#I'm just so tired of this happening. i honest to god thought that was a safe ''yes and'' to add to the convo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uyuuma · 8 months ago

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“ I HOPE YOU KNOW I'M FADED ”

drunk!gojo x exgf!reader ღ MDNI.

❥ summary. you and your toxic ex, gojo, broke up months ago. yet you find his drunk ass outside your apartment door.

❥ warnings. nsfw, female anatomy, toxic ex, manipulative gojo, dub con, dacryphilia, use of the name 'daddy', alcohol mentioned, tw: toxic relationship dynamic, etc.

❥ a/n. okok this one i thought of while i was bored at work, hope y'all enjoyyyy. i had to resubmit this post bc it got taken down bruh lets hope it doesnt happen again (title was inspired from the song 'spotlight' by lil peep; it is encouraged to listen while reading :3)

❥ wc. 3.2k

Your life has been rather drama-free ever since you broke up with Satoru Gojo.

After the constant arguments and severe manipulation that he had put you through, you decided enough was enough and you told him to essentially fuck off.

But if you were being honest with yourself, you weren't fully over him yet. In fact, life may have been drama-free but it became so boring after that. In some kind of fucked up way, you kind of missed the rollercoaster of emotions he put you through.

That's just how things are you guess, prioritizing your peace over that man was the healthier decision in the long run. You blocked his number and all of his social media as well as ghosting all of your mutuals, like Suguru and Shoko. It was a tough decision but you were tired of them asking about you and Satoru. He's done enough damage to your life already.

It's been radio silence since then, wonderful peace and quiet for two whole months. You found yourself taking up old hobbies again, exercising regularly, and even talking to other men. Life was right back on track and you were on your way to properly healing.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough because he still knew where you lived. You didn't really bank on the fact he would come banging on your door. You believed he would just move on, since he is Satoru Gojo after all. Any woman would be head over heels for the handsome man, even if he was toxic as fuck.

But no, god dammit it all, he is still stuck on you.

Loud banging could be heard on your apartment door. It scared the living daylights out of you when you shot up from beneath your covers. You thought that there was someone trying to break in or perhaps your building manager was trying to alert you to a fire. You immediately rolled out of bed and ran to the door.

That's when you heard that cursed voice.

"Open uppppp!" the voice slurred on the other side.

You groan an exasperated "Noooooo fuckkkk!" under your breath after realizing it's your ex.

"Baby please... I know you're in thereeee" He said in a joking manner.

You open the door a crack, not unhooking the chain lock. "Go away, I told you I never wanted to see you again." You said coldly. Your voice was also a tad raspy, as you had just woken up from a deep slumber.

"Baby don't be like that, let daddy in will you?" He purred through the crack of the door. You could tell he was under the influence of something and it caused you to roll your eyes.

"Fuck no, now leave before I call the cops." You threatened as you went to shut the door.

The door came to a halt with a loud 'THUD'. Satoru grabbed the chain lock with his fist and he held it open before you could shut it. You gasp and jolt back from the audacity that this guy had.

"No no no no no, you're not listening t'me. I wanna talk to you." He said as he tried to pull the chain off the door.

You knew he had the strength to do it too and you didn't feel like replacing it so you annoyedly invited him in.

"Christ, fine but only for a bit! Do you understand me?" You said sharply, unlocking the chain.

"Anything you want, mama." He said grinning, he swiped the door open wide to let his towering frame through the doorway.

You click your tongue in irritation as you quietly close the door behind him. "What do you want, Satoru? It is 3 in the fucking morning!" You whisper yelled.

"Shhhhshhhshh" He spat out at you, putting his long finger against your lips, hushing you. "I just missed you so much, hehe." He found it amusing you were getting angry and it only triggered you more.

"Don't touch me, you're not my boyfriend anymore." You said smacking his hand away from you.

"Says who?" He asks confusedly. He tilts his head to the side.

"Says me!" You said trying not to scream too loud and wake the neighbors.

"Pshhh nah ah!" He says as he smirks. "I say we just forgive each other and move on, huh?" He proposes the idea, with full confidence.

You let out a laugh in disbelief. "Each other? You prick, you're the one that manipulated me and used me! If anything you should be begging me for forgiveness! And you can start by leaving!" Your voice was starting to get louder, but you were beyond infuriated right now.

"What are y'talking about? Don't start with this crazy shit." He said with a twinge of irritation in his voice. He slouched a lot worse than usual, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his sweats. He was wearing that stupid compression shirt that would always make your head spin when you saw it.

He also reeked of alcohol. It was safe to say that the dude was drunk. It took a lot just to get him tipsy, so for him to be this drunk it must've meant he's been at it all night.

"Look baby, I just came from Sukuna's house party and it made me realized how much I missed youuu." he said, his eyes all glossy.

Oh? So, he decided to crawl back after drinking himself silly at some house party? This guy couldn't get anymore pathetic, you thought to yourself. "You stink of booze, get out of my apartment you bum." You said pointing out the door. "I don't need you ruining my life again."

"C'mon don't be like that princess, you know the only thing I'd ever ruin is your slutty little holes." He said, smirking. He grabbed your chin with his hand and brought you close to his face. You could smell the whiskey still hot on his breath.

You were so beyond done with this. "You're repulsive, do not talk about me like that." All of the emotions you had that you've suppressed came back and all at once. You could feel that all too familiar burning in your eyes and throat.

You went silent and smoothed over your hair with your hand, trying to soothe yourself. Do not let him make you cry again. You took a few deep breaths before continuing.

"Look I know you're fucked up, but you need to call an Uber and leave immediately." You said looking up into his eyes to show how serious you were being.

He just continued to give you this cocky smirk while tuning you out. He just won't fucking listen to you.

"Ok! Well here this shit is again! You never take me seriously! It's like I'm this big fucking joke to you!" You yelled out, letting your emotions start to swell inside your chest.

Tears began to spill from your eyes as months and months of frustrations started to unravel. You looked down and brought your sleeve to wipe your tears. "Well, I won't take it anymore! I-" Suddenly you found that your breath was suddenly snatched from your lungs, after looking back up at him.

Satoru was palming his hard-on while you were sobbing. He was getting off to your tears. The fucking bastard.

"Are you─!" You were cut off by Satoru's moans.

"Fuck, you are so sexy when you get all emotional like that. God, I just want to shut you up with my cock." He said eyes fixated on your face.

"You cannot be serious right now!" You've had enough of his shit, you shoved him, trying to get him out the door.

"Oooh playin' rough with me princess?" He doesn't budge from you trying to push him. "Aww, if only you weren't so weak." He says as he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it up. He yanks your hand above your head and watches you squirm.

He looks thoroughly amused and cracks a smile when you fight back.

"Aw I miss this, us arguing and fighting. It always gets my blood pumping." he said, shoving you to your knees.

You tried to fight where this was inevitably going to end up, but it was no use. Satoru was just too damn strong and too damn convincing.

He hisses as he frees his dick from his sweats. It bobs up and down from the sudden release. Your eyes follow it, mesmerized with how big it was. It's been a few months since you last saw it. You had so many conflicting thoughts racing through your head as you silently knelt on the floor below him.

"Suck." He commanded, holding his tip to your lips. His precum lubricated your soft lips, making you feel sticky already.

You shook your head and used your hands to push away from it using his thighs as leverage. You didn't want to give into him, not after everything.

"No fuck- c'mon baby just open wide." He cooed out to you. Even now he was deciding everything for you. He decided you were going to suck his dick and that's what you were going to do.

It was a struggle between you pushing away and him grabbing your hair and pushing your head down onto his cock. Between his groans in anticipation and your whines in protest, he became increasingly impatient.

"No no no, shhhshhh... that's a good girl." He hiccupped. Satoru successfully got your mouth to take his tip. He grunted and tilted his head back slightly, feeling you slowly but surely take his length.

"Oh fuck, I missed your mouth so much baby." He purred as he parted your hair out of your face.

You closed your eyes in defeat as tears began sliding down your cheeks. He held your head still with one hand gripping on your pony tail and pumped himself in and out of your mouth.

"Fuuuuck, no matter where I looked I couldn't find another girl who satisfied me like you do." He started to invade your throat with his length, making your esophagus become sore and your lungs burn from the lack of air.

You choked on his cock, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, as well as down his balls. Your fingernails dug deep into his thighs, trying to either push yourself off or for leverage. One of the two, you didn't know anymore. All you knew was that little warm sensation that built between your legs. Your body was betraying you, you were supposed to hate this man, to not let him abuse you anymore. But fuck, his cock hit all the right places in your tight throat. Your eyes begin to cross as you struggle to breathe.

"Shit, you swallow me so good. Mmm, tell me you want daddy to cum down your throat." He said fucking into your mouth, your lewd slurping sounds were very pleasing to his ears.

You let out a muffled moan in response, obviously you couldn't say anything but that was enough of an answer for him.

"Oh fuck, take my load." he ordered, his abs flexing as he came. He groaned as he painted your throat white with his seed. You could feel the hot, sticky fluid make its way down your throat as you swallowed it all.

More tears fell onto your cheeks. "Hate you, 'toru." you whined out, throat still raw from his dick forcing its way in.

Satoru gave you that cocky smile again and tapped his cock against your cheek as you pouted. "Still harddd." he sang. "Wanna be a doll f'me and get on all fours?" He said wiping the spit off your chin.

You were so disappointed in yourself. This man was forcing himself back into your life and all you could do was watch as it happened. You looked up at him and see that faded look in his eyes. They say that drunk words were sober thoughts, has he been wanting to do this for two months?

Despite everything, you did exactly as he said. You turned around and lowered yourself onto all fours. Truth is, your pussy was aching for him and it had been since you guys broke up. Those men couldn't satisfy you and neither could your dildo, at least not like how Satoru can. Perhaps this whole situation was inevitable.

You pull down your panties and shamefully spread your pussy out for him, showing how you were already wet and ready for him to stretch you out.

"Aww, baby you're already soaked. I haven't even touched you down there yet." He said kneeling down to take a closer look. He took his hand to grip your ass and moved his thumb to swipe a line against your cunt.

You shuddered from the satisfaction of finally being touched where you were aching. You could hear shuffling from behind you and felt a sudden wet, warmth swipe up and down on your clit.

You gasped and clasped your hand over your mouth in response to Satoru suddenly eating you out. How polite of him to at least warm you up.

There was something so feral about the way he ate you out. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but he was sloppily sucking on your clit making your legs shake from the pleasure. He began humming and moaning as his tongue entered you, pumping in and out. His fingernails were digging into the fat of your ass as he spread your cheeks nice and wide for him.

Your arms wanted to give out from under you, but the bastard chose to fuck you on the cold hardwood flooring in the foyer. So you struggled to hold your head up, as if that would protect your dignity.

Satoru parted his mouth from your now slick folds, spit dripping all over your floors. "Mmm, baby I missed tasting you." He said, lust dripping from his voice almost as much as the saliva down his chin. He wiped the drool and slick from his mouth and gave your ass a swift 'SMACK'. You yelped out from the sudden sting.

"You ready baby? This is my favorite part." He cooed into your ear as he rutted his erection against your pussy.

"Yes 'Toru, fuck me please." You whined out. You were already gone, you just wanted the sweet release of the growing knot in your tummy. It was far too late to fight back at this point, all you could think about was him rearranging your guts.

He didn't need to hear any other words of confirmation as he aligned his throbbing cock with your dripping cunt. He pushed the tip in and let a shaky moan out along with a hiss.

"Fuck, always so tight." He groaned while thrusting just the tip in and out of your hole. His hands were still gripping your ass at this time, but he moved his left hand to grip onto your shoulder, lowering you onto his cock.

You let out such sweet moans and whimpers as he watched your pretty cunt swallow him up. He was mesmerized, trying not to cum at the very sight of it. He gave a drawn out sigh in relief from feeling your gummy walls clamp onto him.

He repositioned his large hands to have a strong grip on your waist as he started to thrust in and out of you. It was a slow rhythm at first, nice and sensual like he was trying to massage your insides.

It drove you insane, feeling him drag in and out. He had your back arched, so you folded your arms and laid on them. You scraped the floors with your nails as you felt him start to smack his hips against your ass.

"Mmm... fuck Satoru..." you mewled out, shoulder blades pushing together as your back curved in.

"M'gonna ruin your little pussy." He said making his thrusts rougher. "Gonna punish you for leaving me." He grunted out through clenched teeth. He let out a breathy moan as he leaned over you, slamming his hips flush against your ass.

You let out a sharp squeal as he jackhammered your cervix at this new angle. This squeal pleased him so much that he chuckled and said, "Keep making those cute little sounds."

He caged you beneath him by putting all of his weight on his left arm, holding his hand steadily on the floor by your head. He took his right arm and roughly took your arms from beneath your head. He pinned them both behind your back as he relentlessly pounded into you. This way he could have complete control over your body.

Your face was now met with the cold floor. Your cheek was squished and your mouth agape, drooling from the mind-melting ecstasy. You were starting to see stars, eyes not being able to focus on a single thing. Not that you could see through your tears anyways. You felt your climax approaching rapidly, pussy clenching him uncontrollably.

He started to curse under his breath as his thrusts became more shaky and messy from the pressure. You could tell he was nearing his orgasm too.

"Fuck baby, cum on my cock. Wanna feel you squeeze me." He said, his words coming out super slurred. You couldn't see his expression but you could tell from his voice that he was not only drunk but also pussy-drunk.

Your hands clenched from behind your back and your whole body seized up as you reached your limit. "F-fuck m'gonna cum daddy!" You screeched out, forgetting it was four in the morning. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you gasped. Your whole body spasmed as you felt that sweet release you had been craving for months.

"Oh shit baby-" He cut himself off as he bit down on his lip. He hunched his entire body over you and his hands flew to grip onto your hips. "M'gonna fucking fill you so deep" He whimpered as he slammed your ass tightly against his pelvis. You could feel him twitch against you as that familiar warmth invades your pussy.

His curses are much louder this time around, slurring out profanities as thick ropes of cum coat your walls.

You gave one last whine before completely collapsing under him. "Satoru..." you said softly, very much out of breath.

He was silent for a second, slowly pulling himself out of your sore, leaking hole. He took his thumb and plugged your cunt so that his precious fluids stayed inside.

You squeaked from the feeling and laid on the floor in defeat. Your whole body was spent and you felt as if you could pass out on the floor.

He stood up and lifted his sweats back up. "C'mon princess lets go back to bed." He said kneeling back down to pick you up.

"I hate you, Satoru." You said meekly. You meant it, yet you didn't at the same time.

"Love you too baby." He said picking you up, bridal style.

He carried you to your bed, slipping under the covers with you. He spooned you and rested his face in the crook of your neck.

His scent was intoxicating, cologne mixed with musk and alcohol. Fuck, you really did miss him after all.

Whatever, you'll deal with kicking him out in the morning. Or not. You weren't sure anymore as you drifted back to sleep.

#jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #female reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you

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golden-moony · 6 months ago

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king of my heart | pt. 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 74,922 others!

yourusername life lately 💌

user1 swiftie, romcom lover and f1 fan... she's really one of us🩷

user2 and that's why she's the girlies' bestie

user3 QUEEN WE MISSED U SO MUCH

user4 as pretty as always 😍

user5 i'm probably reaching here but posting THAT movie feels like a statement's being made 👀

user6 right?? after all the drama she goes and posts that movie title and i just don't know how to feel user7 user6 thank god she just posted the title cause if she'd posted the "you can't lose something you never had" line, i would've lost my mind 😥 user8 or maybe yn just likes the movie??? user9 user8 THIS!! people act like there's a secret meaning to everything and i'm tired of that crap

user10 i'm a simple girl: i see yn and taylor swift in the same post, i like

user11 so what happened? were you starting to lose relevance and decided to come back?😂😂

user12 she needs to pay the bills somehow 😂 user13 girlie came back to keep playing the victim lol user14 y'all need to get a life asap.

user15 YOU DROP THIS QUEEN 👑

carmenmmundt gorgeous woman 😍

yourusername you are💗 user16 OMG MY FAV GIRLS INTERACTING user17 carmen please please please stay away from this problematic woman😕

user18 soooo are we gonna talk about lando liking the post or what

user19 girl i can't do this again user20 can't believe lando is back again with this bitch😒 user21 user20 wtf??? it's just a like omfg chill.

user22 yn please don't leave us again 🥺

📞 calling Pato

[yn; normal] [pato; cursive]

"Hi-"

"I'm not gonna lie, you are either very brave or very stupid for calling me right after the videos of your little date with Lando are going viral. Did you get tired of hiding your relationship?"

"...Guess I deserve that."

"[sights] What do you want, yn?"

"I swear I won't take up much of your time. I just want to talk... well, apologize, actually. I'd prefer to do it face to face rather than over the phone but I know that right now I'm probably the last person you wanna see. At least this way, if you don't wanna keep listening to me, you can just end the call."

"Well, I'm very tempted to end the call right now."

"Pato, I-"

"However, I'm also very curious about what you have to say."

"So...?"

"So I'll give you a chance to talk. But I promise you yn, if I hear any lame excuses, I will hang up and block you. Are we clear?"

"Hundred percent clear."

"Then talk."

"Well... first of all, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I promise it was never my intention to hurt you, even if I ended up doing it anyway. I should've told you from the beginning the kind of relationship I had with Lando and I should've been honest with you, especially when my feelings towards you changed to something deeper. I kno-"

"Hold on. What?"

"What do you mean what?"

"What did you just say?"

