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nandysparadox · 2 months ago

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The State of Dreaming, Ch.3: Bubblegum Bitch

“Soda pop, soda pop, baby, here I come / Straight to number one” - Bubblegum Bitch, MARINA

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Rated T - CW: Remus-typical imagery and sexual innuendo, swearing, restraints - WC: 4095

thank you to @jack-enbyfold for beta-reading this chapter! ^.^

Remus — expert in chaos and all things impulsive — had absolutely no idea what to do for once.

Instinctively, he pulled at his hair. Boredom itched at him like a million tiny bugs running under his skin, having a little nibble on his nerves and burning his scalp. He’d already tried all his options. He’d arranged coats and other trinkets in his room so that they formed figures when covered in darkness. He’d run across the ceiling countless times before that, and he couldn’t even bother the others because it was smack in the middle of the night!

Remus groaned, fading into a half-scream before flopping onto his back. He considered planting some ideas into Thomas’ head to see if they’d sprout up in his dreams, but now that the resident nerd had taught the others “healthy coping mechanisms” or some bullshit like that, they’d probably just scold him and he’d be left alone again.

It made him want to break something. Maybe he should.

He summoned a baseball.

He twirled it around his fingers, sharp nails catching on the red stitching. It weighed more than it usually would, but there was no use for realism when you can do more damage. Remus closed his eyes and rolled his left shoulder back before taking a blind shot at his room.

His face split onto a grin when, instead of the expected thud, came a sharp crashing sound. However, as he opened his eyes to see the damage, he only saw past ghosts of motion as the ball came flying directly toward him. A single thought came into his mind.

He opened his mouth.

His teeth dug deep into leather and rubber, his mouth stretching wide for it to fit. He ran his tongue across the sown-on ridges and clapped his hands, delighted.

A second later, the pain set in. It pulled tautly at his jaw, making it click — he figured the muscles would snap like a string under just a little more pressure. He wondered how that’d be. Would he dislocate it? Would his skin rip apart into a permanent smile? Ooh, maybe he’d unhinge it like Janny! He knew he could get a lot of mileage outta that-

All at once, the world spun and he was out of his room and somewhere much brighter. Remus blinked — one eye at a time, of course — to get situated. He tilted his head when he realized his location.

Thomas’ room.

His confusion ended shortly when he noticed who else was present. The other sides — minus Roman, he noted — huddled like a bunch of lost little ducklings by the side of the bed, so he guessed something had happened if they had to summon him. Thomas laid in his bed, seemingly sleeping, but Remus could see faint shivers rippling through him.

“Uh– Remus?” Patton’s voice brought his attention back to them.

The others stared at him like he was a baby with a fork and there was an outlet nearby — except for Janus, who just had his usual resting bitch face on. Then a sharp burst of pain tugged at his jaw and he remembered the reason why. He turned to Virgil with a tilt of his head and spat the ball out, launching it as far as he could so it would hit him.

It did.

“What the hell,” Virgil hissed, jumping away and clawing at his hoodie to get the drool off. “Why would you do that?”

Remus snickered.

“Aw, would you prefer if I kept it in there?” he purred, “If you wanted to see me with balls in my mouth you could’ve just said so, emo boy.”

“Shut up!” Virgil looked away, red peeking through his foundation. His embarrassment quickly turned to disgust as he crossed his arms and accidentally touched the spot where the ball landed. “God, you’re impossible.”

“Honestly, I didn’t peg you as a guy for gagging, but you know I don’t mind-”

Logan cleared his throat, cutting him off. “I’m afraid we have some things to discuss that aren’t-” He paused. “This.”

“Aw, okay.” Remus pouted, then replaced it with a wide grin just as fast. He grabbed his jaw with one hand and yanked his head to the side, making his bones pop loudly. “What’s cracking?”

“Thomas has had persistent nightmares throughout the night,” said Logan, paying Remus no mind. “The scheduled time for his alarm is approaching, and having at least an hour of actual restful sleep, while not ideal, would be better than none.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the others asking for his input apparently. “And I’m supposed to do what about that?”

“Well, there are memories floating out of my room, so someone’s spinning dreams,” Patton chimed in, hands tangled together. “And since nightmares are your thing, it could’ve only been-”

“You,” Virgil snapped. “So cut it out.”

Oh. He saw what this was about.

Remus gasped in mock offense, turning to Janus with his eyes as uncannily big as he could make them. “Even you, Janny?” He wiped fake tears. “I thought you understood my vision.”

“I do,” Janus deadpanned, the fact he didn't believe a bit of Remus’ act clear on his face. That was fine, it wasn't Janus he was trying to mess with. “I also don’t want Thomas to stay in restless sleep all night.”

“Look at what you all did to him,” Remus whispered to the others, feigning horror. “He’s got morals now.”

They didn’t otherwise react, only stared at him — all crossed arms and chiding looks. Ugh, killjoys. Remus groaned, summoning a calendar and flinging it at Logan’s chest.

Logan caught it and adjusted his glasses. “What’s this?”

“A dream schedule, grade A sub,” Remus sneered, walking up to him and pointing to a decorated date in it — marked by masterful doodles of sexy clowns, of course. “And as you can see, I don't get another dream until Saturday. So if you got a problem with the program, it's not me you got to talk to.”

“But why would Thomas have nightmares, then?” asked Patton, fidgeting with his hoodie. “Roman’s dreams aren't like… that.”

“Idk,” Remus clicked his tongue. Loudly. “Why don't you ask him?”

“Idk? This is a verbal conversation—” Logan started, cut off by Virgil simply shaking his head. He sighed and raised his right hand. “Very well then.”

Nothing happened.

“…Roman?” Logan tried again, waving his hand around. “Huh, how unusual.”

They all glanced at Remus and he shrugged. Not his fault if Roman was off moping in the imagination.

He thought about that for a second.

Simply being in the imagination shouldn’t block Roman’s sway from dreams, if anything it would push all his cutesy shit harder. The only way Remus’ ideas could influence Thomas that much unintendedly was if…

Roman was out of the picture.

Fuck.

Remus clamored on top of Thomas’ bed and clutched at his collar, jostling him. Thomas barely grumbled, body as pliant as a dead fish. A hand settled on his shoulder and tried to pull him away. He snarled at them.

“He needs to wake up,” he said, franticness creeping into his tone. Patton — apparently — backed off, looking thoroughly unnerved. Remus shook Thomas harder.

Finally, it worked. Thomas tried aimlessly to push him off, blinking. His mouth cracked open in a loud yawn.

“Re–” Thomas tried, squinting. “Remus?”

“You need to summon Roman.”

“What?”

Remus tightened his grip on his collar. “Summon him”

Thomas’ eyes widened and he struggled for a moment, unable to loosen Remus' grasp. “Fine.”

Remus sat back on his heels, eyes glued to Thomas’ hand as he waved it around, one, then two times.

Nothing happened.

“Damnit!” he shouted and climbed off the bed, letting Thomas fall back unceremoniously. Fighting the urge to tear his hair out, he paced around the room. Because, for Roman to ignore a call from Thomas, there must’ve been something really, really wrong.

“Remus?” asked Patton, a faint hint of worry to it.

“We need to get to Roman’s room,” he said, sincerity unnatural on his tongue. “Now.”

—

Early mornings should be illegal, Roman thought, covering his eyes from the affront that was the rising sun.

A deep sense of exhaustion weighed his every step while he meandered by the side of the creek. The ambiance akin to a white noise playlist didn’t help either, the water swirling in gentle motions and the birds’ melodies would all be beautiful if they weren’t nearly putting him to sleep at the moment.

He’d tried to sleep at night, but he couldn’t help it, not when the memories of yesterday’s events lashed at him constantly, new items to a never-ending list of all the things he’d done wrong.

So he decided to make the most of it. Wake up and catch the early rays of sun, maybe clear his head for a busy day ahead.

He stopped in front of a patch of flowers and bent down, picking one from its stem. It turned from white to a deep purple as he twirled it around his fingers. A truly magnificent color. He smiled, allowing himself to close his eyes and immerse himself in the scenery.

Then, a sharp force tugged at his spine. Focused and objective.

Logan. And by the second tug shortly after, it was urgent.

Roman sighed, bracing himself for interaction as he prepared to follow the call. If anything, he was surprised he didn’t just get pulled.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath as he sank out—

Roman blinked.

His feet stayed firmly planted in the imagination’s wild grass. He shut his eyes, painting the mindscape in his mind but once again, he hardly moved.

His brow furrowed. While the other sides (sans Remus, of course) couldn’t sink out while in the imagination, he usually could without any problems — especially when he’s summoned.

Another call, much more forceful — and with more power to it — lured him. Thomas. His heart panged with worry, Thomas had hardly summoned him at all recently, so if he did it now something must’ve happened.

And seeing as he didn’t get pulled immediately, he needed to find another way out. Fast.

Looking around, he assessed his surroundings for a moment — he could make out the silhouette of the town from his spot, and there should be a door in the center of it, so if he could just reach it—

Roman yelped as he tried to take a step forward, and promptly stumbled when something wrapped around his ankle — if it wasn’t for his reflexes, he’d go straight for the ground. He looked down, only to find that what had tripped him was… a vine. It didn’t even budge as he tried to pull his feet out, only tightening its grip on him and slowly slithering higher.

Roman attempted to use his weight to pull his leg out, to little results. He groaned. “Get off of me!”

To his dismay, more vines sprouted from the ground, wrapping around his arms and legs until he very much stuck in place. They had a few thorns, but strangely none prickled at his skin, almost as if avoiding him — a silver lining, he guessed.

His mind raced as he tried to think of an escape, but before he could do even that, a huge tremor echoed through the ground — which would’ve certainly sent him staggering if not for the vines. Stones rose from the field — along with himself, as he felt a platform form beneath his feet — circling him in what he quickly recognized as being walls.

“Unhand me!” he yelled, admittedly fruitless since he was pretty sure vines weren't sentient. Squirming, he tried to shake them off — to no avail, as they only squeezed tighter.

As the stone structure grew higher, it also moved, practically bending the terrain to its will as it cut through the forest, trees fading and reforming as it passed by — much like Roman’s own powers in the imagination. It finally settled on what seemed to be a clearing, though he didn’t catch a fair glance at it, vision soon blocked by stone. Wherever he was, it was certainly far away from the kingdom, at that point.

He only came to realize what the structure was when stained glass panes popped up as windows around him. A tower. Of course, the imagination had its own flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to fairy tales.

He only wished it wasn’t being inflicted on him at the moment.

A tall roof materialized above him, and then the tremors quieted down. One of the vines weakened its hold, and he took the opportunity to tear his arm out of it and reach for his sword.

Blade in hand, he cried out triumphantly and slashed it across his restraints, only for it to—

Break.

His sword — forged by the most masterful of bladesmiths, unparalleled in its sharpness and strength — completely shattered as soon as it touched the plants.

Roman tried to summon another one, visualize it as best as he could, but nothing came. Panic settled in his throat.

Something was very, very wrong.

Gritting his teeth, he looked around to find something he could use, and that’s when he saw it — a balcony. Suddenly, what was probably a really bad idea came to mind.

At least the sword seemed to have scared the vines away.

He took off into a sprint, planting his hands on the railing when he reached the balcony, but just as he jumped, the vines seized around his middle — knocking the air out of him and pulling him back inside.

Suspended in the air, Roman put up a cursory fight against the plants, but it was clear he’d already exhausted his options — at least for now. He went slack in their grip, allowing the vines to set him back onto the floor.

Finally, they released him, hovering in the air like a threat. Roman put his hands up placatingly.

“Calm down, I’m not leaving,” Roman rolled his eyes. “Holy Hera, give me some space.”

He might’ve wanted to go back on that “vines aren’t sentient” thing, because he was pretty darn sure that made them back down.

Looking around, it seemed the tower could fit a whole lot more than what he first thought — reminding him of his bedchambers in the castle, a huge plush bed, and all its lavish furniture. And it was certainly a romantic sight, beautiful stone arches decorated the walls, roses bloomed from every nook and cranny between the tiles, and sunlight filtered through the stained glass, painting the tower in a myriad of pinks and reds.

Touching the curtains that surrounded the bed — velvet, certainly — Roman sighed, defeated.

“I might be caged, but at least the cage is gilded.”

—

Somehow, Roman’s room looked even plainer than usual.

No papers thrown about, or paint splattered. Hell, he didn’t even have his boring storyboards pinned to the wall!

