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xjoonchildx · 2 years

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kanalia | jhs x reader |chapter four: good men and temptation

banner by the amazing @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut, slow burn & pining

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has continued to follow this story. i went through a period of terrible writer's block and self-doubt over the course of this chapter and it would not be complete without my fic accountability coach and A1 since day one @hobi-gif. also a huge thank you to @yeoldontknow and the possums who lent me their amazing eyeballs and brains -- i love you guys so much @wwilloww @reliablemitten @miscelunaaa you guys aren't just amazing writers, you're amazing people. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter 💕

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There was a time when you’d been certain the thing you wanted most was for the King to suffer.

You would fantasize about it; spend your waking hours longing for it – certain the only thing that could bring you some semblance of peace was your husband’s utter distress. Certain that seeing him broken would be the only way to feel whole.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

The heaviness with which he drops into the ornate wingback chair at your bedside does not make you feel any lighter. The sober expression on his face as he regards you does not make you feel in any way vindicated. Nor is there any triumph to be had in the guilt that seems to radiate from his every pore, subtle as a beacon.

“How are you feeling?”

You stifle a sigh. It’s the King’s second visit to your chamber today alone and by now there is little polite, meaningless conversation left to be had.

“Much the same as I felt two hours ago, Your Grace,” you answer, regretting the blunt edge to your words when his face falls. You’re careful to soften your tone as you add, “Which is to say much improved. Thank you.”

A heavy quiet falls over the chamber again. You can’t make out the sound of the maids walking the halls outside or the ever-present din of chattering footmen on the floors below. Even the motes of dust in the air seem suspended in place, hanging motionless in the shafts of sunlight that stream in from behind your heavy curtains.

“I’ve yet to leave this bed but I think I’m feeling a bit stronger today,” you offer feebly, speaking only when the King seems to have resigned himself to silence. “The doctor assures me this is a passing malaise, nothing more.”

Your husband nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weak attempt at a smile.

There was a time when you might have relished the melancholy on his face. Might have found the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders gratifying. Or taken some sordid pleasure in the way he smooths his damp palms over the thick weave of his breeches, over and over again.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

None of it brings you any satisfaction. Seeing the King wounded does not make you less wounded. And his unhappiness does not in any way alleviate your own.

“I’ll be sure to share the details of your recovery with the many people who’ve asked after you,” he says with a joyless chuckle. “I think they’ll have my head if I don’t bring them good news in short order.”

But is Lord Jung among them?

As they so often do, your thoughts wander from the man before you—your husband—to the enigmatic Royal Guardsman. You think back to the last time you saw him, to the way he’d taken the lead in seeing you cared for when you’d been burning with fever. You think of the quiet authority and reassurance in his voice as he’d helped you reach your chambers and bed. You think of the way that voice had hardened in the tense moments after Lord Jeon had confessed to not being able to find the King.

You think of that perplexing confrontation in the courtyard.

You’ve had little more to do than contemplate the circumstances of that exchange for days now, turning the strange scene over in your mind while confined to your sickbed. What you would give to have just an inkling of what transpired between those men that night, to have any small insight into the words spoken during that terse conversation. Though in truth, some part of you suspects you already know.

Certainly something is behind your husband’s sudden bout of attentiveness.

You roll your shoulders and knead at the stiff muscles of your neck, body strained and sore from days of idleness. The pillows pressed against your lower back have slipped just enough to cause discomfort and you reach behind yourself to rearrange them.

“I can do that for you,” the King says, rushing to his feet.

He is standing at your side before you have a chance to protest the matter, carefully slipping the pillows out from behind you, painstakingly fluffing the feathers inside them until he’s satisfied with their new shape. Then he leans over the bed, solid body hovering over yours as he replaces them. You will yourself not to stiffen at his nearness, but the truth is that you’re not accustomed to being this close to your husband. Physically or otherwise.

“How does that feel?” he asks, deep voice at your ear as he moulds the pillows to the curve of your back.

“Much better, thank you,” you murmur, feeling a ripple of tension work its way up your spine when Namjoon straightens and stands back to assess his work. Your husband holds your gaze for a few slow, tortuous seconds, lips parted as though he means to speak.

Then he seems to think better of it, clearing his throat instead and looking away.

You watch his eyes move to the table at your bedside, where a fine crystal vase houses what is sure to be the two most pitiful daisies in the entire Kingdom. Boram’s note had said that Yeona selected them for you herself, the evidence of her indelicate touch plain on the flowers’ bruised petals and flattened stems. You treasure the mangled blooms anyway.

“They’re a bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid,” you comment lightly, watching the King stroke a wilted white petal with his fingertip. “Yeona is still too young to understand that some things must be handled with care.”

“So it would seem,” he says, lips twitching with amusement.

But the humor in his expression falls away as his eyes move from the daisies to the tiny bauble seated beside the delicate crystal vase. He stares at it for a while before reaching for it, the small trinket dwarfed in the palm of his large hand. You study him as he studies it, expression somber as he strokes a thumb over the bird’s smooth green wings.

And for the very first time, you see it.

No. You allow yourself to see it.

The turmoil etched into the deep crease between your husband’s brows. The regret in the firm press of his lips and the embarrassment simmering in his eyes. The remorse that shrouds him like a dark halo, hovering over him like a storm cloud.

You see it quite clearly now, don’t you? As though you’ve been wearing your pride and resentment like a blindfold and it’s suddenly fallen away, allowing you to recognize what’s been in front of you all this time.

When the King flicks his weary, dark eyes to meet yours, you don’t see your philandering husband – though certainly he is that. You see a deeply conflicted man, fighting a war on two sides. Married to one woman and in love with another. Condemning both to a strange kind of half-life in which neither will ever truly be happy. Condemning himself, too.

“I should let you rest,” he says at last, setting the bird down and you nod, a sudden tightness in your throat.

“Yes,” you agree, voice thick. “I think that’s best.”

The King leans close to you again, this time to press a soft kiss to your cheek. His hands find yours on the duvet and he squeezes them tight, causing ludicrous tears to spring to your eyes. You lower them so as not to give yourself away.

It is only when he has gone, when the door to your chamber is firmly shut, that you finally allow yourself to breathe. And then you sit there for a while, stupefied.

There was a time when you’d thought you would never share anything with your husband. But you’d been wrong.

The two of you share the same muted misery, the same low thrum of sadness that taints all things, good and bad. You share the same bone-deep unhappiness borne from this arrangement and the same secret fury at being powerless to change it.

Husband and wife, bound to one another for life. Both damned to have happiness dangle at your fingertips, but never the ability to grasp it.

Till death do you part.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Though you feel remarkably improved after four days of confinement, Hyeri insists you stay in bed for an entire week.

The older woman has always fancied herself a bit of a mother hen, but since the onset of your illness she’s become more like a guard dog. She’s taken to sleeping on a cot in your chamber and keeping fastidious notes on your care and progress. And she’s safeguarded you like a sentry, allowing no one but the doctor and the King past the threshold to your private rooms.

You’ve taken great pains to endure her meddling with grace – in part because you’ve been in no position to fight such battles in your weakened state and in part because you understand that her coddling is rooted in genuine care and concern. Surely she must long for the children she raised and who’ve long since left her nest to start their own families. And so in their absence, you must do.

But that does not mean you intend to spend a single second longer than necessary trapped inside this chamber.

So you rise with the sun on the seventh day of your captivity, filled with a newfound determination. You are determined to leave the staid air of this chamber and breathe fresh air into your lungs. You are determined to stretch your sore muscles with a vigorous walk. And you are absolutely determined to put your foot down, lovingly, with your handmaid turned nursemaid turned jailer.

And you’ll not allow anything – certainly not the arrival of your monthly courses – to put a damper on this day.

“We’re going to have to take your gowns in,” Hyeri grumbles as her nimble fingers pull at the laces of your corset. She’d made an unhappy sound when you’d announced plans for a morning walk, but has thus far managed to refrain from voicing her discontent out loud. “Too many days without eating properly. You ought to take two servings at every meal until you’re filled out again.”

“I assure you, my appetite is fully restored along with my health,” you say, stomach rumbling beneath your skirts at the very mention of food. “I could probably take three servings in a sitting if I put my mind to it.”

“Very good then,” Hyeri chuckles, patting your back once the dress is fully secured. “I’ll have breakfast brought up at once.”

“No, you absolutely will not,” you protest, whirling on her. “I’ll go mad if I spend another minute locked away in this chamber. I’ll take my breakfast down in the kitchens, thank you very much.”

Hyeri huffs under her breath and you mimic the sound back. The older woman’s eyes narrow and you return that gesture as well, crossing your arms in challenge. The two of you stand there for a while, glowering at one another like petulant children until the sound of a singing kettle breaks the stalemate.

It’s been days since you’ve heard that sound, you realize. Days since Hyeri has set a steaming cup of that foul tea before you, only to watch you like a hawk until every last drop is gone. The shrill sound of that blasted kettle raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sets your teeth on edge.

And it brings to mind something else you intend to put your foot down about today.

You clear your throat as Hyeri moves to see to the kettle.

“I won’t be taking the tea today, Hyeri,” you announce, straightening your spine as your brace for the argument that is sure to come. Hyeri turns away from the fire, kettle in hand, and levels you with a look.

“You’re rather spirited today, Your Grace. Do you intend to put more silver in my hair now that you are fully recovered?”

“No I do not,” you say hotly. “But I also do not intend to drink that tea. Today, tomorrow, or ever again.”

Hyeri’s rheumy eyes grow wide with shock. The playful arch of her brow falls and the teasing twist to her mouth slowly recedes. She stares at you as though she sees a stranger, not the young woman she’s come to know well after nearly one year in your service.

Maybe you are a stranger now. You certainly don’t feel like the same woman who’d fallen into that sickbed one week ago, burning with fever. Something inside of you feels like it’s shifted; like you’ve emerged from this illness stronger in ways that go beyond the physical.

“I understand that your courses have come, Your Grace, but these things take time,” she insists slowly, the paper-thin skin at the hollow of her throat wavering as she stops to swallow thickly. “I do not think now is the time to abandon this regimen. “This requires time and dedication. If you’ll just stay the course, you’ll see.”

Your bravado falters a bit at the wounded note in her voice, at the way her eyes start to pink around the rims. A tiny voice in your head warns not to press forward with the words that threaten to tumble out of your mouth but a louder voice urges you on, pushes you to make the cut as quick and clean as possible.

“Hyeri, I owe you only gratitude for the way you’ve treated me. And for your kindness in trying to help me conceive a child. But I’ve grown tired of pretending that this course of action will remedy my particular situation.” You allow yourself a deep breath before adding, “Or his.”

Hyeri blinks at you.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?”

You lift your chin to look Hyeri directly in the eyes, allowing your implication to hang in the air. Slowly, your nursemaid blanches, the color draining from her sweet face until all that remains are two spots of color on her cheeks. She takes a step towards the table and slowly sinks into the chair, face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t –” the older woman starts and stops, looking bewildered. “– You can’t know that, Your Grace. You cannot be certain of such a thing.”

“You’re right,” you concede quietly, “I cannot. But there is ample reason to suspect it.”

You’re careful to temper your argument to Hyeri, though in truth you are quite convinced of your husband’s inability to produce a child. If nothing else, your last encounter with the King has only strengthened the idea in your mind. It’s the very first time in your young marriage that you’ve looked past your husband’s station and allowed yourself to see him as he truly is. His Grace – Kim Namjoon – is just a man. As fallible as any other.

But Hyeri has yet to come to any such realization. Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears from where she remains seated at the table, chin trembling.

You cross the room to go to her, carefully settling in the seat beside her and taking one of her hands into yours. You remind yourself that Hyeri has devoted years of her life to working in service of the King, that her deference for him and the very institution he represents is in her blood. That some part of her likely still thinks of Namjoon as the gangly boy she’d helped rear and not the grown man he is now.

And you remind yourself that despite her allegiance to your husband, she’s shown you nothing but kindness – and for that alone, she deserves your respect.

“Hyeri, please,” you whisper, squeezing her fingers gently. “Please know that I do not mean to upset you. I mean only to speak plainly, not to cause you any pain.”

“I had thought – I had thought there was some growth between the two of you, Your Grace. All those visits he’s made to your chamber while you’ve been ill. The way he’d fretted over your health and care. I thought – “ She pauses to shake her head as though chastising herself for entertaining such notions, “I thought that maybe something good could come of something bad.”

Your heart squeezes at Hyeri’s confession, at her well-meaning but poorly-placed idealism. You cannot fathom how despite everything she’s seen and heard, she can still hold onto the dream that what is broken between you and Namjoon can be fixed.

But you cannot fault her for it, either.

“Something good has come of it,” you say gently. “I’m not angry anymore. Not with the King and not with myself. It was weighing me down, Hyeri. As though I walked through this first year of my marriage with stones in my pockets.”

Hyeri dabs at the corners of her eyes with a sleeve.

“I know the King cares for me. I accept that.” You speak the words out loud and they strike a chord inside your chest. You know they ring true. “Just as I accept that at the very same time, he does not love me. And now I must accept that there may never be a child.”

“But there must be a child, Your Grace.” Hyeri sniffles under her breath as she wrenches her gaze from your joined hands to look you in the eye. “The future of the throne depends on it. What will come of the King’s line if he does not have an heir?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, thumb tracing an absentminded pattern over the soft, diaphanous skin of her knuckles. “Perhaps he will send me away.”

“He wouldn’t,” Hyeri protests, indignation flaring behind her muted dark eyes.

You suspect that Hyeri has the right of it. Namjoon does not strike you as the kind of man who’d want to court such a scandal, nor does he seem uncaring enough to want to cut you loose in such a humiliating fashion. And as many times as you’ve daydreamed about being freed from the shackles of this loveless marriage, the mere thought of returning home to your mother – of bringing your entire family that kind of shame – is devastating.

You’d sooner throw yourself from the carriage tasked with taking you home than endure that fate.

“I say these things not to upset you, Hyeri. Or to speak ill of the King. I say them only because if I’ve learned nothing else since coming here, I’ve learned to guard my heart. This is me guarding my heart.”

The tears gathered at the corners of Hyeri’s eyes spill over, though she does not make a sound. You dab at them with your own sleeve now, earning a sad smile from your handmaid.

“There could still be a child, Your Grace,” she says softly, “Some day. None of us know what’s written on the days that are yet to come.”

“You are right,” you concede with a sad smile. “And I would be very glad to be wrong.”

“So there is always hope,” Hyeri concludes, squaring her shoulders. Just speaking the words out loud seems to have reinforced her spirit. In this moment, she reminds you of the daisies at your bedside – battered but still bending towards the sunlight.

“Yes,” you agree, if only to bring her some solace. “There is always hope.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King calls for dinner to be held in the great hall to celebrate your return to good health.

He surprises you by seeing to many of the details himself, though you suspect Hyeri has played some part in bringing his vision to life. The generous spread wheeled out and served to the guests in attendance consists of only your most beloved dishes and desserts. And the hall is decorated in a bevy of cosmos flowers – the very kind that grow in abundance in Namjoon’s grand aviary.

It’s not all his doing, of course. It is the kitchen staff that spends hours preparing the food and the steward who sees to each plush flower centerpiece placed at the tables. But it is the King who directs their steps, and in doing so you cannot help but feel flattered by his consideration.

But you also cannot help but be flustered by his attention.

Whereas Namjoon would normally spend the lion’s share of his evening consorting with the assembled guests, tonight he has yet to stray more than an arm’s length from your side. You are keenly aware of his nearness as smiling people approach you from all sides, each expressing what seems to be genuine relief at news of your recovery.

It’s been months since the last communal dinner was held in this hall, and perhaps that is why it seems as though you could be swallowed whole in the sea of people gathered here tonight. Foreign and familiar faces alike swim by in all directions. Children cut narrow paths through the fray, darting between legs as they chase one another around, their laughter barely audible over the din of clinking cups and clattering dishes.

You do not know at what point you start searching each passing face for a pair of searing almond-shaped eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. But you do know at which point you realize it.

“You are not fatigued, are you?”

The sound of your husband’s deep baritone at the shell of your ear nearly makes you jump. You turn to him, careful to keep your eyes downcast. Certain that if you allow him too close a look he’ll recognize the guilt written all over your face.

Certainly he would know what it looks like.

“Not at all. Though I must admit to my feet being tired,” you sigh, gesturing to the beautiful calfskin boots that peek out from beneath your heavy skirts. “I’m afraid these are not quite broken in yet.”

“Then I’ll get you a chair,” the King says without hesitation, turning at once to make good on that promise. You stop him with one firm tug to his arm.

“Please no,” you protest, by now thoroughly unsettled by your husband’s careful oversight. “That’s not necessary, truly. I think I’ll walk around a bit and see if I can find Boram. I can rest my feet while we speak.”

“Very well,” Namjoon agrees, dark eyes boring into yours. “Send word immediately if you need me.”

You are bowing to him before the words are even fully out his mouth, quickling slipping away and into the current of moving bodies around you. You try not to call attention to yourself, but it cannot be helped. The crowds part to make way as you walk, people stopping to bow as you pass. You acknowledge each with an absentminded smile as you resume your search for those familiar dark eyes. You cannot find them.

“Your Grace!”

But it is only moments later that a familiar voice finds you. It breaks clear through the commotion and you turn toward it to find Boram waving at you from her seat at the longtable, sweet Yeona perched on her lap. The baby mimics her mother’s gesture, flapping her own hand wildly in greeting. The sight of them both is enough to make your heart burst.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you girls,” you sigh, surging forward to envelop both in an indelicate hug. You take a seat at Boram’s side and she proudly lifts Yeona to her feet. The baby plants them firmly on her mother’s lap, legs strong and steady beneath her.

“How is it possible she’s changed so much in little more than a week?” you wonder aloud, smiling in response to Yeona’s happy gurgle and wide grin. “She looks like a child ready to walk and not the little dumpling I saw last.”

“She really does,” Boram agrees with a wistful smile. “It’s all happening so fast. But you, My Grace, you look changed too! Even more vibrant than before. I would scarcely believe you’ve just emerged from your sickbed if I did not know it to be true.”

Your friend’s praise sends a pleasant heat to your cheeks.

“You flatter me,” you demur with a soft smile. “I’m so relieved to be free from confinement that I must be wearing my happiness for everyone to see, that’s all.”

“Well, it suits you,” Boram declares. “We were all quite worried about you. When Yoongi came home that day, he’d told me you were in a terrible state. I pestered him for news every day until he told me of your recovery.”

“I cannot recall ever feeling so ill,” you admit. “But I was well cared for, thankfully. And Yeona’s flowers were at my bedside to brighten my spirits. And I have yet to see Lord Min and thank him personally for helping me that day. Is he here tonight?”

“Somewhere,” Boram laughs. “Off with the men, I suppose. I’ve been waiting on him to return so that I might have an opportunity to stretch my legs and greet some of the old friends I’ve seen walking about.” She gestures to a tankard at the empty space beside her. “But he can’t have wandered too far if he’s left his ale behind.”

You laugh, reaching out to tickle Yeona’s belly and the baby squeals in response.

“Go on then,” you say, reaching for Yeona. She comes to you without hesitation, grin wide enough to bare the tiny teeth that have broken through her bottom gums. “I can sit with Yeona and you can have a few minutes to yourself. We’ll be right here when you return.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? She’s dry and fed and I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you insist, bouncing Yeona on your knee and earning another squeal. “I’m happy to keep her any time you need a break.”

Boram’s smile is genuine and grateful. She puts a hand on your knee and squeezes it as she leans in to kiss her baby girl’s cheek.

“You are very kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

You smile back, passing a hand over the soft hair at Yeona’s crown, smoothing down the tiny curls that have sprung up around her ears. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Boram casts a backward glance at you both as she leaves and you reassure her with a wave, which Yeona is quick to mimic.

“Such a smart girl, aren’t you?” you coo, pressing a kiss to her temple and inhaling her sweet scent. “Smartest girl in the entire kingdom. Perhaps some day you will be queen, hmm?”

“That would be an interesting turn of events,” a voice that is certainly not Yeona’s answers. The sound of it steals your breath and you turn towards it slowly, only to find Lord Jung standing before you. His dark eyes dance with amusement. “Although I think poor Yoongi would perish at the very notion of a royal bride price.”

It’s a wonder that Yeona does not fuss when your hold on her goes a bit tight in response to his sudden appearance. Your heart rattles inside your ribcage.

“My Lord,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch him take a seat beside you. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“Perhaps you ought to forgive me,” he says playfully, offering Yeona a finger that she immediately seizes with one chubby fist. “I did not announce myself.”

He smiles at Yeona then – full and brilliant – and she surprises you by turning coquettishly away to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Lord Jung chuckles and you find yourself staring at him, dazzled stupid by his beauty. Breath caught in your throat as your eyes sweep over his long, sooty lashes and sunkissed skin.

Has he always been this breathtaking?

Yeona lifts her head to peek at him once more. He reaches out to tickle her and then she’s hiding her face again, smothering her giggles against you.

“I think she fancies you,” you say at last, swallowing thickly when Lord Jung lifts his dark eyes to meet yours.

“I’m a bit too old for her, I’m afraid,” he teases, mouth curved into a soft smile. It slowly falls away as his expression grows more serious.

“It’s a relief to see you looking so well, Your Grace,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

There is a sincerity in that declaration that makes you feel warm and pliant inside. You shift Yeona on your lap so that you might have a plausible reason to look away, though truly it is only because looking him in the eye makes you feel vulnerable.

“It is a relief to be well,” you admit shyly. “And that is in large part due to you, My Lord. The other men, as well,” you add, almost as an afterthought. “I still shudder to think what might have happened that day had Lord Jeon not found me when he did.”

“Yes, I think we are all grateful for his vigilance. And I am glad that we were able to help,” Lord Jung says, watching you rub circles across Yeona’s back. The baby settles into your hold, soft cheek pressed to the juncture of your neck. “I hate to see anyone in that condition.”

You flick your eyes up at the note of melancholy in that statement. Surely he must be thinking of his late wife and her untimely death. To hear Boram tell it, the young woman passed nearly a year before your arrival here but something about his somber expression makes you wonder if that wound is still fresh. If you were a more courageous woman, you would ask.

But you are not.

“Well I am healthy now, My Lord,” you reassure him. “Fully recovered and feeling more like myself than I have in ages.”

He smiles as he reaches one hand out to stroke the soft curls at the base of Yeona’s neck. The baby sighs under her breath, but does not stir.

“I’m working at the stables this week,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps now that you feel – “

“There you are! I think I’ve walked nearly this entire hall looking for you.”

Both you and Lord Jung startle when the sound of a new voice joins the fray. You turn your head to find the King standing in front of you, eyes moving from you to the Royal Guardsman and back. And though there is a smile on his face, it does not quite reach his eyes.

“Your Grace.” Lord Jung quickly stands to his feet and bows in one fluid motion. You make no move to follow suit with Yeona in your arms, her breaths soft and slow and even at your ear. But you do manage a smile for the King, a weak one, even though both your heart and mind are racing. Even though in some way it feels as though he’s interrupted a moment of intimacy.

You wonder if the King feels it, too.

“I’ve not seen you all night, Jung,” Namjoon says pleasantly enough, clapping a hand over the Guardsman’s shoulder. Lord Jung returns Namjoon’s smile with an easy one of his own. You watch them both with careful curiosity, searching each man’s face for any sign of the tension you’d witnessed the other night in the courtyard. You find none, but you cannot be sure if that is because it no longer exists – or because both are accomplished in the art of diplomacy.

“I’ve been milling about,” Lord Jung explains, gesturing to you. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Queen since her confinement and I wanted to ask after her. I’m sure you both are quite glad of her recovery.”

“That we are,” the King says. He brushes past Lord Jung to take the man’s place on the bench beside you. “Though I suspect I’ve kept her out too late tonight and she’ll need her rest.”

You nearly open your mouth to protest but decide against it.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to retire as well,” Lord Jung says lightly. “I have an early morning ahead of me with the horses. It’s best I take my leave now and bid a good night to you both.”

He wastes no time in quickly bowing to you both before turning to leave.

You’re careful not to watch him go, though the King certainly does. Namjoon’s dark eyes follow Lord Jung’s steps until he is too far gone into the crowd to spot any longer. Your stomach churns at the expression on your husband’s face, at the dark curiosity in his narrowed eyes and arched brow.

“He’s restless of late,” the King says under his breath. Though you’ve heard him quite clearly, it seems safer somehow to pretend otherwise.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“Lord Jung,” he clarifies, shifting his gaze back to you. “He’s not been himself these last months. Unsettled. Tense, perhaps.”

Your pulse leaps at your husband’s observation though you cannot be sure if the cause is excitement or fear. Yeona feels like a cinder in your arms now, her little body radiating an uncomfortable warmth against your already heated skin. You feel sweat start to bead at the back of your neck.

“I – do not know him as well as you do, Your Grace,” you say slowly, reaching for each word as carefully as fine crystal. “And therefore, I am in no position to say. But I trust that you have the right of it.”

The King strokes a soft hand down Yeona’s back and you hold perfectly still, as though you fear any sudden move will incite him. As though the reserved man you’ve been married to for all these months might spring on you like a bear trap if he’s managed to discern all the traitorous thoughts you’ve entertained.

But your husband does nothing of the sort.

His mouth tilts thoughtfully as he sits back to watch you, babe in arms. And in this picture of you and Yeona together, woman and child, he must see what he believes to be the solution to this dilemma concerning his lifelong friend. That can be the only explanation for what he says next.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

You taste iron in your mouth.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

My Dearest Sister –

It has been some time since your last letter, but I have decided not to be cross. A forgiving spirit is but one of my enviable qualities and thus I have chosen to grant you a modicum of grace.

I write to you today with very exciting news. I’m in love!

His name is Chul and no, he is not of your acquaintance. It has been but three months since he and his father arrived in this village. He is frightfully handsome and best of all, prefers me to all the other young women who’ve been vying for his attention. I am the envy of the lot when we walk together in the evenings and always make sure to take the path closest to Park Myeong’s home because I know it vexes her to no end.

Dear Sister, he has asked me to marry him!

And while I suspect Father will be more than happy to see me married off in short order, I am quite certain that Mother will object. Chul is only yet a blacksmith’s apprentice but once he completes his training, he will be an expert. And I have no doubt of his ability to provide me with a comfortable life, though it will likely never meet our Mother’s exacting standards.

There is something else I must confess before I end this letter, something quite scandalous. And as I am unable to utter a word of this to anyone, I feel as though I might burst if I do not write it down.

A wondrous new world has been opened up to me!

I understand that the private delights enjoyed between a man and woman are nothing new to you, but this discovery has been a rather thrilling one for me. Chul and I are soon to be married and I cannot find good reason to forgo the heady pleasure of an afternoon spent with his hand up my skirts.

I will say no more, lest you faint dead away and someone find this letter next to your body.

I can barely contain my happiness. It feels as though I’m standing at the edge of my old life and preparing to dive into the new. The next time I write you, it will be to announce my formal betrothal and to share the happy news of my wedding plans.

With love,

Chaehee

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You fold the paper in your hands and stare blankly into the fire in the hearth, watching the flames dance as you consider every startling revelation in your sister’s letter. At this very moment you should be seated at your desk, furiously scribbling a stern missive back to your wayward Chaehee and warning her of the ruin that almost certainly lies ahead. But you cannot. You sit in your plush chair immobilized, unable to move or act or think of anything beyond her words.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

Your poor sister would be aghast to discover that you know precisely nothing about any of them. That despite your status as a married woman – a Queen! – you are no more enlightened on these matters than she is. Probably less so now.