"That I'm sorry I lied to yo-"

"No, no. The part about your feelings."

"Oh. Well... you heard me. And I don't know why you sound so surprised. I mean, what happened between me and Lando in Spain was a stupid and terrible decision I made, and I should've known better cause my feelings for you were getting stronger."

"Then why did you sleep with him?"

"I... [sights]. I've thought about it a lot in the last few weeks, you know? I was trying to put all the blame on Lando when in the end I was the one who took the initiative. We were just going to talk to end that situationship once and for all, and then I kissed him. And instead of stopping him when he was going for more, I just let it happen cause in my head it was a form of goodbye. Clearly I ended up feeling guilty but the damage was done. And when I could've made things right by telling you the truth about what happened, I didn't. I was embarrassed, but mostly scared of losing the best man I've ever known... but that ended up happening anyway, and I'm to blame for that."

"..."

"Pato?"

"Did you love him?"

"No. We started out as friends and one day I realized I was attracted to him, one night one thing led to another and we became friends with benefits ever since. He didn't want a relationship at that time and neither did I. But in the last few months that changed for me. I wanted a partner, a committed relationship. Lando wasn't that and I was tired of being just a "casual thing". So no. I liked him, but I never loved him."

"So what was that date night about?"

"Just us being adults and having a real and necessary conversation. I had things to apologize for and so did he. I think Lando and I finally found common ground and are ready to move forward... not with each other, just to be clear. Just friends and nothing else."

"For real this time?"

"For real this time. My priorities and my heart are elsewhere."

"Oh, really? Where?"

"I could tell you or I could show you. To be honest, and if you let me, I'd rather show you. You know, actions speak louder than words."

"Yeah, I've heard that. You have any idea?"

"It depends. What are you doing on Friday?"

pacers

liked by elbaoward, tyresehaliburton, arrowmclaren, and 43,942 others!

pacers We had some motorsport representation in the house tonight!

user1 ynpato being hard launched (again?) by the pacers was not on my bingo card but i appreciate it🫶

user2 this is so random and i love it!! user3 the pacers earned my respect after this 🫡 user4 pacers stonks after this hard launch📈📈📈

user5 YNPATO BASKETBALL DATE? WE WON FR

user6 this is like straight out of a movie 😻 user7 THEY'RE SO ROMCOM CODED

user8 NOOO PATO NOT HER AGAIN 😫😫

user9 right? my week has been ruined. user10 keep cryin' haters 😘

indycar Hi yn and pato!! 👋

user11 basket date a few days after her post? she's an icon AND the mastermind fr 💅

user12 context?? user13 user12 her last ig post included a pic of "how to lose a guy in 10 days" and some people were speculating it could mean something, now yn goes with pato to a basketball game just like in the movie 😂 user14 SHE MANIFESTED IT AS THE QUEEN SHE IS🙌

user15 real question is: yourusername did Pato get you a soda?

patriciooward of course i did! 🙄 yourusername not only that but he also got his head in the game😏🏀 user16 I'M LIVING FOR THIS REFERENCES

user17 they make such a beautiful couple omg🥹

user18 are y'all forgetting she was in a date with lando just a few days ago????

user19 she belongs to the streets fr user20 the day y'all understand yn can be friends with lando or anyone is when you'll finally grow up.

user21 not related but she always slays with her outfits🔥

user22 fashion icon for real 🤩 user23 i want her wardrobe so bad😩

user24 YNPATO CONFIRMED 🚀🚀🚀

user25 i just wanna know if pato can fight 🤺

user26 i wanna be her so badly 😩

user27 same girl, same

yourusername posted to their story!

yourusername

liked by arrowmclaren, oscarpiastri, frosenqvist, and 79,889 others!

yourusername And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for. King of my heart, body and soul 🧡

user1 MOM AND DAD ARE THRIVING 😍

user2 and we love to see it! user3 this is their world and we're just living in it

user4 yn is stronger than me cause if Pato looked at me like in the second pic... 😳😳

user5 IKR??? I'M DEAD user6 i was not ready for that, i'm currently on the floor user7 i meaaaan she's dating him, she already won in life

user8 THE CAPTION???? omg they're so cute🥹

user9 YNPATO AND TAYLOR GANG WE WON

user10 relationship goals for real ❤️‍🔥

user11 tired of being a spectator, I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE😭

landonorris if you three weren't that cute i'd try to steal Norbi from you

patriciooward back off, Norris 🤺 landonorris watch out, O'Ward 🤺 yourusername oh hell no mclaren arrowmclaren may i have permission to ground these kids? mclaren you may proceed 😉 patriciooward WHAT landonorris THE BETRAYAL user12 i used to pray for interactions like these 😭😭 user13 user12 we've come so far 😭 user14 WAAAAR IS OOOOVER

user15 yn's living her best life and i'm so happy for her 🤧

elbaoward I don't appreciate being left out of the photo, but I love you lovebirds anyway 💘

yourusername imma post a dump of just beautiful pics of you😘 love u elbaoward i'll be waiting then ☺️ patriciooward i also want a photo dump🥺 yourusername no 😚 user16 i want to belong to this family so bad, do you need a nanny for Norbi or anything?

user17 atp I'm just waiting for the engagement announcement

user18 same but i don't think i'll survive it user19 CAN U IMAGINE? OMG

user20 tag yourself i'm Norbi in the last pic

patriciooward te amo, preciosa ❤️

yourusername love u more, handsome 🥰 user21 AND I LOVE YOU BOTH

taglist: @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @evie-119 @evans-dejong @minkyungseokie @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bernelflo @eiaaasamantha @ijustgomessitupx @honethatty12 @daemyratwst @f1fan65 @littlexscarletxwitch @sheslikeacurse @charlottejpg @lichterfee @callsignwidow @phantomxoxo @stinkyjax @rubywingsracing @willowpains @urfavsgf @biitch-with-wifi @lightdragonrayne @illicitverstappen @herebereblogs @tvdtw4ever @nataliambc @norwayxo

author's note: AND THAT'S A WRAP! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance💖 To my Lando girlies, don't be mad! He was a jerk in this story but I'll post another one where he gets the love he actually deserves. And to my Pato girlies, stay tuned! I plan to post more stories with him cause it's what our lovely man deserves. And if you want me to write about some other driver, feel free to send me a request! I'll see what I can do🧡 See y'all soon!

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catboyieejeno · 2 years ago

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don't kiss and tell ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

other parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

pairings: best friend! mark + best friend! jeno + best friend! hyuck x female! reader summary: what happens when your three best friends ask you to decide which one of them is the better kisser? content: non-idol au, a lot of making out, suggestive, all three boys r lowkey crushing on you, cursing wc: 4k

masterlist

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"so we have a small bet going on..." jeno starts, taking a seat at the foot of your bed. mark grabs one of your stuffed plushies and settles it between his arms as he sits.

"according to hyuck," jeno pauses, rolling his eyes in the direction of the youngest of your mutual friends who didn't bother finding a place to sit next to the other boys, instead taking his spot beside you and letting his head fall onto your lap, "he's the "best kisser" between the three of us,"

"bullshit," mark interrupts with a cough, glaring his way.

hyuck scoffs, grumbling a "yeah? why don't you come find out," while grabbing your hand and directing it to his scalp so you can play with his hair.

with slightly narrowed eyes, mark scoffs. "don't worry, that's what we're doing this for, right?"

"well," hyuck sighs, turning to face him, "I can guarantee it's not gonna be you. remind me, how many girls have you kissed again?"

mark scoffs loudly, just as hyuck had done moments ago, throwing his head back in annoyance.

"anyway," jeno holds out his arm to redirect the room's attention back to him, "we made a bet and we kind of need your help,"

with your fingers distractedly running through hyuck's locks, you purse your lips in thought, looking between the three boys expectantly. "how exactly am i meant to help?"

mark clears his throat, averting his gaze, "well, um..."

"you see, we agreed that, um-" jeno tries to explain, but his voice grows quiet.

"we needed someone t-to-"

"and we figured, you know, i-if it was you,"

your eyes narrow as you notice the way mark's ears start glowing red. he can no longer meet your gaze as he speaks, neither can jeno. the two boys stutter through their attempts at explaining your role in their little bet. that is, until hyuck lets out an exasperated sigh and shoots up from your lap, having grown impatient.

"we need you to kiss us so you can decide who's the best kisser."

your eyes go wide, breath hitching in your throat. "no," you shake your head, "no fucking way." and as soon as the words leave your lips, all three boys start protesting, speaking over each other in a hurry.

"I told you she'd say no." hyuck complains.

jeno blinks quickly, reaching for your shoulder, "no, no. y/n, you have to help us decide. i'm tired of hyuck insisting that he's good cause he practices on his hand every night. please," he pleads.

"i don’t practice on my hand, dipshit-"

"we need someone who is unbiased and- and who will be honest with us. that's you!" mark tries, but you're still shaking your head frantically, a scowl tainting your features.

"you guys can't ask someone else?" you attempt.

"yeah, you're right. jaemin and renjun must've slipped our minds," jeno replies sarcastically.

in defeat, you groan loudly, sitting up on your knees to create some distance between them and you, arms folding over your torso, "god, you guys are so weird!"

"Is that a yes?"

you think to yourself for a moment, weighing your options.

undoubtedly, your best friends were attractive and given the chance to kiss them, under different circumstances, you probably might... if you didn't know them as well as you do or before you had gotten as close as you have, then maybe.

either way, it would not be for a bet. If one or more of them got the wrong idea... or if you did... what then?

you stare at them, noting how they stare back, each with their own intentions and motives. jeno looks beyond desperate to prove hyuck wrong, entirely done with the younger boy's nagging persistence on the matter.

hyuck, of course, is looking to you, pleading for you to give him the chance to prove himself right, so he can rub it in. he also keeps staring at your lips, ever since he sat up, and you don't doubt that a part of him is curious to find out what it's like to kiss you.

mark seems to be somewhere between wanting to end the discussion between the two boys, and secretly wanting himself to be revealed as the winner, maybe as an unexpected surprise to everyone; perhaps, because he's the oldest, he's meant to have the most experience, but you and the boys know very well how shy mark gets about stuff like this.

you huff out a breath, unable to stare at their desperate expressions any longer, "fine," but before they can whoop and cheer, one of your fingers comes up to silence them. now, it's your turn to stutter, "b-but, there are terms and conditions. and y-you guys have to unanimously agree to all of them or the deal is off. okay?"

they all nod quickly, sitting up to listen to your list of rules with attentiveness.

"firstly, this is a one time thing, okay? there will be no more friend-on-friend macking after tonight." the boys nod their heads yes without protest. "as for the winner, you guys have to promise you won't get mad at me for who i decide. also, renjun and jaemin are not allowed to know out about this."

hyuck's eyebrow raises in immediate protest, "woah, but what if-"

"hyuck, i don't care." you say firmly, "they are to, under no circumstances, find out. the winner can brag to the other two losers in this room and that's it."

"but if I win-"

"hyuck," mark stresses, glancing at you, then back at the younger boy as if to hint that if he keeps pushing, you might change your mind about participating altogether, "shut up."

"fine," he sighs out.

you clear your throat before continuing. your eyes glance away as your voice grows quiet, "lastly," you mumble, "i don't want this to hurt our friendship, okay? and if it's going to or if things will be weird between us th-then... i don't want to do this at all,"

"hey, y/n," jeno grabs your hand reassuringly, "it won't change our friendship, we can all promise that, right?"

"of course,"

"right." they echo.

you nod once and swallow thickly, "well, erm, do you guys have questions?"

mark raises his hand like a school boy, "they're about the technicalities," he explains, chewing on his lip awkwardly at the sudden reality of the situation.

"okay," you whisper, anticipating his question.

"how long can we um, kiss you for?" he mumbles, suddenly growing shy.

"I think... 10 seconds is fair."

"woah, 10 seconds?!" mark's eyes grow wide.

instantly, hyuck laughs, elbowing mark to urge him to stay quiet, "i can do a lot in 10 seconds,"

jeno's head perks up as a thought comes into his head, "i have a question,"

"shoot,"

"is our score based on your personal taste or, is there a rubric? it needs to be fair, you know," he adds when hyuck gives him a glare.

"both," you decide after little thought, "part of my decision will be personal taste, and part of it will be the general stuff like," you brush your hair out of your face nervously, using your fingers to count out, "pace, skill, confidence,"

"where are we allowed to touch you?"

"hyuck," jeno rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up. he was about to smack the younger boy when mark held an arm out.

"actually," he stops him, "that's a fair question. i wanna know the answer,"

the three share a look, then turn to you expectantly.

"oh," you blink, "the PG rated areas,"

"yeah, but, where? I don't wanna overstep my boundaries," hyuck fails to hide his smirk and you sigh.

"you already are." you half joke, shaking your head, "anything from the shoulders up is okay. arms are okay, too, i don't know. if anything is too far i'll let you know then." you explain, "do you guys have any more questions?"

jeno looks at everyone, waiting, then speaks up to break the silence, "no one is allowed to ask questions after we start, that's unfair to whoever has already had their turn. so is everyone sure they have no more questions?"

"yes, nerd," hyuck smartly replies, leaning back on his hand. the other one comes up to his lips.

"okay," you breathe out shakily, "who's going first?"

"well, hyuck, since you talked a big game, why don't you kick us off?"

busy biting the skin around his nails, he gives jeno a disinterested look, "nah. everyone knows you leave the best for last,"

"i'm definitely not going first," mark declares, shaking his right hand no in front of him.

jeno sighs, looking at you with soft eyes, "okay. i guess i'm first?"

you nod slowly, scooting a little closer to where he sat.

jeno sits up straight, tucking his legs under his bum and kneeling. his hands reach for your forearms, but once he notices the moisture forming on his palms, he quickly retracts them, wiping them on the material of his black pants, "if you wanna change your mind, you still can,"

"relax, dude, you're more nervous than she is,"

"hyuck," mark gives the boy a smack on the arm, gesturing for jeno to continue.

"i'm okay," you assure the boy in front of you, and yourself, as you wait for him to make the first move. he's flushed, making a conscious effort to maintain eye contact so he doesn't appear as nervous as he really is.

"alright, here goes," a second or two pass. he loudly sighs and mumble, "i'm gonna do it now."

"jeno?"

"yeah?" he blinks.

"don't warn me," you giggle, "or count it off, or whatever. just do it,"

"right," he nods, letting out a little nervous laugh.

his hands come up to rest on the back of your arms, holding you steady. the gentle look in his eyes helps you relax, and you allow yourself to loosen up under his grip. jeno, on the other hand, leans in a little shakily, as if he's waiting for you to stop him any second.

mark and hyuck's curious eyes on the two of you don't seem to be helping his case either, especially when hyuck opens his big mouth again.

"bro, If you're gonna hold her like that, you might as well back out now-" his comment is cut short by jeno snapping his head over to him, sending the meanest of glares his way. He's seething, nostrils flaring.

"fine, sorry-" hyuck quickly apologizes, but none of you have the chance to reply because one of jeno's large hands has left your arm and is now resting on your jaw, right under your chin, holding it in his grip. he turns your face back to him. any hesitation he had moments ago is gone and his lips are on yours.

holy shit.

1 second...

if it wasn't for how hyper aware you were of just about everything right now, you might have missed the small gasp that left mark, or the sound of hyuck slapping his hand over his mouth.

2 seconds...

jeno's lips are moving rather quickly against yours, certainly projecting the frustration that lee hyuck awakens in him with his ruthless and deliberate provocations.

and while a little rushed, it's nonetheless, undoubtedly, an intoxicating kiss. he's modest about using tongue, only allowing it to brush against you, not any further. instead, his lips do all the work, tugging and pressing on yours at a speed that makes your heart beat faster.

despite the fact that there's a lot of motion going on between your lips, it's easy to follow, especially with jeno leading you. his other hand situates itself on your mid back, bringing your chest close, right against his.

5 seconds...

at first, jeno was holding his breath, but at the prospect of your breasts against his chest, he can't help the air that slips through his nostrils, tilting his head even more to the right so that he can easily capture more of you. your bottom lip sits between his, plump and red from the way he's sucking on it. his thumb rubs your jaw, soothingly, though by now, your nerves feel very far away.

8 seconds...

jeno leans into the kiss, as if trying to get as close to you as humanly possible, tilting you slightly back so that you have to grab his arms to keep steady. they're hard and warm under your fingers, and you instinctively squeeze them as jeno moves against you. your fingers trail up to his shoulders, nails slightly pressing in.

10 seconds.

mark clears his throat, but neither of you hear it.

hyuck claps his hands together once, finally breaking you apart as he shouts, "okay, okay! that's time! 10 seconds are up... geez," he breathes, looking between the two of you.

your hand flies to touch your lips, eyes opening wide. you try to keep your expression as stoic as possible, but it's hard to do so, especially when the boy in front of you just kissed the shit out of you.

jeno's shyness is long gone, and his eyes are now looking between your own, his usual half moons as large as saucers. he's a bit shocked at what just happened and just how good it felt.

hyuck pats mark on the back, "alright, bro, you're up."

"wait, what about," jeno clears his throat, voice a bit hoarse from what happened a moment ago, "what about my score?"

