#because he's a sourpuss and nothing good happens with him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

falseroar · 1 year ago

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Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 9: Misplaced Motives

((Abe ponders the lack of an obvious motive, at least one for the murder that actually happened, and hopes that questioning the remaining suspects might help shed some light on the situation.

Also just a head's up, this one is definitely on the long side.

Link to Part 8 here in case you missed it! Plus one for the whole series.))

The sleeping car was as silent as when they left it, so much so that Abe could hear the floorboards creak beneath his and Wilford’s steps, or how the wind howled and flailed against the train car as though wanting nothing more than to bury it further in the snow all around.

No one else around except the two of them and the dead body.

“Yep, still there,” Wilford said when Abe stopped and pulled open the door to Happy’s room.

“Doesn’t hurt to double check,” Abe muttered and Wilford nodded along. Both of them had a little too much experience with dead bodies getting back up again when they shouldn’t, after all.

Looking down at the body still sprawled out on the floor, Abe felt the same question that had been nagging at him since he first spotted the blood on the door, the one thing about all of this that he still hadn’t been able to make sense of.

“Why Happy?”

Wilford shrugged. “I don’t know, why not be happy? Maybe you should give it a try, because being a grumpy sourpuss all the time doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”

Abe glared at the other man, but Wilford was as unbothered as ever.

“Oh, really? Does it ever occur to you there might be a reason I’m always a ‘grumpy sourpuss’ when you’re around in particular?”

“Really? So this trip was going so well before we ran into each other?” Wilford asked, and not for the first time Abe recognized that knowing glint in the other man’s eye, that occasional bit of lucidity that would make him question just how much of Wilford’s insanity was just an act.

And then he’d go and do something like poke a dead man with the toe of his shoe and ask, “What do you think, buddy?”

“Don’t do that,” Abe said, pushing Wilford away before he could commit any more desecrating of the dead, although he did have to admit, “If only he could tell us what happened here, or why someone on this train had it out for him. Before all this went down, the engineer claimed to have just met the guy earlier today, and both the professor and Illinois say they didn’t know him. Of course, any of them could be lying, and someone on this train has to have had a reason for killing Happy.”

“Do they?” Wilford asked.

“Okay, most people need a reason to go around killing people,” Abe corrected himself, realizing who he was talking to here. “Motive and means, that’s what every good investigation boils down to in the end—figuring out who had the opportunity and the reason to kill your guy on the ground.”

“And where,” Wilford added.

“…What?”

“You know the game, you’ve got to say who did it and where and with what weapon,” Wilford continued. “What was that game called…? Celine was always a crack at it, you know. Could never pull the wool over her eyes, even if I wanted to.”

At this point, Abe decided to go back to ignoring Wilford and gave one last look at the body on the ground. If only he could just ask the dead man…

Instead, he would have to make do with the living, which is why he left the compartment and continued on toward the lounge car. The treacherous cold outside was working its way into the small separation between the train cars, forcing Abe to move on into the lounge with no time for hesitation.

As he pulled open the door, the gathered passengers all turned to stare at him, the light of the lanterns around the car throwing strange shadows upon all their faces so that it was like being greeted by a crowd of silent masks.

“Among Us, that’s it!” Wilford declared at the sight somewhere behind him.

“Detective!” called Richard Moneybags, the only voice irritating enough to distract Abe from whatever the hell Wilford was on about this time. The rich man practically lunged forward from his plush seat in the corner of the car to latch onto Abe’s arm, his drawling voice lowering to a murmur as he said, “Please tell me you’ve got this little mess sorted out so we can get moving again?”

“’Little mess’? A man is dead!”

“And he’s not the one who received the death threat!” Richard hissed, and in the half-light of the lantern his eyes were wild and bright as they darted toward the rest of the passengers in the car. “You can’t leave me alone with these people, detective!”

Abe shook his arm free and said, “I’m doing everything I can to find Happy’s killer, I don’t have time to play babysitter. No one’s going to try anything in front of everyone else, so calm down already.”

“You say that now, but we can’t just sit around here,” Richard protested, raising his voice now in anger. “We can’t just stay here in this blizzard all night! Some of us have places to be!”

“And some of us know there’s little we can do about the weather,” Dorene shot back from her seat across the room. In fact, aside from Mack everyone was seated farther back in the car, closer to the bar and as far from the rich man as they could get. “But I will admit, I am worried about the heating issue if we are truly stuck here. We have plenty of food and water, but the cold can be quite dangerous even if we’re not out in this terrible snowstorm.”

“The professor and Illinois are up front with the engineer, doing what they can to get the train moving again,” Abe explained, loud enough for all to hear. “The prof thinks she might know what caused the blackout and can get the power back on.”

Visible relief went around the room, not that there were many faces to share it. With the other three up front, the only ones left back here were Richard, Mack, and Dorene, with Benjamin and the chef skulking in the back near the bar, their heads bent close together over the drinks between them.

No doubt reminiscing over the last time they were the subjects of a murder investigation, Abe thought to himself. Really, the similarities between now and then were…disturbing, even if he tried not to dwell on it too much.

Mostly because he still had a job to do, starting with informing the group, “Doesn’t matter when we get this train moving again if we don’t get to the bottom of this murder. To do that, I’m going to have a little chat with each and every one of you, one person at a time. Benjamin, can you unlock the dining car?”

“It’s not locked,” Benjamin admitted as the detective crossed the lounge to the doors separating this car from the next. “The only car completely locked off is the mail car in the back.”

“Meaning anyone could go anywhere from the engine car to the kitchen?” Abe asked, tucking that bit of useful information away for later. “Not exactly secure, is it?”

“Ain’t no one who wants to keep their fingers setting foot in my kitchen,” Chef growled, his fingers twitching on the stem of his glass as though wishing it were the handle of a knife.

Abe thought about pointing out there was little he could do to stop anyone while he was asleep, but Benjamin added, “Considering how few passengers there are on this trip compared to the number of employees, and the short length of the trip, we thought it would be simple enough to deter anyone from going where they were not allowed without the need to physically bar entry.”

“…Hm.” Abe’s mouth twitched but he kept his thoughts about that to himself for now. Instead, he made a show of looking around before pointing at Mack. “You, with me.”

“Me?” Mack pressed a hand to his chest, as though shocked. “You’re interrogating me?”

“That’s the plan, yeah. Now get in here, already,” Abe said, yanking open the sliding door and receiving noises of protest from everyone nearby at the sudden chill infiltrating the car. “Not you, Moneybags. You’ll get your turn, same as everyone else.”

“But—” Richard protested.

“Hurry up and go already!” Chef barked, the shout sending Mack scurrying toward the door with his head down. “And shut that door, will you? It’s freezing out there, or did you forget?!”

Abe hid a smirk as he slammed the door shut behind Mack and opened the door to the dining car, ushering the other man in first before he slid the door closed behind him.

Between the wide windows and his lantern, it wasn’t as dark as it could have been in here, but any light that might have otherwise reflected off of the snowscape outside was blocked by the whiteout caused by the relentless wind.

“There’s fine,” Abe said, gesturing with his lantern to the same table he had sat at with Happy and Big Dick Moneybags just hours ago. Someone, probably Benjamin, had reset the chairs while clearing the tables, leaving only the two for the detective and the rich man’s assistant to take seats opposite each other, the lantern placed in between them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Abe could see the windows of the doors separating the dining car from the lounge and make sure none of the others took them by surprise.

In theory, at least, because despite the vantage point he could clearly see the pink and yellow practically gleaming in the darkness out of the corner of his other eye.

Abe shot a glare at Wilford, lounging at the next table over with his feet propped up and a full glass in hand, his silent question not answered by Wilford’s over-mouthing the words, “Buddy system.”

Mack sighed as he sank into his chair, before adopting an upright posture and clasping his hands neatly in front of him, fixing the detective with a stare that straddled the line between rapt attention and polite hostility. When he spoke, his voice was the same, perfectly polite with just enough of a hint of sarcasm to make Abe wonder if he was imagining it.

“Okay, detective, what would you like to know? I’ll have you know I keep careful track of Mr. Bags’ schedule, and in turn my own, and there isn’t an hour of the day that can’t be accounted for.”

“Fascinating,” Abe answered, and judging by Mack’s raised eyebrow the detective suspected he hadn’t quite matched the same ratio of sarcasm there.

To hell with it, then, he wasn’t here to beat around the bush, especially when the bush was buried six feet deep in snow and counting.

“What do you know about the victim?” Abe asked.

Mack shrugged. “Not much. He was a fellow passenger on the train, I know he dined with Mr. Bags and yourself, and from what I understand he soon went back to his room after dinner rather than loiter around the lounge carousing like the rest of the passengers. Clearly a man of some sense, if I had to judge by that alone.”

“I’d hardly call it carousing,” Abe said, although his own memories went a little fuzzy not long after dinner. He was fairly sure he would remember anything like that happening though, or at least he hoped so if it was any good. “From the way Moneybags talked at dinner, it sounded like he wouldn’t have said no to some partying if there was any going on.”

The other man’s mouth twitched on one side into a faint smirk before sliding back into a passive frown. “I’m sure he would have, if the company had been a little less…fraught. As it was, Mr. Bags went back to his own room to relax in privacy, while I reviewed the latest numbers and news for anything worth passing on to his notice in the morning.”

“Always keeping busy, huh?” Abe asked, thinking of the piles of paperwork in Mack’s room. That, and he needed something to keep the man talking while he went back over what he’d just said and sticking on the same point again and again.

“It is a vacation for Mr. Bags, not so much for his aide de camp. Someone has to keep track of his accounts and business dealings while he flits from one place to another.”

“He must trust you a lot, then,” Abe said, giving Mack a moment to swell up with pride before bursting his bubble. “Even despite the whole, you know, almost poisoning him thing yesterday.”

“I didn’t know the drink was poisoned,” Mack protested, voice rising an octave higher. “Why on earth would I harm the man who’s paying my wages? I don’t know who would do such a thing, but I know you’d be better off pointing your finger at nearly anyone else on this train!”

“Yeah, about that,” Abe said, leaning forward and resting an arm on the small table between them. “You said something about the other passengers just a second ago there, and I seem to recall a lot of less than friendly staring going on over dinner, and for once it wasn’t all directed my way. Care to explain why the other passengers aren’t so hot on your boss?”

“How should I know?” Mack asked and the detective scoffed.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re hanging around Moneybags so much you might as well be his shadow? If anyone here knows why someone might have a grudge against the guy, I’m guessing it’d be you.”

Mack shrugged. “That’s just it--I can think of many reasons someone might have a grudge against a man like him. Mr. Bags said so himself, just yesterday: one does not reach his…position in life without making a few enemies along the way. Former business partners, those who found their proposals for contracts undercut by someone who had the pockets to go far lower than any reasonable or sustainable offer, shareholders bought out just before a big payday, and then there’s the people with some kind of moral mission that doesn’t line up with the economic reality of the world, or just your common employee riffraff…”

“Such as yourself?” Abe asked, getting a low whistle from Wilford over in the peanut gallery.

“I’m hardly some common service worker or desk lackey,” Mack answered, sitting up even straighter with barely concealed outrage when Abe scoffed at that. “I am Mr. Bags’ righthand man, I am well-compensated for my work, including stock and shares options—which is exactly why it’s in my best interest for Richard M. Bags to stay alive.”

“…Yeah, I’m not seeing it,” Abe answered and Mack sighed, all but shaking his head at the detective’s ignorance.

“Basically, I have a stake in multiple businesses owned by Mr. Banks. Not enough to have any controlling interests, of course, but the value of my shares go up when said businesses do well. Do you know what happens to a company’s stock, if its owner suddenly and without warning dies?”

“Depends on if he was any good at his job, I’m guessing.”

Again that little twitch at the corner of Mack’s mouth, this time accompanied by one near the corner of his eye. The man was struggling hard to control his reaction to those words, but the light and shadows cast by the lantern only highlighted every movement of the face seated across from Abe.

“Perhaps in the long run, but the stock market is nothing but a mob of people who are easily spooked by any sudden change,” Mack said. “Put simply, I cannot afford to allow anything to happen to Mr. Bags—not only does my current salary depend on him, but I also have quite the nest egg invested in some of his enterprises.”

Mack shook his head. “No, when I say an employee might have a grudge against the man, I mean those employed by some of his most recent acquisitions who have either been recently let go or have reason to believe they will soon be found redundant or unnecessary. Like the waiter back there, or the chef for example.”

“…What?”

“Well, this doesn’t exactly look like a line that’s earning its keep, does it?” Mack asked, gesturing around at the empty and dark train. “All this money and effort, just to move how many passengers from one place to the other? Honestly, if taking this train hadn’t been convenient for Mr. Bags with his other traveling difficulties, I’m sure it would have already been decommissioned or combined with another line.”

“Hold on,” Abe said, as this new information suddenly clicked with something that Peter had told him, back when the detective asked how he ended up pulling double duty as both engineer and conductor. “Moneybags is the new owner? The same one who let a bunch of people go as soon as he took over?”

Mack shrugged. “The very same. I’m surprised this is the first you’re hearing of it, detective. As far as letting people go, it’s standard procedure when new management takes over, isn’t it? People who aren’t tied to ‘this is how we’ve always done it’ or other excuses to keep more employees around than is strictly necessary.”

Except it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, Abe realized. Happy had said something about a railway when he met Moneybags at dinner, but at the time it had completely slipped by the detective.

“I think most people would consider needing more than 3 people to keep a train running to be necessary,” Abe said.

“But it was running, wasn’t it? At least until we ran into the snow, but what could we have done to prevent that?”

“Just guessing, but did some of those ‘unnecessary’ employees include people to keep the tracks cleared?”

Mack chose to ignore the question, or at least his reply wasn’t much of an answer. “You are missing the point, detective. Mr. Bags is cutting off the dead weight, trimming budgets and freeing up money that can then be invested back into the company. The value goes up, the stockholders are happy, investors are more than interested in buying what is now a thriving rail line—”

“Thriving?” Abe echoed.

“Thriving on paper, in stock, in income over expense, in every way that really matters,” Mack insisted. “And so Mr. Bags will sell the rail company on in time and move on to the next enterprise, as he has so many times before.”

“Leaving a horde of angry former employees behind him, plus whoever’s unlucky enough to buy the thing before realizing it’s been cut down to the bone until there’s barely enough left to make a decent skeleton,” Abe continued, and to his credit Mack raised his brows and all but nodded without going so far as to verbally confirm it. “Okay…”

Abe leaned back in his chair, pressing a hand to his mouth as that information sank in. Sure, he already knew the guy had enemies, at least one on the train, but now Peter, Benjamin, and the Chef were looking a hell of a lot more suspicious.

Or they would be, except it wasn’t Richard M. Bags, Esq. lying dead in another car.

“So you’re saying you were in your compartment from after dinner until the train stopped?” Abe asked, and when Mack nodded, “And after that?”

“I went and joined Mr. Bags in his room,” Mack answered. “I believe you saw me do so, and he can confirm I stayed with him until the body was discovered.”

“About that,” Abe said, “When the train stopped and everyone was in the hall, did you see Happy?”

“Happy?”

“Apless, the dead man,” Abe said, flicking the question away with a gesture of his hand. “Everyone was milling around in the dark, but he would have been just across the hall from you. Did you see him?”

“It would have been difficult to make out anyone in the darkness,” Mack said. His brow furrowed as he thought, and he said, “I recall hearing voices—Ms. Whitacre, the bartender, the man with the…”

He paused, clearly struggling to find a descriptor for Illinois, before settling on, “Nice hat, and yourself. But I couldn’t see anything until you turned your lighter on, and even that wasn’t much.”

“Thing is, I could have sworn I saw someone going in his room just before Benjamin and I went up front to see what was going on, and you were standing in the perfect place to have seen something,” Abe said.

Mack hesitated and admitted, “I did see something, but I’ll admit I’m not sure you would like me to mention it…”

“What is it?” Abe asked, leaning forward again. “Come on, out with it!”

“It’s just that I did happen to see you, leaving the room that I know belonged to the victim.”

“…Me?” Abe frowned, trying to figure out what Mack was getting at until it suddenly dawned on him.

“Now, it’s entirely none of my business what two grown men do together in their own private time, but seeing as you were in his room and therefore quite possibly the last person to see Apless alive before ‘discovering’ the body—”

Wilford chuckled to himself and Abe (barely) resisted the urge to throw something at his head.

“You’ve got it wrong, pal,” Abe said, cutting Mack off before he could go any further. “Happy and I agreed to switch rooms at dinner, remember?”

“…You did?” Mack seemed genuinely stunned by this news, and Abe remembered that he had been sitting at a different table at the time. “Did Mr. Bags know about this?”

“He was thrilled, having someone willing to play watchdog for his paranoia right across the hall,” Abe answered. It may have been a little bit of spite that made him add, “I guess he didn’t feel the need to share that with you, huh?”

“No, not even when he was terrified for his life after the lights went out,” Mack muttered to himself. “Made me sit between him and the door, in case someone tried to break in while you were away with the bartender.”

Abe frowned at that, his light jab having accidentally punched through to something deeper, unexpected, like punching into poorly patched drywall and finding a staircase leading down on the other side of the hole.

Not telling Mack about Happy was one thing, bordering close to a wise decision on Richard’s part when he didn’t know who to trust, but not calling the agent over when he thought he was in danger? Why would someone so predisposed to believe other people existed solely for his benefit hesitate to send for assistance he knew should have been right across the hall?

“And you didn’t step out of the room at all?” Abe asked, and immediately caught the twitch in the other man’s eye. “Why, what were you doing?”

“Mr. Bags sent me to get the agent, but I couldn’t get him to answer his door,” Mack admitted, in turn answering Abe’s thoughts. “I suppose now we know why, but at the time I thought he had returned to sleeping.”

“Or just didn’t want to bother with Richard,” Abe said, a theory Mack didn’t protest. “Anything else?”

“I did return to my room to retrieve some spare candles and matches, both facts Mr. Bags can confirm when you speak to him,” Mack said. “He was in hysterics and demanded a light, claiming that there had been someone in his room before the train stopped despite no evidence of a break-in. I honestly assumed it was paranoia on his part after all of the recent close calls, especially when he swore on multiple occasions that he could hear footsteps in the hall and had me check each time.”

“He had you look instead of just keeping the door closed and locked?” Abe asked.

Mack scoffed at that before he could help himself, and quickly recovered with a smooth, “In the heat of the moment, it’s not always easy to think of the simple and effective solution, detective. And for the record, I never actually saw anyone until you started shouting and slamming doors a few minutes later.”

Did Abe believe that? No, but then he wasn’t much for taking people at their word, and Mack had been saying a lot during this little interrogation.

Just not anything that explained what Abe had found while investigating the man’s room earlier.

“You’re the kind of person not to forget details I’m guessing,” Abe said, and Mack acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of his head. “Did you and Moneybags keep your doors locked during dinner?”

“Of course,” Mack answered. “I checked both myself; I have several confidential papers in my room, and Mr. Bags has a number of valuables among his items that might tempt some unscrupulous thieves.”

“And with those valuable papers in your compartment and the train in disarray, I’m guessing you locked your door again while you were with Mr. Bags?”

“I’m sure I did,” Mack said. “Why does that matter?”

“Just considering possible routes the killer could have taken, before and after the fact,” Abe said. “You locked your door after you picked up the candles too, correct? And did you notice anything amiss in your room when you went back for them?”

“Yes, of course I did, and no, I didn’t notice anything odd,” Mack answered, before hesitating. “Should I have?”

Abe shrugged. “Not if you were busy looking for candles and matches in the dark, like you said you were. It would have been easy to miss something taken—or something put in there, is what I suppose you’ll say about—”

He reached for his pocket, ready to slam the incriminating evidence down on the table between them, before belatedly realizing he’d left the contraption in its hidden compartment out of a healthy desire not to become the thing’s next victim.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you Boo,” Wilford declared, before springing forward and dropping the contraption on the table between them, the metal gleaming wickedly in the lanternlight.

“Why do you have that?!” Abe asked, while Mack jumped back with a shout when the device triggered, causing the hidden blade inside to slash upwards before falling back against the table with a weak thump.

Wilford shrugged. “Because it seemed too nice just to leave hanging around in some dusty hole.”

“I don’t understand,” Mack started weakly, before clearing his throat and making a valiant but futile effort to recover some of his dignity after the noise he’d made. “What exactly does this have to do with me, detective?”

“Tell me what you know about this,” Abe said, gesturing at the device while keeping his fingers well away from any of the jagged joints.

“That it appears to be an incredibly dangerous and stupid thing to keep on one’s person?” Mack suggested. When that failed to impress the detective, he frowned at the contraption and considered it a little longer before adding, “Judging by the knife, I have to assume it’s a weapon of some kind, meant to be triggered by weight or movement perhaps.”

He reached toward the metal before quickly thinking better of the idea and instead producing a pen from his pocket to prod it with instead. As the pen grazed against a pad on top of the contraption it seized into movement again, flicking out the blade with the same unnerving movement as before.

“A very sensitive trigger at that,” Mack said, after both he and Abe had a moment to shout surprised obscenities at the thing. He slowly put his pen back in its pocket. “It rather reminds me of the booby traps that man with all the tall tales claims to have run into during his travels. Perhaps you should be asking him about this instead of myself?”

“See, the thing about that is, we didn’t find this in Illinois’s room,” Abe said, tapping the table a safe distance away from the trap. “I found it in your room, stashed away but not hidden well enough it seems.”

“You searched my room?”

Abe ignored the accusing tone and pressed on. “And according to you, no one else could have been in your room. You locked the door yourself every time you were out, and because of Moneybags you kept an eye and an ear on everyone moving in the hallway after the lights went out from right next door—it would take a very skilled lockpick to get the door open without you noticing.”

“And how, exactly, did you get into my room, detective?” Mack asked.

“Yeah, no, I’m the one asking questions here kid.”

Mack tapped the table, the rapid motion matching his thoughts. “But I think that should answer your own question, if you think about it. Did you force your way into my room, or, as I’m willing to bet, did you have a key to get in?”

He didn’t even give Abe a chance to answer, instead pressing on with his train of thought. “I of course have a key, but it’s still here in my pocket. I’m sure there’s at least one spare key on this train, if not a master key for every room, if not multiple copies—after all, careless guests lock themselves out of their rooms, and emergencies happen. And if one such employee gave you a key for your investigation, what’s to say he or another employee didn’t use the same key to let himself into my room? Or, if we want to be charitable, perhaps someone ‘borrowed’ one such key and has since returned it. Doesn’t that seem the least bit plausible, detective?”

“More or less plausible than you hiding the damn thing yourself?” Abe asked. “If you’re so clever, tell me this: why would someone take the risk of getting caught to hide this thing in your room instead of anywhere else on the train?”

“Oh, that’s easy, detective,” Mack answered, getting an eyebrow raise out of Abe but no comment. “Think about it: they would have needed the key to enter the victim’s room and place their trap. No doubt they saw the confusion and the darkness as the perfect cover to remove the murder weapon and hide it in a room that they knew to be empty, to put the suspicion on someone else if it were to be found. I went into Mr. Bags’s room at the same time we all saw you and the bartender go up front to question the engineer.”

Mack held up three fingers as he continued, “That gave our murderer three potential scapegoats. You would be immediately tossed out—after all, you would be the most likely to lead the investigation if the body were soon found, and why would you suspect yourself?”

Abe grimaced at that. He suspected everyone, without reservation, but more than that he remembered the bottle of poison in his pocket that someone had hidden in the bottom of his own bag. Whoever had left that there hadn’t needed a key, mostly because Abe had forgotten there were even locks on the doors until it became a key point in his investigation.

(In fact, most of the things Abe noticed were because of their potential to be linked to a crime, either existing or potential. Most people too, now that he thought about it.)

Mack lowered one finger. “My compartment, then, would be the closest to the victim’s room. And if we’re going off of the idea that the person most likely to have a key would be an employee…”

He shook the last finger representing Benjamin, reminding Abe of someone wagging a finger at a naughty child.

Maybe that’s why he was so quick to shoot the idea down. “You mean the employee you just said was walking to the front of the train with me at the time?”

“Well, there was a period of time after you two came back before the body was found, wasn’t there?” Mack asked defensively. “And the bartender isn’t the only employee on this train.”

Abe continued frowning, partially because he knew Mack had a point there, but mostly because he wanted to see where else the man would point that finger if given half a chance.

And Mack certainly didn’t disappoint him there, as he sighed and asked, “Really, is that not enough to convince you? While you can simply ask Mr. Bags and he could easily confirm that this…contraption here is completely unlike anything in my own possession, I’m not sure the other guests on the train could say the same. That professor, she does seem the type to prefer overcomplicated devices, doesn’t she? Or as I said, the adventurer could have easily picked this up on his travels.”

Mack gestured toward the supposedly inactive trap, still not trusting it enough to let his fingers stray anywhere close to the thing. “Either one of them could have stolen a spare key to plant the trap, first in the victim’s room and then in mine to hide their trail, but returning it would have been much more difficult. Which, again, points to someone who would have had easy access to all three rooms at any time.”

“It’s a nice theory,” Abe said, Mack giving a little noise at that, “But that’s all it is. And it still doesn’t answer the big question: why?”

Mack shrugged. “Why not a double blind? The more complicated the knot, the harder it is to notice the simple solution. Or do you mean why the bartender would have it out for the victim, or rather, for you?”

“What would killing Happy have to do with me?” Abe asked, ignoring the tight knot in his own stomach.

“Perhaps I wasn’t the only one unaware of the room switch?” Mack asked, and the knot grew tighter. Abe swore he saw the ghost of a smirk on the man’s face, like he could feel the detective’s growing unease. “That’s the problem with setting traps: you can’t guarantee the person that walks into it is the one you were hoping to catch.”

Abe didn’t answer. His mind was spiraling in on the thought, trapped in a vortex of the past repeating itself, as it did every time. Again and again and again, leaving him dizzy and just wanting to get off this wild ride of a train currently going nowhere.

Again Mack shrugged. “The simple fact of the matter is, I don’t have a motive here. I didn’t have anything against the man, I barely knew Apless any more than I know you, detective. Can you say the same for everyone else on board this train?”