The flames in the hearth are dying by the time you finally manage to lift yourself out of that chair. You drop the letter onto the glowing embers below and watch as the paper burns bright orange and then black.

You watch until the edges curl into themselves and the pieces turn to ash and the fire consumes it whole.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Love, it would seem, is catching these days.

Your sister is hardly the only one to fall under its spell. Everywhere you look, you see it – in the kitchens where the cooks titter about their suitors, in the laundry where the washgirls trade heated glances with the butlers. In the halls where a footman and maid break apart when you turn a corner, cheeks flushed and breaths labored as you pass.

It’s as though love is a contagion being carried on the crisp fall air, infecting everyone who breathes it in.

Well, perhaps not everyone.

The King remains unaffected by whatever madness has come over his people. His peculiar interest in you proves to be a fleeting thing, one that wanes as life returns to routine in the days following your illness. You take up your daily morning walks and afternoon excursions to the aviary once again and the King resumes his own afternoon pursuits, vanishing at midday with such punctuality that you wonder if he’s actually being timed.

But you cannot find it in yourself to be surprised or even angry at this turn of events. In truth, there is a sense of relief that comes with the respite from your husband’s attentions. Too much time in the presence of the King muddies the waters. And in many ways you find that it is easier to live between clearly drawn lines.

But there are other lines, too. Ones that are far less clear.

Not unlike the neat line of stones that frame the path you are walking this morning. You round the curve that passes close to the stables with a basket in hand, stealing glances from beneath the brim of the hat Hyeri had insisted you wear today. Slowly, the horse pen comes into view.

He comes into view.

It is astonishing that the man can steal your breath like this. That just one glimpse of him – lean arms crossed over his chest, brow knit in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes – is capable of making your pulse quicken.

You find yourself drifting off the neat stone path, body moving of its own volition in the direction of the stables. The ground beneath you, dusty and dry from weeks without rain, crunches loudly beneath your walking boots and Lord Jung turns at the sound.

The slow smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is enough to make you lightheaded with excitement.

But the sensation vanishes nearly as quickly as it comes on.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

The King’s words come back to you in that moment, ringing in your ears like the steady clang of a watchtower bell. How much longer will it be before Lord Jung succumbs to the madness that’s taken over this place? How much longer before he announces his betrothal? The man could be in the throes of a grand love affair at this very minute and you would be none the wiser.

The thought makes the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he greets kindly from his side of the fence, paying his respects with a deep bow. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

A surprise to him perhaps, but not to you. In the days since Lord Jung declared his plans to work in the stables this week, you’ve been able to think of little else. And though you’d not been entirely certain of your intentions as you’d set out for this morning’s walk, you’d become quite certain of them as soon as you’d spotted his lithe frame in the distance.

“Good morning,” you breathe, damning the blasted hat that forces you to lift your chin in order to see him properly. You raise a hand to your brow to shield your eyes from the sunlight. “I hope you do not mind this disruption. I saw new horses in the pen and could not resist the urge to stop and admire them.”

It’s a half-truth, of course, though you must admit the horses are quite beautiful. You crane your neck to take a better look at them, a pair of pretty females with small statures and amber coats. One stands patiently still as a stablehand inspects its hooves, the other trots gentle circles around a second man.

“They’re good horses,” Lord Jung says. “Docile demeanors. Fast learners. Nothing like that hellion I worked with last.” He shakes his head at the memory and you cannot help but smile. “I don’t know that I’ll ever come across another animal quite like him.”

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you laugh and he laughs too, the honeyed sound of it making your heart soar.

“Is this visit made in haste?” He motions to the basket in your hands and you blink down at it dumbly, as though you’d forgotten it was there at all. “Or do you have time to come in and see them for yourself?”

You drop your head a bit, just enough to allow the brim of your hat to conceal the way you flush with happiness at his invitation.

“I’m in no hurry. And I would like that very much.”

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You stroke the horse’s muzzle with an open palm and the animal blinks its huge eyes, tail swaying back and forth in the wind.

She likes you – even without your knowledge of horses you’d be able to discern that from her relaxed stance and the happy sound of her nickering. She keeps her head dropped low and you reward her obedience with a firm scratch behind her ears.

Beside you, Lord Jung works a coarse-bristled brush through the horse’s mane, stroking through the strands until they shine. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work, to watch the tendons of his strong forearms strain and the muscles ripple beneath his golden skin.

“She’s comfortable with you.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the steady work of his hands, but your skin prickles with awareness at his casual observation. It makes you wonder what else he has taken note of when you’ve assumed his attention has been elsewhere.

“And I with her,” you return, patting the animal’s strong neck. “She reminds me of my mare back home.”

“Oh?”

“Not in her appearance exactly,” you explain, “But in her temperament. She has a very sweet spirit.”

“That she does,” Lord Jung agrees, dropping the brush into a bucket at his feet. He reaches into his pocket to produce a small oat cake, a reward for the animal’s obedience which the horse is quick to accept.

“What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” he admits, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I don’t think the King intends to keep her. I expect that he will sell them both in order to acquire a more powerful horse. One better suited to heavy labor.”

“What a shame,” you say under your breath, hand coming to rest on the bridge of the horse’s nose. She nudges you with it, urging you to resume your attentions and you oblige with a sad smile. “Not fair is it, girl? Being cast aside like that.”

Lord Jung is quiet for a moment, long enough that you lift your head to search for him and find him already looking at you. There is something stormy swirling in his dark gaze. He quickly averts it to look away in the direction of the castle and you watch with careful curiosity as he drags a hand down his jaw before turning back to you.

“There’s a creek in the woods behind me. Do you know it?”

“I do,” you say slowly, uncertainty flooding your bloodstream.

“Do you know how to get to the mouth of it?”

“Yes,” you admit, heart starting to beat double-time. “I do.”

“Will you meet me there tomorrow? In the afternoon. At the time you would normally visit the aviary.”

At best, the proposition is improper – and at worst, scandalous. You know very well that no married woman of good standing should ever agree to a clandestine encounter with a man who is not her husband.

But still you answer without hesitation.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I will.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Try as you might, sleep will not come.

You lie in the dark for what feels like an eternity, imagining shapes in the shadows cast overhead. Your entire body tingles with a nervous energy that makes it impossible to lie still or allow your mind to rest. So you toss and turn – until your bedding becomes a mess and your sheets become impossibly tangled about your limbs. Until you have no choice but to abandon the endeavor entirely and decide to shake off your blankets and climb out of bed.

You grab your shawl and sink into the chair beside the fire, pensive as you watch the embers dim and cool.

Somewhere in the belly of the hearth at your feet lies the remnants of Chaehee’s letter. The pages are little more than ash and soot by now, surely, but the words inscribed on them remain seared into your heart and mind. Impulsive as she can be – reckless as she can be – your brave little sister has still managed to secure the things you covet most in this life.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

They all have it, don’t they? The cooks and the washgirls and the maids. They flit about this castle like doves, preening as they exchange knowing smiles. All partaking together in some grand shared secret while you remain grounded, tethered by decorum and duty.

Well, no more.

You’ll not spend one more moment sitting idly by as the women around you do exactly as they please, paying no mind to the rules that have dictated every circumstance in your life. You’ll not devote another ounce of your energy to resenting anyone fearless enough to do the things you’ve always been too timid to attempt.

So you tiptoe back to bed, as though any errant sound might bring every servant in the castle running to your chamber.

You peel back the duvet and burrow back into your bedding, heart pounding in your ears. And then you slide one unsteady hand beneath the gauzy material of your nightgown and down to the apex of your thighs. Then you touch yourself – there – with a light press of your open palm.

Nothing happens.

So you do it again – firmer – spreading your legs a bit wider and feeling for the hidden place that has produced an unexpected shock of sensation for you before.

Nothing happens.

But you keep pressing. Again and again and again until your hips start to move of their own accord. You keep pressing until you feel a strange pulse there, the steady motion earning you an enticing friction that comes each time you rock against the heel of your hand.

You keep pressing and rocking until the feeling becomes a pleasant ache between your thighs, as frustrating as it is fascinating. Because though you find the sensation agreeable, it is nothing like what Chaehee had described to you so long ago. And though you can feel it – the promise of something more – you have no idea how to harness it.

You have no understanding of what comes next or how to make it more.

Eventually you have no choice but to abandon that endeavor too, limbs and eyelids heavy when sleep finally comes for you. And when you submit to it, finally allow it to pull you under, your very last thought is that you will try again.

You must.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Is the meal not to your liking, Your Grace?”

Hyeri lifts one thin gray eyebrow as she fixes you with a strange look from across the table. She nudges the plate in front of you and you blink, rousing from your daze.

The food is perfectly to your liking actually, the smell of the sugared toast and eggs enticing enough to make your mouth water. But your stomach is wildly unsettled this morning, already roiling beneath your skirts at the thought of seeing Lord Jung and you fear partaking in more than just a few bites of food will cause you to retch.

“No, no, not at all,” you shake your head as you collect your thoughts. “It looks delicious. But my stomach feels a bit weak this morning and I would rather not test it.”

“You’re not feeling poorly again, are you?” Hyeri asks, frowning as she reaches for the glass jar of jam between you. “Perhaps you ought to stay in bed today, allow your body to rest.”

“No.” The word flies out of your mouth with much more force and much more volume than you’d intended. Hyeri’s eyes narrow as she nibbles at the corner of a toast point.

“There’s something curious about you this morning, Your Grace,” she says slyly. “You woke up with your head in the clouds and now you’re as skittish as a colt. Is there something afoot you need to tell me about?”

A self-conscious heat rises to your cheeks. “Of course not,” you sniff.

But the skeptical look on Hyeri’s face remains intact. “You look well,” she murmurs, as though assessing the veracity of your claim to good health. Her eyes rake down the pretty walking dress you’d selected for today, one of your best. “You look very well, actually.”

Oh, you must leave this chamber at once.

When Hyeri looks at you like this, you feel as transparent as a pane of glass. The porcelain plates and cups on top of the table rattle as you quickly get to your feet.

“You are far too kind to me, Hyeri,” you say, careful to avoid direct contact with her as you gather your shawl and basket. “Truly. And I think a morning walk is just the thing to improve my appetite.”

“But – ”

“ – I have a very busy day planned,” you say, ignoring Hyeri’s half-hearted objections as you hurry towards the chamber door. “And I may decide to visit with the Min girls, as well,” you lie, grateful to have your back turned towards your handmaid.

“But – ”

You fling the heavy door open and briefly turn in the threshold, just long enough to see Hyeri’s wide eyes and slack jaw.

“Don’t wait for me!” you insist, forcing a wide smile. “I’ll return before dinner tonight.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You spend what remains of your morning in the aviary, alternating between attempting to read the book in your hands and staring up at the birds overhead, lost in thought.

What does Lord Jung want with you?

Contemplating the answer to that question is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. You are in many ways – too many ways – still quite naive about the ways of men. Is he simply extending you a kindness or is there something more? The very prospect is fraught with danger.

But not even the risk of ruin is enough to stop you from seeking him out. And when the agreed-upon time for your rendezvous finally arrives, not even the threat of being discovered in a secret meeting with a man who is not your husband is enough to keep you away.

So you go to him – one careful step at a time, hiking your skirts to step over the roots dotted across the forest floor.

As you walk, a flash of movement catches your eye and you squint at it through the thinning trees. It starts to take shape as you near, the amber color of it sparking a realization in your mind.

A horse. No – horses.

Both animals come into view as you step into the clearing – the pretty mare from the stables secured to one tree and the King’s magnificent warhorse to another. Lord Jung stands at the warhorse’s side, his delicate mouth curved into a devastating smile.

“Your Grace.” He dips into his customary bow and you nod, incredulous as you take in the entire scene. “I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

Oh, but you would. In fact, your pulse leaps with excitement at the very suggestion. But you look down at your fine walking dress and sigh. “I would love to, truly. But I’m not dressed to ride.”

“If you think me capable of spiriting away both a pair of horses and a set of riding clothes, I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my abilities,” Lord Jung teases, causing heat to creep up the line of your back. “But the decision is entirely up to you.”

You silently scold yourself for voicing your hesitation out loud. This man has gone out of his way to offer you this opportunity, one you’ve craved since the moment you stepped foot on the King’s land.

You want to go. You will go.

“Well, I – “ you flush a bit as you gesture at the amber mare, then down to your long skirts. “-- I’ll need some help getting onto her, you see.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Yes, of course.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The ride is glorious.

You’ll be saddle sore tomorrow, no doubt, but today you can only think of how free you feel riding on top of your amber mare. She’s an ideal mount for you, both in size and demeanor and you find that she follows your cues exceptionally well.

You follow Lord Jung’s lead through parts of the Kingdom you’ve never seen before — green hills and rolling fields dotted with wildflowers. And when you arrive at a particularly open stretch of land, you urge your mount to move faster and she complies, taking you from an easy trot to a gallop with surprising speed.

But soon – far too soon – it’s time to rest the horses.

Lord Jung helps you down from your mount, his hands firm about your waist as he carefully sets you on the ground. Surely it is only your imagination that he holds you just a bit too close and for just a bit too long. You breathe him in – take in his masculine scent of leather and sweat.

Being this close to the man scrambles your wits.

You let go of a breath when he breaks away from you to rifle through the contents of his bag. Within moments, he produces a skin of water and two apples, one of which you happily accept as the two of you sit down amongst the wildflowers to rest.

“This has been a wonderful afternoon, My Lord,” you say genuinely. “I hadn’t realized just how much I missed riding.”

“You’re good at it,” he compliments kindly, tipping his head back to take a drink. “And the two of you pair well together. She responds to you quite naturally.”

“Yes, I believe she does,” you agree, looking over your shoulder to where both horses are tethered. “And Jeonsa? He seems to do quite well with you. Is he biddable for the King, as well?”

Lord Jung puts on an amused expression and shakes his head.

“The relationship between horse and rider is a bit like courtship. Let’s just say the King has a bit more courting to do.”

The two of you share a laugh.

“Thank you My Lord,” you say after a while, “Truly, for all of this. I don’t know that anyone has ever gone to such trouble for me.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes snap up to meet yours. There’s something puzzling about his gaze, something entirely at odds with your sincere statement of thanks.

“I wonder if I might ask you something of a personal nature, Your Grace.”

Your nails immediately curl into the fine material of your skirts, the pressure turning your knuckles white. But you are careful to keep your expression calm.

“Yes of course,” you say with a strained laugh. “Though I may decide not to divulge my answer.”

He looks away from you then, reaching for a long blade of grass at his feet. His expression inscrutable as he plucks it and begins to worry the blade between his fingers.

“Are you unhappy here?”

You take in a sharp breath. The question is far too personal, far too intimate to be proper in any way. But you find yourself answering it – truthfully – because he’s caught you so off guard you have no choice but to respond with candor.

“Some days,” you admit quietly. “But not today.”

Lord Jung says nothing for a while and the blade of grass between his fingers eventually breaks apart. He throws it down and reaches for another.

“The King is by no means perfect, Your Grace,” he starts, pausing as though he’s giving great thought to each word. “But he is a brother to me in all but blood. I’ve spent the better part of my life at his side. He’s a good man.”

The hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Is this why he’s brought you here today? To make a case on behalf of the King? Your cheeks heat at the thought of every silly notion you’d entertained otherwise.

“Did he ask you to do this?” you demand, “Did he tell you to speak to me?”

“No.” His answer is firm, immediate. “No, I swear it. But I know that you have been unhappy since coming here and I just ask that you give His Grace a chance to make things right.”

You’ll hear none of it. The magic of the afternoon is gone now, the entire outing tainted by this tense exchange. By this reminder that Lord Jung’s loyalties lie with your husband, and that any kindness he’s shown you is little more than an extension of his service to the King.

What a fool you’ve been.

“You needn’t defend the King,” you say tightly, getting to your feet and dusting your hands off on your skirts. “I assure you, he has no shortage of people to come to his defense. And I think we should go now.”

“Your Grace, “ Lord Jung is on his feet now, too. “By no means would I ever want to upset you.”

It’s far too late for that, you think – the disappointment so acute it makes you want to double over. You turn your back to him and stalk off towards your mount, blinking back the angry tears that threaten.

“I’m not explaining myself well,” he insists, following you and taking firm hold of your arm. He turns you to face him. “I mean only to say that I know the King to be a good man. But even good men are weak to certain temptations.”

“And you, Lord Jung?”

You challenge him without thinking, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What temptation are you weak to?”

The man’s dark eyes glint dangerously as he regards you for a moment, jaw tight.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” he says at last. “It’s time to go.”

thank you thank you thank you for reading this story. i'd love to hear what you thought and you can find me here 💕💕💕

#hoseok smut #jhope smut #network bangtan #thebtswritersclub #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

Text

Lesson Learned | Five Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Five Hargreeves x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 5.1k

✦ college AU-ish

✦ request — Could you write a story in which Five asks reader to teach him to kiss because he has a date (they’re in high school or college if you prefer) but gets carried on and they have sex so it becomes the norm and she thinks they’re fwb but he thinks they’re dating so they get into a fight when she tells him she can do it anymore because she fell for him and has turned other people down?

✦ warnings — nsfw, Five and reader are in college, language, Five is a virgin, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, awkwardness, fluff.

✦ author's note — I changed the ending, but for the most part, this is loyal to the request.

════════════════════════

He had to be joking. Sure, Five wasn’t one to joke around too much, but he wasn’t one to talk about his love life with you either.

You glanced at him. With his back flush against the backrest of your desk chair and hands on his lap, he stared back.

“I can explain it to you...”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same! Many things could go wrong. Dad always said to start small and practice.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “But I’m not an expert on kissing.”

“I’ve seen you make out with people at parties.”

Parties he always complained about. You understood where Five was coming from, he had been strictly homeschooled his entire life. It was a miracle that Reginald accepted to let him enroll in college.

Resigned, you left your seat on the bed, motioning for him to stand up too. Five complied, eyes on your face as he waited for you to say something else.

Swallowing your spit, praying you would stop hyper-salivating soon, you rested your right hand on his left cheek.

Five looked down at your hand, frowning.

“They’ll probably touch your face if they kiss you.”

Forcing him to slant his head, you explained, “Tilting your head makes it more comfortable. That way, when you move your lips against theirs, your noses don’t get in the way.”

Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek. Five pushed your head to the side so you’d tilt it too.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken which prompted you to take a deep breath. “You should be gentle at first, don’t stick your tongue into their throat or something like that.”

“I know the theory,” he snapped. “Can you just teach me the practice already?”

“Right.” You brought him to your height, unconsciously wetting your lips.

His breath fanned on your face, warm and rigged. You closed the gap between your mouths, fluttering your eyes close when he started moving his lips on yours.

It felt good, natural. You doubted it was his first kiss until his teeth grazed your bottom lip as he got too into the kiss too soon.

Swiping your thumb over his cheek, you pulled away to explain some more. “Easy. You’re just learning.”

Feeling him nod against your hand as he puckered his lips up to kiss you again, you added, “There’s nothing wrong with going at your own pace. If the other person really wants to kiss you, they’ll understand. You should do the same with them.”

Five pulled you closer to him, dropping his mouth onto yours. His kiss was intense, and you couldn’t help but match the passion he was pouring into it.

Your fingers slid into his hair which made him shudder. He added his teeth purposefully this time, bitting down your bottom lip.

“Well,” you breathed out, “I think you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, shut up.” He kissed you again, dropping his hand to your shoulder and letting it travel down your arm.

His fingers brushed yours yet he didn’t stop there. He planted his hand on your hip, groaning when you tugged on his hair.

Your tongue slid across his bottom lip, catching him off guard for a millisecond. Five opened his mouth, granting you access more than happily.

Gripping your hip with no inhibitions now, he walked you backward. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, confused as to what he was doing.

It clicked when your calves hit the base of the bed. You searched for his eyes, wanting to make sure he knew what he was doing. Finding dilated pupils, you gulped.

“You’ll have to teach me,” he panted on your mouth, voice deeper than earlier.

You nodded, lightly pushing him off. You had never been anyone’s first before, much less taught someone how to have sex. Nervous, you slowly dragged your hands down his chest and torso.

Pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, you waited for him to lift his arms to discard it. You looked at him appreciatively, already having expected a fit body due to his training.

Grabbing his arms, you leaned over to leave a tentative kiss on his neck. Five hummed, bringing his hands back to your body, skimming your back.

The reaction encouraged you to be more firm with your ministrations, adamant to find his sensitive spot.

Fisting your blouse, he rasped, “Let me take this off.”

Standing straight, you lifted your arms like he had done. Five slid the item off quickly, throwing the blouse to the chair.

He traced your breasts, looking at you to see if you were okay with it. Placing your hands on top of his, you encouraged him to touch you firmly.

As he kneaded your breasts from on top of your bra, you resumed the attention you were giving to his neck. You seemed to find the spot you had been looking for under his ear.

He held you flush against him as you kept kissing his skin, breathing unsteadily. Five groaned, attempting to undo your bra with shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he blurted a curse as you harshly sucked on his neck, “you’re driving me insane.”

“That’s the idea,” you chuckled, hands moving to the front of his jeans. Brushing his bulge with your knuckles, you felt his breath hitch.

He dropped his head forward, lips caressing your shoulder as he hid his face in your neck. You cupped his bulge, and his hips thrust forward in reaction.

Five kissed your neck like you had been kissing his earlier, yet he got messy quicker. You moaned softly, feeling him suck on your skin like his life depended on it.

Unfastening his jeans, you pulled them down. He kicked his shoes off immediately, pushing the denim down his legs and kicking the jeans to the side too.

You palmed his cock, only for him to remove your hand. Before you could assume he didn’t want this anymore, he pulled your leggings down.

Abashed by the fact that you were wearing mismatched underwear, you got rid of the leggings. Turning around, giving him your back, you instructed, “Watch my hands.”

Five tried really hard to pay attention as your fingers unclasped your bra, but the only thing he could do was picture your fingers around his cock.

You grabbed his hand as you faced him, guiding it back to your breast to teach him how to pinch your nipples.

He rolled your nipple between his thumb and index fingers, making you let a whine out. Getting confident, wanting to hear more of those sounds that went straight to the tip of his cock, he started using both hands.

This time he didn’t stop you from touching his cock. You didn’t touch him much, he was almost completely hard already and both of you knew he wouldn’t last long.

His cock sprung free when you took his underwear off, beautifully hard. He hissed at the change of temperature — the hiss quickly turned into a low groan as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

Huffing a sigh out, he clumsily got rid of your panties.

Reaching for the drawer of your bedside table, you pulled a box of condoms out. He frowned upon seeing it, but made no comment.

You handed him one and let him take his time to put it on. Rearranging your pillows to be more comfortable, you laid on your back.

Five kneeled on the bed, dragging his eyes down your body. You opened your legs for him.

Crawling closer to you, he looked down to see what he was doing and hesitated.

“It’s okay if you want to stop,” you reminded him.

“It’s not that. I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted.

“Oh.” You cradled his cock, gently guiding his tip in. He shut his eyes as you did so, swallowing rather harshly. Craning your neck upward, you kissed his throat, letting go of his cock as he slowly continued to push in.

Five cursed. The strained tone made you clench around him, prompting him to let out a growl.

Ready, adjusted to his size after a tense moment, you told him, “You can move whenever you want. Slow at first.”

Opening his eyes, he placed his hands on your thick thighs. The movement of his hips, slow and hesitant, showcased how nervous he was.

You smiled at him in assurance, hoping he already knew you wouldn’t judge him if things didn’t go as he expected.

It worked to some extent, his clammy hands slid to the sides of your thighs once he felt comfortable with going a little faster.

Lewd sounds filled the room, making Five wonder how could you be that wet. You winced, afraid of embarrassing yourself.

Hovering over you, he kissed you. Forcefully gripping your thighs, rocking his hips at a desperate pace.

He couldn’t believe how good it felt. Five hadn’t given sex much thought before, he didn’t have time for most things — now everything he could process was how warm you were around him, wet and tight.

His stomach contracted as the coil inside him wound tighter. Taking deep breaths, he tried every trick he had read in order to not cum yet.

“It’s okay,” you panted, caressing his hair tenderly as you felt him twitch inside you, “let go.”

Relieved, he spilled into the condom, whining. His hands trembled, eyes wide open. Five never imagined it would be different from coming after jerking off. Oh, how wrong he had been.

“Hold the base when you pull out, that way you don’t make a mess.”

He did as you instructed him, tying the condom once he had taken it off. Five threw the discarded condom into the trash can, chest heaving up and down.

He laid beside you, catching his breath as he looked up at the ceiling.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“That usually happens the first time you have sex with someone.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

You rolled to lay on your side. Five had his jaw clenched, the muscles in his abdomen were contracted, and he was frowning.

“Hey.” You reached for his face, making him look at you. “There are many ways to please someone. Everyone is different. That’s not your fault.”

He scoffed. Five didn’t like being like other people, making other people’s mistakes was stupid, unoriginal.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“I clearly didn’t do something right!”

“Women tend to have a hard time coming the first time they’re with a new partner. It’s just... normal.”

“What makes you come?”

“It depends from person to—“

He interrupted you, “I asked you specifically.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can get myself off.”

He rolled on his side, resting his hand on your waist as he breathed on your face. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Fingers should be enough,” you mumbled, eyes on his mouth.

Five dragged his hand down, following your curves. He stopped at your inner thigh for a moment, watching you, mapping your face.

Your eyes were hooded, wanton and pretty; mouth slightly open as you waited for him to please you. Him.

He parted your labia, assuming that was what he had to do to enter you, and gasped upon feeling just how wet you were. It was better than hearing it; it felt real now. He had made you wet. He.

“How many?” The question was low and firm, husky tone going directly to your clit.

“Two.”

Dipping his index and middle fingers into your pussy, Five licked his lips. He was torn between asking more questions and finding out what you liked by himself.

It couldn’t be that hard. He caressed your walls, exploring one side with his index. His knuckle brushed your other side, applying pressure. You whimpered, lulling your head to the side opposed to where he was.

Five shifted his fingers inside you, making you drop your hand to his shoulder as you tried your hardest not to move against his digits.

Intrigued by the spongy mound he had grazed, he touched it again. Your walls squeezed his fingers, hips lifting as your body jolted up.

His name escaped you through a sob. It was too much, you needed him to take you there already. Just a little push and you would explode.

Remembering how good it felt when you kissed his throat, he dropped his head into your neck to do the same, curling his fingers inside you when he realized it was easier to touch the soft sponge that way.

Your moans, mixed with the wet sounds of his fingers deep inside you, got him feeling hotter. He needed you to say his name again, even if it was just once — the sound had been so sweet, so sensual, he was sure he wouldn’t need porn to jerk off ever again.

Hand planted on his neck as you looked for something to hold onto, feeling as though your soul would leave your body if you didn’t find something to ground you, and only half-aware of what you were saying, you clamped your legs closed.

You were finally there, squealing his name so he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t, not until your whimpers and cries subsided. Even then, Five found the pressure and fluid wetness on his fingers pleasant — so pleasant he unconsciously continued fingering you.

Your legs trembled and a loud sob broke through you. “Too much,” you choked out.

Five stopped moving his fingers, lifting his head to look at you. “Did I hurt you?”

Not able to form a coherent sentence, you pulled him into a kiss. He kissed you slowly, using his position to his advantage to lay you on your back so he could caress your cheek with his free hand.