Remus crouched down, looking around for any sign of life at all. He found none, until he looked to the side and—

His closet creaked open, a single line of light coming from inside.

“Fuck!” Remus groaned, dragging his hands across his face.

He turned around to find the other sides standing in the doorway with varying looks of confusion. Remus propped a hand on his hip, motioning to the door with his head.

“I know where he is. We need to go.”

“Go where?” Virgil asked, glowering at him.

Remus paid him no mind, moving to open the closet. He could hear the sounds of the kingdom from there, although faintly, so he got it right. Damnit, Ro.

Logan tilted his head. “The closet?”

“The Imagination,” Remus rolled his eyes. “And, yes, it’s a Narnia thing. Roman’s a nerd, we all know that, let’s go.”

“H-hold on,” Patton said, sharing a look with Janus. “If we all go, what about Thomas?”

“Thomas is asleep at the moment,” Logan replied. “For all purposes, our absence should cause him no harm.”

Virgil grimaced. “And if Roman’s half is anything like Remus’, he’s gonna need all of us there. Trust me.”

“It’s boring if that’s what you’re talking about,” Remus scoffed. “I’m sure you’ll love it. Now, can we just go? The clock’s ticking, and if you want to find your little prince we need to start looking.”

Patton glanced at Virgil and Logan, then nodded, scurrying past Remus to head to the closet. The other two followed suit, only leaving behind Janus, who still leaned against the doorframe, checking his nails over his gloves like he couldn’t be more indifferent.

Crossing his arms, Remus leveled him with a glare, and Janus simply sighed as he slinked away from the door, looking thoroughly bored.

Remus took a deep breath. They’d go in, wade through Roman’s ridiculous fairytale nonsense, find him, and leave. It’d be fine.

And he really needed to get himself in order, all this sincere concern bullshit was already getting on Remus’ nerves — he was supposed to be the one causing the concern!

So he put on his best, wide smile — the one Janus had told him was ‘positively disturbing’, the charmer — and burst into the wardrobe, knocking into Virgil, if the hissing was anything to go by.

“Wow, it is crowded in here!” Remus whistled. “You know, 7 minutes in heaven usually doesn’t take this many people—”

Logan cleared his throat pointedly.

Remus clicked his tongue. “Tough crowd.”

Pushing the others out of the way, he crossed through the lines of hangers and clothes until they faded. “C’mon, now,” he said.

Bright sunlight burned his eyes as soon as he stepped in. Ugh, seriously, would it kill Roman to turn down the light a bit?”

He could faintly see the plaza from there, busy as always — figments chattering and huddling about around the fountain. Perfect little dolls acting their fairytale best. Equipped with the same old stories to tell, you might as well call them dialogue options.

Immersive, Roman had said. Don't get him wrong, he could appreciate NPCs — mainly when they were killed en masse by zombie hordes. But Remus didn’t see what was “immersive” about talking to what were basically character archetypes. Well, he guessed Roman wouldn’t like his type of immersion either.

The other sides came stumbling right after him, nearly tripping over each other. They stared at the scenery around them, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Remus rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, Seriously, had Roman never brought them here or something?

Patton blinked as if broken out of a trance and gingerly stepped onto the yellow-tiled path that led to the town square. As soon as his shoe touched the stone, flowers popped up around it like blisters. He broke out with a huge smile. “Wow.”

“Wow sure is a word for it,” Virgil grumbled, grimacing as he tried to shield his eyes with his hand. “Ugh.”

Following Patton, Logan moved onto the path with a puzzled look, crouching down when blue flowers sprouted around him. “Blue petunias, interesting,” he said. But as soon as he touched it, the petals faded away like pixie dust, blowing into his face.

The look on Logan’s face was something you’d pay to see. If there was something that'd piss the nerd off it was nonsense - and trust him, Remus was an expert in that.

He had to hold back a snicker as Logan straightened up, clearing his throat in a weak attempt to maintain composure. It seemed Remus wasn’t the only twin adept at getting on the logical side’s nerves — maybe it came with the job prescription.

“While it’s lovely to stand around observing the scenery,” A voice drawled from behind them. “We’re here to look for someone, no?”

Remus turned to look at Janus and hummed, thinking. “If Ro-bro isn’t getting all up in a dragon’s business, then he’s probably somewhere around the castle — plus he has servants, like, everywhere — shouldn’t be too hard to find a lead.”

Motioning with his hand, Remus led them to the town square — not through the path, though, god forbid a flower touch him, ew.

As they got closer, the town became clear. Stone buildings breached by ivy and a few small shops circled the courtyard where most figments went about their business. Gathered in front of stores or, most often, around the fountain. It was a huge marble affair, sculpted in the form of none other than their little prince Roman himself, triumphantly raising a sword.

Messing with it had become one of Remus' favorite ways of pestering his brother. Changing the pose, splattering paint over it — and maybe a little blood for flavor — were all surefire to get a reaction out of Roman.

Eventually, it became a sort of game, to do it without him noticing. Roman always did. No matter if it was a tiny carving or a post-it note. No blemishes allowed on his perfect, ideal self.

Remus pressed his lips together. Maybe if he tied a ribbon–

“Unless Princey got himself turned to stone,” Virgil's voice brought him back to task. “He’s not around here.”

“Hold on, let’s see,” Remus said, squinting as he searched for someone with the royal crest on their clothes. “There should be at least a few guards around patrolling, we can just ask them—”

“Halt!” A loud commanding voice yelled out. “In the name of the Prince!”

Remus swiveled around to find in the distance a figure in full armor, a crest in the middle of their chest, staring directly at him. Along with an entourage of guards that came running through the castle stairs. Towards them.

Oh, yeah. He forgot about that.

“Found ‘em!” Remus shouted, though a grin split across his face. Yes, the timing was… not good, but what could he say, he loved a good chase! He wrapped his hand around Janus' wrist and pulled. “C’mon!”

The other sides stared on with wide-eyed looks that quickly filled with panic as they noticed the guards, though they were still far from reaching the plaza.

“What’s going on?” Patton cried out.

For a moment Remus considered just running and letting the light sides deal with Roman’s guards themselves. Like, geez, catch up. But it was probably better to stick together.

He waved his hand for them to follow. “Run!”

Remus then broke into a sprint, practically dragging Janus with him. He heard a few choice words from the snake, but he could deal with that later. Swerving through the crowds, Remus laughed as he pushed past people, carts and boxes crashing to the floor. He even heard a few screams, though that was probably the kids he’d pushed over, oops.

The moment the guards arrived at the plaza, the commotion increased tenfold. Eyes flitting around the town square, Remus caught sight of an alley near a familiar enough shop. Yeah, that would work.

He turned abruptly, darting to the right. Janus let out a very undignified screech, but Remus wouldn’t mention it. As he reached the alleyway, the others stumbling soon after, he glued his back to the wall and put a finger to his lips. They caught the message and remained stubbornly silent.

A minute passed, and guards dashed in front of the alley, unknowing of their presence.

“Woo!” Remus cheered. “Now, that was something.

Virgil, who leaned against the wall for support, glared at Remus. His words were broken by shallow breaths as he spoke. “The hell was that?”

Remus waved his hand around. “I might’ve committed a little bit of treason against the crown, you know how it is.”

“No, I do not know ‘how it is’” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Couldn’t you have warned us?”

“I forgot!” Remus pouted. “Besides, we just need to make sure they don’t recognize me! Watch.”

He smirked as his bones began cracking and his form melted away. Sure, shapeshifted for the sides was pretty much harmless, but he liked to add a little visual pizzazz.

By the horrified looks clear on the light sides’ faces, it worked.

With a final snap, Remus settled into the new form, the alley now about ten times bigger. He stretched out his paws.

“Aww!” Patton exclaimed, crouching down to look at him with huge eyes. “He’s a little mouse!”

Remus bit the air as his hand got near him, but Patton was undeterred. Wrapping Remus in his hands, Patton brought him up to his chest.

Virgil, Logan, and Janus didn’t seem impressed, but Remus waved his paw as his tail swayed.

“Welcome to the Imagination!”

—

AN: it's been a while, hasn't it? sorry about the wait, I wish I had a better justification other than 'life got in the way' '^^ I guess that's the curse of trying to tentatively establish an update schedule 😆 but the next chapter will come next month, that's for certain, although unfortunately I won't be able to draw an illustration to go along with it this time

taglist: @thegoldenduckie @caruliaa

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #roman angst #sanders sides fic

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batneko · 9 months ago

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Can you believe I've been drawing the Undead Kingdom AU for three years? I sure can't!

But since I actually remembered in time to prepare something this year, I present to you an AU of an AU:

Squire Beauto

(in which Amai never gave in to the curse, never reinvented himself, and yet finds himself on a remarkably similar path) rated: T for swearing and innuendo words: 12,317 tw: bullying, light bdsm, religious baggage

"Come on, Dogface! We're burning daylight!"

This was not, in fact, true. The sun hadn't even fully crested the horizon, and the one the knights called "Dogface" had been up since long before. He ate, bathed, and dressed alone, then woke the young squire to serve breakfast to the knights and pack up the camp.

Now he finished loading the last pack on the last horse, hitched his own bag over his shoulders, and followed the rest of the group. Unnoticed, the crows followed him.

The tallest knight (a bit shorter than Dogface without his boots) shifted his armor as he walked. “You left my straps too loose again. We're not all as porky as you, Dogface.”

The other two knights chuckled, though both of them looked heavier than Dogface. Fighting in full armor took a lot of brute strength, and most knights tended on the stocky side. The fact that Dogface was being singled out for his weight said far more about the speaker than it did the target.

There was a pause of several seconds. Dogface wore an old-fashioned bucket helmet that completely covered his head. No expression could be seen, and when he spoke there was nothing but polite subservience in his voice. “I see. I won’t do that next time.”

They kept walking, the crows kept following, and Psykos kept watch through their eyes.

“They're all the way from R Kingdom,” Psykos said, keeping her eyes on her crystal. “You can tell by the accent, bunch of hicks.”

“Why would knights from R Kingdom come here?” Fubuki asked, leaning over her shoulder. Her hand was cool even through the fabric of Psykos' dress.

“The usual,” Psykos said. But she added, quietly, “They prayed before their meal.”

“Oh.”

More than one religion decried the undead as unholy. Only a few decided that meant all undead should be unilaterally wiped out. Psykos would have expected more hymns and solemnity if that was what this group was really after, but she was sure they wouldn't have traveled so far without believing they were on a mission from their god.

“Will you sing for us, Squire Beauto?” the young squire asked. So that was the older one's name. Now she could stop thinking of him by that ridiculous nickname.

“Yeah, Dogface,” the tallest knight said. “Give us a song.”

If he chose a hymn, Psykos would stop observing now and rally the army.

Beauto didn't audibly sigh, but his shoulders (already stooped) rose and then slumped. After a moment, his voice came from behind the helmet.

Not a hymn. A ballad. One of those old ones about jealousy and betrayal and murder. Squire Beauto sang with a strong clear voice – a tenor, unless Psykos missed her guess – and he was good. Ballads weren't designed to strain a singer's talents, but he nailed every note. Psykos would have paid money for this.

“They brought a bard?” Fubuki asked. She couldn't see through the crystal as well as Psykos could, but the sound carried.

“No, that's a squire.”

“He missed his calling, then.” She straightened up. “Shame if we'll have to kill him.”

“I know.”

***

They reached the castle shortly before noon. There had been one stop for rest and food an hour earlier, but "rest" applied only to the knights, of course. Beauto and Atama were expected to serve them just like always. As soon as Beauto sat down for a moment he had Sir Kakato barking at him, "Come on Dogface, don't be so lazy!"

It was always the same. If he sat, he was lazy. If he ate in front of others, he was a glutton. If he slipped up even slightly in keeping himself and his clothes spotlessly clean, he was a slob.

It was better now, with the helmet, but the knights still knew. Kakato still knew.

So Beauto was tired and hungry and ready to kill someone when he arrived at the castle of the undead king. It was almost disappointing when there was no one to try and stop them.

"Doesn't look like much," Sir Onaka said.

Beauto didn't agree, but he knew what he meant. "I doubt this was the main palace," Beauto said. "I think that got destroyed when the last prince cursed the country."

Onaka stared at him for a few seconds, and Beauto added, "Sir."

Kakato clicked his tongue. "Mind your manners, squire," he said. "Your behavior reflects on me, remember?"

All the more reason to ignore propriety, Beauto thought, but it wasn't true. Nobody had ever blamed Beauto's behavior on anyone but himself. He even got blamed for things he'd been nowhere near. He even got blamed for getting attacked.

