce of control to not break down in the middle of the bakery. You nod, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears, and she wraps you in a hug.
“I’m worried, Sadie. I’ve seen ambition and greed corrupt souls before. What do I do if he becomes a monster? Or what if he already is one?” You feel Sadie tremble, but then you look down at your arms and see that it’s not Sadie. It’s you. When did you start trembling? These unfamiliar feelings scared you. You were always in control, the person with the highest status in a room. Hell, a few days ago you made a grown man whimper like a baby.
Sadie pulls away with a frown and her hands are on the sides of your face. “Then if you like him so much, you make damn sure that he doesn’t stray down the wrong path. And if you fail and he becomes a monster, I’ll break his damn kneecaps and we’ll run away together and start a bakery in another kingdom.”
You choke out a laugh, your vision becoming blurry. She tuts and brushes away your tears with her thumb. “I will never understand your obsession with kneecaps.”
“You don’t have to be tall to reach them.” She grins, relaxing when your mood noticeably brightens. “Listen, you don’t have to make anything official or label what you have with him.” She drops her hands to your upper arms and squeezes them affectionately. “Your decision isn’t permanent, so just see how it goes for now.” You soak in her words and nod slowly, your gaze drifting towards the door. “Hey.” Looking back at Sadie, her expression is solemn. “I mean it. I’m always available for some kneecap busting.” Her face breaks out into a grin and you start giggling. The two of you laugh until your sides ache and your lungs beg for oxygen.
“Sometimes I wonder how you’re not an adventurer or in some job that requires physical violence.”
The Cheshire grin on her face sparks some curiosity. “Who’s to say that I’ve only done baking my whole life?” Before you can ask questions, she pushes the box against your chest and steers you to the door. “Your knight in shining armour is waiting.” You stick your tongue at her over your shoulder and she returns the gesture before waving goodbye.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
Griffith is beside his horse, feeding it a nice, shiny apple he bought while you were inside. You can’t help but notice the large group of girls admiring him from afar and the small few that gathered the courage to go up and talk to him. You lean against a wall and observe. His smile never reaches his eyes. His actions are all polite but he doesn’t go above the bare minimum. You could sense some irritation from his body language, which was so subtle that you almost missed it.
“Lord Griffith, what brings you here to town?” One of them presses up against his arm, purposefully sticking out her chest. He smirks and grabs the woman by her chin, brushing his thumb over her lips.
“To admire lovely ladies such as yourself.” You have to push down the bile rising in your throat as you watch the woman swoon and faint.
She literally passes out. It takes two men to drag her to the nearest doctor.
The group continues to gush over Griffith in hushed whispers, their incessant giggling begins to get on your nerves. Deciding that you were fed up—and most definitely not jealous—you push off the wall and walk over to Griffith. He immediately notices your presence and a more genuine smile appears on his face. “As much as I would love to stay and chat, ladies. I’m afraid duty calls.”
The group of girls glare at you. You beam a sweet smile at them, trying to convey with your eyes how little fucks you give. It seems to work as a majority of them wither under your gaze. “What would Lord Griffith have to do with an ugly harlot?” one of them says. If you weren’t holding a box of your favourite pastries right now, hands would be thrown.
“The princess urgently requires some desserts for her afternoon tea and I was sent to escort her maid to pick up the delivery,” Griffith replies, emphasizing your title. The girl pales immediately. Insulting a direct servant of the royal family was like insulting their master, and insulting a member of the royal family usually ends with someone’s head being lopped off. Without another word, he mounts his horse and helps you up. He grabs the reins and signals his horse to start walking, easing into a trot. A loud thud behind you signals that the number of fainting women today has increased by one. Although you would faint too if you thought you were surely going to be decapitated.
“Thank you,” you say, watching the scenery pass. “For standing up for me. I could have handled it—” you interrupt him before he can interject “—but I’m thankful for the assistance.”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t let them slander you like that.”