"she has nothing to compare it to yet. you have to wait till the end," mark insists, kneeling before you just as jeno had done.

jeno nods once, forgetting entirely about his previous commitment to receiving a fair score, mind blank and foggy after your kiss. truthfully, the fairest score would be given right after each kiss, but he can't seem to find the means to argue anymore.

instead, he shuffles away, getting up from your bed and turning in attempt to hide the redness spreading on his face. you watch him until mark let's out a little breath, drawing your focus back to him, narrow eyes looking at you through his brows.

his hands reach back to pull up his jeans that were beginning to slip down, then he settles, waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

he looks a little more confident than earlier, but being completely honest, you don't know if it's genuine or a mask he's put on in front of the other boys.

you've known mark the longest, and not once have you heard him talk about a girl he's liked, much less kissed.

you don't even know why he's doing this at all.

"mark,"

he scrunches his nose as if to ask 'what?'

"you don't- you know-" you sigh, unable to think of the right words, "you know you don't have to do this right? it's just a stupid bet and well, i know how you get about stuff like this. i don't want you to feel pressured or like you have to go along with it just because-"

he snickers and shakes his head at your rambling, leaning forward and using both of his hands to cup your face.

"y/n"

"yeah?" you whisper.

"shut up," he mumbles, and presses his lips against yours.

1 second...

his lips are soft and smooth, moving against yours painfully slow. so slow that it's almost torturous, teasing.

it's messy, the smacking sounds of your open-mouthed kisses ringing around the otherwise quiet room. his tongue swipes at your lips, warm and wet and taking its sweet time to taste you. it moves around, eager to swipe at your teeth and lap at your spit.

he savors you, kissing you as if there was no time limit, as if the other two guys were not watching, as if this wasn't just for a bet.

4 seconds...

your arms naturally wrap around mark's torso and he responds by leaning his hips forward until they're pressed up flush against yours.

you yelp into his mouth, surprised, and he quietly moans at the minimal friction against his groin, rolling his head around so that it's tilted toward the other way, allowing him to make out with you in an entirely new angle.

6 seconds...

one of his hands moves to swipe at your hair and brush it away from your face, and even though you're supposed to be judging the kiss, your mind can't stop spinning at the feeling of him pressing against you.

he's at least a little aroused... that or mark lee is secretly packing.

9 seconds...

you melt in his hands, letting him completely guide you and guide the kiss. he keeps his slow pace until the very end, when hyuck calls out,

"10 seconds."

obediently, mark pulls away once his time is called, but before releasing your face from his hold, he presses one last, quick kiss to your mouth. your cheeks and ears burn hot, and you're almost certain that they're bright red.

you didn't imagine that right? he moaned...

you can tell by the way his bottom lip is caught between his teeth that he's trying to hold back a grin, and just like jeno, mark gets up, leaving his spot open for hyuck, who is next in line.

as mark stands, you watch the way he slickly readjusts his pants, taking advantage while jeno is distracted: he's busy preparing the timer on his phone for hyuck's turn, while hyuck is sliding over and situating himself in front of you, eyebrows wiggling and smirk ever so present.

mark turns back around unnoticed, hands in his pocket as he watches. jeno shoots him a look, something almost like a glare. his jaw is locked in place, tight and unyielding. if you didn't know him any better, you might even say he's mad.

you clear your throat, hand pressed to your chest to try to soothe your palpitations.

"i have a question," hyuck starts, blinking at you.

"nope, no way," jeno points his finger at him, immediately shaking his head, "nuh-uh. you're not allowed to ask questions, that's not fair to me and mark,"

"oh, loosen up, jeno. it's not like you're gonna win, anyway,"

"hyuck, i swear to god-" he threatens, closing his fist.

"alright, alright. no questions, then." hyuck rolls his eyes and turns to you, giving you a small smile, "just tap me if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? i'll stop."

one of your eyebrows comes up in confusion, but hyuck is already staring at your lips and licking his own.

he leans in slowly, pausing for only a moment to meet your eyes, then letting your lips connect.

1 second...

ironically, his approach tells you that he's the shyest of the three. his lips are gentle, barely pushing against yours. and just when you think he's gonna deepen the kiss, he pulls away.

then, he does it again: kisses you, and pulls away.

2 seconds...

his lips are ghosting yours, hovering just a centimeter above, and just when you suspect he'll do it again, he takes you by surprise.

his lips mold into and work against yours, roughly, desperately, not pulling away this time or hesitating in the slightest. his pace is somewhere between jeno's fast one and mark's slow one; it was right in the middle. he's rough and messy and greedy, tasting your lips smugly, which he's secretly wanted to do for a while.

simultaneously, a set of cold fingers tickle your waist, brushing up under your shirt until it rides up, the material left to rest under your breasts. his hands slide along your skin until he's holding you in his arms, grabbing onto your waist and squeezing your skin in his hands.

alright, perhaps he's not the shyest.

4 seconds...

your arms cling to his neck and dive into the nape of his hair as his tongue slips into your mouth, progressively exploring more of you.

his breath is mixing with your own, small pants fanning your face, arms tightening around you when you start to mirror his desperation.

7 seconds...

you need to feel him closer, far too worked up after all the kissing and touching tonight. he seems to get the memo, because one of his hands moves up to hold your head, laying you back until your head hits the pillow.

hyuck props himself up above you, not letting his lips leave yours for longer than it takes to gasp for a short breath, even neglecting himself of air it meant soaking up every last second of you.

10 seconds...

he's too giddy, too excited, hands grabbing at the bare skin on your sides.

"time." jeno calls out.

hyuck drowns out jeno's voice with a muffled whine that he releases into your mouth, continuing to kiss you for as long as he can.

"dude, dude. time's up." mark urges, patting the bed beside you guys. even then, his efforts go unnoticed.

it isn't until jeno literally pulls hyuck off by his shoulder that you guys stop making out and you return to reality.

"that was like 12 seconds, hyuck." jeno grumbles, narrowing his eyes.

"oh, sucks to suck, jeno. you should've made your kiss more memorable if you were worried that-"

"I'll literally beat your ass-"

"stop bickering, both of you!" you groan, holding your hands out.

that seems to silence them rather quickly, all three boys looking at you with eyes full of anticipation.

you clear your throat, at last able to catch your breath, "okay, that was... interesting." you voice out, barely above a whisper. now that they’re all focusing on you, you’re slightly embarrassed to face them. you could feel your cheeks burning, mind bustling with thoughts as you recall each experience.

hyuck snorts, "yeah it was." but you ignore him, fanning your face with your hands to cool it down.

"i don't know where to start."

"well, you can walk us through your thoughts," mark nods patiently.

"yeah, okay. um... they were… they were all very different." you breathe, casting your glance down to the ground. their silence is your cue to continue, “they were all good, really good. and i hate that i’m admitting that, but it’s true.”

“right, but one of them had to be better right? like, according to the rubric?” jeno insists, perking his head up.

“honestly, i don’t know. I think you all got a perfect score as far as the general score goes… none of you were sloppy or bad or whatever. they were all good kisses.”

mark nods understandingly, “so, who would win according to your personal preference?”

you look between them all for a moment, “you guys won’t be mad?”

“no,” they all agree.

“regardless of what I say, you guys won’t be mad? at me or at each other?” you rephrase suspiciously, raising your eyebrow.

with a little more hesitance, they reply, “…no”

“alright,” you purse your lips, sensing your following words were probably the best way to go, “then i’ve decided. no one wins.”

hyuck chokes on air, “woah, woah-“

“wait, what?”

“that’s not fair-“ jeno argues.

you shrug your shoulders, “i liked them all. can’t pick, sorry.”

jeno shakes his head quickly, looking at the other two boys with annoyance, “there has to be one you liked even a little bit more,”

“nope,” you insist.

mark looks slightly disappointed, though he doesn’t seem to be as affected as jeno or hyuck, who both look distraught, like this is the worst news they’ve gotten all week.

hyuck holds a hand to his chest, “y/n, please, you have to pick. i know it’s me, just admit it-”

“you have to choose, i refuse to lose to this moron-“

sitting up straight, you cross your arms stubbornly, “fine, then i pick mark.”

“YES- wait what?!” hyuck snaps his head over to you, mouth agape.

mark looks up, eyes widening, “me?”

“for good sportsmanship.” you affirm, shooting him a small smile. jeno and hyuck erupt into complains and protests, eventually divulging into an argument with each other. fed up, jeno reaches over to smack hyuck over the head, and the two run outside, chasing and yelling after one another.

mark, who is left to look at you in shock, blinks twice in your direction, “so, was mine actually your favorite?”

“maybe, maybe not,” you smile slyly, “I was just tired of dealing with those two.” you point at the door.

mark laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair, “tell me about it.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

2K notes · View notes

niningtori · 8 months ago

Text

see me | chapter four: together (final)

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after another failed relationship, you're ready to accept your fate as hopeless. choi beomgyu has other plans, though. or, beomgyu s your best friend's little brother and he's tired of you treating him like a kid.

genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending, best friend's brother au

word count: 3.4k (whoa)

notes: hi friends! happy easter to all who celebrate!! sorry this took me a bit to get out. i just love this story and this beomgyu so much i didn't want to rush it. i hope you're all satisfied with how this ends. see end of work for more notes :)

you're so out of it jia can't fucking take it anymore.

"hello? come back to earth, please," she says, waving her hand in front of your face. "are you ever gonna tell me what the fuck happened with doyoon?"

it's been a few days since your return from the beach. suffice it to say, one painfully awkward drive was spent with you trying not to openly stare at beomgyu and him focusing intently on the scenery outside.

you're actually a little surprised by her question. you genuinely haven't thought about your conversation with doyoon since you had it — you've simply been too preoccupied by the revelation that beomgyu has feelings for you.

"nothing much, really. he apologized to me and asked to get a drink sometime."

"what the fuck?! what did you say?!"

"i said no," you reply simply. she's quiet for a moment before her face contorts into a deep frown.

"why do i get the feeling that that's not what's bothering you so much?"

"because it's not," you admit with a sigh.

"then what is it? you've been weird ever since we got back."

you're torn for a while. how do you explain to your best friend that her kid brother is in love with you? or says he is, at least.

"... it's about beomgyu. he—"

"oh, so he finally told you, huh?" she interrupts with a knowing look and you're absolutely flabbergasted.

"t-told me what?" you try feigning ignorance. maybe she's got it wrong?

"that he's been in love with you ever since he first saw you."

"how the fuck did you know that?!" you ask incredulously.

"you're my best friend and he's my brother. i know you two too well," she shrugs.

"so you knew this whole time and didn't tell me?"

"well, to be honest, it was painfully obvious, but i didn't wanna embarrass either of you and it's, frankly, none of my business."

"i... wasn't he just drunk? i don't believe it…” you trail off.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, he can't really mean it. he doesn't know what he wants. he's just a kid and—"

"i'm going to stop you right there," she says sternly. "you may be oblivious, but don't you dare dismiss his feelings to make yourself feel comfortable. his feelings are real and he doesn't deserve to have you completely disregard them just because you can't face them." you flinch at her harshness.

"b-but he's never even hinted at it!"

"never even hinted at it, my ass. that boy was all over you," she snorts. "did you really not notice anything this past week?" your eyebrows knit in confusion as you think back to all of the times the boy (man?) had interacted with you. suddenly, the unassuming touches and glances beomgyu shared with you hit you at a mile a minute. oh god, he was flirting? he was, wasn't he? and you just ruffled his hair and called him cute.

but you're not done denying, denying, denying.

"i just don't understand. how could he like me when he's always with somebody new?"

"has it ever occurred to you that that's because he wants you to see him as a man and not the child you're so convinced he is?" you fall silent at this. no, it has never occurred to you, but now that she's said it, the puzzle pieces are starting to fit together in the most gut wrenching way.

"so he's been fucking around for years because he wants to prove something to me?"

"more or less, yeah." your head is spinning at this. so his feelings are sincere?

"i... i don't know what to say."

"i figured you wouldn't," she hums.

"what do i do?" you ask with a newfound sense of panic. this is real. beomgyu actually love, loves you.

"well, what do you want to do? it all depends on how you feel about him."

"to be honest, i've never seen him as anything other than a brother," you sigh.

"and what about now?"

"i... i don't know. i'm just confused," you whine, digging your face into your hands and slightly tugging on your hair. when you think of the kiss you two shared, your heart skips a beat and butterflies arise in your stomach. well, that's new.

"honestly, i'll consider that progress. it's better than being brother-zoned."

"jia!" you exclaim exasperatedly. "you're not helping. the boy i've thought of as a literal brother is in love with me and i've unknowingly treated him like shit for years."

"yes, but i know and he knows that you didn’t mean it. look, even if you don't like him at all, don't you think he deserves a proper rejection at the very least?"

"you're right," you relent. "you’re always right.”

“well, i know,” she muses. “but before you decide anything, i want you to think about who’s been by your side all these years. when you didn’t have anyone else, who could you count on?”

“i —” you begin.

“don’t answer yet. just think about it.” and think about it, you do.

the more time you’re left to think about what happened with him, the more confused you feel. beomgyu isn’t a child anymore, that much is clear, but does that mean you can undo the near decade of thinking of him as one? he’s handsome, sure, and that kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet, but can you really see him as a partner? as a man?

you’re not really sure. plus, what would happen if it didn’t work out? the choi’s are like family to you. they’re more of a family than your actual family ever was or ever will be. is it really worth gambling such an important piece of your heart for something that could easily end in heartbreak? but then, it’s broken, either way. can you really face the choi family again when you know beomgyu is in love with you and has been for such a long time? no, you can’t. not in good conscience. you’ve, intentionally or not, ignored beomgyu’s feelings for years now and you can’t ask him to bottle them back up for your own comfort.

you decide it's best to just talk to him.

beomgyu doesn’t think that this is a good idea at all, actually. but his friends told him that rotting in his bed and crying like he has been for the past few days is even worse. when they put it like that, it didn't seem right to refuse their suggestion to have a double date with yeonjun. even still, he told them he wasn't ready to see someone new, but they said he was never seeing you in the first place. that sure shut him up. either way, it would be casual and yeonjun just needs a friend for his date's friend.

his "date" is nice enough, but she seems to have not gotten the memo that he's here as a wingman and not much else. she's trying to draw his attention by not-so-discreetly placing her hand on his thigh. gross. he genuinely thought about pretending to have a stomachache to cut the date short, but yeonjun had the bright idea of inviting the girls over after dinner. so now, as he sits on the couch of his and yeonjun’s shared apartment, he prays for god to intervene and end his suffering.

a knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts. please, god, let it be the maintenance man telling them they have to evacuate because of a gas leak. he almost jumps out of his seat to get to the door first, but yeonjun is closer and he says he’ll get it. fuck. before he can catch a glimpse of the mystery person at the door, his date speaks again.

“gyu?” the girl asks tentatively.

“mmm?” he says, turning back around to face her.

“do you like me?” she says while, once again, putting her hand on his thigh. alright. enough is enough. usually, he would tell her to beat it and leave it at that, but ever since you told him he doesn’t treat girls the nicest, he’s decided he’ll try to be better. he takes her hand from his lap into his and opts to just be truthful.

“to be honest, i —”

“beomie?”

oh, he’d recognize that voice anywhere, even in his sleep. his head whips around almost comically fast and he unintentionally yanks his hand from his date's as he stands straight up.

“w-what are you doing here?” he asks, incredibly flustered.

you should say something, but your eyes can’t help but linger where his hand was joined with the hand of the very lovely girl sitting beside him, even after he’s pulled away. oh my god. you’re interrupting, aren’t you? he’s moved on, but you’re standing there like an idiot. you need to say something.

“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to intrude,” you choke out. you don’t know why, but you feel like you’re about to cry. you feel so embarrassed. why did you even for a second think that this would play out any differently?

“everybody out,” beomgyu says firmly.

“what?” his date asks, genuinely in shock.

“i said, everybody else needs to get out of here. right now. besides you,” he says while gesturing to your pitiful frame.

“gyu, i live here,” yeonjun argues.

“out,” beomgyu repeats. yeonjun lifts his hands in surrender and leads the bewildered girls out of the apartment.

now it's just you and beomgyu.

after the door shuts, the silence is as unbearable as it is palpable. beomgyu is staring at you with the same intensity as he was the night he confessed to you. you feel so vulnerable — so seen — you honestly kind of wish you had just snuck out with everyone else.

“beomie, i’m so, so sorry. i didn’t mean to ruin your date. i can go, i just —”

“do you know what i've noticed about you?” he quietly interrupts. you’re so taken aback, you’re stunned into silence. he sighs before he continues. “the way you say things are okay when someone fucks you over. it’s okay to be mad at me, you know?”

“beomie, i’m not mad!” you insist. “you’re single, after all. i’m the one who —”

“i’m single, but i still told you i loved you a few days ago. why wouldn’t you be hurt?” once again, you’re left speechless at his maturity. when did he become more mature than you? or was he always this way, and you just never noticed?

“or is it that you just don’t care enough about me to be upset?” he's the one who looks small now and you worry you have the power to break him. he deserves an honest answer, so you think about how you felt when you saw his hand intertwined with that girl’s and your heart feels a nasty pang.

“i… i am upset,” you pause and process that ugly feeling. “really upset, actually. but not angry.”

“i’m sorry,” he says, not without conviction. “yeonjun needed a date for his date’s friend, and i planned on rejecting her, but i’m really sorry i hurt you.”

“... it’s alright,” you say carefully. “i understand. and i still think you don’t owe me anything, beomie.”

“but i want to owe you,” he says quietly.

“what do you mean?” you can’t help but ask.

“i want to owe you. i want to make it up to you, and i want you to make it up to me.” you think you understand what he means. he wants you to make it up to him for not seeing him as he truly is all these years, but you just can’t understand his thinking.