“I know, Sir Kakato,” Beauto said. “I will be mindful.”

They entered the castle by the front doors. There may have been a side or back entrance once, but the ground around the castle had risen up in jagged points, blocking off all but the face of the building. It wasn't built to be defensible but it certainly was now.

The entry hall was wide, tiled in cracked slate covered with random carpets. Sir Onaka drifted to the side and pulled aside a curtain, whistling at the painting behind it.

It was a hunting scene, deer running across green hills. No part of the country looked like that now.

"Gold frame," Onaka said.

"Look at this," Sir Tsume called from the other side.

She'd found a small table with a basket full of flowers and a vase waiting to be filled. The staff must have fled without finishing their tasks when they heard knights were coming.

Sir Tsume picked up the vase. "Porcelain," she said, tapping it with a fingernail, "the good stuff."

The three knights exchanged glances. Beauto did his best to ignore them.

"Let's split up," Tsume said. "Do a little… scouting."

Beauto was instantly disappointed; Tsume had the most level head among the three of them, and he'd been hoping she'd stop the others if they suggested the same thing.

"Works for me," Kakato said, grinning.

"Figure out what to grab on the way out, and we'll meet up at the throne room."

"I'll take the squires, you two stick together?"

"Works for me," Tsume said, and Onaka nodded.

Beauto said nothing. What was the point?

When the group found a doorway they made the split; Kakato in the lead, Squire Atama sticking close to him, and Beauto with his hand on his sword hilt bringing up the rear. They walked for some time without encountering any people, living or dead. Occasionally they heard footsteps fading into the distance, occasionally they encountered a locked door, but mostly it was hallway after hallway.

They must have chosen the wrong direction, because the doors themselves got less and less ornate the further they walked. These were the areas where the servants traveled, the part of the castle where work got done.

Beauto was intimately familiar.

“Nothing,” Kakato said, and spat on the floor.

It was stone tile, with mismatched carpet runners in the center of each hall. If his spittle had hit the carpet Beauto may very well have slugged him, damn the consequences.

“Let’s go back,” Kakato said, and Beauto followed without a word.

They took a different path this time, back into the palatial part of the palace. Here, the carpets were coordinated and embroidered - though Beauto noticed they seemed very worn. Old, then. Cleaned so often their colors had faded and fibers had begun to wear away.

The wall hangings (and there were many) were newer. In a large building like this there were often drafts no matter how many fires were lit, and thick fabric trapped heat. It helped that they were beautiful, rich velvet, made from silk in the old style unless Beauto missed his guess. He found himself reaching out as they passed to touch a particularly charming drape embossed with stylized wheat, only remembering to pull his hand back a moment before his fingers reached the fabric. He was always lectured when he dared to put his hands on anything expensive. As if he would dirty it by his very presence.

Funny. If the kingdom was full of undead, why did they work so hard to keep the castle warm?

A scream ripped through the air, and Beauto had his sword half-pulled before he’d fully turned. Kakato was only a second behind him, shoving him aside as he sprang into action.

Except… there was nothing there. No one, living or dead. Just Beauto and Kakato.

Just Beauto and Kakato.

“Sir, where’s Atama?” Beauto said.

“What?” Kakato’s head whipped back and forth. “I thought you were watching him!”

“I-” He’d been distracted. Lost in thought and dreams of luxury. “I didn’t-”

“Fuck,” Kakato said. Vulgar as ever. “Well it’s too late for him. Let’s find the others and kill that monster they call a king. That’ll be a fitting tribute to Squire Atama.”

“He’s not dead,” Beauto said through gritted teeth. “Not until we’ve seen a body.”

“He’s a goner, Dogface! There’s no point!”

Beauto snapped his sword back into its sheath. “I’m going to have a look.”

“Fine, it’s your funeral.” Kakato waved one hand as he turned. “We’ll get all the glory for wiping out that monstrosity, and you’ll lose whatever chance you had of finally getting knighted.”

Beauto stopped.

He clenched his fists, his jaw, his whole body so tight he was certain he was trembling. Right now it was just the two of them. If he were to beat Kakato to a pulp - or less - no one would ever know it was Beauto. It would be blamed on the undead, doing what everyone expected of them.

He heard the clank of Kakato’s armored boots walking away, unbothered, probably barely even remembering what he’d said. He certainly didn’t seem to think about any of it before he spoke. He couldn’t know how much it rankled, every single day, to serve a knight a year younger than him.

Beauto stepped forward, in the direction of the scream.

Atama wasn’t far. Almost as soon as Beauto set foot in the last servant’s hallway they’d left, the boy ran straight into him. He came away with a scratch on his chin from Beauto’s old layered plate armor, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“What’s wrong?” Beauto asked. “What happened?”

“There was a skull!”

Beauto stared at him. He was grateful every day for the helmet that hid his face, but never moreso when he was sure he couldn’t keep his expression neutral.

“That’s all?” Beauto said. “This castle is overrun with undead, of course there are skulls lying around.”

“It wasn’t lying around, it was on a stake!” Atama said. “I just- I just turned a corner and there it was!”

“Probably marking a room where they keep bodies for resurrection or something,” Beauto said. “Seriously, that was enough to make you scream? Weren’t you already prepared to face things like that once you heard where we were going?”

“Well, I was, but…” Good, at least he wasn’t panicking anymore. “This place just looks so… normal, you know? It looks like the castle back home.” He frowned a little. “But they have nicer stuff than we do.”

“It’s easy to have nice things when you have no qualms about robbing graves,” Beauto said. “Come on, let’s find the others. Sir Kakato was afraid you might be dead.”

A small lie, a white lie, but it didn’t count because Atama didn’t look like he believed it for a second.

They walked side-by-side this time. Beauto enjoyed feeling like a reliable senior squire for the few minutes it took to find their way back, and then he led the way with his mood sinking step by step. It was easy to find the throne room - just like Atama said, this castle was very much like the one back home. And besides, a throne room should never be difficult to find. The whole point was showing off the liege’s splendor.

Even if it wasn’t easy, they would have found it quickly. The sounds of fighting and swearing echoed down the halls.

Both squires took off running, passing through the massive double doors and into the empty space. Beauto felt cold the moment he stepped inside. For a split second he thought it was dark magic, but then he noticed the room lacked carpets or drapes aside from two on the dais that held the throne itself. It was wide open, all stone, not even furniture aside from that single tall chair.

And in front of him, locked in combat with Sir Kakato, was the undead king.

He was about average height (Beauto noted the click-clack of heeled boots and amended that) a little under average height, with the cropped short hair of a soldier and the shadowed eyes of an insomniac. If it wasn't for the bloodless pallor of his skin Beauto would have taken him for a living human, and a rather handsome one at that. He certainly didn't dress like a king. Then again, maybe the knights had caught him in the middle of changing. Beauto couldn't think of another reason his shirt would be half-buttoned like that.

He fought wielding a massive sword, hardly more than a slab of metal with a handle, and he moved far more gracefully than someone encumbered by such a weight should. Unnatural strength, no need to rest or fear muscle strain, a being that existed outside human limitations.

As Beauto watched, the undead king brought his sword down so hard it cracked the blade of Kakato’s, then swept the knight’s legs out from under him with a kick. One-handed, the king picked up Kakato by the straps on the back of his armor and tossed him on top of the other two knights, already lying prone on the floor.

Beauto shrugged off his pack and threw it to the side before drawing his sword. It was smaller than the king’s; a hand-and-a-half sword, a “bastard” sword as Kakato liked to remind him. Lighter than a broadsword but stronger than a short sword. Against an unarmored human Beauto would always have the advantage.

“Take care of them,” Beauto snapped at Atama. “I’ll take care of him.”

He was surprised to see the undead king smirk as Beauto charged him. “Cocky, aren’t we?” the king said.

They met, blades crashing together. The weight was intense, just as Beauto had been afraid of, but he was a better fighter than Kakato. With the king’s attention on his sword, Beauto leaned back and kicked the man square in the gut.

Even with unnatural strength, a body reacted to that. The king made an undignified noise as his breath escaped him, and stumbled backward, giving Beauto just enough time to swing again and cut deep into the side of his neck.

Blood burst from the wound, spurting over the king’s ridiculous ornamental shoulder armor, turning into a fountain as Beauto pulled his sword free. For perhaps a tenth of a second Beauto thought he might have won, but the blood stopped as quickly as it started, and aside from the fresh coat of red the king’s neck looked good as new two-tenths of a second later.

“Damn,” Beauto muttered.

“What did you expect?” the king said with a laugh.

He had… a nice laugh, actually. Deep, warm, with the merest hint of gravel to it.

“I’ll just have to keep trying,” Beauto said.

They clashed again, blade hitting blade, Beauto grateful for his armor more than once, and the king only taking a split second to recover every time Beauto hit one of his openings. When you healed that quickly you must not need to learn to guard your vitals. Beauto was almost jealous.

It only went on for a few minutes. Real fights were like that, not like the theater where actors both in the duel and observing it could deliver full monologues while wooden swords knocked together. A real fight was quick, and messy, and you didn’t have time to think of anything other than not getting stabbed in the liver. That was why knights trained for years to be able to battle on instinct instead of thinking about every move.

Beauto wasn’t a knight, but he’d trained more than any of them. And he’d been getting into fights (that is to say, preventing himself from being beaten) for even longer.

He felt himself slip, and he saw the king’s massive sword swing into his cone of vision, and all he had time to think was -

Why couldn’t it be my face?

The sword hit his side, where the layered armor didn’t cover, and the shock of pain sent him stumbling. It didn’t feel like he’d been cut, but he was wounded now, and the king would easily be able to take advantage of that. The fight was as good as over.

As he shifted the weight of his sword to his other side, he heard a creak of what sounded like door hinges.

It was foolish, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking. Beauto saw the double doors pulling shut, Kakato on one side and Tsume on the other. When Kakato saw Beauto’s head turned in their direction, he smiled suddenly and shouted, “You got this Dogface!”

Then the doors were shut, with all three knights and one squire on the other side of them.

“What?” Beauto said. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t have really just abandoned him, could they? Anyway, what idiot would make doors to a throne room that locked from the outside?

He ran to them and pulled on the handles, the wood creaking but refusing to open. It felt not just locked, but barred.

“What…” Beauto said again. “What idiot makes doors to a throne room that lock from the outside?”

“Oh, we put that in after we took over,” the undead king said, conversationally. “For, y’know, this type of thing.”

Beauto glared at him, though he knew he couldn’t see it. “Trapping people?”

He grinned. Something about it made Beauto’s chest feel tight in the way usually only novels did.

“Yes,” the undead king said. “Trapping prey.”

He was bluffing, Beauto realized immediately. He hadn't killed any of the knights, and Beauto hadn't even been cut by a direct blow from his sword. But the knights wouldn't have known that, not even Sir Tsume. They locked him in here with an undead thing, believing that it would kill him.

"They took my bag…" Beauto realized. He'd dropped it inside the doors, and now it was gone.

They'd left him to die and made sure to salvage his part of their supplies.

“Wow, seriously?" Beauto heard the king say. "What assholes. You need better friends, sir knight."

"Wrong on all counts," Beauto said through gritted teeth.

"How so?"

"I'm not a knight, I'm a squire," he said. "And they are not my friends."

"A squire?" the king repeated. "Aren't they usually- You're not one of those super tall teenagers, are you?"

"I'm twenty-four!" Beauto said, letting his exasperation bleed into his voice. What was the point in hiding it now? It was that same thought that led him to admit, "I was this tall by the time I became a squire, though."

He was sure that was the only reason he was finally chosen. It was embarrassing to have a page the size of a grown man, especially since guests kept assuming he was a footman or guard. The seneschal must have bullied Sir Hana into it. He was a senior knight, he barely needed any help anyway, but once he'd gotten used to looking at Beauto he did actually bother to teach him. Beauto would always be grateful to him for that.

“You're probably telling the truth,” the king said, thoughtfully. “That's too specific of a number to be a lie.”

“If I was lying I'd tell you I was thirty,” Beauto said.

The king laughed, a more genuine one this time. “But that's weird, isn't it?” the king said. “Aren't most squires teenagers?”

“Not all,” Beauto muttered.

“Apparently not. What did you do that they won’t make you-”

Beauto turned, sword in hand, and charged once more at the undead king.

The man barely managed to block his strike. That big blade of his almost worked better as a shield than a weapon, but if Beauto had him on the defensive that was a good thing. He'd caught his breath, and he knew now that the king didn't want him dead. There was no reason not to fight until he couldn't move.