“Do you think I’m pretty, then?” you tease him, silently chuckling at how his chest tenses behind you.
“I won’t deny that you are,” he answers, his voice lilting. “I have to make sure my head remains on my shoulders.” You guffaw and smack his arm, leaning back harshly and ramming your head into his chest in hopes of winding him. He grunts and tightens his arm around your waist. “It’s dangerous to move around so much on a horse, Princess.” His warm breath tickles your ears and your face is ablaze. You simply huff and adjust yourself until you’re comfortable, trying to ignore the tingles running through your body. His arms are still around your waist, resting on them and almost holding you in an embrace.
You stare straight ahead, not wanting to see Griffith’s expression when you continue the conversation from the bakery. “You never answered my question.”
“If I think you’re pretty? I thought we already established that you’re exquisitely beautiful.”
“W-what! No, not that!” You smack his arm again out of embarrassment.
“Careful, Princess. I can’t swing a sword if you maim my arm.” You retaliate by smacking his other arm, but he grabs your hand before the blow can land. He doesn’t let go and you secretly don’t want him to, so you don’t mention it.
“I was talking about earlier when we were in the bakery,” you say
“Are you always so violent with men?”
You frown. “Why are you trying to change the subject?”
He squeezes your hand and flashes a smile. “I see my attempts to steer the conversation are futile.” He leans forward and sighs. His warm breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. “You have become far more important to me than I intended,” he admits in a hushed tone. You struggle to process his words, the only thing grounding you is the brush of his thumb across the back of your hand.
“Is that a confession?” you squeak out, struggling to keep your breathing steady.
“That depends. Would you accept it if it was?”
The familiar response brings you back to last night in the garden. Your heart nearly leaps out of your ribcage and it takes you every ounce of self-control to not jump off the horse and run away. Could you really trust his words? Did he genuinely like you? Or is he just like that prince you nearly made sterile this morning?
“And if I did?” You turn around, looking up at him through your lashes.
He breathes in sharply and dips his head down, nose bumping against yours.
“Then I would say your standards are considerably low if you call that a confession,” he whispers. His eyes flicker from your lips and back up to your eyes. Feeling bold, you straighten your posture. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning against your skin.
“Then how about—” you brush your lips against his “—I show you a proper confession?” and you close the gap. He doesn’t move at first. He seems to freeze behind you and this makes you pause in hesitation. But he quickly reciprocates, moving his lips in tandem with yours.
Kissing Griffith is everything you imagined and more. His soft lips are gentle and he doesn’t try to push you further. But you want more. You want to feel more of him. He’s been the subject of many embarrassing dreams and you didn’t know if you would ever get the chance to kiss him again. Taking the initiative, you slip your tongue out and swipe it across his bottom lip. You hear him curse quietly as he opens his mouth and lets you explore. Before the kiss can get any more heated, he pulls away. There’s a soft blush dusting his cheeks and you stare. You stare until he ducks his head and buries it into the crook of your neck.
He laughs joyfully, and it sounds so carefree and happy. The butterflies in your stomach flutter in response. “You’re killing me, Princess,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.
“I can’t help it. I’ve never seen you look so…” you trail off.
“Weak? Vulnerable?” he says and adds more suggestions, each word more venomous than the last. “Stupid? Effeminate?—” you cut him off with a chaste kiss.
“I was going to say lovely, Griff.” You tug on the necklace he never takes off to pull him down, resting your forehead against his. “I was staring because at that moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you because you looked so lovely.” The pink on his face flushes into a deep red that reaches his ears and down his neck. His eyes look over your face as if he’s searching for something. “What are you trying to figure out?” you ask with an amused grin, unconsciously watching his mouth when he licks his lips nervously.