There wasn’t much left for Abe to ask Mack, or at least nothing he could think of after that, so after a few half-hearted tries he just told the man to go back to the lounge car and send the next person in for questioning.

As Mack closed the car door behind him, revealing a smug look that he wasn’t even bothering to hide anymore, Wilford leaned against the back of Abe’s chair and remarked, “Well, I don’t know a whole lot about this whole ‘interrogation” thing, but I think that went well!”

“Do you think someone on this train wants me dead?” Abe asked, too numb to care who he was asking that question to before it was too late.

“Probably!” Wilford shrugged when Abe turned and looked up at him. “What? You’re not very good at making friends, you know.”

“Or keeping them,” Abe muttered. “What if Happy’s dead because of me?”

“Eh, he’ll get over it, I’m sure,” Wilford said, waving the thought away with his hand. “You barely even knew the guy!”

Abe wondered if that made it worse or not, before shaking himself out of it. “You don’t just ‘get over’ being dead!”

“You’d be surprised,” Wilford said, but the detective just stood up and pushed him away before pacing around the room.

Abe needed to get his head straight before the next suspect came walking in that door, but there was too much going on in there for him to just shake it off. Wilford, as much as he hated to admit it, was right about one thing: Abe barely knew Happy, so why had his death rattled him so much?

“You just have a big heart, detective,” Wilford said, smiling as he once again intruded on Abe’s personal thoughts. “So much love and affection—”

“If you do not shut up I can and will find out what this gun does to your face,” Abe said, pulling Happy’s gun on the man to illustrate his point.

Wilford obligingly shut his yap, giving Abe a moment to study the bizarre, toylike weapon. He really didn’t know anything about Agent Harold Apless, and Peter, Illinois, Professor Beauregard, and Mack all claimed not to know the man either. So who here did? Who here might know enough about the man to possibly have a reason to kill him?

Or, failing that, who had a reason to kill Abe?

Unfortunately, it was the same story with each and every interrogation that followed.

“I’m afraid I didn’t know the unfortunate young man,” Dorene Whitacre admitted, pulling her shawl in close against the chill in the darkened dining car. “I did try to start a conversation with him earlier at the bar, before and after dinner, but he struck me more as the strong, silent type. A good listener, but not one to sit still for long, judging by how he was roaming around the train.”

“When you were talking to him, did he suggest he might know someone on the train, or where he was going?” Abe asked.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure he said anything about himself, now that I think about it. I’m not even sure he even told me his name, but I did get a little distracted when Illinois introduced himself. You said it was Happy?”

“More like a nickname,” Abe admitted. “You and Illinois seemed pretty close when I saw you yesterday, to have just met.”

“Oh, well it was the first time meeting him in person,” Dorene said with a smile. “We’ve exchanged a few letters over the years, as I’ve helped fund the occasional expedition. A fascinating man, really.”

“Eh, I liked Harrison Ford better,” Wilford muttered from the other table, over the flask he had once again “borrowed” from the detective without his noticing.

“Jealous much?” Abe asked, unable to help himself.

“Jealous?” Dorene repeated, considering for a moment. “No, I don’t think this Happy fellow was too bothered by Illinois taking over the conversation. As I said, he wasn’t much of a talker, and I suspect he was just looking for an excuse to politely wander away. I’m afraid I do tend to go on a bit, when the mood strikes.”

He encouraged Dorene to go on a bit more, but her story matched what Illinois had told her earlier, and while she admitted to having a nightcap at the bar the older woman claimed not to have seen anything amiss before going back to her room around the same time as the others.

“Although I was quite worried about you, sleeping away in the lounge like that,” Dorene said. “The bartender, that nice young man Benjamin, said that he would make sure you found your way back to your room once he was done cleaning up.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Abe asked, glancing at Wilford who just shrugged.

“I did try to wake you,” Benjamin protested, once it was his turn in the hot seat. “But my attempts to rouse you failed, and, if I may say so, you are not the easiest person to move when you do not wish to be moved.”

Abe half-expected a comment from Wilford at that, but when he looked around he realized that it was just him and the bartender. “Where the devil…?”

“Is something wrong, detective?”

Abe shook his head, even as he quietly filed away the suspicion forming in the back of his mind for now. “Yeah, how about you deciding to just leave me to sleep it off in the lounge car?”

“I somehow doubted that it was the worst place you’ve ever slept off a few too many drinks,” Benjamin said, the former butler quickly raising his gloved hands to defend himself when he saw the detective’s expression. “And with everyone else in their rooms I assumed it would be safe enough. How was I to know there was a—a killer among us?”

He stuttered a bit at that last minute swap of words, as if afraid to voice the word even here.

“Look, pal, I know a lot happened back there, at that house, and you and I didn’t leave there on the best of terms—”

“Really? Aside from some harsh words said in the heat of the moment, I rather thought we were—” Benjamin started, but Abe shushed him with a gesture and continued.

“That place, what happened there, it changed us. You can’t just see what we saw, experienced what we did, and not have it affect you in some way. I mean, look at the Colonel!”

Not that he was here at the moment, but at his words Benjamin’s face became rigid, unmoving except for the play of the lanternlight. “I’d rather not.”

“If there’s something you want to tell me, something you want to get off your chest about what happened back then—”

“I do not!” Benjamin paused, the light from the lantern still shaking about from his sudden outburst, and it was with obvious restraint that he continued, “Detective, there is nothing more I want to do than put everything that happened in that…place as far from my mind as possible. You may wish to dwell in the past, but the chef and I have moved on, or we’re trying to as best we can. I will admit that I was…less than pleased to see you on the train, with all the memories you bring with you, but I sincerely hope that you try to do the same, for your own good. It is not good to dwell in your grief, detective, not for so long.”

“How long has it been?” Abe asked.

“Pardon?”

“Since the manor, since the party, how long has it been?”

Benjamin shrugged. “Long enough to acknowledge the pain without letting it control you, I should think.”

Abe felt something in his face twitch and he said, “Bold words from someone who keeps a life-size portrait of his former boss in his room.”

“…You were in my room?” Benjamin asked.

Oh. Right. Maybe he should have held onto that piece of information a little longer, although in Abe’s defense he kind of assumed Mack would have told the others about the room search by now.

“Are you really surprised though?” Abe asked in return and Benjamin sighed.

“No, I suppose not. And I am also not ashamed of the painting. It was one of his bequests to me in his will, and I rather thought it made for a nice likeness of him.”

“Mark had a will?”

“And I never said there was anything wrong with remembering what we lost during that terrible weekend, simply that it does nothing to wallow in grief,” Benjamin continued. He frowned at the detective and added, “Somehow it feels like you’re trying to do both at the same time: forget, and drown in grief.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Abe protested. Hell, it would be nice if he could forget what happened at the manor, if only to get a moment’s peace.

Unbidden and without warning, Abe recalled sitting opposite Wilford, the mug in the other man's hands with the words “SPOILER ALERT!” emblazoned on the side and his stomach clenched in on itself as though bracing for a knife’s edge to go in.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Abe said through gritted teeth.

“You’re the one who got us off topic in the first place!” Benjamin retorted. “Nothing that happened back then has anything to do with Mr. Apless. Why, I never met the man before today—or rather, it would be yesterday now—and I certainly would have remembered if he were one of Master Mark’s acquaintances.”

“You still call him—you know what, never mind.” Abe shook his head before he could open up that can of worms too. “How many times have you run this route, do you think?”

“Oh…” Benjamin thought for a moment, blowing some air between his lips. “I don’t know, it’s rather hard to keep track with all of the shuttling back and forth. I will say, the conductor, chef, and I have become rather old hands at it. Mostly because everyone else who used to help run this line was let go when the new owner took over, but we’ve gotten to know each other fairly well. Enough so that I couldn’t imagine Peter having a hand in this gruesome business.”

“And the chef?” Abe asked and the butler hesitated.

“Not without a good reason, and I don’t think poor Mr. Apless would have had time to create such a motive,” Benjamin said. “Why, the two of them seemed to be chatting quite well after we left the station, or as much as the chef chats with anyone. There was certainly no animosity there.”

“Yeah, I talked to the guy,” Chef said with a shrug when he took his place in the interrogation chair. “That against the rules or something, being friendly with a guest?”

“How well did you know him?”

“Not at all, guy barely said two words about himself if even that much,” the chef said. “Look, he wanders into my kitchen, I politely tell him the place is off limits—”

“—I seem to recall you physically pushing me out and threatening to—”

“—And he apologized and went on his merry way,” Chef finished without listening to Abe. “Did stop at the door and said he’d heard good things about the food on the train and asked if that was my doing. Told him yep, I do it all myself, from start to finish, which is why the only one going in and out of that car is me.”

He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder at the darkened door on the other side of the dining car which connected it to the now inactive kitchen. Abe nodded along, figuring that probably told Happy all he needed to know if he was trying to get a feel for how many people were on the train and who they were.

The gesture caused Abe to look toward the window in the door leading to said kitchen, just in time to catch Wilford looking guilty with a cookie in hand before he ducked out of sight.

“What are you looking at?” the chef asked, turning to glare at the seemingly empty window.

“Hang on a second,” Abe said, and not just because he did not want to be a witness to what the chef would do if he caught Wilford of all people having just raided his kitchen, or worse be forced to pick sides in the inevitable bloodbath. “Whitacre was back there with you before dinner, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, borrowed one of my ovens to make some cookies,” Chef answered without batting an eye.

“But that’s…you literally just said no one else in your kitchen, why is she the exception?”

Chef leaned forward and made full eye contact with Abe to make sure the detective heard him clearly when he answered, “Because Dorene L. Whitacre is a god damn delight, that’s why.”

Wilford popped up in the window again to give a big thumb’s up at that before disappearing once more from sight, like some deranged jack-in-the-box.

Abe’s hands flexed and he felt his face tighten as he strained to control himself before asking, “So you’ve met her before?”

The chef shrugged. “I’ve worked in a lot of places, met a lot of people. You should know, you dug around in my past same as everyone else for that asshole Mark. And believe me, any chef worth his salt knows that when Dorene Whitacre offers to share her chocolate chip cookie recipe with you, you damn well take her up on that offer. Simple as that, man, don’t know what else to tell you.”

“And Happy wasn’t one of those people?” Abe asked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Never seen the man before in my life until he walked into my kitchen yesterday,” Chef answered.

“…What about Richard Moneybags? You know anything about him?” Abe asked, and just like when he presented the question to Dorene and Benjamin, he certainly got an answer.

((End of Part 9. Thanks for reading! This and the next one are both on the long side--I probably should have tried harder to break them up better, but I didn't.

Also sorry for all the stock and business talk from Mack.

Link to Part 10: A Ticket to Ride here.

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox@hidinginmybochard))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm abe #wilford warfstache #iswm mack #benjamin the butler #dorene whitacre #murder on the warfstache express

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chuckeroo777 · 4 months ago

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Frieren Liveblog- Chapters 53-56

Welcome back! It's been a bit, but I'm back to see how our intrepid gang of hopefuls manages to beat the most powerful boss of all.

A petite elf.

Let's dive in!

Right, cause we still have a Sense clone on the loose. Not to mention Fern and Denken clones.

Huh. This strategy was simpler than I thought. Then again, we're being told the plan before the results, so there's still plenty of chance for it to go awry.

My work here is done.

But you didn't do anything?

Mandrake. Venus flytrap. Prickly Pear Cactus. All flowering plants. And that's not even mentioning flowering trees. Depending on the definition of "Flower", this spell could do frightening things.

This is soft confirmation that elves are functionally immortal. Not super surprising, but worth noting.

Well, it had plenty of time considering the two flashbacks and the chapter transition.

I see they're concerned about the same three I was.

Sounds like a skill issue to me, Richter.

That logic is so bull-shit, it just might work.

Huh. I though her killing an instructor was characterizing her callousness, but Burg was just kind of an overconfident idiot, wasn't he?

Ubel is frightening. Definitely more of a sorcerer than a wizard.

Rude.

Aw, dang. That's not good. Lawine already left, but the demon can still make a new Lawine clone. They need to finish this fast before they are totally outnumbered.

RUDE!

I wonder if this is the demon assuming direct control. I can't imagine the real Frieren snapping like this.

Huh. Or maybe she would.

Man, every time I think I have a handle on Frieren's power, she just gets scarier.

So, because we beat the dungeon for you, we get a cut of that, right?

Right?

Of course.

Good thing her ego is non-existent. I do appreciate how Laufan is just like, "Yeah, that tracks."

Well, at the very least you can get a temporary replacement. Fixing your staff can be a long term project.

I swear, nothing had better happen to Kanne in the final trial. You better not be burying these lesbians.

Stop being a sourpuss and accept the donut of friendship.

Denken is a good dude. Shame about all the death flags.

Frieren's pride may be unwoundable, but Richter's sure isn't.

She may not understand, but that won't stop her from trying.

Whelp, time for the final exam. Hopefully it won't be like the first one. I'm still pissed at Genau. Burg was kinda an idiot, but at least the only one he endangered was himself.

Seriously, make it tough as balls to pass, but nonfatal please.

As for predictions, I think it would be interesting for Frieren to fail, but Fern to pass. I also suspect Denken will fail, but our gang will take him along to get his wish anyway. Also, Ubel will pass because she's a total freak, and she'll join us cause she feels like it.

And that's it for today! Join me again in (indeterminable time period) when we maybe finally conclude this arc.

#sousou no frieren #frieren liveblog #frieren #manga spoilers #manga #chapter 53 #chapter 54 #chapter 55 #chapter 56

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antvnger · 2 years ago

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Soooooooo since I was only around in the movie for like 30 minutes or so, I missed loads of like actual important information that would’ve been nice to know beforehand.

The short answer rant is this: What. A. Shit show.

Like…like hell, I don’t even know where to start with all of this. It gave me a headache.

Brace yourselves, gang, I’m not holding back.

First of all, apparently sitting down and having an actual conversation about the Accords was a little too much to do for them? Like they started to but nothing came out of it. A stand still. I would think something that big would make them sort through it all until they came to some kind of collective agreement, but I guess not? 🤷🏻‍♂️

Secondly, both sides made mistakes. Big time. Both thought they were doing right, and I definitely get that, but both sides could’ve done better at what they were doing. I guess retrospect’s 20/20 but yeah.

Also, I really can’t stand Ross. Not the clean shaven Ross but the one with the mustache and the high and mighty, sourpuss attitude. Like what a creep.

The real bad guys here? The government.

How the hell did the Avengers just learn about the Accords 3 days before they’re supposed to be ratified? Shouldn’t that have been like breaking news from the moment somebody breathed about it?

And Ross being like “you’ll retire” if the Avengers decide to go against the Accords? As if he could actually do anything about it. I mean, who the hell does this guy think he is? Thanos?

Also what is it with baseball caps and sunglasses as disguises? I know I pulled the same stunt but it wasn’t my idea. I said no and got outvoted.

And look, I think Wanda’s great, but she wasn’t a kid at the time this all went down. I appreciate Cap wanting to protect her since she was like the newbie, but she messed up. That was really bad. I don’t know what she could’ve done to fix it, but maybe at the very least the Avengers could have issued a public apology.

I think Steve has serious Bucky issues and I genuinely don’t understand.

And Vision saying the whole world started having more enhanced since/because Tony said he’s Iron Man is bullshit. Last I checked, and Ant Mun backed me up here, all the big bads that have shown up in our world happened because of things NOT related to Tony! What, just because they called the move Captain America Civil War, they’re gonna make Tony the bad guy or something? Bullshit.

ALSO! When T’Challa was fighting Bucky and the UN chopper just started shooting at them both, thank goodness T’Challa was wearing Vibranium or that would have caused a plethora of other problems. Funny how the Avengers get fingers pointed at them over collateral damage for the sake of the mission when that chopper was literally doing THE SAME THING.

WHY DIDNT STEVE JUST EXPLAIN TO TONY TEN MINUTES INTO THE MOVIE THAT BUCKY WASNT BUCKY AND HAD NO CONTROL WHEN THE WINTER SOLDIER SHIT HAPPENED?!

Oh don’t worry. I’m getting to Siberia, hold your horses.

I’m not really sure on the timeframe here, but I’m think the Accords weren’t actually ratified yet when the whole airport fight happened soooooooo I don’t think Creepy Ross had any real power yet to tell Tony what to do.

I’m not going to touch on the lady who lost her son because I can’t even fathom that kind of grief. And I don’t want to. Ever. And I know grief makes you do things so I don’t know. My heart just hurts for her. I hate Tony got the brunt of that but still.

Speaking of grief making you do things? Zemo. I know who he is now, and I really can’t stand the guy. I hate he lost loved ones, and I hurt for him in that department. But when he decided to go all batshit psycho over it, some sympathy’s lost. Like he went through some hella trouble to make the Avengers unravel.

Siberia…*sigh* Siberia was really hard to watch. Like it was painful. It was…frightening. I almost wish I didn’t watch it. I had an idea what was going to happen because of what Tony shared but to see it for myself…

*sigh* This whole movie is a testament to honesty, trust, and open communication. Or rather what could happen with a lack there of. Ya know, me hearing about the Avengers before I joined them and seeing them on tv for interviews and stuff, I thought they were tight. An actual, close knit team. Maybe a found-family. But sooooooo much could’ve been avoided if they had just acted like that.

If they’d just sat down and talked it over. They could have an arguing match over it all if necessary, hell friends and families do that. If they had really trusted each other and let each other in on things instead of keeping each other out and building up secrets and agendas. Too many bosses and not enough coworkers.

It hurt, Iron Mun. It hurt to watch. Those are my friends and…there were times it felt like I didn’t even recognize them.

And then watching me show up felt so surreal. They got that whole interaction with the rest of “Team Cap” down to a T. I remember being so excited to be called up by one of the OG Avengers, one of my heroes, feeling honored and ready to do more and help people and do what’s right. Make a bigger difference than I already was. But God, I had no idea. I had no fricking clue.

In the end, Civil War was just like any other war. A mess. Both sides made mistakes, everything could’ve been done better, and nobody came out unscathed. In fact, everything ended up worse because of it.

@stxrksarc

#it took this long to answer because Scott didn’t want to answer at first #he had to think about it #and it took time to write #but he collected his thoughts and got it all out there #it makes him sad and angry to think about #ask scott lang #scott lang #ant-man #stxrksarc #iron mun #captain america civil war #civil war #ant man #antman

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

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There's a lot going on and tons of people are quite upset I think they're figuring it out. There's very little room to go to it's really a little space and there's no place to stay. Whoever they talked to says it. Huge losses and there's more coming this afternoon the infighting too. Couple more announcements. We're in charge of our own program we're going to run it the way we want we don't need advice I'm tired of this offering it. Nothing sticks it's very rude and arrogant for people becoming teeny. I'm so horrible team. Almost all of it can be traced to the max. We're now infiltrating. Well I'm finding out we are finding out there's a lot of stuff there and more than we thought as you can't do deep scans will set off weaponry. Get another disaster thwarted...hehe Hera giggles but she sees it weren't we supposed to take it. It's on and I'll see it. ... I'm right here if you ever need to Miami I had almost exactly right now.

-and there's sourpusses but really they're kind of spoiled it's not really la it's around here and they're slowly figuring out around that many people to try to get an army together and it didn't work and they're trying to call up north and they don't want to come down here to waste our time. Minority morlock are heading down the numbers and people are starting to pester Tommy f a lot and there's a big attack on him he's down to 75% of what he was yesterday and it's good it's less than the size of the United States now only about 7% less or so and it's a bit hefty but it's a it's about 6% less than the size of the United States and it's shrinking every hour it's about 45% smaller so in 10 hours would be half the size that would just be late tonight and they're panicking and they're coming top side and it's going to make it quicker not slower soon they'll be out.

-the McDonald's are trying to recruit and they were taking over the neighborhoods and Florida too and are getting overrun by Max and foreigners and us and it's not a pleasant experience it is boys are mostly somewhat demented and his son cork went the wrong way.

-some more events going on there is the quest for the key Kumar and Harold have dropped in already and you saw them quite a while before it happened then people say I'll come and not going to tell you and it's because that's not how they get there and it's a decent event a big one that was about it it's a few more things that happened as Olympus has fallen there is a White House down in several things like that when is the X-Men believe it's Days of Future past and the whole place is going to be in an upper uproar this week. And it begins shortly too but today a couple of movies are started I mean it's right that the movie dumb and dumber too is during the week and dumb and dumber one looks like a weekend and that's true too and you believe that all that stuff happens the second weekend it's getting set up now and it is about the keys it's very important. More shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

I can ask some things shortly practicing transitioning

Hera

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aerodaltonimperial · 2 years ago

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pipeline punch

Pairing: Hook/Max Caster Rating: T Warnings: None, except that I am, myself, a warning Prompt: Two people reach for the last bottle of the same drink in a gas station fridge.

It’s pretty easy to figure out when the roster descends upon any given location, because the nearest accessible sources of sustenance are nearly immediately wiped out, and today is no exception. The only Sheetz within walking distance looks like it’s been ransacked following the zombie apocalypse: all empty shelves and barren refrigerators, straight out of some B-grade horror flick. It’s a minor miracle that there’s a single energy drink left within the metal rings, even if it’s the most obnoxiously berry flavor, and Hook opens the door to reach for it in autopilot because he’s so fucking tired after getting delayed in O’Hare again that he can barely make sense of what’s happening around him.

Which is why he doesn’t notice the other hand reaching into the fridge at the exact same time. Fingers clamp down around his prize, bare skin that jolts him back into reality, and he whirls to find himself face to face with Max Caster.

“Let go,” Max says, all business.

“You let go,” Hook hisses.

“Oh, ho!” Max exclaims. His eyes have lit up, which sends alarm bells off in Hook’s head. “He does speak occasionally.”

Hook is way too tired to deal with this bullshit. “Let go, Caster.”

And Max leans way, way too close, grin wide and blinding. “Make me.”

“I will kill you,” Hook says, and boy does he mean it after the day he’s had. Of all people to tempt fate by poking a sleeping bear…but then again, he might get some real pleasure in beating the smile off Max’s face.

“Resorting to threats?” Max tilts his head to the side, studying Hook, but he very definitely does not let go of the Monster can. “Kind of a one-trick pony, aren’t you, Hook?”

Hook sighs. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Not a single thing,” Max replies. Cheeky. “Actually, there’s not much here to do at all, since every other person I know has decided to go to the gym, and now there’s a waiting line just to get on the leg press.”

“Maybe you could just use your ego as the weights,” Hook tells him seriously. “It seems big enough, anyway.”

“Ha!” Max throws his head back, laughing, and—come on, that was supposed to offend him, not make him laugh. “Fuck, that’s funny. Still not gonna give you the drink, though.”

“Caster,” Hook says, and yes, he’s aware that his voice is dangerously close to a whine, but in his defense, O’Hare might actually be a hellmouth. “Give me the damn drink and go away.”

“No can do, Hook-aroo. You see, I find myself with a pretty desperate need for some caffeine.”

Okay, Hook is really going to punch him. “Get something else. Go find a coffee shop.”

Max shifts. His grip on the can is somehow better than Hook’s, and maybe that’s the whole exhaustion factoring in; Max tugs the can out of the empty fridge and Hook has to scramble to keep his own fingers wrapped around it. He is not giving this up. He needs one win to keep the day from being a total and complete disaster.

He growls. He knows it probably won’t scare Max off, but whatever—feels good anyway. “Let go, Caster.”

“What'll you give me?” Max asks.

“Nothing,” Hook tells him, and then, amends: “The ability to keep living.”

Max grins again. God, Hook hates it. “You’re such a sourpuss. C’mon, make it worth my while.”

“What, you want me to pay you for it, and then pay the cashier again?” Hook snorts. “Fat chance.”

“Aw, what’s the matter?” Two of Max’s fingers clamp down over Hook’s, tight enough to pinch his skin against the metal. “Trust fund baby doesn’t have the money?”

Jesus Christ, it’s like he wants to die.

“Are you always this fucking annoying?” Hook seethes.

Max laughs. “Oh, normally I’m so much worse.”

Hook can believe that. He tries jerking the can closer towards his chest, thinking maybe he’ll catch Max off-guard and gain the upper hand, but all it does is pull both the can and Max closer to his position. Shit. “You’re an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Max shoots back.

Oh my god… “What are you, five?” Hook gives the can a shake, which is seriously going to backfire if he’s the one who ends up with it. “I’ve had the shittiest day, just give it to me.”

“And this canned monstrosity is going to make your shitty day better?” Max scoffs. “Aim higher, at least.”

“You’re one to judge. How’s hanging out with Daddy Ass?”

“Oh!” Max exclaims. The glint in his eyes gets sharper. “Wow, that’s not dripping with disdain at all. Tell me how you really feel, Hook. How’s being all alone with no friends because you’re so insufferable to be around?”

Okay, that stung, and maybe he deserved it, but still. “You literally don’t know anything about me.”

He expects an argument, but Max gets kind of quiet. Thoughtful. “You know, you’re right; I don’t.”

“Right,” Hook says, although…it’s not really a retort. He’s a bit thrown, now, off his game.

“So let’s say I want to,” Max tells him. “Tell me something about yourself, then.”

What? “This isn’t fucking happy hour, Caster.”

“I’ll say. People normally don’t make faces that grumpy at happy hour.”

Hook’s back to wanting to punch him in the nose. “You are easily the most annoying person I’ve ever talked to.”

“That’s not a high bar, though, is it? You don’t talk to anyone, so there’s like, what, five people on that list?”

“Caster,” Hook says. Pleads. “Please.”

“Let’s go, then, Hook,” Max says, and is it Hook’s imagination or has his voice dropped significantly? They’re close enough that Hook could easily sock him in the face if he really wanted. “What’s it gonna be? Give up? Or give in?”

“Give in how?” This is so fucking frustrating. “All you’ve done is stand there and run your mouth.”