The kiss had to be cut short when you grew breathless. Fluttering your eyes open, you found his own focused on your face. Your thumb traced his jaw as your hand stayed firm on his neck.

Five pulled his fingers out of you. Hissing, you shifted your hips. He played with the slick coating his fingers, admiring its glisten.

Before processing what he was doing, he licked his fingers.

Both of you moaned at the same time.

════════════════════════

That saying of never meeting your idols had always sounded a little too pessimistic for your liking.

Now you were sure you had a better one. Never start fucking your crush who happens to be your childhood friend.

You should have known you wouldn’t be able to stop. Teaching him became an excuse, until the excuse didn’t hold up because there was nothing else to teach him. At least not on your behalf.

He never told you how the date went. You preferred it that way, pretending you were the only person he was seeing was better.

Extremely easy, too. You spent a lot of time together — hanging out, doing homework, having sex...

You caught him staring from across classrooms or hallways sometimes, and others he caught you. He always smiled, never showing his teeth but always acknowledging you warmly.

Not seeing him on Friday night and Saturday was fucking with your head. He had things to do, at least that was what he said — probably someone else to see.

Every time he kissed you or touched you made you fear it would be the last. He would eventually settle for someone, you knew how much he needed some sense of normalcy in his life.

And you knew it wouldn’t be you.

Your roommate threw herself onto the couch, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at you. “Soooooo,” she sang, “what’s going on between you and Five?”

You closed your laptop, tired of staring at the blank screen with no idea how to start your essay. “Nothing.”

“Then who gave him that giant hickey he’s been trying to hide with a turtleneck?”

You shrugged. “Ask him.”

“(Name),” she said, trying to sound serious. She failed, too amused by your attempt at being nonchalant. “You’re the only person he hangs out with.”

That wasn’t technically true. He had some acquaintances here and there, and he spent a lot of time with his siblings.

Either way, one doesn’t have to hang out with someone to be involved with them in other ways. For instance, the last time you had seen someone casually, none of your friends got to meet them.

Someone knocked on the door. Assuming it was her partner, you let her open herself, resting your belly on the arm of the couch as you stretched to place the laptop on the table beside it.

You would probably prepare something to snack on and watch a movie unless she needed the apartment for herself.

You heard a familiar “hello” and froze. The couch dipped, prompting you to kneel in order to acknowledge Five.

He leaned on his back to stare at you. Following his tongue with your eyes as it came out to wet his bottom lip, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“I brought your favorite cookies,” he announced softly, nodding upward.

A paper bag laid on the wooden table at the center of the living room, next to your roommate’s tablet. As you deviated your eyes, she gave you a cocky smile, lifting her eyebrows again.

She made an excuse to leave you alone, reminding you that she would be back in the morning. Finding the comment pointless, you rolled your eyes playfully at her and told her to be safe.

Five sat properly, cradling your face to kiss you. The kiss was short, a mere greeting gesture. You observed the bags under his eyes which were bloodshot yet made no comment.

Leaving the couch with the excuse of refilling your water bottle, you offered him something to drink but he declined.

“I’ll be in your room,” he stated as he walked past the kitchen.

He didn’t give you time to answer. You sighed loudly once you heard the door creak open and went back to the living room.

Grabbing the cookies and your laptop, you turned the lights off.

He was discarding the tied-up hoodie he had been wearing to hide the marks on his neck when you entered the bedroom.

You left the laptop on your desk. As for the cookies and the water bottle, you placed them on your bedside table before sitting down on the bed from where you could reach them whenever you wanted.

Five rested his head on your lap, kicking his shoes off to get more comfortable. He grabbed your hand, guiding it to his hair.

Burying your fingers in his dark locks, you started massaging his scalp. He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You asked, “Are you okay?”

It took him a while to answer. Humming, clearly tired, he said, “It’s been a long weekend.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” you offered. You needed the distraction urgently. Thinking about what could’ve been bothering him wasn’t good for your health.

If it was someone he was seeing, it would break your heart. If it was something that had to do with his family... well, that would also break your heart.

Five fit himself between your legs, using your belly as a pillow. One of his arms was around you while his other hand fiddled with the elastic of your sweatpants.

You continued playing with his hair mindlessly, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t focus on the film.

“You smell good,” he purred, rubbing his face on the ends of your t-shirt as he shifted to bury his nose in the material and sniff it.

He fell asleep on your lap before the third act of the movie started.

════════════════════════

He hadn’t wanted to attend the stupid party. Five was tired, sleep-deprived, and quite worried. Klaus wanted him there, and he couldn’t say no to his brother when he had his own reasons to attend.

Regardless, he should’ve imagined Klaus had dragged him there with other intentions.

“Pleaaaaaase?” Klaus whined.

Five gritted, “I said no. I am busy later.”

Five adored his brother, he often gave into Klaus’ whims, but covering for him wasn’t that easy, and he had plans already.

Things weren’t going as smoothly as he wanted them to, and the logical solution was taking time to do them right before it was too late. It was his primary focus.

He had spent days asking around, doing research, planning things. Letting Klaus ruin everything because he wanted to get laid couldn’t be allowed.

Klaus pouted, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. “I’ll ask (Name) then.” He then giggled, “But not now. Or later. She might get some tonight.”

Five opened his mouth, ��How did—“ he stopped himself, Klaus wasn’t looking at him anymore but at something behind him.

Turning around, Five found your frame a few meters away from him. You were chatting with a guy he had seen in passing, hand on his bicep — he believed the blond idiot to share a class with you.

What was his name? Something dumb, clearly. Fuck, why couldn’t he remember names now? Luke... or Lucas? It started with an L. It suited him.

Not thinking much of it, aware of how friendly you were, he took a sip of his drink. Five almost choked when he saw you throw your head back in a fit of laughter.

Everyone knew your companion wasn’t funny or smart. Why were you laughing with him? And why hadn’t you approached Five to say hello?

Leaving Klaus without a word, he walked toward you. He recognized your laugh as a painfully fake one, too giggly to be of your own or natural. It was vomit-inducing.

Five stood at your side. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he lied.

You shifted to acknowledge him, speaking through your teeth. “I’m a little busy right now.”

Thrusting his drink into your hand, he ignored your companion. “It’s your favorite,” he smiled at you sweetly.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, prompting you to take a sip to keep yourself from giggling. For real this time. A smile had never made you so nervous.

Then again, Five rarely smiled genuinely.

Your companion cleared his throat, trying to get your attention again.

Turning to look at the other man, Five nodded upward. “Oh, hey Luke.”

“It’s Lance.”

“Right.” Five nodded dismissively. Sliding his arm around your shoulders, draping his hand as his knuckles brushed your jaw, he told you, “Can you talk to Liam later? I need your help.”

“My name is—“

Five gave Lance a tight sarcastic smile. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You passed the cup to your other hand, wrapping your arm around Five’s waist. Choosing him, always him for some stupid reason.

Lance scoffed. “I’ll see you around, (Name).”

He glared at Five as he made his way toward his friends. Uncomfortable, you looked down. This was the third time you turned someone down for Five, and you were growing tired of it but couldn’t stop doing it.

“You didn’t answer my texts earlier.”

“You know I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, like you were busy with your new bestie now.”

His harsh tone made you face him. He was glaring at the empty space in front of you, where Lance had been standing.

“You said you needed my help...” you trailed off, desperate to get past the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Giving you a look that told you not to ask more questions, he pulled you closer, dragging you with him.

Leaving out of nowhere, without warnings or apologies to your friends, wasn’t wise. They could worry, or get mad at you when it had taken them so long to convince you to stop brooding and attend the party.

They surely would understand if you explained that Five had needed your help. Or tease you for dropping everything to be with him.

The weather outside of the venue was nice, nicer than the previous days when the heat had been so intense you had been tempted to sleep naked.

“Are you at least telling me what’s wrong?”

He looked up at the sky, humming in thought. This wasn’t the way he had intended to apologize, or to say anything. “I was hoping you would tell me.”

“You’re the one who needs help.”

“I clearly lied.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself. He was acting as though you were always willing to put everything aside for him. And you were. Fuck.

“Can I go back to the party?”

“Back to that idiot?” he mocked you. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to tell you all about the underage girls he has been grooming.”

Jesus fucking Christ. You just wanted to have fun for a night. Just one night of not going to bed wondering if he was in someone else’s room. Lance had seemed willing to make you forget — it would’ve been a transactional night, nothing more and nothing less.

Your silence only made matters worse. Bitterly, Five gritted, “One would think that after a week of being so busy you couldn’t hang out with your boyfriend you would be happy to have some time alone with him, but for some fucking reason I’m not enough tonight.”

“With my what?” You asked, baffled.

He shifted, twisting his body to gaze at you. “I know you’ve been busy, okay? And I have also been focused on other things, extremely stressed too.” Five leaned his head on the concrete wall. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nodded. “But what did you say earlier? Like... seconds earlier.”

Struggling to repeat it, worried you would agree, he stammered, “That I’m not good enough tonight?”

“You used the word boyfriend.”

Five looked at you like he didn’t understand what you were talking about. “That’s what I am,” he said, obfuscated by the fact that he had to state the obvious.

“You are?”

“Am I not?”

“Well... no, but a little bit but not really? I mean—“ interrupting yourself, you shook your head. Acting like a babbling schoolgirl would get you nowhere.

Sure, you wanted to throw up; and yeah, you were probably getting what you wanted — but things weren’t supposed to go that way.

“You never asked,” you reminded him. How could you have known he was taking things so seriously? “I assumed we were friends with benefits.”

“We spend our free time together, making out and whatnot.”

“Yeah! Friends with benefits do that. Those are the benefits.”

“We go on dates,” he challenged you to find an explanation that would follow your warped logic. Friends with benefits! What a dumb thing to assume when he was giving you every drop of his love and attention.

Dates? What the fuck was he talking about? Hanging out at cafés and going to the movies?

“Those aren’t dates.”

“That’s stupid. Why would there be so many fucking rules to be in a relationship?”

You blew air out through your mouth, willing to explain it to him. “It’s not about rules. If you don’t clarify your intentions, people can only assume. The only qualifier for something to be a date is calling it that. It’s not that hard.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed his palms against his face, gripping his hair as his hands traveled up his head. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have assumed anything either.”

He shook his head. “It’s something much more embarrassing.”

“Should I even ask?”

“Don’t laugh.” He lifted a finger, pointing at you in a threatening stance.

“I won’t,” you promised. How bad could it be?

Oh, it was bad. Okay, not bad, just... over the top. You wanted to laugh really badly — not at him, but out of nervousness. And maybe a little bit at him.

He had managed to scatter flower petals all over a hotel room floor while candles formed a trail toward the bed.

Light from more candles emanated from the bathroom where you could see even more flowers, beautifully arranged around the bathtub.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something worth saying, a reaction that wouldn’t offend him.

“It’s romantic.” He made a pause, twisting his clasped hands. “Right?”

“Y—yeah.”

Five tsked. “It’s too fucking much, I know. I wanted to be romantic because my girlfriend has been stressed out and turns out I look like a fucking lunatic by doing this!” Lifting his hands in a frustrated gesture, he clenched his jaw.

You placed your hands on his shoulders. “It’s sweet.” He was pouting now, prompting you to be more firm, “I mean it.”

“You don’t seem to like it.”

“Of course I do! It’s just news to me that we’re dating.”

“Have you...” he made a meaningless movement with his hand, wetting his lips. “You know... seen other people?”

“No.” You decided to tell him the whole truth, “I tried a few times, but it didn’t feel right. It’s kind of embarrassing, I’ve turned people down because of you while thinking you didn’t care about me.”

“And I thought I was the delusional one.”

“You would’ve saved me from a lot of stress if you had stated your intentions clear,” you defended yourself. “Put yourself in my shoes, we had sex the first time because you wanted me to teach you.”

“We had sex the first time because you turned me on,” he corrected you, gripping your hips, making your dress inch up. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Five brought you closer to him, face red and eyes sharp. “You are right, I don’t.” He leaned over, trying not to focus on anything else but your lips.

You met him in the middle, kissing him first as you captured his bottom lip between yours. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled on his mouth, only to kiss him again.

Five slowed the kiss down for once, giving you short kisses instead. He rested his forehead on yours, arms around you as he swayed you to a rhythm you didn’t really know.

“Is it a bad moment to tell you I’m in love with you?”

With your hands on his shoulders, you shook your head. “It would only be bad if you didn’t mean it.”

“I never meant anything more in my life.”

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiled, angling his face to give you another kiss. Sweet and long, as if he had all the time in the world. Five peppered kisses all over your face, huffing more smiles as he gazed at your reaction.

“Do you want to take a bubble bath?” he asked, mouthing your jaw. “I brought your favorite scent.”

“Are you joining me?”

“That was implicit, honey.”

You grabbed his hand then, bringing him into the bathroom with you.

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x plus size reader #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves

944 notes · View notes

lemonzestywrites · 3 years

Text

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

paring: buck x eddie

word count: 2,268

tw: panic attacks, implied claustrophobia

[ao3 link]

_____

Buck has never been a fan of the dark. Especially as a child, the thought alone had brought along too many nightmares and memories of running to Maddie’s room to make her double-check for monsters under his bed. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore, but still, every now and again, on nights where his anxiety is all too present for his liking, the same twinge of uneasiness will find itself scratching away at his brain.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, but that itch has been sitting at the base of his subconscious since he’s clocked in for his shift, and now Buck can’t help but be on edge. He tries his best to ignore it and go on with his day, but the next 12 hours tick by with a foreboding weariness he can’t quite place.

The hospital only makes it worse. The plain white walls, the PA system going off every other minute, the frigid cold that sticks to his skin, he hates all of it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that wonders if it’s just the result of having been admitted so many times. It doesn’t feel like all too sure of reasoning, but he’d rather not linger on the thought too long. So instead, Buck settles for it and chalks it up to nerves, making a mental note to bring it up during his next session with Dr. Copeland. Until then, he should be fine.

Emphasis on should.

Because apparently, the universe gets a real kick out of watching Buck suffer since it wasn’t enough that the hospital’s power went out- no, the entire fucking city got hit with a widespread blackout. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, Eddie hasn’t been answering his radio, and Buck’s phone isn’t working either. He does his best to stay calm, really he does, but with every passing minute of radio silence, the sick coil of nerves knotted in his stomach only gets tighter and tighter.

After 10 minutes of no response, Bobby had given Buck the go-ahead to go look for Eddie, and that’s all he needed before he’s off, weaving through the halls of the hospital heading to where he’d seen him last. If it weren’t for whatever shred of self-control in him, Buck would probably be sprinting through the building by now.

Eddie’s been back to work for only about a couple weeks now. And he’s doing great (obviously, he wouldn’t have gotten cleared to go back if he wasn’t). Buck is happy for him- happy that his best friend is back. God knows the last couple of months had been rough without Eddie, he had spent the last couple of years carving out and filling a special place in the station especially reserved for him, and then all of a sudden, it had been vacant again.

Buck is excited that he’s working again, really he is. But now the energy between them feels…different, and he knows why- they both do. It’s not like Buck had expected them to come back completely fine either. But even months after the shooting, they still have yet to talk about any of it. A part of him feels like they should, but in the months he stayed over at Eddie’s, helping out however he could during his recovery, Buck could see the toll everything had taken on him, both physically and mentally. Eddie didn’t seem ready to unpack that with him yet, and Buck wasn’t going to push him.

It’s fine. He knows Eddie has been going back to therapy. They’ll talk whenever he’s ready.

Buck does his best to give Eddie his space, let him, you know, do his job, but the past weeks feel like he’s been doing nothing but living on the edge. Every time Eddie’s out of his sight for too long, he can hear a voice screaming at him, ‘Where is he? Is he okay? Find him. Protect him. Find him. You said you’d have his back. Your fault. Your fault. Your fa-’

Then Eddie will turn the corner, and Buck’s lungs will release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding on to. He hopes it’ll take the fear, too, that with every sigh won’t just be a release of pressure but help let go of the irrational worry he has. But it never does. It eats away at him, taunting him with the idea that Eddie might get hurt again, but this time Buck won’t be there to help him.

(God, they really should talk.)

He still doesn’t bring it up. Instead, Buck sets aside his apprehension and tries not to indulge in the panicked voice in his subconscious. He’s been getting better at it.

At least he was.

All it took was 15- no, 16 minutes now- of radio silence for Buck’s heart to start pounding against his chest in rapid succession. For the nervousness to shoot through his veins, thrumming all the way down to the tips of fingers as they twitch with a numbing unease. He treads through the halls keeping his head on a swivel, alert and attentive to trying to find his best friend in the sea of patients and doctors. Eddie’s probably somewhere in the hospital helping out the staff; he is a medic after all. Yet despite any amount of reasoning Buck tries to apply, the sickening feeling in his stomach doesn’t seem to dissipate. It’s been 16 minutes, and he hasn’t had any luck. He’s even circled the floor twice just to be sure, but still, nothing.

He’s considering doing another lap when he hears it- the distant noise of someone banging on metal coming from behind the elevator doors. The sound is so faint, paired with the loud frenzy of the rest of the hospital floor, that Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

He rushes to the doors, pressing his ear flushed against it. He can hear someone yelling, but the voice is too muffled to make out what they’re saying.

“Eddie?” He calls out, no doubt getting a couple odd looks from the passing medical staff, but he pays them no mind. He bangs on the doors a couple times before yelling again louder, “Eddie! It’s Buck- can you hear me?”

There’s a beat of silence before the pounding continues again, this time with much more force in response. Buck doesn’t waste any time before he digs his fingers between the doors, using everything he has to pry them apart. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strain, but the creaking of metal offers enough motive to keep him going. Even if it’s not Eddie, it still means someone’s trapped down there.

(A selfish part of him still hopes, though.)

Once the doors are opened wide enough for him, Buck drops to his stomach to peer down into the elevator currently caught between two floors. Even with the little light he does have, he sees a curled-up shadow crouched in the corner below him, “Eddie?”

The person shifts, “Buck?”

There’s nothing more Buck wants than to revel in the relief he feels when he finally hears Eddie’s voice, but it quickly scatters when he notices the trembling panic coated in his tone.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures with as much steadiness he can force out and just hopes that Eddie doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes out the words. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I-I can’t breathe.”

Buck’s mind starts to spin, panicking on what to do now. The gap in between the doors isn’t that big, so it’s not like he can slip down there with Eddie or pull him out either. He has enough sensibility to grab at his radio to at least let Bobby aware of his status, “Cap, I found Eddie. He’s trapped in an elevator stuck between the 7th and 6th floors.”

A few seconds pass before he hears Bobby’s voice on the other end, “Okay, we’re working on getting the hospital’s backup generator working. Stay with him until we can get it back online, then we’ll head up to you.”

Eddie lets out a strangled noise at his words. The twinge of panic in Buck’s stomach only coils tighter when he realizes how Eddie’s breathing seems to pick up, now coming out in quick hallow shivers.

‘He’s having a panic attack.’ Buck realizes.

It takes less than a couple seconds after for Buck to murmur a hasty “copy that” into his radio before he readjusts his focus back to his friend.

He’s not unfamiliar with panic attacks, his or Eddie’s, most of which being the results of nightmares that seem to linger when dusk settles. During the last few months, Buck has lost count of the nights that either one of them has woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and in the midst of alarm and fear, craving a recognizable magnetism of being held. A silent want to be assured protection and comforted.

It’s sick now. How there’s nothing more Buck desires than to provide that same security now, but the small two-foot gap between the elevator doors draws out to what feels like miles of distance.

Even though he can’t crawl down there with him, Buck finds himself reaching into the elevator shaft as far as he can, “Eddie, can you grab onto my hand for me?” Listen- he knows what he’s doing isn’t entirely safe, sticking his arm into an elevator that hasn’t been secure yet. But the sound of Eddie’s breath coming out in nothing but shaky huffs is more than enough to make him forgo any logic.

From within the enclosure of the elevator, he feels Eddie grasp his hand with an iron grip, the distress trembling at his fingers.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, alright?” Buck presses the conviction through his tone, his best attempt to override his own uncertainty. “Do you think you can try and take some deep breaths?”

Buck can faintly make out the silhouette of Eddie nodding, “Y-Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I can try.”

“We can do them together,” Buck offers. He takes a deep breath himself, and from below him, he hears Eddie take one too. Unconsciously, Buck starts to tighten his hold in tandem with their breathing, squeezing his hand on an inhale, loosening his grasp on the exhale. He hadn’t really realized he’s doing it until after a couple breaths, Eddie starts doing it too. And with each squeeze, his grasp slowly becomes more determined and less shaky. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually sync up for the tremor in Eddie’s hands to fade.

A couple more moments pass, and his breathing begins to steady more.

“How you doing down there, Eds?”

“Can you…”, he clears his throat, an attempt to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Can you talk to me?- About anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Buck rattles his brain for something, anything to talk about before he remembers the nature documentary he had watched several nights prior, “Did you know toucans are born blind?”

He hears Eddie laugh; it comes out breathless and nervous, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, “Really?”

“Yeah, ironically enough, they also aren’t great at flying either. They usually hop from one branch to another to get where they want to go.”

“Tell me more?” He asks, his voice quiet.

Buck smiles and keeps going, rambling about birds for a while. He doesn’t really know for how long, and at some point, he loses his awareness of what he’s saying, more focused on Eddie than anything else. Faintly, he wonders if his arm is getting tired by now.

“You know, Chris has been learning about biomes and ecosystems in school…he’d love to hear all this stuff.”

“You can tell him all about it after work.” He reassures.

Eddie’s hand twitches in his palm. “How much longer?” Buck can hear the dread creeping back into his tone.

“I…”

Not too long. He wants to promise, but the words get caught in his throat. There are a lot of things Buck can do- lying to Eddie isn’t one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He finally admits, the shame dripping down from him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie laughs, yet this time there’s no shred of humor in his voice, “I’m not sure if I can last any longer down here, Buck.” God, he sounds on the verge of tears.

“What can I do?” Fuck, at this point, Buck would do anything. Hell, he’d pull the damn elevator up himself if he had to. Whatever it would take to get Eddie back on safe ground.

“Just-” A pained noise escapes him, “Please don’t leave.”

Buck swears his heart fucking shatters. “Hey.” Even though he can’t see exactly where Eddie is, he does his best to look him in the eye before he squeezes his hand, “I’m not leaving your side, okay?”

The first thing Buck’s fire instructor had said during his training at the academy was never make a promise you can’t keep. Buck knows how important promises are to people, especially in states of emergencies. In the middle of chaos, those two words are all anyone needs to cling to. So that’s why, when Eddie looks at him, with what little light there is provided catching the edges of his watery eyes laced in fear and worry, Buck doesn’t hesitate to grip his hand as tight as he can. To hold on and look at Eddie with all the conviction and certainty he has and tell him,

“I promise.”

#hi there! i hope you enjoyed this fic!#zestywrites #911 #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

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et-lesailes · 5 years

Text

beard of greys

pairing: chris evans x wife!reader

word count: 1929

summary: chris is insecure about getting older. you assure him he has nothing to worry about.

themes: fluff, smut, family life

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @hannie-stark, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @whores4thor, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb

notes: get early access to my oneshots on patreon! and thank you to @thewritingdoll for the graphic!

Chris couldn’t help but watch you with loving eyes as you got your three-year-old twin girls dressed for daycare as he held the youngest daughter of the Evans clan in his arms. “Eliana, do you want to bring your red sippy cup or your purple one to school today?” you asked, and the little brunette chirped happily, “Purple please, mama!” Kinsley perked up, tilting her head. “Can I bring my blue one?”

“I think that one’s in the dishwasher, sweetheart. What about green? That’s your second favorite color, isn’t it?” Chris smiled at his daughter, and she nodded her head happily. “Yeah, green!” He couldn’t be more fortunate to have such sweet and easygoing children, and it appeared little Nova would be the same way given her relaxed temperament; the ten-month-old only cried if she was hungry or had a soiled diaper.

You finished buttoning up Kinsley’s dress, standing up and looking down at them satisfied. “Adorable,” you cooed, chuckling softly as they started twirling around as if modeling their outfits. “Babe, can you get ‘em all in the car? I’ll go fill their cups.” Chris nodded immediately, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. Come on, girls, don’t forget your backpacks!” He watched fondly as Eli picked up her ladybug bag and Kinsley, her bumblebee one, before they toddled out of the room and towards the front door of the house. He followed after as he bounced the little infant in his arms, making her giggle and squeal in delight.

“Bye-bye, babies! We’ll see you later!” You waved to your little ones in their classroom before going back out to the parking lot where Chris was waiting, getting back in the passenger’s seat. You glanced in the mirror to check on Nova, who was looking outside the window with wide blue eyes. “Look at her. I can’t believe we made her,” you whispered lovingly, reaching over to squeeze your husband’s hand once he pulled out of the school. He smiled, though barely tugged on his lower lip with his teeth. “I know. She’s absolutely beautiful. You all are.”

You smiled but looked up at him curiously, tilting your head. “Something on your mind, Chris? You seem a little out of it this morning.” He sighed softly; it was both a blessing and a curse that you could read him so well. “No, nothing really,” he shrugged it off, “I was, uh, just thinking about maybe shaving today actually.”

“Huh?” You looked at him in confusion. “Is it for an audition or something?” As far as you knew, he didn’t have any upcoming projects or roles; he had been going easy with acting ever since having children, and he generally liked having his beard. “No… just figured I’d mix it up a little, ya know?” he tried, but you frowned lightly, lifting a brow. “Alright, now how about you tell me the real reason?”

He sighed again, looking somewhat guilty as he glanced over at you. “I dunno, I just… feel like it makes me look old.” You blinked, looking almost shocked. “What? What do you mean, old? Like, grandpa old? You look sexy as fu-” you paused, glancing back at your baby before correcting yourself, “You look so sexy with a beard. Why would you think you look old?” He barely chuckled but still looked a little glum as he rubbed at his facial hair. “Haven’t you seen the grey hairs growing in? I mean, I’m almost forty, babe, I think you forget sometimes that I’m not as young as you are…”

You scoffed and squeezed his hand lightly. “I forget because you’re still just as spirited, ambitious, and playful as someone as “young as I am”, okay? And, just for the record, forty is not old. Chris, look at you, you’re in amazing shape, you’re such an active father, you’re still working, and you still know how to party whenever we go out. And--” you smirk, reaching out to gently graze his beard, “I think the grey hairs look hot. It’s like… a classy, matured kind of look, you know?”

He arched an eyebrow, glancing at you to see if you were being genuine. “You’re not only saying all of that to make me feel better, are you?” You frowned, shaking your head immediately. “Of course not, babe. I mean it, really. Why are you so insecure about it? This isn’t like you.”

“I guess I’m also just… worried we won’t be able to have any more children. I mean, what if I’m too old to? We’ve always dreamed about having a family, what if I’m the one who ruins that dream?”

He pulled into the driveway but you turn to take both of his hands once he’s parked, looking at him seriously. “Babe, there are men out there having children in their fifties. Yes, maybe if anything it’s slightly less likely in your forties, but I doubt it’ll be a problem for us. And-- even if it is, look at the wonderful kids we have now. We’re not going to die if we can’t have another one, we already have such a perfect family as it is. Right?”

He bit his lip, looking at you and forcing a smile. “Right…”

You could still tell he wasn’t feeling particularly great, and you sighed softly. “Please, baby, don’t keep dwelling on this. You are the perfect husband and father, and I think you only get sexier each and every day, alright? That’s the honest truth. You don’t need to shave, you look perfectly fine the way you are-- you know I love your beard.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized, then looked into the backseat when Nova started babbling loudly, a smile barely crossing his lips. “C’mon, we should go inside.”