“You,” he answers simply. “How a wonderful creature such as yourself can exist in this dreadful world.” His arm around your waist pulls you closer to him and he basks in your presence. For a rare moment, you see his mask disappear and marvel at how innocent his expression looks. A desire to protect this Griffith is born and you open your mouth, but the horse suddenly stops. You’re back at the castle.
You didn’t even notice that he had taken you all the way back to your own section of the castle. He dismounts the horse and you accept the familiar offer that follows afterwards. Clasping his hand longer than what your etiquette teacher would deem appropriate, you look up at him. His expression is back to that neutral smile that’s always plastered to his face like a shield. You shuffle your feet and look down at the ground.
“Thank you again for escorting me. I really do appreciate it.” You can feel your neck straining but you refuse to look up, to look up and see the mask on his face again.
“Princess,” he whispers softly. He gently tilts your head up and cups your cheek in one hand. Out of instinct, you nuzzle into his touch, eyes wide. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Well, that depends.” The corners of his lips twitch up in amusement.
“On what?” You hum and pretend to be lost in thought, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face.
“On whether you can catch me again.” Your grin quickly becomes smug. “The banquet is tomorrow evening.” Understanding flickers across his face. “If you can catch me escaping again before then, I will grant your request and you get to be my escort for the night.”
Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “Do my escort duties end at the banquet? Or are you requesting that I be your escort for the duration of the entire night?” You catch his suggestive tone and pull him into a passionate kiss.
You leave him stunned in silence, flushed with swollen lips; it’s a good look on him.
“Why don’t you find out?” You peck him on the cheek and skip merrily to your room with the box of desserts in your hands, eager to spill all the juicy details to Charlotte over tea. You giggle and glance back at him over your shoulder. “Catch me if you can!” He’s still rooted to the spot like a lovestruck fool, but you can clearly see the determination in his eyes.
You can’t wait for tomorrow night.
And neither can he.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
End Note:
Wasn't that a wild ride! I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing. Originally, I thought three was a good number of escape attempts, but as I was writing the first one, I realized that three would end up being way too long and settled for two. The plot kinda developed on its own and became the giant fanfic you just read.
If you're ever reading one of my works and want to make a request, feel free to leave a comment! I can't guarantee I'll write or finish it quickly though if this request was anything to go by lol.
Warnings: Vivid details of violence, blood and death.
Parings: Prince Sidon/Reader, Link/Reader
Even after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, the world remained paranoid. So many times had they defeated the evil, and so many times had it come back. The legends melted away after the fall of the champions one hundred years ago, and the citizens of Hyrule could no longer turn to them for guidance.
So, they turned to you.
From a very young age, you always knew something was different. You could never quite place or understand the feeling, but sometimes when making important decisions or choosing what to say, a gentle prodding made its way up your skull. ‘This one! This is right, this is the way.’ Echos of affirmation in an oddly familiar voice that no one else could hear. But, it always seemed to help those in need, so you were keen to listen.
One day, when you were no older than ten years old, your parents had a stranger come into the house. She wore all white, with a thin veil covering her eyes. She met your gaze, and you knew.
You were the same. On some level deep down you resonated with each other. You had something in common that was so engrossed in who you were that it sent shivers through your body. The voice reverberated louder, calling her to you and you to her. She stretched out her hand, palm up, and you put yours in hers. A bright light swallowed you, and everything became clear. You finally knew.
You were an Oracle.
—————
You sat in Hyrule castle, at the left hand of the Queen. Your robes were loose and light, that same white color as the woman who gave you your answer nearly a decade ago. You kept your head bowed as Queen Zelda addressed her court, Link at her right. They were currently discussing the reconstruction of Hyrule, what with a century of abandonment to many of its cities and people. Ever since this meeting had begun, there had been a buzzing in the back of your skull. It spread around your scalp and pulsed at your temples, but you fought back the urge to put your head into your hands. You were currently surrounded by the ambassadors of the different domains and remaining civilizations, you had to remain proper. Besides, it was most likely just a headache from staying awake long into the morning hours with Zelda, reading and studying about the years that had transpired while she was trapped with Ganon, and before you were born.