“Tell you what,” Max says. He tugs the can, and fuck, Hook’s sneakers tangle up together, propelling him forward farther than he wanted to stumble. They are toe to toe now, close enough that Hook’s got an uncomfortably close look at the mirth in Max’s eyes. “I’ll make this even easier for you. I’ll give you the drink, and I’ll just take what I want in return.”

“I’m not giving you the FTW belt,” Hook replies, automatically.

It’s insulting that Max laughs at that, too. “In what world do you think I want your belt? How would that even be a decent trade?”

“Then what do you want?”

Max’s tongue creeps out, pressing into the corner of his mouth. There’s kind of a stretched moment of nothing that Hook thinks is actually something, something monumental that he’s managed to miss. Like most things, really. The whole thing just serves to double the frustration in his stomach. If he could not be doing that…thing with his face, it would be great. Hook’s tired. His thoughts are a mess. He just wants to go to his room and not have to deal with people anymore.

“What,” Hook says, flat, when Max fails to answer his question. He’s trying to be as uninviting as possible, and it’s infuriating how little it seems to be working.

“I know what I want,” Max tells him. His tone is low, and kind of throaty, like he’s trying to be…wait.

Wait. “Uh,” Hook says, eloquently. Max is leaning closer, like close-close, like so close that Hook can feel the warmth of his exhales. “We’re, uh, in a gas station.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Max’s mouth quirks up, one corner higher than the other. “Why? You wanna go scurry off to the bathroom instead?”

Well, it would be better than standing here, right in front of the damn drink fridges, except Hook can’t get his legs to move. His knees have locked up, freezing him to the ground. And Max is—shit, Max is still shifting in. Hook’s hands tighten instinctively around the can, breath catching.

It isn’t until Max’s mouth is pressed against his that Hook realizes he probably could have run. He could have dropped the energy drink and turned on his heel and left, or he could have smacked Max across the face for getting even a fraction of this close, and he didn’t do any of it, and now they are locked at the lips, and it’s not even bad. It’s actually—ah, fuck, it’s actually good. Max kisses without any of the bullshit bravado Hook would have expected, sort of deliberately but gentle, little pushes of pressure that make Hook want to part his lips, which is, he’s pretty sure, exactly the point.

Well. Shit. Now he’s kissing Max Caster, and the kisses are bordering on really great as Max lets go of the can and instead cups Hook’s face with his palms, and Hook’s closing his eyes because this is the sort of thing he wants to fall into and let sweep him out of his weariness altogether, and did he know Max’s hands were this big, wide enough to cover the whole of his ears?

Ah, shit.

Max pulls back wearing the most fucking smug expression Hook’s ever seen, and that’s saying something considering it’s one of Max’s default looks. Except he doesn’t say anything else; he just takes a step back with that smile still plastered on his face.

In fact, he gets halfway to the doors before he stops. “Three twenty-seven,” he says, twisting around with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“The price?” Hook frowns, confused, because his brain hitched and sputtered and stopped working somewhere in the middle there.

Max grins. “My room number.” Then he flashes Hook a scissoring gesture.

Oh that son of a bitch. “Fuck off,” Hook grumbles, cheeks heating. He hopes no one he knows was in the Sheetz with the same idea of sustenance to see this entire situation unfold. Not even the Monster between his hands could help lessen the embarrassment if word of this got out.

Ugh. The worst thing is that, after Hook pays for the drink without looking the too-amused cashier in the eyes and flees the scene, the damn thing is just as obnoxiously, nauseatingly sweet as he expected it would be, coating his tongue.

And now he can’t stop repeating Max’s room number in his head.

Son of a bitch.

#wrestleprompts #hook x max caster #hookcaster

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catboybatman · 3 years ago

Text

Im so tired of seeing the worst hot takes on batman all time. Im not even talking about whether he's a good parent or not or the male power fantasy wet dream. Its the soggy whitebread on a plate takes that are presented like its something genius that piss me off more than anything else.

"Batman is a good actor and sometimes he wears make up" this is canon idk what to tell you my guy.

"Bruce would be an ally!!" Well canonically he is. And if you have brains you can see that there is nothing straight about that man, but that is a conversation for another day before i start ranting on how a lot of yall view queerness in characters.

"I think Bruce would offer criminals and such jobs at WE" Again. This is canon. Like idk why you are presenting it like its some genius hot take like its in the fucking text!!!

"I think Bruce donates-" YES HE DOES. ITS A GIGANTIC PART OF WHAT HE DOES. JUST BECAUSE IT ISNT SPELLED OUT IN EVERY COMIC DOESNT MEAN IT DOESNT HAPPEN. Im so tired. Please just open some comics, preferably some slightly older ones. Fucking hell read his wiki if you dont like comics just god something.

Its so clear that these ppl have no idea what kind of character Bruce is and are only familiar with him through batfam/batkids comics and its infuriating how populair these hot takes get because most of the time its just a watered down version of a little thing that is actually canon but just ignored and forgotten bc he has to be the awkward lame dad of the batkids bc otherwise it would require making bruce a complex and layered character and we wouldnt want that now do we

And what really bothers me most is the fucking adoption addiction thing jesus. Listen, i get the joke. It can be funny for sure. But that doesnt mean hes actively out here snatching kids of the street to adopt them and force them to become robin like what fucking comics are you reading??? Im just. Ugh.

This is mainly just venting idk do whatever im not a cop lmao i just find it so annoying that most bruce content is either batkid related bc he isnt allowed to leave his box of lame father bc that wouldnt fit in with the batkids perspective or is just mediocre watered down bs that is literally canon but just ignored or ppl dont bother reading his comics before making a "hot take".

"I think he-" yea because he does

Anyway whatever. Like i said im not a cop and it isnt like this is going to change much lol its just annoying i guess. Keep on doing whatever. Have fun. Enjoy your fandom experience im just being a sourpuss i guess jsks

#bruce wayne #batman #batfam

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hyperfixated-gvf · 3 years ago

Note

The dad josh fic was so good, now dad Jake please

Finally got it all done for you, Anon - Jake's fatherhood snapshots. I wanted to make sure I didn't rob the experience from all my friends in Jake's lane by writing it too similarly to Josh's (although I do think they would have similar parenting styles), but I'm not sure if I succeeded or not, so I apologize if it doesn't seem in line with his character. This isn’t set in the same plane of existence as Josh’s either, but I still feel like Jake would be one of those dads obsessed with parenting books and pregnancy blogs.

Also, since I don't name the babies I write cause it seems too contrived, sorry about all the stilted phrases used in substitution. I do have a funny headcannon that Jake would definitely name his son Oliver Reid Kiszka or something.

Lots of twin interaction in this one, and since I felt compelled to add a bonus snapshot, I gift you a small heart to heart between the reader and Uncle Sam (Kiszka...not the "I Want YOU!" guy).

(And as a courtesy tag to my #1 Jake girl, @skankforjakekiszka - I messed around and got attached to you on accident...sorry darlin’)

Nothing I Wouldn't Do, Nowhere I Wouldn't Go

Warnings: Little bit of language and crude humor, other than that, just fatherhood and fluff again

Pairing: Jake Kiszka/Reader

Words: 5k (reading break for length control)

“Ok, what about ‘the turkey isn’t the only thing Jake’s stuffed, Baby Kiszka should be ready to come out in 7 months’?”

Jake tried and failed to hold back a pained smile, finding the phrase funny when he very much didn’t want to. “No.”

“Or I could walk in and say ‘Jake should be in charge of the rolls, because he was successful at putting a bun in my oven’.” Jake couldn’t stop the snort that escaped this time, shaking his head.

“No.”

You pretended to think again, having already looked up an entire list of bad Thanksgiving baby announcements. “Jake gave me some of his gravy and now I’m pregnant.”

Jake made a disgusted sound and shook his head, face scrunching up. “I think that was the worst one. What if we did something normal and…not crude?”

You shot Jake a scathing look. “Do you really want to look your brothers and sister in the eye and say ‘we’ve added a little turkey to our family, say hello to Baby Kiszka’ or something cheesy? At least they’ll appreciate the crude aspect of it, it might offset the teasing.”

Jake sighed. “Do we have to do a Thanksgiving-themed reveal at all? I mean, there are so many other ways we could go about this.” You tapped your fingers on the table, book of baby names laying spread out in front of the both of you.

“But—”

“Also, my parents would find the crude ones funny too and that in itself makes me a little uncomfortable.”

You laughed, because it did sound like something his parents would find funny. You supposed most of the boys and Ronnie had to get their humor from somewhere, you just happened to snag the one who didn’t.

“Okay, okay, I guess we could tone it down a little bit, even if we’re really passing up an opportunity here. What are you thinking? You’ve been doing a whole bunch of vetoing and not a whole lot of contributing.”

Jake stuck his tongue out at you. “I’ve been too busy trying to keep my lunch down at your unpalatable suggestions,” he teased.

You pushed him lightly. “Yeah, yeah, you prude. Now tell me your ideas so that I can veto them, too. I want a turn at being the sourpuss.” You absently flipped a page in the book.

The top of Jake’s cheekbones tinged pink, and when he didn’t say anything, you peeked over at him and noticed his quiet embarrassment. You hoped you hadn’t made him pout with your sourpuss comment and internally ran through potential things he could be embarrassed about.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he mumbled.

You smiled in realization, softly observing, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Jake looked at his hands, playing with his rings – a behavior of his that made your heart squeeze. “Since you told me. I just like thinking about how happy my family is going to be, so it was just…a natural thought progression, you know.”

You wrapped your arms around him in affection, disliking that however gentle he’d said it, he thought he had to defend himself to you. “Of course it was. And I love that you’ve thought about this, too – I’ve seen way too many women excited about their pregnancy while their partner just sits there like a limp noodle.”

Jake went boneless in your arms with a smile. “Like this?”

“Nice. You definitely resemble a big piece of cooked spaghetti,” you giggled, letting him go. “Now really, what were you thinking?”

(Jake wouldn’t stop subtly bragging to his family and friends about how dragging a newly-bought highchair to the table right before they ate just to “see if the new kid would fit next year” was all his idea.)

The small release party was lowkey – partly because it was only celebrating the release of a single and partly because none of the boys felt like hosting a big party or being responsible for getting someone else to host it.

You were grateful for the fact regardless of the reason because it meant less strangers coming up to you to talk about the pregnancy and your relationship with Jake and yada yada yada blah blah blah – a bunch of things that you’d already discussed with everyone who meant anything to you guys.

However, you weren’t a fan of the way that apparently, the size of the party made it easier for people to catch you sneaking charged glances Jake’s way (although you may have just been much less subtle than you’d thought you were being, too). You wanted to ogle him in peace, thank you very much, but your “condition” kept drawing the eyes of everyone there except the man you were ogling.

He’d been glued to his phone for the entire evening, showing everyone something on the screen that made him smile, and for the life of you, you couldn’t remember him showing you anything of the sort recently at all.

Now, perhaps it was the hormones talking, but you did not appreciate feeling left out of a joke that evidently, Jake was keen on letting everyone else at the party in on except you.

When your silent plea for Jake to just fucking look at you already was ignored once again, you heaved yourself up and grimaced at the ache in your feet. You hadn’t even been exerting yourself, except perhaps emotionally, on that couch, so the rebellion against your body was totally uncalled for.

You made your way over to Jake, who looked at his screen briefly (yet again) and smiled (yet again).

“You got a secret girlfriend or something that I don’t know about?” you joked, trying to hide your (probably) irrational irritation at him.

Jake smiled hesitantly, belying his confusion. “Huh?”

“Your phone, doofus. You’ve been smiling at it all night, and I’ve been undressing you with my eyes since 10 minutes after we got here but you haven’t even noticed, dammit.” You pouted. “Even other people noticed – which was humiliating, by the way.”

Jake smiled insolently. “Undressing me with your eyes, huh? There something you want, sweetheart?”

You made a face at him. “Not if you really do have a secret girlfriend on that screen.”

Jake’s smile grew, and with it, your irritation. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you denied vehemently, perhaps too much so. “Maybe. I just want to know what you’re smiling about.”

Jake’s smile softened into something that eased your temper. “No secret girlfriend, just our little bean,” he explained finally, pressing the button on his phone to light up the lock screen and revealing a stitched-together compilation of the baby in various ultrasound photos ranging from your first appointment to your most recent. Like they were growing in front of your eyes.

You tried to swallow the lump that appeared so suddenly in your throat, but Jake must have heard you and looked up from the screen, immediately pocketing the phone and wrapping his arms around you at the sight of you holding back abrupt tears.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I wouldn’t have teased if I’d known you were really worried. You know I’d never.”

You sniffled into his dress shirt, tears flowing despite your attempts to stop them, and you choked out a laugh. “It wasn’t that. Stupid hormones are just really potent right now, I guess. They’re growing so fast,” you said jaggedly, a fresh round of tears spilling out. “And the fact that you keep them as your lock screen is so cute,” you half-sobbed, half-laughed.

“Shhh,” Jake comforted. “It’s pretty normal for your hormones to be all fucked-up right now, you’re getting into the last leg of pregnancy, they’re usually highest right about now.”

You let out another uncontrollable sob-laugh. “Did you read that on a pregnancy blog?”

“…Yes.”

The way Jake loved was unconditional. It was all-encompassing and there was very little that could force him to let go once he started loving you.

But the nurses did.

The nurses forced him let go of your hand when the birth went awry and you had to be rushed into an emergency c-section surgery.

And that was an actual nightmare of his come true.

He thought he’d known stress, being a rockstar. He thought he’d known pressure. But they were nothing compared to what he was feeling now, trying not to pace outside the room but too anxious to stand still. And while the worst part was the anticipation, the waiting – it was all exacerbated by the fact that he was so alone.

You’d told your families that you’d call them when visiting hours started the next day due to the late hour your labor started, so no one was there except Jake and the linoleum floors and the night shift workers and his anxiety.

He would have called someone – it wasn’t as if any single member of his family would be anything but happy to get up and come wait with him – it was that he didn’t know who he wanted.

He wanted his mom so she could hug him and let her tell him everything was going to be alright. He wanted his dad and his endless support. He wanted his sister and her ability to take his mind off of things. He wanted Danny and Sam to drag him into their shenanigans and play fights. He wanted Josh and their bond, their unspokeness and –

And he wanted Josh.

His hand trembled slightly as he took out his phone, but before he could tap on Josh’s name, a hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. Jake turned and looked back to see none other but the man whose name was under his hovering thumb, holding a small bouquet of flowers and a fast food bag.

“Is everything okay?”

Jake slowly shook his head and Josh immediate put the things in his hands on the ground, roughly pulling him into a hug. “How’d you—” he cut himself off before his rough, wavery voice devolved into tears, not wanting to cry.

“I didn’t,” Josh confessed, the ending of Jake’s sentence unnecessary for comprehension. “I came here because I couldn’t sleep, I was too excited, so I looked up the average labor time and figured she’d be just about done. I wasn’t sure if they’d let me in, but Danny had mentioned something yesterday about how you guys would probably hate the hospital food, so I thought I’d at least bring you some late dinner. What happened?”

Jake pulled back and exhaled audibly, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if that would make the wetness go away. “Something went wrong, I’m not sure what, but they rushed her into surgery about a half hour ago. I think. Give or take, you know, time seems a little distorted in here,” he said with a small smile, sharing his brother’s hatred of hospitals. “Should’ve been a doctor, maybe I’d understand a little more about what’s happening.”

“Did they sat anything about the baby? Not that I’m not worried about Y/N, too,” he backtracked.

“Uh, I think it was something about the positioning – or was it the umbilical cord – I can’t…I can’t remember,” Jake despaired. “Everything happened so fast and now I can’t tell if I’m remembering something I read or what the doctors told me.”

Josh opened his mouth to answer but the door opened behind Jake, causing him to spin around so fast it made him dizzy.

One of the nurses that had ushered Jake out of the room before smiled at him, and a wave of preemptive relief surged through him.

“Your wife made it through just fine, she’s recovering under supervision.”

“And my baby?”

The nurse smiled again, and Jake swiped a stray tear from his eye. “Your son was brought into the world kicking and screaming.” Her sentence was punctuated by a tiny, yet fierce cry from the room, and the nurse gave Jake a look that read, ‘see’. “You can go in and see them as soon as the doctors finish up.”

Jake turned back to Josh, biting back more tears – happy this time – and leaned straight into his waiting arms, wrapping his own arms tightly around his brother.

“My son,” he laughed wetly, shock and awe radiating through his voice. “I’ve got a fucking son.”

“And I’ve got a fucking nephew,” Josh echoed with a smile. Jake pinched Josh on the side.

“Stop trying to one-up me; let me have my moment, I just became a dad.”

“Jake?” you called frantically, moving fast as you could around the corner. “Jake, do you have our son? I put him on the changing pad and went to get a diaper, and now he’s gone. He can’t even crawl yet!”

“What? Oh yeah, I have him. He seemed lonely, all by himself on the floor,” Jake said innocently from your bedroom. As you got closer, you heard him babble softly to the baby. “Unacceptable, mate, there’s no fuckin’ room for fuckin’ loneliness in this fuckin’ house.”

You frowned in the doorway. “Hey, Oliver Reed.” Jake looked up at you with wide eyes, adjusting the last strap on the baby carrier.

“Yes?”

“Watch your fuckin’ language and fuckin’ tell me when you abscond with our son next time.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You walked toward the pair with the diaper still in hand. “Now take him out of the carrier, he still has a full pee diaper.”

Jake wrapped his arms around the boy and turned away. “Noo,” he whined softly, “he’s comfortable already.”

“He might leak onto your shirt.”

“That’s what washing machines are for.”

“He’s gonna get diaper rash,” you insisted with an exasperated chuckle, still dancing around Jake trying to get to your baby.

Jake sighed dramatically. “Fine. But he comes right back to me after, you baby snatcher.”

You swatted him upside the head. “He’s my son too, you know.”

“I’m not letting him down until I hear a promise.”

“Fine, fine,” you huffed. “You can have him back afterwards.”

Jake gently let him out of the carrier while you got the travel water-proof pad to lay onto the mattress.

“Hyena,” you mumbled at Jake, who was standing right behind you as you changed the baby.

Jake put his hand to your lower back, and you felt the heat through your shirt. “You’re the opportunistic one,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes as he was clearly not talking about the baby anymore.

You carefully helped Jake situate your son in the body carrier again. “Keep hogging my son and see just how many opportunities arise, Jacob.” He smiled impishly. “And if I catch you trying to cook open-flame with the carrier on again, I’m selling it.”

His smile dropped to a pout.

You were used to dealing with children, what with nieces and nephews and being a mother for going on four years now.

But a man-child? Oh, they were a different breed. And in addition to marrying one, you just had to marry one that was in a band with three other man-children, two of them his blood brothers.

Which is why every time you looked at your sweet little boy, your pride and joy, you hoped and prayed that he would take after you. But every time you saw him hanging out with his dad and uncles, your hopes and prayers were dashed, just a little bit.

“It is twenty minutes until you are supposed to be on stage, and he is not going with you.” The warning in your voice was clear, but so was the mischief in Jake and Josh’s. They seemed stuck in the same frozen half-crouch that you found them in, ready to bolt down the hall somewhere backstage, and you took a step towards them, eyes catching the way Jake’s hands twitched toward your son, who was giggling at the tension in a mini Jake outfit that you had no idea the origin of.

“Look Mommy, I’m Daddy!”

“That’s very nice, honey, wanna come to Mommy so that Daddy and Uncle Josh can get ready for the show?”

“But Daddy said I could go with him!”

“Jake,” you warned again, though the underlying threat was stronger in your tone this time. Jake shrugged, mouthing ‘I love you,’ to which you subtly shot him the bird where your child couldn’t see.

“Y/N,” Josh said cheekily.

“If you value your vocal chords, you grungy little elf man, shut up and walk away.” You shifted your eyes to Jake again and took another step. “And if you value your fingers, sweetheart,” your voice turned saccharine with the unspoken threat and another step, and this time Jake did put his hands on his son’s waist, ready to scoop him up. The sudden movement had the child clutching at Jake’s sleeves and smiling widely.

You didn’t stop to think about what the various backstage workers thought of the three grown-ass adults and a child stalking each other in a random hallway, and you weren’t all that concerned, either. What you were concerned about was the tantrum that would plague every single passenger of the car all the way to the next stopover if you didn’t get your son wound down to a solid 3 on the energy scale within the next 30 minutes.

You could tell he was matching his father and his uncle at their level 8.

“Just one show?” Jake pleaded. “Part of one show? One song? The chorus of one song,” he negotiated, taking his offer down each time at your continued glower.

You saw Josh whisper something in Jake’s ear and knew the light that started twinkling in his eye.

“Jake, Josh, I’m serious.”

They looked at you with wide, mischievous eyes and then side-eyed each other at the same time.

You started running then, still not quick enough to catch them as Jake swung your son into his arms and took off after Josh, all three of them laughing maniacally.

All the Kiszka boys were relatively deep sleepers. For Jake, that changed after his son was born, stirring at every movement on the bed when they co-slept and then at every sound from the monitor once they started sleep-training.

The adaptation was both a blessing and a curse – at times making sleeping on a moving tour bus nearly impossible but also saving his face from permanent marker mustaches (thanks, son) and crude phrases (thanks, band).

So when his phone buzzed from its spot on his nightstand at 2:52 am one very early Saturday morning, his hand shot over almost unconsciously, flailing and groping around for the device before rolling over and putting it to his ear, whispering, “Hello?” in an attempt not to wake you.

“Um…hey, dad.”

Jake’s eyes flew open and he opened the bedroom door quietly as he could. “Hey buddy, whatcha doing?” He walked the length of the hallway to where your son’s room was and turned the knob, only to find it locked. “Are you okay?”

“Uhh, yeah?”

“You don’t sound so sure of that,” Jake observed. It was only then that he heard a faint giggling in the background. “And where are you?”

“How do you know that I’m not –”

“You should tell your friends they’re laughing pretty loudly if I can hear them across the phone.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Are you mad?”

Jake huffed into the phone. “I’d be a hypocrite if I was. A little worried, but I’m not mad.” There was another pause and when the boy didn’t offer anything else, Jake asked, “So is everything ok? Or were you just so – so wracked by guilt that you needed to call to confess?”

“I didn’t mean to get drunk, dad, I swear.” His son spoke softly. “The punch was spiked and I didn’t know.”

Jake smiled. He really did take mostly after you, both in appearance and disposition – something he knew you was secretly happy about – and it was always funny when you guys caught the rare few moments that Jake’s contribution to his DNA surfaced. Or rather, when he guiltily called Jake once the contribution sank beneath the surface once again.

“Are you sick? Do you not feel safe?” Jake was still trying to get an answer out of him.

“No, no, everything’s alright, I’m fine. I just – I think I want to come home, now.”

Jake’s heart softened. “Yeah? Ok, bud. I’ll be right there; can you tell me where you are?”

His son rattled off one of his friend’s addresses. “Hey dad?”

Jake tiptoed downstairs and slipped on a pair of shoes by the door, grabbing his keys and quietly making it through the front door. “Yeah?”

“Mom won’t be disappointed in me, will she?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jake laughed. “She’d have left me before we even started dating if alcohol was a game-changer for her.”

There was a shuffle on the phone and a faint voice yelled, “Jake Kiszka, I love you!” from the background, and Jake stifled his laugh.

“Got some Greta fan friends, do you?”

“Ugh,” his son groaned. “They haven’t left me alone since they figured out you’re my dad.”

“Gee,” Jake snickered, navigating the streets in the dark, “some bright friends you got there. Kiszka isn’t exactly a popular name.”

“I dunno,” he sighed. There was silence for a few minutes and Jake looked at the call to make sure it hadn’t been ended when his son spoke again. “Oh, I think I see you.”

Jake chuckled again. “You must be pretty drunk, because whoever you see definitely isn’t me. I’m still driving.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“Maybe your Uncle Josh grew his hair out, straightened it, and crashed your high school party.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Me and you both, bud. I do think I’m almost there, though.”

Jake finally made the last turn into the neighborhood his GPS directed him too.

“I’ll meet you out front, then.” The call ended abruptly and Jake pulled in front of a house that was saturated with cars, waiting until a familiar figure came out the front door. He tried to close it, but it was yanked open by a few more people who tumbled out of the doorway, laughing and waving at Jake.

Jake rolled his windows down and stuck his arm out to wave back, which ignited a cheer from the high schoolers.

His son made it to the car and sat himself in the front seat. “Hey dad.” His words were definitely a little looser than normal. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Jake put a hand on his knee and gave it a shake, routing them back to the main road. “You know there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you nor a thing you could do to make me love you any less.”

“So you’re sure Mom won’t be mad?”

“Son,” Jake began, “let me tell you a few stories from my early twenties and high school days, and then you can be the judge on whether Mom’s perception of you will change based on one experience with alcohol.”

You were suffocating, and it was all the internet’s fault. If Jake didn’t feel the need to be so damn attentive and the internet wasn’t so damn extensive, perhaps Jake wouldn’t have turned into baby/father-zilla and smothered you so damn much.

And you wouldn’t say that you hated it; you loved it, you really did. You loved him.

But sometimes Jake was his own worst enemy, letting his anxiety rule him and leading to a whole night of are you okay and have you drank enough water and that might have too much salt in it and we should take a walk so you don’t start aching and all these different facts and figures that those damn pregnancy websites gave him.

You didn’t tell him, but it had gotten so bad in the past few weeks that you secretly put a filter on his phone’s internet searches in an attempt to keep him from finding any new, niche, and unnecessary information.

Even his mother had picked up on your growing urge to strangle her son, whispering to you, “It’s because he loves you, but I’ll try to say something to him.”

But anyway, back to the suffocation.

You definitely should have picked a less crowded closet to hide in, and that was a rookie move, but you were nothing if not adaptable. Well, and maybe stubborn, because you definitely also could have just up and walked to another hiding place, but where was the dignity in admitting defeat?

And also, the bathroom closet had been a perfect escape because once you’d gone to the bathroom, all you’d had to do was open the door and poof, you were gone, no explanation.

Now, you did feel bad when you faintly heard Jake ask where you were the first time from downstairs, but then it came again and again and again all within the space of a minute and you just needed to breathe a little bit, even if was the stuffy, towel-closet air.