You nodded and got out of the car, though you watched him as he unbuckled your youngest daughter from her carseat. He was definitely still not feeling completely better just yet, and you hated it. You hated seeing him sad or insecure, especially when he had no reason to be-- how could he not see how ridiculously handsome he was, grey hairs or not?

As nap time came around and Nova was settled into her crib fast asleep, you had an idea. Perhaps you just needed to prove to Chris just how attractive you still found him.

“Hey, baby.” You called out softly, stepping into the master bedroom. Chris was currently putting away the clothes from the dryer, his back to the door. “Hey--” he started to respond, but when he turned to look at you, his jaw practically dropped. You smirked as you let him admire your figure dressed in nothing but lacy black lingerie you had been saving for a rainy day.

“I’ve been thinking,” you murmured, stepping closer to him and gently running your fingers along the collar of his shirt, “that it’s about time you see just how sexy I think you are.” You caressed his beard gently with your thumb, kissing at his jawline lightly. “And I was also thinking about something else.”

“What’s… what’s that, baby?” he mumbled clearly distracted, forgetting all about the laundry as he slowly tilted his head to look down at you. “I think I’m ready for baby number four.” You whispered, rubbing his chest as you peered up at him with excited eyes. “The twins are already so independent, Nova’s beginning to walk-- and we wanted a big family, right? With our angels close in age, so they’ll hopefully get along even better?” You bit your lip, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Maybe this time we’ll have a boy…”

He barely groaned, watching as you ran your fingers over his bare chest, shrugging his shirt off himself. “A little boy… that would be… fucking perfect.” He held your waist, pulling you closer to his body as he rubbed your hips slowly and sensually. “Are you sure, sweetheart? You’re ready to do this again?” You nodded your head, never more sure of anything in your life. “I’m ovulating, Chris, it’s the perfect time. I want this… I want you. I want to be a mama of four, and I want you to make it happen. You smirked, and that was all he needed to hear; he attacked your lips roughly, kissing you with the passion and confidence you knew he had. “There’s my man,” you murmured playfully, eager to kiss him back just as fiercely as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He brought you to the bed and laid you down on your back, moving his mouth down to kiss and suck on your neck as he ran one hand over your thigh, cupping your heated sex as he growled into your skin. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he muttered huskily, nipping at your jaw with a little dark smirk; this was exactly the Chris you had been hoping to bring out. “I can’t wait to put another baby in you, sweetheart… you look so sexy when you’re pregnant, carrying my child…”

You moaned as he rubbed your entrance, his thumb teasing your clit. “You all wet for me already, baby doll? Fuck, you look so beautiful like this.” You whimpered in pleasure as he expertly moved his fingers, getting you ready for his thick shaft- you could already see the bulge forming in his pants. “Fuck me, Chris,” you begged, your voice breathless. “I want your cum inside me right now!”

He groaned simply from hearing you, hastily reaching down to unzip his pants. Pumping himself, he guided his length to your entrance and pressed against you, blue eyes focused on your facial expression as he tugged on his lower lip with his teeth. “Oh, you’re going to get it, baby,” he breathed out, his voice low and guttural, “you don’t have to worry about that.”

He thrust himself inside you, a hoarse groan escaping his throat as he began bucking his hips. You moaned in delight as you tilted your head back, moving your hands to grip his shoulder blades upon his well defined back muscle, rocking your own hips back up against his. “Chris! Mm, fuck that’s so good, you’re so big!” He smirked weakly as he continued pounding into you, staring down into your eyes in pure awe and lust. “You always feel so good around my cock baby… god I love you so fucking much!” You had to physically restrain yourself from being too loud so that little Nova wouldn’t wake up, even resorting to biting on the bedsheet; though Chris simply grunted and pushed it aside, leaning down to muffle your moans with his lips as he kissed you passionately.

You nearly bit his lip when you felt your orgasm tear through you, back lifting off the mattress and toes curling tight as you let out breathless moans and gasps into his mouth. He groaned and moved to bury his head in your neck, kissing and sucking all over as he jerked his hips forward, hissing as he kept them pressed against yours once he came, ensuring he filled you up just as promised. His body soon relaxed once he was done, though he stayed inside you as he leaned down to kiss you softly. “That was amazing, as usual,” he muttered lowly against your lips, and you smiled as you touched his beard lightly, eyes gazing at it with love.

And you think you’re too old,” you scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Trust me, Daddy, you have nothing to worry about.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans fic

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ask-chaos-kin · 3 years

Text

Slender Freaks Ch. 2

Welcome to the Game

“Chaos? Chaos! Chaos wake up!” Jester whispered with strangled breath, trying to shake the unconscious Freak awake. “Come on Chaos! Get up! We have to go!” They urged, constantly looking over their shoulder every few seconds as they struggled to wake Chaos up.

They didn’t know where they had ended up after being dragged into that ball of light, but they knew that whatever this place was, it wasn’t friendly in the slightest.

The chamber they were in was damp and dark, lit only by a few emergency lights hanging from the ceiling. Old tankards were lines against the walls, and crates of all kinds were scattered about, industrial materials spilling out of them.

“Pancakes? Do you hear anything?” Jester asked quietly, watching as the Scout Freak stared down one of the many darkened halls, his hammer at the ready.

“I swear to God, I heard something down there,” Pancakes wheezed, wringing his fingers around the hilt of his hammer repeatedly. “Will you hurry up and wake Chaos up already!?”

“I’m already up,” Chaos groaned, groggily rolling away from Jester and sitting up. “Ugh, where the Hell…?”

“We don’t know, all we know is that this place is Nightmare Fuel to the max.” Jester helped Chaos onto her feet. “And that Pancakes heard something down that hall.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Chaos scowled, reaching for her sword.

“Yeah, neither do I,” Pancakes gulped, his eyes glued to the hall. “Just...Back up. Slowly,” Pancakes said, shuffling backwards cautiously. Jester and Chaos stuck close by to him, carefully and painstakingly shuffling away from the hall and towards a different corridor that exited out into an area that vaguely resembled Turbine.

Once the hall was comfortably out of sight, the three Freaks allowed themselves to relax, if only slightly.

“I feel like we’re back inside Grave’s catacombs,” Pancakes gulped, lowering his hammer, but not holstering it. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Where the Hell are we?”

“I’m not sure,” Jester said shakily, looking around. “Some kind of warehouse, I guess?”

“That hall kinda looked like a part of Hydro. But this looks like Turbine,” Chaos remarked. “But it's not. It just feels bad here.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Come on, let's try to find an exit,” Pancakes grunted, hoisting his hammer over his shoulder and starting down the hall.

“It’s not gonna be as easy as just finding the exit door,” Jester pointed out, stopping Pancakes. “We’re in another dimension. I can feel it. We’re gonna need a portal out of here, and judging by the entire vibe of this place, that’s not gonna be easy.”

Chaos nodded. After a moment of stretching and getting their bearings Chaos and Pancakes decided to scope out ahead and try and spot anything that could look like trouble. Chaos started with taking the higher ground of Turbine, searching for anything that seemed out of place. Pancakes took the underground route in his can to move the fastest he possibly could. Jester was left to search around on the ground level.

“Anything yet?” Jester called as they rounded one of the large engines on the ground floor.

“Nothing yet!” Pancakes called from below. “Nothing but dark halls and creepy shit!”

“Nothing up here, either!” Chaos added.

After a moment, Jester fell forwards, tripping on something heavy and full of liquids.

“GAH! What the-!?” Jester spun around to see what they had tripped over. It was a Jerry can, full to the brim with gasoline.

“What in the world?” Jester got up and picked the canister up. “Uh, found a gas can!” Jester shouted. “Not sure what it could be used for, though.”

After Jester picked up the canister, a loud, thunderous boom sound could be heard from the sky and the air became much thicker and full of dread.

“What the hell?” Jester gasped, tensing up. “Did you guys hear that?”

“Hard not too.” Chaos jumped down from the ledge she was previously standing, Pancakes emerged from a nearby basement door.

“What did you do?!”

“I just picked up this canister! I didn’t think it would summon Satan!” Jester cried, dropping the gasoline.

“What are you doing?!” an unknown voice from the shadows called. “We need those things to get out of here and you're just dropping them everywhere!”

The three Freaks jumped at the voice.

“Who said that? Who’s there!?” Jester shouted.

“Shh! Keep your head down! They’ll be here any minute now. Just pick that thing up and look for more, you’ll hear that boom every time someone picks up another can. Once eight booms have gone off, start running to the van.” The voice called out in a type of whisper yell.

Jester cautiously picked the canister back up, trembling. “Where are you?” They whispered, searching for the source of the voice.

“You’ll find me later, just get going! It’s not safe out in the open,”

The three Freaks nodded hurriedly and headed off, listening closely for any threats that could be lurking in the darkness.

“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any creepier,” Pancakes shuddered, glancing over his shoulder.

“What did she mean by ‘they?’ Who’s ‘they?’” Jester asked quietly, scanning the halls for any more gas cans. “What’s in here with us?”

“I don’t know and frankly, I don’t want to find out,” Chaos whispered sharply.

“You and me both,” Jester gulped. “Where’s that van she was talking about? I didn’t see a van when we came in.”

“It has to be parked outside. If this place is the same as Turbine, I should be able to get us to the exit,” Pancakes stated.

“Maybe. Once we get all the gas cans, we can head there. Well...As long as we don’t run into anything on the way…”

“This feels like Grave all over again,” Chaos hissed.

“No kidding. All we need are some shadow monsters to chase us and it’ll be just like old times…” Pancakes paused briefly, looking over his shoulder. “But I doubt we’ll have to wait long for that.”

The trio of Freaks ducked into a nearby vent shaft and followed it into what should have been the BLU team’s Intel Room. The bright blue suitcase that was stuffed with BLU’s files was nowhere to be found, however. Instead, another Jerry Can sat where the suitcase should have been.

Dropping down from the vent, Chaos trotted over and tentatively picked up the can, flinching at the thunderous drum that echoed through the facility. Folding it under her arm, Chaos waved for Jester and Pancakes to follow her, raising a finger to her mouth for them to remain silent.

“I think I know where another one of these might be,” Pancakes whispered. Entering his can, Pancakes bounced off towards one of the round doorways, Jester and Chaos following close behind. Coming out into a T-shaped hallway, Pancakes turned to head to a nearby door when Chaos snatched him out of the blue and ducked behind a wall, yanking Jester along with her.

“What are you doing?” Pancakes gasped, stifling a shout. Chaos gritted her teeth and made a sharp shushing sound. Hooking a thumb around the corner, she silently pointed out the lurking monster Pancakes had nearly waltzed right into.

At the end of the hall, a stark white creature stood, disturbingly humanoid in nature and bordering on anorexic. It was hunched over, its arms and legs extending out to an unnatural length. The long fingers of the monster were tipped with razor sharp claws, stained a dark red with dried blood. The creature's eyes were bright white and almost seemed to bulge out of the monster's head. It had no lips, and so the horrible maw of yellowed teeth jutted out for all to see, a viscous saliva dripping from the fangs and pooling out onto the floor into a silvery puddle.

“What the Hell is that thing?” Jester wheezed, their skin turning as pale as the monsters.

“Something we don’t want to mess with,” Chaos whispered, pulling Jester back behind the wall.

Stooping down, Chaos scooped up a small pebble from the floor. Palming it briefly, she wound up her arm and chucked it towards one of the rounded doorways. It bounced once, skidding into the Intel Room and making a low skittering sound as it flew.

The monster spun around when the pebble made contact with the floor, and with a hungry howl it sprinted down the hall in a headlong rush, salivating at the thought of prey.

With the beast distracted, Chaos shoved Pancakes and Jester off down the hall and towards the door, and once safely inside she threw the door shut behind them before barricading it with a metal shelf that had been standing next to the door.

With the door covered, Pancakes leapt out of his can and ran around the small room in search of a third Jerry Can.

“C’mon, c’mon...Aha!” Pancakes crouched next to the workbench in the center of the room and pulled yet another Jerry Can from beneath the table. Upon grabbing the can, a third boom sounded off, a more sinister air to it than before.

With the third can under their belt, the trio slowly crept out of the small chamber and turned to the metal shutter blocking the end of the hall. Chaos and Pancakes picked up the shutter from the bottom and hoisted it off the ground, carefully slipping underneath into another dimly lit hall that extended to the left. The narrow corridor funneled the three Freaks into a small room that was blocked off by a large board of the BLU teams insignia.

Pushing on the board, there was a slight give, indicating that the board wasn’t fully bolted to the wall.

“Pancakes, give me a hand here,” Chaos said, drawing her sword and slipping it into the narrow space between the wall and board. Pancakes pressed his palms against the board opposite to Chaos. Using their combined strength, they managed to pop the board slightly out of place. Jester slipped their hands to the bottom of the board and tentatively lifted it up and away from the wall, opening a path back into the main room of Turbine.

Pulling the board off the wall completely and pulling it into the small room, the three Freaks quietly clambered out, landing on the metal platform below that was elevated from the main floor. Glancing over to her left, Chaos noticed another Jerry Can sitting in the small windowed room that connected to the vents. Grabbing it, a fourth boom rang out, followed by a low, rumbling roar from somewhere in the halls they had entered from.

“That didn’t sound good,” Jester gulped.

As if on cue, the mysterious voice spoke up once again, a bespoke urgency in her voice. “It’s not good at all. Keep moving! There’s four more cans left!”

Moving with the same urgency, the trio of Freaks dropped down from the platform and briskly crossed the main room of Turbine, keeping close to the engines and carriers in the center of the room for cover.

Heading into RED Spawn, the Freaks quickly ducked inside the Spawn Room for a breather, and in doing so found a fifth Jerry Can hiding in one of the lockers.

Next up was the chamber where the RED Intel was being held. Just like the BLU base, the intel was replaced with a lone Jerry Can. Unfortunately, unlike the BLU base, another disjointed and warped creature stood over the can, crouched down and snarling.

“Great, just great,” Pancakes hissed, hiding behind the doorway separating the hall from the Intel Room.

“What do we do now? We can’t fight that thing!” Jester gasped, their eyes locked on the monster in morbid fear.

“We can’t. Maybe we can distract it like last time,” Chaos said briskly, scanning the floor for any stray pebbles.

“I don’t think this thing is gonna fall for that again.” Pancakes glanced into the chamber and winced at the monsters scathing roar. “Nope. Not gonna work this time.”

“Maybe I could lure it away,” Jester suggested, immediately regretting the suggestion as the creature let out another furious shriek.

“That could work. You can fly and your body works on cartoon physics. You get that thing away from the can and we’ll meet you in the vents.”

Jester swallowed hard and turned pale, giving a terrified glance at the monster.

“You owe me for this. Big time.”

Jester - begrudgingly - floated out into the open in full view of the monster, grimacing when the beast turned its steely gaze on them.

“H-hey! Ugly! Come on and chase me! You know you want to - CRAP!”

Jester could barely get their taunt out when the monster lunged at them, sprinting out of the Intel Room and barreling at the clown at breakneck speeds. Jester turned tail and ran, screaming in terror as the beast began hunting them down through the halls.

“WHY DID I AGREE TO THIIIIIIIIIIIS!?”

“Well, there’s that. Come on, before that thing gets back.”

Chaos and Pancakes wasted no time in picking up the Jerry Can and made their escape through the vents leading into the Intel Room. Crawling through the cramped space, they could hear Jester screaming below and cursing their names in terrified and exasperated frustration.

“I think they’re taking it well,” Pancakes said dryly.

Below, Jester was weaving in and out of the turbines in the center of the facility, huffing and puffing as they managed to stay just out of reach of the pale monster.

“THIS IS NOT HOW I WANTED TO SPEND MY DAY!” They shrieked, yelping and ducking down as the beast swiped at them, narrowly missing the bells on their hat. “I hope you guys are done over there!”

“Jester! Up here!” Chaos shouted from above, pulling the vent cover away from the shaft as she and Pancakes reached the main room, frantically waving for Jester. “Come on!”

Jester made a sharp turn and flew over the head of the monster, sucking in their breath upon seeing the flashing sheen of the creature's claws in their peripheral. Clearing the monster, Jester darted up to the vent and barreled into the open shaft, missing Chaos by a hair's breadth as she threw the vent cover back up as a flimsy barrier between them and the creature.

“Please tell me you got the can,” Jester wheezed, facedown in the vent.

“We did. That makes six,” Pancakes said.

“So we need two more,” Chaos added, climbing back down the vent. “That thing’s gonna be looking for us, though. We’ll need to wait until it calms down before we can go looking.”

“Sounds good,” Jester mumbled weakly, rolling onto their back.

“You won’t find the last two here. You’ll have to go back to Hydro,” The distant voice said faintly, a twinge of warning in her instructions.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jester gulped.

“I think you’ve said that enough, Jess,” Pancakes remarked, crawling after Chaos, Jester slinking behind him.

The trio reached the main room and approached the door they had first entered from, which now seemed to yawn like the gaping mouth of a giant monster. A cold wind blew from within that carried the faint screaming of a distant beast, instilling the Freaks with an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

“I was having a good day. We were all having a good day before we got dragged into this,” Pancakes sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, no time like the present,” Chaos said, pushing onward. “Come on, we survived Grave, we can survive this.”

Starting down the hall, the trio left the relative safety of Turbine and entered the unknown territory of the altered Hydro. Walking down the darkened hallways, Chaos judged that they were walking through the farthest west facility of Hydro. What she couldn’t judge was whether or not they could access the outer portions of Hydro, and if they could, if the remaining Jerry Cans would be scattered outside in the open or hidden inside and out of sight.

“Shit, it’s gonna take forever to find the cans like this,” Pancakes grumbled dryly, softly kicking a nearby box.

“They can’t be far. Most of the cans were close together in Turbine after all,” Jester replied, hoping to assure the sullen Freak beside them.

“Yeah, sure, but Turbine is a hell of a lot smaller than Hydro. Why do you think mercenaries hate fighting in it?”

“I think Mann Co. was gonna make a bigger version of Turbine and every team collectively lost their shit over it,” Chaos said with a dry lilt.

“Wait, they actually did that? I thought it was just a joke!”

“Nope. They actually did. I think Mann Co. was gonna call it Turrrrrrrrbine,” Pancakes explained, sounding slightly brittle.

“That’s dumb. They should have called it Longbine.”

“Doesn’t matter what they would have called it, Jess. The teams would have hated it regardless,” Chaos said, patting Jesters shoulder.

“My memory loss must be worse than I thought. I don’t remember ever hating Turbine when I was still a mercenary.”

“You worked at Sawmill. You were probably just never sent to Turbine-”

“Found one!” Pancakes hollered, running past the two Freaks and diving at a corner where a tankard sat next to several crates of unused machine parts, making a loud racket as he landed. Pancakes grunted and rose back to his feet, triumphantly hoisting up the seventh Jerry Can.

“Are you a bobcat or something?” Jester said in a perplexed tone. “How did you even see that?”

Pancakes grinned as he tossed the can to Jester. “Scout senses.”

“Oh please, you just saw the can before we did. It ain’t that amazing,” Chaos said with a teasing scoff.

“Yeah, ‘cause you two were talking up a storm about Turbine.”

“You started that discussion!”

“Yeah? Well...Nyeh.” Pancakes pouted, sticking his tongue out.

“Guys, shh, you hear that?” Jester said sharply, abruptly cutting Chaos and Pancakes off. The two Scouts fell deathly silent, suddenly reminded of where they were.

Jester cast their gaze across the gloomy halls ahead and summoned a small ball of light in their hands, tossing it forward into the corridor like a glowstick. When the light landed, it sputtered and sparked, seemingly struggling to stay alight, which sent a worrisome shudder down Jesters spine.

As the light began to go out, a low hum came from somewhere deep within the corridor, accompanied by the harsh thudding of footsteps against concrete. The three Freaks slowly backed away from the pitiful light as it gave up the last of its glow. In its final sparks, the light revealed the elongated face of a monster, cast in a cruel maroon light before the orb finally fizzled out, drawing a curtain of darkness as the three Freaks turned tail and fled, their mortified screams filling the halls as the horrible monster took chase.

The beast chased the trio of Freaks through the facilities of Hydro and forced them outside. Hydro was drenched in darkness, but it was wholly unlike the normal darkness of night. This was an oppressive darkness that blotted out anything and everything in the sky. It was like a thick curtain had been pulled over all of Hydro that kept everything inside its boundaries.

With the elongated monster licking at their heels, Chaos tried to form a fireball in her hands to chuck back at the raging creature like a hand grenade, but it fizzled out into embers before she even got the chance.

“What the hell’s going on!? My powers aren’t working!”

“Mine aren’t working either!” Jester gasped in terror, desperately trying to teleport the three Freaks away to no avail.

“We gotta head to the radar dish! We can lose this thing there!” Pancakes shouted, pushing to the front of the pack.

“I hope you’re right!” Chaos hissed, charging after Pancakes as he booked it up the rocky hill towards the old radar dish at the center of Hydro.

Reaching the radar, the trio of Freaks clambered up the side of the dish and slid down into it. Once inside, they frantically scaled the metal sheets that led up to the station in the center of the dish and kicked the sheets away once they were safely off the ground, leaving the monster without a way to reach them.

Hissing and snarling, the beast clawed and scratched at the scaffolding of the station the Freaks were precariously perched on, desperately trying to bring it crashing down to reach the terrified trio. It’s awful and putrid breath made Jester gag, and the rancid saliva it spilled onto the platform in its hungry flailing made Pancakes and Chaos recoil in disgust.

“Get the hell off!” Chaos screamed furiously, swinging her checkerboard sword at the beasts snout, scoring a deep gouge between its bulging eyes. With a sharp howl, the creature recoiled back and hissed, roaring in pain. Shaking its head, the monster fled from the radar dish, leaving a trickling trail of blood as it ran for cover in the shadows.

The trio caught their breath once the monster fled, giving them a brief reprieve from running and screaming like beheaded chickens. Jester, thoroughly ran through, laid on the floor of the station facedown to catch their breath. When their face hit the ground, they saw a brief flash of red in the corner of their eye. With a jerk, Jester lifted their head and gasped with a mix of shock and relief.

The last Jerry Can was right next to them!

“HAHA! That’s the last one!” They whooped, lifting the can up with elated glee.

Upon grabbing the can, one last thunderous boom sounded out across the facility. When the sound settled, an eerie silence fell over all of Hydro, leaving the three Freaks alone in the unnatural hush.

Jester’s elation died away and their smile faded. They held the Jerry Can to their chest and glanced around, the hair on their neck slowly standing on end. The same uneasiness fell over Chaos and Pancakes and they slowly stepped away from the edges of the platform, the deafening silence pricking at their nerves like a malicious ice pick, their labored breathing being the only thing that broke the hush.

“Fuck me, I prefer the monster over this,” Pancakes quavered, a shiver running up his spine.

“Ok, we’ve got the cans, what now?” Jester shuddered, slipping the can into their cape for safe keeping.

“Get to the other side of Hydro, quickly! We have the car waiting!” The disembodied voice spoke out with a dire stress. “Come on, we have to go!”

“No need to tell me twice!” Pancakes leapt off the edge of the platform and started sprinting to the eastern side of Hydro with a desperate zeal, followed closely by an equally terrified Chaos and Jester.

Above them, the silence of Hydro was broken by an ear splitting shriek. From the roof of the base that overlooked the path to the edge of Hydro, a pale humanoid leapt down in front of the Freaks, drenched in a black and viscous liquid. The creature's face was horrifically disfigured with teeth jutting out of its mouth, and it’s eyes were solid white and sunken deep into its skull.

“Wait! STOP!” The voice shouted, the cold terror of her voice bringing the trio of Freaks toa screeching halt in front of the monster. “Don’t. Make. A. Sound,” She urged, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. “Back away from that thing. Slowly.”

“I hate this, I hate this,” Pancakes whisper-screamed, trembling as he and his friends haltingly followed the voices orders, taking quaking and trembling steps away from the ghastly creature.

“What is that thing!?” Jester whined, matching Pancake’s whispering tone.

“Shut up, shut up,” Chaos snapped hushedly, grabbing Pancake and Jester by the arm. She gritted her teeth at the monsters huffing and snarling and squeezed Jesters arm instinctively. Jester quickly placed their hand over Chaos’, a fleeting comfort in the face of a hideous monster.

Backing up towards the dish, the trio watched the beast from the very edge of the radar. The ghoul stooped down and sniffed the air, having calmed down now that the Freaks had put distance between them. The ghoul wheezed and snorted and sluggishly shambled towards the dish, its sunken eyes rolling in its skull. Jester sucked in a sharp breath, Pancakes braced himself, and Chaos’ free hand snapped to the hilt of her sword, her mismatched eyes locked on the creature, silently daring it to come closer.

A small and unnoticeable speck flew through the air past the monster and landed somewhere off to its right, causing a small clatter of stones to rattle through the air. The beast snapped its head to the noise and stalked towards it, leaving the Freaks behind in favor of investigating the pebble. The three Freaks looked on in a kind of shocked stupor, both befuddled and relieved that the mysterious stone had caught the monsters attention.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chaos caught sight of someone standing at the end of the path out of Hydro, waving to the Freaks and beckoning them over. The figure was slender and had a similar frame to Chaos. She wore a RED Flapjack, orange Hot Heels, and a red and black Troublemaker's Tossle cap. Her hair was long and curly and seemed to be cut in the exact same style as Chaos’ hair and she wielded what looked like a RED Atomizer bat.

Seizing her chance, Chaos shoved Jester and Pancakes towards the figure while the monster was distracted.

“Come on, I have the car ready! I just need the gas!” The figure ran towards a cement blockade and leapt over it, sprinting down a paved path where a lone camper van was parked. “Come on, come on! Dump the gas in, we don’t have much time!”

Reaching the van, Jester clumsily took their cape off and dumped the eight Jerry Cans out, and the three Freaks scrambled to dump the contents of all eight into the van. They spilled much of the gasoline onto the ground in their hustle, but enough got inside the van to count.

“Alright, that’s it! Now get inside before they come after us!” The woman shouted. Throwing open the drivers side door, she leapt into the van and cranked the car with haste. The engine roared to life, its headlights flashing and lighting the road ahead up in a stark yellow glare.

Jester, Chaos, and Pancakes all piled into the van as fast as they could, shouting over each other as the sounds of the monster started to grow closer. Jester grabbed the passengers' side door and slammed it shut once they were inside and let out a startled gasp.

“OK DRIVE!” They screeched, scrambling to get to the front seat. The woman drove her heel into the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, unceremoniously throwing Jester back onto Pancakes.

Speeding along the paved road, the screams of the monster behind them echoed in the dark, growing more and more distant as the van left it in the dust until the screams finally receded into the distance, nothing more than a shallow whisper in the wind.

With distance put between the monster and the Freaks, Jester laid their face on the dashboard and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Chaos and Pancakes simply collapsed in the back seat, catching their breath.

“Holy shit,” Chaos gulped, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Thanks,” She managed to get out.

“Don’t thank me yet,” The woman replied sternly, still on edge. “Who are you guys anyways? I don’t recognize any of you.”

“I don’t think we’re from around here,” Jester answered quietly, tilting their head towards the woman.

“...Oh, shit. Then you have no idea what’s going on here.”

“Yeah no shit! Monsters were chasing us every five seconds and we had to collect gas cans like it was a fucking treasure hunt!” Pancakes cried.