He took advantage of his greater speed, especially now that he didn't have to worry about leaving openings. The king could do little more than dodge and attempt to block Beauto's relentless assault. An assault he didn't want to end too quickly. When would he ever get another chance like this? To fight to his heart's content, to hurt someone as much as he wanted with no consequence?

He kept his attacks to the king's extremities. A slash on the arm, a deep cut on the thigh, watching the king's face as he flinched each time, though never for long. Beauto actually managed to cut through a finger, though the leather of the king's glove held enough that Beauto could see the flesh knit back together.

Beauto drove him back, toward the dais where his throne sat. As expected, the king tripped on the first step, and that was enough for Beauto to knock the sword out of his hand, kick his feet out from under him, and pin him to the floor with a boot on his back.

For a moment Beauto didn't move. Neither did the king, though his breath came in wheezes. Beauto knew, from experience, that it was difficult to get out of this position. If the one stepping on you used any weight at all (and Beauto did) you couldn't just roll out from under them. It was hard to grab onto something in the middle of your own back, and what would you do with it if you could? Not to mention the pressure compressing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

Beauto brought his sword down, hovered the blade next to the king's face, and pressed the tip against his cheek until he turned it enough to look up at him.

“What are you going to do?” the king said. He was flushed from exertion, making him look more alive. “Cutting my head off won't kill me. Stabbing me in the heart won't even slow me down.”

“I've got no reason to kill you, but I've got nothing left to lose either.” Without shifting his weight, Beauto carefully sheathed his sword. “We're both stuck here until your people or mine open that door.”

Then he bent forward and retrieved the knife he kept tucked into his boot. He couldn't help grinning at the way the king's eyes widened when he saw the flash of metal.

“You are at my mercy, your highness,” Beauto said, keeping his voice cool despite the way his heart was pounding. “And I am not a merciful man.”

The king bit his lip. Beauto had been expecting the blood to drain from his face, but if anything he flushed a little more.

“Okay,” the king said, “but you can't get mad if I get a boner about it.”

Beauto startled, and instinct had him press his heel harder into the king's back to keep him in place. The king let out a breathless noise that didn't sound entirely like pain.

“What?” Beauto said. His voice was low, in that way that usually made people recoil from him. He cleared his throat to try again, but the king was smiling.

“Does it ruin it for you if I enjoy it too?” he said. “Sorry to say I'm actually desperate enough that almost anything you do with that knife is going to be fun for me.”

Beauto brandished the knife again, a glint of light off the blade seeming to reflect in the king's eye. “You like this?”

“Knifeplay's not my favorite but I do like it, yeah.”

Beauto swallowed.

He shouldn't ask, but... he couldn't stop himself.

“What's your favorite, then?”

The smile widened into a grin. “I like it hands-on. I like hair-pulling, slapping, choking. Mostly I just wanna be picked up and used like a toy.”

Beauto had to swallow again. He almost dropped his knife, he wanted so badly to immediately try something from off the king's list.

But he couldn't. This wasn't an invitation, it was a conversation. One in which he currently had all the power. The novels he read (they were easy to find, though the quality was a crapshoot. His best luck had been at the brothels Sir Kakato thought it was funny to drag him to – they often had erotica lying around for inspiration. Since none of the entertainers wanted to meet his eyes, it was easy for Beauto to tuck himself into a corner of the lounge and read while he waited) often crossed that type of line, but he knew they were fantasies. This... this kind of arrangement, it had to be negotiated beforehand.

“How did you know?” Beauto asked, quietly.

“That you’re into this too?”

Beauto nodded.

“The way you fought. You dragged it out, you hurt me instead of disarming me. You were enjoying yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Beauto said.

“Don’t be sorry for having fun. I was too.”

“No, I… I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you, instead of the people that deserve it.”

“Apology accepted.” The king shifted beneath his boot. “Now that that’s in the open, how about letting me up?” He grinned again. “Or don’t, and do that thing with your heel again.”

He couldn’t have stopped himself. Not even with a blade to his throat. Beauto pressed the heel of his boot against the king’s back, digging the edge into his spine, and the king gave a soft gasp.

Dear god, Beauto had never been this turned on in his life.

“What’s your name, anyway?” the king asked, still breathless, a little teasing. Was this… flirtation? It was a tone that Beauto had heard before but never caused.

“Beauto,” he said. “What’s yours? Everyone only ever seems to call you ‘the undead king.’”

The flirtation (if that’s what it was) quickly disappeared. “That’s because I don’t have one. I was numbered, not named.”

Beauto barely managed a “Wh?” sound.

“They call me the undead king for a reason. I’m not exactly dead, but I’m certainly not a human. I was made in a lab by a necromancer. I’m nothing but an experiment that happens to be able to walk and talk.”

Immediately Beauto pulled his foot off the king’s back and stepped away. The king was frowning as he sat up. He had hooded eyes that exaggerated the expression, like red coals peering out of the shadow of his brow. If Beauto hadn’t already seen through him he may have been afraid.

“Disturbing, isn’t it?” the king said.

“This person made you but never bothered to name you?” Beauto said. “Of course that’s disturbing!”

The king looked surprised, for some reason. The frown fell away and he blinked up at Beauto. “Isn’t it?” he said, distantly.

“What a piece of shit,” Beauto said firmly.

“He was,” the king agreed. “Still is, probably.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Not if I ever see him again.”

Beauto nodded. He had enough practice in his helmet that the bottom of the face shield no longer clanked against his chest plate when he did. “They say the best revenge is living well, but what’s the point if you can’t rub it in their faces? Drag him before your throne and order your knights to kill him, let him see you’ve got loyalty and respect. Let him die knowing what a fool he was.”

The king’s eyes were slightly widened, but he was smiling again. “Is that a fantasy you’ve had?”

Beauto tilted his head. “No?” he asked, confused by the question. It was just logical, wasn’t it?

“No?”

“No, it’s not. Why?”

The king laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I like you Squire Beauto. I really do.”

Behind his helmet, Beauto smiled.

“Speaking of which…” The king, still sitting on the floor, leaned back against the bottom step of his dais. He smiled up at Beauto, something like heat in those strange red eyes of his.

His body was relaxed, his posture casual, and as Beauto looked at him he - without looking like was doing anything other than getting more comfortable - spread his thighs.

The king wore his trousers very tight.

“Did you want to step on me again?” he asked. “Or… something else, maybe?”

Beauto swallowed. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing so loudly he almost couldn’t hear his own response.

“That's... an option?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Beauto, knowing he must look like an idiot, pointed at his chest. “Me?”

“Yes,” the king said. He didn't roll his eyes, which Beauto took as a good sign he meant it.

“I’m your enemy. I was sent here to kill you as a monster. And you'd... lay with me?”

“Absolutely,” the king said. “My standards are not high right now.” He hesitated, and added, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“No…” Beauto said, though he was sure the king heard the doubt in it.

The church taught that the undead were not truly the dead come back to life, but demons inhabiting their bodies. Putting them down was the righteous thing to do. And though Beauto didn’t believe anymore, not really (a loving god wouldn’t allow children to be cursed before they were even conceived), it was difficult to forget something you had known as a “fact” for most of your life.

“Maybe,” Beauto admitted. “But my standards aren't high either.”

The king laughed, and reached out a hand to beckon him. Beauto took a step forward. And another. And, gently, pressed his boot against the king's thigh, forcing his legs even farther apart.

“What are you going to do to me?” the king practically purred.

Beauto had never heard that actually done before. He'd read it in novels, seen actors on the stage try it, but he'd never heard it in a voice that wasn't performing. This... right now...

This was real. This was happening. He might really, really, lose his virginity. Beauto had all but given it up for a lost cause – no one would want him with this face, and his body wasn't much to speak of either. And if he managed to survive until he didn't have this face any more, what were the chances merely being average-looking would find him a partner either? At least he could hire company then.

But right now... someone wanted him. Someone hadn't seen his face, and Beauto was fairly sure he could bluff his way through this encounter without having to remove his helmet. If the king actually preferred to be treated like an object, keeping a barrier between them shouldn't be that big of a deal.

It could happen. It could work.

Trying to hide his trembling, Beauto pulled off one glove and leaned forward to grab a fistful of the king's hair. The smile never budged.

“I want you,” Beauto said. He meant it to be the beginning of a sentence, but nothing came to mind. He was so excited he was feeling light-headed.

“You've got me, baby,” the king said. As Beauto tugged at his hair, the king's eyelids fluttered in pleasure and he let out a soft moan.

Holy shit, was it normal to get dizzy when all your blood rushed to your dick? Some of those novels had been pretty stimulating, but he'd never felt like this. The strength was even going out of his fingers with how hard it hit him.

No, wait.

Beauto stumbled, putting both feet back on the floor, hoping it would keep him upright. His vision slid sideways and he saw the king, brow wrinkled in concern, reach out for him.

He hit the ground on his already-injured side, and then everything went black.

***

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Her king had grabbed Psykos by the shoulders and was shaking her. Considering she was a witch and quite a bit older than him, the responsible thing to do here would be to remain calm and allow him to get his aggression out before asking why he felt it.

Instead, Psykos kicked his shin until he let go.

“Ow!”

“Ow first! What do you mean what's wrong with me?”

“Why did you have to cast a sleep spell on the room? Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?”

“You were in there with one of those asshole knights!” Psykos gestured at the now-open doors to the throne room, where the enchanted knight was laying on the floor, right next to the dais.

“So what? You could have come in the side door to check first!” The servant doors were used by everyone now that the castle inhabitants lived communally, but people who didn't live there never considered there might be an entrance that wasn't huge and extravagant.

“Why? This is standard procedure.”

“I know, but-”

“You're immune to most magic, so if I cast a sleep spell everyone falls over until we can run damage control.”

“I know, but-”

“But what? I shouldn't do what I've done a dozen times? I shouldn't try to help you?”

“Help me?” the king repeated. “You just coc-”

He stopped. His eyes looked off to her side, and about two feet down.

“Co... cost me a chance to get along with somebody!”

Psykos glanced back, and confirmed that Isamu was standing there ready to help. He gave her a confused smile when she met his eyes, and she patted his shoulder.

“It's okay Isamu, we're just talking. Did you get the prisoners situated?”

“Yes, they're in that wine cellar that we emptied out because the king is trying to quit drinking.” Isamu smiled at him so brightly it even hurt Psykos to look at. “We're really proud of you for doing that!”

“Yes we are,” Psykos agreed. “See? We show our appreciation when you do things.”

The king took a breath, then slowly reached up and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Reminding me of all the wine we threw away is not helping...”

“Sorry,” Psykos said.

“Sorry,” Isamu said.

"But," Psykos continued, "did you really want to get along with somebody like that? Somebody who came to kill you?"

"Not the first time," the king said, and tapped two fingers on the side of his neck. Psykos scowled and made sure her collar was tugged up high enough to cover last night's bite mark.

"Trust me, I was watching them, those knights are assholes."

"He's not a knight," the king said.

Psykos looked, closer this time, at the figure laying on the floor. He was wearing only partial armor, an old-fashioned breastplate made of layered metal plates, and an even older bucket helmet. And he was on his back, flat, with his arms straight at his sides. Very unlikely he'd fallen that way naturally. The king must have repositioned him.

"The squire," she said. "The one they called-" She cut herself off. What was his real name? "Bureau?"

"Beauto," the king said.

"Beauto. Right. He was…" He was the one they were all being assholes to. "He seemed all right."

"And you just knocked him out right when things were getting good." The king rubbed his hands over his head, curling his fingers into his hair. "Shit, he's going to think it was a trap. Think I was buying time, not…"

"It's my fault," Psykos said quickly. "I'll apologize and explain everything if you want."

The king looked up.

"The spell will last about an hour, let's put him in a guest room so he knows he's not a prisoner as soon as he wakes up."

"You think?" the king said.

He looked so hopeful. This was more than just a cockblock situation, the king really liked this guy.

"I'm sure," Psykos said.

After all, she'd seen his face. He couldn't have a line of prospective lovers knocking down his door. If a king - undead or not - was interested in him, Beauto would be a fool to say no.

***

Beauto woke in bed. For a moment he was disoriented, feeling like he'd been dreaming something completely ridiculous. He reached out for his helmet, like he did every morning he spent in the barracks, hiding his face as quickly as possible before any of the younger squires woke up.

His hand met nothing but more bedding. Soft, plush mattress, smooth fabric. This was not his bed.

The castle. The king.