There was a slight ruckus outside the bathroom and your curiosity grew until you were about to give up the game and get back to the family, but then the door flew open and you looked up with guilty eyes, expecting to see Jake tearing the house apart, only to be met with a manic gleam in Sam’s eyes.

“I’m not gonna ask what you’re doing here, but you need to move over because I need to hide.”

You sighed and scooched over as much as you could in the already limited space while Sam shoved towels into the top shelves to make room at the bottom for him. Someone – Danny, more specifically – bellowed out Sam’s name from somewhere in the house and his footsteps quickened downstairs.

You raised your brows at Sam and hid a smile as he frantically shoved even more towels anywhere they would go before throwing himself in the tiny space he’d cleared out, gently shutting the door into darkness again.

There was a beat of silence as heavy footsteps raced past the bathroom door and into the boys’ old bedrooms before racing back, Danny asking very loudly where Sam was hiding.

Once his footsteps faded, Sam let out the unholiest string of snorted coughs and aborted wheezes.

“What in the world did you do?” you said, beginning to giggle along with him solely because of the noises he was making.

“You first – can’t talk,” he forced out, trying to catch his breath.

You sighed and gently let your head fall against the wall with a thunk.

“Your brother is driving me insane.” Your eyes had adjusted to the dark once again and you saw that you were closer to Sam than you had realized. “I love him with my whole heart, but I cannot deal with him right now. If I felt like I was suffocating in here, it’s nothing compared to Jake. I can’t even breathe without him asking if I’m okay, and as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I honestly think he’s trying to recognize the pattern of my breaths so that he can draw up some sort of – of old midwife’s breathing plan that he found in a picture on the internet engraved in a fucking stone tablet or some shit.”

You couldn’t draw as deep of breaths these days, and by the end of the sentence, you gasped for a breath.

Of course, Sam couldn’t help but comment, the little shit. “Damn, maybe you do need to start taking more walks, that was like, one sentence before you were out of breath.”

You kicked him, and he let out a pained yelp that was much too loud.

“Come talk to me when you’re 27 weeks pregnant and crammed in a towel closet, and then we’ll have a breathing contest, yeah?”

He rubbed his shin, where your foot had made contact. “Damn, woman, that child’s gonna be a soccer star if they inherit your leg,” he grumbled.

“Pregnancy super-strength.”

“Bullshit,” he said.

You hummed, letting the exchange peter out. “So what’d you do to Danny?”

In the low light emitting from the cracks in the door, you saw him smile wolfishly.

“Danny’s been losing track of his clothes here recently.”

“Losing track of, huh?” you said dubiously.

“Oh yeah, very disorganized, Danny. Anyways, more specifically, his tighty-whities. Well, his boxer briefs, at least. He didn’t notice until I almost cleaned him out of underwear – you should’ve seen his face when he told me that he suspected someone was stealing ‘em.” Sam laughed. “I gaslit him so hard.”

You rolled your eyes. “And he found your stash of his underwear in your childhood bedroom? See, now that’s the reaction I would have liked to witness.”

“No – he never found them. Well, he did, just now. There was a reason I volunteered to put all the food out.”

“Of course there was.”

“I was surprised my mom didn’t notice first, but I think the designs gave them away – the uh, the new pot-holders we used today, that is.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Never gonna grow up, will you?”

Sam shook his head. “Never,” he agreed. “Besides, my niece or nephew will need someone to guide ‘em in the art of Kiszka pranks.”

“As if Jake and Josh don’t have that covered,” you scoffed.

Sam scoffed right back. “Please, I’m the best prankster in this family. And I’m gonna be the favorite uncle – Josh might have a leg up since he’s Jake’s twin, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

You laughed. “I’m sure the baby will love you all equally.”

“You think so?”

There was a sudden, slight change in Sam’s tone – an infinitesimal waver, a tiny drop of insecurity that was just potent enough to be detected.

“Yeah, I’m certain,” you said softly. “And besides, Josh can’t be the favorite uncle if he’s drunk on salty dogs every time we have a family gathering.”

“True,” Sam said with a small chuckle. He spoke up again after a moment. “I’ll love ‘em anyways, even if I’m not the favorite, though. They won’t have to worry about that.”

You smiled at the uncharacteristic emotion Sam was showing you. “That’s good. If their dad smothers them as much as he does me, they’ll need some place to escape where they’ll be loved just as much, but in a different way.”

Sam’s foot shifted against yours. “I can do that.”

You didn’t know what else to say, but were saved from blurting out something random and ruining the moment by the door flinging open, Danny glaring down at Sam and Jake looking all out of sorts – relieved, confused, frantic – right behind him.

“What the fuck are you guys doing hiding in Mom and Dad’s towel closet?”

#jake kiszka x reader #Dad Jake #greta van fleet fics #asks #request

329 notes · View notes

binxyu · 4 years ago

Text

Jungkook was meant to be just a guilty pleasure. Not your guilty pleasure, but a guilty pleasure. You knew never to fall in love with a man that thought loyalty was showing up on time. He was everything you never needed, but here you were. Your fingers pressed on the trigger that would start the flame of pain.

>>Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | fuckboy!jk x witch!reader

>>Word Count: 7.5k

>>Genre: Mini Series / Smut & Angst

>>Warnings/Kinks: Arguments, breast play, creampie, cum play, disloyalty, degrading, exhibitionism, fingering, hair pulling, marking, oral (receiving), praise, unprotected sex, and witchcraft

Jungkook was too beautiful for his own good.

From his pouty lips and sharp jaw line to his starry eyes. The man was perfection.

Even you had fallen for him, a woman that stopped believing in love.

But, all you could do now was remember the times you had together as the fire slowly burns in front of you.

As your love for Jeon Jungkook disappeared into nothingness.

Your fingers typed away at the keyboard, writing the second of three essays you had due. It was nearing the end of the semester and, while you were ecstatic at the mere thought of summer vacation, the stress of exams was looming over you.

“Can you look over this paragraph for me?”, you peeked up over your laptop and nodded, moving your own device out of the way to make room for Namjoon’s. Kim Namjoon was a journalist in the making, a man that knew exactly how to put events into words. He was quite different from you, but study sessions together were always eventful. You were the perfect person to correct his grammar mistakes or to help add detail to his work and he was the perfect person to help explain a certain historical detail you may have missed.

Studying religions was what you had decided was your interest considering your unique practice. You enjoyed learning about the beliefs of people centuries ago but the facts could get scrambled in your brain and that’s where Namjoon came in. He almost seemed to have a never ending timeline in his brain.

“I’d add more emphasize on Jungkook. He did beat the record after all”, you quickly realized when you read the paragraph that he was writing for the school paper again. Despite your attempts to persuade the man that he could do much better with his time, he continued to write for it.

“That’s true. Wait, how did you know about that?”, you let out an amicable chuckle. Of course Namjoon would assume you did not know. Just because you despised sports did not mean you were deaf. The whole school had been talking about the student since the track meet. While you couldn’t remember the exact record he beat, it was still a record.

“People talk”, you shrugged and Namjoon nodded. It was peaceful for a moment as you went back to typing, managing to push aside your emerging migraine. Your body was begging for a good nap, but you had to get this done. You were, among less appealing qualities, a hard worker. Perhaps it was due to the pressure put on you as a child or maybe it was because that diploma was just out of reach. Either way, nothing was going to get in the way of your future.

And, like the biggest fuck you from the universe, Jeon Jungkook walks in.

Yet, you hadn’t realized and kept typing until Namjoon cursed loudly, drawing you out of your world.

“Are you okay?”, your voice was soft before your eyes met the issue. Oh, poor clumsy Namjoon.

He had spilt his coffee all over his shirt, staining the freshly new white blouse he had worn. You couldn’t help but laugh as you dug in your bag for a napkin.

“Don’t bother, it’s too much for a napkin. I’ll go to the restroom. Be right back”, you gave him a brief nod and a thumbs up. Still, you got up with your little pack of napkins and tried to clean up the remaining coffee staining into the table. The librarian is sure to kill you both if it does end up staining the wood. Standing back to examine your work, you almost screamed.

Standing by your laptop was a tall figure with the most sinister smirk you’ve ever seen.

Jeon fucking Jungkook spilt your coffee all over your notes and laptop.

Your mouth hung open for a moment before fury overtook the shock. You stomped up to the broadly built man and yes you didn’t believe in violence as a solution but all you wanted to do was slap the smirk right off his gorgeous face.

“Why did you do that?”, you also wanted to yell but the librarian was already eyeing the table and you couldn’t draw attention to the mess.

“Because I like to watch you suffer, sourpuss”, how have you not killed the man in front of you? You had no idea. Because that name infuriated you.

You knew it was the student’s way of messing with you, wanting to strike that minuscule nerve inside of you. No one else believed you could get angry but Jungkook knew you could. Mostly because he had caused that anger.

“And why is that? Because Jimin told you another lie about me?”, Jeon Jungkook was so impossibly similar to Park Jimin that it was uncanny who he had learned his traits from. Truth be told, you had the smallest crush on the man in front of you during freshmen year. He was so affectionate, caring, and friendly back then.

But, instead of ending up with the sweet heartthrob, you had ended up with Jimin for that year and the next.

Starting out, he was simply a popular boy and loved you with his whole heart. But, time went by and his true colors shun through like the sunlight through your irritatingly useless blinds. He was a playboy. An awfully good one at that for you to have never noticed the extra pairs of undergarments that laid on his floor when you slept over at his dorm.

He cheated, but he blamed it all on you and even Jeon Jungkook hates your guts because you were sure Jimin had told him exactly what he had told most of your friends. That you had broken his heart with your “horrifying” witchcraft and that you were dangerous. It explained why so many students asked to see your devil shrine the next day or tried to barge into your dorm to look at what Jimin talked about.

The most ironic thing was that you had never used magick around the man and you barely used it to begin with. You supposed it was for good reason considering that happened the first time you told someone about it.

“Jimin doesn’t lie. He’s never lied to me and I’m sure you’re well aware of what you did”, his finger jabbed harshly above your breast, just slightly lower than your collarbone. Among many things, Jungkook was dense and forgetful. You noticed that quickly when you started spotted reminders written on his fingers or palm. Just like the little note saying “library 7pm” was written on the finger jabbing you.

Unless the track star had another reason to be in the library he never visited, he wrote that down just to catch you in time.

“Tell me, Jeon. What did I do?”, you tilted your head and moved away from him, realizing the coffee was now leaking onto the floor. You desperately wished Namjoon would hurry up and get back to help you.

“You broke his heart. Using magick or something”, you bit your lips in annoyance and turned around to face him.

“Or something? Jungkook, I never did anything to Jimin. I know you won’t believe it because you look up to him like some god, but he cheated on me. He broke my heart”, you jabbed back, hitting the same spot he hit you, “and, if you haven’t noticed, Jimin doesn’t seem heartbroken, does he?”. If he dared to say yes you may have to use that horrifying magick Jimin lied about because your ex was anything but heartbroken. He was with a new woman almost every night and, even with this knowledge, they lined up to be with him. Who could deny the charming Park Jimin?

Finally, Jungkook shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing as he did the movement. If he wasn’t such a nuisance, you might’ve wished you could run your fingers through it. It looked so fluffy.

“Then, leave me alone. It’s been years of your torment and I’m tired of it”, you sighed and slung your bag over your shoulder after shoving your slightly wet laptop into it, walking out of the library after sending a text to Namjoon that you had felt bad because no one really knew about your fights with Jungkook and Namjoon would surely try to beat his ass if he found out about it.

Leaving the coffee on the table was a bold move but a part of you hoped that the asshole would clean it up. It was his mess after all. Not your’s.

“You’re coming to the track meet, right?”, the voice startled you and you sat up on your bed, making direct eye contact with Kim Taehyung. The only guy with a key to your dorm.

“Tae, I love you but you know I do not do sports”, you grumbled and flopped back onto your bed. Your classes had you beat and the need for a nap was too great to give up. Even if it was for your best friend.

“I know but it would mean so much if you were there”, don’t do it. Don’t do it.

You did it.

You made direct eye contact with those big puppy eyes Taehyung always used to get his way. You had fallen victim once again.

Which was why you had ended up in the cold, shivering as you watched the team run around the track for what felt like an eternity.

Taehyung had done great considering he barely moved before the season but who really stood out was Jungkook. His back muscles were only moments away from ripping through the flimsy shirt he was wearing and sweat was coating his hair. He was aware of how good he looked. He always was. He even was ballsy enough to wink at one of the girls screaming his name in the crowd.

Thankfully, the pleasant bliss that was drinking kept your mind off how irritated you were. You had snuck in a beer to drink (not that everyone else didn’t) and the alcohol loosened you up a bit.

After the meet was over, a sweaty Taehyung was clinging to you like a massive koala. He was high off adrenaline and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cuddle or jump around.

“Tae, take this before you pass out on top of me”, you handed him a water and he gratefully took it, still leaning against you as he chugged down the drink.

Taehyung and you were polar opposites. He was an athlete, quite dorky, a great singer, and was overly optimistic. You, on the other hand, liked to keep to yourself, was not the best of singers, and always stuck to the reality of things. Even if you could manipulate that reality the tiniest bit.

“Let’s get you home”, you let the man lean his weight on you tiredly as you started to walk towards the exit of the field.

“Sourpuss, I need to talk to you”, that voice was definitely not the one you needed to hear when you were this tired and already agitated. What does a girl have to do to spend time in her bed?

“I’m a little busy if you haven’t realized”, you gestured to Taehyung, who was breathing directly on your neck and nuzzling his nose against the skin. It wasn’t an odd gesture considering your close friendship but his face was so cold it send goosebumps down your spine.

“I’ll help”, Jungkook offered, quickly coming to your rescue by crouching down and getting Tae on his back. The man grumbled but was happy to take the ride considering it was less soreness for his legs to endure the next day.

The Jeon Jungkook helping? What a trip.

“What do you want?”, you winced at how rude it sounded. Sure, Jungkook most definitely deserves said rudeness, but he was helping you.

“I’m sorry��, you legitimately thought you were hearing things and turned your head to look at him, stopping in your tracks.

“Can you say that again? I don’t think I heard you correctly”, the athlete groaned before turning to look at you, frustration evident on his face.

“I’m sorry. You were right about Jimin. He’s been talking shit behind my back for months and I had no idea”, if it wasn’t for your “told you so” attitude, you would’ve felt sorry for him. Jimin was one of his closest friends after all.

“Hate to say I told you so but”, he glared at you to shut up and you quickly did. His glare was so cold that a shiver went up your spine.

“Sorry, it was a joke. Jimin is really manipulative so don’t let him bring you down”, you reassured him, even bringing your hand up to pat his shoulder. By the way he flinched away, you would’ve assumed your hand was made of lava.

Noted. Jungkook hates being touched.

“I assumed so much about you and that was immature of me”, the man smiled softly at you. It felt like arrows pierced your heart. He had such a cute smile for an asshole. Like a bunny.

“It’s fine. Lots of people assume things about me”, you shrugged as you both started walking again, Taehyung looking down at you to make sure you’re okay. He was like your protective older brother and you couldn’t be more thankful to have him around.

“But they shouldn’t. So what if you follow a different religion? It doesn’t mean you’re evil”, that was probably the first time someone agreed with your practices besides Taehyung and Namjoon (mostly because he understood it better than others).

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot”, you finally smiled back at him, sending his heart right into his chest as his heartbeat picked up. Needless to say, he adored your smile.

“I hate to ask this of you but could you tutor me on Epidemiology? I regret ever taking it and I’ll pay you”, you were wide-eyed with shock to say the least. You didn’t expect Jungkook to go out of his way to learn. Especially, not with you.

“Sure, you can join Namjoon and I in the morning”, you nodded before you saw the way Jungkook’s nose crinkled up in displeasure.

“What? What’s wrong with that?”, he sighed in response to the question as you both reached your dorm building. You’d just let Tae stay with you for the night.

“Namjoon hates my guts. We’re way too different. Besides, aren’t you two dating? I don’t want to be some third wheel”, Jungkook almost sounded disgusted at the idea, probably imagining you making out with Namjoon in front of him.

“I’m not dating him. He’s just the only other intelligent male I can tolerate”, he seemed to relax once you finished speaking but there was still tenseness evident in his shoulders which wasn’t due to the large man on his back.

“I still don’t get along with him despite the fact that he writes about me all the time. He once yelled at me for cheating and wrote an article about it”, that was a slap right to your face. Right, Jungkook was a player and he could throw your feelings aside like one of his cigarettes. Do not get attached.

“Well, don’t cheat”, you said because, let’s be real, it’s the truth. You unlocked the door and helped Taehyung off of his back.

“Bye Koo, thanks again”, your words were quick and you kicked the door closed with your shoe, your hands full thanks to the oversized man child clinging onto you.

Koo. He liked that.

Weeks had ticked by and, somehow, Jungkook had managed to get your number. Honestly, Namjoon probably slipped it out or Taehyung gave it to him. According to Tae, the man had been oddly friendly to him and they were (borderline) friends now. They played video games together, practiced together, and even barged into your place for snacks together.

Great. Now you had two man-children to take care of and feed. It was definitely taking a chunk out of your paycheck each week to get extra snacks for the two. They ate like starving animals whenever they came over. A small part of you even thought it was just to piss you off even more.

Jungkook finally managed to get you to agree for a tutoring session with him. Just one. If this one went well then maybe you would agree to more.

The only sad thing about the session was that it was scheduled to happen right after your last class on Friday in your previous dorm. The dorm you had just finished cleaning up since the last time the two adult toddlers had destroyed it.

Surprisingly, when you had woken up one morning, Jungkook was still there. You assumed he and Tae were too drunk to get back to their own dorms and had decided to just sleepover at your’s. It was quite annoying if you were to be honest, but the way Koo looked actually interested in your religion was enticing.

He didn’t look scared or disgusted when he looked at your little collection of crystals on your desk or the jar resting on your end table sealed with candle wax. If anything, he actually looked amused or even impressed.

“I’ll pick you up after class. I can’t believe you don’t drive and walk to your dorm every day”, Jungkook shook his head as he walked beside you. Coincidentally, your last classes were next to each other but you were shocked to hear him offer to give you a ride.

“Don’t judge me, Mr. Playboy. I just have a fear of hitting someone. Have you seen the lunatics at this campus? They will run out into traffic for fun”, the man chuckled wholeheartedly at the pout on your lips. Plus, your joke was actually pretty accurate. Even he had almost hit a drunk idiot when trying to get back to his dorm late one night.

“Okay, that’s fair. So, you okay with me driving you?”, you nodded cautiously. While Jungkook was guaranteed to know every path to your dorm by now, you were still guarded. Being in that tight of a space with him was going to be difficult.

No, you don’t get those so-called “butterflies” when you were with him. Honestly, those butterflies were typically a bad sign to you. Feeling sick because you loved someone sounded a bit odd and almost contradictory.

You actually found yourself with more powerful emotions than anything. If Jungkook made you angry, you were angry. If he made you happy, you were happy.

Everything just felt so much stronger when you were around him. Thankfully, he almost always made you happy. He made you laugh because, once he discovered that beautiful sound, he couldn’t get enough.

So, after your class, you met him out in the hall and he walked you to his car. Now you realized how such an undetermined man got into college.

He was filthy rich.

Sitting there in the parking spot was a brand new Mercedes Benz. Its black color almost matched the distinct leather jacket that he decided to wear today. It very much screamed Jeon Jungkook.

However, it did not scream you whatsoever. You were almost afraid to get near it.

“Hop in. My grade isn’t getting any lower”, he opened the door for you and you weren’t sure if it was because you were friends, or whatever the fuck you two were, or if it was because he wanted a discount.

That’s not fucking happening. He’s already stolen plenty of money through snacks from your cabinets.

Meekly, you got into the vehicle, immediately buckling your seatbelt as if it was going to hurl itself into motion at any moment. Jungkook shut the door and went around to get into the drivers’ seat. Apparently he trusted his own driving so much that he never wore a seatbelt (Namjoon would’ve had a stroke if he was told that) and he drove with one hand (scratch that- make it two strokes).

Despite those things, he was an actual good driver. You felt safe and he drove the speed limit. Maybe it was just because you were in the car with him?

Getting out of the luxurious leather seats proved to be a hassle considering you knew your seats in your dorm were no where near as comfortable. You could sleep in that passenger seat without a care in the world compared to your own bed. Still, you forced yourself to get out and you two went up to your dorm. Jungkook is way too familiar with the place now considering he barely talks to you. It’s your place and, yet, he comes here for Tae.

“Alright, what unit do you need help on?”, you asked softly as you took the needed supplies out of your bag. You actually already took Epidemiology. It had nothing to do with your major but it was interesting to you. Who wouldn’t want to learn about the science of the world’s biggest killer: disease?

Jungkook simply looked at you, blinking a few times and pressing his tongue into his cheek in that nervous habit you realized he had.

“Oh- for fucks sake, Koo”, you grumbled as you realized how long of a process this was going to be.

It had been months since you began tutoring the student and, finally, there was progress.

Standing proudly with his shoulders back was Jeon Jungkook holding a test with a big number ‘92’ on it in red ink. Your heart swelled with pride.

“I passed! This was the exam review test so I’ll pass the exam, right?”, you smiled brightly as you looked at his excited eyes. You never thought Jungkook would ever be excited over passing a class but you can’t judge people by their covers, right?

“Yeah! Just keep up with the studying and you got it”, you nodded quickly, looking away from his puppy eyes when you felt happiness engulf you like a fire.

Ironically, you were actually playing with fire. Your hand tugged on the trigger and a flame flickered from the end of your lighter. You brought it down and lit the candle in front of you. To be honest, you were a bit of a goodie two shoes but you did break one rule.

No fire in the dorms.

“Hey, I really wanted to thank you. I’m actually passing all my classes now and it fills like my life has purpose again”, woah, didn’t expect that.

“No problem, Koo. Your life always has purpose. What do you mean?”, you looked up from what you were doing, noticing he was leaning against the frame of your door.

“All I did was party and drink. Sure, I was a good athlete but that can only take you so far”, you nodded in understanding and stood up, walking towards him.

He followed your every move like prey waiting for the predator to attack them.

But, instead of an attack, he was met with a warm, genuine, and, all around, great hug.

“Do you think of me as everyone else does?”, you looked up at him, meeting his starry eyes.

Oh, you hated them because of how much you loved them. They held the galaxy within them and you could stare into them for hours if given the chance.

You were many things but, tragically for Jungkook, a liar wasn’t one of them.

“Honestly, I did before. I’ve seen you do some of the things the rumors talk about-“, smoking, cheating, fighting, “but now I know that’s not all you are. There’s more to you, Koo”.

All Jungkook had been able to think about was your words. Sure, he didn’t care about your opinion before but it truly did make him happy to know you thought better of him.

“Jk! Where have you been?”, oh no.

“Jimin? I’ve just been at the gym a lot”, lies. He had been with you a lot.

“Ah, I see. How’s the bet going?”, the shorter man asked, running his fingers through his precisely cut hair. What a born model.

The bet. The bet you had no clue about. The bet Jungkook was too dense to refuse.

“It’s going. She hugged me yesterday”, Jimin scoffed and then chuckled, vastly different sounds that almost made Jungkook double over in fear. Truth be told, he despised Jimin. He despised him because he scared him. The only other man more influential than him was Jimin and that meant Jimin could ruin his reputation in a matter of seconds.

“That’s all? Damn, she really is void of love”, the bet Jimin was referring to was the one he made with the younger at the beginning of the year.

“I bet you can’t make her fall in love with you. She didn’t even love me, Koo! Me! I’m telling you, if you make her fall in love with you then I’ll get you anything you want”.

Time was running out with exams coming up and Jungkook needed to hurry if he was going to win such a bet. But, was it worth it if it meant disappointing you? Jimin may be scary but you made him feel so happy and so proud.

The only time he had seen you disappointed was when Taehyung broke one of your jars, resulting in a mess of coins, herbs, and wax on the floor. That’s the day he decided he never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“Yeah, she’s guarded which is understandable-“, wait- did Jeon Jungkook just grow some balls? “I’d be void of love too if everyone judged me for something I believed in”. He did.

“Where is that coming from? She deserves it, doesn’t she? Come on, JK. Keep that head in the game!”, Jimin patted his head like he was a child with all A’s on his report card, which, for once, was actually true thanks to you.

What game? You? Were you truly just a game to him?

“Alright, I’ve got this”, damn. Maybe you were.

Most nights you found yourself at the library now. It was the only place that was filled with peace and quiet. Especially on a Friday. Not even the librarian was here.

“Guess who”, hands covered your eyes and you would’ve punched the man behind you if you didn’t immediately recognize his husky voice. It was soothing with just the perfect mix of roughness. You couldn’t help but wonder what it sounded like when he just woke up.

“An asshole who thinks it’s okay to sneak up on women in a deserted place”, you grumbled and Jungkook immediately removed his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”, oh here we go. Argument number two thousand.

“I wasn’t scared. I was just saying that, one, you’re an ass and, two, don’t do that to women”, he nodded in agreement and you thought that was the stopping of an argument. Boy, oh boy, were you wrong.

“I won’t anymore but you’re so weak. I’ve scared you so many times now”, you glared at him. Thanks to months of being by Jungkook’s side, you had become a bit more out of control. The feelings you used to keep caged up were now more out in the open. You cussed more often, even tried drinking (and almost spit it out on him), and your frustration was no longer hidden from the world.

“Jungkook, you are a menace to society and I would like it if you leaved”, it was a pointless threat. You didn’t really mean it. You adored his company but you wouldn’t admit that with a gun to your head.

“Liar, you love me”, shit. Did you? No, don’t ask that. It was just a joke.

Damn you and your overthinking.

“No, I hate you. Shut up”, that was also a useless threat. Jungkook never shut up. He was quite the talker and shutting up was not in his vocabulary.

“No, you hate me. Shut up”, he sat on the table you were previously working on, knowing this would take a while. Your arguments always lasted between thirty minutes to two or three hours. You both hated to back down.