“why?” you ask softly.

“why would you ask when you already know why?” he answers quietly with a sad smile. because he loves you.

“but why? why do you like me? you could have anyone. i’m wishy washy, i’m insecure. i’m just a mess, beomie. and i don’t want you to waste your time with me.” you hate the way your voice shakes. you wish, for once in your life, that you could be brave enough to say what you need to say without hesitating. you feel as small as a child, and in front of beomgyu of all people. but the dynamic you’ve always thought you had is becoming more and more twisted as you realize you’ve been very, very wrong about him, and maybe about yourself, too. beomgyu is not some kid. his feelings are not so easily written off, and that becomes even clearer when he says his next words in a haste.

“don’t talk about yourself like that,” he says sharply, and his seriousness immediately derails your train of thought. “i’m not looking for anybody else. i… i don’t want anybody else. and i would never, ever feel like my time is wasted with you. every moment i spend with you is important to me.” you don’t mean for your eyes to get hot. truly, you don’t, but the boy’s words are so kind you’re unable to control yourself.

“you really love me?” you ask at the risk of seeming annoying. you just have to be sure.

“i do,” he says patiently. “i always have.” he isn’t sure what to make of you asking this. he has no hope now, but if it makes you feel better to hear him say he loves you a million times over, so be it. you’ve been hurt enough all your life, from your parents to your partners, if he’s able to comfort you even just a little bit, even if it’s never reciprocated, it’s enough for him. so he continues.

“i’m… i’ve always thought about how to say this, so i’m sorry if it’s just too much for you. if it is, then just stop me, okay?” you can’t help but nod. “i just have to say that, to me, you are the most beautiful person in the world. i’ve wanted to tell you that since i was 14. i know you’re sad and i know you’ve been hurt before, and i wish i could take it all away. i’ve always wished i could take it all away. i know you think you deserve everything that’s happened to you so far, but i want you to know that that's not true, and it kills me that you’ve ever felt that way. i love everything you say you hate about yourself, because you’re you. i know you want to change, and i want you to know that i see how hard you’re trying. those flaws that make you a mess, or however you put it, only make me love you more because i can see how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. and if you don’t love me, even if you never do, that’s… it's okay. i just want you to be happy. and if i can be selfish, i want to be the one who helps you get there.”

you don’t try to stifle your tears anymore. they are now flowing freely and your breath is heavy in your throat. he understands you. he sees you for everything that you are and were, and everything that you’re trying to be. has anyone ever made you feel this safe before? has anyone ever made you feel this loved and understood?

you think back to what jia asked. when you didn’t have anyone else, who could you count on? if you didn’t trust any man in the world, you could trust beomgyu. that’s just how it is. you realize, even from the first night you met him, you’ve always been relying on him, in a way. why else would you feel so comfortable telling him about your anxieties mere hours after you spoke to him for the first time?

things were one way then, but they could be different now. beomgyu loves you in a way that previously seemed inconceivable to you. what did you do to deserve this boy — this man? not a fucking thing, in your opinion, but now that you know how he really feels, is it possible to accept anything less than the love he is now presenting to you? maybe he’ll wake up one day and regret everything he’s said up until now, but you’re far too selfish to give up the heart he’s begging for you to take as your own.

you don’t know why, but you fling yourself into his arms, reminiscent of how you did all those years ago when he was just a teenage boy and you were just a heartbroken girl. he holds you like he did before, with an overwhelming sense of patience and security. he traces his hands lovingly up and down your back.

“okay. okay, i want to try. i can’t promise that i’ll be perfect, i can’t even promise to be good, but i’ll try, okay? you’re so, so good, beomie. and i'm sorry for not realizing it sooner.”

he pulls away from your embrace and your cheeks feel hot when you catch his heated gaze. he looks down at you and if his look wasn’t enough, his next words certainly are:

“can i kiss you?”

“yes, beomie,” you whisper.

"call me gyu," he says hoarsely. you gulp and pray he doesn't hear it.

he softly, reverently, pushes your stray hairs behind your ears and you realize he’s done so many times before. mainly when you were sad, but this time is… different. when his lips lock with yours, you're stunned into oblivion. there's so much fire behind it, but still, there’s a gentleness you’ve never known. as if he’s afraid of breaking you, he holds you like you’re a precious gem. usually, kisses are take take take from you, but he gives you so much love and care you feel like you’re floating. is this what love is supposed to feel like? so safe and so, so warm?

he parts from you far too soon for your liking. his breath is labored and his cheeks are flushed. you look at him in confusion.

“i-i’m sorry, i just can't. if we keep going, i won't be able to control myself. i'm gonna —”

“it's okay, gyu,” you whisper. “we can keep going.” he understands what you mean without you having to say anything more.

“are you sure?” he asks, just to be safe.

“i'm sure,” you answer without missing a beat. his lips curl up and he leads you to his bedroom, hand holding yours so tightly, it’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you.

the night is spent with beomgyu praising you like he’s never seen anything quite like you before. you feel his devotion with every passing moment and you can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing all these years. you’ve never felt so good, so cared for, in all your life. when you’re finished, and he’s cradling you in his arms, you’re both struggling to catch your breath. he looks at you like you hung the moon, but what you don’t know is that you’re starting look at him like that, too.

you’re so anxious. as you pull up to the choi’s family home in the passenger’s seat of beomgyu’s car, you can’t help but wring your hands together. this could be very good, or very, very bad. you can’t help but feel like you’re… betraying? the choi family by dating beomgyu. they’ve taken you in as family, but you’ve taken beomgyu as your own. do you regret that decision? well, you can’t say you do when beomgyu grabs your restless hands and comfortingly squeezes them before telling you “hey, it’s alright. don’t be nervous. i love you. they love you. everyone here loves you. just be yourself and i’ll take care of the rest, okay?”

“okay,” you say shyly. you and beomgyu have been working on your self esteem. it was pretty slow going at first, but you’ve been pushing through. now, after three months, you’re a lot better, but there’s still room for improvement. beomgyu is nothing if not patient, though. after all, he’s been waiting for 8 years. how could he not be? and so he patiently coaxes you out of the car and into the house.

you two find your way inside and are greeted by his parents, jia, and yijun. nobody bats an eye at you two walking in together — they just greet and hug you as per usual, but their smiles drop and their faces turn serious when beomgyu announces he has something to tell everyone.

“guys, uh, we have something to tell you all,” he says, lacing his fingers with yours, “we’re together now.” you could hear a pin drop with how quiet the room is. mrs. choi is the first to break the silence.

“h-how long? how long has this been going on?”

“three months,” he says cautiously. again, the room is silent.

“... only three? damn it!” mr. choi exclaims.

“i told you guys it hasn’t been very long,” jia sneers. “now pay up.” beomgyu’s parents grimace while pulling out their wallets and stuffing cash in jia’s hands.

“pleasure doing business with you,” she teases with a shit-eating grin.

“um, guys? what’s going on? i’m kind of pouring my heart out over here,” beomgyu says irritatedly.

“oh, honey. we know. we’ve known you liked her since she first stepped foot into our home. she was the only one who didn’t,” mrs. choi replies with a wave of her hand and your cheeks can’t help but heat up to an impossible degree. beomgyu finally pieces everything together while you’re still scrambling to understand what’s going on.

“oh my god, did you all make a bet to see how long it’d take for us to get together?!” beomgyu exclaims.

“more or less,” mr. choi says nonchalantly. realistically speaking, you and beomgyu should be angry, but all you two can do when you lock eyes with each other is laugh.

“so you’re okay with it?” you ask meekly.

“of course we are!” mrs. choi says. “we couldn’t ask for a better match for our boy. we were just waiting for you to see that, too.” you can’t help but feel your eyes go sour. you hug his parents and they rub your hair. why would you think they’d do anything other than accept you? they always have.

that night, after all the board games and movies and laughter, you go out for some fresh air. you aren’t surprised in the slightest to see beomgyu sitting on the back porch steps, almost as if he’s been waiting for you.

“there you are,” beomgyu says with a grin blooming on his face. you sit next to him, so close your thighs are touching. you lean your head against his shoulder and you sigh in contentment.

“that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks.

“not at all,” you smile, “but did everyone in the world know about us besides me?”

“pretty much, yeah,” he giggles and you playfully smack his chest. after your laughter dies down, beomgyu senses some hesitation from you. it feels like you want to say something to him.

“what is it?” he asks. you pull away from him and stare into his eyes. they look especially starry tonight.

“i have to tell you something,” you say, voice trembling slightly.

“mhm?” he nods.

“i think… actually, i know i love you, gyu. and i’m sorry it took me so long to get here, but i really do.” your eyes water when you see beomgyu’s doing the same. he looks so relieved, as if your words in particular are the ones he’s been waiting for all his life. and they are.

“i love you, too, if you haven’t guessed that already,” he says softly. “and i’d do everything all over again if it meant i’d get to be with you like this.” his eyes close and he leans in. you meet him halfway and press your lips together in a chaste kiss.

notes pt. 2: and that's it for them! i actually wrote a bit of smut for this, but i don't think it'll ever see the light of day i fear. as always, feedback is appreciated! i'd love to know what you all think :)

masterlist

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tarjapearce · 1 year ago

Note

I miss the soccer family, but I wanna have a fix about what happens during the birth of Rosie? :') I THINK THAT WOULD BE SO CUTE

Baby Rosie can't wait to meet her parents. Literally ~

As Rosie's pregnancy advanced, so did Miguel's eagerness when you reached the final stage of it. A couple of scares had him carrying you like a bride to the car and driving to the nearest hospital.

"She's such a troll already" you grumbled upon returning, tired, sore and so so sleepy.

"Maybe she's afraid the doctor will spank her too hard?" You giggled at his words.

His goofy attempts of lightening the mood always worked. He was a goof underneath an intimidating exterior. Your goof.

"At least we know she's excited to hear you" One of your hands took Miguel's to place it on your belly. His eyes twinkled upon seeing the fussing inside.

"She'll be a troublemaker." With a kiss on your cheek and a little belly rub, he resumed his task of getting home. Thankful that the lights were red to have that little moment with you.

Gabi was surprised to see you back, still pregnant.

"What happened, Mama?" she quickly fetched your slippers and helped you change shoes.

"Ay mi amor, your sister doesn't wanna come out yet."

"Pinche Rosie..."

Gabriella mumbled in a hushed tone, her potty mouth, thanks to Miguel, had been more prominent ever since she hit the thirteens.

"Where is the baby?" Asked the actual baby, Benjamin, while looking at you with his beautiful rusty brown and curious eyes.

"In the oven still, cariño"

"I thought it was on your belly?"

Miguel chuckled and helped to remove your coat.

"Alright, let Mama rest. Rosita will arrive when she feels like it. Are you hungry, mi vida?"

"Not really, but a hot cocoa would be great. God my back is killing me."

You whimpered as Miguel helped you to the couch, too exhausted to waddle over the bed, rubbing circles on your back.

----

That night had been hard, despite the doctors saying Rosie was fine, he couldn't help but think about you and your struggles on carrying his third child. Gabi had proven to be difficult enough, Benji had made an emotional mess out of you, but Rosie was definitely a challenge.

Big round belly nested between your thighs, your hands rubbed tiredly at the discomfort, trying to subdue it. An apologetic smile came to his lips as he kissed your temple. Conveying a fraction of his gratefulness towards you.

Little did you know that he was always marveling at your body and how this adapted so easy to pregnancy. The scientist in him was always observing and making mental notes on your cues to know when you were in pain and absolute discomfort. Right now, all he could do was to lay behind you and bask you in his body heat with a gentle hug.

He knew his temperature made wonders on your aching muscles, your lower back specially. Where the pressure accumulated. He also knew his children would be big, he was a big man after all, and having you go through such changes and pains just to carry his children, had turned in no other but the ultimate love proof from you.

You loved him. Not that you didn't show him, quite the opposite really. Sometimes his brain was too enraptured in seeing his children grow right before his eyes, that whenever you showered him in love it felt like experiencing it for the first time, despite thirteen years preceding you both.

You didn't know what had come over him that hugged you so gently, like holding the most beautiful thing a man could hold, and rubbed your belly softly. Admiring his part of the teamwork.

"Thank you." It came a soft whisper from his lips, "For going through this for us."

A lazy and sleepy smile stretched on your lips.

"You're so sappy I love it." You took his hands and kissed them, "You're the only man I'm willing to have children with. And the only man I'd ever got a baby fever with if I'm honest."

He chuckled in your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. And look at us now. Expecting our third."

His hands massaged your shoulders gently, easing a bit of the building up tension. Then they moved to your breast. It wasn't erotic, but soothing. Intimate even. Your hands drooped as he moved them towards your belly, rubbing from the lowest to the tip, feeling the occasional kicks and movements his daughter replied with at his ministrations.

"You gotta come out, Rosita." He mumbled while his hands kept busy. You had been slowly drifting off to sleep.

---

Contractions appeared every seven minutes, seven minutes you used to breath and whimper. Miguel never left your side, not that you let him anyways, your hand clenched with a vice like grip he whimpered subtly in pain.

"I'm sorry mi amor" You spoke in between breathless sobs. Raging hormones and the nerves always took over you, bus his encouraging words always ground you.

"Mi niña, mírame." He hushed as your temple and cheeks were doused with his kisses and affection.

"I love you. You'll do great ok? I'm here." Clammy hands looked to embrace him, "I've got you, mi reina."

The lump in his throat turned bigger as the doctor approached, ready to get Rosie out. It was time to push. A flurry of things came to his mind, what if the baby was too big?, What if something happened to you last minute? What if-

No. None of that was happening. You were fine, and the pushing was going as great and painful as it should be.

"Just a few more pushes, Mrs. O'Hara. The head is nearly out"

"I so wanna punch you right now" He chuckled and held your hand tightly as you breathed and prepared to push again.

"Eres un cabrón..." (You fucker) you half sobbed half chuckled before pushing.

"Así me amas, chula." (You love me anyways)

The last word came out as a choked whimper as you held to him a bit too strong. Pregnant women's strength always amazed him.

"Una más, corazón, ya casi sale" (One more, sweetheart. She's almost out.)

You took a small break, panting and gasping for air. Sweat etched to your skin, like some strands of hair on your forehead.

The loud and healthy wail of your baby echoed through the room. Rosie had arrived.

Nurses quickly cleaned her and cut the umbilical cord, weighed her down and gave her to you.

"Look at her, Miguel" tears were unavoidably shed. Seeing your baby, your little Rosie finally in your arms, instantly snuggling in your chest, as if seeking refuge from the outside.

"Mama's here, mi amor." You cooed as you rocked her. Miguel's heart gave an enthusiastic shimmy upon seeing his daughter, one of the many pieces of him, latching on your breast.

Silky, soft and dark curls perched ontop of her tiny head. Her skin was a lighter shade of his, cheeks however made honor to her name. Flushed, rosy and oh so ready to be squished and kissed.

He kissed the top of her head and then yours. Whispering sweet swords of gratefulness and a lot of thank yous

His family was finally complete.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #benjamin o'hara #rosie o'hara #wife reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv fluff

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somethingstrangeishere · 5 months ago

Text

TW: leprosy

Baldwin IV with his mommy 🥺

She tries to cheer up her precious boy by doing something sweet for him.

"No, my dear, those bandages don't make you any worse! Please stop putting yourself down for how you look...Look, I made a bow for you! You're cute. I love you, Baldwin."

***

I don't know if you've ever had similar thoughts...I just felt like speaking up. Honestly, it's very hard to put my thoughts and convey what I'm feeling (I'm not a writer and also not a native English speaker), and to be completely honest, as I think about it, my heart hurts and my eyes water. So if you read this - thank you, and sorry for taking up your time. If not - well, I've eased my soul one way or another by speaking out.

***

My heart melts at the thought of a warm, understanding and trusting relationship between parents and children, and I also love the dynamics of family relationships. In this context, mother/son. I don't know, and no one knows anymore, about the relationship Baldwin had with his mother, whether they were close, but I'm not relying on historical reference, but on my interpretation and feelings.

For a good loving mother, her child is the best, the most precious, the most loved and desired. But life does not always turn to you and your child in a good way. Some people are unlucky - whether you are a king or a peasant, a sinner or a saint - fate does not care.

How does a mother feel when her son is mortally ill? Put yourself in her shoes. Just try it.

***

You hold your newborn baby in your arms. Here it is, your little bundle of joy, so tiny, so adorable... You want to give him all the best, now your whole world is him, your little angel!

Your son is growing up, taking his first steps, saying his first words. You dream about his future, you love him so much...

Time passes, you live in love and care for him. And you hope that it will always be like this - or as long as possible...

...Now forget about it.

Suddenly you are hit with devastating news - your son has leprosy. It knocks you off your feet, it chokes you, it tramples you into the ground, tears your heart to pieces. At that moment, as soon as you find out, you see nothing in front of you and hear nothing. Your mind is empty, and there is only one thought of your son, your treasure. Doomed, cursed. If there really is a God, why did he let this happen? Why your child? They say leprosy is a curse from God. Why curse an innocent child?!

Pain, despair, anguish. You want to weep, You want to grab your son, hold him close and never let go. You realise he's doomed. But he doesn't realise it yet.

As time goes on, his health gets worse. Your baby does not understand what is happening to him - he is scared, he is confused, he is waiting for your support and comfort. You smile at him, you give him everything you can - but inside your heart is pounding and tearing as if it were breaking your ribs. Every night you're choked with tears. Your son is your flesh and blood, you gave him life, you brought him into this world, you condemned him to this existence...