Beauto jolted upright. The curtains in the room were open, sunlight streaming in, unimpeded by either curtains or the face shield of Beauto's helmet.

"Shit!" He covered as much of his face as he could with one hand and fumbled for the edge of the bed. Who took it? Why? The king hadn't seen, had he?

"Oh hey, you're awake!" The king stood up from a chair in the corner. He was smiling, nearly as bright as the sun, looking Beauto right in the eye.

Beauto threw himself backward and covered himself with the sheet.

"What's wrong?" he heard the king ask.

"Why?" Beauto demanded. "Why did you take my helmet, why?"

He could feel himself choking up. This was foolish, it was just sex, he'd known it was never going to happen for him.

"Why? Why?"

Why did he feel like crying? Why did this upset him so much?

"Okay, okay," he heard the king moving around the room. "I wasn't supposed to, I guess? I'm sorry. Is this a religious thing, or…"

"Why would you do it?" Beauto said. Begged. "I don't understand, why couldn't you just- just- Why?"

"You were knocked out, we wanted to make you more comfortable while you had to lay there."

"We?" Beauto repeated. "Who else saw?"

"Uh, a couple of guards? Hana and- Shit, I can never remember Ami's dad's name."

"Three people saw me? You saw my face?"

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to."

Beauto could see the shadow of him moving, between the sheet and the window. The king was close, too close. What did he want? He couldn't want what he'd wanted before.

"Here's your helmet," the king said, his shadow holding something out.

Beauto stuck one hand out of the blanket, and when metal touched his fingers he whisked the heavy object under the covers with him to safety.

Only once he was sure he was hidden did Beauto pull the sheets off his head.

"Where's the rest of my armor?" His clothes were intact, only his armor and boots had been removed. Ugh. Undressed like a doll.

"Over here."

Through the eye slits in the helmet, Beauto saw the king gesture at the same corner where he'd been sitting. There was an armor stand there, a real one, looking naked without more than the random pieces Beauto was permitted to wear.

He turned away from the king, making sure his tunic hem was pulled down and his trousers were pulled up before climbing out of the opposite side of the bed.

"Do I have permission to leave?" Beauto asked, trying his best to maintain what dignity he had. His voice was still shaky and thick with snot.

"You're not a prisoner," the king said, sadly. Of course he'd be disappointed. "I'd like it if you stayed as a guest, but that's entirely up to you. No hard feelings here, I promise."

Beauto didn't believe it but he didn't dare call it out. He hadn't lied, the king had never asked to see his face, but realizing he'd nearly slept with someone who looked like Beauto must have felt like dodging a cannon ball.

"What happened to my… traveling party?"

"They were caught trying to loot the castle. The rule around here is that anyone's allowed to challenge me to a fight, the rest of the residents and staff will get out of the way, but stealing isn't something we can tolerate."

"At least let me take Squire Atama," Beauto said. "He's only fifteen, he hasn't had a chance to know better."

"What?" the king said. He shook his head. "You can take all of them, we don't want them, I just meant my political advisor cast a sleep spell on them and tossed them in the wine cellar."

Beauto blinked. He hadn't quite shed any tears, but his eyes still felt tired. "Your… political advisor?"

"She's pretty good at manipulating people so it was as good a title as any. But she's a witch if that's what you mean."

"Why the wine cellar?"

"We don't have dungeons or anything. It's an enclosed room with nothing in it at the moment, and the only door is at the top of a narrow staircase so we've got the advantage if they try to break out."

"You don't have dungeons," Beauto said, flatly.

"No. I think this castle used to be a fancy hunting lodge."

"What do you do with all the other knights that try to kill you?"

"They usually fight themselves into exhaustion and then we toss 'em out."

Beauto shook his head. No wonder so many rumors had spread about this damned kingdom and the "monster" that ruled it. They kept letting their enemies survive! Let them leave humiliated and carrying a grudge!

"I'll tell them we lost," Beauto said. "I… won't tell anyone about what-" No, the king wouldn't even want Beauto to acknowledge what had almost happened. "I'll go," he said, quietly. "I won't come back. The knights won't talk about me when they tell this story, they never do. No one will ever know I was here."

Beauto had been standing there with his face turned down, no desire to see the look at the king's expression when Beauto alluded to their near-tryst. Would it be anger? Disgust? Fear? He'd gotten all three before, and in every combination.

"I'm sorry," the king said. "It wasn't a trick, I swear. I didn't want Psykos to knock you out."

"I know." But he must be glad for it now. He'd probably give her a raise.

“You can ask her yourself!”

“There's no need.”

“Can you tell me why people shouldn't see your face? Or is it a personal thing.”

In surprise, Beauto looked up at him. The king's expression was… confused. Concerned. Not a trace of disgust.

“Why would I want anyone to see it?”

“Because… it's your face?” The king's brow squiggled like one of those flat-faced dogs.

“And now that you've seen it, do you still want to bed me?”

“Yes?” the king said.

“You see? That's why-” Beauto stopped. “What did you say?”

“I- I said yes?” the king said. “I wanted you when as far as I knew you had no face, why would seeing you make me feel different?”

He tilted his head, as if Beauto were an abstract painting he was trying to figure out. Beauto was very glad he wasn't being seen at the moment, because his mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish as he tried to process what he'd just heard.

Yes. The king said yes. He still wanted him.

It couldn't be possible.

“That can't be possible,” Beauto muttered aloud.

The king's expression changed, smoothed out, his eyes widening. “You really believe that,” he said. He shook his head. “Holy shit, who hurt you?”

Beauto gave a mirthless huff of laughter. “Everyone?”

Over two decades of memories hit Beauto all at once, and he sunk back down onto the edge of the bed.

“Everyone,” he said again. “No one has ever seen my face and not been put off by it.”

He heard the king's voice behind him, and felt the bed sink as he sat on the other side. “Really? I mean... it's not that I don't believe you, it's just... Are you sure?”

Beauto would be angry if it was anyone else, but there was nothing to gain for the king to jerk him around like this. Nothing but sick sadistic pleasure, and Beauto knew what that looked like from both sides. This wasn't bullying, this was ignorance.

“You said it yourself, didn't you? You asked what I'd done that I still haven't been made a knight. The answer is... be born like this.” Beauto smiled to himself. He had to smile, or he'd start screaming. “I've been a squire longer than I was a page, now, but that was a long time too. No knight wanted the ugly kid to strap on their armor for them.”

“But... but that's...”

Beauto turned. His helmet slits weren't wide enough that he could see the king unless he pulled one leg up on the bed and brought his whole body sideways. He was surprised to see the king had done the same, leaning toward him across the mattress.

“The knights... Well, you heard them. You know what they call me.”

“They're assholes,” the king said. “Who cares what they think?”

“Everyone thinks it. When you look like me, people are happy to jump to the worst conclusions.” Beauto had to avert his gaze again. "And… they're not entirely wrong. You know what I am. What I like."

“Nobody gets to choose what they're turned on by,” the king said. “Being an asshole is a choice. Every time.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Beauto said.

“It should be simple! It shouldn't have to be hard to expect basic human decency!”

Beauto looked up, and saw the king wince.

“Sorry… I think I'm projecting a little here.”

“Ah.” Of course, someone visibly undead would have faced even worse than Beauto ever had. And the king had been made this way, he said. He was never an ordinary human.

But it rankled, somehow. Being compared to something that never should have expected to be accepted. Beauto was a victim of a generations-old curse, he wasn't a monster like the king.

He said none of this out loud, having learned a long time ago that thoughts like that would never be rewarded.

“You’re right,” Beauto said. That was usually a safe bet, although he’d already forgotten what they were talking about.

“Damn right I’m right,” the king said, full of confidence. And then added, “What were we talking about?”

In spite of everything, Beauto laughed.

The king smiled at him, all warm eyes and soft lips. It still felt like Beauto would be thrown out of this bedroom at any moment, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view.

“You have an amazing voice, you know that?” the king said suddenly.

“Yes,” Beauto said, bluntly. That was the one thing he’d refuse to accept insults about. “I’m a singer. I was in the church choir for all of my childhood, and I’d have liked to do it for a living, but I was… gently discouraged from following that path.”

The king shook his head. “It’s the world’s loss.”

Beauto smiled. “Well… maybe in six years.”

“What’s in six years? Are you on a squiring contract?”

“That’s not a thing,” Beauto laughed. “No, it’s the deadline for the curse. That’s why I look like this, my bloodline is cursed.”

The king blinked a couple times, and his wispy brows drew together in confusion. “You’re cursed?”

“I think- I hope that’s why people react the way they do. That it’s magic and not human nature making them turn against me as soon as they get a look.” Beauto sighed. “But I doubt it.”

“We can solve that!” The king sat up straight and clapped his hands together. “I have a witch!”

Beauto did not succeed in stopping the king from calling his “political advisor” into the bedroom. Nor did he stop the woman (she looked mid-twenties but mages could sometimes extend their lives through unethical means, and her clothes were several decades out of date) from rattling off half of a rehearsed apology before the king stopped her.

“I explained all that,” he said. “He's cursed, Psykos.”

The king had at least had the foresight to move them to chairs, but there were only two in the room and the king had - of all things - elected to perch on the tea table between them instead of calling for a third. It was strange, but having him there as a buffer made Beauto feel more at ease.

“How so?” the woman, Psykos, asked.

The king turned to Beauto, waiting for him to explain, and Beauto allowed himself a sigh. He'd explained this so many times in his life that he'd gotten bored. How could you sum up a lifetime of suffering in a few sentences?

“It's my whole family. The firstborn is always born hideously ugly, no matter what their parents looked like. At twenty we gain shapeshifting powers, but if we use them we'll die in ten years.”

“Well that's some bullshit,” the woman said, as if Beauto had described something no more serious than a rude encounter at the pub.

“I’ve managed to hold out for four years, two months, and thirteen days.”

“Let's see,” the woman said.

She reached out for Beauto’s hand, and he automatically flinched back.

“I'm sorry,” she said, more gently. “If it's on your bloodline I'll need to touch you to get an idea. If I can see your face it'll be even easier, since that's that part it affects the most.”

Beauto didn’t move. Her words made sense, but he hadn’t willingly taken his helmet off in front of another human in over three years. Why would he, when all it did was destroy any favorable impressions they might have?

She wouldn’t be able to break the curse. No one could, no one had, not in at least three generations of searching. The king might not mind Beauto’s face, but the king was undead. Maybe the curse didn’t affect him in the same way.

“If it makes a difference, I’ve already seen you without that thing,” the woman said.

Beauto shrunk back further. The king said that he and two guards saw him, but he hadn’t said anything about this witch.

“When? Why?” Beauto demanded.

“I can see through the eyes of some animals, so it’s part of my job to keep an eye on any new visitors to the area. Your traveling party was suspicious, and I checked in on you several times over the last few days. I saw you getting ready before the others woke up.”

Beauto winced.

“I saw the way they treated you,” she added.

The ever-familiar anger began to well up within him. Of course she had. Of course. It was bad enough he’d been exposed literally, why not figuratively as well? At this point he could strip and feel less naked.

Fuck it.

Beauto pulled his helmet off and threw it across the room. He heard it bounce off the bed frame and rattle along the floor, coming to a rest just out of the corner of his eye. He glared at the woman’s face, and saw, just as he’d expected, shock and disgust twist her features.

“Oh that is nasty,” she said.

“I told you!” Beauto snapped. He tried to get up, but the king leaned over and grabbed his hand.

“No, come on baby, hear her out.”

“Why?” he said.

“That’s not what she meant.” The king turned to her and hissed, “It’s not, is it?”

“No!” the woman said, raising her hands quickly. “I just haven’t seen a death curse that detailed before.”

Beauto felt his brow furrow, before remembering his bare face and trying to compose himself. “Yes, I said it was deadly.”

“Not deadly,” the woman said. “A death curse. Meaning it was powered by death.”

Beauto sunk back in his seat. “Someone… killed someone to curse my family?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But that’s difficult as hell. This looks to me more like the caster died.”

“H… how?”

“Hard to say whether it was suicide or they were already dying. But either way, this is what they did with their last breath.”

Beauto shook his head. Whatever was showing on his face, it made the king take his hand.

“What did my ancestor do to this person?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth dooming their whole family,” the woman said. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“No, I…” Beauto covered his mouth with his free hand.

He could picture it. A handsome bully, tormenting someone for their looks until that person felt they couldn’t go on. But they’d get their revenge, oh yes, they would make that bastard pay. They would make his grandchildren pay. None of them would ever forget what it was like to be the easy target.