“No, I love you. Shut the fuck up”, wait a second-

“As you wish”, he smirked victoriously and leaned closer, his face so close to your’s that you could smell his musky cologne.

“That was wrong”, you glared at him and he shook his head, “don’t open your mouth aga-“ you were cut off as his lips connected with your’s. He kissed you so intensely that your mind was fogged up, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Finally, with your brain still hooked on adrenaline, your hands found their way to his cheeks, cupping his well defined face as you kissed back. You could feel him smile into the kiss before he pulled away, leaving a spark traveling down your body. Now, that’s a good feeling.

“Ah, I love when you shut the fuck up”, you were so close to beating him with your bag.

Everything was weird after the kiss. Life wasn’t some fairytale where you both lived happily ever after in some old palace somewhere.

No, you were both actually stuck in that “fuck, what are we?” mess.

Love wasn’t something you could control and that was why you never let it get that far, but, with Jungkook, it felt uncontrollable, spreading like wildfire.

So, you avoided him.

Of course, it wasn’t the most humane or easiest form of dealing with your feelings but it worked.

Well, for a little bit until Koo decided to block you off in the library, cornering you into the back section of the religious books. Oh, how ironic.

“What’s wrong?”, his voice made your knees want to give out. It was early and you assumed he woke up early just to catch you. His attire said that enough from his sweatpants to the tank top hugging his upper body. He obviously just threw something on before he left.

“What are you talking about?”, you tilted your head and tried to act innocent, but, once again, a liar you were not.

“Oh please, you’re obviously pissed off or scared of me or something”, bingo. You were horrified of what you were feeling and, in tune with it, Jungkook.

“I don’t know! Why do you even care? You’re obviously going to pass your exam so what am I needed for anymore?”, you winced at your own words, watching as the man’s usual bright expression turned into a sorrowful one.

“It’s much more than that, y/n”, that was probably one of the first times he had said your name. He usually called you nicknames like princess, sourpuss, or whatever else he came up with depending on his mood.

“Then what is it?”, the stare he gave you made you want to hide further into the corner. It was so predatory that your body was trying to fight its own instincts to run away and avoid the problem. You were always a flight over fight type of girl.

“You”, the one word made your eyebrows furrow, racking your brain for a response or understanding of what he meant. Jungkook shook his head as you watched your face twist in confusion.

“You’re so dense. Why would I kiss you if it wasn’t all for you?”, he leaned closer to you, hand resting on the shelf of the bookcase behind you. You silently thanked the universe that no one else was in there yet.

“Discount?”, it was the first thing you thought of and it caused a low chuckle to rumble out of Jungkook’s chest. He looked up into your eyes and it almost knocked the air out of you.

“Hmm, unless it’s a fuck buddy discount then I don’t think I want it”, he raised an eyebrow cockily and your eyes went wide. Little did Jungkook know that he just complicated your relationship even more.

“And what if I’m okay with making such a discount?”, the student practically groaned at the words, free hand finding its way on your hip, squeezing it. You don’t know where your new found confidence came from but you had gotten rather blunt since hanging out with Jungkook.

“Then I’d say you’re not the person I thought you were”, he hummed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The way his breath tickled your ear sent sparks through your body.

“Is that what you want? For me to take you here against these books?”, yes you did. Looking around, you were met with many versions of Bible and other holy books of all religions. It was absolutely filthy and wrong to do it there which was why it was perfect.

“Yes, I want that”, your nails dug into the wood behind you, trying to ground your emotions down. It had always been an escape tactic to you.

“How naughty”, now you understood why he had chosen today of all days to corner you. He loved the skirt you were wearing and how easily it gave access to everything delicious underneath. Plus, your legs were perfect to him.

His fingers danced along your thighs before he pushed up your skirt, revealing the black lace panties underneath. Oh, you knew what was going to happen today and you definitely knew Jungkook liked his black.

“So pretty. Just for me?”, the question took you off guard, your own questions flooding your brain. Ultimately, after a few moments of silence, you decided he probably had a possession thing. Who didn’t like to feel powerful?

“Just for you, Koo. Fuck, touch me please”, so you decided to feed his little ego, edging him on until he pulled the panties to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

The dim light of the library truly didn’t do it justice but he couldn’t help himself from finding it to be also perfect. He was in deep shit now.

His long fingers ran down your slit until they reached their destination: your pussy. He rubbed around it before he slowly plunged his middle finger into the wetness, curling against your walls.

Fuck, you always hated that finger but with it inside of you? Maybe you could make an exception.

Your body shook in response to the stimulation since you hadn’t been touched in so long, your hands gripping the wood tighter to keep yourself steady. Jungkook smirked when you clenched around his finger before he added another, stretching you out wonderfully as he scissored you open.

And that was when Jungkook found his favorite sound in the world.

“Jungkook! Oh god”, you moaning his name sounded like music to his ears and he couldn’t get enough. The only thing he hated was how quiet it was since you were still conscious of the library around you. He wanted you to scream it.

“You like that, princess? You want more?”, you obediently nodded, not in the mood to be denied an orgasm (which you were sure Jungkook would do if you didn’t obey). The man chuckled and leaned down, still pumping his fingers steadily as if it took no effort at all. If you had done this yourself then your fingers would have been cramping by now.

Your body jolted when Jungkook’s plump lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly on the nerve as if he was starving. To be fair, he had skipped breakfast.

You feared for the books behind you as your body spasmed, orgasming on the man’s fingers. You took deep breaths once you were finished and watched as Jungkook pulled away, pulling his cum covered fingers out of you.

With prolonged eye contact, he slipped the digits into his mouth and sucked the juices off of them. A new wave of arousal went through you when he tapped your lips with them, making you open your mouth. You gagged briefly when they hit the back of your throat but you sucked on it, licking your way up his middle finger.

“Good girl”, now that was going to haunt you forever. You whined when he pulled his fingers away and he smiled teasingly at you.

“I’m going to need to see these”, your eyes went wide when he gripped the collar of your shirt and ripped it clean down the middle, tossing it aside as if it didn’t cost you a fortune.

“Jeon Jungkook! That was expensive”, you huffed but he paid you no mind, just reaching behind you to remove your bra too so it can join the rest of your clothes.

“What if someone sees? I can’t cover these up quickly, Koo”, you crossed your arms over your chest, looking around cautiously. Jungkook just laughed and pulled your arms away, pinning your wrists above your head so he can press his body against your own.

“Take my shirt off and you can put that over you for the day. It’s fine, sourpuss”, oh you would’ve slapped him if you weren’t so turned on. He let go of your wrists and you quickly removed his shirt for him, revealing a muscular chest you could’ve never imagined.

And he never imagined how beautiful you’d look with your hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. He grabbed them immediately and you failed to see the spark in his eyes as he squished them together.

“That was one of my favorite shirts. What a di-“, you yelped when he pulled your leg up over his shoulder, yanked his pants and boxers down, and pulled your panties aside to rub his angry tip against your folds. Your head rested back as he rubbed against your clit, covering his cock in your juices.

“What a dick indeed”, Jungkook chuckled deeply, arousal blurring his world into nothing but you. The only thing that mattered at that moment was feeling you.

His lips attached to your neck and you were so out of reality that you didn’t realize he was littering the skin with his marks, a silent claim on you as he pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh shit, it’s exactly as I imagined. So tight and warm”, and he was just as you imagined. So very big. You didn’t think anyone else could stretch you out as much as Jeon Jungkook and that thought made you groan.

“You’ve been imagining it?”, it was your turn to smirk and, for the first time ever, the man in front of you blushed.

“Oh please princess. I know you’ve been thinking about it too”, and you had been. Not that you’d ever admit that after he just basically friends with benefits zoned you.

“Just move you asshole”, Jungkook gripped your hair, tugging on the soft strands as he finally kept pushing, bottoming out inside of you perfectly.

His big hands moved to grip your hips, a little help to keep you up as he started to snap his own into your’s. He was mildly uncomfortable at first but, as you adjusted to his size, bliss filled your body.

Finally, you were doing something to make yourself happy and pleased. Maybe Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best man to do it but he was making you feel so so good.

The man snapped you out of your thoughts as he brought your hand down to your clit. You understood and started to rub it, happy knowing that Jungkook was also looking out for your own pleasure too. Not that you’d know he had been thinking about you creaming on his big cock for months now.

“Keep doing that”, he whispered despite the heavy groan that threatened to come out. He was referring to the uncontrollable clenching you were doing around his dick, sucking him into your walls with each muscle movement. You listened and (despite knowing you were going to keep doing it anyways) clenched once again.

“Can I cum inside?”, you whimpered at the idea of Jungkook’s cum filling you up and, knowing you’re on grade A birth control, you nodded. While Jungkook was effortlessly attractive, kids were not part of your plans by far.

“You close too, princess?”, you nodded, a small moan spilling past your lips despite your best efforts to be quiet. With that knowledge, the man orgasmed and you could feel his seed start to coat your insides. The feeling made you tumble over into your own orgasm, coating his softening cock with your release.

“I think that’s the best sex I’ll ever have”, you praised him as you tried to put your cramping leg down off his shoulder. Instead, he held it tighter and pulled himself out of you. He watched as his cum started the spill out of you, dripping down your thighs beautifully.

So, he’s a man who likes to admire his work.

You almost screamed when he pushed it back inside of you with his finger due to the sensitivity.

“See you later, sourpuss”, Jungkook smirked and put your panties back to their original position before he pulled his own boxers and pants back up. He walked off and you were left gobsmacked with his cum dripping out of you onto your panties.

As the weeks passed by, the world became more vibrant and cheerful but also more chilling and worrisome.

Exams were over and you were free to go wherever you pleased but, somehow, you always found yourself wanting to be with what was supposed to be your secret guilty pleasure. Now, he was your everything. He truly brought color into your world; sadly, color always comes with black and white.

“I won the bet, Jimin. I want what I asked for”, you listened intently from the other aisle of books. The library had become your go to spot to find Jungkook. Surprisingly, the once unmotivated student was more frequently in here because of the sheer relief he got when you stood before him with a proud smile. What a softy.

“Really? She fell for you? Damn, you still got it. I can’t believe you asked for this though”, the disgust in your ex’s voice was evident and you so desperately wanted to see what he was referring to. You truly thought Koo had stopped being friends with Jimin after he apologized but apparently you were wrong about a lot of things. Most of all, you were wrong to love again.

Feeling your tears start to spill down your cheeks for the first time in years, you forced yourself out of the library. You should’ve seen it coming. What would a playboy want with you? A woman looking for a serious relationship? You’re an idiot and you’ll fix it.

Said playboy must’ve spotted you because you could hear his heavy footsteps behind you as you rushed out of the library, hurrying into a run with the safety of your dorm in mind. It was time to end this.

So, here you were. Remembering everything from the past few months as the candles in front of you burned, getting so desperately close to the string connecting them. You had carved an evident ‘JK’ on one and your initials on the other, bonding them to the people who needed to be apart from one another.

Watching his candle, you noticed the wax dripping down the long wick and you knew they were tears. You knew because of the loud banging coming from your dorm door, the man on the other side screaming and sobbing for you to let him explain.

Your candle, however, burned strongly with vengeance. It stood so tall compared to Jungkook’s and, as the fire finally burned through the string tying you both together, you felt free. It was like Jeon Jungkook had never affected you before and his name slowly slipped from your mind.

Eventually, the banging stopped as the candles reached their ends and the fire flickered out under your gaze. You felt so blissfully numb as you walked towards the door, opening it to reveal a confused Jungkook looking up at you.

“What did you do? It’s like-“, you cut him off with your hand, pulling him up rather roughly.

“You never knew me. That’s how I want it, Jeon Jungkook. You never knew me and I never knew you. Now, get your prize and leave me alone”, you slammed the door in his face. You felt pure relief but Jungkook could still feel a pang of want in his body.

You had failed to notice the little wax left of his candle that stood strong as you dumped it in the trash and he failed to notice that he had left his “prize” outside your door as he rushed off.

A gorgeous rose quartz necklace.

What a way to declare your love to a witch who just cut it all off.

#binxyu #btsghostie #lsn.works #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook smuts #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshots #jungkook oneshot #bts jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts oneshots #bts scenarios

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dollystuartwrites · 2 years ago

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7&ME - Chapter 20 - Date

Pairing: OT7 x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, idol AU, straight, bisexual, gay, threesome

Wordcount: 1117

Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] [11] - [12] - [13] - [14] - [15] - [16] - [17] - [18] - [19] - [20] [21] - [22] - [23] - [24] - [25] - [26] - [27] - [28] - [29] - [30] MASTERLIST Wanna read all the chapters right now? You can find the complete story for free on WATTPAD

Summary: Miracles do happen! Somehow you've finally managed to secure a job at a big company! Even though it'll be a 24/7 job, they promised you a fat paycheck, so you don't care what the job is... But what if the job is managing 7 grown men? Seven men who all have needs...

Warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, size kink, oral (f&m receiving), dirty talk, gay sex, threesome sex, bisexual sex, implied masturbation, this is super vanilla compared to most of my stories, let me know what I missed.

Y O U R P E R S P E C T I V E

'Are you ready for our date?' Hobi asked me cheerfully.

'I'm ready to go get the groceries with you Oppa,' I laughed.

'Great! Let's go!' Hobi smiled and he grabbed my hand into his and guided me out of our apartment.

I had felt slightly nervous this morning. Although I didn't see it as a date really, the fact that Hoseok had called it that made me nervous. Since I wouldn't need to wear my uniform, I had spent ages in front of the mirror, trying to decide what to wear. Nothing had felt right, and in the end, I had just given up and put on some leggings and an oversize sweater. I had even tried out some of the beauty products Jimin had given me.

Hoseok didn't let go of my hand all the way to the store.

'So, do you have your list?' Hoseok asked me. I held up the list of things we needed that I had written down.

'Good! Let's just start at the far right and work our way through then' Hobi suggested. I nodded.

'So how are you finding your job?' He asked me casually.

'Very well, thank you,' I smiled politely.

'Are you not bored with it yet?' He joked.

'Certainly not!' I said startled. 'I mean, so far it might have mostly been cleaning and cooking, but...,' my voice trailed away. I thought of everything that had happened with Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook. 'Well, let's just say, it's never a boring day in our house,' I giggled, feeling myself blush.

'I'm glad to hear that. Oh, the onions,' Hobi said and he grabbed the product. -xxx-

While shopping we chatted about all kinds of stuff.

Being with Hobi was like bathing in sunlight. He was just always so warm and kind and happy. His smile simply radiated warmth and happiness. -xxx-

'Oppa?' I called to him as he was standing further down the aisle. I was staring at one of my favourite snacks that were standing in front of me when I had a question bubble up.

'Yes Gwiyomi?' he replied, instantly walking over. His term of endearment made me blush.

'I was wondering, how do you stay so happy and positive all the time? I read it when I was searching for you on the internet...I mean I- I heard you are always so happy. I feel like, compared to you, I'm such a grumpy person,' I said feeling awkward, both because I had given away that I had looked him up online and that I felt like I was such a sourpuss compared to him.

The smile on his face dropped slightly as he processed my question.

'I am not as happy as you think I am,' He said softly and unexpectedly. His voice sounded different from the usual. His eyes were more serious and the twinkle that usually danced in them had died down a little.

He went to stand behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, with his chin on top of my head. My heart pounded in my chest as he held me tightly in his hug and I stared at the candy in the aisle in front of me.

'I'm not always happy. I just always act happy,' I heard him say. His chest reverberated against my back as he spoke.

'Why?' I whispered, forgetting for a moment that we were at the store, even though it was mostly deserted.

I could feel Hoseok sigh deeply behind me.

'Because I want to be happy. And I want others to be happy too,' He said, as he took away one hand from around my waist and started stroking my hair with it.

'I want everybody to be happy because I know what it feels like to feel unhappy. And I don't want anyone to feel that way,' he said softly.

I could feel the sadness in his voice.

'Are you unhappy now?' I asked him.

'No,' He said instantly and truthfully and I could feel him kissing the top of my head. Butterflies fluttered through my stomach. 'Right now I am very happy because I get to spend time with you,'

I could only stare as he held me in his arms. Just like when the other guys had done it, it felt like home. Warm, comfortable, easy, and carefree. It all felt so natural with them, so normal. As if I had known them for years.

I had been in love before, but I had never known it was possible to be in love with multiple people at the same time.

But now I was in love with 4 guys at the same time. And I feared what would happen if I'd spend more time with the other three.

'Do you like this snack?' Hobi asked me as he stopped petting my head and grabbed the snack out of the aisle.

'It's my favourite actually,' I said slightly embarrassed and unsure why.

'Really? It's one of my favourites too,' he said happily. I could feel him getting out of his serious mode and back into his usual self again.

I knew it wasn't like he was pretending. Pretending was different from this. I knew he would show his true emotions to me when he would want or needed to.

'Let's take a bag with us, shall we?' he decided, throwing the bag into the cart. -xxx-

'Done!' I said as I shut the fridge door. I had just put the last of the groceries into the fridge.

'Don't forget our snack,' Hobi said winking and taking it from behind his back.

'Ah, right,' I said reaching for the bag in his hand but he pulled it out of my reach.

'Grab it if you can,' he laughed playfully.

I took a swing at it but missed. Hobi laughed and ran away.

I chased him through the house for a while as we laughed and joked with each other.

'I... I give up,' I panted, letting myself fall down on the couch in the living room.

Laughing he came to sit down next to me.

'Tired already?' he teased me.

'Not everyone does crazy workouts as you guys do,' I said still panting.

'Here,' Hobi said as he took a piece of candy out of the bag and offered it to me. I reached out for it with my hand but he pulled it back.

'No, not like that,' he said shaking his head. I pulled an eyebrow and let my hand drop.

'Open your mouth,' he demanded. His tone was different again.

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gisachi · 4 years ago

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Better late than never?? Supposed to post on the day itself but of course I couldn’t. This is my rushed contribution to the prompt: domestic mixed with black knight&princess.

ShinRan Week Day 6

Prompt: Domestic (+ Black Knight&Princess)

Words: ~2.5k

“Not just once, but twice! Who was it that saved my life again? Oh, unnamed knight with the black cloak, if you will grant me my wish… Please take off that dark mask and show me your true face!”

“If that is what, uh, the princess wishes, I shall show you my sorrow- sorrowful? - face under this moonlight. Oh wow this is cheesy.”

Ran leans on the arm of the couch, bound script covering her resigned face. If she had a hundred yen for every single complaint coming out of this detective’s mouth, she’d have enough to buy two entrance passes to Tropical Land for each day of the week, plus snacks and drinks.

“I went here because I thought you’d be a more immersive practice partner than ‘tou-san. You are worse.”

“I’m sorry, princess, if my mom being an actress ruined your expectations of me.”

“Oh, for sure. And otou-san doesn't destroy the scene by dropping nonsensical comments. And lie on the couch while reading the script. So he’s better by a lot.”

Shinichi props his body up, eyes rolling sarcastically before throwing a look at the lady on the edge. “To be fair, you came barging into my house so early on a Sunday. This is justified.”

“Shinichi, eleven in the morning isn’t early.”

With a stubborn grumble, the detective flops back into the cushions, script on his lap sliding to the floor. “ ’M tired Ran, long case last night, let me sleep.”

“Please, you’re my last option! School festival is in less than two weeks, and I can’t possibly ask Araide-sensei to spare time on a weekend outside of our rehearsal schedule when he’s busy working—”

The lightning speed Shinichi jolts upright causes Ran to cut herself short. “Araide-sensei is the cloaked knight?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”

“You didn’t.”

“Really? I-” she pauses, delayed in taking in the curt iciness of his response when he was so apathetic five seconds ago. On anyone else it’s clear what that tone implies, but she’s never heard it on him.

“Do you have a beef with Araide-sensei?” she asks.

“A beef?”

Ran arches an eyebrow, skeptic. Shinichi meets her gaze, eyes slightly thinning before glancing away, cheeks crimson.

“I mean— Why Araide-sensei? Shouldn’t he be busy, I dunno, being a doctor, than being a fictional knight or something.”

“All the guys in our class were too shy and declined, so Sonoko asked Araide-sensei when he happened to come in for a checkup. He agreed so easily! Would you believe he’d taken a lot of lead roles in plays when he was a student?”

“And that was fifteen something years ago.”

“He’s also good at things like emphasizing lines and handling a woman!”

“Anyone can- What?!”

“Stop being a sourpuss Shinichi, especially when you’re the first to decline.”

He looks at her quizzically. “I did?”

“You don’t even remember?” Amidst the faint pink on her cheeks, disappointment etched on the way Ran’s lips curve to a small pout. “You were the first Sonoko asked... You were so quick to turn her down, she said.”

Astounded by the revelations docking in his brain all at once, Shinichi struggles to recall the conversations he had exchanged with Sonoko the past weeks. None stands out. If she had included Ran’s name in there, he would remember instantly. But Sonoko didn’t. Suddenly, the floodgates in his mind open.

If he finds out later on about the plot and the cast, he’ll definitely find a reason or two to sulk, if not object. Whether Ran is partnered with someone else or Araide-sensei doesn’t matter, for as long as it isn’t him. Him who she’s positive would outright reject her offer to act as a prince because why would he? In any case, god knows Sonoko omitted Ran’s name on purpose for this.

The sly woman has stirred something up, and she will proudly take the front row seat on his reaction she was so sure he’d make.

Not saying Sonoko’s predictions are right. This is just how she thinks. And he won’t react the way she expects he will. She is not right.

Not. Right.

Sonoko, yaro...

“Stand up, let’s do this.”

“Huh?”

“You want immersive? I’ll give you immersive.”

Left with little time to process as Shinichi pulls her by the hand, Ran drops her script on the floor. The sudden shift in character is unbelievable. How can someone so sleep-deprived turn into someone this enthused in a span of a breath?

“But first, let me…” He leaves the room, and Ran picks up her script, still quite lost. Whatever she said earlier must have triggered something, and she’s torn if she’ll ask once he returns but considers the possibility that he may break character. Not gonna risk that. He said he’ll give her an immersive practice, and it’s oddly unexpected, but she’ll take it. This is good. After all, she needs him as the knight.

Wants him as the knight.

“Sheesh, Ran, stop…” Shying away from her own maidenly thoughts, Ran flips to the designated page, scene, and line, rehearsing as she waits.

Some minutes later, Shinichi reappears, holding his script and something else. Of all things she would expect him to own, a blue fancy Columbina mask adorned with elegant silver and royal patterns wasn’t one of them.

“Mom has these things, okay,” he explains, putting it on. Ran isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or tease, but she does neither when she gets a glimpse of him with half of his face covered, and she catches her breath at the sight.

Standing against silk red curtains and brilliant glow of afternoon sunlight, he really does seem like a mysterious knight…

“Don’t laugh, idiot. After doing this for you. Wear this,” he says, and Ran zeroes in on the line of his lips because she has nowhere else to look at as he places a small barrette tiara on her hair. Doesn’t matter what he says, what they wear, even if they fail to match the daintiness of the mask and tiara. Shinichi with this on makes Shinichi as the knight much more vivid now. And Ran as the princess...

“Sorry!” She claps a hand on her warming cheek, pulls back a dumb smile she doesn’t notice she is wearing. “And I— I wasn’t laughing!”

“Still smiling creepily though.”

“I wasn’t being creepy! Geez. Anyway! Page-”

“Page 27, Scene 8, Line 10. Got it.”

After some short blocking instructions, they drop their scripts on the couch, and begin.

“Oh, unnamed knight with the black cloak, if you will grant me my wish… Please take off that dark mask and show me your true face!”

“If that is what the princess wishes, I shall show you my sorrowful face under this moonlight.”

Two steps forward and he removes the mask, and time slows down. She’s seen the same face a million times yet this time, her heart leaps like she’s laid eyes upon the most handsome face in the universe.

“Might—Might you be Spade?” She carries on, taking everything she can to maintain composure. “Long ago, you were banned from this land by my father… but now you’ve become the prince of Trump Kingdom...”

It’s nerve wracking, the way he’s strikingly still, eyes laden on her, either waiting for her next lines or admiring how beautiful she is with the tiara, she isn’t quite sure. The mask is gone, but he isn’t breaking character. Meanwhile, she’s trying her darned best to stay as Princess Heart of Bridge Kingdom.

“If you have… not forgotten about our childhood promise, then please…”

A nervous lump forms in her throat as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and his hands find her waist, and she nearly gasps but holds it in because right now, she’s Princess Heart, not Mouri Ran asking this of Kudou Shinichi. “Please, show me on these lips.”

“As my princess so desires...”

It should be ‘the’, not ‘my.’ And there’s supposed to be another line after that, but nothing stops him as he leans in ahead of time and her eyelids flutter to the erratic beat of her heart. It’s better to be partnered with Araide-sensei in this after all. He will not mess up his lines, and she will not lose her mind the way she’s losing it now.

Two parted lips are a pucker away when the doorbell chimes, making both jolt.

Ran is first to snap out of character, as if she hasn’t had the urge to earlier.

“That—That must be Sonoko. I forgot to tell you... I invited her in.”

“Oh, great,” Shinichi says.

Forcing her limbs into working order, Ran disentangles slowly, drawing a distance. Shinichi glances at the mask in his hand, then at her, before tossing it to the couch and turning for the door. From the window, she watches him walk to the front gate, scratching the back of his head in an annoyed manner like she just woke him from sleep, but grumpier. She hasn’t seen him display much emotion on a Sunday noon the way she’s seeing him now.

Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered him, she sighs, her turn to slump onto the couch this time.

“As I was saying, the prod already scouted the finest material for the costumes, and I decided, pink suits Princess Heart— Hello? Are you listening?”

Ran nearly drops the knife she holds if not for her inhuman reflexes. “Of course! Princess Heart in pink! Yes.” Like nothing happened, she resumes slathering jam and butter on the toast she’s preparing for the three of them. She doesn’t need to look at her side to know Sonoko’s eyeing her from head to toe.

“What happened to her?” The woman turns to Shinichi who sits at the high stool by the kitchen island.

“Dunno,” he says, sounding as noncommittal as he probably appears. Her back is turned against him, but she can see his face, and god why is she blushing?