Zelda often keeps you and Link by her side. While you had known the Queen for a significantly less amount of time than the champion had, you had bonded over the shared burden of having a divine power bestowed upon you from a young age. In your time with Link, he had taught you simple defense maneuvers. As the Oracle, almost all of your concentration had to be in the present, focusing on harnessing any sign or signal you could grab onto to help decipher the coming days or even years. He fretted enough about Zelda not being able to fight on her own, but now that he had two incredibly important people to guard, he felt he was going to have a heart attack. You weren’t given a weapon- many were too heavy or didn’t sit right in your hands, with the added fact that you really weren’t supposed to wield anything that could hurt you in return (keeping your body whole was apparently a big part of the job). Link taught you pressure points and how a two-fingered jab to the right place could bring even Lizalfols to the ground. He promised he’d be at your back in an instance, but it made him and you more confident with some experience under your belt.
The buzzing grew louder and stronger with every passing minute, and you shifted to tuck your feet in on the seat of your chair to ball yourself in tighter. The haze that normally accompanied oncoming migraines wasn’t present, so you shoved it aside and blamed it on exhaustion. You tried to listen past the incessant noise, and to Zelda’s words.
“Even with Ganon defeated, some of the Malice it left behind continues to scorch the land. It isn’t hard to combat, but we will need a large group to cover all of the domains.” Zelda spoke, fingers interlaced atop the table. “Link recommended a force of five for each pool, as some of them can build and expel monsters out of nowhere.” Link nodded at her side, arms folded across his chest. He brought his hands forward to speak, fingers fluttering.
“They aren’t difficult and won’t do much damage to your person- but they are quiet. It’s always helpful to have someone watching your back.” He signed, an interpreter relaying his words towards the other end of the table. The ambassadors nodded, and a Zora woman raised her hand to speak.
“We have stationed guards along different trade routes to ease the journey of the travelers coming to our domain, and there have been reports of Malice pools growing from the ground. I believed they were isolated to the Divine Beasts and to the different shrines and towers. Do you know why they are coming about?”
You looked up to her, and a lump caught in your throat. The way herred scales glimmered in the remaining sunlight was painstakingly familiar, and the more you looked the more the lump grew. It had been the only time you’d raised your gaze the entire meeting, and she- as well as some other ambassadors- took notice. She met your gaze and offered a small smile.
And that’s what did it.
You let out a sharp gasp and clutched at the fabric in front of your chest, all the pain in your head suddenly shooting down to your heart. It felt like something was strangling the organ, a tight grip that squeezed and pulled and hurt. Your vision began to black out as you heard voices all around you. Someone put their hand on your shoulder and another barked at them to stop, leave them be!
The pain in your chest spread through your shoulders and back, down your spine and arms and back up to your skull. Your throat burned like you had been swallowing saltwater and nausea crept into your belly. You saw red, a bright crimson in your peripheral vision fading into blue, into brown. You heard the roar of a Divine Beast and felt it’s anguish. The ground shook with it’s fury and your vision cleared. You looked up and found yourself in the Zora domain, soaked through and surrounded by fleeting citizens. You stayed still, watching in awe as Vah Ruta rampaged through the domain, the marble and stone cracking beneath its feet. It stomped over the throne and it crumbled beneath its weight like a mushroom. The water at your bare feet turned red and sticky with blood, and Vah Ruta turned its massive head to you.