He’d do the same thing in their place.

“Don’t dwell on it,” the king repeated, softly.

“I’m not,” Beauto lied.

“I can try to break it,” the woman said. “But this kind of magic is thorny. It’ll take me years to unravel, maybe a decade or more.”

Slowly, Beauto raised his head. “But you can do it?”

“I can, if you can wait that long.”

Years… He had six years left before the curse broke on its own, but if he could shorten that even a day he would go for it. And if it was longer, then… Then it wouldn’t matter, really. But if she could break it for him, she could break it for others.

“I don’t intend to have children, but I’d certainly like to remove the possibility of passing it on, just in case.”

“You don’t want kids?” the king said. There was just a bit too much interest in his tone.

“I didn’t think anyone would ever want me for a partner, so I haven’t considered it,” Beauto said.

“You have any experience with ‘em?”

“Kids? Yes, I have three younger half-siblings. We’re not close but we got along well enough.”

They were the only people - the only ones before the king - who had never been disgusted by him. They’d known Beauto for their entire lives, so perhaps that canceled it out.

The king nodded, as if filing that information away.

Beauto felt the corner of his mouth begin to rise. “Don’t tell me you’re considering a relationship with me. We’ve known each other for an hour.”

“Hey, it’s just good to know! If you hated kids I’d know not to get attached.”

“You’re undead, can you even father children?”

“Hell if I know,” the king said. “But I’ve already more or less adopted one and I’m not ruling it out for the future.”

Across the table, the woman cleared her throat. “So… Are you considering staying then, Sir Beauto?”

Beauto flinched. “Squire. I’m a squire.”

A moment later, her words filtered in.

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Psykos,” the king said. Beauto noted he was blushing, a little bit of life once again returning to his bloodless cheeks. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I- I do, but you can’t ask a guy to move in on the first date. Even if it’s just an invitation to join the kingdom, what if he thinks-”

“Yes,” Beauto said.

What did he have waiting for him back home? Six more years of humiliation, a king who expected three knights to overthrow an army of undead, a family who would rather forget he’d been born. His little siblings would only miss the solstice presents he brought them and his mother refused to talk about her first marriage at all. He only went to church anymore because knights were expected to be faithful, and he had to be better than perfect if he ever wanted that title. Why keep it up? Why keep fighting for respect he’d never get?

He would never have to see or speak to that damn Sir Kakato again.

“You want to stay?” the king said, sounding surprised, but happily so.

“I do,” Beauto said. “Though preferably not as a kept man. I think you’ll be disappointed by my skills anyway, I was bluffing earlier, I’m a virgin.”

“That was bluffing?” the king said, even more surprised this time. “Damn, you’ve got a natural talent then.”

“Okay I’m leaving,” the woman said, smoothly rising from her chair. “You boys have fun, I’ll have Isamu draw up the citizenship papers.”

“Yeah yeah.” The king waved her off, not taking his eyes off Beauto’s face.

His bare, helmet-less face.

Nervously, Beauto reached up and tried to straighten his hair. It was a futile effort, as always, not to mention the helmet making it worse. There would be weird creases and split ends and sometimes it got tousled so much it looked like a bird’s nest.

But despite looking like that, neither the king nor his advisor had shown any disgust. Beauto thought Psykos had, at first, but the rest of the conversation she was looking at him dead-on with nary a blink. Did they… really not care?

“Wait,” Beauto said as the woman reached for the door handle. “The curse. Did- can you see how it works?”

“Yes,” the woman said. She tapped the frame of her glasses. “I’ve got these enchanted, otherwise I’d need a blood sample. Why?”

“People have been treating me like…” Beauto trailed off. “Well, like you saw. It’s been like that all my life. I wanted to know, is it- is it the curse? Does it make me look inhuman? Does it cause people to be repulsed by me?”

He dared to look up as he waited for her answer, and he hated how much pity he saw in her eyes. “No. I’m sorry, Sir Beauto, the curse is purely physical. It seems like you’ve just spent your life surrounded by assholes.”

Beauto pressed his lips together, and nodded. “That’s what I thought. Thank you.”

It was what he’d thought, but not what he’d hoped.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Psykos said. “Goodnight.”

It was late afternoon, judging by the light coming through the windows, but the king’s advisor expected they would be occupied for the rest of the day.

Beauto swallowed.

The door shut, the king looked at Beauto expectantly, and Beauto found himself saying what he was thinking for the first time in years.

“I hate people.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone I’ve ever met.”

“Okay.”

“My life changed so much after I started wearing my helmet. I got it on my first mission outside the country, and everything was different. People didn't shy away from me, shop clerks actually greeted me...”

“They didn't before?” the king exclaimed.

“I don't know if... I'm frightening, maybe? I look like people think a thug should look. That, or... maybe they can tell I hate them. All of them.”

“You've got the right to,” the king said.

“I hoped it was the curse. I didn’t believe it, but I hoped. Now that I know for sure… I really hate them.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” the king said. He’d still been holding Beauto’s hand this whole time, and now he squeezed it.

“Even my own grandfather. He was a preacher, and in his sermons he used to use me as an example of hardships his family faced. Say that god sent me to test them.”

“What the fuck,” the king said softly.

“I actually didn't mind that. I think I thought it gave me purpose.”

“Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I don’t feel that way anymore, don’t worry.”

“Good, because… Good.” The king shook his head and squeezed a little harder. “R Kingdom’s dinky, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s even smaller than here.”

“I hate to say it, but if everyone you've spent time with knew you your whole life, already thought of you as a target, maybe it was the location that was the problem?”

“Maybe,” Beauto said. “It’s a nice thought. But if I am going to stay here, I… I’d prefer to keep wearing my helmet.” He glanced at the king, who met his eyes without hesitation. “At least in public.”

“We can get you a new one. Hell, if you don’t mind armor that was died in, we can get you one for every day of the week.”

The old helmet had probably belonged to a dead knight too. “As long as it’s been boiled clean.”

“Then you’re staying?” the king asked, hope and warmth in his voice.

He kept asking that. Almost as if the king expected to be left behind at any moment.

A thought occurred, and Beauto nearly smiled. “I want to stay, and I want to spend the night with you if you’ll let me.”

“Hell yes.”

“But I’m still a little worried about my traveling party. If they think you’ve killed me, they might hold a grudge.”

“Okay,” the king said. “So you want to see them off?”

“Yes,” Beauto said. “I would very much like to see them off.”

Mid-morning, the three knights and one squire were dragged back to the throne room. The king waited on his throne, flanked on one side by his witch (now decked out in even-older-looking clothes, though the black dye had held strong), and on the other by a knight in full plate armor (with a black finish that had been hastily applied and still smelled faintly of chemicals).

Beauto thought to himself, standing on the dias, that looking through the visor slits of his new helmet at Sir Kakato cowering on the ground was very nearly as satisfying as last night had been. Whatever their treatment during their visit to the wine cellar, the knights now looked thoroughly dejected.

But not scared. Not yet. At least one of them was smart enough to know they’d be dead already if the undead king wanted to kill them, and would have explained it to the others. So they were beaten, but not broken.

“You come to my castle,” the king said, slowly. “You try to kill me. You spit on my floor. You steal my things.”

The knights didn’t say a word, though Atama looked at Sir Onaka as if expecting something. Kakato fixed his eyes on the floor and hunched in on himself, trying to look smaller. Like all bullies, he turned into a coward when faced with someone he genuinely could not beat.

“You are all very lucky. Luckier than you can imagine,” the king said. “Because despite your best efforts, I’m having a good day.” Beauto could hear the smile in his voice, and he was sure it was a wicked one. “So I’ll be letting you go on your way, with bodies and belongings intact.”

Relief washed across the whole party’s faces. But Atama glanced at Sir Onaka again, and then the other two, and finally spoke up.

“Um, sire, is it… May I ask what happened to our other companion? Squire Beauto?”

“Ah, yes.” The king smiled again. “He kept me very well entertained.”

Atama went pale. Beauto almost felt bad about it, but even the boy had looked down on him. Assumed the worst, like everyone else. Bragged about the fact he would surely reach a knighthood before “Dogface.”

But he was only fifteen, and Beauto remembered being fifteen. He couldn’t be too angry. The boy still had time to grow.

“Is he…” Atama swallowed. “Sire. What can I tell his family?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The king glanced at Beauto. “Tell them his adventure stopped here.”

Under his helmet, Beauto chuckled.

The king sat up and clapped, and two undead soldiers brought the knights’ supplies into the throne room, dumping it all unceremoniously on the floor.

“Take what’s yours,” the king said, and the knights and Atama quickly scrambled to their feet.

They picked up their packs, loading bags onto already-encumbered shoulders. Atama must have helped all three back into their armor that morning. He’d tightened Kakato’s straps too much and the knight’s clothing was bunching around it. He would be uncomfortable all day.

Beauto smiled.

The king leaned over, and whispered, “Which one?”

“Blue,” Beauto said. His bag was the largest by far.

The king raised his voice. “I said, take what’s yours.” He snapped his fingers and pointed, and Beauto strode forward to snatch his bag from Atama’s arms as if following the order, and not that they’d discussed this beforehand.

Atama skittered away from him in fear. “I just- I thought-”

“It is ours!” Kakato exclaimed. Of course he found his tongue when trying to steal something. “If my squire is dead, his belongings belong to m- us!”

Beauto ignored him, keeping a tight grip on the straps with one hand, and letting the other rest on his sword hilt.

“And our maps are in there, and most of our cooking stuff!”

“Give them the maps,” the king said. “We want them to be able to find their way out.”

Beauto nodded, enjoying the way his new helmet fit so well he didn’t have to worry about it sliding. He pulled the maps from the side pocket and handed them over to Atama. Kakato couldn’t read one and the other two wouldn’t take orders from each other, not even if it was just directions.

He turned, planning to hand the bag off to one of the soldiers, when behind him he heard Kakato say -

“Dogface?”

Maybe it was the sword. Beauto hadn’t replaced it along with the armor, he still had his hand-and-a-half sword sheathed at his hip. Maybe it was body language, and Kakato actually had paid enough attention to his squire over the last year to learn the way he moved. Or maybe it was that the black knight hadn’t needed to ask where the maps were in such an overstuffed traveling pack.

Whatever it was that gave him away, Beauto was caught.

Fuck it.

He took his hand off his sword and backhanded Kakato across the face, hard enough to send him sprawling. One of the undead soldiers stepped forward and took Beauto’s bag, leaving him with both hands free to grab Kakato by his breastplate and haul him to his feet. There was a red mark on his cheek and a shallow scratch that wasn’t even bleeding, but Kakato was wide-eyed and panting with shock.

“If I ever hear that name out of your mouth again,” Beauto hissed, “I will see to it your jaw needs to be wired shut. Understand?”

Kakato gaped at him, mouth hanging open like a fool. After a second he seemed to realize the irony of this, and snapped it shut.

Beauto let go of him, making sure to shove him just enough that he stumbled into Onaka, who moved out of the way rather than steady his fellow knight.

“Go,” the king said, his voice raised to carry. “Leave my kingdom while I’m still in a good mood. If any of you have half the brains of your former squire, you’ll never return.”

The knights didn’t wait on propriety, moving as soon as the door was open and already beginning to nudge each other and whisper in the hallway outside. Beauto saw Atama glance back, stunned, his eyes fixed on Beauto’s black helmet.

Beauto said nothing. Whatever conclusions Atama decided to draw were his own business.

The doors shut, the king sighed and slumped in his throne, and then one of the soldiers looked at Beauto and asked if he was okay.

Beauto nodded.

“Did he call you that all the time? What an asshole.”

Beauto nodded again, and let out a sigh of his own. “It’s over now.”

“Yeah, that’s right, forget about them,” the soldier agreed firmly.

Beauto would have to learn his name. He seemed nice, and if Beauto was going to stay he would need to get along with others. And a man with a gaping hole where his nose ought to be had no room to judge Beauto for his looks.

Maybe that was why the king and Psykos hadn’t reacted much. Being surrounded by walking corpses surely gave you a much higher tolerance for unpleasant visages.

The click-clack of two pairs of heels heralded the people in question. Beauto and the soldiers snapped to attention in unison.

“I hate that,” the king said. “Psykos, I hate it when they do that.”

“I know you do,” she said, soothingly. “All right, I’ve got to go keep an eye on those assholes to make sure they leave the country and don’t set any fields on fire on the way out.” She glanced at Beauto. “Want me to have the crows shit on them?”