Time passes, you do your best, but it seems as if God himself has turned away from you. You pray to all the saints, you beg the Virgin Mary - she is a mother too, she must hear, she cannot fail to understand! But nothing changes.

Your son is growing up, and every year his condition gets worse. His skin is covered with leprosy spots. His eyesight is getting worse. He's always tired, he can't live without the help of doctors and medicines. He's rotting alive. People look askance. People judge. People see a monster. All you see is your angel. Every day you swear to love and care for him, swear you won't leave him...

***

A young 16 years old boy wins a battle. How proud you are of him! How weak his body is, but how strong his spirit. But he too has his moments of vulnerability...

...Especially when he fully realises he doesn't have long to live. He seems to accept it - or pretend to accept it...

How do you feel?

How a mother might feel when she realises that she may see her son die? Bury the one she brought into this world. To live to see that moment is something she doesn't want to do.

Thank you if you read to the end! I'm crying right now😭

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silverskye13 · 2 months ago

Text

Angst prompt submitted by @theunderscorwolph

[Part 2 of 2]

[Part 1 Found Here]

[Trigger Warnings for this part: Swearing, blood and gore, religious self-harm, general angst, threats of dismemberment, torture. Read with caution, it gets dark.]

"He's been taken by the Thieves' Guild, for infringing on our turf," the thug had said. "He always hit the main square -- prime real estate -- and we thought we'd scared him off. But then he popped up last week spouting shit about a Gargoyle, and threw a bunch of our guild members off a roof. He needed to be taught a lesson. Figured we would pick up a friend of his for insurance, something to make the threat stick. Nothing personal against you -- honest! He's at the Guild Hall, just past the Watcher's Den."

Helsknight and Tango jogged down the hels streets, silent as grim death. Helsknight, for his part, was trying to keep his thoughts as still as possible. If he could just manage to keep from thinking about the events that had already passed today, maybe he could stop feeling so gods-awful about them. Control of that sort kept slipping through his fingers though, his thoughts like writhing, circling eels that kept breaking free to coil around the feeling of his sword, and the begging voice, and the wrist that looked for all the world far too breakable. Helsknight felt both exhausted and innervated, like at any moment, he might shudder apart. He also, predictably, really, really wanted to punch something. Flight had never really been an option for him. When he was scared, or stressed, or really just mildly out of his comfort zone, his one and only instinct was to fight.

[Good then, that where he was going, a fight was surely about to happen.]

Tango kept pace with him surprisingly well. Helsknight was starting to learn the Hermit was a bit more resourceful than he'd given him credit for. Pragmatic. He didn't know where he was going, but every few streets he would ask straightforward questions about what direction, and what they were looking for, and he noticed on his own that he could see Evil X’s tower from anywhere in the city.

“Landmark build,” he’d called it, when they rounded into the Watcher’s Den, and it still loomed like a shadowy colossus in the distant haze. He paused long enough to shade his eyes and let out an impressed whistle. “BDubs would build something like that.” Then, when he realized Helsknight was waiting for him to follow. “So you and Evil X aren't on speaking terms, huh?”

“He's evil,” Helsknight said by way of explanation. “I'm not.”

“Yeah… right.” Tango looked him up and down, and Helsknight found himself stifling the urge to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “You're really not evil, huh?”

Helsknight felt a hot flicker of tired indignation. Tango sounded so… surprised. Like he was realizing something for the first time. Helsknight thought for a moment about defending himself. Of course I'm not. But he was very aware all Tango knew of him was what Wels had probably told him, and he was very aware the things he and Wels did to each other when they crossed swords were unkind, and sometimes cruel, and not the sorts of things good people did.

“A matter of perspective,” Helsknight growled, and turned to continue through Watcher’s Den.

“I don’t think it’s just perspective,” Tango said reasonably, walking briskly to keep up with his long strides. “I mean! Most evil dudes don't have fits about torture, for one thing. Like, I know everyone draws lines somewhere, but that doesn’t feel like it’s just a noble choice, you know?”

Helsknight sighed and rolled his eyes up towards the sky, beseeching patience from whatever god or saint would deign to listen.

“And also, you gave me your cloak thing.” Tango continued, flourishing the fabric demonstratively.

“Don’t get attached,” Helsknight snorted. “I want that back.”

“Right right, whatever.” Tango waved a hand dismissively. “But you gave it to me because it would keep me safe. That’s also, objectively, not very evil.”

“How uncharacteristic of me.”

“And you clearly care about Tanguish,” Tango continued, ignoring Helsknight’s sarcasm. Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out where all of this was going. “I mean, the minute I said he was gone, you wanted to look for him. And yeah, you were kinda mean about it, but you let me come along. And when those thugs attacked you, you didn’t yell at me to come help you -- which, I mean, obviously I was going to. But you didn’t expect me to put myself in danger. You went into that fight thinking you were going to be protecting me from something.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“I think it didn’t occur to you to make me take some of the heat.”

“A tactical error.”

“What changed?”

Helsknight sighed again.

“I mean, everyone’s heard you and Wels’s rap battle thing.” Tango said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It was a little dorky -- but that’s Hermitcraft. We don’t do real serious wars or anything. But. The threats sounded. Genuine? Destroying everything someone loves. Being someone’s inner darkness. That’s evil.” Tango looked up at him. “Right?”

“Tangotek.”

“Knight of the Hels variety.”

“Don’t ask questions that have messy answers.” Helsknight rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I’m a redstoner.” Tango’s eyes rested briefly on his sword, before he seemed to decide Helsknight wasn’t threatening him with it, and he met Helsknight’s gaze instead. “Every question I ask has a messy answer.”

Helsknight almost ended the conversation there. He wanted to. He could not rightly describe why, but he didn't like that a Hermit might consider him a good person. It made him squeamish to be looked at and judged on the truths of himself, rather than the biases and fabrications of his other half. At least then, if he were found wanting, or lacking, or cruel, it was because of Wels.

“Has it occurred to you yet,” Helsknight said, “that I can be every bit the villain Wels says I am, and still manage to care deeply for someone?”

“Well yeah, obviously.” Tango answered simply. His voice was so light and conversational, it was hard to tell he was being earnest. But he was. He looked Helsknight in the eye, and didn't flinch. “I just also think there's more to it than that.”

Helsknight sighed. He decided to cut off… whatever this bungled heart-to-heart was, now, before it could escalate into territory where Helsknight felt too raw and vulnerable. He told himself it was knightly: it did not do to arm your enemies against yourself.

“What you think doesn't matter to me,” Helsknight said decisively, glowering down at Tango. “What Wels thinks, or any of you Hermits think, doesn't matter to me. What matters to me is what I think about myself.” Helsknight sighed, and allowed himself a little more straight honesty. “And I care what Tanguish thinks of me as well.”

Tango took all this in, turning it over with ponderous weight, like he were considering a tricky line of redstone coding.

“And what do you think about everything you've done today to rescue Tanguish?”

“I think if I manage to rescue him, and he's in one piece, and I haven't come too late, then I will still be able to sleep tonight.” Helsknight grimaced. “Though I may go to confession when he's not looking.”

“You go to confession?”

“Knights and religion,” Helsknight shrugged.

Tango nodded, snapped his fingers like he'd come to a conclusion, and said smugly, “Antihero.”

“Pardon?”

“You should read comics, Killer,” Tango smiled. “They're up your alley. Might even give you some inspiration for your outfit.”

Helsknight glanced down at his armor, and when he realized Tango kept walking without him, felt foolish as he lengthened his stride to catch up.

-------- -

The Thief Guild was a small basalt compound on the outskirts of Watcher’s Den, one reclaimed set of structures probably stolen from the Watcher itself -- fitting for a pack of thieves. It seemed less like a proper building, and more like a honeycomb burrow someone dug into a naturally formed basalt cathedral. Only the fact that it was surrounded by other dilapidated buildings gave any indication it wasn't a stolen part of the landscape.

They didn't approach by the main road, opting instead to spider through the alleys surrounding the compound. Helsknight kept an eye on their surroundings, making sure they weren't spotted or followed, while Tango navigated them closer to their quarry. Once he knew where they were going, he had a pretty good head for directions -- Helsknight chalked it up to all the times the Hermit had explored new generation, or gotten lost in his own strip mines. Pathfinding was a skill honed just like any other.

At last their alley intersected with the entrance to the compound. Peeking around the corner, they got a glimpse of locked gates and a barren stone courtyard, leading to purple-grey stairs. There was a landing, flanked by a pair of guards, and a closed door. From this distance, Helsknight only knew they had bows because he caught the flicker of light off the tip of a flint arrowhead.

“So, what's the plan?” Tango whispered, eyeing Helsknight as he drew his sword. “And if your answer is ‘storm the castle like an idiot', guess again.”

“I would have stopped at ‘storm the castle’.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm a knight.” Helsknight hissed, scowling. “I don't do sneak-thieving. Even if I wanted to try stealth, I think the clattering armor will give it away.”

“So you've decided your only other option is running death-or-glory for the front gate?” Tango asked, his voice threatening to tilt out of its already over-loud whisper. “They'll turn you into a pin cushion before you run five steps!”

“I have netherite gear,” Helsknight muttered testily.

“On your arms and legs, congratulations! I'm sure that's what they'll be aiming for, and not your big head.”

“You have any better ideas?!”

Tango opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He tapped a finger to his lips like he was shushing himself, maybe forcing himself to think before he spoke again. “Let me see what I've got.”

Tango rifled through his pockets, found what looked to be a small black die, and tossed it to the ground. The moment it landed, it hissed into the shape of an ender chest, and with a kick from his boot, it flipped open. Tango stood quietly like that for a few minutes, hands on his sides, muttering under his breath as he parsed through the indecipherable contents. Eventually he kicked it closed.

“I've got an idea,” Tango whispered. “I'm going to make a distraction.”

Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him. “How mysterious.”

“You'll know it when you see it,” Tango chuckled. “Cover your ears.”

He started off down the alley. Helsknight called after him in a loud whisper.

“Don't kill anyone.”

Tango stopped and cast a skeptical look back at him. “Why not?”

“We don't know where their spawns are set,” Helsknight said, squashing down a feeling like guilt that was clambering to life in his stomach. “If I have to fight through an army today, I'd rather only do it once.”

Tango swallowed uncomfortably. His bow was still slung over his shoulder, and he reached up to it now, fingers plucking at the string. “Any uh… any tips?”

Helsknight searched through bitter memories of Colosseum fights for the things he knew he couldn't fight through. Those times when he, and the people he fought against, stopped seeing each other as people and instead as problems in need of solving.

“All the limbs and joints.” Helsknight gestured to his elbows and knees. “Stay away from the thighs, the neck, the body.” He hesitated, then grimaced, the ghost of a memory tangling in his guts. “If you're desperate, and someone won't stop coming at you, you can hit them here, but save that as a last resort.” Helsknight drew a circle low on his abdomen, where organs got twisted and complicated. “It hurts like all hels, and kills slowly.”

Tango grimaced and went a little pale, the flames in his hair and tail taking on a greenish cast. It seemed to be sinking in, belatedly, just how gruesome this whole business might end up being.

“You don't have to go in with me,” Helsknight offered, forcing some steel into his voice, self-assuredness he didn't really feel. “Make your distraction, come back here, and wait for me and Tanguish to come out again.”

Tango teetered on the edge of agreeing to that. Helsknight could see it in the way his body leaned, someone who wanted to run away, to make something not his problem. Helsknight couldn't blame him for that. He didn't want it to be his problem either. There was a world of difference between fighting in an arena, and making war on someone, no matter how justified that war was. But Tango, as Helsknight was repeatedly being reminded, had resolve that was hard as obsidian, and cut like diamond. The Hermit swallowed, took a bracing breath, and shook his head.

“I've come this far, right Killer?” He said, and darted away down the alley.

Helsknight waited. He wondered, briefly, if it had been wise to let Tango go off on his own. He waited longer. He rubbed the side of his face tiredly, trying to stave off the fatigue that came from boredom and a trying day, and, when his mind threatened to wander, he found himself itching the cut on his wrist. It was hard to scratch with his gauntlets blunting his nails, which was probably for the best.

Helsknight's gauntlets were made in pieces. It made them easier to clean, which, after many months of fighting in the Colosseum, was something he'd come to appreciate. The main part of it was a thick leather glove, with netherite plate buckled and riveted over top. There were versions of the gauntlets where the metal plates used fully encircled the wrist, and extended down each individual finger for maximum protection, but he found these also hindered his range of movement somewhat, and given how often he wore armor out and about in hels, his were a bit simpler. The metal plating stopped at his knuckles, and only covered the top of his hands and forearm, cinching underneath with tight buckles that he kept adjusting. It was easier to take on and off, easier to pull apart to clean -- and it meant his dagger had only had to shear through leather before finding the skin beneath.

Helsknight wondered idly as he slipped a finger beneath the cut leather, if he had armored himself better, if he would have been able to hurt himself in his panic. Would he, upon glancing his dagger off the hardened plate, simply dropped the knife and prayed? Or, he wondered with macabre humor, would he have found somewhere more inconvenient to stab? He wore a chain shirt, but it was a simple thing to lift that away and access his thighs, where large veins could bleed someone dry in the seconds it took for pain to travel. He didn't think he had it in himself to kill himself over guilt. He feared dying too much. The deep unknown of whether the universe would devour him in the moments before respawn was a lurking terror that still strangled him on dark nights, and during particularly bloody fights.

[Then again, Helsknight thought grimly, he hadn't thought he was capable of torture, and yet, desperation had driven his hand to that particular blade with startling speed, even if circumstance had spared him the swing.]

Tango’s ‘distraction’ sent him hurdling out of his poisonous thoughts like a man thrown from a second story window. There was a loud explosion, something near-deafening, that shook the air and the ground, and sent sheets of dust cascading around Helsknight. The ground beneath his feet cracked ominously, and the wall at his back groaned and resettled itself, bowing slightly in the middle as something integral in the ground destabilized. Two smaller explosions kicked the air overhead, billowing smoke and the high, tinny whine of spent fireworks. Helsknight's world narrowed to haze, and the pervasive smell of gunpowder.

Tango, a flickering spark that seemed to leap at him from the gloom, materialized at his side. His hands were soot-stained, his grin wide and manic. He reeked of sulfer and salt peter, and the chemical high of ignition.

“Consider them suitably distracted!” Tango keened, his words mangled by giggles. “Time to kick some butts!”

“Was that TNT?!” Helsknight coughed, trying to pull the collar of his tunic over his mouth and nose. The smoke stung his eyes and put a bitter taste in his mouth, and he kept blinking to clear away tears.

“No good redstoner ever leaves home without it!” Tango laughed, shrugging his bow off his shoulders. “After you Killer, before the smoke blows away.”

Helsknight nodded, gathering up his determination. He drew his sword and charged for the gate. The explosion had knocked askew one of the support pillars holding it up, and Helsknight found it relatively easy to kick it open. The lock held, but the cracked stone gave up the hinges on one side, and Helsknight vaulted over the twisting metal as it fell. Behind him, Tango cackled, impressed. The smoke billowing through the courtyard sheltered them, so that the remaining guard by the door only knew Helsknight was there when the knight was slamming the flat of his blade against the side of his head. He crumpled to the ground, and Helsknight shouldered his way through the front door which was, thankfully, unlocked.

Inside the compound, the corridors were dark and close, lit intermittently by shroomlights in the ceiling, casting everything in a dim orange glow. Helsknight paused, tilting his head to listen. Ahead of him, the building split into three hallways, one continuing into some kind of foyer, while the other two branched into long tunnels. There were shouts down one hall, mostly names and demands about what had happened and who was hurt. The other was relatively quiet, emptied perhaps, after the ruckus. The foyer started empty, but as Helsknight watched, a pair of thieves passed into it, looking shaken.

“Get the one on the left,” Helsknight told Tango, and charged in while the Hermit sputtered, and drew an arrow to his bow. Helsknight was on the pair of thieves in a handful of long strides, his gauntleted fist connecting with one’s sternum with the full force of his run behind it. He felt the satisfying huff of air bucking out of their lungs as he winded them, and as they crumpled to floor wheezing, he turned to the second. He caught their drawn dagger on his gauntlet, but before he could raise his sword to them, Tango’s arrow took them in the leg, and they fell.

Helsknight, running on adrenaline and the need for swift action, turned to slam his boot down on the arm of the one he'd winded. He wrinkled his nose at the sound and feel of bone breaking. He took a second to gulp down his revulsion, and then demanded, “Tanguish, the Gargoyle thief. Where is he?”

They pointed him towards a nearby open door. Helsknight narrowed his eyes towards the corridor, not entirely sure if he should trust the direction given. He swallowed, and once again dredged up his dread persona from the Colosseum, the remorseless villain that didn't trust, and didn't relent. He ground the heel of his boot down, eliciting a long shriek of pain.

“Perhaps I should drag you with me,” Helsknight said in the cool, quiet voice he used for villain speeches and threatening monologues, “so, if I find out you've lied, I can break your other arm as well?”

“N-n-n-not lying!” They gasped, eyes wide and terrified. “That hall. Down the stairs. Past the big doors. Guild boss is down there with him.”

Their friend, who was now staring down the point of Tango’s next arrow, nodded fast agreement. “You can't miss it!”