“Those gas cans were your only ticket out of here,” The woman replied with a startling calm. “Now just calm down. If you guys aren’t from around here, then that spells bad news for you.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Chaos urged, leaning forward in her seat.

“To put it as blunt as possible: You guys have just landed yourselves in another dimension. The Slender Realm. A dimension filled with monsters that you have to play around in order to survive. It’s a game, really. These creatures force us to always stay on our toes or we die. They take us to places like this and force us to play a game of demented scavenger hunt to find random items that we can use to escape and move on.”

“...Fuck,” Chaos swore, collapsing in her seat.

“Exactly. And you three have just entered the game as fresh blood. You want to survive and get out? You follow my lead.”

“How do we even GET out?” Jester shuddered. “Look, I have reality bending powers, ok? I’m supposed to be able to tear holes in reality in order to travel between dimensions. I haven’t been able to do that once since we’ve been here! Barely any of my powers have been working!”

“You can blame the Slender Realm for that,” She sighed, sounding utterly exhausted. “This place...It doesn’t like ‘cheating.’ If you have powers of abilities that it thinks will give you an edge against the monsters, it takes it away.”

“That would explain why I can barely do anything. I tried to create a light ball and it extinguished a minute later. My magic doesn’t just go out like that.”

“And I haven’t been able to cast fire spells since we got here,” Chaos lamented, staring sullenly at her hands.

“I can’t even Ubercharge myself anymore,” Pancakes sighed, pressing his face against the back of Jesters seat.

“You guys are Freaks, right? You come from the Outer Realm?” The woman inquired, looking over her shoulder at Chaos and Pancakes.

“Uh...Yeah, we’re Freaks. I don’t know what the ‘Outer Realm’ is though,” Chaos replied, a bit perplexed.

“That explains where the portal leads…” She mumbled.

“Portal? What portal?” Jester queried, almost pleadingly.

“The way out.” The woman sat up and her face stiffened. “It’s a portal at the end of a labyrinth. A lot of people thought it was a myth, but me and my brother found it a few days ago. We were this close to making it out, and…” She grimaced, pursing her lips in anger. “We were stopped by the monsters. Slenderman in particular.”

“Hold the fuck up, SLENDERMAN is REAL!?” Pancakes squawked, wide eyed as he jolted upright in his seat.

“So at least you know about him. He’s one of the most dangerous monsters around here,” The woman continued, shrugging off Pancakes surprised outburst. “He stopped us from leaving this place and...He must have messed with the portal himself. That’s the only way I can imagine that you three managed to get pulled into this place.”

“Do you think more people could have been pulled in?”

“Highly likely. The monsters like to mess with other dimensions when they get bored with us.”

“So maybe other people we know are trapped here,” Chaos suggested. “Other Freaks.”

“Maybe. Maybe…” Jester nodded, reeling from all the information.

“Anyways, I know the portal exists. I know there’s a way out of here. Maybe we can get out of this hellhole together.”

“Yeah. Together sounds nice. Anything sounds nice in a place like this,” Pancakes sighed.

“Where are we heading now?” Jester queried, watching as the dark road flew by in the window.

“The closest thing to a base I have. Me, my brother, and two other people live there. It’s safe. Relatively speaking. Once we get there, you guys can eat and rest for a bit, ok? Then we have to head out if we wanna find the portal again.”

The three Freaks nodded in agreement. “Thanks again for helping us. If any of our friends got dragged in, I can’t imagine how they must be faring out here without the help of someone like you,” Jester said, unquestionably grateful for the woman’s help. “Uh...I’m Count Jester, by the way. Jester for short. Nonbinary, I use they/them pronouns.”

“I’m Ass Pancakes. Yes, you can laugh at the name.”

“And I’m Chaos Kin. Jesters God-Niece.”

“Nice to meet you,” She smiled, pulling the van towards a sheltered gravel road. “I’m Roseflame.”

#Slender Fortress #FF2 #Chaos Kin #count jester #Ass Pancakes #Roseflame #Slender Freaks

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cto10121 · 3 years

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Mercutio and Romeo’s Battle of Wits: Or, the Mercutio-Romeo-Benvolio brOTP

Or, Mercutio Misses Romeo Something Fierce As His Main Bro Because Romeo Is Not A Whiny Wimpy Stick-In-the-Mud and Is Actually Very Fun To Be Around and Benvolio Is Good and All, but He’s Just Not The Same(tm), You Know?

So the first half of Act 2, Scene 4, when Mercutio and Romeo have a game of wits before the Nurse enters gets cut or abridged a lot, for obvious reasons. The double entendres and witty Elizabethan wordplay are very difficult for even great actors to convey them to an audience, and they don’t seem to serve a narrative or thematic function apart from “two bros just being bros!!!” That bit of the scene just feels like filler safely cut or abridged in order to jump to the Nurse’s entrance and thus the plot. R&J the play, after all, is long; the whole play done completely is usually touching three hours. Cuts are always necessary, and for the most part it’s justifiable.

But I’m not going to lie, I like this bit a lot. Always have. Not only do we get Mercutio’s attitude toward Tybalt and his growing concern over Romeo’s love doldrums, but we get another side of Romeo hitherto unknown to us: Romeo being witty and fun and actually roasting Mercutio good, even besting him in a game of wits. And Mercutio actually being happy about it and just surrendering the battle to Romeo (!!!) What is this cinnamon roll of an exchange, too pure for this world, doing in an otherwise heavy tragedy? Are Romeo and Mercutio out of character just for some punny times? Not at all! The punny times are entirely necessary narrative and thematic-wise, sets up the tragedy, and shows needed nuance and dimension to both characters and the Montacrew in general.

Where the Fuck Is Romeo Seriously, I’m Getting Kinda Worried

So we begin the scene with Mercutio right away wanting to know where Romeo is:

Mercutio. Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?

Benvolio. Not to his father’s, I spoke with his man.

Mercutio. Why, that same pale, hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad.

It’s really hard not to read even a little bit of concern in that first question past the bluster, but in case you missed it, Shakespeare makes it explicit by having Mercutio blame Rosaline and worrying that Romeo’s love for her is driving him crazy. Once again, we get the sense that Romeo was not really himself pre-Juliet, and that, according to Mercutio, this is something to be concerned about.

We then segue into news that Tybalt has challenged Romeo via letter. Benvolio expresses confidence that Romeo would fight him, but Mercutio has doubts:

Mercutio. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! Stabbed with a white wench’s black eye, shot through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow boy’s butt shaft—and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Once again Mercutio switches to troll mode and characterizes Romeo’s love angst over Rosaline as him “being dead” (“the ape is dead!”)—which would be dramatic, to say the least, except that the tone is humorous/satiric. But it does betray an anxiety on Mercutio’s part and gives the understanding that whatever Romeo’s infatuation with Rosaline was, it was not “typically” Romeo, at least according to Mercutio and by implication Benvolio, since he doesn’t challenge it. When Romeo finally enters, Mercutio continues his satiric portrait:

Benvolio. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!

Mercutio. Without his roe, like a dry herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

We get it, we get it, Romeo has turned a lameass pussy by ~love. But unbeknownst to Mercutio but knownst to us, Romeo is not the same guy of previous acts. How will Julietsimplord!Romeo react to Mercutio? This is going to be good.

Mah Bruh is Back and He’s…Fucking Roasting Me?

So we get the first encounter.

Mercutio. Signior Romeo, bonjour! There’s some French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Romeo. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mercutio. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive?

Romeo’s greeting is polite, open, but unconcerned, perhaps a bit breezy, perhaps humoring. Notice how Romeo before has given Mercutio a ton of slack for his satiric mocking—his only critical comment so far in the play is “He jests at scars that never felt a wound,” which can read almost as dismissive (this in contrast to Benvolio’s worry that Mercutio would anger Romeo by talking about Rosaline lewdly). Either way, he responds to Mercutio’s acerbic queries about him ditching them straightforwardly and without heat.

Romeo. Pardon me, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

Mercutio. That’s as much to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Notice how Mercutio doesn’t ask Romeo directly about what his business was, but rather assumes that it was sexual (“bow in the hams,” to flex his butt cheeks). Again, typical of Mercutio, but it does justify a little why Romeo, at this point in the story, does not immediately tell Mercutio and Benvolio about Juliet. And also why he says this instead:

Romeo. Meaning, to curtsy.

Mercutio. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Romeo is 100% trolling here, doing a Mercutio, in fact by pretending to take another meaning—oh, yeah, you obviously mean curtsying, right???? This marks the first reply in which he doesn’t answer openly, but instead answers slyly. Mercutio answers accordingly with an equally troll-y, “Oh yeah, that’s definitely what I meant, super PG” *snort*

Romeo. A most courteous exposition.

Mercutio. Nay, I’m the very pink of courtesy.

Romeo. Pink for flower.

Mercutio. Right.

Romeo. Why, then is my pump well flowered.

My Burton Raffel edition, infuriatingly enough, only gives one definition of “pump” as shoe, but make no mistake—Romeo also obviously means “dick” (the pump, I think, being the “head” part of the shoe, and thus….you get the idea). Mercutio is immediately excited—Romeo is speaking his language now.

Mercutio. Sure wit, follow me this jest now till thou had worn out thy pump, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

Romeo. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!

Mercutio. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wits faint.

Romeo. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs, or I cry a match.

Mercutio. Nay, if our wits run the wild goose chase, I am done, for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five.

Barely does the game of wits begin when Mercutio seems to give up, and now Romeo is the one urging him playfully to keep going or else *he* wins. Mercutio could just be joking about needing to be “rescued” by Benvolio, but he does say explicitly that nah, Romeo is just too witty today to continue to “chase” the joke, or the goose (“wild goose chase” eventually became a cliché all on its own, and it’s really just a throwaway line).

And now for my absolute favorite Romeo retort:

Mercutio. Was I ever with you there for the goose?

Romeo. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose.

“Was I ever with you for the game?” “Bitch, you weren’t with me for anything but the pussy!!!!!” “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”

Mercutio. I will bite thee in the ear for that jest.

Romeo. Nay, good goose, bite not.

“I’ll fucking jump you for that” “A pussy jump on me??? Oh no, I’m ~scared” 🤣

Mercutio. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.

Romeo. And is it not, then, well served in to a sweet goose?

“Your game has some spice, bro” “Like the spice they’ll put on you after cooking your ass????” 🤣

Mercutio. O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell narrow to an ell broad.

Romeo. I stretch it out for that word “broad,” which, added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

“You’re stretching that joke so damn much it’s going to break” “As much as I’ll stretch your stupid ass out because you’re the joke, bro!!!!!!” 🤣

And then comes the end of the game of wits with the final twist:

Mercutio. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo, now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature.

“Jokes on you, bro, I’m into that shit!!! (Seriously, though, glad you’re back, bro, omfg, finally)”

Conclusions

So now for some wrap-up:

Mercutio in the beginning of the scene thinks the Romeo he knew is lost or “dead” by love. This has been established before in the after the ball scene, but here it is explicit—The Romeo he knows is gone and replaced by a pussy all over Rosaline’s pussy. Not good. There is also more than a trace of concern and worry—Mercutio is the one who asks for Romeo, and not Benvolio, the guy’s own cousin.

Mercutio is not upset by Romeo beating him at the game of wits and in fact gives in rather too easily. It’s not too clear why Mercutio does this. Mercutio has been established as a witty, satiric character. Romeo is as verbally dexterous as he is, if not more so, but his wit is warm and expressive, not satiric. His roasts and shade are playful and good-natured for the most part. By all accounts, Mercutio should have won the skirmish. It could be that he is too happy with Romeo actually making witty puns to care about winning, but personally I think Mercutio would be too proud of his verbal acrobatics, to concede that easily and make himself a willing target for Romeo’s roast (especially since he has roasted Romeo so damn hard these past scenes). It’s not like Mercutio to go easy on Romeo or even anyone, as he proves with his roasting Tybalt and even ragging on Benvolio. It could be Shakespeare is slyly characterizing Mercutio as a character who can give it out, but not take it, hence his backing down so easily, (“Okay, okay, you win!”) but usually that type of character responds with impatience and even anger. Mercutio’s replies are too amused for that. Perhaps he was too surprised by Romeo suddenly taking a page out of his book after scenes of him just angsting—to his perspective, but not ours, this does seem to come out of nowhere. But his replies don’t sound like someone who is surprised at all by this show of wit by a good-natured friend—on the contrary, it is taken as proof that the friend is back.

By the end of the exchange, Mercutio believes Romeo is more himself again. Not entirely, as he does cast further shade on his infatuation with Rosaline, but he is genuinely glad to see Romeo act more like himself again. We are once again reinforced with the notion that the mopey Romeo with Rosaline and even the radiantly lovestruck Romeo with Juliet is not the Romeo his friends have known. We receive proof of this: Romeo can and will throw shade over you for a song.

Not going to lie: I am here for all of this.

So I think it’s fair to conclude, based on the above information, that Mercutio has missed Romeo, perhaps something awful. His constant ragging on him for Rosaline and being mopey (lovers aren’t even supposed to be sad, wtf man) and his asking for him and just generally talking almost exclusively about him (that could just be his supporting character role, though) supports that. His joy at Romeo roasting him also characterizes a key component of their friendship and dynamic hitherto missing or not as present: Jokes, teasing, puns, wordplay, outright roasting when called for.

Not only is bro bonhomie clearly established (brohomie!), but also the macho culture—this exchange is far from locker room talk, more focused on wordplay than crude expression, but it does set up the dynamics of the duel scene and Mercutio’s motivations. Mercutio is most happy when Romeo performs masculinity through puns, wordplay, and roasting; when he doesn’t, or refuses to take stand in the defense of his honor, that’s when Mercutio gets frazzled. This is not because he believes Romeo is inherently a wimp—far from it, as he clearly expects Romeo, once he seems unstuck from the quagmire that is Rosaline, to duel Tybalt. He is unsurprised when Romeo throws shade on him right back, and is even pleased. So it’s shocking and disturbing for him when Romeo refuses to step up as he had done in previous scenes to fight the likes of Tybalt, for seemingly no good reason.

On a related note, expectation is noticeably absent in Mercutio’s own dynamic with Benvolio, whom he sees as helper and abettor of his wit and decisions, a soundboard, and a quasi-sidekick (“come, shall we go?” “Come between us, good Benvolio, my wits faint” “Help me into some house, Benvolio, / Or I shall faint”). When he does rag on Benvolio for his supposed sword-happy temper, Benvolio does not rise to his bait or roast him back, but gives only mildly amused replies, if gently pointed, to Mercutio’s surly displeasure.

Benvolio. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mercutio. The fee simple? O simple!

Mercutio may want to fight someone badly enough to go after Benvolio, but he also wants a challenge, the excitement of a back-and-forth of wits—hell, even for someone to tell him he is full of shit if so he could hit back. Perhaps that’s what Mercutio needs and perhaps secretly desires: Someone to roast him and tell him to shut the fuck up every once in a while. But would Romeo do this?

Nurse. I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery?

Romeo. A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will speak more in a minute than he would stand to in a month.

The answer is yes. Yes, he would.

R&J Adaptations’ Weirdness with This Exchange

So why the difficulty retaining this fun exchange? Well, Romeo talking about well-flowered pumps and Mercutio just happily taking his roasts goes against the usual romantic!Romeo and charismatictroll!Mercutio characterization of earlier scenes. Even in adaptations that do keep this part of the scene, they tend either to brush it by (Baz Lurhmann) or even mischaracterize it a bit to keep it consistent with the interpretation of the characters as established (Zeffirelli). McEnery’s Mercutio in the Zeffirelli is in control and dominant all of the way through, and one of his lines (“Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce”) is given to Romeo instead. The Baz Lurhmann plays it only broadly in terms of group male camaraderie and not so much Mercutio-Romeo dynamics; Benvolio does not participate in the game of wits and is by all accounts just vibing (my personal troll headcanon is he is keeping track of the game of wits on a slate. 2 Romeo, 1 Mercutio, that sort of thing).

Also, perhaps due to Mercutio being on Romeo’s case for most of the play and his being a lil’ shit at points, some adaptations take a weird Ho Yay approach to the dynamic, especially productions that make Mercutio gay or queer. If so, then productions have to do a lot of heavy lifting to interpret Mercutio’s gleeful/amused roasting of Romeo, his lewd blazon of Rosaline, and his anger at Romeo’s loss of honor in refusing to fight Tybalt as signs of romantic love towards Romeo. Romeo’s own emotional independence from his friends and his willingness to roast Mercutio also works against this interpretation. Thus another reason why this exchange is often cut or abridged (although the Globe Theater just decided to go ahead and have Mercutio roll all over Romeo while Romeo is roasting him as a shameless pussy chaser in this scene, because of course that makes perfect sense. Is it any wonder why I don’t like most R&J productions and adaptations?).

The only adaptation I know that gets the camaraderie and dynamics even close to right is the French musical (and to a certain extent, the Hungarian version) through that earworm and evergreen bop, Les Rois du Monde. It captures the spirit of their friendship and youthful zeal so delightfully. Mercutio, Benvolio, and Romeo were so well cast you can identify which is which at a glance—and they are literally as far as from my personal faceclaims for them as you can get, and it’s great. Presgurvic didn’t have to go that hard, but he did and it was glorious.

TL;DR

Mercutio roasts him, Romeo enters, they trade quips and wordplay, Romeo roasts him, Mercutio is too happy to gaf, and everything is character-building fun that will pay off very nicely later on, except that versions and productions can’t make the puns and wordplay comprehensible so they prefer to cut or abridge it (ten points from Gryffindor). And all because Mercutio actually misses Romeo and wants his bro back. Bruh.

#romeo and juliet #shakespeare #william shakespeare #rj meta #r&j meta #les rois du dorks #les dorks du monde #lehetsz dorkály!#i’ll stop now #but seriously am loving these two in the play #hope my troll paraphrases please #montacrew #cristina metas

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mythrilhusk · 4 years

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!!Kill Techno-sensei!! - Chapter Two

Words: 2,076 Chapter One (Last) AO3 Version Chapter 3 (Next)

The class absorbs the threat, stunned, hushed. Quackity clenches his fists. "Why the fuck would you do that?" His defiance shatters the silence.

"Because I can." Technoblade replies dismissively. "But I am here to teach, so please, open your textboo-"

"No." Quackity smirks, wearing a confidence he doesn't feel. "Why would you destroy the Earth? You're immortal, sure, but you seem like the kind of guy who's easily bored. What would you have left after your little temper tantrum?"

One floppy ear flicks irritably. "You see, the idea is, I'd die as well."

"If you want to die so fucking bad, why don't you just let us kill you, asshole?"

"That kinda defeats the purpose of the threat. You see, you're completely correct in your assessment. I am bored." Technoblade's light yet nearly monotone voice grates on Quackity's nerves. "I'm simply too good. Unbeatable, even. I've searched and searched, but haven't found a single worthy foe."

"So you failed!" Quackity crows, slamming his fist on the desk. Psychological warfare, baby.

Tommy takes up the jeer as well, "You failed, big man, ho, ho!! Eat shit!"

Technoblade scowls and buries his muzzle in the thick textbook. "Why don't we move on. Page three-hundre-"

"Move on?? Move on?? You killed my family, Technoblade, you fucking killed them all! I can't fucking move on from that!" Quackity snarls.

Exhaustion leaks from Technoblade's glower. "I've killed many families, Quackity. All for one goal."

"Fuck you and your motherfucking anarchy!! You think I'm scared of you?? I- I-" The words choke in Quackity throat as Technoblade stands up. He shrinks in his seat.

"Stay away from him." Sapnap growls.

Technoblade ignores the students completely, instead turning to the whiteboard and picking up a marker. "History is not circular."

"What's the fucking point." Quackity grumbles under his breath. There's no winning against a man who'd have no qualms about punting him.

"Nor is it straight."

"Pfft, knew it. Now everyone who hates history will get cancelled for being homophobic." Tommy somehow manages to both lighten the mood and make everything worse at the same time.

Technoblade doesn't get angry or annoyed, however. "Heh. History is pretty gay, not gonna lie. It's also-" He steps away from his crude drawing of a squiggly line, "a helix. History repeats itself in stages. Anyone want to guess why?"

Tommy leans back in his chair. "Because you're fucking dumb, that's why."

"Ranboo?" Technoblade addresses the creepy, quiet boy huddled over his desk in the back of the class.

"Uh- well-"

"Nothing ever stays the same, big guy." Tubbo interjects. "It's not as simple as stuffing it all into a one dimensional form. Who's to say it's even a line at all?"

Technoblade shrugs. "Fair, fair. Why don't y'all discuss."

With that, most of the tension in the room dissolves. Groups form as students gravitate towards their friends. Chatter fills the former silence. Quackity forces himself to join in, laughing and pretending like everything is normal again. But nothing about this is normal.

He can't kill Technoblade through sheer strength. But he could easily outwit him. The gears spin in his mind, working out a plot.

++++

The first week has gone by uneventfully. Nobody's tried to kill Technoblade yet, who in turn has behaved like a responsible teacher, refraining from punting anyone. It's so boring.

The last class of Friday ends with the bell, and the kids file out. Technoblade ignores the bitter glares from the little ‘gang’ that calls themselves Ducklings. They haven't attempted anything yet, and Technoblade doubts they'll ever find the guts to actually go through with their plots. Pity, really.

Tommy remains behind, trying to shoo Tubbo, who refuses to leave him. "Teacher!" Tommy stomps up to Techno and slams his notebook on the desk. He's a blustery scamp, but Technoblade has seen how he brightens the classroom and helps his peers.

"Tommy."

"Let me kill you."

"Us." Tubbo corrects.

"Let us kill you or else."

"Or?"

“I'll fail all my classes." Tommy grins, seeming confident he's found a bargaining chip. "And I'll tell everyone else to fail theirs, too. You'll be known as the worst fucking teacher to have ever teachered!"

"Oh, the horror." Technoblade deadpans. He's got to admit, the kid has guts. "You think I care?"

"You've gotta. You're our teacher, after all."

"K." Technoblade doesn't smile. "I'm afraid I can't just let you kill me."

"Then prepare to be failed upon!"

"But." Techno holds up a hand. "But, if you try to pass your classes, I will teach you how to kill me. Deal?"

Tubbo pipes up, "That will be adequate. Come on, Tommy."

Technoblade waits until both are out of the classroom. He doesn't feel guilty at all. What should he feel guilty for, after all? Simmering rage burns in his chest, a constant companion to the acid in his mind.

Next class, he promises himself. Next class, the training will begin. He'll be one step closer to achieving his goals.

Technoblade rises and lets his human form melt away. The voices in his head scream, as they always have, as they always will, hundreds of thousands of souls trapped in here with him. His eyes-- all millions of them-- blink open as his hundreds of wings unfurl. Anyone who could see him now might name him a beast or an angel, and either could be correct. But Technoblade knows both are false promises. Humans can't create beasts or angels, after all.

Demons, however, are apparently a different matter.

++++

Ranboo only went back to get his notebook. He can't forget his notebook; that is the one thing he's not allowed to forget. Shadows seep from every corner of the classroom. He shivers as he hastily scrambles to his desk.

His book isn't in his desk. Where is it?? He can't lose it. He rummages in the desk frantically. Where is it, where is it, where is it??

The window creaks, and Ranboo yelps, leaping away from the sudden draft. "Wh-who's there?"

"Hey." The kind voice greets him from the darkness. "You're out late."

"I- I just- uhh, who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I- uhh, I'm Ranboo." He backs away to the door. On the floor, silver glints in a shaft of moonlight. The spiral of his notebook. Crap. The shadowed form leaps silently into the classroom and kneels to pick up the book. Crap, crap. "Uh- that's- that's mine, actually."

"Is it, now?" The gentle mockery in his tone sets Ranboo on edge.

"Yes, actually, so- so give it back. Please?"

The mysterious form opens Ranboo's book and flips through it. "Interesting. Alright." He hands it back to Ranboo, who snatches it and scrambles for the door. "Actually, Ranboo, I wanted to talk to you."

The words yank Ranboo to a halt. He wants to retort, he wants to say no, he wants to leave, but instead he turns back meekly. "Okay?"

"You're in class 3-E, yeah?"

"Y-yeah...?"

"Good. That's good. Do you want your teacher to die?"

"Huh?" Ranboo tenses, confused by the seeming non sequitor. "I- I mean." Does he want Technoblade to die? Does he want anyone to die, for that matter? "N-not necessarily?"

"Hm. Alright."

"Who are you?" Ranboo gathers what little courage he has and steps back towards the door.

"You, hm, you can call me Dream." The man steps out of the shadows. The mask over his face grins eerily at Ranboo. "I've got a proposition for you, Ranboo."

++++

"Metal melts in the bastard's skin, so anything with metal is a fucking waste of time." Quackity spreads the pages of his plan over the tree-house's table.

"Maybe he's a vampire." Karl offers, sitting on the table and messing up Quackity's perfect layout. "Try wood stakes and garlic."

"Vampires aren't real, dumbass." Connor rolls his eyes.

"Well, neither are immortal pig-men mutants, but here we are."

"He's a pig-man, not a vampire. Maybe try something for werewolves? Silver?" Sapnap joins in, swinging on the hammock.

"He's not a fucking werewolf!" Quackity shoves Karl off the table. "Or a vampire. He's a motherfucking demon, that asshole is, and we need to fucking kill him!"

"Language!!" The screech from the roof of the treehouse freezes everyone in place.

"Karl." Quackity says calmly. "Who the fuck did you invite to our secret hideout?"

"Nobody!" Karl cries.

"Connor?"

"He said he'd bring coke!" Connor cries.

A short man dressed in goth black and red accents drops through the window and smiles at the Ducklings. "I did, but the cans burst on the way."

"Not soda-"

"Language!!" The man cries again, shushing Connor. "You kids shouldn't mess with bad stuff, anyway."

"We don't." Quackity shoots a glare at Connor. "Anyway, it's none of your fucking business. Why the fuck are you here?? What do you want??"

"I, uhh, just thought I'd help with your problem." The man grins. "You want to kill your teacher, right?"

"Yeah? But-"

"Well, there you go! I can help you! Name's Bad, by the way. Badboyhalo."

"How can you help? And what do you want in return??"

"Oh, hmm, how about seventy-five percent of the bounty."

"Deal." Twenty-five percent of ten billion is still more than enough, and Quackity would prefer revenge on Technoblade over riches, anyway. "How do we kill him?"

"I've got associates working on that tiny problem. We stole- uh, developed a way to hurt him temporarily, but he can't be killed unless you hit his heart, and his regen powers are too strong to let you reach that with any weapons we currently possess."

"How the fuck do you know all this??"

Bad smirks. "Social networking."

++++

Ranboo paces in the chilly alleyway, reading and re-reading his book as shivers wrack his body. He found it. Good. Everything is fine, now. He's fine.

He shuts out the uneasiness caused by the blurry darkness over his memories. He's never had a good memory, which is why he has this book in the first place.

He huddles in the corner of the grimy alley to complete his homework, and wonders briefly why there's a second notebook in his backpack also marked 'Do Not Read'. Maybe he forgot he already had one. No worries. It's fine.

Everything is fine.

++++

"Class." Technoblade greets his students as they file in. Quackity glares at the monster. He's in his piggy form today, his cloak swishing across the ground.

"Rise." Tommy calls out the traditional honor given to teachers. But the class hadn't done this before for Technoblade. Quackity glances around at his fellow students, who all seem just as confused. He stands up. The others hesitantly follow his lead.

"Bow." Tommy sets the example of a shallow bow. Then he straightens and draws a revolver. "Lock on!"