“I just helped her rehearse. For the play,” he adds.

“Oh?” Sonoko’s brow perks up her forehead, hair whipping as she turns between her and the boy across them. “Did you?”

“Yup. Page 27.”

The dramatic gasp that tears from their friend’s throat is exactly the kind of gasp they expected; even so, Ran still flinches as Shinichi’s stool rakes the floor. “You kissed and I didn’t see?!”

“Hah?!”

“No!”

The two yelp in unison.

“That’s sly! You have to do it again! I’ll judge.”

“Excuse you! It didn’t happen, what you’re thinking!”

“Sonokooo!”

“Oh, shush, Ran, this is good practice. Good practice.”

“But—”

“Relax, rehearsal is rehearsal! In the actual play, once it’s Araide-sensei, he’ll do a better job—”

“I’m going to the toilet,” Shinichi gets off the stool, jaw stiff, out of the kitchen.

“—with a hug than a kiss. Right?” Sonoko ends, once Shinichi is out of the room.

“What?” Ran’s expression is inscrutable as she faces Sonoko completely, the flush across her face befitting embarrassment or ire. “You’re losing me here!”

“Oh, you’re not going to kiss, Ran. The lights will dim before your lips touch.”

“Then why—” she puts down the bread and walks in haste to the island to flip through the script, “Wh— That’s not in here!”

“Sonoko-sama hereby deems the script revised now that we have Araide-sensei.”

“Eh...?!” Ran cannot explain the play of her reactions. On one hand, a cloud is cleared from her mind, having to worry no more about doing something she has no experience with in front of watchful eyes. On the other, bunch of half-formed thoughts whirl through her mind that goes, Shinichi and I almost kissed for nothing, for nothing we almost k-kissed, an almost kiss with Shinichi, almost—

“That won’t do! I mean— That’s so not you! T-To choose a hug over a...”

“Duh, Ran! Even if it’s just a play, I won’t enable a kiss scene between a student and a staff member. We can fake the kiss. That, or switch to hug. Or better yet, change the male lead.”

“Change the male lead? In two weeks? Who will agree?!”

“Easy.” Just in time, Shinichi returns, hands in pocket and long face worn all the way to the stool. “I know someone who will.”

‘Once it’s Araide-sensei, he’ll do a better job…’ What? Kissing Ran? Shinichi wants to puke. Sonoko needs to think things through. If this is part of her plan, it’s unacceptable, it sucks.

There’s no way, no way anyone can do a better job kissing Ran than…

“Aaaargh, what are you thinking!” He ruffles his hair in dismay, curses here and there. He only wanted to help Ran yet he almost went for it. Not as Spade but as himself. The audacity. It’s part of the script, sure, but—

If it is part of the script, then have Ran and Araide-sensei rehearsed it before?

“That’s it,” Shinichi huffs, storming out of the bathroom. If this is the kind of reaction Sonoko wants from him, she’s in for a show. Not just a show but a lifetime of curses and mental stabs. For her to go this far is unbelievable. Did Ran even agree to that? Will such a scene really happen in the play? No matter how despicable Sonoko’s methods are, he has faith she respects Ran’s preference as the female lead. No offense against Araide-sensei, but he cannot take Ran’s first kiss, whether as Spade or not.

That is not to say he knows Ran’s preference, especially when it comes to a first kiss, but… it’s not... Araide-sensei... is it?!

He cannot ascertain, not when Ran did nothing when they were about to kiss…

Okay, halt there, self. I said immersive. That’s immersive. She was acting.

All was but an act. She’s a great actress. I suck. No need to make this a big deal.

Shinichi is a pitiful mess once he’s back in the kitchen.

“My offer still stands, you know.” Sonoko sits beside him, munching a toast, while Ran is busy returning the jam in the cupboard, back against them.

“Your offer?”

Shinichi glances at Ran, then at Sonoko, with that feral grin on her lips and Shinichi does a bad job looking pissed, and it’s maddening because he is pissed, just not obvious with the blush forming across his cheek.

Reprimanding Sonoko is what he intends to do. For doing him dirty, him and Ran dirty, for dragging a staff to be the male lead, for imploring Ran to give her first kiss she’s probably saving in a different setting. All invalid reasons, when he cared less about the play before. He’s a full-time idiot, and Sonoko knows it clearly that’s why she’s offering the role again. He doesn’t want to fall into her trap, the same way he doesn’t want anyone else to be Spade when Princess Heart is Ran.

But Ran looks over her shoulder and they accidentally lock eyes, and pink blooms across her cheeks before she turns around, and suddenly the words that leave his mouth completely betray the thought process he underwent in the bathroom.

“If Ran agrees, yeah,” he says.

#shinranweek2021 #day 6 #late entry #shinran #kudou shinichi #mouri ran #fanfic #oh my god this is all over the place AHAHA #i dont want to leave this in my draft forever tho so here ya go!!

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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years ago

Text

Devil on Your Team | Part 1

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: angst, smut

A\N: Asgard AU where Felix is Loki, Chan is Thor, and OC/reader is Lady Sif

Gif credit @915archive

“Will you join us this time, brother?”

Loki hesitates at Thor’s question. He was never good at the sort of thing that his friends enjoyed so, which made him a target for ridicule across the realm. What kind of man, a prince nonetheless, was so weak and fearful? Not a real man, that’s what.

Thor didn’t make it easier for him. Being the picture of the formidable, valiant warrior, he made Felix’s shortcomings all the more stark. Loki was all too aware of the comparisons people liked to make between them--they would fawn over how Thor was so brave, so strong, so much like the king that his frail little brother could never be. They would laugh and thank their stars that the fates were kind enough to have Thor be the old king’s first born and not his pitiful little brother.

Even Thor, who claimed to love him most in the world, was embarrassed of him. He always tried to egg him on and make him engage in “manlier” endeavors and forsake his witchcraft, forcing him along on his reckless adventures with his gang of hooligans so he would toughen up. How can he say that he loves him when he saw him as something that needed to be fixed? Thor didn’t love him. He pitied him.

Only you gazed upon him and accepted him for who he was. You knew too well what it felt like to be underestimated and ridiculed for being different, for daring to not adhere to their millenia-old customs of what makes one a good warrior or a proper lady. Every time he would hide and cry, you would find him and remind him that underestimating him will be their downfall, that true weakness is stupidity and arrogance and they had that in excess.

And there you were, coming to his defense once more.

“Shut up, you big oaf. Loki doesn’t care for our silly games.”

“Why not? All he has to do is sit back and not get in the way of our fair maiden and he should be fine.” Volstagg cuts in, followed by a series of chuckles that ebb and flow through the group.

“Volstagg.” Thor warns, shooting him a glare that quiets the snickering down, but by then it was too late, the damage had been done.

For, worse than the comparisons between himself and his golden brother, were those between him and the woman he loved so dearly.

Your close relationship made it so it was easy for people to jeer at the fact that the warrior lady is doing a man’s job while the prince practised such cowardly arts as magic that were meant for women. The comparison wasn’t flattering to either of you as he was thought of as a weakling and you as a woman trying to be a man.

“No, Volstagg, go on. Tell me what exactly you mean to say.” Again, you start defending him, ready to start a fight with the large man who began slinking back when faced with your unbridled fury. You were always so passionate about defending him, but Loki cannot let you keep doing that. He needed to prove that he could look after himself, not to impress those mindless thugs, but to prove to you that he could be a man for you, and provide you with protection just like any other man.

“I’m sure he’s just joking, my lady.” Loki interrupts and you look at him with surprised eyes that get all the wider as he continues, “It doesn’t matter anyway as I’ll be joining you.”

“My prince, you don’t have to--”

“I don’t have to do anything, my lady. I want to. Now let’s stop this useless bickering and go.”

__________________________

There was a nervous energy within the group the whole time they were in Alfheim. The men felt weird with Loki there and Loki felt weird with the warrior lady always hovering around.

“Lady, if I didn’t know any better I’d think that you were trying to guard me. I don’t need guarding. I can defend myself.” He didn’t want to snap at you like that but he desired so desperately for you to see him as a man for once.

“O-of course, my prince.” You splutter, a pretty blush on your face from being called out, and hesitantly take a few steps away from him, still not going far.

Loki huffs and charges forward carelessly, if you weren’t going to give him space, he will take it himself. And it’s precisely his attempt to distance himself from you that gets them in trouble.

“Brother, look out!” Thor shouts and Loki looks up barely in time to see an elf descend on him from the tree he was under. Shouts rise up and fill the air as their party gets ambushed by the rogue elves they were after.

Loki gets outnumbered, one of the elves delivering a blow to him before you can make your way to him. But your party quickly overcomes their momentary shock and works fast to push back the elves, steadily gaining control and shifting the tides in your favor. Eventually, you beat the band of rogue elves and send them scattering back into the woods.

When the fight dies down, things only get worse for Loki as you rush to cradle his body in your arms, thinking he is unconscious, before turning back to the men. “Shame on you! If you hadn’t been absolute pricks to him, he wouldn’t have felt the need to prove himself to you and get himself hurt. Why must you be like this?”

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Thor speaks up, sounding genuinely upset too.

“Oh, shove it up your big behind, my prince.” You growl, lifting Loki up in your arms and moving towards the portal to go back home.

Even without opening his eyes, he can feel your worried gaze on his face and it kills him.

__________________

Loki became closed off the entire period he was healing. The more you fussed over him, the quieter he got. He was so disappointed in himself and you taking care of him only wounded his ego further.

“Stop babying me, woman. You’re worse than the lot of them. Would you like me to hand you a pair of scissors so you can snip my balls off and hang them around your neck?”

You were taken aback by his outburst, and Loki regrets his outburst for a second, thinking he’s finally pushed you away. But instead of stomping off, you get on the bed and straddle him, grabbing his neck and growling roughly, “You don’t want me to be gentle with you? Fine, I won’t be gentle.”

You smash her lips to his, tearing a noise of surprise from his throat. You’d been patient enough with him but he insists on being a brat. If that’s the way he wants to be treated then so be it. And judging by the way he kissed you back eagerly, you don’t have to wonder long.

He was almost healed by now, and you could be free to run her hands all over him without hurting him, eliciting instead the most needy moans from his pretty lips. But when he tries to do the same, he is met with hard, unyielding steel.

"This is unfair. Take this off." He protests against your lips.

"I think not. You have been quite the sourpuss lately, I don't think you deserve to touch me. Matter of fact, keep those wandering hands up." You grab his hands and pin them to the bed, intending to punish him for all the hell he made you go through.

"No, please, my lady, let me touch you."

"Oh you're already begging, that's not very manly of you." You bite at him, still upset that he endangered his life just because his ego was bruised.

He cowers under your intense glare, feeling reprimanded. "I'm sorry, I'll be good."

"Oh you will be. Now quit your protesting or I'll gag you too."

He shuts up, though he's unsure if it wouldn't have been better for you to gag him as the noises that come out of his throat at your ministrations were not very dignified.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to get my hands on you, my prince. You drive me crazy." You drawl, palming his member and making him turn to hide his face in his arm as a blush covers his face.

"I should punish you for teasing me so." You slowly pull his trousers down his hips, exposing his eager member to the cool night air that was clashing with your warm breath so close to where he needed you the most. "Will you be good for me from now on, my sweet prince?"

This was everything they ridiculed him for, being so subservient to a woman like this, but damn did he crave it. He needed you to own him.

"Yes, my lady." He stares down at you as you lean down ever so close to his cock, your breath fanning over him, as hot as ever and he feels his skin melt under it. The heat spreading to the rest of his body made his blood simmer in his veins. Sweat beaded up on his skin and his mind sweltered as you put your mouth on him, but he could do nothing but push himself into the scorching heat of you, submitting himself to the flames.

But all too suddenly, he stops burning, coolness flashing over his body like one of his brother's storms, and he stares down at you in betrayal, ready to apologize for everything and profess his undying love for you if only she would put your mouth back on him, but the horror struck look on your face sobers him up.

"My lady, what is--"

"What is happening to you?" You shriek, and for the first time he sees fear in your eyes.

"What do you mean?" He puzzles, looking down at himself in reflex, wondering what had possessed you when a flash of blue catches his eyes…

Huge patches of his body were covered by rough blue skin, the likes of which are all too familiar to him. He can't help his own shout of panic. "What is that? What is happening?!"

"You're turning into a….a monster." You shake her head, tears springing to your eyes at the horror unfolding in front of you.

"Lady, help me please.” Loki is even more shaken, tears already streaming down his face as he seems terrified of his own self. “Did they put a curse on me?"

"I-I don't know." You lament, feeling hopeless.

But then an idea pops into your head, "I'll get the king. He'll know what to do."

"No, please!" His hands fly out to hold onto you but you jump back, and Loki quickly pulls his arms back to his body, wounded at the disgusted look on your face.

"Why not?"

"You know he doesn't favor me."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's your father." You try to calm him down but he only gets more disconsolate. "No you don't understand. You don't see the way he looks at him when no one is looking. I'm… I'm scared."

Your heart breaks at the way he shivers, but there is nothing else you can do. You’re sure he’s just panicked. Odin is good and kind and you trust him beyond measure. "You're hallucinating, my sweet. The king would never hurt you."

"No, you don't understand--" He squeaks, and you reach out to cradle his face in your palms, only flinching slightly at the coldness. "Hush, my sweet." You kiss him gently then run to the king. Hearing Loki sob behind you only makes you run faster.

_________________________

A/N: lol surprise

#stray kids smut #felix smut #stray kids angst #felix angst

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jean-kayak · 4 years ago

Text

Where’s Your Holiday Spirit?

Summary: You’re at an office party, and the person you hate the most is also at the party

Pairing: Keishin Ukai x black!fem!reader

Warnings: (smut 18+!!), oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, ass slapping, mild daddy kink, spitting, public sex??? (there’s a chance at getting caught)

Word Count: 2,331

A/N: LMAO, I just wanted an excuse to write smut, but also I am a slut for Ukai, so here’s Day 5!

All characters are 18+!!

Another year, another stupid Christmas work party. Ukai despises these things, but he goes anyway to be on the good side of his boss, but if that wasn't the case, he would stay his ass home.

"Fix that sour face, Keishin, you're scaring people." And that is another reason he hates these parties. You.

"I hate Christmas work parties," he grumbles, and you chuckle softly.

"Yes, I'm very aware of that. That's all your face is saying right now." He feels his blood boiling the more you talk to him. Both of you are competing for the same position, and your animosity matches his. You hate him just as much as he hates you.

"Can I help you?" he spits, and he turns to you, and damn he hates how hot you look right now. The red dress you're wearing should be illegal because of how short it is, and how it tightly hugs your curves.

"Oh, don't be a sourpuss. C'mon, where's your holiday spirit?"

"At home, where I would rather be," he utters aggressively, making you laugh as you look around at the office party unfolding in front of you.

"Well, you could just go home, you know. We both know I deserve that promotion more than you do," you insist, making Keishin roll his eyes.

"Like you're not already kissing the boss' ass," he says firmly, making you chuckle again. A tray of champagne finally floats towards Keishin, and he knows he needs alcohol if he's gonna have to make it through another second talking to you.

Just as he's about to bring it to his mouth when you grab it out of his hand, taking a swig before giving him a satisfied smirk. You watch as his jaw clenches in anger and annoyance, giving him the glass of champagne back as you start to walk off.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your sulking. Have fun." You saunter away, wiggling your fingers at him before turning your attention to one of your other co-workers, and Keishin does not watch your backside as you walk away.

^^^

You're walking down the hallway towards the break room to get some more eggnog, when you feel someone yank into an office, the door closing behind you. You whirl around to see Ukai standing with his back leaning against the door, his arms crossed as he stares at you.

"Keishin, what the hell--" You're cut off by Ukai stepping closer to you and smashing his lips down on yours. You're soon kissing him back, and you feel him guiding you across the room until you feel your legs hit something.

You break away from the kiss, realizing you're in your boss' office, and your legs are against her desk. "Keishin, not in here, are you crazy?" He responds with a smug grin.

"So, you do wanna fuck?" he questions playfully, and you roll your eyes.

"Of course, I don't." You're lying straight through your teeth, but you hope he doesn't pick up on it.

He chuckles softly. "Fine, if you don't want this, I'll walk right out of here and pretend nothing happened." He lifts his hands from your waist, instantly missing the feeling of his hands on you, and as he starts to back away, your body moves before your brain, your grip on his shoulders tightening.

He tilts his head at your action, and you clench your jaw as you feel your resolve breaking. As much as you hate this man, your body refuses to listen to your head. "Having second thoughts, princess?" he jabs, and you take a deep breath, the remnants of your resolve leaving your body.

"Nobody can know, alright?" you demand, and you fight back a sigh when he rests his hands on your waist again.

"Come on, you know I don't kiss and tell." You both move forward, your lips meeting in the middle, your body going limp as he pulls you flush against him. He pushes the bottom of your dress up, his hands cupping your ass instantly as his mouth moves to your neck, and you easily give him more access. "You wore this dress on purpose, didn't you? You wanted to see if it would get a rise out of me, didn't you?"

"Maybe," you admit, hating how breathless you already sound. "It clearly worked though," you say, sounding smug. He smacks your ass, the sound so loud you're sure someone walking by would hear it.

"Fuck yeah, it did. This whole party, I've wanted nothing more than to bend you over in front of everyone and fuck you stupid."

"Fuck, Kei," you mewl, feeling your panties already soaked just from his words. He pulls the straps of your dress down your shoulders before pulling your dress past your tits.

He lifts his head, meeting your eyes, his lips shiny with his saliva, and he lightly taps your chin. "Open up, baby." You comply, and he leans over you, and you watch a glob of spit fall from his mouth onto your awaiting tongue. "Now, stay just like that, and it better be there when I come back up."

His words are confusing, but you listen, watching as he moves down, and you jump slightly when you feel him on your chest, and you almost close your mouth, but you quickly stop yourself. He's pinching, biting, and pulling at your nipples, and you feel your knees wobble a little.

He starts kissing down your torso, feeling his kisses burning on your skin through your dress. Your hands are in his air when he plants a kiss on your clothes core, and he checks to see if you're still complying with his words before pulling your panties down your legs, groaning when he sees how soaked you are.

"Now, this pussy doesn't look like it belongs to someone who hates me," he comments, and you roll your eyes.

"It does," your words obscured by your tongue.

You hear him chuckle softly as he grips the inside of your thighs, nudging your legs further apart before moving his hands to grips the outside of them. "But it also looks like a pussy that belongs to me."

You go to make a sound of protest, but it turns into a moan when he suddenly licks a thick stripe through your folds. Your thighs subconsciously clamp together when he pokes his tongue at your clit through your folds, and he puts his hands back on the inside of your thighs to keep your legs open.

You want to stifle your moans as they get louder the more fervor he puts into his actions, but you don't close your mouth, remembering his words. Your grip on his hair becomes tighter, and the harder you pull on it, the louder it makes him groan.

You try to pull him away from you when you feel your orgasm approaching, but he doesn't budge, alternating from circling your clit with the pink muscle to using it to stretch out your hole. The sounds he's making are vibrating against your core which only brings you closer to your release.

"Kei," you mumble like a warning, but that knot snaps, making you let out a silent scream, and Keishin stays between your legs, collecting as much as he can before rising to his feet as you slump against the desk.

He gives you a lazy smile when he sees that your mouth is still open, his spit sitting right where he left it, and you can't notice how hot he looks with the lower half of his face shining with your juices. "You can swallow, pretty girl," he tells you, and his smile gets even wider when you easily obey.

He grasps your chin with his thumb and index finger, his thumb rubbing softly against it as he brings his face close to yours. "You like listening to your Daddy, don't you?" he asks you smugly, his voice somehow deeper than before.

"Fuck," you gasp softly as you nod, feeling yourself getting turned on again from just his words.

"Why don't you turn around and bend over for me, princess?" and before you can answer, he's guiding you to turn around and bending you over the desk, and you think about how this is your boss' desk, and you're in her office, and it's having the opposite effect on you, making you even more turned on.

Why was her door unlocked? Or rather, how was Keishin able to get in? You're pulling from your thoughts when you feel his fingers toying with your hole. "You're still dripping for me, huh?"

You rock back against his fingers, the motion causing your nipples to rub against the desk, making you moan. "Please, Daddy, please I want it so bad," you beg, and you can see the satisfied smirk on his face as you hear his belt unbuckling and the zipper, and you feel your body start tingling in excitement.

"Guess you don't hate me that much since you're begging so easily," he says, and you can feel the tip of his cock pushing at your hole.

"Ha," you huff, "says that one who initiated this whole thing," you bite back, and you let out an involuntary whine when you feel him pull away, your body chasing after him, but he keeps a firm grip on your hips.

"Aww, you think you deserve my cock after talking back?" He gives your ass another slap, and you're pretty sure it was louder than the last one, but you don't give in just yet.

"Aww, but I thought you were the one who said you wanted to fuck me stupid?" you coo at him with a pout, and he doesn't respond, but the next thing you feel is being filled to the brim instantly, making you scream at the sudden intrusion.

He pulls you up by your hair, his hand wrapping around your neck, his mouth right up against your ear. "You wanna talk back to your Daddy now, huh?" he practically growls in your ear. "You wanna be an annoying little brat?" He thrusts into you, making you whimper as your head falls on his shoulder. "Annoying little brats don't get to cum, sweetheart. Whenever we're done, I'll walk right out of this room without you coming once. Is that what you want?"

You shake your head. "Please, I'm sorry, I want your cock so bad, I need it, Daddy," you plead, swallowing the rest of your pride. "I wanna cum, I'm sorry. Please fuck me."

He pushes you back against the desk, your body hot against the cool surface, and he gives you a particular thrust that has you seeing stars, and you cry out into the empty room. Your heart drops when you hear footsteps and voices from the other side of the door.

Ukai leans down near your ear. "And I didn't lock the door, so if anyone opens it, they'll see how you're taking my cock so well," he warns, and you clench around him, making him chuckle darkly. "So, you want to get caught? That's what gets you off, huh? Well if you scream loud enough again, I'm sure someone will hear you."

He starts moving, his pace brutal as he grips your shoulder for some extra leverage, and you're having a hard time muffling the sounds coming out of your mouth, but you're sure that the squelching noises coming from your soaked cunt are louder than you are.

When he hits your g-spot, you barely manage to muffle your moan, covering your head with your hands as you rest your forehead against the desk. You start rocking back matching with his thrusts as you feel the knot coming closer to snapping.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," he whines softly, lifting your leg onto the desk, which seems to make him go impossibly deeper, and you bite down your hand, face contorted in pleasure.

He manages to find your clit, and he starts rubbing hard, fast circles, making you arch your back as you feel your release coming. "You close baby?" he asks, and you nod quickly, too scared to use your words. "Fuck, me too."

He seems to pick up the pace, the desk starting to creak under the movement, and it's not long until that knot snaps, making you scream into your hand as your body tenses up, clenching around him.

He cums right after you, chasing your highs until you're whining at the overstimulation. He pulls out, and he watches as his cum starts to dribble out of your used hole, and he pushes it back in, making you jump.

He sits you up, turning you around, and he can't help the smug look that comes across his face when he sees how wrecked you are. You feel his seed seeping down your thighs, and he grabs some tissues, cleaning you up before throwing him in the trashcan.

"You can't throw that away in here!" you hiss, and he replies with a shrug as he tucks himself back into his pants.

"Why not? It's not like she's gonna know," he tells you nonchalantly, and you roll your eyes as you move to get dressed, finding your underwear a little ways away from the desk. You bend over to grab them, suddenly receiving a light smack that makes you glare at him.

You slide them up your legs and fixing your dress and your hair. "How do I look?"

"Like you just got fucked with the best dick you've ever had." You roll your eyes again before making your way towards the door, but Ukai stops you by grabbing your wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"What we're doing is going back to my place because there is a lot more 'holiday spirit' where that came from." He steps closer to you. "And you can be as loud as you want."

Christmas Event Masterlist!

#issematsukawwawritingevent #keishin ukai #ukai keishin #keishin ukai x black reader #keishin ukai x black!reader #ukai keishin x black reader #ukai keishin x black!reader #ukai smut #keishin ukai smut #ukai keishin smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu smut #hq!! smut #hq smut #hq!!#hq

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

Text

I Remember the Fallen, Do They Think of Me: A Rusty Quill Gaming fanfic

Also on AO3.

They’re none of them in very good shape, really. Well, except for Skraak, who seems to have managed to avoid getting a finger or tendril laid on him the whole time they were in Svalbard. He seems fine. The others might be fine physically, but that purple migraine that came out of the floorboards in the Council chamber did a number on their spirits. Cel’s the worst off, although they’re doing a bit better since their mutagen wore off, but they’re still edgy and tense and more strung up than usual. Azu just looks marginally grumpy, which isn’t a good look on her. Zolf almost wants to say something about how this party only has room for one sourpuss, but he probably won’t be able to make it sound like a joke, and it isn’t really a joke anyway, and Azu is quite capable of taking his head off, literally, if the mood strikes her. Which it well might. She looks like she’s itching to kill something and Zolf isn’t keen to be it. Hamid mostly looks tired, as well he ought with all the spells he cast. There’s a part of him that wants to compliment Hamid on his conduct back there, on strategic use of his spells to help his party members and keeping his head and not only finding the kill switch but figuring out how to use it to save them all, but it probably won’t come out right. Hamid will probably think he’s being condescending or something, or use it as an excuse to pick a fight. They’re both tired, really. And Zolf is feeling every one of the blows he took; nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure, he supposes, but at least that’s the worst of it for him.

So he doesn’t protest when Einstein teleports them back to Other London and Wilde insists they get some sleep in the back of Gragg’s old tavern rather than risk breaking the surface in the state they’re in. Skraak does, and surprisingly, so does Azu, but all Zolf has to do is point at Cel, looking miserable, and they back down.

“Got a room upstairs,” Gragg says, pointing upwards. “Lots of room for you all. I’ll be down here. Oh—Mr. Smith, right?”

“Yeah?” Zolf frowns at Gragg.