“No,” Beauto said. “Atama would be the one to have to clean it off.”

“Fair enough.” She waved as she flounced off, wavy hair flowing behind her.

How did she make it look like that? Was it magic or could Beauto actually do something about his rat’s nest?

The soldiers trooped off as well, returning to their usual duties. They still had their army training, but the way they spoke to Beauto and each other was far more relaxed than the soldiers Beauto knew from home.

His old home, that is.

Now alone in the throne room, Beauto followed the king back to his throne. He glanced around, making sure he hadn’t missed someone, and turned away from the doors before lifting his visor.

“Are you okay with this?” the king asked.

“It was my idea, my king.”

“Yeah but… you could have gone further.”

“Would you have let me?” Beauto asked, with a smile.

“If you thought they needed killing, I’d trust your judgment.”

“That’s a mistake. I think I’m less merciful than you are, sire.”

The king tilted his head and looked up at Beauto. His eyes were blood red, but already Beauto found the color more fascinating than disturbing.

“But you didn’t do it,” the king said. “You let them go, you didn’t even beat the shit out of that one guy.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Beauto said. “I’m a knight, and you’re my liege. My behavior reflects on you.”

The king smiled. He was so handsome that if Beauto hadn’t spent the entire previous night defiling him, it would have been hard not to hate him.

“Does it?” he said softly.

“Of course. This is my home now. Even if we tire of each other, it will still be my duty to protect this kingdom and its king. And that includes our reputation.”

The king crooked a finger, beckoning Beauto closer. “You can guard my reputation,” he said warmly, “as long as you keep calling me a slut in private.”

“You are a slut,” Beauto said. “It’s not slander if it’s the truth.” He put his hand on the arm of the throne and leaned over the king’s body, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “But only I’m allowed to say it.”

The king’s eyes lit up, and he tilted his head back, welcoming Beauto as he went in for a kiss.

A few days ago Beauto thought he would die a squire and a virgin, and now he could kiss a king whenever he liked. If this was a dream he hoped he never woke up.

The door slammed open and Beauto jumped back, pulling his visor down over his face. The young boy Beauto had seen in passing this morning ran across the room without waiting for permission, and stuffed a stack of papers into the bewildered king’s arms.

“Horses!” he said, as if that explained anything. “I gotta go, the sables got out!”

“How the- Isamu!”

The boy kept running, out the side door behind the drapes.

“Isamu!”

As that door too slammed shut behind their visitor, the king sunk down in his throne and groaned.

“Is it always like this?” Beauto asked, amused.

The king grumbled something incoherent.

“Do you want help?”

Wordlessly, the king held out the papers for Beauto to take.

It turned out to be a list of items they needed to get the stables resupplied. No part of the list actually mentioned horses, but Beauto had done most kinds of chores around a castle before and he knew what went where.

“I’ll take care of it,” Beauto said.

“Wait, really? Can you?”

“Sure, this is simple. Why did the boy give it to you instead of the stablemaster?”

“We don’t have one of those.”

“The castle seneschal then.”

“Isamu is the seneschal.”

Beauto was quiet for a moment as a lot of things he’d noticed began to make sense. Though the castle was large and they’d gone to effort to make it comfortable for all the inhabitants, and everyone respected the king and his authority, no one seemed particularly organized. Even the armory had been unlocked and unguarded when Beauto went to pick out his new armor.

“You need me,” Beauto said.

“I do,” the king agreed, no hint of innuendo in his voice for once. The situation may be even more dire than Beauto suspected. “Oh gods, I really do.”

Taking that as blanket permission to act on his behalf, Beauto set out. With his new armor and his old sword and a long night’s worth of aches and bruises that he wouldn’t have given up for the world. For now his job was just shopping and scrounging, but he was trusted now, truly trusted. Piece by piece Beauto would take the power that trust gave him and turn this kingdom into something to be proud of.

He hummed as he walked the halls, an old ballad about love and loss and the faithful getting their just rewards.

Beauto was a traitor, technically, but right now he felt very rewarded indeed.

#undead kingdom au #opm au #batfics #zombiemask #amazomb #amai mask #sweet mask #zombieman #psykos #child emperor #fubuki

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steddiemicrofic · 11 months ago

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Steddie Microfic December 1st-8th Masterlist

unconventional tree tradition by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: mild innuendo | tags: established relationship, domestic fluff

The Perils of Perfectionism by @soaringornithopter | Rated G | no cw

the power of love by @sailing-through-hawkins | Rated T | no cw | tags: lovesick eddie, summer roadtrip

Burning for you, Baby by @katyawriteswhump | Rated M | cw: non-explicit fluffy smut | tags: fluff, smut, mild whump, established relationship, allergies, holiday

What's His Name Again? by @mrsjellymunson | Rated T | cw: mild flirting, swearing, inaccurate depiction of a movie's release date | tags: modern au, fluff, love confessions, getting together, steve's bi awakening

Harrington Farms Artists Colony by @onirislanding | Rated T | no cw | tags: modern au

Can i have this dance? by @wormdebut | Rated T | cw: angst with ambiguously happy ending

the best present by @lexirosewrites | Rated G | cw: a/b/o dynamics, bad parents | tags: soulmates

Love's The Thing by @bifuriouswaterbender | Rated M | no cw

Untitled by @estrellami-1 | Rated T | no cw

sleepless nights by @a-little-unsteddie | Rated G | no cw | tags: semi-nonverbal!steve, insomniac!steve, pre-steddie

fluke by @fastcardotmp3 | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship

The trouble with cones by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: explicit language | tags: coffee shop owner steve, tattoo studio owner eddie, flirting, teasing, sexual tension

all i want for christmas by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw

Krampusnacht? More Like Krampus-Rocked by @aidaronan | Rated E | no cw | tags: monsterfucker steve, bdsm, spanking

The Smell of Autumn by @griefabyss69 | Rated M | cw: allusion to past alcohol/drug use, mention of the upside down

#steddie #steddiemicrofic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicroficdecember #masterlist

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ginneke · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Link/Revali

Rating: T (mild innuendo, mild swearing.)

Status: COMPLETE

Link was in a romcom gone wrong.

Now Revali is trying - and failing - at the mystery genre. (Pity him.)

#revalink #revalink fic #link/revali #ginnefic #completed fic #in which culturally defined symbols are - gasp - dependent on their culture of origin #and don't map to what you might expect as an outsider #and in which talking really is the answer. eventually.#revali has never believed in shutting up #and apparently neither have i. have a 9k chapter.#ifinishedwhatistarted2023

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shepherds-of-haven · 10 months ago

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What is the age rating for this game? I haven't played it yet but wondering if it would be appropriate to play it with my younger sister

Unfortunately, I don't spend any time around kids or teenagers (everyone in my family is now an adult and none of my friends have children that are older than 2 years), so I consider myself to be a... not great judge of what kids of different ages can handle now! Especially since I think I was reading and watching pretty mature stuff from a young age, but also my concept of what kids are being exposed to now may be skewed?? 🤔 *I am sorry to sound so painfully old and out-of-touch.* I think Shepherds of Haven is at, like, Lord of the Rings level of maturity in terms of overall darkness and gore, but with way more swearing and a light amount of innuendo and adult humor...

If your sister is old enough to or capable of handling Game of Thrones, Shepherds of Haven definitely falls far below that in terms of maturity.

If your sister could watch The Walking Dead, I'm confident she could handle Shepherds of Haven.

I wouldn't be fazed by the average 15-year-old reading this material. If they spend any time on TikTok, they've presumably seen or heard worse.

The game's content warnings include textual depictions of alcohol, animal sacrifice, blood, death, drugs, mild horror themes and situations, optional nudity, optional sexual or suggestive scenes, smoking, violence, war, discrimination, and heavy profanity.

Sorry, as you can see, I'm not a great judge of this and haven't nailed an actual maturity rating down! I think this would be a PG-13 or rated T for teens game by most standards. Maybe someone else who has read the game and has better perspective on what's appropriate for the young 'uns could weigh in on if that's accurate! Until then, I hope some of this is helpful!

#Shepherds of Haven #rating #age rating #maturity rating #FAQ

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snippychicke · 1 year ago

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For the Sake of a Smile (V.2) Chapter Seven

Title: For the Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: T for teen. Some violence, and some innuendo

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child.

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

The mansion was oddly quiet, reminding you of the days shortly after you arrived in the Netherworld, when everyone else was at Babyls and you were left to your own devices.

Granted, a few days ago you had awoken to chaos as reporters descended upon your new home, eager to get an interview with Walter Park's hero. To garner some peace, you had agreed when Iruma and Clara asked (begged) to let him spend some time at the Valc's home, which was apparently deep within a forest only their family could navigate.

As much as you hated the idea of allowing Iruma out of your sight after the events of Walter park, you hoped time with his closest friends would be good for the boy. And as chaotic as Clara was, the way she talked about her own mom gave you the feeling she'd keep an eye on the trio.

But you also made Iruma swear he'd keep his phone charged and on him at all times. You also may have texted him frequently to assure he was keeping that promise.

But that was keeping Sullivan from calling him just as frequently.

To keep yourself distracted, you had poured yourself into the study of Runes. You hadn't seen any books about them in the school's library, which alone had piqued your interest. A whole division of magic not in the library of a school created to teach magic?

Why?

//Demons don't have much use for Runes when other magic is just as powerful and far easier to use// Balam had explained when you had asked him via text.

With the semester over, you hadn't seen him since Walter Park.

And, well…

-+-

For the first time in a long time, you didn't wake tangled in covers and thick feathery pillows. Instead, strong arms were wrapped around you, your pillow a chest that was somehow firm yet soft.

And large, forest-green wings shielded both you and Balam from the outside world.

He couldn't have been very comfortable, sitting cross-legged on the bed, shoulders hunched forward as he cradled you, his head hung low and unsupported as he slept. Yet at the same time, he looked peaceful, his breathing slow and rhythmic.

It gave you a real chance to study his face without the mask. There was no missing the fact half of his lips had been torn away, leaving behind exposed fangs and a large, discolored scar. Logically, you knew he likely hid it behind a mask because it likely bothered others, maybe even frightened them.

Yet… you were neither bothered nor scared. You… still found him handsome. What that said about you, you weren't exactly sure, but in the odd mindspace of waking up in someone's arms you were able to admit it to yourself without much hesitancy.

You found Balam Shichiro attractive. His face, the physique of his body, his temperament. His eager thirst for knowledge combined with his desire to share what he knew.

Without thinking, you reached up to cup his face, still awed by how much larger he was than you. His breath was hot and moist against your skin, his non-ruined lip soft and supple before transitioning into twisted scar tissue.

His dark eyelashes shifted against his pale cheeks as he woke. For a moment, he sleepily looked at you, a soft smile forming beneath your fingers.

Then he truly woke up. And panicked.

-+-

Needless to say, things were still a little awkward.

So maybe it was because of that, or because they were such a mystery, but you threw yourself into finding out more about runes.

You could at least acknowledge a part of it was because of what Sullivan had said: "Runes are one the few types of magic that humans can use. After all, it’s how you first summoned me."

Magic. It was your chance at magic. A way to defend yourself, to defend others in this realm fraught with danger.

You had done it before, so you could do it again.

Yet, again, there was the hurdle of the fact demons acknowledged Runes existing, but didn't seem to have any interest in exploring them. Every other branch of magic had enough books and essays on them that it could fill a library itself.

You had found less than a dozen that merely referenced Runes, talked of them as if whomever was reading was already familiar. One lone tome that had complicated patterns like the summoning seal that spoke of using smaller, simpler Runes to create larger spells.

It was like trying to learn to read a language when you were unfamiliar with the alphabet.

"Why do you look so dour, my sugardrop princess?" Sullivan asked one evening. Iruma was absent once again, though this time at a 'Sabbath', or what you knew as a mixer back home. An outing of him and some of his male classmates to meet some ladies of other classes.

"Difficulty with research," You admitted as you sipped at the soup, the name of which escaped you but tasted delicious nonetheless. "I found some books regarding putting Runes in different arrangements, but none explaining the Runes themselves."

Oddly, Sullivan's eyes brightened. "Is that why you've been tearing the Library up once again? Why didn't you say so earlier!"

You flushed slightly. The idea had crossed your mind. However, you weren't exactly the best at asking for help when you felt you should be able to do something yourself. "I… didn't want to impose."

In true Sullivan fashion, he all but launched himself across the table to embrace you in a strong hug. "You'd never be a bother, my sweet little princess! Please, let me teach you! Please!"