Quackity stares as Tubbo, Eret, and Wilbur also draw out guns and take aim on Technoblade.

"Heh??" Technoblade chuffs in confusion.

"Target on Korosensei!" Tommy snaps out the order. "Fire!"

"Korosensei??" Quackity's disbelieving laugh is drowned out by the ringing cracks of the guns and the shrill shrieks of students.

"HEH??" Technoblade chuffs again amidst the chaos. Quackity makes the signal to his gang as they stay out of the line of fire.

"All stop!" Tommy barks. The gunfire ceases.

Technoblade stares at his class, a tusky smile cracking across his muzzle. "For your first assassination attempt, that was four stars, kids."

"Wow, that's really good!" Tubbo cheers and high-fives Tommy.

"Out of ten."

"Oh. Awww, come on, we deserve some credit for actually getting guns!"

"You missed." Technoblade replies. "And you ruined my whiteboard."

"That's your fault, innit, though, big man. If you'd've taken the bullets, the whiteboard would be alright."

"That's true, that's true." Technoblade's smile fades into a scowl. "But you also put your classmates in danger."

"They could've asked us what the plan was." Wilbur hums. "It's really their fault for sitting between us and you. And therefore it's your fault for assigning their seats there."

"True." Eret agrees. "It's all Korosensei's fault."

++++

Philza walks between his guards, Punz and Ponk, as the two escort him through the compound. "What happened?" He asks, faking calm.

"Technoblade added another term to our deal." President Skeppy walks backwards in front of Philza. Beside him, Awesamdude keeps a hand on his holstered revolver.

"Did he."

"He wants his class trained for assassination. In return, he told us his weakness."

"Hm." Philza smiles, hiding the whirlwind of chaos and bloodlust behind his eyes. "Pog."

@@@@ KOROSENSEI NEVER DIES @@@@

Chapter 3 (Next)

#technoblade #quackity #dream smp au #philza #ranboo #tommyinnit #tubbo #cw violence #cw threats #no ship

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dakotafinely · 4 years

Note

I mean if you want too u do that to tho.

(Also let's call the baker lady carol grey she's a serious badass but has a heart of gold. And has 2 granddaughters)

I am LOVING HER ALREADY!!

Alright, alright now I gotta do it, so buckle up kids!

Man, this gets long because I have ideas~ so-

The bullet’s hailed on them like a hell-storm. The sound of them ricocheting scratched against their ears. Leonard lifted himself to take a few shots back whenever he felt he could take the risk.

Danny had a bullet graze his shootin’ arm. And Mickey was trying to find an exit that the police wouldn’t notice. So Leonard was the only thing keeping the police from capturing them completely. Leonard himself was just surprised that the police’s aim was getting better.

“I found one!” Mickey practically shouted, barely heard above the gunshots being fired at them. Mickey lead them into an shaft that had barely enough space to for them to wiggle through. None of them relaxed, even as the hail storm of bullet’s began to fade. Even when they reached the other side and landed themselves in an alleyway of New York City.

Actually, how’d they get topside through a shaft anyways?

“Mickey, why’d you take us topside?” Leonard asked as he helped Danny up. Mickey shrugged “You said you wanted outta there, this was the only exit that didn’t have popo hanging around it.” Mickey responded before he winced. The adrenaline now fading he felt a sharp pain in his tail. Looking down to see a gunshot oozing with blood.

Mickey let out a quiet curse at the pain and curled himself up so the wound would be off the floor, placing pressure on it to stop the blood.

That’s when Carol came by. A white woman with grey roots slowly taking over her hair, placed in a tight floofy ponytail. She was short and hefty and had freckles that looked like constellations on her skin. She was walking by whistling a tune she’d heard on the radio when she overheard the Mud Dogs.

“Mickey when’d you get shot?”

“You act like I’d actually know, all I know is it hurts.”

To see three tall Yokai standing in an alleyway, two with injuries and the third clearly trying to figure out how they’d even get to patch themselves up. She couldn’t help but step in.

“Excuse me,” she spoke, catching the three’s attention with startled stares “you look like you could use some help, I have a good first aid kit in my bakery just down the street. Come on,” she offers with the small tilt of her head out the alleyway. She begun slowly walking over to them as she spoke, trying to get a closer look at them.

Danny has bruises on his face, his clothes torn up from scrapes when they were running away. He held caution as he stared at her, trying to find any hidden motive in her movements.

Leonard had more cuts than Danny did. Scrapes and bruises covering his arms and his torso too. As he kept frequently turning around to shoot off the police and make them lag behind. He was too busy taking a look at Mickey’s most recent gunshot, trying to make sure it hadn’t been infected due to it being on Mickey’s tail.

Mickey also had a gunshot graze his torso, tho it was mostly scab by now and barely bleed when it first appeared. It was what had started the chase, as the police caught them off guard. Shooting at them ruthlessly the whole way through.

“Okay!” Mickey stated enthusiastically, Danny looked at him with a small glare.

“Mickey!” Danny hissed at him, Mickey looked at the rat Yokai with confusion. What? She offered, and they kinda needed the help.

“Danny’s right,” Leonard spoke up, standing up and pointing his pistol at Carol. Who stared at him, un-phased by the gun pointed at her forehead “how do we know you’re not a policemen with a cloakin’ broach?” he growled.

She let out a light huff and a small smiles as she gently moved the gun from her forehead.

“Do you honestly think a policeman would offer help to you?” She asked, almost amused by the idea. Leonard hesitates, before putting his gun away. Danny scoffs a bit.

“Are you kiddin’ me Loathsome? That proves nothing!” he states, begin right in his statement completely.

“Not like we have many other choices Dan,” Leonard retorts before picking up Mickey. Danny reluctantly following behind with no where else to go. Plus, who else was gonna bail his idiot’s out of trouble they get themselves into?

The small group walks down a basically empty street, cars driving by occasionally as they turn to find a small and homey Bakery awaiting them. A small sign hung outside the building that said “Knead Bread? - The Grey’s Family Bakery” in beautiful calligraphy.

Mickey looks smugly at Danny, who sticks his tongue out back at him. Leonard rolls his eyes, knowing what the two are doing without having to look at them.

Carol pulls out a key, hearing the door give a soft click as she unlocked it. Opening it up and turning on the lights.

“Go ahead and take a seat boys, I’ll bring out the first aid kit for ya,” she said, gesturing to the only table in the room with exactly three seats. Leonard plops down Mickey onto the chair and Danny plops himself across from him.

“See Danny, you should know better than to doubt my instincts!” Mickey stated with pride.

“Mickey, your last instinct told you to put jelly and mustard on a sandwich,” Leonard spoke with obvious disgust at just the idea. Crossing his arms and staring with a little bewilderment at the Eel Yokai.

“And it was good! It’s not my fault you didn’t try it!” Mickey retorted with a tiny pout. Carol chuckled as she walked back over, overhearing the boys conversation as she put down the first aid kit. Opening it up and pulling out some bandages and cleaning alcohol.

Silence over fell the room as Leonard and Carol began to patch up the other two with gunshot wounds.

“So, do I get names for you three or is that confidential?” Carol lightly jokes as finished cleaning Danny’s wound.

“Mickey!”

“Danny.”

“Leonard, and you?”

“I’m Carol, so what’s three boys like you running away from the police for?”

Silence again, the three glancing at each other. Carol picks up on the unexpected tension from the question and sighs.

“You don’t have to tell, forgive me. I grew up in the south and being noisy is a way of life there. Sometimes I forget big cities like this don’t like people who ask to many questions,” She rambles a bit, trying to put the boys at ease. It seems to work as Leonard let’s out a small breath of relief. Finishing up on bandaging both Mickey’s wounds.

“So then why’d you move here instead of staying south?” Mickey asked earning a light wack from Leonard. Getting a tiny “Hey!” from the eel Yokai.

“We shouldn’t be askin’ about her life when she’s not askin’ about ours,” Leonard crossed his arms like a parent scolding a child. Something he often had to do with Mickey, who had no sense of boundaries or when something was inappropriate to ask. It was about the respect of privacy.

Carol gave a light chuckle as she finished wrapping up Danny’s arm.

“No, I don’t mind! Call me an open book if you will, now why don’t you kids stay for a little while and have some cookies,” Carol offered, before Danny could reject for the group. His own stomach rumbled, than Leonard’s followed suit.

Carol chuckled at the response “I’ll take that as a yes, come on, I have a fresh batch in the back just from yesterday.” Carol lead them past the counter, the displays empty today. As she hadn’t opened up the shop yet.

Mickey took a glance around, stopping at three pictures.

One was of Carol standing with two beautiful women, one Asian and the other Indian, holding up a small Asian baby with joy. Standing as close to each other as possible. All joyously coddling the baby in the center.

The other was of a black man and a Hispanic woman with Carol in the center. Holding up a baby equally as prideful as the other picture. The two held their arms around her as the grinned at the camera.

The third was of both families with Carol, looping arms with the Asian woman and the black man. Two girls, looking around ten or eleven, sat in front of them, one Asian and the other clearly mixed. The Indian woman hung off the Asian woman, with a gentle hand on the Asian girl in front of them. The Hispanic woman was standing, clearly pregnant with a hand on the black man.

“Who’re they?” Mickey asks Carol, who’s handing out peanut butter cookies to the other two. Who are eating them like it’s their last meal they’ll ever have. Carol walks over and offers a cookie before looking at the photo’s with a smile.

“Ah, that’s my daughter, Evelyn. And her wife, Anika,” she points to the Asian woman “And that’s my son, Dajuan, and his wife Daniela. Those are their kids, Dakota and Valeria respectively.” Carol explains point to each person in the picture.

“Daniela is pregnant with twins we just found out! Due sometime next month,” Carol adds with a glowing smile, Dan and Leonard walking over in curiosity.

“Okay but they don’t look anything like you,” Dan states getting an elbow from Leonard, who shoots him a glare. Dan stares back, come on! Most of the time humans look similar to each other when they’re related!

“Ah, that’s because Evelyn and Dajuan were adopted. Dajuan’s the oldest by a couple years. I adopted him when he was twelve and when Evelyn was ten,” Carol let’s out a small sigh at the memory.

“It wasn’t easy, but eventually the three of us became an inseparable family.” She add as Mickey takes another cookie off her plate. She looks to Danny with a fond smile.

“You act a lot like my boy. Very wary of everyone ya meet, but once you get to know him. You’ve got someone on your side through hell and back.” She hums looking back to the pictures. Danny down at his cookies with a small smile on his face, man she hit ‘em in the soft spot.

“Of course, you’re just like my Evelyn,” Carol says looking to Mickey, who immediately lights up “always curious, always willing to go where ever the wind takes you. But when she sees something or someone she grows close to, she will drop anything to help you.” Carol looks back at the picture and smiles again before sighing.

“Alright you three, best you get home. I have customers due soon and I need to get ready, plus I don’t think other human’s will take so kindly to three Yokai in my kitchen,” she jokes shooing them out through the back door.

They all say a quick, oddly heartfelt, goodbye to Carol. Who directs them to a portal just down the next alleyway that’s far from any police down in the Hidden City. The boy’s have more questions, but as the bell dings in the front, signaling a customer. They part ways.

Heading to one of their three bases to lay low until the police are off their trail.

[The only thing I hate about writing mini-fics is that I NEVER know how to end them, so I hope you liked it! I also hope it’s okay how I made Carol. I just got a whole flood of ideas for while writing this so I had to add them. I hope no one seem ooc, since we don’t see much of the Mud Dogs it’s kinda hard to create pin their personalities ya know? But I hope you guys like it as much as I had fun writing it!!]

#rottmnt #rot tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt mud dogs #rottmnt ask #thanks for the ask!#ask response #rottmnt loathsome leonard #rottmnt dastardly danny #rottmnt malicious mickey #malicious mickey #dastardly danny #loathsome leonard #rottmnt fanfic

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harrylee94 · 3 years

Text

The Tournament - Chapter 7

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "There is one name I noticed that I didn't recognise."

"Oh?"

"They didn't give a name, only a title."

"And what title did this mysterious knight give?"

"You'll find out soon enough, they'll be taking the first joust."

Notes: And so, it begins...

Chapter 6

——————————————————————

“Welcome, brothers, sisters, vode, ade all, to the Protector's Tournament!" - Din

A cheer rose up as arrows thunked into their targets, all of them landing in the great straw circles, but only a small handful hit the red centre. Several of the contestants -- amature archers mostly, but also a young hunter or two -- deflated at being knocked out of the round, but the other contenders all gave them cheerful congratulations and support as they left the arena.

Din had always enjoyed the archery competitions over the jousts and melee rounds; there was less chance of an injury, and the contestants were almost always supportive of each other, no matter where they came from. He’d also noted that they usually tended to gather together after and the winner would share his wisdom, how they would all share their knowledge, especially to the younger archers. It was the perfect example of ba'jur -- education -- one of the Resol'nare and a cornerstone for their culture.

The fact that it was the lower born that showed this more than the nobles made him despair for what had happened to his people.

The archers had moved back into position, their new targets set another ten feet back, and the crowds cried their support of the three remaining contestants.

"Arrows ready!"

Their arrows were selected, each of them painted in differing colours along the shafts to distinguish each for their own.

"Draw!"

Muscles strained and bow strings were pulled taught.

"Loose!"

Three arrows sailed through the air, three arrows hit their targets, one arrow hit it's mark.

The roar that exploded from the crowd as the winner raised his bow in victory brought a smile to Din's face. It grew into a grin when the winner was mobbed by the other competitors and raised onto their shoulders to make a lap of the grounds.

This was what a tournament should be.

He looked forward to giving the winner his prize, but that would have to wait until the end of the day. For now though, the jousting was to take place, and the lists were being set up by the carpenters as quickly as they could.

"Now the real contest can begin," came Lord Suum’anar from beside him, the man somehow managing to have gained the seat for the morning.

"I would argue that the contest is already over for some," Din replied as the winner was set down so he could hug his family. There was a large reward for the archery contest, and he had no doubt that it would make a huge difference to him and his family for the foreseeable future. His thoughts also turned, briefly, to Veryn, but he shooed them away to focus on the carpenters.

"So true, my Prince," the Lord said. "But this measley contest was merely the warm up for the greater Tournament. So much hinges on the results of these bouts after all."

Din hummed his agreement. "Your son is one of the last to be competing today, is he not?"

"He is, my Prince!" There was a noticeable pride in his eyes. "His name was drawn late, but I'm sure he will do well against his opponents."

"He has shown great skill in the past," Din said in lieu of an agreement. He did not want to show any favouritism after all.

"What are your thoughts on the other competitors?" Lord Suum’anar asked after a few moments of quiet, the archery winner having moved out into the crowd now to celebrate and leaving the rest to chat amongst themselves as the ground was raked for the horses. "There are quite some number of them."

"That there are," Din agreed. "Most of the Clans and Houses have put someone forward, two in some cases, but there is one name I noticed that I didn't recognise."

"Oh?"

Din smirked. Clearly Lord Suum’anar had been more focused on his son than he had been his competition. "They didn't give a name, only a title."

"And what title did this mysterious knight give?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Din replied. "They'll be taking the first joust."

The man raised an eyebrow, an expression that read somewhere between frustrated and intrigued. They would not have long to wait though, as the carpenters had finished and were already leaving the list field, and Greef Karga was stepping up to the front of the platform on which they were sat.

Slowly, the crowd noticed the man as he held his hand up for silence, and the chatter died.

"Welcome, brothers, sisters, vode, ade all, to the Protector's Tournament!" the man cried, bringing a cheer to the stands. "We must congratulate Beryn once again for winning the archery competition!" The cheer grew for a few seconds before dying down again at Greef's wave. "He'll be getting his reward at the end of the day, but first! I'm sure we need something to keep you entertained while you wait."

Din chuckled at the way his mother's friend led the crowd, his natural flair making this nerve-wracking affair more a joy to watch than the show filled with dread he was expecting it to be.

"Is he always like this?" Lord Suum'anar asked, unamused.

"Only when it's needed," Din replied, leaning away from him to better concentrate on the announcement.

"Our first joust will begin shortly, but who would like to meet our contestants?" Greef asked when the crowd had calmed, only to send it roaring again. "Our first contestant, some of you may know! She travelled all the way from Corellia on her own, just for this Tournament! From Clan Hearhawk, we welcome Ser Papyon!”

A mounted knight rode out onto the list field from Din’s left, her squires following quickly to stand next to the prepared rack of lances as she circled the list, showing off her shining armour and the caparison draped over her horse, the embroidered green hawks soaring over a field of yellow, the birds taking flight on her shield as well. She eventually brought her horse to a stop before Din and bowed stiffly, ease of movement difficult with the armour and helmet she wore. Her horse did tug at their reins and shuffle in place a bit with nerves, but she quickly pulled it under control, though one of the squires had to come over to hold it still.

“And now for our second contestant!” Greef said, and Din couldn’t help but lean forwards in anticipation. “Now, my dear vode, while it is my job to know who each of our contestants are, I can honestly say that this contender is a complete mystery. No one knows where they’re from, what clan or house they are a part of, or even their name. All we know is that they are known as… the Krayt Dragon!”

The crowd cheered as the Krayt Dragon rode onto the field from Din’s right, a little slower than Ser Papyon had. Unlike her, this knight arrived completely alone, no squires to help with the lances or anyone to hold their horse’s reins, just a horse and their rider making their way around the list. The caparison on the horse was a plain light brown -- though whether that was on purpose or simply the colour of the fabric before dying was indeterminable -- and the armour the they wore looked like a jigsaw of mismatched parts compared to Ser Papyon’s, but the design of a red wyrm curled its way up and around it, ending with an open maw on the sides of the Krayt Dragon’s helm, their shield emblazoned with the long, lithe shape as well.

As they brought his horse to a stop next to Ser Papyon’s the steed barely flinched, standing still and calm beneath its rider, who bowed just as stiffly as their foe.

Din rose from his seat and stepped forward, hand on his sword -- as it usually was now since the attack -- as Greef moved to the side.

“Ser Papyon, Krayt Dragon, you enter this Trial willingly, knowing the risks,” he said, looking between them. “You will only aim at your opponent’s shield. The joust will only continue until all lances are spent, one of you has been unseated, or one of you yields for any reason. Once the joust is complete, a melee round will occur if both of you are able. Blunted swords only. You will fight until your opponent yields or can no longer compete. If you break any of these rules, you will be disqualified. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Prince,” Ser Papyon said.

The Krayt Dragon simply bowed in silence.

Din nodded, though the wordless reply unnerved him slightly. “To your positions.”

The pair bowed again and steered their horses to opposite ends of the field, the Corellian knight accepting her first lance from a squire while the Dragon Knight had to ride up to the rack to retrieve theirs. When at last they lined up at the lists, Din raised his voice.

“Begin.”

The horses pawed at the ground, huffing and shifting in place before, as one, they charged. The lances were held high, pointing to the sky until the last second, where they lowered for a controlled, well aimed strike. Ser Papyon’s lance glanced off the shield, but the Krayt Dragon’s shattered, a direct hit that left Ser Papyon straining to keep herself in the saddle. The crowd roared as they collected their next lances, one of Papyon’s squires having run to the other side of the field to offer her the next while another gave the Krayt Dragon theirs.

The second tilt ended with a stalemate, neither of them getting a straight hit, but the third ended in a spectacular shower of splinters, both lances shattering on impact. In an incredible show of horsemanship, the Krayt Dragon was still seated, but Ser Papyon was not. Din was impressed.

“One point to Ser Papyon, and Three points to the Krayt Dragon!” Greef declared as Ser Papyon was helped to her feet. “Ser Papyon, are you fit to continue?”

The knight rolled her shoulders before nodding. “I am fit!”

Greef nodded. “Then the melee round shall begin when both contestants are armed!”

The Krayt Dragon carefully steered their horse clear of the splinters that now littered the ground before dismounting, taking the time to make sure the horse was well before leaving it tied to the lance rack. Din took note of how gentle and respectful they were to the animal, and he found himself beginning to like this stranger, even routing for them a little.

But then the contestants stood before him again, this time facing each other. A squire approached Ser Papyon, sword held out for her to take, but the Krayt Dragon had theirs strapped to their side, and it was drawn as Ser Papyon drew hers.

Having taken his seat during the jousts, he leaned forwards, safe in the knowledge that Saruk would defend him and his magic would warn him of danger should it come. The Krayt Dragon had shown their skill in the joust, but what of the sword?

The pair sized each other up, starting to circle one another. Din could see that Ser Papyon was holding herself a little awkwardly, no doubt having sustained an injury from her fall, but she was the first to move, bringing her blade up in an underhanded swing. The Krayt Dragon redirected the swing to the side and, much to both Papyon and Din’s surprise, stepped in close, using the pommel off their sword and their elbow to force the knight back. As she stumbled, the mystery contender followed, Using her unbalance to push her back further and further as they swung a flurry of attacks which she barely managed to block -- overhead, underhand, jab, jab, sideways, up, down -- until they hit the back of her gauntleted hand hard enough to send the blade flying.

The knight tried to follow her sword, but the Krayt Dragon had not stopped their advance, and they swept her feet from under her with a quick swipe of their leg. Their sword was at Ser Papyon’s throat a moment later, hovering just high enough to threaten at the slits in her visor too.

“Yield! I yield!”

There was a confused murmur amongst the stands for a few moments, but then someone started to applaud, and soon enough, like a wave, it took over the crowd.

Din had never seen any knight fight like that before, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting the melee to be quite so short, but he couldn’t deny that he was thoroughly impressed.

As he rose from his seat, he was surprised further -- an pleased -- when he watched the stranger help Ser Papyon to her feet and even retrieved her sword for her, handing it back to her with a quick nod.

“Well fought,” he said as the noise died down. “Ser Papyon, though you have lost, you fought well today. I am honoured to have witnessed your skill.” The knight seemed to stumble for a moment, but then bowed her thanks. He turned to the mystery contender. “Krayt Dragon, your skills with both horse and blade have shone through this day. You shall advance to the next round. For today, rest and prepare, your Trials continue on the morrow.”

The Krayt Dragon bowed, fist over their heart in a salute.

Yes, Din would watch their progress with great interest.

——————————————————————

Mando’a Translations:

Resol'nare -- the Six Actions are the central tenets of Mandalorian life; Education and Armour, Self-defence, our tribe, Our language and our leader

Vode -- brothers/sisters

Ade -- children

Colour meanings:

Green -- Duty

Yellow -- Remembrance

Light brown/Tan -- Loyalty

Red -- Honouring a parent/leader

Chapter 8

#writing #fic #fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #medieval au #jousting #swordfighting #din djarin #greef karga #dincobb #cobb vanth

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onmywaytobe · 3 years

Text

Dissidia Writeblr March 2021 – Week 4

yes i am ashamed this is so late and so long but thanks to @kiljoytrout i didn't have to come up with like half of this stuff! thanks for taking my boyo and bringing him out of his shell and writing your piece for both of us. as always thank you to @dissidia-writeblr for putting on this event!!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

When Leo opens his eyes, he finds Zeph smiling at him serenely. The amount of oxygen in his lungs is dizzying. He’s barely conscious as Zeph pulls out heavy black chains and binds his hands together. “These won’t hurt at all,” she says, her pasted-on smile some semblance of reassuring. “They’re just a precaution to nullify any magic or advanced tech you might have.” When Leo doesn’t resist, she adds, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

As if he could fight someone like her. With those wings, and her magic, he’d be ended in an instant. And he doesn’t want to fight back. What kind of thanks would that be for what they’ve done for him? The new sensations in his body are overwhelming, but there is no doubt in Leo’s mind that he has been healed.

He’s never felt like this before. Clear lungs, free of the constant phlegm that plagued him his entire life. No shooting stomach pains, no cramps, nothing like the variety of symptoms he was used to telling him that one of his organs was malfunctioning. He is now at the peak of health. It would take a little getting used to.

Leo barely notices as Zeph leads him into a cell and leaves him there. Leo is glad of the chance to rest, but after an hour or so passes he begins to get antsy. There is so much energy coursing through his body and he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He satisfies himself by looking around the room. There’s nothing to see besides the uncomfortable chair he sits on, its twin across from him, and a bucket in the corner. His nose wrinkles at the sight, but he knows he won’t be in there long enough to need the makeshift toilet. He’s a little hurt that the Chikara would heal him only to dump him in a holding cell, but Zeph said it was all just a precaution.

Precaution or no, Leo wants to make sure he can get out if things go sideways. The chair’s frame is rusty enough that he is able to tug some of the spokes free from the underside. The long pieces of metal are a little on the thick side for what he wants, but they’ll have to do. He examines the lock on his chains, allowing himself a small grin. He needn’t have worried. This would only take him a moment to remove.

Content to wait, Leo twiddles his thumbs until the door to the cell slams open, most unexpectedly. A woman with short, blond hair and dark green eyes runs in, and she’s wearing a soldier’s uniform. Leo raises an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion. “My name is Tess, and I’m here to help you escape.” She unlocks his chains. “Do you trust me?”

Leo doesn’t get the chance to tell her no. The door to the room opens again, and two Chikara walk in with another man, also wearing the black chains. Tess curses under her breath, and golden light starts dancing along her skin like fire. This is enough of a surprise to the Chikara that she is able to pull the stranger away from them and try to take his chains off too. Leo still hasn’t moved from his seat, despite his hands being freed. He’s not a fighter.

The Chikara are still coming for them, and at that moment Tidis arrives. He smirks when his eyes land on Tess. “And one of the rebels returns. Today is my lucky day.” Light and darkness start swirling on his skin.

Tess curses again and pushes Leo and the stranger to the door on the other side of the room. “Leo, Lindy, find Wayne. He’s rescued Warren. He should be going to the hangar where they keep their ships,” she hisses under her breath at them. She pushes them through the door and locks it from the inside.

Leo immediately turns to his companion. “Were you also summoned?” he asks. He would need to know as much as he could about his new ally if they ran into any more trouble. “How do you know-”

The guy gives Leo a cold look, and Leo quiets, falling into step alongside his new friend as he stalks off. Leo is quite shaken by his removal from the cell, and still adjusting to his new body. It made him bold enough to join this stranger on whatever mission he was so intent on. Besides, anything that took him further away from the magic battle was all right with Leo.

The stranger is observing the space around them, taking it in with what Leo could only describe as awe. Perhaps he was familiar with these sorts of things. It would be helpful for someone who knew what was going on to be on Leo’s side. He grimaces, rattling the heavy chains still locked around his arms. Leo notices, patting his pockets for the makeshift lockpick he’d fashioned earlier, and finds it missing. Must have dropped it in all the commotion. He spots an antenna on the wall that would be much better suited and twists it off, making a move to unlock his companion’s chains.

Leo hadn’t said anything, since the other guy (Lindy? Was that his name that Tess had shouted at them?) didn’t want to talk, and now found himself being smacked into the side of the corridor. “What the hell, man!” Leo sputters. “I was just trying to pick the lock on your chains.” He definitely should have explained first. That’s what he gets for trying to be considerate.

“Oh.” Lindy doesn’t apologize, but helps up Leo from the floor and wordlessly stretches out his arm for Leo to have easier access to the lock. After a few twists, the chains slip off easily. Leo keeps the antenna, and grabs one of the locks as well. Never know when these things could come in handy.

They continue walking, and the echo of their footsteps in the silence makes Leo lonely. He misses the comforting presence of Warren. They had been a much more agreeable companion than this Lindy fellow. At least Lindy seemed to know where he was going, his pace measured and sure, never hesitating at crossroads. Leo wondered how he knew, and how Lindy had ended up in the same chains as himself if he was so familiar with the way the Chikara lived.