Helsknight nodded. He was about to move, when a clattering sounded from the entrance to the foyer. He turned to watch three more thieves come into the room from where he and Tango had entered. One of them he recognized as a street thug who had ambushed him. That one took a frightened step back, while the other two drew swords and knives.

[Not good odds.]

Helsknight opened his mouth and said something. He wasn't really paying attention to words, only pulled a suitably terrifying line at random from a list of memorized Colosseum threats, and focused on the tone of his voice and the lines of his body. The thug he'd met before turned abruptly and ran. The other two took hesitant steps backwards, and lowered weapons. Beneath him, the thief with the broken arm whined. Tango gulped audibly, and cast him a wary glance. Reassured he wouldn't be followed, Helsknight turned and made for the hallway he'd been pointed down. Tango backed after him, keeping his bow trained on the thieves for a few seconds longer before coming to his side.

“Maybe… I take it back,” Tango laughed nervously. “There might be a little evil in there.”

Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him. “That bad?”

“I mean yeah that was kinda threatening!”

“Wasn't paying attention,” Helsknight grunted. “Glad it worked.”

Tango blinked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean you weren't paying attention?!”

“I kind of just… say things sometimes.” Helsknight admitted, shrugging. “Something that came from my relationship with Wels, I think. Sometimes I focus on what I want, and don't pay attention to the words really, and it'll stick. Comes in handy when I'm improvising villain lines in the Colosseum, though I've had some people ask me not to do it, since it gets a little personal. Red especially hates it.”

Tango opened and closed his mouth a few times in a good impersonation of a startled fish.

“What'd I say?”

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Tango gave a bark of baffled laughter. “Just, you know, something about taking the marrow from their bones before the mercy of respawn. Reasonable threat.”

“Oh. Gross.” Helsknight snorted and rolled his eyes, “Sounds too dramatic to work.”

“It helps that you're like, twice everyone’s size and obviously know your way around a sword.”

“That helps,” Helsknight grunted, refocusing on the hallway ahead as doors began opening up along its sides.

Startled people, thugs and thieves and whoever else happened to have business in the Guild, were peering out to gauge the commotion. Some of them took one look at an armed and armored knight, flanked by an archer, and promptly scrambled to close and bolt their doors again. Several didn't. Helsknight charged to meet them, taking advantage of the closeness of the hallway, and the forced bottleneck it made. Three, four people at a time he would struggle to fight off, if he could fight them off at all. One or two, though, he thought he could manage, if he was quick enough.

Helsknight ducked a knife, parried a hand axe, and punched the nearest throat he could reach. His focus narrowed to his hands, his feet, and the flickering of metal in the dim light. Twice he felt a blade clatter off his armor, the thick grieves protecting his forearms. Once, someone managed a lucky stab at his ribs, and while his chainmail caught the blade, he felt something bruise, and lost half a breath. Someone -- the axe wielder -- slammed their blade hard into his sword and he dropped it. This was not ideal, but Helsknight was a man who preferred a sword in his hand. He was far from helpless without one. He drew his dagger, buried it in the axe-wielder's shoulder, then ripped their axe from their now limp hand and promptly chopped it into someone else’s knee. While he was ducked low, Tango’s arrow caught someone else in the shoulder, and then the forearm, and they fell howling.

By the time Helsknight had hacked and slashed his way down the hall, his arms were bloodied up to the elbow. His breath came in gasps that rattled in his sore ribs in growls. There was a fiery line of pain on one thigh that threatened to make him limp, and a bone-aching bruise on his left arm where someone smashed him with what he thought was a chair leg. Fatigue was starting to worm its way into his muscles, the repeated shocks to his joints made him grit his teeth through increasing aches. His stomach churned, adding to the chorus of discomforts. He was not used to so much blood, and the smell was cloying; so physical it had a taste.

Blood was one of the many things respawn scrubbed away, the universe setting harms to rights. In leaving so many people alive in his wake, all that wounding had nowhere to go, so it clung to him like groping hands, and ran in rivulets down his armor. Helsknight felt mad, a rabid animal barely in control of his senses. His sword, returned to his hand as he'd cleared the hall, was both slick and sticky all at once. It all felt deeply, deeply wrong.

[Confession, as soon as the next one wa held. Or he might just preemptively bleed himself dry begging for forgiveness.]

Helsknight's Saint, it had to be said, was not a squeamish divinity. They were the Saint of Blood and Steel. Most of their prayers were made not with words, but with the opening of veins. But the Saint, for what Helsknight thought were very good, very obvious reasons, didn't condone wanton violence and cruelty. Helsknight’s tenets were so tied up in reasons why not to raise his blade, sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't keep it peace-knotted like the paladins did.

[The Saint, he thought, would not like what he was doing now. He thought he fought with good reason. He thought he wasn't being unnecessarily cruel. But he thought many people probably thought that way, when justifying atrocities to gods.]

[He wondered, distantly, as he reached the stairs down, if Tango thought he was a villain yet.]

Regardless of what Tango thought of him, if he thought anything at all, the Hermit was at his back. His nervous laughter had stopped about halfway down the hall, giving way to exhausted concentration. They were back to back, Tango keeping an arrow trained behind them in case someone tried ambushing them, and from their closeness Helsknight could feel him shaking. He didn't know if Tango shook from horror or fatigue, but he could hear the Hermit’s breath quick and harsh, and his fire had taken on a permanent greenish cast that greyed the red-orange hues emanated from the overhead shroomlights.

They descended the stairs together in breathy silence. Tango fired a warning shot behind them, and whispered something so soft and hoarse, Helsknight couldn't hear it over the sound of his own rough breathing. He deciphered the meaning well enough though, between the tone of voice and the arrow: People were coming behind them.

Helsknight moved quicker, taking the stairs two at a time, until he emerged into anothers at foyer of some sort. There was a pair of double doors -- like the thief had described -- at the end of the room, and past that, another set of doors that he watched close and lock. Helsknight stormed through the abandoned room, past overturned chairs and other signs of haste. When they passed the open doors, Tango stopped.

“I'll make sure no one can follow us,” Tango said, closing them and running for some of the nearby furniture. “You think you can get those open, Killer?”

Helsknight put on a grim smile. “No force in hels can keep me out of that room.”

“Villain vibes!” Tango called to him, only halfway joking.

Helsknight strode up to the closed doors and, reasonably, he thought, tried the handle first. It was locked. Helsknight rolled his shoulders and sighed.

It took three kicks to break open the doors. The first broke the lock. The second bent the latch, and sent a wide crack spiraling up the wood. The third had them thrown open so hard, they banged off the walls and shuddered, and one tilted askew off a hinge.

Helsknight’s eyes locked on someone who looked vaguely like a leader. At the very least, they wore clothing that looked more official, and better kept. Tanguish was at their feet, slumped over onto the ground. Helsknight spared Tanguish enough of a glance to see no mortal wounds, before striding across the room, sword held out wide, the bloody tip ringing as it grazed across the ground. He didn't know what he planned to do exactly. Beating the Guild Leader senseless was probably on the list somewhere, but for now he would settle on looking terrifying and unstoppable.

The Guild Leader lunged for Tanguish and yanked him to his feet, a dagger shoved up against his throat threateningly. Helsknight stopped dead in his tracks, sudden fear shooting frigid lines through his veins.

“There we are,” the Guild Leader said, smiling tensely. “Let's be reasonable here.”

Tanguish was awake and alert in the Guild Leader’s grip. There was an ugly purple bruise beneath one of his eyes, and he breathed irregularly, like it was a labor. His eyes were wide and fearful, and brimmed with unshed tears, his expression a war of relief at seeing Helsknight, and terror of the circumstances.

“H-Helskn--”

“You stay quiet,” the Guild Leader hissed, pressing the dagger against Tanguish’s skin. They didn't draw blood, but the delicate skin dimpled warningly. Tanguish let out a soft, fearful noise, almost too pathetic to be a whine. Helsknight seethed. Anger and fear were snakes in his ribs, his adrenaline a lighting buzzing to life in his veins. He felt like he had when he’d pinned the thug to the wall, desperation on the verge of moving to wicked violence.

“Let him go,” Helsknight demanded, his voice cold and soft as a deadly promise.

“I would love to,” the Guild Leader said amiably. “But see, I'm not stupid. As soon as he’s away from my knife, that sword is coming for me, and I would rather not flirt with the universe today, if it's all the same to you.”

Helsknight heard a noise to his side, the slip of a boot. He glanced over and saw two thugs waiting near the wall on that side of the room. One had a sword, the other, a daunting looking spear. A quick check of his other side, and Helsknight saw a third person waiting, sword in hand.

[Blundering right in here had perhaps been a tactical error.]

“Drop your weapon,” the Guild Master hummed, and this time when they pressed their dagger against Tanguish's throat, they didn't relent until a trickle of blood spilled free. Tanguish, very bravely, did not whine, but he screwed his eyes shut painfully.

Helsknight tossed his sword to the ground, and watched Tanguish flinch every time it clattered. He tried to collect all his helpless anger into the center of his chest, where he could bury it. Anger wouldn't help him right now. He wasn't sure anything could help him, but anger certainly wouldn't.

[Tango.]

Tango hadn't followed him into the room. He didn't dare look back to see if the Hermit had been caught. It would just draw attention to him if he wasn't. Helsknight couldn't hear anything besides the cautious approach of the henchmen he’d stumbled in on. Their footsteps were hesitant, skittish. He felt them more than he heard them, like spider legs on his skin.

“Check him for further weapons,” the Guild Leader said, and as their thugs moved in to do so: “Well, this wasn't how I anticipated getting you here, but you did get here. So, now my threats can have the weight I need them to have.”

Helsknight was still listening for Tango, trying to figure out what, if anything, the Hermit might plan to do. He decided the best way he could help was to be distracting. [It would give the Hermit time to escape, if nothing else. There was no point in everyone getting killed here today.]

As well as he could, Helsknight shoved his emotions down in favor for his Colosseum theatricality, to make himself threatening and dangerous, even disarmed. One of the only perks to being drenched in blood, was ir proved not all of his pretense was an act.

“Watch yourself,” Helsknight murmured to the brave thug who reached him first. They watched him warily, freezing halfway to reaching for his belted dagger. “I bite.”

They took a rather large step back away from him, and he flashed his teeth in something that was more snarl than grin.

“Don't be ridiculous.” The Guild Leader snorted. “Put your hands over your head or something.”

“I would rather not.” Helsknight splayed his blood-spattered hands, a motion that startled one of the three thugs trying [and failing] to search him into jolting back a step. “For obvious reasons.”

“Not my fault you decided to cut your way through half the compound.”

“And I'll cut through the rest of it before I'm done,” Helsknight said levely.

“I don't think so.” The Guild Leader said, and nodded to one of the thugs.

A boot planted itself in Helsknight’s knees, and he dropped to the floor. He caught himself with his hands, but the flicker of metal at his eye level kept him from springing back up again. The swordsmen were flanking him, their blades crossed over the back of his neck, the tips intruding on his peripheral vision. He had to force himself to breathe slowly, to ignore his panic as it crawled to life in his chest and set his heartbeat racing.

With Helsknight secured, the Guild Leader finally released Tanguish, shoving him roughly to the ground. Helsknight had to bite his tongue to keep from calling out to him. He didn't like how weak Tanguish seemed to be, how easily these thugs yanked and tossed him around. But he worried showing his concern would make their situation worse, or at the very least, give their captors vindication. Instead he glowered, and searched Tanguish for anything that could be wounding.

Their eyes met, and Tanguish flashed him an agonized expression. His voice was small and broken as he whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Helsknight found his resolve breaking almost immediately. His gaze softened, and he whispered back as comfortingly as he could under the circumstances. “Don't be.”

The Guild Leader flourished their dagger, a motion that set the metal flashing in the dim light. Tanguish flinched at the motion. Helsknight only watched it warily, waiting for the blade to find a reason to bite.

“I do pity you swordsman. I didn't want to get you involved--”

“A wise decision,” Helsknight growled. One of the swordsmen hovering over him tapped the back of his neck warningly with their blade.

“--but you see, we here at the Thief Guild, well, you've heard the saying thick as thieves I'm sure. We built this place to protect each other. Hels is a very large, very dangerous place.”

They flourished the dagger again, and this time, Helsknight caught a flicker of something in the reflection of the blade. He couldn't be sure, but for a brief second, he thought he saw what he thought was firelight ducking back behind the wall.

[Tango.]

Why was the Hermit still here? Surely he should know to cut his losses and run. There was no saving them from this. No way Helsknight could see, anyway. Helsknight couldn't run, even if his tenets didn't keep him from it, he didn't think he could break away from so many blades. Not now while he was pinned. And even if he could somehow fight through these four thieves, with no constricting hallway or element of surprise to aid him, he couldn't go back out the way they'd come in. Tanguish still had no reflection to leap through, and Helsknight didn't think he could get him one in the time it would take his captors to remove his head from his shoulders.

Dread and helplessness were poisons in his stomach, weighing him down, draining him. Helsknight realized, now that his blood had a chance to cool, that he was exhausted. The cut on his leg still burned. His arms throbbed, both from bruises and from his rough use of them. His back, shoulder and neck hurt from swinging his sword, and the contact of bodies. A bone-deep weariness was settling across him, and he was pretty sure just getting here already had him borrowing strength from tomorrow. If he were the sort of person who gave up, he could very easily see himself laying down here on the cold ground and waiting for the inevitable. There was only so much fight a body could muster.

Helsknight pinned his gaze to the floor beneath his hands. His brow creased in a slight frown. Slowly, praying the movement didn't draw attention, Helsknight shifted his hand over to rub at the smear of blood on his gauntlet. Netherite was not nearly so reflective a surface as iron or gold, but it did have some luster. He could see his own eye reflected back at him, and the hazy shapes of the swordsmen overhead.

The beginnings of a plan tumbled together in Helsknight’s head. He thought there was a large chance it wouldn't work. He thought a lot relied on Tango being clever, and good at timing, and pragmatic enough to not make stupid mistakes.

[He thought, if the Hermit had proved nothing else today, he had proved he was good at those three things.]

Helsknight let out a derisive noise in the back of his throat, cutting off the Guild Leader halfway through their threatening monologue. They had been pacing, and now they stopped, flourishing that dagger in their hand again.

“Can we speed this up?” Helsknight asked, disdain thick in his voice. “I'm not sure if you idiots have looked in a mirror lately, but you're not exactly scary, and I'm getting tired of kneeling on your stupid floor.” He narrowed his eyes daringly at the Guild Leader and spat. “Whatever you're planning to do, get it over with. There are a thousand things worse than dying here. Listening to you blow hot air for the next hour just might be one of them.”

The Guild Leader blinked at him, caught somewhere between incredulous and irate. Helsknight actually watched their face redden with anger. They stalked over to him, kicking aside Tanguish as they went. Tanguish who, as soon as Helsknight stopped speaking, immediately started making excuses for him.

“He didn't mean it! Please, leave him alone! He's got nothing to do with this--!”

Tanguish started to crawl to his feet, but the spearman was over him in an instant, harrying him back down.

Helsknight twisted his arm so that the reflection on his gauntlet faced Tanguish. He knew Tanguish needed the physical touch to leap through, but all he or Tango needed to make the jump from the other side was the ability to see their other half--

The Guild Leader grabbed a fistful of Helsknight's hair and yanked his head back, twisting him uncomfortably so his throat was bared. Fear, cold and relentless, washed through him like ice water, radiating from the point of the knife as the Guild Leader hooked it beneath his chin, and all thoughts he had fled him.

“You know,” the Guild Leader hissed, “you're entirely too smug for a prisoner. I think you could use some humbling.”

Helsknight suppressed a shudder, if for no other reason than he feared the jerking movement would slice him open on the knifepoint.

“I was informed you threatened to take off one of my thief’s hands,” the Guild Leader said. “I don't know about you, but I don't think a swordsman is quite so effective without both of his either, wouldn't you say?”

Helsknight's mind went very still, and very cold, emptied of any ability to reason and plan. He felt as though he'd been very abruptly shoved underwater. Fear smothered him, made him senseless and slow. What was it Tango had called it? Shock?

He thought [N…]

He thought [No…]

Someone shoved him down roughly. A boot stepped down on his gauntlet, holding his arm still and outstretched. The joint at his elbow was exposed, that diminutive gap between armor and mail.

He thought [He didn’t want this to happen.]

Tanguish was shouting.

He thought [This can't be happening.]

The people holding him down were discussing the best way to go about their business. Helsknight tried to thrash, tried to break free, but his angle was awkward, and he was tired and sore. The second swordsman pressed a knee against his back, pinning him down.

He thought [Is Tanguish worth this?]

One of the swordsmen passed their sword to their leader.

He thought [He has to be worth this. Because otherwise it was for nothing.]

The blade gleamed as it was drawn back. Low light flickering. Helsknight's heart beat so fast he thought it might give out and stop. His ears rang, his head full of empty fear and animal panic and void static.

He thought [

He thought [S

He thought [Stop]

He thought [Please]

He thought [Saint of Blood and Steel]

He thought [Any God.

He thought [Any Saint.]

He thought [Anyone.]

He thought [Anyone!]

He thought [Please.]

[Don't let this happen.]

Tango sprang out of the sword’s reflection just as it began its arc downward. His bow was in his hand, the arrowhead a blazing smear of reflected light. His flame was the blinding white of fear, and the anger that chases fear, and the fear that chases anger, and the anger that chases fear. He was, for a moment, weightless, timeless, frozen. He was, for a moment, the will of gods, and divine intervention, and the fumbled attempts of someone who lacked all heroism trying his best to be help.