You met its eyes as its trunk lifted high into the air, a ball of energy building between its tusks. You were frozen in place, fear rooting you in your spot as you stared down a machine that easily aided in the defeat of Calamity Ganon. It whirred menacingly and fired at you. The screams and cries silenced, there was nothing left but the beam. Blue and white flooded your vision, then red again. So much red that it faded into black, only two glowing eyes remained. Ganon’s eyes. It gurgled in the silence and unhinged its mouth, pure Malice dripping onto the floor and onto you. You cried out as it burned your hands, and you watched in horror as it spread up your arms and chest. You were covered in Malice- no, the entire world was covered, infected, and dying slowly beneath the surface. And all it took was one pool near the far terminal in Vah Ruta. You blinked the pain away as you traveled with the Malice, one with it now. You saw it tearing apart wires and cogs beneath the surface, reworking the machine to how it saw fit. All it took was one beast, and the world would decay.
Something grabbed your wrist and pulled you from the Malice, and when you crumpled with exhaustion they caught you. They held you and rubbed your back as you sobbed into their shoulder. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades and warmth followed.
Look at your hands, they said into your ear. A girl’s voice, a slight lilt underneath her tone. It’s going to be okay, you can go home.
You brought your hands into your vision, and saw the Malice fading away along with a soft blue light. You peeled away from her shoulder and looked into the eyes of Mipha. Her expression was tense and filled with worry.
If Vah Ruta loses control, then the world will crumble. She spoke softly, taking your hands into hers. I am afraid I won’t be able to calm her, please- tears pricked at her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.
Find my brother.
You open your eyes to find yourself on the floor. The light burned your eyes, and the shape of Zelda above you was blurred and fuzzy. She called out your name in relief, helping you sit up.
“Are you alright- what happened? Do you need a medic!?” She fretted, and you shook your head. Your hands were also shaking, and you would guess your entire body was trembling by the way the ambassadors were looking at you. They stood at a distance, and you learned why as you looked up at Link. He was stood up with his back to you and Zelda, sword drawn and in a slight crouch. You guessed when you collapsed the ambassadors and guards rushed to your aid, only to be stopped when the Champion took your guard. You would have to thank him later, but there were more important matters.
Ignoring Zelda’s questions and worries, you leaned up and grabbed Link’s hand. He spun around immediately, eyes wide. He knelt to your level, hand never leaving his sword.
“We- we need to-“ Your voice shook as you stuttered, and groaned in frustration as the words almost refused to come out of your mouth. Link’s eyes were patient, but you looked down to break his gaze. “Vah Ruta, the Domain- we need to go there, immediately.” You sucked in a breath as you tried not to hyperventilate, panic seeping into your skin as you remembered the blood-slick floors. “Vah Ruta is going to loose control and- and attack the Domain.”
Gasps of shock rang throughout the room, and tension quickly began to build. The ambassadors rushed to speak to each other.
“Vah Ruta? But didn’t the Queen fix it after the Calamity!?”
“My home- my domain! What are we going to do?”
“How is this happening? Is it an omen?”
A Rito ambassador knelt beside Link, who gave him a side eye and clutched the sword tighter. The bird took no notice, all of his attention on you.
“Will the remaining Beasts also rampage? Do we need to be prepared as well?” He demanded, panic thick in his voice. Before you could answer, his panic was well shared.
“The rest of the Divine Beasts?! Oh, Goddess!”
“If Vah Naboris rampages again, Gerudo Town will crumble!”
“Oracle, what did you hear- what did you see!?”
“Please, what is going to happen?”
“Are we doomed again? Is Ganon coming back-“
“Enough!” Zelda cried, standing sharply as her voice cut through the room. They all turned to face her, wide eyed and scared. She took a breath and smoothed out her dress before addressing them again.
“The gift of Foresight is an exhausting one, please allow them to collect themselves before answering your onslaught of questions! Clearly it was a traumatic experience, as they were shaking and sobbing not minutes ago!” She declared, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Shaking and sobbing? Oh, what a first impression on some of the most important people in the four domains. Zelda held out her hand to you, snapping you out of your embarrassment and helped you stand. Her hand then came to your shoulder and turned you away from them and across the room. She waved for Link to follow. She held both of your arms as she walked to face you directly, Link at her shoulder.