“Who is Warren?” Lindy asks suddenly.

For a second, Leo wonders whether Lindy can read his mind. If he wasn’t already convinced that this was a dream, he was considering the possibility again. But after his moment of shock, he’s more surprised that Lindy’s even said anything at all, considering they’ve spent the last few hours in complete silence.

“Why do you want to know?” Leo replies pointedly. Why not ask about this Wayne, for instance?

Lindy doesn’t answer, only pausing to shoot Leo a sideways glance. It looks a little too close to sympathy for Leo’s liking. Leo narrows his eyes at Lindy, who of course doesn’t notice.

After another few moments of uncomfortable silence, Leo sighs. He might as well talk to this Lindy person, if only to get him to stop looking at him with such pity. “They were one of the first normal people I met when I got summoned to this place. Got to know them pretty well. We were separated a little while ago though.”

“Oh.”

Leo rolls his eyes. That seemed to be half of this guy’s vocabulary. He was so glad he’d made such an effort. Clearly Lindy thought the conversation would be of some benefit to Leo, but Leo would have been just as content with silence.

They walk on in silence for a few more minutes when Lindy comes to a stop. Leo stares at him curiously as he starts to tap his finger against a sheet of metal on the wall.

“This shouldn’t be here,” Lindy says thoughtfully.

Leo is in no mood to be civil. Apparently this sheet of metal meant more than a human conversation. “Well, it obviously is there, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Lindy just stares at Leo for one beat with those watery blue eyes, and it’s as good as any death glare; the hair on Leo’s neck prickles. “What I mean is that there should be an entrance here to the hangars, but it seems that they’ve blocked this one up.”

“We just have to take it down then,” Leo says nonchalantly. “It’s just flimsy sheet metal.” He kicks at the metal covering and immediately regrets it. Pain radiates through his bones like an alarm blaring, and he falls to the floor. Lindy looks down at him, expressionless, while Leo groans. “Oww.”

“It’s not sheet metal,” Lindy explains. “It’s probably either titanium reinforced Kevlar, or some otherworld material. You can tell from the lack of sheen that it’s durable.”

Through gritted teeth, Leo manages, “Why didn’t you tell me that before I kicked it?”

Still staring down at him, Lindy replies, “You didn’t ask.”

Eyes watering, Leo takes the hand that Lindy offers with more than a hint of irritation. It was becoming apparent that Lindy did not care one whit for Leo.

Lindy, paying him no mind, is surveying their surroundings. “Give me a leg up,” Lindy says, nodding to a panel he’s noticed above their heads. Leo follows his gaze and understands immediately. He boosts Lindy up on his shoulders. Besides the painful protesting of his ankle, it’s not too bad. Maybe the healing process had made him stronger.

After a bit of tinkering, Leo hears a creak from up above, the weight on his shoulders vanishes, and Lindy’s hand extends from up above to help him up.

“Are you sure that’s stable?” Leo calls, but he’s already taking Lindy’s hand, so he’ll find out one way or another. Lindy doesn’t respond anyway.

Leo cranes his neck around the cramped ventilation shaft, in which both of them are crouching down as low as they can. By the soft indentation in the metal, grooves caused by the unmistakable impressions of knees and hands and occasional banged heads, he can tell that this is certainly more than your run-of-the-mill ventilation shaft.

“This way,” Lindy says, motioning to the left of their loose panel. Leo falls back behind him and the two crawl down the seemingly endless shaft. It only occasionally quivers in a way that makes Leo nervous that it can’t support their weight.

Leo finds himself yawning as they go along. He never thought that getting summoned to another universe would be so tiring, or so dull. Almost in response to his thoughts, he hears a huge bang from the other side of the tunnel.

They both freeze.

“What does that mean?” whispers Leo.

After a beat of silence, the banging starts to get closer. Lindy turns pale.

“It means that someone’s in here with us.”

#dissidia writeblr #my writing #leo #this has been such fun #i truly am sorry that i'm soooo slow

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darkestfable · 4 years

Text

Unexpected Adventure

Raetos grunted as he reached the top of yet another sand dune. Uldum’s terrain was saturated in sand… something the Lightforged’s hooves weren’t accustomed to. He’d been used to the dusty, Fel blasted landscapes of Argus, but this was quite different. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Thankfully, evening was falling, so the desert heat wasn’t nearly as blistering as it could be. He looked around at the distant terrain, most of which he’d already seen on his previous trek through with Brent and Fable. He wondered what it had looked like before the Old God invasion, or if it had been much the same, just without the obelisks and other strange constructions brought about by the cultists. He pulled his train of thoughts back on track as he looked over at his partner.

“Everything looks clear,” he stated, “I don’t think they’ll have any issues when it comes time to go. What did we mark on the map that was nearby? Was it remaining cultists? Bugs?”

Fable took stock of the landscape as they crested the dune, pulling the mask he’d donned down from his face. The sand carried by the wind was just enough to be annoying, so he’d given up a bit of comfort to protect his lungs from the particles. Unlike Raetos, the blood hunter moved atop the sand fairly easily, leather boots finding purchase despite the loose surfaces. “Bugs, probably. There ain’t enough cover for cultists in this area, ‘n the sun would eat ‘em alive,” he called over to his partner.

Despite his confidence, Fable was still pulling the map from its clasp at his waist to pinpoint exactly where they were. Everything was starting to look the same. By his calculations and based on the map, there should have been a hive somewhere around here. Desert winds changed the topography of an area so rapidly that the elf wasn’t sure they were even near the hive…

“Eeh, can’t tell if the hive was at the base of this dune or the next. Let’s keep goin’ ‘n just be careful, yeah?” Fable rolled up the map, clipping it back to his belt before starting to descend down the dune.

The Lightforged squinted as he looked down towards the base. It certainly didn’t look like there was anything there, but looks could be deceiving in shifting landscapes like this one. He looked over to Fable, unable to hide the pout at how easily and elegantly the Blood Hunter moved over the sand. He was envious, for certain. He’d had his hooves altered back during early adulthood to add padding that would allow silent movement. It had served him well on Argus, and on scouting missions for the Alliance. Until now, that is. Despite its advantages, it took away from being able to feel the ground beneath him. A large problem in dealing with this particular terrain.

He couldn’t complain too much about his partner leading the way, however. The tight pants Fable wore showed off the perfect curvature of his behind, a sight Raetos never grew tired of. He trailed behind, his tail swaying carefully behind him to help keep balance as he less than elegantly made his way down the dune.

--Easier said than done! The Draenei only made it halfway down the dune before his weight proved too much for the sand beneath him. He slipped and fell to his side with a grunt as the sand shifted. The steepness of the hill and gravity did the rest of the work, causing Raetos to slide down into Fable. It was official. Raetos was absolutely NOT a fan of the desert!

“Careful when you’re comin’ down th-” his warning was cut short by a draenei barreling into him.

Raetos’ large body hit the backs of his knees and knocked him facedown in the sand hard enough to knock the wind out of him, causing Fable to get a mouth full of the grainy stuff before his partner had rolled on. Unfortunately for the elf, he was caught in the wake of sand that followed the larger man, barrelling them both down the dune faster than he’d have liked. Not only was sand getting everywhere, but Fable was sure he’d seen the sand at the bottom churning long before anything hit it.

There was nothing left to do but ride the wave until the bottom, and into whatever it was that was hungry. There was no way to prepare for it, either. Instead, Fable tried to slow himself with his hands, squinting through the dust. It had to have been an illusion, but the elf swore he’d seen the ass end of an aqir…

There really wasn’t anything to stop the Draenei’s momentum as he tumbled down the dune and into the funneling sands below. He curled up, tucking his limbs and tail in as to not pull or break anything on his way down. The sand was EVERYWHERE! Keeping him well blinded until he finally hit the bottom of… wherever he was…

He hissed as pain erupted through his side at the landing. That was going to leave a mark for certain! The Lightforged rolled to the side and down the slope so that he wasn’t where it was all piling up anymore. He coughed, shaking his head in an attempt to get most of the gritty substance off. An impossible feat.

“F-fable?” He managed to cough, finally looking up from where he fell, uncertain if the elf had fallen in behind him or managed to stay on the surface.

The entrance of the hive had been small, just big enough for burrowers to drag prey through. Raetos’ large form, however, had successfully opened up the tunnel to the cavern below. Before the sand had started to pour in, the ground had been sticky with waste from the aqir’s feeding, and slippery. The grit provided a little traction, at least. Deeper in the cavern, tunnels were lit by a sort of bioluminescent sac, the glow orange and ominous. There was a quiet chittering from the darkness, but it could barely be heard under the pouring sand and complaints from the elf that came with it.

Fable’s belly slide had turned into rolling down on his side, graceless and cursing into the hole that Raetos had so carefully broken open. As the elf sat up from the pile of sand, his partner could see the abrasions on his cheek and collarbones. He didn’t seem to pay any mind just yet, as the hunter was trying to cough out whatever had gotten into his mouth and throat. Sand was -everywhere-.

“Maker’s tits that was one hell of a ride…” he groaned, looking around the cavern and squinting. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. “Shit, Raetos we’re...fucked.”

“I mean… maybe a little?”

Raetos couldn’t help but grimace at what he guessed was the aqir hive. He managed to get up and make his way over to Fable. The Lightforged let out a pained grunt from the burning in his side; most likely a broken rib or two. Still, concern was evident in his features as his golden gaze looked his lover over for any serious injuries. His hand cupped his partner’s uninjured cheek, eyeing the scrapes and scratches. He cursed himself and his clumsy hoof steps. Had he been more careful in his movements, the two wouldn’t be trapped down here now.

“Can you walk?” He asked in a hushed tone, “If not, I can carry you, but we need to get out of here. Like… right now.”

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. He was completely disoriented down here, and he couldn’t even tell which way was north.

Fable, though touched by the concern, seemed less worried about the blood and more worried about the fact that they were at least twenty feet below the surface. There was nothing but sand and heat above them, and a hive crawling with opportunistic bugs below them. He looked to Raetos for a moment, assessing his partner’s condition before slowly getting to his feet. Battered and bruised, scraped up, but they were both fairly functional.

“Yeah we just… We ain’t gonna be able to climb out. We gotta find the other end of the hive,” the elf shook sand out of his armor, out of his hair...everywhere, before stepping down from the small mound where they’d landed.

The blood hunter let out a slow breath as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He could see, no doubt, but he wasn’t sure if Raetos could. Beyond the low orange glow he could see movement; pulsing and glowing fat bodies of what Fable could only assume were aqir, or worse. Even if this were a smaller hive that could mean fifty or more, and the bugs were absolutely built to swarm.

“We gotta go down before we can go up, yeah? Most hives have two ends. One for pushin’ out the waste, one for bringin’ in the food. We found the food hole.”

Raetos was thankful to be wearing his armor, otherwise he would have been a glowing beacon for the insects to hone in on. Unfortunately, as luminous as his golden gaze was, it didn’t help him to see much further than a few feet in front of him. He’d have to rely on Fable to be his eyes. He squinted, seeing forms skittering about, but not much more.

“Well,” he whispered, hand gripping his side, “First thing we need to do is not smell like food. I’m no expert on aqir, but insects usually use pheromones to guide them. My rifle is a big no no down here… do you still have your bow to like… spear some and drag them over? It’s gonna be gross, but I’m thinking if we smell like them, we should be able to move among them.”

The elf just -stared- at Raetos for a moment. This was supposed to be an easy mission with a group, and here they were. Sitting in a hive, about to be covered in bug guts. Fable let out a slow breath and reached back for his bow. Had he tumbled as badly as Raetos the thing might have broken. His fingers found the clasp and brought it forward, grateful that it was in one piece. Wordlessly, the elf retrieved an arrow, knocking it and letting the shaft rest in the arrow rest while Fable looked around the cavern. He’d heard what sounded like a larger aqir trundling up the tunnels, and as he and Raetos fell silent he could see the telltale glow of the bug rounding a corner. Over the soft chittering sounds was the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, and Fable’s breathing slowing as he focused.

Raetos’ attention was less on the bugs, and more specifically on Fable at this point. There was something about how the Blood Hunter looked when he was concentrated on a task; the way his brows knit and the intensity of his gaze. He’d caught that same look whenever the elf studied his cartography and worked on his maps. Here, in the almost pitch black cavern with almost only the glow of their eyes illuminating his features, and even covered in sand, scratches and bruises, the elf was absolutely entrancing. Reatos couldn’t look away. Fable, of course, was blissfully unaware of Raetos’ moon-eyed look. His whole mindset had switched over to work mode.

Around the corner came the large bug, its carapace almost glistening in the dim orange glow. An arrow sizzled through the air and found its mark, right behind the head of the creature. It let out a screech and flailed, tiny legs reaching up but unable to grasp the shaft of the arrow. It was moments, but to Fable it felt like forever until the aqir collapsed. “Wait. We need to see if any of ‘em was alerted,” he glanced back at Raetos, waiting.

The Draenei nodded, the creature’s screech had been more than enough to pull Raetos out of his daydream-like state and pull his attention back to the task at hand. He remained perfectly still, even holding his breath as the smaller aqir had scattered about the cavern. They knew something had happened, that something wasn’t right, but didn’t have the senses to tell where the attack had come from.

Thankfully, this deep into the hive, the aqir present were simple workers, not sentinels or attack drones. Sensing the falling insect’s distress signal, they quickly scattered out of the food alcove and into the tunnel, giving the partners the opening they needed. Raetos let out a relieved sigh.

“Nice shot,” he said, ginning to Fable, “We don’t have much time. They’ll be back with sentinels soon enough.”

He took out his sword as he approached the slain insect, grunting as he brought it down to sever its head from its body, before using it as a vice to split open the carapace with a sickening crunch. That done, he sheathed the weapon and proceeded to use his large hands and a dagger to get to the gland he needed. It was as big as the Draenei’s hand, fat and full of whatever juices it contained. The smell was almost sickening… It was perfect!

“Got it!” he exclaimed, like some big excited kid. Apparently, Raetos had been in enough horribly dangerous situations that he was easily able to move past it and enjoy the adrenaline rush of the moment., “Seems pretty potent, so I’m thinking a little will go a long way. This should be plenty for the both of us.”

The elf put his bow back into its clasp, walking down the pile of sand to meet his lover and the...rather disgusting gland. While Fable had smelled some pretty raunchy things in his life, this was certainly up there. He felt his stomach turn a little, and wondered how Raetos could still retain his boyish charm…

“Maker’s tits that thing is disgusting. Let’s just...ugh. Spread it ‘n let’s go. The sooner we get outta here, the better. Ain’t wantin’ Saedre to worry too bad,” Fable looked down the tunnels as he spoke, trying to get a sense of direction.

Deeper into the hive there were sounds of movement. A soft chittering, buggy feet on the ground and whatever else was down there. It was only adrenaline keeping Fable from feeling the wounds sustained in the fall, and now that he could see his lover better there were telltale bruises forming on his skin as well. Not the way he wanted to start out the first mission…

“Spread it and go,” Raetos couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, I can go for that.”

He shot Fable one more dumb grin before squeezing some of the gland’s slimy contents into his hands.

“...that ain’t what I mea… Oh fuck this smells so bad,” Fable had started to protest the way Raetos took what he’d said, then the smell reached his nose and he almost gagged.

The Draenei covered his partner in it first, using it as a great excuse to get his hands all over the Blood Hunter. Even with how potent the smell was, he put a bit extra on the elf for good measure.

This was so degrading, in Fable’s mind. Though he couldn’t lie, having his lover’s hands all over him did make things a lot better. Until the draenei ruffled his hair. With the slime. Now his hair was standing up in random directions, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed with cum in his hair…

Squeezing more out of the gland, Raetos covered himself in the stinky substance.

“That should do it,” he said, tossing the drained organ away over his shoulder, “We’re going to need a few baths to be presentable to the public again, but that’s a positive, right?” He extended his hand out to Fable, nodding towards where the approaching chattering was coming from. “We should be able to walk right by them, now. Just need to figure out which way is out.”

Fable’s pale blue eyes shifted from the tunnels, to Raetos’ hand, to the tunnels again before he took the offer. This way they wouldn’t get lost, and they could pull each other out of danger if it arose. He didn’t want to admit to himself that this kind of affection made his heart flutter, and embarrassed him in the best ways possible. The lap sitting and kissing in public was one thing, but holding his lover’s hand even in such a dangerous area was so… pure… so much so that it almost scared him more than the aqir. Almost.

“Oh yeah, uh… Should be one of ‘em that kinda looks like it goes down, then starts anglin’ back up. Can’t use the smoke trick in here though, ‘cause the aqir might get alarmed,” the hunter did take the lead as he spoke in hushed tones, towing Raetos along behind him.

The chitters and whispers of wings on carapaces hushed as their footsteps passed, like a wave of silence emanating from each step. The tunnel, which had gotten so deep and dark that even Fable had considered turning back, was now starting to come alight with hints of daytime. The air, which had grown heavy and acrid at the deepest parts now smelled of sun-warmed sand losing its heat and the crisp coolness of a desert’s twilight.

Fable wanted to run towards the fresh air, but he was wary of sending vibrations through the tunnel. They had managed to not rock the boat so far, and it wouldn’t do to be so close to freedom and arouse the sentinels. Their pace slowed a bit as a result, but escape was so close he could taste it!

They breached the surface a few moments later, the last portion of the tunnel being a bit of a climb. With Raetos having broken ribs, Fable had climbed out first and braced himself to help his lover out of the hole. The sun had set, the air in Uldum was downright cold now, and they were a good five miles away from the bottom of the dune that had swallowed them whole. The hunter just sat in the sand for a moment, taking a deep breath and looking up at the stars.

Raetos let out a sigh as he laid out in the sand and joined his lover in staring at the sky. The fresh air felt amazing, MUCH better than the humid atmosphere of the cave. He took in a deep breath of fresh air. Even with him and Fable covered in stinky slime, the cool breeze did wonders!

He still kept his hand clasped around Fable’s, enjoying the closeness it brought. His other hand clutched at his side.

He turned his head to look at his partner again, once more admiring his handsome face in the moonlight.

“You’ve got one hell of a sense of direction! No way I would have made it out of there by myself. I’d probably still be stumbling around in the dark. Was lucky to have you in there with me.”

“Yeah I guess. Your idea of the pheromones was brilliant though. Ain’t gonna take away nothin’ from that,” Fable said to the sky, then looked over at Raetos.

He was startled to see the draenei looking at him, and it was apparent with how his cheeks colored enough to be seen in the starlight. Fable cleared his throat and gave his lover’s hand a squeeze. It was late, it was cold, they stank. And most of all, he’d noticed Raetos’ energy flagging as they reached the last leg of their journey. The poor guy had fallen hard, and he wasn’t sure the armor had absorbed enough of the impact.

“Hey, babe, we gotta get you to the medic. I think you hit pretty hard.”

“Eh… just a couple broken ribs, I think. Nothing lethal.”

Raetos flashed his partner a grin, bringing his other hand up to stroke the blood Hunter’s cheek. He was tired, and didn’t feel like moving at all. Still, he knew better than to fall asleep in the middle of a desert without proper shelter, even at night. And as much as he enjoyed staring at Fable’s lovely face, he was especially looking forward to taking a nice hot bath with him after a quick visit to the mender.

“Alright,” he grunted as he sat up, and winced. Not only were his ribs hurting, but his muscles ached now as well from that brief period of rest.

No doubt they’d both be sore the next day. Still, he leaned in and briefly pressed his lips to his lover’s.

“Signal Saedre? Hopefully one of the bookworms can port us back.” (With @raetos , @arcanist-starweaver for mention!)

#RP log #adventure!#Raetos #Fable #Raeble #Uldum

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years

Text

Across Time || Chapter 23

Fandom: Servamp Ships: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru, Hyde, Licht

Summary: Mahiru falls into a well and is taken to a new, fantasy world. He comes across a half-blooded cat demon trapped in a tree. After he frees Kuro, he helps him collect the shards of the sacred jewel. (KuroMahi, InuYasha AU)

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5 || Ch.6 || Ch.7 || Ch.8 || Ch.9 || Ch.10 || Ch.11 || Ch.12 || Ch.13 || Ch.14 || Ch.15 || Ch.16 || Ch.17 || Ch.18 || Ch.19 || Ch.20 || Ch.21 || Ch.22 || (Ch.23) ||

“It was great to see you again, Uncle Toru. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to come back as often as I said I would. There were a lot more complication than I thought there would be. I have so much to tell you.” Mahiru sat with his uncle at the table with a cup of tea. He didn’t want to leave without speaking with him briefly. His uncle would likely be confused if he woke up to find his cupboard of instant ramen emptied. “Two people have joined us to help collect the jewel shards. They’re good people even if they’re unconventional.”

Mahiru told him about the demons they fought. He tried to keep the more dangerous battles vague so his uncle wouldn’t be overwhelmed and worry about him. “You said there was a version of me in the past. Are you able to speak with your mother too? She died when you were young. It must’ve been difficult for you to get closure since you weren’t able to say goodbye then. You must’ve had a lot of questions for her.”

“Mother has already passed away in that era. Even if she was alive, I wouldn’t be able to ask her the questions I had when I was a kid. Your appearances may be the same but you’re different people.” Mahiru tried to keep his disappointment from showing but he wore a tiny frown. When he saw the concern in his uncle’s eyes, he quickly added: “It’s doesn’t bother me. I’m an adult now.”

“You might think I’m being unreasonable. I know you’re strong and all grown up. I can’t help but worry about you running into fights with demons though.” He had adopted him after his mother’s death and raised him as if he was his own son. Toru took out a photo from his wallet and held it out to Mahiru. “I promised your mother I would take care of you.”

“You don’t have to worry, Uncle. I have Kuro with me and we’ve made a lot of friends on our journey. You’re there to help me in the edo period as well. I’d like to think I inherited my archery skills from you. One of these days, I need to show you how well I can shoot now.” Mahiru reassured him. He looked down at the photo of his mother holding a young toddler.

“It sounds like you’ve gotten a lot closer to Kuro.” Toru glanced to where Kuro was sitting on the couch and glaring at the roomba. His behaviour was like a cat and the sight caused Mahiru to chuckle softly. “I hope he’s more intimidating to other demons than he is with our roomba.”

“He saved me more times than I can count. Kuro is a pacifist but he’ll fight to defend the people he cares for. It’s a trait that I admire.” Mahiru took a sip of his tea. Kuro offered to wait in the living room so he could have time alone with his uncle. He was being considerate and his kindness made Mahiru smile. “We’ve started dating but we haven’t had a chance to go out on a proper date. Maybe after this is over.”

“What are you planning to do once you’ve completed your task?” He asked but Mahiru couldn’t answer him because he didn’t have an answer. Kuro had become important to him and Mahiru couldn’t simply go back to his old life without him. Then again, it would be complicated to go back and forth between their two eras. He hadn’t been able to give it much thought since he had to worry about other things.

“Well, it would be nice to take Kuro a movie theater. I want to see what kind of reaction he would have to it.” Mahiru looked down at the photo and thought over his uncle’s words. His eyes widened when he noticed a small detail in the picture. “This necklace! It’s the same as the one in Misono’s vision and the secret to defeating him. Uncle, do you know what this necklace is?”

His outburst caught Kuro’s attention and he walked into the kitchen. They were both a little confused when Toru fell silent. A furrow formed between his uncle’s brows when Mahiru pointed to the necklace. “That red pendent? But that’s…”

“Misono said that it could be the key to defeating the spider demon. I don’t know if it’s the same one but they’re remarkably similar. I was going to ask the Toru of the past about it but this might be it. Do you still have the necklace, Uncle?” Mahiru asked. He didn’t know why his father would be secretive about the necklace. “It might not be the same but I want to check.”

Toru let out a heavy sigh and walked to the living room. They followed him to the memorial they had built for his mother. He opened a drawer and pulled out the necklace. “Your father gave your mother this necklace. He said that it was a family heirloom. She never wore it when they dated but, after you were born, she wore it every day.”

“It’s beautiful.” Mahiru took the necklace into his palm. “The pendent is shaped like an arrowhead but it looks fragile. What is it made of?”

“I always thought that it was simple silver and gold like most jewellery.” He answered. Kuro leaned over Mahiru’s shoulder to study the pendent. He didn’t find anything strange or unique about it. He wasn’t the most knowledgeable about artifacts and sacred items. Hopefully, someone will recognize it when they take it back to the past with them.

“This belonged to my father before he gave it to Mom?” He stared into the red pendent. Mahiru rarely thought of his father but there were still questions he had. He met his uncle in the past and he knew his mother also lived in that time. Could he meet his father as well?

“This is a phoenix amber.” Licht told them when they returned and showed him the necklace. He held it up to the sun and the translucent stone refracted the rays. “There are small nicks on the stone so someone shaped it into a triangle rather than forming naturally. Phoenix amber holds magical properties but we rarely use it in weapons. Mahiru, can I see that arrow you made with the tree?”

Mahiru didn’t know what he intended to do but he passed him the arrow. He broke off the stone arrowhead and then tied the pendent to the tip. “I don’t know as much about making weapons as my friend but he told me a lot about sacred stones. Shot a demon with this phoenix amber and they’ll be consumed by flames.”

“The Thousand Years Old Tree can manipulate time. What will happen if those two abilities are combined?” Mahiru asked as he took the arrow back from him. He rolled the wooden shaft between his fingers. “This can be the weapon that Misono told us about but I don’t know. In the memory, she simply wore it as a necklace. Should we go back to the inn to speak with Misono about it?”

“I think it’s best if we avoid Touma and people connected to him until we’re strong enough to fight him. That means we can’t kick every demon we pass, Angel Cakes.” Hyde said pointedly to the demon slayer. For his comment, Licht shoved him off Kirara’s back and lightly nudged it forward. “Hey, don’t leave me behind!”

“I don’t know why Kirara let you ride her.” Licht glared at him. He had to question why he let the demon sit behind him. He told himself that the journey would be more difficult if Hyde had to walk. Kirira turned around and licked Hyde’s hair. He was surprised by how attached his pet had become to the oni since he had trained it to fight demons.

“Can we go a mile without you two fighting? We won’t buy snacks at the next stop if you two don’t behave.” Mahiru warned them and waved the arrow at them. He replaced the sacred arrow into his quiver and tucked it into a hidden pocket. He knew he had to use the arrow sparingly. “I sense a shard ahead of us. What’s in that direction, Kuro?”

He glanced over his shoulder to Kuro who had a map. Instead of reading the map, Kuro sniffed the air. “I smell salt water. We’re approaching the sea. I hope a sea demon doesn’t have the jewel since none of us can fight well in the water. Hyde, you said that there was an island we should visit. Is it nearby?”

“It’s close to the coast so we’ll be able to get a jewel shard and the ability to break a barrier at the same time. Our luck might be improving finally.” Hyde told them as he climbed back onto Kirara. “Misono said Touma has a barrier around his castle. I don’t know how much we can trust that mirror demon but Touma is the type of spider who keeps himself hidden behind a barrier while other does his work. During my travels, I heard of an island of bat demons who can create barriers.”

“They’re the guardians of a remote island. My family visited their nest once but we decided not to kill them. The bats are peaceful and they stay on their land.” Licht recalled. “They have the ability to create and manipulate barriers but I doubt they’ll teach us how to break them. None of us has the same powers as a bat demon.”

“The tessaiga does.” Hyde words confused Mahiru and Licht.

On the other hand, Kuro lowered his foot to the ground and forced the bike to a stop. “No.”