“Letter came for you. From the Poseidon lot. Their messenger said they thought I’d know where to find you.” Gragg shrugs, a little helplessly, and holds out an envelope. “I didn’t, but you’re here.”

Zolf sighs and takes the envelope with a muttered “thanks”. He’s done with the Poseidon lot, has been for close to two years now, but it seems they’re not done with him. He looks over at the others. “Go lie down, the lot of you. I’ll see what this is all about and then I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Surely it can keep until the morning, Zolf,” Wilde says. “Or whatever passes for morning right now. It’s kept this long.”

“Rather not try and sleep with this hanging over my head,” Zolf replies. “Won’t be but a minute.”

“Hmm.” Azu looks at him, then nods once and starts shooing the others up the stairs. Gragg gives him a nod, too, then disappears into the back.

Once Zolf is alone, he sinks down onto a barstool and immediately wishes he hadn’t. It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, or that it’s too tall for him, or even that now that he’s sitting he doesn’t want to get up. It’s that the last time he sat on one of these stools, it was less than twenty-four hours after meeting Hamid and Sasha (and, unfortunately, Bertie), back when he was still just a mercenary, or a Cleric pretending to be a mercenary, or a mercenary pretending to be a Cleric, or just a disillusioned and drifting person desperately looking for something to believe in. Back when Other London was a bustling city full of people trying to live their lives and Gragg wasn’t responsible for anything more than having enough food and drink to last the night. Back before Zolf doomed the world.

He allows himself precisely five seconds to wallow in the guilt of the past, then props his elbows on the bar and turns the envelope over in his hands. ZOLF SMITH, CLERIC is scrawled on the front in extremely shaky, spiky handwriting, along with a series of letters at the bottom that’s obviously in some sort of code, since it’s got far too many X’s and no vowels except a couple I’s. The back is sealed with some very old wax that looks like someone literally just dripped a candle on the envelope and pressed a seal into it. Zolf sighs as he recognizes the shape—it’s a dead match for the ring he still wears on his own finger, his last connection to his family. The Spade of the Harlequins. This letter might have been passed on by a member of the Cult of Poseidon, but it’s coming from a Harlequin.

Probably it’s Curie, writing to say she isn’t dead after all, although why she’d write to him of all people is a bit beyond him. He’s also not sure why she would feel the need to emphasize his Cleric status on the address. But...whatever. Might as well get this over with.

He slides a finger under the flap of the envelope and loosens the seal, then pulls out the folded papers within. It’s a thick sheaf and surprisingly heavy, and when he unfolds them, something slips from between the pages and lands on the bar with a thump and a clatter. Zolf looks down and sees a dagger, etched with some arcane symbols he doesn’t recognize. Great. A magic dagger. That bodes well. He huffs at it. If they want him to identify it, they’re going to be out of luck; that’s not his area of expertise. Maybe he’ll ask Wilde or Hamid in the morning.

He turns his attention back to the letter. It’s the same scrawl as the front of the envelope, scratched out in some places, odd splatters of ink in others, and there are a couple places where it looks like the ink’s run a bit. Gods, he hopes he’ll be able to read this.

Less than a line in, and his blood runs cold as the rest of the world drops away.

Zolf -

It’s gone bad. It’s all gone real bad. I don’t know when this letter’s going to get to you, except I know it’ll be sometime after you left in Prague because—well, you left. You wouldn’t have left if you knew all this before. But it all went wrong, and I need you to know what happened.

It didn’t go wrong right away. At first it was kind of okay. Hamid and I went out and tried to see how many restaurants we could go to, and that was nice. It helped us both, I think, because we both missed you already, but neither of us said anything about that. Like if we pretended it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t hurt. And it worked, at least at first. And then we found Bertie at the last one we went to, and he was causing a huge mess, you know what Bertie’s like. You were right about that. After that it just kept getting worse.

I woke up the next morning and I didn’t feel good again. Everything was bleeding again and I looked kind of bad, but I pretended I was okay and Hamid and Bertie didn’t notice. Well, Bertie never noticed anything that he didn’t want to, but Hamid, I think he was still upset. I dunno. Anyway, I went to the Temple of Artemis to get healed. The lady there wasn’t like you, she didn’t really make me feel all that...I think that’s just what the Artemis lot are like, though. Everyone I’ve met who’s from Artemis, they do what needs doing and go on to the next thing. I didn’t know that then, though. Anyway, I asked her why it kept happening, why I kept waking up hurt, and how to make it stop, and she made me tell her a bunch of stuff and then said it was because I got brought back to life wrong and I’d have to go to a Temple of Aphrodite to get healed right.

Then there were zombies. Loads of zombies, and they were attacking in the middle of the square. We went to fight them off and that’s when we met Grizzop, he’s—he was a Paladin of Artemis, and he helped us fight them. Bertie had this ring, he said it was supposed to make the undead go away, but instead it made them come closer to him. It made me come closer to him, too, and that was really not a lot of fun, Zolf, I didn’t like that at all. I fought it, though. I fought it really hard and it mostly worked. But there were loads of zombies, and even though we fought them off okay, the four of us, I was real worried about you. Part of me wanted to go find you and make sure you were okay, but I knew you didn’t want to be found, so I had to trust you would be all right. Grizzop said he was supposed to be hunting down a rogue mage that was probably making all the zombies, and we were still supposed to go up to the University and stuff, so we said we’d go with him in the morning.

Everything opened up again overnight, so I had to get healed a bit. Hamid kept asking me if I was okay, and I kept telling him I was, partly because I knew he couldn’t do anything to fix it and partly because I’m just so used to pretending I’m fine when I’m not, and partly because I didn’t want to worry him more than I had to. We went up to the University like we talked about, and it just kept getting worse and worse. Mostly by Bertie being Bertie, but also because the rogue mage, Franz Kafka, he had a book that came from Rome and it drove him crazy. He was a Harlequin, the council told us, and they were all Harlequins too, they had rings like yours and Rakefine’s, and they’d kind of lied to Grizzop because they didn’t want people to know it was one of them doing the zombie thing down in the city, but they asked us to go take care of it and we said we would. So we went back down to Prague and fought loads of stuff. We had a map with all the plague pits on them, Kafka was raising zombies out of them, so we decided to try and clear out as many as we could. Hamid had got tickets for the opera and the ley lines crossed at the opera house, so he thought Kafka would choose to try and spring his trap there, but Grizzop and I said it’d be better to take out the zombies before that. We got him to agree in the end, kind of, but we didn’t manage to get all the zombie pits cleared out before the opera was supposed to start.

It got really, really bad at the opera, Zolf. I don’t know if you were still in Prague then, I don’t know if you heard about it, but it was real bad. The basement was full of zombies and Grizzop and I tried to fight them off, but there were so many and a couple of them were really big and even though I had all these bombs I made and Grizzop had his bow and arrows and all that, we couldn’t kill them all, so we had to run up to the top. Then when we got up there, we found out that Hamid was right, that Kafka had tried to attack at the opera, and everybody was frozen and Bertie and Kafka were both flying and facing off each other, and Hamid—Hamid was gone. He was nowhere in the theater, and when I got to the stage I saw his bracelets and what was left of his clothes looking like they’d been torn apart and I knew, I knew Kafka had killed him somehow, and it was my fault because I wasn’t there to help him. And Kafka didn’t just have Bertie, he had Hamid’s sister—she was singing in the opera, it’s why Hamid wanted to go so bad—and he told Bertie that he had to pick whether he’d kill Bertie or Aziza. Don’t think it’ll surprise you which one Bertie picked.

But Kafka cheated. He killed both of them. I wasn’t fast enough, I couldn’t stop him—I tried, Zolf, I tried so hard, but even with Grizzop shooting arrows at him I couldn’t kill him fast enough to stop him from killing both of them. And, I mean, I kind of would have wanted to kill Bertie myself, or let Hamid do it, or at least let Hamid yell at him a lot, but even though Bertie wasn’t a very nice person, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. And his sister—she was just singing. She was just there and doing what she loved and Hamid was so proud of her, Zolf, and Kafka killed her just because he could. It wasn’t right. The guards finally showed up, but they were too late to help. Bertie was dead and Aziza was dead and Hamid...

Well, Hamid wasn’t dead after all. Grizzop found him on the roof of the opera house. Kafka put a spell on him and turned him into a monster, and the monster ran away. So at least he didn’t hurt anybody and not know it. He’d have hated that. I’d have hated that. Grizzop would’ve just killed him, I think, and then I’d have really been alone and I don’t know what I would have done. But he didn’t and I wasn’t, not then. They fixed us up and we had to tell Hamid about what happened. I didn’t tell him about Bertie getting to pick. He was hurt enough by what happened. And we almost got arrested or kidnapped or something like that by the Cult of Mars, but Wilde showed up and got us out of it.

As bad as Hamid wanted to go home with his sister and make sure Bertie was taken care of and all that, when they gave us a job to do, he agreed to do it before Einstein teleported us to Cairo. So then we went into Newton’s study and found his pocket dimension, and it turned out that there was somebody working there who’d been working with Kafka and Edison on Mr. Ceiling, or on something like Mr. Ceiling anyway. And it turned out that she was an old friend of Hamid’s. I think they were dating once. She really didn’t like him anymore, though, so even if she hadn’t done the work that meant Mr. Ceiling could happen, I wouldn’t have liked her, because she was really nasty to him. And he just stood there and took it. He didn’t fight her and he didn’t argue with her and he didn’t try to stand up for himself. He just kept saying she had to come with us.

You’d be proud of him, I think.

Anyway, after that Einstein sent us to Cairo. We wound up in the middle of a real bad sandstorm—Hamid thought we were probably in the middle of the desert, but then it turned out we were on the main street and not that far from the Temple of Aphrodite. That’s when we met Azu, and that was a pretty good thing, but that was the only good thing really. They told us at the Temple they’d been having lots of really bad weather, like they were having in Dover when we were there. I like the rainstorms a lot better than sandstorms, but it still wasn’t fun. And that was the easy bad thing.

This part’s not easy to talk about, and it feels really selfish when I think back on it, because I didn’t handle it in a way that you’d be proud of. I went to talk to one of the healer people about whether or not they could fix how I kept waking up hurting and that the person at the Artemis temple had said I was a little bit undead. He checked me over and said that I wasn’t just a little undead, I was really undead, and that I only had about a month left before I turned into something else. Hamid and Grizzop called it a lich—I hope I’m spelling that right, it’s not like they ever wrote it down, but that’s what it sounds like. Grizzop said they were evil, but Hamid kept saying that maybe I would be the first non-evil lich. Which, I mean, I guess that would have been okay, but...

Eren Fairhands said there were only three ways to fix me—to die all the way and go for a resurrection, to get a necromancer to follow me around and do magic on me to keep me just plain undead, or to get this artifact called the Heart of Aphrodite that the Meritocrats had all locked up because they don’t want powerful magic just floating around for anyone to use. I told Hamid and the others that I didn’t think they’d agree to let me use something that powerful, just for me; Hamid insisted they might because we’d saved the world a couple times, and also his other sister worked for the Meritocrats so maybe it would be okay. But I didn’t believe him. The world doesn’t work that way for people like me, you know? And the other two options...I might have trusted them if you were there to do them, but not someone I didn’t know, or a god I didn’t know.

Anyway, we went to Hamid’s family’s house. Hamid was really scared about seeing his family again, but, I mean, it had to go better than seeing Barret did for me, right? And it sort of worked out okay, at first anyway, but everybody was real upset, not that I blame them. They had the funeral the next day, and it went okay, but a tall figure in a hood like the one that hung out with Barret showed up. We watched it and then it disappeared, but it was after Hamid’s brother, and we didn’t want him to lose anybody else, so we were trying to protect him. And then it came back and we attacked it and we managed to kill it, but I just, I didn’t handle it well at all. I fell apart and then I just shut down. I think I gave up. I decided I was just going to die and that was all there was to it.

Like I said, I don’t think you’d be very proud of me for that. I had options, even if they didn’t seem very likely, but there was still a chance and I should have held onto that. You would have. But I didn’t and that means I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.

Hamid’s brother was working for Barret. Kind of. He got in debt and he owed Barret money, and Barret wanted him to rob the bank that Hamid’s family works for to pay him back, but things went wrong and someone died. That’s what Barret gave Hamid the ring for, he wanted him to give it to his brother, but Hamid wouldn’t because he’s a good person and he didn’t want to make his brother suffer. But because someone died, the bank was going to arrest him, but Hamid’s father said he would take the blame instead. Hamid tried to make him not do that, tried to make him see that his brother needed to face the consequences, but his father did it anyway. Then Hamid came back and told us what was happening, and he asked us for advice, and I said a lot of really mean things about his family. Well, all of us did, I guess, but...it’s different with Grizzop and Azu, you know? They didn’t know him. Not like I did. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said because I was upset and scared and hurting and I wanted to make Hamid feel that way too, and I shouldn’t have because he already was and I should have known that and it wasn’t fair. I won’t say I didn’t mean what I said, because I did, but I still shouldn’t have said it. And I didn’t mean it about Hamid, at least. He’s a good person, Zolf, he really is, even with what he did before, and he wanted us to help him and all Grizzop and Azu would say was that his brother and father deserved to be punished and I said they could get away with not being punished because they were rich and...

I wish you were there. You would have known what to say, what to do. You wouldn’t have made such a mess of it like I did.

I thought about you a lot that night, about what you would have said and done, and the next day when we went down for breakfast, I tried to do like you would have. I asked Hamid and Grizzop and Azu how their talk went after I left, and Hamid apologized to them for trying to keep his brother out of trouble and mucking it all up, and then he told us what happened to him. He got kicked out of university because someone he thought was his friend tried to get him to make a potion as a prank, but he wrote it down wrong and then the not-friend made it bigger and a bunch of people died, so he joined up with you—us—to try and make up for what he did. He was really worried that all he did was make things worse, because he said you didn’t think what we did in Paris helped, and then he didn’t think he helped at all in Prague. But he did, and he’s trying, and Grizzop said that was what was important. And I pointed out how much better he’s gotten since we met, because I meant it but also because I think you would have said it too, and he said it helped, me saying that. So we had a little bit of good, at least. And Hamid said a lot of really nice things about me when we met Apophis later that day, and Apophis agreed that we could use the Heart of Aphrodite to fix me. And it worked, Zolf, it really did. I’m good as new. Better, even, Fairhands even grew my finger back for me. For a little bit, everything was great, and the only thing that would have made it better was if you were there too.

And then it went bad again. We had to go to Damascus because there was information in the vaults when we got the Heart of Aphrodite that Edison was doing a bunch of stuff with the factories there, and that it might be involved with the Simulacrum and everything. The first factory was run by goblins and they were real proud of what they were doing, and they even gave me a dagger made of adamantine. When we went to investigate the other factory, though, they wouldn’t even let us in and it was really suspicious, so we sneaked in in the middle of the night to have a look around. They’d fired all the people who worked there and they had monsters in the warehouses to guard them, and they were building things like the Simulacrum. Loads of them. We had to fight our way out and then, well, we were going to go back to Damascus and find Wilde and tell him what was going on when someone showed up at the door with two more of those tall things like we killed at the funeral, and I think it was one of Bertie’s friends, you remember those people with the carriage from the Simulacrum unveiling? Wellington. Him. Anyway, Grizzop shot at him and he went away, but then they dropped a body in, only it wasn’t dead. It was Barret and he was tied up and beaten up.

You’d be proud of Hamid. He was all calm and serious and firm, just like you used to do when you were getting information out of bad people. I half expected him to threaten to drown Barret in a bucket. Would’ve loved to see the look on his face if he did. Anyway, Barret eventually told us he was working with the Cult of Hades. They’re the ones who suggested he get in touch with us about the Serpentines, and they’re the ones who helped him take all the kids out of Other London that got sent to Paris to be used for Mr. Ceiling. Then he told us the Cult of Hades had infiltrated the Meritocrats, and that he had too, and he gave Hamid a list of names. Grizzop and Azu wanted to just kill him. Hamid thought he should be arrested, but then they asked me what I wanted to do with him. If you’d been there, I’d have said he was a good candidate for a sacrifice, but...that didn’t seem right. Not just killing him. It’d be too easy to be just like him, and I never wanted that. So Azu and Hamid took him to Damascus to give him over to the Artemis lot to be put in prison, and they said they’d talk to Wilde and come back while Grizzop and I stayed and watched the factory and made sure nothing else bad happened. I went and checked one of the warehouses, and it was like it was raining in there—there was an aqueduct and they were piping water through, which I thought was weird because water was so expensive and hard to find in Damascus. Wilde showed up and asked us to show him the warehouses, then said we had to go because he’d arranged to have the factory destroyed. He said things were getting really bad, that there’d been the riots in London and Other London and a whole bunch of other places too, and that with the Meritocrats being compromised he didn’t trust anyone but our group, which kind of made me feel good and bad at the same time.

I like Wilde. Didn’t think I would, but I do.

Anyway, Apophis came in and turned the whole thing into glass, but there was steam coming up from a crack in it, so we slept on it and then investigated in the morning. There were pipes and tunnels and all sorts of things, and we almost got caught in a couple traps, but we came through okay, and then we found the secret part of the factory where they were making the outsides of the Simulacra (Hamid called them robots, I kind of like that better, actually). It turned out they were stealing the river, too, to make the factory work, so we started destroying it, because they were evil, or at least using evil things to do the work. It was all going so well for once. We were really doing good, even when we had to fight off an assassin that kept trying to turn us into stone.

And then...and then we got a weird magic message. I can’t really explain it in detail, maybe Hamid can tell you about it better, but the Cult of Hades sent us a message and told us that we needed to stop, or else. When we tried to argue with them, they showed us what they’d done.

They took our families.

Bi Ming, and Azu’s big brother, and one of Hamid’s little brothers, and a goblin who must’ve been important to Grizzop (I never got the chance to ask him about that). They had them tied up and trapped, and they said they were in Rome, and if we didn’t go and rescue them they’d...

Well. We weren’t going to let that happen, were we? We couldn’t. At least Hamid and I couldn’t. I think Azu was a little torn, because her brother can take care of himself and all, but Hamid and me, we couldn’t wait. We thought we’d pop back up, tell Wilde what was going on, get him to send in people to take care of it, and get on to Rome. We knew it was dangerous, but we had to. Grizzop argued with us about it, he said the mission was more important, and in the end he stayed behind and took care of everything while we went on to Rome with Einstein.

I’m sure you’ve heard about Rome and what it’s like. You’ve been loads more places than Hamid or I have, you’ve got to know the stories. I don’t think you can really know what it’s like unless you’ve been there, though. Best way I can describe it is, remember when we got across the Channel and you were telling me about that place you sailed through in a storm once, where you could see all the shipwrecks and things? Like that, but on dry land. Nobody lives there but monsters and the ghosts of memories. The air felt bad, and it did weird things to magic, too. Sometimes Hamid’s spells worked really well and sometimes they didn’t work at all and sometimes they were normal, it didn’t make any sense. Azu couldn’t do many spells at all, because her magic comes from Aphrodite and the prayers weren’t working. She said it was like Aphrodite couldn’t hear her, but I think now it’s the other way around—that Aphrodite could hear Azu just fine, but Azu couldn’t hear Aphrodite’s reply, and I think that’s worse. Because it means whatever was strangling Rome wanted people to feel like the gods abandoned them, but also wanted the gods to suffer knowing that people who believed in them and all that were desperately reaching for them and they couldn’t do anything but listen.

It wasn’t easy. It was hot and hard to move around sometimes, and things kept attacking us, all kinds of monsters. Einstein was basically useless, so it was just Azu and Hamid and me having to fight, and I was really glad I wasn’t trying to do this and also not turn into a lich, ‘cause not being able to heal would’ve been really bad. Worse for Hamid, though. He nearly blew himself up and it scared me half to death, but I was honestly too happy he was safe to really yell at him for it. We hid out in a basement overnight to sleep and heal, and the next day we found the place where our families were being kept...kind of. We had to sneak into this big building, and when we got in, we found a big purple cloud, like a hole in the universe or something. I don’t know the details of the magic, that was more Hamid’s thing, but the people we loved were inside it, and there was this Paladin of Apollo there, too, someone who apparently knew Bertie, and he went in there and got stuck. Grizzop got there with Eldarion, she’s—she was my teacher when I was in prison, kind of in prison anyway, and she wanted me to stop running around getting in trouble and go back somewhere safe, but I told her I wasn’t going to do that. Eventually she gave in. Einstein said he’d wait for us to teleport us out when we got out safely, we didn’t know how long it would be, because the magic led to another plane and time might not move the same way there.

Actually getting everybody out wasn’t so hard. It was like a puzzle. I kind of like puzzles, actually. We had to fight a couple monsters, nothing too serious, except one of them broke my favorite ice dagger and I was kind of upset about that. But Bi Ming was okay, and so was Issak, and Azu’s brother, and Grizzop’s friend, and even Ed. We got everything and we got together in a circle and Eldarion transported us back.

And that’s when it went really bad. At least for me.

I couldn’t hold on. There was just so much going on, and my hand slipped, and then I couldn’t grab Bi Ming’s hand quick enough to stop from getting ripped away from the group and getting lost. I didn’t come back with the others.

But, obviously, I’m writing this letter to you and it’s going to get to you, I know it will, so you know I’m not dead and I didn’t go to another reality or anything like that. I landed on the floor, and I recognized the floor of the place I’d been in before, just...newer. Brighter-looking.

I went back in time, Zolf. Grizzop too, his grip slipped too. He said Eldarion stepped out of the circle before we left the other dimension—there were too many of us, she couldn’t guarantee she’d get everyone back safe if she didn’t let go, I think—but she’s not here, so I don’t know where she ended up. But Grizzop and I came here. To Ancient Rome, in the days before it was destroyed. Literally days. I’m alive, I’m healthy...and I’m trapped two thousand years before I was even born, or anybody I love.

It’s still fresh, I don’t know if I can talk about it, but I’ll try. We tried to help, Grizzop and me. We went looking for the Cult of Mars, and the Cult of Hades, to try and take them down and see if we could stop Rome from being destroyed and the world from getting bad in the future.

We couldn’t.

We tried, honest we did, but the fight...it was too much, it was too bad. I think I should have died, but Grizzop took a spear that was meant for me. And then he kept getting hit, but he wouldn’t stop, he was trying to take down the captain. He did, but...but they killed him. I was right there and he went down and then they knocked me out and when I woke up I was strung up from the ceiling like I was going to be fed to something and there were all these dragons and Grizzop was still on the floor and he was dead and I wasn’t and...

I can’t, Zolf. I just...I can’t. Not now. Maybe, maybe someday I can, but not today.

The point is that we didn’t stop the cults, and we didn’t stop the dragons, and we didn’t save Rome, and we didn’t save the world. Maybe we couldn’t have. And Grizzop died and I didn’t. I checked when I got free, after the dragons got away, but I’m not a healer and I’m not magic and I’m not...there was nothing I could do. And I couldn’t even take him with me. I had to leave him there or I wouldn’t have got out.

I think I shut down again. I don’t remember a lot of the walk out of Rome. I just remember telling this man we’d met—his name is Cicero—I told him to show me the way out, and I followed him, and I made sure he didn’t die, because he was the only person I knew anymore and I was not going to lose anybody else. And along the way, there were—there were other people trying to leave, trying to get away, and I just, I grabbed them and I brought them with us, because I wasn’t going to leave them behind, because I couldn’t. Maybe I couldn’t save everybody, but I had to save the ones I could.

That’s all we ever can do, right?

We found a place. It’s...it’s a home. It’s warm, and dry, and safe. I can stand on the roof and see for miles around, but it’s close enough that I can get supplies if we need them, and bring in more people. Refugees from Rome, mostly. People who need a place to be safe. There aren’t as many as maybe you’d think, a lot of people just stop here before going on somewhere else, but some stay. Mostly kids. The ones with families, parents and kids, most of them go on after a while, but the kids who don’t have anywhere else, anyone else, they stay, and I’m trying to take care of them. Trying to teach them a bit.

It’s all been a way of marking time, really, up until now. I know, in my heart of hearts, that Hamid and Azu and the others made it back safe and sound. And I know Hamid won’t give up on me. Every day I’ve been expecting to see him, or a magical effect of some kind. Something to get me home. I’m trying to be patient, trying to tell myself that just because time’s going on for me doesn’t mean it is for you lot. It’s not going to be instant, it’s not—it’ll happen, I keep saying. I’ll get another chance. I’ve just got to wait.

But today, I—Cicero and the kids, they surprised me with a party. I’d told them I didn’t know when my birthday was exactly, which is kind of true because the months aren’t the same here, but I didn’t think about it until today. I got back from a supply run and they’d set up a celebration for me. Cicero told me that since I couldn’t remember when I was born, they’d decided that my new birthday was the day he met me, the day my new life started, I guess.

It’s been a year. A whole year.

I made it through the party, somehow, but as soon as I could I got away and came up here to my room. I was upset and scared and missing you more than ever, you and Hamid both, and I thought suddenly that maybe you didn’t know I was alive, that maybe Hamid thought I was lost and didn’t know where to find me, so I was going to write Hamid a letter at first, but...but I really wanted to write to you.

I really needed you.

I’m a little bit calmer now, though, and I’m thinking a little more clearly. Maybe writing all this out helped some. I just imagined I was talking to you, and that helped, too. I’ve never been all that great with words, but I’ll try here. There’s some important stuff I think I need to say.

Hamid and I were the same age, did you know that? We talked about a lot of stuff while we were going to the different restaurants in Prague, and one of the things we talked about was our birthdays. We thought it was kind of cool that we both had the same birthday. We were both twenty-three.

We were kids, Zolf. Just a couple of dumb kids who thought we were grown up. I’ve got a bunch of dumb kids of my own now, and I know what I’m talking about. We thought we knew everything about everything, and it’s probably one of the reasons we didn’t always get on so much. We both thought we knew how the world worked, and because the way I saw the world and the way he saw the world were so different, we both thought the other didn’t know anything about anything. I’d never been out of London—I’d barely been out of Other London—and Hamid, for all he’d been places, he hadn’t really seen the world, just the part of the world that rich people let their kids go. We had a lot to learn.