Tango’s arrow took the Guild Leader in the chest. The shot was terribly close. The full force of the bow and the air and everything that made arrows work couldn’t work at such a short distance. Shouldn't work. But it was a very powerful enchanted bow, and the Leader was unarmored, and Tango was desperate, and a Hermit, and whether he knew it or not, the universe loved him deeply.

The shaft sank halfway to the fletching in the Guild Leader’s chest.

The room exploded into motion and sound. Tango landed heavy on the floor, and was immediately ducking a swung sword. The spearman lunged for him as well, and the one unarmed thug was busied trying to keep their dying Guild Leader from collapsing. Helsknight, all panic and anger, and the need to fight anything if it would stave off future helplessness, came lunging off the ground. He barrelled into the spearman, his shoulder planting itself squarely against their chest and sending them off their feet. Helsknight's sword was in his hand -- he didn't know when he’d picked it up -- and he turned on the swordsman and crashed his blade into theirs before they could stab Tango.

Their blades met once, twice. His arms hurt. His chest hurt. His leg hurt. The edges of his vision were blurs, and the only thing he wanted was to make these people gone, now, before they could kill anyone.

The Guild Leader was dead.

The second swordsman had picked up their dropped sword, and they came at Helsknight with grim ferocity. He slapped away their lunge with neither finesse nor calculation, only the knee-jerk and instinctual power of the frenzied. Helsknight backed up a step, and his boot kicked into Tanguish’s tail. Tango was trying to help him to his feet, but when Tanguish tried to stand, he whimpered in pain. Behind them, the spearman was retrieving their spear, a hand clutched to their winded chest.

“Get him out of here!” Helsknight snarled at Tango.

The Hermit looked at him, looked for a moment like he might argue, and then to Helsknight's infinite relief, he yanked an arrow from his quiver. The metal arrowhead glinted as he turned it in his fingers.

“No!” Tanguish argued, horrified. “Not without--!”

Tanguish reached for Helsknight a second after Tango reached for him. They vanished.

Leaping towards Helsknight from where they had been, came the spearman. Helsknight twisted, hacked away the spearhead, and lost his breath when one of the swordsmen lunged and jabbed hard at his ribs. What once was bruised, broke. Helsknight’s breaths, when they finally came, lanced him with pain, and that pain focused him, grounding his wits momentarily. This time when a swordsman lunged, his blade snaked out to drive into their shoulder, and they fell back bleeding. The second swordsman and the spearman attacked him in tandem and he back-stepped hurriedly, focusing on parrying the spear. His shoulders touched the wall behind him. The swordsman leaped for him, victory spurring them into a headlong rush. Helsknight’s sword sheared through their throat, and as they fell, the spearman lanced forward.

The air was driven from Helsknight's lungs again as the spearhead plunged into his stomach, punching through a few weakened rings of his mail and burying deep. Helsknight’s entire world narrowed to white, hot, electric pain, and the intimate wrongness of intrusion where nothing was supposed to be able to reach. He doubled over, his hands groping for the spear shaft, his sword dropped and forgotten. Before he could grip it, the spear was ripped from him, and he would have screamed if he had the breath to.

Helsknight crumpled to the floor and curled in on himself, fists bunched against the wound. He didn’t know if he was trying to stop the bleeding, or simply trying to shield himself from the awful sight of it. Touching it made his hands shake, lanced him with another wave of pain, and a feeling of wrongness so intense he nearly gagged. He had taken wounds like this in the Colosseum only once or twice before, and that experience didn't help him. It was every bit as breathtakingly painful as he remembered, and it seared his thoughts raw.

Out of the corner of his eye, a hazy silhouette loomed. The spearman was watching him.

A shattered thought, more instinct than coherency, made Helsknight search for his sword. It was within reach.

He wanted to reach for it, but fear stayed his hand. His wound was terrible, but it was in the deep, complicated places of the body that didn’t kill with immediacy. Helsknight, above anything else in life, feared death. He thought he would rather suffer here on the floor for the next hours, hels, the next days, if there was a chance he would live. That someone might bring him mercy, and healing, before he had to face down the maw of the universe and respawn. But if he picked up his sword… if he made himself threatening…

There was no one left here for him to protect. No one to distract from any coming wrath, or vengeance from the thieves in the hall. It was just him.

He was alone, and he was dying.

Fear sank its withering roots deep into him, twined in his ribs, where his already haggard breathing grew tight and suffocated. It wrapped around his spine, commanding him to be still. It commanded he wait, and suffer, and hope and pray and be helpless, for the barest chance death might pass him over.

The spearman moved slowly, stalking around so that Helsknight could see them better. They were not anyone Helsknight recognized, though there was a detached coldness in their gaze he didn’t think he’d ever forget.

“You’re so quiet,” they informed him, as he lay on the ground and bled. “Even when you’re threatening people, or in pain. It’s uncanny.”

Helsknight took a breath, and tried to muster enough coherent thought to speak.

They kicked him.

They only did it once, but they kicked him where his fingers interlaced over the wound in his stomach. It was a cruelty driven by frigid curiosity, someone pulling the legs off a spider to see when the squirming would stop.

If they expected Helsknight to scream, he didn’t. He would have, if he could. Between his fear, and the broken rib, and the intrusion of his diaphragm on the wound in his stomach, breath was a thing Helsknight could only sip shortly and painfully, in hitches and gasps. There wasn’t enough of it in him to scream properly. But every muscle in his body contracted in agony, and a gag ripped its way up his throat, and when the little breath he had left him, it left him in a whimper that shook and strangled out when blood pulsed with his heartbeat onto his hands. Helsknight’s vision contracted, edged in black, spangled by multicolored stars.

The spearman seemed unimpressed. They took their spear in both hands and studied him, considering.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be tough, or if you’re just pathetic.”

[Pathetic.]

[Pain made heroes of no one.]

The spearman moved, pointing their bloody spearhead down at him. For a moment, Helsknight feared they had decided to kill him and be done with it. They lowered the broad spearpoint down towards his hands, as though they expected to probe the wound again. Helsknight’s hand snapped out with a suddenness he didn’t even know he was capable of, driven by one last faltering, frigid spine of adrenaline. The dying ghost of self preservation. He gripped the weapon shakily, and hissed in fleeting gasps.

“Touch me again, and when I come back here for you, I will bring every knight and paladin in hels with me.”

Helsknight didn’t speak with sureness or authority. His voice was a weak and wincing thing that threatened to break at the end of every word. But he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being. A place like this, with people this cruel, could not be allowed to exist. Not if he was allowed the chance to leave. If no one else, he knew his Saint wouldn’t abide cruelty like this.

Helsknight had never been a paladin. In truth, what the paladins went through in their blind service scared him almost as much as dying did, but he would unleash their fury on this place in a heartbeat.

The spearman laughed at him and yanked their spearpoint out of his hand. It cut his palm, but it was such a small hurt compared to all the others, Helsknight barely felt it.

“Really? And how are you going to do that, huh? Knights don’t listen to people like us.”

[People like us?]

“I’m a knight,” Helsknight gasped.

They laughed again, “Really? And did you leave your cloak at the cleaners when you went on crusade?”

“It’s on loan, you asshole.”

The spearman startled, turning on their heel towards the voice. Helsknight didn’t know when Tango had returned. Probably it had been just now. He didn’t have time to wonder how Tango had made it back to him again. Wels stood behind Tango, a look of horror and fury on his face. The resplendent silver and diamond of his immaculate plate didn’t gleam so brilliantly in the dim red of hels, but he was an imposing figure nonetheless. Wels’s own fist was balled sympathetically against his stomach, like he could feel the ghosts of Helsknight’s pain through whatever connection they had. His double’s empathetic rage washed over Helsknight like a wave, buried his own dread and fear beneath a wall of righteous fury. Breathtaking.

Wels moved like a hawk swooping, quick and arrow-point keen. The spearman, caught off-guard, barely managed to lift their spear.

Then Tango was kneeling beside Helsknight, cutting off his view. He swore bitterly when he saw the wound, and clasped his hand against Helsknight's, as if he thought the extra pressure would help. It didn't. Or if it did, it paled in comparison to the spike of pain it wracked through Helsknight. He must have made some pathetic noise, because Tango keened fearfully back at him, yanking his hand away.

“I'm sorry! Just hang in there, Killer,” Tango said, rifling through his pockets for anything reflective. “I've got like-- like six health potions with your name on them brewing back at Hermitcraft. Just-- just-- you know. Keep it together.”

Helsknight didn't think the ‘keep it together’ was directed at him. He must have looked pathetic indeed, because Tango clasped his hand in Helsknight's in an attempt to be reassuring, and shouted for Wels to hurry up.

[Had the little fool really come running back here so fast, he forgot to bring a reflection to escape with?]

After what felt like a small eternity, where Tango mumbled awkward reassurances, and all Helsknight could do was breathe, and try very hard not to bleed to death, Wels rejoined them. His armor was pristine as always, though he had a new cut on his cheek, and a disgusted expression on his face. The emotions radiating from him were of the purest contempt, probably directed at the spearman he’d killed. They softened to pity and nervousness when he laid eyes on Helsknight again, like colors bleeding in water.

“It's a bad wound Tango,” Wels said hesitantly. “It might be kinder to help him respawn.”

Tango shook his head briskly, “I promised.”

“The trip through the void--”

“If you won't bring him back for me, move your metal butt closer and I'll bring him back myself,” Tango snapped. He grimaced and said a bit gentler, “They're scared of respawn here for some reason. I don't get it bu-- but-- just-- I'll owe you one. Okay?”

Wels sighed and looked down at Helsknight. It was not a hateful, cruel, or wary look. It was an expression like someone trying to make his way through hard choices.

“Wels--” Tango started again, but stopped when Wels knelt beside him.

“This will hurt,” Wels warned, and then pulled one of Helsknight's arms around his shoulders. Tango grabbed his other arm, and Helsknight's world was consumed by fire in his stomach, and a blurring of star-filled black and breathless pain. He must have cried out again, because Tango was babbling apologies beside him, and Wels radiated the kind of nauseating determination one acquired when about to embark on a holy war.

“Hold onto him tightly,” Wels instructed. “If we lose him between worlds, I doubt we'd find him again.”

They fell.

----- ----

The Universe was a living thing.

It muttered, and felt, and spoke.

It was not human.

It understood, in broad strokes, human concepts like emotion and religion and thought and living and art. If it had a mind for metaphors and analogies, it might describe its understanding as the same understanding a human has for ant pheromones, or the way a sea slug hunts for certain chemicals in the water. A human hears the word pheromone and knows, to an ant, it is probably a sweet and enticing smell, like lavender or fresh bread, but a human will never smell an ant and smell something desirable. A human will hear the word chemical, and know whatever the slug is hunting probably has a taste, and to a slug, that taste is like honey, or sugar, or, again, freshly baked bread. But a human could never sift through the ocean floor and taste something enticing.

The Universe liked the idea of bread.

The Universe thought, in the closest way the Universe could think about anything, in thrums and chords like discordant melody, in tapestry and weave and time, that the things it loved most in itself were like bread. They were molded and shaped, and through fire and heat, they rose. And they made something that smelled desirable, and tasted enticing, and the Universe, above all else, loved to devour. It devoured bits of itself every instant, and through that devouring, it remade itself again.

And the Universe said: nothing is separate from any other thing.

There were two bright stars falling through the Universe, and they smelled to it like baking bread. Between them, held in hands that clung for life and limb, was a dark spark of dying and nothing and never should have. It was a familiar never. It was a spark of flame made so one of its best loaves could rise. A bright star.

The Universe didn't want to devour that flame of never, and shouldn't have been. The Universe could not want, as all it needed, it was.

The Universe liked to set itself to order. It liked the making of bread. It liked the things inside of it that set its world to order, and made with their hands, and rose. It liked things that were like itself.

And the universe said: you are a flame of what never should have been

And the universe said: I feel nothing for you, for you came from nothing

And the universe said: you are weak and small and failing

And the universe said: your heat may not be strong enough to form a rising

And the universe said: you are disorder, and chaos, and change for the sake of changing

The jaws of the universe neared, wide, and hungry. It liked to set things to order. It liked leavened bread. It liked two bright stars, very like itself. Between them was a dark and dying thing, that never should have been. It was a dark and dying thing that they should not hate, because nothing had no substance to despise. It was a dark and dying thing that they should not love, for nothing had no substance to enjoy. But it was a dark and dying thing that they clung to regardless.

The Universe clung to many things it should neither hate nor love. Things like stars, and orbits, and worlds. Things like code, and making, and living.

And the universe said: you are creating change

And the universe said: you are creating chaos

And the universe said: someday you must be set to order

And the universe said: but the bread has not finished rising

The Universe let them pass. It did not decide to let them pass. If the Universe were able to speak in metaphor, or even in words that the pieces of itself could hear, it would say it could not decide to let them pass. Just as the lungs do not decide to breathe, and the heart does not decide to beat, and the spine does not decide to hold. As a heart that times itself to another, so that two bodies close together might feel comfort and belonging, the Universe timed itself to their movement, and they passed.

And the universe watched those bright stars and said: I love you

And the universe said: Even the absence of something has purpose

And the universe said: Rise

Helsknight must have passed out somewhere between hels and Hermitcraft, or if he didn't, he faded so close he had no memory of the crossing.

He awoke on a bed that wasn't his own, hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. Everything ached. There was a persistent pinching and cramping in his stomach where healing hadn't quite finished its work. He was hungry -- or nauseous. He was thirsty. He was exhausted. He itched with dried blood, and itched again where links in his chainmail pressed uncomfortably against his body. Someone had done him the kindness of taking his gauntlets and boots off.

There was a cold hand clasped in his, a soothing reassurance against his own feverishness. That simple touch alone made him, inexplicably, want to cry.

[It hadn't been for nothing.]

Helsknight opened his eyes and looked over to see Tanguish sitting in a chair beside him. The arm that wasn’t reaching to hold Helsknight’s hand was pillowed beneath his head. If he wasn’t asleep, he was well on his way. Worry, sluggish to wake through his tiredness, rose slowly in his chest. How long had he been out?

A flicker of light highlighted the doorway to the room he was in [one of the Hermit’s bases, probably] heralding Tango’s arrival. The Hermit was balancing three health potions in his arms, still warm enough from the brewer to be bubbling slightly. His eyes passed over Tanguish first, a look of weathered contentment on his face. He awkwardly shuffled the potions in his arms so he could run a hand through his hair, a small, worried motion that made him seem… very human. Helsknight didn’t idolize the Hermits -- if anything, he disdained them for what they were. But in that moment, he had never related to another person’s care and weariness so much in his life.

“Oh,” Tango said quietly, eyebrows raising. “You’re awake.”

Tanguish’s eyes opened immediately. He sat up quickly, moving so he held Helsknight’s hand in both of his. “Praise every god and saint in hels.”

“Was I out long?” Helsknight asked, his voice a rough rasp in his dry throat. He started to sit up, and let out a painful breath as the twinge in his stomach shocked him still. It wasn’t nearly the unbearable stab from earlier, but it stiffened his spine and threatened to take his breath. Tanguish’s hand was on his chest pushing him gently back down.

“Easy does it, Killer,” Tango said, offering half of a laugh he clearly didn’t feel. He passed one of the potions to Tanguish, who got to work uncorking it. “That was intense.”

“I’ve had worse,” Helsknight said dismissively, not entirely sure if the statement was true. He may have had worse wounds before, but he didn’t think he’d ever had worse circumstances. He sipped on the potion and sighed with relief as the intensity of aches and pains across his body soothed. The lance in his stomach dulled to a bitter, persistent throb. He looked down in time to see what was left of the wound knitting itself back together, and then grimaced, when he realized the blankets he was on were spattered in blood. “Uhm… sorry for ruining whoever’s bed this is.”

“Blankets needed washed anyway,” Wels said from the doorway. Just about everyone in the room startled -- apparently Helsknight wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard him enter. He’d taken off his armor, and stood in only a blue tunic and breeches, his empty scabbard cinched around his waist. The cut on his cheek was still there, though the blood had been washed away.

[Enough time to get rid of his arms and armor, but not enough time to heal himself.]

[Intentionally defanged.]

Helsknight curled an arm around his stomach, shielding a hurt that was no longer there. Wary.

“What happened? I have Tango's side of the story but...” Wels asked quietly, soothingly. It was not the quiet of violence or anger. It was the quiet of someone trying very, very hard to be nonthreatening. He looked to Tango first, and when the Hermit looked away awkwardly, not sure how to answer, he looked to Helsknight. “Please.”

“I-it was my fault--” Tanguish started nervously.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Helsknight interrupted. “A group of thugs took Tanguish captive. When Tango and I realized what happened, we went to get him back.”

Helsknight briefly toyed with the idea of taking responsibility for what had happened. He found himself… somewhat protective of Tango. Something noticeable in how he saw the Hermit as a person had shifted. He didn’t have time yet to untangle just what or why, but he thought if Wels was going to get high-and-mighty about what had happened, he might try to spare Tango from the brunt of it. It wasn’t like Wels could hate Helsknight any more than he already did.

“A group of thugs?” Wels queried, his voice taking on a slightly more grim cast.

“I didn’t know they existed before today.” Helsknight answered honestly. “They will not exist for much longer.”