Tension thickened the air around them as Mahiru looked between the brothers. He didn’t know why Hyde’s suggestion was upsetting to Kuro. It was rare that Kuro became angry or argued with others. The brothers were mending the past rift between them and Mahiru didn’t want them to fight again. Kuro rarely used the sword after he used it to stop his father.

Mahiru tried to reason with Hyde. “I know the tessaiga is strong but it’s made from a nekomata’s fang. How can it use a technique only bat demons know?”

“The tessaiga has the ability to absorb its wielder power to become stronger. You have seen it, Mahiru. Kuro can use shadow and ash with the tessaiga but Tsubaki turns the blade red with blood. For me, the tesssaiga becomes gold and it can create spikes.” Hyde explained.

“So, the tessaiga will gain the ability to control barriers if a demon bat holds it. I don’t think we should give the sword to a stranger though. Kuro’s mother made it.” Mahiru understood why Kuro wouldn’t agree with Hyde’s plan. He stayed silent behind him and Mahiru placed a comforting hand on his back. He could feel how stiff he was beneath his palm.

“I wasn’t suggesting that.” Hyde corrected him. “As you know, the tessaiga will always revert back to a dull blade once we stop fighting. Our father found a way to permanently use a demon’s unique power. Tessaiga’s wielder must kill a demon and let the blade absorb their blood. I don’t like the thought of killing someone either but we’ll be able to save more lives by defeating Touma.”

“No.” Kuro repeated firmly. Before he met Mahiru, he never thought he would use the sword again and sealed it away. Then Mahiru showed him that he could use the power to protect others. He decided to only use the tessaiga for the sake of those he loved. The guilt and pain of killing his father still affected him and he never want to experience it again.

Silence fell between the brothers but Licht could see that Hyde wanted to say something else. He bit his tongue out of respect for his brother. He didn’t know if they had the time to search for another way to destroy the barrier. Each day Touma’s web grew and they would be caught soon. He looked down at the wind tunnel he was cursed with. He didn’t want something similar to happen to his family.

“Let’s focus on finding the jewel shards for now.” Mahiru broke the silence. He understood Hyde’s urgency to stop Touma but it wasn’t right to pressure Kuro to relive something painful. “We’ll deal with Touma’s shield later. There must be another way past it rather than brute force. Between a priest, a monk and a demon slayer, we have a lot of knowledge about barriers.”

Their attention was drawn away when they heard a group of people ahead of them. Mahiru stepped off his bike and walked it towards the noise. A parade of people was walking across the beach with a palanquin. He could see a faint glow through the curtain, a shard. The people appeared to be human and he hoped they wouldn’t have to fight anyone.

He overheard a few of the villagers nearby. “Do you think the child sacrifice will appease the sea demon? The storms have been worsening every night. At least this is our chance to be rid of that demon child.”

After he heard those words, Mahiru dropped his bike and ran down the hill to the beach. The person in the palanquin was most likely the child they said would be sacrificed. He couldn’t let the child be taken. He thought he could stop the villagers by offering to fight the demon for them. “Please stop! You can’t sacrifice a child.”

“What? Who are you?” The man leading the group paused at the sound of Mahiru’s voice. They stopped long enough for him to stand in front of them and block their path. A few of the men gave him a glare while others stared at him in confusion. Mahiru stood with his back straight and he ignored their distrust. “Get out of the way.”

“I heard you were planning to give a child to the sea demon but that’s barbaric! It’s wrong to abandon a child, let alone sacrifice them! You’re all adults so you should be protecting vulnerable children.” Mahiru knew that the feudal era was much different from his time and they had their own beliefs and traditions. He had to rescue the child though. “My friends and I will deal with that sea demon for you. Just let the child go.”

“One man cannot defeat the sea demon. We need to take the sacrifice to the temple before the sun sets or else there will be another attack. Get out of our way!” The man tried to strike Mahiru but Kuro grabbed the staff before he could be hurt. “A demon! He must be working with the sea spirit!”

The people started to panic and they dropped the palanquin in their haste to run away from Kuro. He sighed and ignored their reaction to walk to the carriage. Mahiru was already next to the palanquin and he parted the curtain. The child appeared unhurt by the fall but she didn’t try to leave the box. He spoke in a gentle voice, “It’s okay, Little One. We’re not going to hurt you.”

The girl held a red orb in her hands with a coral inside. He could see that a jewel shard was placed in a crack on the orb’s surface. Mahiru knew the jewel shard was important but he was more concerned with helping the child. He held out his hand to her. “The villagers are gone so you can come out. I won’t let them give you to the sea demon to be sacrificed.”

“Can you tell us more about the sea demon? With those villagers gone, there’s no one else to ask.” Kuro stood next to Mahiru. He could see that the child was half demon. “Where are your parents?”

“Papa!” She cheered the moment she saw him. Kuro and Mahiru were both confused as she jumped towards him. He caught her so she wouldn’t fall and she smiled up at him. “Shiro knew you would come back for her, Papa.”

“Papa? I don’t know who you confused me for but I’m not him. Your parents are probably worried so let’s go find them.” Kuro tried to place her on the ground but then she began to cry. She refused to let him go and clung to his leg. He awkwardly patted her head and hoped she would stop. He didn’t know what he should do and looked to Mahiru for help.

Mahiru knelt next to the girl and placed his hand on her shoulder. A barrier suddenly came between them and he was forced to step back. Due to the sand, he lost his balance and he fell backwards. Kuro started to go to Mahiru to help him but he was stopped by the barrier. He felt a light tug on his jacket and he groaned slightly. He looked back to the child. She had a right grip on this clothes. “Papa, don’t go again. The human will hurt you.”

“Mahiru won’t hurt me.” He said but she shook her head frantically. Since he was half demon as well, he could imagine why she was wary of humans. Kuro laid his hand on the barrier. He was surprised by the strength of the barrier and he knew he wouldn’t be able to break it easily. Mahiru placed his hand over Kuro’s on the barrier. He was searching for a way past the barrier as well.

“Are you trying to steal my Papa?” She stood between Mahiru and Kuro.

Kuro sighed and thought of what he should say to make her lower the barrier. He knelt in front of her and said: “If I’m your Papa, that man is your other dad. While I was away, I married that man. He makes the best food so you’ll like him.”

He waited to see her reaction and he hoped that the believed him. The barrier disappeared and she ran to Mahiru for a hug. “Papa number two!”

“Well, this is going to be troublesome.” Kuro said as he stood. “What are we going to do now?”

#servamp #kuromahi #lawlicht #sloth pair #greed pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #fanfiction

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gizkasparadise · 5 years

Note

Gendrya prompt: Davos mentions to Gendry and Jon that he saw Arya’s badass fighting skills

“Quite the fighter,” Davos says nonchalantly as he assists Gendry in fletching the new arrowheads to shafts.

“Who?” Gendry asks half-heartedly, his attention focused on pouring melted down dragonglass into a mold. They don’t need it so much anymore, what with the wights dead, but steel or iron’s in low supply after the battle and they have enough of the stuff recovered to make use.

“The Stark girl.” Davos gives a short chuckle. “Small girl, but quick. Saw her atop the wall. Took out at least a dozen of them with nothing but a staff.”

“Wasn’t just a staff,” Gendry mutters under his breath.

“What’s that, lad?”

“Nothin’.” He pours the rest of the dragonglass, then sets it on its side to cool.

“Never seen a high-born lass do something like that.” Gendry glances at Davos then, seeing him rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Suppose it’s true what they say about Northern girls.”

“And what’s that?” Gendry adjusts the leather around his forearms. He tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible, unaware of the slightly amused look Davos sends his back.

Davos puts some of his completed arrows in a nearby quiver. There’s blood stains in some of the bindings in leather that he doubts will come out. The tanner died, after all. “Just that they’ve a mind of their own, and they’ll let you know it.”

A little smile forms on Gendry’s lips. He taps the side of the mold, and a litter of arrowheads fall from it. “Yeah that’s about right.”

“Know a Northern girl, do you?”

Gendry clears his throat. “Enough of them around.”

“Any catching your eye in particular?”

He can’t lie. “There’s one.”

“She a fighter?”

“You could say that.” He tries to keep his attention focused on inspecting the arrowheads.

“Good fighter?”

“Yes.” Couple of them have extra dragonglass from him overfilling the mold. He’s got to pay better attention next time-

“Dark hair?”

“Yeah.”

“From here?”

He hits what’s left out of the mold with a small hammer. “Mhm.”

“Arya Stark?”

“That’s right.”

Gendry pauses. Blinks. His jaw goes a little slack as he looks up to face Davos for the first time since they started on the arrows together. The old man gives nothing away with his straight face, gaze focused on his work.

“I...” Gendry finds he has nothing to say for himself. “It’s not...” But it is. “That is, we’re not...” They did, though.

His face is burning, and it’s not from the heat of the forge. “We haven’t really talked about it, yet. Been too much to do since the battle.”

“Then there’s something to talk about?”

Arya’s right. He’s truly stupid.

“We’re old friends,” he explains weakly.

“That’s good,” Davos placates. Then gives him a wink so fast Gendry barely notices it. “And don’t you worry, this old man can keep a secret.”

Gendry breathes a sigh of relief-

“That lad, however,” Davos continues seamlessly as he nods somewhere over Gendry’s shoulder. “Not sure what to say about him.”

Gendry turns around quickly.

Jon Snow stands, holding an armload of beaten breastplates in his arms. His eyes move slowly from Davos to Gendry.

“...how much you hear?” Gendry asks, feeling the urge to remind Jon, very emphatically, that their fathers were best friends.

“Enough.”

“I can explain-”

“You’re right,” Jon says in a tone that implies he can’t deal with this right now. “She’s a good fighter.”

Arya’s older brother pointedly places a sword next to the damaged armor he drops on Gendry’s work table. “That’ll need sharpening.”

Gendry doesn’t know what to read on Jon’s expression before he leaves the forge. Only that it had narrowed eyes.

Davos laughs, and Gendry swears to himself before grabbing a whetstone.

#gendrya #davos seaworth #jon snow #arya stark #gendry waters #got spoilers #game of thrones #fanfic #!my post #hi i know nothing about blacksmithing #Anonymous

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years

Text

Save Me: Chapter 17 - A New Life

~Hey Guys! Chapter 17 is up ❤️ Molly’s life is going to change forever because of her attachment to Negan... I hope you enjoy and chapter 18 will be up on Wednesday ✌🏻 Love you all and stay safe~

New beginnings, new possibilities. He was addictive and as much as Molly tried to deny it, she loved him. But would this result in her downfall?

Warm light danced across my eyelids as I came to my senses.

Opening my eyes slowly, I looked around the room to see the curtains wide open and Lucille now gone from the sofa.

I frowned confusedly as I turned over groaning. He was gone.

I frowned as my heart sank, a niggling thought entering my mind.

What if this didn't mean as much to him as it did to me?

I waited for what felt like ages, but that was just my anxiety taking control of my mind.

He wasn't coming back. I felt like such an idiot.

I didn't want to be in this room any longer so pulling the sheets away from my naked limbs, I grabbed my clothes up off of the floor and frantically started to pull my shirt over my head.

Just as I was pulling my shirt down, the door swung open.

It was Negan.

He was in a white t shirt and sweatpants, carrying a tray which from what I could see held a vase of flowers.

I gasped at his presence, 'morning beautiful' he said smiling widely at me.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my legs swung over the side and just a shirt covering me.

'We're you about to walk out on me?' he asked with a smirk, pretending to not be hurt.

'No, I-I mean you weren't there when I woke...so I thought-' I said stuttering and fiddling with a strand of my hair.

He chuckled slightly as he walked towards the bed and placed the tray gently next to me.

It was filled with two plates of pancakes, a pitcher of orange juice, mixed berries and the flowers of course.

This time they weren't wild flowers, but perfect red roses.

A smile started to uncontrollably spread across my face at his thoughtfulness.

'You thought that I just thought it was sex. Trust me darlin, I meant what I said last night' he said as he bent down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

'Plus I had urgent business to attend to. I'd been thinking about it for a fucking while now' he said seriously as he lay down on his side of the bed.

I moved the tray in between us as I slid back down into the covers.

He picked a couple berries up from the tray and popped them into his mouth.

I frowned slightly, 'what was it?' I asked looking into his perfect eyes intently.

He swivelled so he was now laying on his side, 'it was about my wives' he said softly.

Fuck. I'd forgotten about that.

A wave of anxiety flooded my body as a million thoughts entered my mind as I wondered how this relationship would practically work.

He couldn't give up his wives could he? They were part of his status.

He looked into my eyes as if he could read my every thought.

'I know that look, it's not what you think doll' he said smirking.

He sat up suddenly, so his focus was entirely on me.

I too swivelled round so he knew he had my undivided attention.

'I got rid of my wives' he said seriously.

I shot him a look of scepticism.

'I was considering doing it for a while now, months actually and well, after last night, my mind was made up. They'll still have their privileges and protection but they won't be my wives' he said softly.

I was frozen with shock.

'But...your wives are part of your status?' I said softly.

'They were, but I only want you' he said looking deeply into my eyes.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

'Fuck what anyone else says, they know what happens if they cross me and if they do, well, Lucille gets her turn in the fucking spotlight' he said smirking.

I smiled at him, happiness flowing through my body making me feel almost drunk on him.

'Negan' I whispered as I leaned in closer to him, pressing my lips gently against his own.

'I never thought for one fucking second that I could feel like this again, till that day you ambushed my men. I knew then that you would be the one to save me. You've changed me...' he whispered softly against my lips.

My eyes closed as I pressed my forehead against his.

Any doubt that those three little words he uttered last night were said in the heat of the moment was just completely eradicated. He really does love me.

'You've changed me. You saved me' I whispered back.

A thought crept into my mind as I pulled back slowly.

He looked at me intently, saying 'what is it darlin?'.

'What happens now?' I asked softly.

'Well, since as you flat out refused to be my wife the last fucking time and you don't want to be a saviour, even though you kinda are...' he started to say.

I rolled my eyes in response which made him chuckle.

'I want you to be my partner. My equal' he said seriously.

He scanned my eyes intensely, wanting to know my response.

I took a moment, before smirking at him.

'I like that' I said softly.

His face lit up, 'I love you so damn much you know that' he said admiring me.

I giggled, 'I love you more' I said wrapping my arms around his neck as he looked down at me laying across him.

'Not fuckin possible doll' he said as wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me passionately.

I reached over to the tray now.

'C'mon then mister, otherwise this is gonna get cold' I said smirking as I cut up a piece of pancake and drenched it in syrup till it was dripping off the edge of the fork.

He was about to say something just as I shoved the fork into his mouth.

He grinned and raised his eyebrows playfully, 'I could get used to this' he said in between bites.

I stared at his lips, watching them in motion as a glistening droplet of syrup lay in the corner of his mouth.

I ran my thumb across his lips, taking the syrup and sucked it off seductively.

His eyes darkened as I did so, he growled as his eyes lingered intently over my lips.

He pushed away the tray and threw me down onto my back as he came crashing down on top of me, pressing his lips against mine aggressively in longing.

He pulled his shirt over his head frantically and came crashing back down to my lips.

He growled as his tongue began to fight mine for dominance.

This kiss was like no other, we knew each other's rhythms so we were comfortable.

He grabbed my hands as they started to drift down to his pants and held them down at either side of my head, intertwining his fingers with mine.

I moaned as his dominance turned me on.

He spread my legs using his and began to drift towards my neck as he left intense kisses from my collarbone to my ear lobe, sucking and nipping as he did so.

I knew this would leave a hickey but I didn't care, I wanted people to know I was completely and utterly his.

I moaned softly biting my lip in between gasps.

'Don't move your hands' he whispered warningly as his hands released from mine and began to travel down to the hem of my shirt.

I twisted and wriggled at his touch, struggling to keep my hands still.

He chuckled at how much his touch excited me.

Over my shirt, he left gentle kisses until he got to my navel.

He pulled my top up slowly and stopped below my neck, leaving the area he wanted to touch, exposed.

My breath became more rapid as his kisses drifted back up to my chest, placing his leg in between mine so I could feel him rubbing up against me.

This, combined with his attention to my breasts, circling and nibbling against my nipples sent a rush of all consuming electricity through my body.

I moaned even louder now, my eyes shut as I tipped my head to the side.

Just as he came back up to my lips, I flipped us over so I was now straddling him.

I pressed my hands over his, holding him still as I left wet kisses along his torso, licking and nipping at his flesh as I got closer to his pants.

He growled as I fiddled with his waistband, occasionally nudging against his shaft.

His eyes were firmly fixed on mine as his head lifted up to watch me fully.

I kissed his length over his sweatpants which made his eyes flicker as he began to stiffen.

I smirked as I looked back up at him, with doe eyes.

I slowly pulled his pants down as I kissed every area which was now exposed, stopping just before his shaft which was now pulsating and angry, red with lust.

I smirked as I held it in my hands, kissing my way up to the top.

At my very first touch, he broke eye contact and his head fell back onto the bed as he groaned.

I knew exactly how he wanted it now.

I licked him from base to tip, swirling my tongue around the top, placing my hand around his length as I did so.

'Fuck darlin' escaped his lips as I started to wrap my lips fully around him and took all of him in my mouth.

I pumped him back and forth, running my hands up and down his torso as I did so.

I could tell he was getting close as his eyes began to tighten shut and his moans became less controlled.

At this, I released him and jumped back up to straddle him.

His eyes now locked back on mine, he bit his lip and started to run his hands over my thighs before gripping my love handles and squeezing them gently as he let out a groan.

I grabbed his hands slowly and put them down beside his head.

He let out a chuckle and a growl as I was now torturing him as he did to me.

I intertwined my fingers with his, holding him in place below me as I positioned him inside of me.

We both moaned simultaneously as the feeling of each other overwhelmed us.

I began slowly, swivelling my hips over his, getting our rhythm started.

His eyes were fixed on mine as he gazed at me in awe.

I picked up the pace as I saw his eyes start to roll back, and pushed myself in and out of him which made his grip on my hands tighten.

He was close now as he let out a strained low growl.

I began to feel weak with pleasure and my grip on his hands started to release.

He took this as his opportunity to sit up and wrap his arms around my waist and neck.

My arms glided over his shoulders to his back as I dug in my nails, reaching my climax.

‘Oh, fuck Negan' I purred into his ear as he tilted my head to the side and kissed up my neck, landing on my sweet spot.

My grip on his back tightened and I felt his hands wrap tighter around my waist, my grinding becoming less rhythmic.

'Cum for me darlin, I want to feel it' he whispered into my ear as he sucked on my lobe.

This was all that was needed to sent me over the edge.

My hands travelled up to his hair as I tugged lightly at the waves of pleasure rushing over me.

His groans and growls became louder in synchronicity with mine, as we both reached our climax.

'Fuck' he growled as I felt his hot fluid drench me.

His hands left my waist and cupped my face as his soft lips furiously connected with mine.

I moaned at his touch, feeling his warm breath against my skin.

I wrapped my hands back around his neck as we sat there, me still straddling him.

He lay back down and pulled me down till I was lying on top of him, his hands roamed over my skin as we came down from our high.

He flicked the covers back up his foot and pulled them up over us, his arms wrapping around my back as we fell on our sides.

Moving a strand of my hair out of my face so he could take in all of me, he planted a kiss on my forehead as fell onto his back.

We lay there, his arm stretched out to cuddle me.

I turned to the side and rested my hand against his chest, twirling his chest hair in my fingers.

His smile started to fade as he looked out of the window, 'If I ever lost you...' he said softly.

I looked up at him to see how worried he looked.

I placed my hand against his cheek and turned him towards me. 'You won't. Ever' I reassured him.

'Whatever happens, I'm yours' I said seriously.

'But I would, for you, if that was what you wanted. If you wanted to go back to Alexandria?' he said with sorrow in his eyes.

I took a moment before I said softly 'I used to, before. But now, there is nothing that I want more, than to be by your side. Forever'.

He looked into my eyes before smiling down at me and planting a kiss against my lips.

I never wanted this to end. I loved him, more than I had ever loved anyone.

I was utterly addicted to him.

We lay there, entangled with each other, intertwining his fingers with mine, rubbing circles on my thumb as he did so.

My eyes started to feel heavy as his touch was so comforting.

We dozed off for a couple hours as Negan had his morning schedule cleared for us.

I felt him beginning to wake as he moved which woke me up too.

I reached across and looked over at the clock. It was now 12:00pm.

'Fuck, I've gotta meeting in twenty minutes darlin' he said as he kissed my cheek and got up out of bed.

He put on some jeans and threw on a grey t-shirt.

His frown turned into a smile as he looked at me naked in his bed.

'Come with me' he said as he pulled on his boots.

I sat up, wrapping the sheets around me.

'Are you sure?' I asked, 'I mean won't people get suspicious about us?' I continued.

'I don't give a flying fuck if they do doll, I'm gonna tell everyone that you're mine' he smirked.

I looked at him nervously, 'alright, but this doesn't give me any favours in that meeting room okay?' I said gesturing between us.

He chuckled, 'trust me, strictly professional when we enter that room' he said trying not to smile.

I rolled my eyes, 'fine' I said smirking.

I was way more excited than I led on.

A feeling that I would be back in there, actually making a change.

I jumped up and pulled on my jeans, Negan was staring at me the entire time with a smirk plastered across his face.

'You know, you could go like that' he said smirking at my topless self.

I raised my eyebrows in response.

'Really? Well in that case, I'll compromise' I replied as I put one of his v neck t-shirts on.

The v perfectly showed off my cleavage and barely covered my nipples as it was pretty see-through.

I was about to open the door as he jumped up and slammed it shut.

'What? Is something wrong?' I said smirking innocently.

'I'm not letting you leave the fucking room like that!' he said frowning frustratedly.

I smirked at his annoyance, 'why not daddy?' I purred into his ear while leaning against the door frame.

His tongue flicked along his teeth as he let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

'Because I don't want anyone staring at what's mine' he said as his hands came up to rest against the doorframe either side of my head.

His lips lowered down to mine as he let out a growl.

'Call me daddy one more time...' he whispered sternly.

I looked down at his bulge which was now straining out of his jeans.

'Oh, you like that? Daddy?' I whispered smirking at his jaw clenching.

His lips starting to lower further down to mine.

I teased him by pushing up against him and touched my lips briefly against his.

His eyes started to close just as I turned round, opened the door and walked straight out.

He opened his eyes and growled as I glanced at him while I walked away.

'Fuck' he whispered under his breath, but still loud enough for me to hear.

I chuckled at his effort to try and rearrange his pants to keep his bulge from being visible.

Too late.

He grabbed Lucille and swung her over his shoulder as he followed me out.

Just as he caught up with me, he whispered against my ear 'oh darlin, I'm gonna have to punish you later for that one'.

I chuckled as he came up next to me and rolled his eyes in frustration.

He reached out his hand to me to hold as we walked down the corridor.

I took it instantly and intertwined my fingers with his, rubbing his hand with my thumb.

As soon as we entered that room, Arat, Diane, Simon, Dwight and Eugene already sat down waiting for us.

Arat and Diane weren't phased by our public display of affection, probably thinking me one of his wives.

But, Dwight and Simon looked at me sceptically, frowning while they did so.

Eugene just looked plain terrified.

We sat down and Negan was in a really good mood for the majority of the meeting as we talked agriculture, operations and the wives situation.

Everyone seemed to be in agreement initially, until Simon started to disagree with him.

'Why is Molly here?' he asked pointing to me.

Negan looked furious, 'Molly is here, Simon, because I say she is' he said frowning.

I shot Simon a look of anger.

'Why are you here Simon? I mean, I've done more for this place than you have of late' I said smirking.

Simon looked both worried and furious at this.

Everyone else kept silent, apart from Negan who let out a chuckle which turned to a frown.

'This reminds me, we haven't talked about your monumental fuck up yet, now have we?' he yelled at Simon.

Oh shit, here we go.

Simon looked terrified, 'I thought they killed you, that night you were gone' he said nervously.

Simon sighed as Negan looked over Lucille.

'I lack discipline. I made it personal. Yes, things went bad, but I think it's possible that my tactics landed us in a stronger position than ever before. But I know I fucked up, I just ask that you give me a pass on this one' he said pleadingly.

Did he just say he was a better leader than Negan?! I glanced over at Negan who was simmering with rage.

'I'll make it up to you, I promise you that' Simon said now less confidently.

Negan chuckled, 'you know I remember when I took this place, when you helped me take this place. Wasn't sure if I wanted to keep you on board. I mean before me, before there was a system in place, what you did, killing all those men, those boys in that settlement so long ago. A lot of people would think that was some psychotic shit, like that is the work of a demented broken goddamn ghoul. Like, that's not someone you wanna work with, someone you wanna let alone stand next to. So, I figured I'd keep my eye on you, and I did. Everything seemed to work out, right up until this point. You see, you have disrespected me and my gal. So, I'm gonna need you on your knees' he said slowly.

Oh fuck. I looked at Negan who was now round by Simon, standing over him.

Simon looked at me before he got up from his chair and knelt to the ground.

'You gonna make a move? Or is that it?' Negan said sternly, twirling Lucille in his hand.

This time I wasn't afraid, I wanted it.

'No move to make' Simon said quietly.

'No, there isn't' Negan said, waiting for a few suspenseful seconds before adding 'all is forgiven, get your ass up'.

Simon waited for Negan to move away before he stood up.

'I won't let you down, not you' he said confidently.

Negan dismissed him and he scowled at me as he walked out.

'Everyone get the hell out. Molly hold up' Negan boomed as he went turned around to look out of the window.

Everyone got up slowly and walked out, looking at me sceptically as if to ask why the hell are you so special?

Eugene epitomised this look the most.

He seemed so compliant and grateful to be here yet there was always a glimmer of hope in his eyes that he was certainly thinking about helping Rick in some way.

I wanted that too, they're my family. But so is Negan, which leaves me slap bang in the middle of it all.

I knew in my heart that I couldn't play both sides, but how could I ever choose?

I looked back at Eugene pleadingly, still wanting him to think about what I had asked, he just looked down.

Once everyone had left and the door fell shut, I walked over to him and ran my hand over his bicep.

'What's on your mind?' I asked softly.

His eyes were filled with hardness and his brows were furrowed as if his mind was burdened by a million different things.

I wanted to know them all.

His eyes came down to fix on mine once I spoke, 'I can't trust anyone but you' he said smirking with a sadness in his eyes.

'Dwight and Eugene, they can be trusted' I said tilting my head to meet his wavering gaze.

'I get Eugene, but why D? Thought you hated the guy?' he said looking at me with furrowed brows.

'I used to, a part of me always will. But I forgive him, like I forgave you, eventually...Regardless of what's happened in the past, he is loyal to you, to the Sanctuary' I said hesitantly, barely believing my own words.

But I had to protect Dwight for Sherry, because I knew that if Negan found out, he would kill him without a second thought.

Dwight had told me weeks ago about his plans, sabotaging Negan at every corner.

In the beginning, I wanted it too. I wanted so much to just get back to my family.

But now, Negan was my family and I loved him, so I couldn't be a part of it anymore.

I had to face what I had done. I could no longer deceive myself into believing that I was manipulating Negan into submission for my family, I wanted to be with him willingly.

I knew I would have to break it to Dwight eventually.

Then Eugene would find out, probably tell Negan about what I had asked him to do and shit would royally hit the fan.

'Yeah, you're right doll. You know, who needs a right hand man when I have you' he said smirking.

I thought he was joking. He wasn't.

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