“Alright,” She said, sighing. “Honestly, they had no right swarming you like they did.”
“It’s alright, your Highness. I’m sure I would do the same in their position, hearing something as startling as a Divine Beast losing control and running through a domain.” You folded your hands and held them near your stomach, trying to ground yourself. “I should go and explain my vision, they need to-“
“No,” Link signed, his first two fingers and thumb pinching together. “They will only stress you out more, you’re already unwell.”
“But they need to know! We need to travel to the Domain as soon as possible!” You furrowed your brow as you spoke. “It’s going to happen soon, and the Zora need to-“
“That’s why I will tell them, and you go rest as much as you can.” Zelda said calmly, rubbing your arm in a soothing motion. “Tell me what you saw, and I’ll relay the information so you and Link can start getting ready. You’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“You won’t be coming?” Link asked, and Zelda shook her head.
“Hyrule still needs a leader. I can talk to you both through the Slate, and offer any assistance you may need.”
You bit at the corner of your lip. The air felt heavy and your chest was still tight from the lingering effects of your vision. Zelda was right though, as she always was. You needed to prepare.
“...alright,” You whispered, and they turned back to you. “If you’re sure.”
“Of course. Now sit down and give me just a moment.” Zelda led you back to where you were sitting before and you eased yourself onto the cushion. You tucked into yourself as the ambassadors looked at you, feeling like a luminous stone at midnight under their gaze. Zelda gathered their attention and began to explain what would happen, that they should return to their rooms until called down to hear the explanation, and Link stood in front of you.
“You have no reason to be nervous, it will just be me and Zelda.”
“I’m not nervous.” You countered, looking up at him. “I’m just-“
“You are, and it’s okay.” He interrupted, and your mouth clipped shut. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I want you to know you’ll be safe. I’d never let anything near you that wasn’t welcome.”
“I saw that earlier,” You chuckled, and a soft smile spread across Link’s face as well. “You had your sword out and everything, it’s like you were staring down a hoard of Bokoblins.” You playfully jabbed at his stomach, which he sidestepped with ease.
“It almost was, you should’ve seen the Gerudo. She almost grabbed you herself.” You giggled a little, covering your mouth. When your laughter subsided, you looked at him seriously.
“Thank you. For- for always protecting me. I’m sorry if I put any more stress on you, you deserve a break after fighting the calamity.” He waved you off, scoffing slightly.
“Believe me, this is a vacation. I can’t stand still for the life of me, much less take a vacation. Can you imagine me, relaxing? It doesn’t fit right.” He made a face of disgust and stuck his tongue out. You smiled fondly.
“You’re right, it doesn’t. But any moment you need to take a break or even just sleep in a little longer, do so. I don’t want you burning yourself out on my account.”
“I think I took enough of a nap when I was in the Shrine of Resurrection, don't you think?”
You shrugged, not knowing exactly what to say in response. Link was stubborn, and getting him to budge on anything was hard, but especially hard when it came to his health. You have had small blips of visions where Link was bleeding profusely or otherwise severely wounded but he kept going. You knew he would get nightmares of the calamity as you would get them too. Part of the glamorous life of an Oracle was near magical empathy, you could see and hear what someone was going through and live in that struggle. It wasn’t something you loved, in fact sometimes it felt like an invasion of privacy, but sometimes it led to you helping those you cared for. You had talked to Link about his dreams and he opened up to you a little. The burden was worth it in the end, but you wished you could do more. Link and you continued to chat softly, and soon enough Zelda came back. Her smile was strained, and you swallowed hard.
“So,” She began, clearing her throat. “They aren’t exactly thrilled with the fact that it won’t be coming from you directly, but they will live on” She looked back to where the door was swinging shut, the ambassadors now being escorted to their respective chambers. Hyrule Castle was one of the first things to be rebuilt, and more rooms and space was added for Hylian citizens to seek shelter in while the Kingdom was being rebuilt. It truly was a beautiful building, now that it was reformed to its proper glory.