Tanguish looked at him, startled. “You… you can’t. Helsknight they almost--”

“I know people who can,” Helsknight said. He downed the rest of his potion, and this time when he sat up, he did it painlessly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at how gross he felt. He scowled disgustedly at himself, at his gore-splattered clothes. His arms were strangely bare now that the gauntlets were off, two swaths of unmarked skin surrounded by havoc.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Wels observed.

“I will take care of myself at home.”

“Tango said your house was trashed.”

Helsknight shot the little Hermit a glare.

Tango only held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t think it was a secret, sorry.”

“Tango,” Wels said, his voice still that cool, soothing quiet, “I have some food cooking. Make sure Tanguish gets something warm.” He rested his gaze on Helsknight. “Come on. I’ve already gotten started on your armor.”

He disappeared into the hall. Helsknight, Tango and Tanguish all exchanged glances.

“If… if he tries to fight you,” Tanguish stammered, “come back here. I’ll get us home.”

Helsknight studied the empty place Wels had been standing.

“... I don’t think he wants a fight,” Helsknight said cautiously. He hesitated a moment longer, then stood and followed after Wels.

Helsknight’s other half had gone outside. He lived in a small castle away from the other Hermits, though he was within easy sight of one of his neighbors in the river. He had moved several tools outside: cauldron, grindstone, and a drying rack among them. Helsknight’s gore-streaked sword was propped up against the grindstone, his gauntlets and grieves in the grass beside it. The gauntlets had already been scoured once, though looking at them, Helsknight knew he’d probably be scrubbing them down with a toothbrush for the next few days before he got out every bit of blood.

“No one’s on this side of the server besides xB, and he’s probably half a league underground right now, diamond hunting,” Wels said, grabbing up a rag and dunking it into the cauldron. “Get your chain and your shirt off. No one will care -- and if you care, no one will see.”

The bitter creature of animosity he always held for his hermit wanted to crawl to life and argue. You will see. But Helsknight was tired down to the bottom of his soul, and while Welst’s emotions seemed muffled and odd to him right now, none of them seemed to contain bad intentions. Helsknight did as he was told, peeling off first his tunic, then the chainmail and padding underneath.

“Leave your chainmail here,” Wels said, picking up one of his grieves and getting to work scrubbing. “Though I recommend taking your shirt to the water with you.”

“I know how to clean my gear,” Helsknight muttered.

Wels shrugged. “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

They side-eyed each other for a moment, gauging reactions. Helsknight sighed and waded into the water.

The river was cold. That was something Helsknight had to admit he wasn’t used to. Running water in this much quantity in hels was already a rare thing. This much cold water in hels was practically impossible. It sent goosebumps sprinting across his skin, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from squeaking ingloriously when it swirled up to his waist. Satisfied he was deep enough to suitably clean himself, Helsknight got to work scrubbing everything he could reach.

He had hoped it would be soothing. At the very least, he hoped getting the blood off would ease the persistent nausea still squirming around in his stomach. Watching the water slowly redden around him, though, only made him feel sicker. What started as calm, scrubbing started to get rougher as a tremor worked its way into his hands. Every pass of his touch across his clothes, his skin, all earned him more blood. Helsknight found himself taking long, intentional breaths in an effort to keep himself calm. It was his hair that broke him. He carded his hands back through the messy locks, only for his fingers to snag on mats and tangles, and when he knelt down in the water to wet the ends and comb them out, a clot of brown-black ugliness came out onto his fingers.

Helsknight’s hands were shaking. What had started as low-level nausea suddenly twisted his guts in something much more intense and immediate. He stamped it down as best he could. He was the Champion of hels, for helssakes. He’d seen blood before. He’d seen more than blood before. He shouldn’t be acting like this, feeling like this. What was so different between what he’d just done, and fighting people he knew in the Colosseum?

[He’d never maimed people with the express intention of leaving them alive, in the Colosseum.]

[No one had ever kicked his wounds, purposefully, because it seemed like a fun thing to do in the Colosseum.]

[No one had ever held him down while he struggled and thrashed, and threatened to dismember him in the Colosseum.]

[And in the Colosseum, he’d never done that to anyone else.]

Helsknight didn’t know what repulsed him more: the den of snakes this whole fiasco had revealed, or himself. The thought of going back there, of leading knights and paladins to the place to clear it out, sent a pang of dread through him so fiercely, it squeezed his chest tighter, and made it hard to breathe. Helsknight shivered, and shivered again, and couldn’t stop shivering.

[He needed to get the blood off.]

A sense of calm and serenity suddenly blanketed Helsknight, washed over him like the cold water of the river. It draped itself over his thoughts, slowed them to a halt. Tenseness in his shoulders and spine relaxed almost against his will. The shuddering in his hands stopped.

[Wels.]

Helsknight turned to look at his other half, who had doubled over the cauldron, a look of deep concentration on his face. He was breathing in long, slow, deliberate breaths, and when he exhaled his mouth moved as he counted. Wels, with determined intent, and no small amount of sympathy radiating from him like smears of sunset color, was anchoring Helsknight like a port in a storm. Forcefully, by controlling himself first.

“You did what you had to do,” Wels said quietly, but honestly, and that honesty was golden light. On anyone else, it would have been a binding shackle, an imposition of will. On Helsknight, who was immune to that from Wels, it was a display of sincerity. “You are the perfect knight, Helsknight. You’ve said so yourself: Knighthood is ugly, and unkind.”

Slowly, like a storm cloud passing over, Wels’s blanket of assuredness rolled off of him, and when it did, Helsknight realized he was crying. They were small, contained tears, the kind of thing that came from fatigue more than anything. Shame and bitterness crawled to life in his chest, and he did his best to stamp them down.

“Fuck I’m tired,” Helsknight said, the most self-aware thing the thought he was capable of at the moment. He should have seen this coming. The exhaustion after a long fight, the emotional fallout of finally coming down from fear and adrenaline.

“I didn’t think it was wise to let you rest for too long,” Wels said somewhat cautiously. “I know us.”

“Needed to get cleaned up before everything rusted anyway,” Helsknight muttered, finally dragging himself from the river. His clothes would need another wash at some point. There were still stains that he hadn’t managed to scour away. But the blood was off his body at least.

He looked with disgust at his sword, his stomach twisting again when he saw it. He forced himself to take it in hand and, when Wels offered him a rag, began wiping it down. Wels had moved on to his chainmail, running over it with a bristle brush to clean the links. Laid out beside him were pliers and a box full of rings -- apparently he intended on repairing it as well.

They worked in silence, broken only by the small, lethal noises of cleaning and polishing and scrubbing. Blood had gotten underneath the leather wrapping around Helsknight’s sword hilt, so he unwound it to re-oil the leather, and seal it with wax. Wels moved on from scrubbing the chain to repair, and the air filled with the soft clatter of the links moving, and Wels occasionally discarding links that didn’t fit back into the box again. Intermittently, when Helsknight’s mind had been still for too long, anxiety would make his hands shake, and the ghost of the boot against his stomach would twist like a knife in his guts, and his world narrowed to the quickness of his breathing and the determination not to vomit into the grass. Every time it happened, Wels stopped what he was doing and breathed, and counted, and, when the fit passed, repeated, “You did what you had to do.”

With a single-minded purpose they put Helsknight’s world back to order. It was as efficient as it could be. It was relentless, and determined, in the way two knights focused on one goal could only be. It was the slow, methodical purging of discomfort, seeking normalcy. Helsknight felt that Wels was trying to put him back in the box he was meant to live in -- force him back into being something he expected to see. Helsknight wondered, if their situations had been reversed, if he would react the same way. If he would piece his other half back together, purely because seeing him ripped apart was too uncomfortable.

[He thought he might.]

“What happened?” Wels asked quietly, as he bent another chain link in place with his pliers. He paused in his work, watching Helsknight with those frigid, sky-blue eyes. Helsknight thought they were carefully neutral, the wind holding its breath over a lake. “What happened to cause the panic, specifically.”

Helsknight looked down at his sword. He had polished it to a shine again, though he’d had to rinse the rag a few times to do it. The edge was marred with chips and dents. He would be sharpening it for ages.

“Tango said you go to confession,” Wels said at length, when Helsknight said nothing. “I don’t know how yours works. Mine mostly involves two people sitting in a room, talking. Normally they can’t see each other. The anonymity is important. We could set our stools back to back.”

Helsknight shook his head. “You wouldn’t like how my Saint takes confession.”

A ripple of discomfort broke the intentional, smothering placidity clinging to Wels. “Tango, uhm, also said you cut yourself.”

“Prayer.”

“Ah.”

Wels snapped another link into place.

Helsknight picked up a whetstone Wels had laid out for him in the grass. He propped his sword against his knee. Before he ran the stone across it, something prodded him gently in the shoulder. Helsknight took the knife Wels offered him. It was a small blade, a tool, not a weapon, but the edge was sharp. Helsknight stared at it for a long time, while Wels patiently bent stubborn links into place.

“I’ve never chosen this for myself,” Helsknight whispered. “The Saint is supposed to tell you your penance.”

“What did you do that was wrong?”

Helsknight took a long breath.

“... I was cruel.”

Wels snapped another link into place.

“... I was… cowardly.”

There was the rattle of metal as Wels searched for another link.

“... I was wrathful.”

The pliers clicked as Wels pulled the ring apart, twisting it deftly, a practiced craft.

“... I served myself, and my aims, instead of my Saint’s.”

Helsknight turned the little knife in his hand. He let out a slow, steadying breath. He ran his thumb down his forearm, tracing the direction of the vein there. He stumbled through memories of going to confession, of what price the Saint had asked of him for similar sins. He decided on a cut to his sword wrist, something painful and inconvenient, that would take time to heal.

“Your Saint,” Wels said, and Helsknight paused before he could draw the blade across his skin. “Does he have more knights?”

“They have many, yes.”

Wels nodded. He pried another link in place and sat back, running the chainmail beneath his hands. He hadn’t completely patched the hole the spear had made, but he was getting close. A few more links until the gap closed. He ran it over his hand again, making sure all the links were laying in the right directions.

“I heard you speak a little… before we came through to hels.” Wels admitted. “Something about bringing every knight and paladin in hels down on the place. Does that include your Order?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell… your Saint… everything that happened today, when you ask them all to come?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure your Saint will lend you hi-- their knights?”

Helsknight let out a slow breath. “My Saint doesn’t suffer cruelty.”

“So then, your Saint would approve of what you did today.”

Helsknight shook his head almost immediately. “No. They can’t.”

“You… uhm… you just said…”

“That was cruel,” Helsknight said. “That was terrible. I was terrible.”

Helsknight felt that smothering blanket of calm start to drape over him again, and he tried to shake it off.

“I threatened-- I almost-- I would have--”

“They took your friend hostage. They tried to take you hostage.”

“I cut through so many people. You saw me. I was-- I was a bloody mess. I was a terror. I was a ruin.”

“They held you down and tried to disfigure you.”

“I would have torn that place apart brick by brick. I was one man, and I would have razed that place to the ground. I was the wrath of gods, working under my own will.”

“They stabbed you in the gut and tortured you with it.”

“Stop-- stop--- stop acting like I was being reasonable.”

“Then stop acting like you deserve to suffer for it.”

Helsknight flinched at another touch to his shoulder. He glared at Wels, and then blinked in puzzlement. Wels held out a hand to him, palm up, waiting patiently. Helsknight really must have been tired, because it took him far too long to realize Wels was asking for the knife back.

“They tortured you once already,” Wels said quietly, sternly. “Don’t retread the ground for them.”

Helsknight’s chest felt tight. Something like panic welled up inside him so fast it was nearly blinding. He was scared. He was terrified. Not just by what he’d done, but what he was capable of doing. No man, no matter how desperate, or for how good a cause, should be allowed to do what he had done today. Not on their own. Not without divine intervention, something holy telling them what they’d done was right. He could not be trusted with the responsibility of starting his own crusade. He had no right to be judge and executioner, but he’d done it nonetheless, and it terrified him. And it terrified to know that, after doing it once, he now knew he could do it again. That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t allowed to be right.

Helsknight and Wels both moved at the same time. Helsknight, on the sudden unstoppable impulse to punish himself for what he’d done. Wels, feeling his intentions the instant they focused themselves into something actionable. Wels lunged at him, one hand a vice on his wrist, the other catching the knife before he could use it.

“Helsknight,” Wels commanded, his voice glory-gold and relentless, “your Saint doesn’t abide cruelty.”

Helsknight scowled. He wanted to say yes! Exactly! He wanted to say that’s the entire point, you idiot! He wanted, very badly, to feel the blade running across his skin. He wanted to do something quick, and painful, and immediate to alleviate his guilt. He wanted--

“Does that include being cruel to yourself?”

Helsknight managed to twist his hands free of Wels’s grasp.

“Answer me.”

Helsknight shook his head.

“Is that a no?”

“I don’t-- I’m not being--”

“You are.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“It does!” Wels snapped, his composure finally slipping. “A good knight abides by his tenets.”

Helsknight sprang to his feet suddenly, his panic exploding into something white hot and angry. “You don’t know my Saint! You don’t know my Saint’s will!”

Wels rose to his feet as well, and this, this was familiar. This was normalcy. This was the world set to order and correctness and--

“You’re right,” Wels said, stern and determined, but not angry. “I don’t know. But you do. So answer me. What does your Saint say about being cruel to yourself?”

Helsknight shoved him. Hard. Hard enough that Wels stumbled back over his seat and fell to the ground. Then he turned, angrier now that he’d acted, and kicked over the grindstone. Helsknight paced, full of angry, anxious energy. The rage and fury that chases fear. He wanted to run. He wanted to bite and kick and punch. He wanted to-- he wanted-- he wanted--

Wels, still laying in the grass, started counting again. Counting, and breathing. He was trying so, so hard not to spiral. To not give in to the way their emotions circled each other. Beneath the determination to try, to keep a grip on his sanity, was a depth of sympathy and compassion that was nauseating in its intensity. Someone who had witnessed atrocity, and for once, didn’t blame Helsknight for it. It hurt. It ached. It pushed its way into Helsknight’s chest, and begged him to relent, to be kinder. It was so different. It was so human. It wasn’t how the Hermits were supposed to be. He needed them not to be kind. He needed-- he wanted--

Helsknight realized he was crying again, only because he blinked and realized his world had blurred beyond recognition, turning to smears of blue and green. A sob hiccupped its way up his ribs, and he felt so stupid. There came another, thick and harsh and ugly, and then he couldn’t stop himself. He stood there in the grass like an idiot and he cried, loud uncontrollable sobs. It was the kind of cry he hadn’t had in years, maybe never. The kind that made him feel like a child, with emotions too big to keep in his body.

At some point, Wels crossed to him, and very gently, as though trying his best not to intrude, he took the knife from his hand. Then he righted the grindstone, and finished snapping the links into place on Helsknight’s armor. By the time he’d finished, Helsknight had managed to pull himself back together again, little by little.

“U-uhm. We all, uh, we all alive out here?”

Helsknight swore colorfully. He passed his hand over his face, and demanded hoarsely, “How long have you been here, Tango?”

“Who, me?” Tango asked, a nervous laugh in his voice. Something behind Helsknight shuffled -- Tango grabbing up something to take back into the house with him, maybe. “Not long. Definitely. Probably. I wasn’t-- you know. Keeping tabs on you two in case you got a little too knightly or anything. I wouldn’t do that. I trust you. Implicitly.”

Helsknight snorted.

“It’s just, uh, you know. Food’s done.” Tango continued. “And uh. Also if anything else bad happened today, I think Tanguish would break in half.”

“We’re fine,” Wels said, calm, quiet. “We’ll be inside shortly.” He paused, and then added, “Uh, knight’s honor.”

“Right.”

Tango retreated, footsteps cushioned by the greenery. Helsknight was not used to the sound of grass. Stone, basalt, netherrack, hyphae. He had the sound of footsteps on those memorized. Grass was a rushing, soothing noise, almost like water in its consistency.

“I think your armor is as clean as it’s getting, without going over it with a fine brush,” Wels said. “I have more netherite plate. Spare stuff, in case I lose sets in the End.”

“Keep it.”

“It’s not charity. I owe you a set, from when we last fought, and you fell in the End.”

“It’s not… because of the charity.” Helsknight crossed his arms. “I haven’t worn plate for awhile.”

“Hm.”

“Why.”

Wels tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“The calm. The kindness. The…” Helsknight gestured broadly. “We hate each other.”

“We do.”

“So why.”

Wels looked away from him, quietly considering the ground. At length he said, “Apparently… your Saint isn’t the only person who can’t abide cruelty.”

Wels reached a hand up to his chest and sighed. “When Tango came and got me… I didn’t want to come and help you. I could feel… something. Struggle. But you’re right. We hate each other.”

He sighed again. “And then I stepped into hels.”

Wels chuckled bitterly. “Fear. And helplessness. And desperation. And Pain.”

He looked up at Helsknight. “I thought I was going to respawn on the spot. And I wasn’t you.”

“We hate each other,” Helsknight repeated.

“We do,” Wels agreed. “But… I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Welsknight offered Helsknight an ironic smile, “Not even you.”

The two knights watched each other. Nervous. Awkward. Worried. And underneath it all, an undercurrent of surreality and ridiculousness. Two enemies forced to admit some things could be worse than their rivalry.

“Anyway,” Welsknight said, “when you go back and storm the place, you have my sword, if you want it."

#the barking writer #rns angst prompts #rns ficlets #helsknight #tangotek #welsknight #tanguish #redstone and skulk #tw blood #tw gore #tw wounds #tw torture #tw whump #tw a lot of stuff okay

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