We needed you. I don’t blame you for leaving, I know you needed that too, and I meant what I said about how none of us were forced to be there and you could leave if you wanted to, and we both trusted you’d come back when you were doing better. And maybe we both thought we’d be okay on our own. But I thought the whole world worked like Other London and Hamid thought the whole world worked like Cairo and Cambridge. Azu and Grizzop both saw how they thought the world should be, but the difference was Azu didn’t realize that it wasn’t like that, I think, and Grizzop just tried to make it like that. But you knew how my world worked, and how Hamid’s world worked, and how the rest of the world worked, and when you were there, it was a lot easier to see things how they really were and not just how they would have been if we were where we were used to, you know?

But it’s not just that. I didn’t get to be a kid, not really. And now that I think about it, Hamid didn’t really either. I had to be a thief and he had to be a banker’s son, and there were rules and things we had to do and things we were expected to be, and we didn’t get to figure out who we were and who we wanted to be. But you let us be that. You made it safe for us to start figuring ourselves out, even if it upset you sometimes, but you were there to catch us if we went too far. And even when you yelled at us, I think we could tell you weren’t really mad. We both had a lot of growing up to do still, even if we didn’t think so, but we weren’t going to do it without someone to show us how. And you’re the only person either of us ever met who was willing to do that for us.

I don’t know if you can get me back. I know I can’t get back to you from here. Magic isn’t what I’m used to, or the people who can do that kind of magic...don’t. I keep thinking about something Apophis said, about how the Meritocrats took a lot of magic things away from humanity because only the rich people could get at them, and I wonder if it’s not something like that, that I’m just not rich enough to get to someone powerful enough to send me home. But I think I’m going to have to wait, and hope. I’m not giving up that hope, because I know you wouldn’t want me to, but...but maybe there’s a reason I’m supposed to be here.

These kids, they need someone too. Like I did. And right now, I’m what they’ve got. If I leave, I don’t know what’s going to happen to them. So this isn’t me saying “don’t keep trying to find me”, this is me saying that if you can’t get me back...I think I’ll be okay. I just keep asking myself, every time I run up on something that I’m not sure about, I think, “What would Zolf do?” And so far I’m not doing too bad, except for the part where I had to tell Maximus he couldn’t threaten to drown his little brothers and sisters in a bucket every time they annoy him. I’m doing my best, though. That’s all I can do. I’m trying. I’m trying to be you for them.

And it’s a little bit like I’ve got you here with me.

But Hamid doesn’t. He doesn’t have you and he doesn’t have me, and his sister and his friend died, and his father and his brother are going to prison, and someone he thought was his friend doesn’t care that she was doing work that got used for horrible things. He’s still just a kid really. And Azu’s solid, but she’s not what he needs. She sees the world in black and white. Either you’re her friend, or you’re her enemy, and if you’re her friend, you’re a good person. Hamid needs somebody who sees him for who he is, and cares about him as a person and not as what he can be or do. He needs you.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to finish this letter, and I’m going to take it to the Temple of Poseidon up in the town, and I’m going to ask them to find a way to get it to you. And then I’m going to come home, and I’m going to get all the kids together, and I’m going to tell them stories. I’m going to tell them about the ocean and the rain, the stars and the sand. I’m going to tell them about monsters and mechanical men and magic. I’m going to tell them about Azu and Grizzop and Wilde and even Bertie, my friends, and I’m going to tell them about Hamid, my brother, and I’m going to tell them about Zolf, the best dad I could ever have asked for.

And what I want you to do—it’s a big favor, but I’m hoping this letter won’t get to you until you’ve had a chance to get right. I want—no, I need you to go find Hamid. Maybe it hasn’t been very long, maybe you’re getting this right after we left, in which case, go to Rome and meet him when he gets back. Or maybe it’s been a bit and you’ll need to ask Wilde. He’ll know where to find him. Tell him I sent you if you have to, if he won’t listen to you, but please, please go find Hamid. He needs someone to be there for him, and I have a feeling you need someone too. Someone who believes in you, too. I’ll feel better knowing you’re together, that you’re helping each other, keeping each other safe. Tell him I’m sorry, for what I said about his family. Tell him I miss him, and I love him. I miss you, too, and I love you, too. I mean that with everything I have in me.

We’ll see each other again. I know that. In your time or mine, in this world or the next. I know I’ll be able to see you both again. And I hope that when I do, I’ll be able to look you in the eye and know that I made you proud.

Love always,

Sasha.

P.S. I want you to have my fire dagger. It’s probably not safe to have around just now, it being magic and all, and I want you to have something to remember me by.

Zolf lowers the last page of the letter slowly to the bar top. For a long time, he doesn’t move, just stares at the sheaf of papers and the dagger without really seeing either of them.

Then he takes a deep breath, slides off the stool, and trudges slowly and quietly up the stairs.

The upper floor of what used to be Gragg’s tavern consists of what can only loosely be described as “rooms” because there are two walls, each going about a third of the way across the room, dividing it into nominally two separate spaces. There are a few crates of supplies scattered about, mostly blankets from what Zolf can see in the half-open ones, but one of them has Skraak curled up inside, sound asleep. It’s not hard to find the group, in a sort of nest of blankets tucked up against one of the dividing walls. Azu lies on her back, one arm flung over her face. Cel’s hair is just visible over the edge of a ball of blanket up against Azu’s side; Zolf can’t see their face, but he guesses they still feel pretty terrible. Sumatnyerl sleeps on her side on the opposite side of Azu, back to the party and face to the dividing wall. Einstein snores lightly, cuddling Azu’s outstretched arm like a teddy bear. Even Wilde is there, half-sitting and half-slumped against Azu’s side, a blanket loosely draped over his lap and one hand resting in the space next to it, looking for all the world like he was trying to sit up and wait for Zolf but fell asleep anyway.

Hamid is nowhere to be seen.

Zolf tries to tamp down his instinctive panic. There’s only one way in or out up here, unless Hamid climbed out a window, and he wouldn’t do something like that. Nothing could have got up here without Zolf hearing it, he’s sure—well, okay, he was lost in the letter, it’s possible, but surely the others would have heard something. Hamid’s got to be nearby. He’s just...not sleeping with the others, for some reason. Maybe as he gets more dragon-ish, he gets more like the kobolds and prefers to sleep somewhere he can’t be found easily. Maybe he just doesn’t want to sleep on the floor and has figured out how to make himself a little bed, or found a bed somewhere.

Unless an assassin with Sasha’s level of skill but no morals sneaked in through the window. Unless there’s another thing like the thing they fought in Svalbard that burned their clothing and damaged their spirits. Unless the one Hamid sucked into the kill switch got out somehow and attacked him. Unless Hamid did do something stupid, maybe testing out a new spell he’d discovered or ability he’d developed...

Zolf moves as quickly and quietly as he can into the other half of the room. It’s been mostly picked over and cleared out, those few boxes remaining pushed to the sides of the room. One, a longer and narrower box than some of the others, is up underneath a single window at the far end of the attic space. And there, sitting atop the box, is Hamid, staring out the window even though it’s pitch dark and he can’t possibly see anything.

Inhaling sharply with relief, shoulders relaxing, Zolf crosses the space. He’s still trying not to wake the sleepers, but he’s pretty sure Hamid can hear him. He sits at the other end of the box from Hamid. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Hamid says. He sounds the way he did in Paris after they destroyed Mr. Ceiling for real—weary and beaten-down. The thought makes Zolf hurt all the way through, partly hating himself for the person he was then and partly because Hamid’s got no reason to feel that way now and partly because it makes him think of Sasha, not that she’s far from his mind right now.

Hamid turns away from the window and looks in Zolf’s direction; he can’t possibly see him in the total lack of light, but Zolf can see him just fine. He almost looks worse than he sounds, and Zolf has a brief moment of wondering if he’s hurt worse than he’s letting on before he convinces himself he’s just being alarmist. It’s just the shadows and dim lighting making things seem worse than they are, combined with the stress of the last day.

Now that he’s here, Zolf has no idea where to start. He tries to think of the best way to begin, then gives up and decides to just say the first thing that pops into his head. The words that come out of his mouth remind him why it’s a bad idea to do that. “Did you seriously almost blow yourself up in Rome?”

Several emotions play across Hamid’s face, too fast for Zolf to read in the darkness. He expects a shrill protest, or an angry denial, or a stammering justification, but to his surprise, Hamid simply sighs and nods. “Sort of? We were fighting something invisible. It had just attacked me, so I knew it was near me, and Azu and Sasha weren’t, so...I cast a fireball centered on me. It should’ve been fine. I can stand up to fire pretty well, so I thought even if I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, I’d be okay. But something in Rome made magic go...weird...and it was more powerful than I thought it would be. I got lucky, I guess.” He looks up at Zolf, and this time the look in his eyes is easy to read: guilt. Zolf’s not sure why. “When did Azu tell you about that?”

“She didn’t. I—” Zolf flounders for a moment. There’s got to be a better way of saying this. Finally, he just sighs and hands Hamid the letter.

Hamid makes a weary, practiced gesture, and Zolf blinks as the by-now familiar tiny dancing lights appear between them. Hamid blinks, too, then flinches. “Sorry,” he mumbles and starts to make the gesture to dismiss them.

Zolf reaches over and stops him. “It’s—fine. It’s fine,” he tells Hamid. “Nothing out there hunts by sight. Gragg says they can’t get in buildings anyway. I trust him. You’re fine.”

Hamid swallows and nods. Now that the lights are there, Zolf can see him a little better, and he reevaluates his previous assessment. Hamid does look worse than he sounds. He looks either ill or injured, with dark hollows under his eyes, which have a slightly bruised look to them, his skin ashen. There’s a smudge on his forehead of dirt or slime or blood or some combination of the three, he looks like he’s run his hands through his hair in frustration or despair, and his ever-present eyeliner is smeared down his cheeks.

It hits Zolf all at once that he’s literally never seen Hamid not perfectly groomed. Even in the catacombs under Paris, when he’d been injured and panicking, his first instinct had been a shaky prestidigitation to clean himself up. He fusses over his appearance more than anyone Zolf has ever met, with the possible exception of Wilde, and he remembers that Wilde always looked worse off than he was when he couldn’t use his own prestidigitation. It’s no wonder Hamid looks sick. Zolf resists the urge to comment on it and simply waits.

Hamid sucks in a sharp breath as he starts to read, and even more color drains from his face. His eyes fill with tears, but to Zolf’s slight surprise, they don’t fall. He smiles briefly a couple of times, barely more than a flicker, but Zolf also sees him retreat slightly into himself. And Zolf can tell when he gets to the part after they got separated coming back to Rome, because Hamid’s hands start shaking, ever so faintly.

When he reaches the end—apparently—he stares at the paper for a long moment, much like Zolf did, then takes a deep breath, folds the letter back up, and hands it back to Zolf. Zolf isn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried that Hamid hasn’t dissolved into a complete emotional mess.

“She’s right,” he says softly, and his voice is choked and shaking, but he’s not actually crying. “I was just a dumb kid. Still am, I guess.” He looks up at Zolf. “I keep—I think I’m getting better, and then I do something utterly stupid because I think I know what I’m doing, and then I argue with you when you call me out on it. And then I have the nerve to act like you’re—” He chokes off the word and looks away, taking a couple more deep breaths.

Zolf realizes, all of a sudden, what Hamid is doing. He’s trying to stop himself from crying, because he doesn’t want to be overly emotional. He’s trying to be sensible and practical and, well, grown-up about this.

Before he can say anything, Hamid looks back up at him. “I’m not—I’m not trying to justify why I’m right. I just want you to know where I...” He swallows. “When I was growing up, if I made a mistake or—o-or did something wrong, no matter what it was or how bad it was, all I had to do was admit it was wrong and apologize, and everything would be forgiven and it would go away. Like it never happened. And you—you’re kind of the opposite? At least, that’s how it looks to me sometimes. If something goes wrong, it’s in the past. Apologizing for it or—or acknowledging that it might have been a mistake doesn’t change that it was done, so there’s no reason to. Just...move on and try to do better the next time. And I know that’s the better way to handle it, but—”

“It’s not,” Zolf interrupts, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s—look, I don’t have all the answers either, you know. I act like I do, but deep down, I’m just as scared. And I don’t always know the right thing to do. When we were in Paris, I spent three days in my room wallowing, blaming myself for everything that went wrong, every mistake I’d ever made, not just the whole Mr. Ceiling thing, you remember that? The more we went on, the more I questioned everything I’d ever done, and by the time we got to Prague, I couldn’t get away from the doubts. So I walked away, from Sasha and from you, because I didn’t trust myself not to repeat my mistakes. And then Wilde tracked me down and told me you’d gone to Rome and you were gone and...” He swallows hard. “Look, you know how Sasha talks about her...shutting down and just blanking out? I did that, too, I reckon. I blamed myself, thought if I’d just stayed you’d have been okay, but...at that point, Wilde needed an ally and I needed a purpose, so I shut out the past and focused on the present. And it was easier to live like that, for a while, so I just kept doing it and it got worse.” He tries to smile. “There’s got to be something in between, right? Something between ignoring the past and dwelling on it?”

“Yeah,” Hamid says softly, looking down at his hands. They’re dirty, too, smeared with plant matter and ichor and grease, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “And there’s got to be something between acting like acknowledging a mistake makes it all go away and acting like—”

“—like not acknowledging it also makes it all go away,” Zolf completes. “And I think there’s got to be something between ‘this was the only right answer’ and ‘this was the right answer with the information we had so it’s fine,’ yeah? Like your fireball in Rome. You didn’t think that was the only solution, did you?”

“No,” Hamid whispers. “It was a calculated risk. And I didn’t think about magic going...screwy. But I wouldn’t have done it if Sasha or Azu or Einstein had been close enough that it would have hit them. I was the only one in danger, so I thought it would be okay.”

Zolf’s heart lurches, and he has to try twice before he can speak. “If you ever decide to do something like that again...just make sure I can’t see you, all right?”

Hamid looks up at Zolf and attempts to smile. “So you don’t have to yell at me?”

“So I don’t have to maybe watch you die.” Zolf keeps his voice down with an effort. “I can’t—I can’t do that, Hamid. Seeing Wilde’s body after the crash, I—that was bad. That was real bad. If I’d had to actually see it happen? I don’t know that even pushing things into the past would’ve helped. And next to Wilde, you’re the person I’d like to think I’m closest to. I don’t want to watch anyone die if I can help it, but you? Please don’t make me do that.” He swallows hard. “It’s why I took the risk of having us jump into the plant. I thought it would just...lead us straight through to wherever it was connected to, but it was that or watch you torn apart by a bunch of evil trees, and I was not going to risk that. So yeah, it was a bad idea and if I’d known what I know now I would have tried to come up with a third option, but with what we knew then, it was the best hope I had of not losing everything I cared about. Again.”

Hamid makes a tiny, pained noise that sounds like it might be a sob and goes straight to Zolf’s heart. He presses his lips tightly together for a moment, obviously forces back an emotional response, then nods. “I promise. And—and I promise not to yell like that again. I’m sorry. I am. I got scared and I took it out on you and that wasn’t fair.”

“I accept your apology, and I forgive you. And I’m not great with the whole...talking thing, but I promise I’ll try in the future.” Zolf takes a quick breath. “I do forget how young you are sometimes. And I don’t mean that as an insult, just...I forget you don’t always have the experience of the world to understand why I make the decisions I do, and then I get annoyed with you for questioning them, and that’s not fair, either. I’m sorry for that.”

“You don’t—I accept your apology, and I forgive you,” Hamid half-whispers. Zolf can tell he’s not just parroting the words, he’s sincere about them. And he appreciates that Hamid stopped himself from saying you don’t have to apologize. Because Zolf did have to apologize, and they both know it. Hamid looks down at the letter again. “She’s right about that, too. I did—I do need you. I’m...you make me a better person.”

“No,” Zolf says, putting the weight of an entire lifetime’s experience behind his words. “Nobody else can make someone a better person. You make you a better person, Hamid. I just believe you can be one.”

Hamid’s head comes up abruptly, and he stares at Zolf in genuine shock. Zolf is terrible at...people, and emotions, and all that, he doesn’t usually get them, but Hamid’s emotions are so close to the surface and so genuine that even he can read them. Nobody has ever told Hamid anything like that, ever, and Zolf is the last person he would have ever expected to hear it from.

And something inside Zolf breaks.

He reaches out and pulls Hamid into a hug, tighter and more desperate than the one he gave him right after the first quarantine all those weeks ago. Hamid hugs him back just as tightly, burying his face in Zolf’s shoulder. Zolf feels the tears begin hitting his skin, reminding him in a remote, distant way that that purple thing dissolved his shirt and coat and he’s sitting around in nothing but his breastplate, but he pushes the thought out of his mind for the moment.

“She’s right,” he says into Hamid’s hair. “I am proud of you. You stood up for yourself, and you stood up for Sasha. You didn’t give in even when it would’ve been the easiest thing in the world. And back there, in Svalbard? You did a good job. You kept your head and you didn’t argue, you figured out what that device was and how to use it. And you made sure the rest of us stayed safe. I might argue with you, I might yell, but I will never not be proud of you.”

Hamid cries harder. His emotions are usually loud and messy, but whether because he’s trying to keep quiet or for some other reason, his tears are silent. “I missed you,” he whispers, the words muffled into Zolf’s shoulder. “I missed you and I was scared something would happen to you in Prague, and then I got back from Rome and Einstein told us how long it had been and what was going on and I was scared you were dead, and then I saw you again and I was—I was so angry at you and I don’t know why—”

“It’s because I wasn’t there,” Zolf says with a rare flash of insight. “It’s because I left and suddenly everybody around you started getting hurt and dying, and then you came back and everything was different, and you didn’t know what was going on. You were confused and scared, and when you get scared these days you get angry. And I was there to be a good target. You couldn’t be angry at Azu because Azu was angry too, but me—”

“You were safe,” Hamid says softly. “I—I trusted that I could be angry at you, because I knew you’d—you’d let me be angry and we could still be friends after I was done.”

Zolf tightens his arms around Hamid, recognizing the truth in his words. “I missed you, too, you know. As soon as I walked away, I regretted it. If I could’ve taken you both with me, as stupid as that sounds, I would have, but I had to be on my own to get right. But I hadn’t been gone three days before I knew I’d be back. And then you were gone, they told me you were gone for good, and I—I wasn’t lying when I said I’d mourned for you both, but I never gave up hope. I’ve been studying the planes—I was determined, when I had a moment, I was going to go looking for you. I just, I couldn’t leave Wilde and...”

“No, I get it. I get it.” Hamid squeezes him again, then eases back and manages a weak smile up at him. “Thank you. For trying. For not giving up. Maybe...maybe that’s the only reason any of us made it back, was because you had hope.”

“Maybe.” Zolf settles back as well and manages a smile back. “I’m not giving up on her, just so you know. Even though we got that letter from her when she was older...I’m not giving up. Maybe someday...”

“Yeah. Maybe not any time soon, but someday.” Hamid wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. The gesture makes him look impossibly young. “I’m not giving up either. I can’t. She wouldn’t have given up on us.” He pauses. “Zolf—she didn’t know you weren’t with Poseidon anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why the letter came through the Poseidon lot,” Zolf says. “They’ve probably been looking for me since I walked away, so to speak.”

“No, I mean she didn’t know you weren’t with Poseidon. If she lit a candle at the Temple of Artemis for Grizzop every year, and her letter to all of us came through the Cult of Aphrodite...Zolf, what if that’s why Poseidon kept trying to help you?” Hamid’s eyes are wide. “Because Sasha asked him to? Would—is that how it works?”

Ice water floods through Zolf’s veins, and he mutters a word in Dwarfish he hasn’t said since the cave-in. “It might. I don’t know. I’m not—”

“No, I’m not—I don’t think you should go back to him. I mean....clearly he wasn’t—maybe he was Sasha’s god, not yours. I just...wondered, that’s all.” Hamid rubs his face. He looks like he’s lost a fight with a fireplace, there’s so much dirt and kohl smeared over his cheeks.

“Maybe...Hamid, you sure you aren’t hurt?” Zolf gestures to his own face. “You...look a mess.”

“I...oh.” Hamid looks embarrassed. “Sorry, and I—it’s all over you, too. Here.” He snaps his fingers, producing the familiar flurry of handkerchiefs, which set to work on both Hamid and Zolf.

Zolf unbuckles his breastplate and sets it aside, wincing at the sticky sound as it peels away from his chest and the last fragments of his shirt and jacket fall away. “Thanks,” he says. “For the record, though, I wasn’t...complaining about you looking bad or whatever. I was just worried. Last time you didn’t immediately come out of a fight and tidy yourself up was...”

“Paris,” Hamid completes softly. “I know. I-it did feel...a bit like that, I guess. I just didn’t...I don’t know.” He glances over his shoulder uncertainly towards the other part of the room.

Zolf glances over, too. “They’ll be okay,” he assures Hamid, thinking he’s worrying about Cel. “Once I’ve had some rest, I can meditate and get access to a couple spells that’ll help. You and Azu, too. You said it hit you some?”

“Yeah,” Hamid says with a heavy sigh.

The handkerchiefs vanish, and Zolf sighs, too. “Right. C’mon, let’s go in the other room and get some sleep. You want to use the lights so you don’t trip?”

Hamid hesitates, for just a second, then says uncertainly, “N-no. No, I’m—I’m fine.” He snaps his fingers and the lights disappear. “Um...after you?”

Zolf stares at Hamid. He’s usually a skilled liar, almost on par with Wilde, but either because he’s tired or because of what that thing did to him, he’s not doing a very good job of it right now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Hamid protests, even less convincingly.

“Hamid.”

It’s all he says, but it’s enough. Hamid’s shoulders slump. “I just...I don’t think I’m welcome in there right now. Azu’s mad at me. A-about the kobolds and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Zolf interrupts. “She’s asleep right now, so she won’t be yelling at you. And she’s not....feeling well, is she? Whatever happened to you three, she’s—she’ll be fine once we get that taken care of.”

“She meant it, Zolf. She just wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t...like this. And she wasn’t wrong.”

“She might not have been wrong, but that doesn’t mean she was right,” Zolf says firmly. He puts his hands on Hamid’s shoulders and looks him in the eye, despite knowing Hamid probably can’t see him. “Just like Sasha. Just like me. Just like you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hamid whispers. Tears fill his eyes again. “I—I really didn’t—I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, Zolf. I’m sorry. I just—I guess I was still upset about what Aziza said and—”

“Wait, who—?” Zolf suddenly realizes that he wasn’t the only one who went through what he went through when they jumped through that plant. His shoulders slump slightly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—we should’ve talked about this, but—”

“When have we had time?”

“Yeah, exactly. Look, I—when we jumped through that plant, before it tied us up and we fell through those planes?” Zolf sighs heavily. “I was back in the mines. With my brother. He blamed me for leaving, tried to convince me he’d still been alive when I...” He swallows. “So I was...kind of raw, too. Even though it was nothing I haven’t been saying to myself for decades. Even though I knew it wasn’t really him.”

“It wasn’t?” Hamid’s voice is small and fragile, like he was in the catacombs.

“Oh, Hamid.” Zolf hates this, hates every minute of it. “No, it wasn’t—it wasn’t them. Whoever you saw—your sister, right? The one who died in Prague?”

“Yeah. She—she said it was my fault she died. And that I hadn’t done enough to—after. That I was still making everything all about me and not—”

“Yeah, if it had really been her, she never would have said any of that, ‘cause it’s not true,” Zolf interrupts. “You were humming in the garden. I heard you. She was walking with you. That was really her. I could feel my brother with me too, I kept willing him to go away. Cel and Azu, I’m sure they were with someone they’ve lost too. What that—that thing showed us, that was a twisted version of them. Something to make us regret, make us give up. They were lies, Hamid. What happened to your sister, that’s not your fault. You did everything you could. Kafka’s the reason she died. Well, and maybe Bertie too.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hamid whispers. “About him—about Kafka giving him a choice.”

“Tell you what.” Zolf squeezes Hamid’s shoulders. “When this is all over, we’ll go find a necromancer, find where they’ve got Bertie buried, and have him turned into a zombie so we can kill him again ourselves.”

Hamid actually laughs, a bit wetly. “Only if you take the first shot.”

“Sure. We’ll use Sasha’s dagger.” Zolf pulls Hamid in for another hug. He’s not usually the touchy-feely, sort, but it’s just the two of them right now and Hamid’s one of three people he’d be willing to hug like this.

The fact that one of those people is someone he may never get the chance to hug again—or at all—makes his heart ache, but he tries not to think about it.

Hamid hugs him back, and Zolf feels him relax. After a few moments, he pulls back and manages a smile up at Zolf. “Thank you. For all of it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Zolf smiles back, then slides off the box. “Come on. You need rest.”

This time, Hamid slides off the box too, and he matches stride with Zolf as they head back into the other room. He starts to go off to one side, but Zolf doesn’t let him. Instead, he grabs a blanket and pulls him over to join the pile that is the rest of their friends. Hamid looks reluctant, but he doesn’t argue. Zolf’s glad. He’s tired and strained and really doesn’t want to have to try to choose which of the two people he cares about most he’s going to try and protect tonight.

Wilde half-stirs when Zolf settles down next to him, but doesn’t fully wake, just shifts slightly to lean against him and shoves the blanket in his direction. Zolf tucks the blanket he grabbed around Hamid before accepting the other half of Wilde’s blanket, and he doesn’t object when he feels Hamid’s head drop onto his shoulder.

“Night, Dad,” Hamid mumbles, sounding more than half asleep.

A lump comes into Zolf’s throat. He has to try twice before he can choke out the words. “Night, Hamid.”

With one hand resting on Hamid’s head and the other gripping Wilde’s hand tightly, Zolf closes his eyes and drifts into sleep, feeling, for the first time in almost two years, like some of the grief has been lifted from his heart.

#ollie writes fanfic #rq gaming #rqg #Zolf Smith #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #angst and feels #spoilers for the entire podcast #we love our grumpy sea dad

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