“Are you ready? We can take this slow.” She asked, and you nodded. She brought out her Sheikah Slate and opened a feature that allowed her to take notes, and looked to you to begin.
“I- I was in the Zora domain. They were all fleeing rapidly, and shoving past me. Normally, when I have these visions, I can phase through what I need to in order to find what I need, but-“ Your hands shook again, and you squeezed them together. “I was really there, I felt them knock into me. It’s never been like that before.
“Many were injured, some were dead, but no one was stopping. I looked up and Vah Ruta was in the domain, thrashing about and destroying many of the pillars and making its way to the throne room, where I was.”
“It wasn’t in the dam anymore? How could that happen?” Link asked, bewildered. You shook your head.
“I don’t know. I only saw it coming towards me, and then it-“ You held onto your neck, pressing into your muscles to ease the tension. “It fired it’s laser- the one it shot at Ganon. I think I- I might’ve died, there.”
Zelda clapped a hand over her mouth. The scalding hot feeling faded back into your chest where Vah Ruta had aimed, and you cleared your throat.
“Then, when the world went dark, I was a part of the malice. I saw it corrupting the inside of Vah Ruta before Mipha pulled me out and healed me. She said she could no longer rein in the Beast, I think she’s been struggling for a while. Then-“ You looked up at Link, who met your gaze with an intense expression.
“Then she told me to find her brother. I don’t know why, but when the Zora ambassador talked about Malice pools growing, that’s what shot me into the vision. I think- I think she’s right. I was a part of the Malice after Vah Ruta shot me, so that means-“
“Others might be too.” Zelda finished. “Those who were slain might have gotten sucked into the Malice and developed with it, that’s why it’s getting stronger.” She faced away for a moment, lost in thought. “This is… worrying, to say the least.” You nodded, and rubbed your face.
“I’m so sorry, I wish I knew more.”
“No, you’ve done so much.” Zelda reassured, taking your hands away from your face. “Without you, we wouldn’t know this was even happening. Now,” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and helped you stand. “Go and rest, I’ll talk with the captain of the guard and the ambassadors. Link,” She turned to him. “Don’t let anyone stop you on your way. Make sure they get to their room safe.” Link nodded in return and took your arm. Zelda waved, and turned to a guardsman not too far off.
Link walked with you, slower than his usual pace to match yours. He brought his arm away from yours for a moment to sign something to you.
“We can’t both use the travel gates at once, so we’ll be going on horseback. It won’t be an incredibly long journey, but I would bring clothes you would be comfortable riding in.” He explained.
“Shouldn’t we leave now? We would get there by noon tomorrow if we went straight there.” You spoke softly, and Link thought for a moment.
“I’m not sure about that. We’ll have to go through a lot of diplomacy as soon as we arrive, you need to be well rested and recovered after what happened.” He said, a frown creasing in his face. “What if you have another vision at the Domain? You’d be exhausted.”
“Link, please.” You took his hand, and moved your veil to look at him directly. Your hair fell from under your hood, and a slight flush moved it’s way up to Link’s ears. You never took off the veil and hood, it was a sign of protection from false guidance or spirits. He’s never seen your face without it. “I won’t be able to sleep even if we wait, let alone rest. I’ll go mad knowing we waited any longer than needed- people are going to die, Link.” You pleaded, and you felt his resolve begin to crumble. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“...fine. Fine, alright. But we’ll be taking one horse so you can sleep on the way, pack only what you truly need. We can get food there during the journey.” You smile up at him, full of gratitude. You lift your hood back up and your face and rush forward to hug him tightly. The feeling is foreign to both you and him, Link not being incredibly touchy and you really weren’t supposed to touch people at all- keeping yourself pure and without too deep attachments that could risk severing your connection to the goddess and spirits.
“Thank you.” You murmur into his chest, and let go afterwards. You adjust your robes, unable to meet his eye. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes, where should I meet you?”
“I’ll come gather you. I don’t think you know where the stables are.” He said, a bit of snark on his face. He was right, you didn’t, but he didn’t have to be smart about it. You shove him off and race to your quarters as well as one can when wearing floor length robes that draped and flowed nearly everywhere.
As soon as you closed your door, you went to your wardrobe. You pulled a pair of trousers that weren’t so loose on you and set them on your mattress, as well as a warm tunic and a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of opal earrings Link had given to you a while back, he said they had some sort of magical property hidden within that made it easier to swim and climb in the rain. All of your clothes were some form of white or cream color to symbolize your purity and power, but in instances like this it made it more difficult to have proper outdoors attire. Well, you guess that many people when thinking of an Oracle don’t think of horseback riding and trudging through rough terrain.
You removed your hood and veil once more, stripping off your robe and shirt underneath before your boots and pants. You pulled on the outfit you laid out, replacing your silk gloves with the leather ones and putting the earrings through. Your hood and veil were returned and you got on your knees to reach under your bed.
You honestly had no reason to hide this anymore, you knew only Zelda, Link and the only maid you’ve spoken to were allowed in your room and they wouldn’t judge or criticize you for it, but old habits die hard. You pull the small wooden box into your lap and unlatch it, smiling fondly at what laid inside.
It was a simple necklace on a thin chain and didn’t have much design. You didn’t wear much jewelry, and if you did it wasn’t often, but you almost never wear this for a completely different reason. You’d probably keel over and die on the spot if you lost it, or it was broken. The pendant that lay on the chain was in the shape of a star, four points that thinned out as they went with a small quartz stone in the center. The back of the pendant had your name engraved, followed by “Forever in our sky”. It had been a gift from your mother before you left to begin your training and honing your ability. The teachers and guides had tried to take it from you, saying that you must leave everything behind to serve your greater purpose, but you hid it. You figured your family wouldn’t keep you from serving the goddess and you were right. You clipped it on and slid it beneath your tunic before standing and grabbing your satchel that you came here with.
In it you slid a pouch of rupees, two Hasty Elixirs (Link insisted on you taking them, in case you ever needed to run away from a battle.) and your spare set of prayer robes in case you would need them. You walked over to where your altar table was laid out and gathered the few gemstones that laid out in the corners, as well as the small crystal sphere you would roll between your palms to aid with smaller visions. You looked out over your room to confirm you weren’t missing anything, and slid your boots back onto your feet. You opened the door and was met with Link reaching to knock. You sniggered, and stepped aside. He sat on the bed and you shut the door.
“Got everything?” He asked, and you nodded. He had changed out of his Champion’s tunic and into a red and black one you haven't seen before. A full quiver of arrows and a black bow rested above the darkness-sealing sword. He had a satchel as well, presumably for more arrows or weapons. He always liked to be prepared.
“I left a note for Zelda for when she comes looking for us in the morning. Hopefully she won’t be too angry.”
“She will live on.” You said, mimicking her words from earlier which got a smirk out of Link. He turned and pointed to a trapdoor on your ceiling that you hadn’t noticed until this moment.
“We’ll go through the attic and jump down onto the walkway beneath. There’s an old railroad system beneath the castle that will take us to the main gate and out.” He signed, hands moving almost quicker than you can read. “It won’t be easy.”
“Then let’s get going.” Your voice was full of determination, and you moved a bedside table underneath the trapdoor. “You go up first and then help me, you’re taller.”
“Man, I knew I liked you.”
You clung onto Link’s waist as he urged his horse on over the bridge and into the woods. You looked over the night sky and the dwindling candlelight through the castle windows. “I’m sorry, Zelda,” You whispered, “But I can’t wait any longer.” You put your head on Link’s shoulder and closed your eyes, hoping to catch some sleep before hell broke loose.