--+--

Sullivan was - surprisingly - a decent teacher. He was calm, patient, and able to explain things in a way you could understand when you asked questions.

"Algiz is a simple protection rune," He said as he drew the rune on the blackboard, which looked rather like a 'Y'. "If you don't have time for a more elaborate sigil, it will suffice as a basic shield. But usually it will not withstand more than one attack at a time."

He then drew a rough-looking 'n'. "Uruz will boost your endurance and strength for a short time, depending on how much mana you put into it."

"I don't have any," You reminded him with a frown, pausing in your notes. Since there were apparently no entry-level texts, you were determined to make your own. "That's why we're doing this."

There was a gleam in his eye as he leaned forward. "That's not quite true. Humans do have mana, but it's different from our own. While Demons can direct and shape our mana with a simple thought, humans mana simply is. It cannot be easily molded or transformed like ours."

You waved your arms, more than a little frustrated. If you had mana, but it simply existed, unusable, then why even mention it? "Then how am I supposed to use it?!"

"That, you will need to learn that yourself," Sullivan replied with a smile. "Now! The next rune you should know is Kaunan in case you need to attack!"

--+--

There were books stacked on the large wooden desk in your room, along with an assortment of paper and pens. You carefully traced the simple glyphs and sigils while focusing on the meaning behind them.

Magic was mostly about intent and imagination. And like Sullivan said, he could only teach you the symbols, but was unable to really explain how to use them.

When he had branded you back at Walter Park, it had been his magic that had created the Runes. Though he had also managed to anchor them to your own Mana to keep them working as you had parted ways. Proving you had a fairly decent reservoir of Mana yourself.

So you drew the Runes, over and over while focusing your mind on what you wanted. While there were literal hundreds of different Runes, Sullivan had encouraged you to focus on the three he had shown you. Algriz. Uruz. Kaunan.

You weren't sure how long you had been tracing Algriz over and over. Long enough your mind had begun to wander, recalling the feeling of the Carmine Dragon's giant claws pressing down on you. It had been so heavy, yet at the same time it felt like you were wrapped in something that reinforced every bit of you so it couldn't push you into the dirt.

But despite that strength, you hadn't really felt protected. Protection was…

Was being wrapped in Balam's arms as the dragon unleashed its fiery breath. One arm clutching at your waist, the other cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. The odd feeling of his magic wrapping around you just as securely.

Or when you had woken the following morning, nestled in his arms.

It was like something snagged beneath your breastbone, a hook catching something within. You were ripped from your thoughts as the Algriz Rune flared, emitting a golden light that wrapped around you. That feeling of being safe and protected somehow radiated with the glow.

With shaky hands, you grabbed the pen and tried to press it against the skin of your other arm. But couldn't even cause a dent to form no matter how hard you pressed.

"I did it… I did it!" You jumped up, excitement rushing through you.

Magic! You had done magic!

Your phone dinged with a message from Balam: //How's studying going?//

So elated from your accomplishment, you didn't even pause before calling him. He sounded rather surprised when he answered, greeting you by name. "Is everything okay?"

"I did magic!" You exclaimed giddily. "I really did it!"

"What? Really?! That's amazing!" He sounded as excited as you felt, making you even more happy. "I'm so glad to hear that!"

"I was practicing the Algriz rune, the one for protection, thinking about how it felt to be protected and poof!" You explained, able to reign in your tongue enough to avoid admitting the entire truth.

"I'm proud! And a bit relieved, to be honest. Especially with the next semester approaching."

His words confused you, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm sure you'll hear more from Lord Sullivan, or at least Iruma after the start. But after a long discussion, Kalego and Lord Sullivan came to an agreement to give the Misfit class some… extra training."

"Oh?" You settled into the chair you enjoyed reading in, a faint frown on your face.

"They're very talented. We had an inkling after Royal one, but that became even more apparent after Walter Park. It would be a disservice to them not to challenge them more to see how skilled they are, and what they're true potential is."

This… was true. For the stories you heard of Walter Park, what you saw yourself, you knew it to be true. Yet Balam's tone left you feeling like there was something else. "You sure Kalego's not just a bit bitter over Royal One still?"

Balam chuckled, though it wasn't as full-bodied as usual. "Maybe a little, but he's also very proud of their accomplishments, even if he won't admit it outloud."

There was a pause of silence. Heavy and almost awkward. "What are you not saying, Balam?" You finally asked.

"I'll be training Sabnock and Asmodeus," He admitted with a sigh. "And, well, what I have in mind will be intense, so I won't have the freetime I did before."

"O-oh." Your good mood completely deflated. Despite the awkwardness that had lingered after Walter Park, you were looking forward to seeing him again on a regular basis.

Even if you hadn't been able to completely squish the ember of a crush that was still smoldering in your heart.

"I still want to see you!" He interjected quickly, "I meant I might not have time for my side projects! And I was also worried about everyone being busy leaving you unprotected! But now you can protect yourself, should something happen, which is such a relief, and I…"

You couldn't help the giggles that bubbled upwards from your chest, along with a warm, fuzzy feeling. "You're such a worry wart."

"You're unbelievably precious to me," He answered, causing your heart to squeeze painfully and your cheeks to flush. "You and Iruma both, but he could at least protect himself, or summon Kalego. I couldn't bear to lose either of you."

You covered your face, even though there was no way for him to see you. No one was there to witness how flushed you were from his words alone.

Surely… surely he didn't mean it in a romantic sense. That was just the silly little crush whispering in your ear. It was just because you and Iruma were human, and he was semon with a thirst for knowledge about your world. Yes, you were friends too, but he had admitted demons didn't exactly have friends like humans.

Thank Devi he couldn't see you right now.

But what could you say to that without being weird? Thank you? You're precious to us too?

Which he was. You knew Iruma was fond of Balam, especially after his tutoring that helped him pass. And you were certainly fond of him, much more than you probably should be.

"Um, anyways," He continued, making you realize how long the silence had lingered. "I'm proud that you're getting the hang of them so quickly. It's not an easy branch of magic, after all. And humans aren't used to using magic. I do wonder what amount of mana you possess. I mean, I was under the assumption humans have none, so this is really fascinating!"

Your anxiety eased as he continued to talk about the arguments he had read for and against humans having magical abilities in any shape or form. You didn't even need to participate as he talked, other than the occasional noise confirming you were still listening, or reassuring that you were.

This crush was going to make things difficult; yet at the same time, you couldn't help but bask in the warm happiness it caused.

--+--

The new semester started and things were extremely slow with the misfits in their assigned extra teaching. The Library was restored to its new glory, easy enough to navigate that many students didn't need much help after the first few weeks. You couldn't practice Runes during work hours, worried others would question why you were practicing magic like a student.

You were bored. You missed seeing Iruma and his class throughout the day. Last semester, the Misfit Class had seemed to live in the library near the end of the semester; which had kept it lively to say the least. You missed making plans for the Library and working with the faculty staff to make your plans a reality too.

You missed seeing Balam at lunch times as well as any free time he had. True to his word, he didn't have as much freedom between his usual classes and his special tutoring. It was only after school when you slipped to the underground classroom he had claimed for his training that you could spend any real time with him, though your conversations were restricted topic-wise.

After all, the last thing you needed was Az and Sabnock to realize your secret too.

“Is this really a normal demon thing?” You whispered as you watched the two teens spare against each other, looking both half dead, and exceedingly stubborn. “Have they really not gone home since you started training?”

“I admit, it’s not quite typical,” Balam answered, his voice rumbling from his chest to your back as you sat between his crossed legs. You were secretly grateful that the Walter Park incident hadn't caused him to change his skinship ways, even if being nestled in his lap made your heart beat quicker. “But, from what I’ve heard from the other tutors, nothing is typical with the Misfits Class anyways. Like iron, they need to be strengthened and refined by intense fire.”

You glanced up at him briefly. “... you know, you’re one of my closest friends, but I have to admit, I’m glad my dad doesn’t share the same teaching methods as you.”

Balam chuckled as his hand rubbed your shoulders, right where the ache was located from constantly hunching over books. You fought back a hiss of pleasure as his thumb carefully dug into a knot. How did he always know where you needed to be massaged?

“Runes and fighting are two very different subjects. You’re essentially learning a new language as well as how to harness your mana. Whereas with these two, I’m trying to refine their inherent skills." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "Speaking of which, how is Iruma doing?”

Everytime Balam had asked the question previously, Asmodus faltered in his sparring against Sabnock. The pink-haired demon's attention instantly would snap to the small table where you and Balam sat, and allow Sabnock an unfair advantage.

You were pretty sure Balam made sure to mention Iruma at least once a day just to see if he could break him of the habit. Though, Balam did genuinely care about Iruma's progress as well, so perhaps you were being unfair.

Today, however, Az didn’t even seem to hear the mention of Iruma, which you mentally praised the young demon for. Even Balam glanced at Asmodus, and beamed when he realized the demon hadn't been distracted.

“Well, he said the other day he needs to figure out what kind of bow he wanted,” You answered. “Not a strong one, or one to protect, but a unique one to fulfill his goal -- whatever that means.”

“Well, the Barbatos family is known for their unique sharp-shooting abilities," Balam hummed, making a shiver down your spine, warmth pooling in your face as well as somewhere else that you tried to ignore. "Not many demons have the patience to become archers - but I’m sure Iruma is well suited to the task.”

“Patient, determined, persevering no matter what’s thrown at him? That sounds like my boy." You smiled fondly, recalling all the times you were near your wits end back on Earth, and he would determinedly help you out. "I never thought I’d see the day when he’d become ambitious as well, but here we are.”

“I am eager to see how the class as a whole does with the upcoming Harvest Festival.”

You smiled fondly, leaning into him a little more. “Me too, I overheard some students talking about it. It'll be fun to actually be a part of something for once.”

Balam froze, internally panicking at your words. So caught up in everything, he hadn’t even thought about the fact were part of Babyls staff and therefore expected to help out during the festival. After all; between managing the collection stations, rescuing students, and dealing with the consequences of the students getting in over their head, they often needed every bit of help they could find.

But you? In the forest? Magicless, powerless, in a forest filled with things that could easily kill a demon - let alone a human?

While Iruma had proven himself that he was anything but weak and powerless, Balam wasn’t confident about your own ability. If anything, he was convinced of the opposite after seeing you so tired after conjuring just a few Runes in a row.

He leaned in close to your ear so the students wouldn't overhear as he quietly asked: “Are you sure that’s a wise idea?”

"I've been assigned to help tally points between the different teams," You replied back just as quietly. "I'll be stuck at the main tent and likely never stepping out." You tilted your head back and reached up to pat his mask reassuringly, though your positions made it slightly awkward. "I'll be safe, I promise."

Balam slumped with a sigh, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close so he could rest his head on yours. "I don't mean to come off as overprotective. I just…"

"You know how… different I am," You finished for him, at ease in his embrace. "And you worry, like a good friend does."

Well, that was sort of true. But he mused if now was a good time to explain that demons didn't quite have 'friends' to worry over, and decided it probably wasn't. After all, he wasn't even certain how to label his feelings, so how could he explain that in concepts you would understand?

--+--

A few weeks later, and the harvest festival was a chaotic mess; one you were happy to stay out of… mostly.

The forest itself was overgrown, with the crowns of the trees so tightly knit together barely any light filtered through, giving it a gloomy foreboding aura. Despite the lack of light, the place was filled with various flora and fauna you had no names for - but knew they would love to kill you given the chance.

Needless to say you were happy to stay in the main tent, working on cataloging everyone's points. It was mundane work, taking the tally sheets that the different stations turned in and updating the student’s records. But it was also vital, making you feel rather included for once.

It was also nice to be around the other staff more, many whom you had only seen in the halls very rarely. Where your desk was situated you were easily able to listen to Suzy and Dali’s commentary, and keep an ear out for updates regarding the Misfit class.

Their remarks on Iruma and Lied familiarizing themselves with the forest didn't surprise you too much. Iruma was rather skilled at surviving in the wild; there had been times he had left the factory for a week or two because his parents had decided gathering wild herbs and mushrooms were more ‘profitable’ than the fishery. So, oddly, you were less anxious about him camping in the foreboding forest than you were about him going to an amusement park for the day.

However, your worries settled on the fact that he and Lied were treating it like a relaxing camping trip, and had ended the first day with absolutely zero points.

You were near-fuming as you looked at the monitor set up near the buffet table, taking a break from the bookwork. You had kept an eye out for his name, and had started to wonder if maybe someone else was keeping his score in fear you would tamper with it, but the monitor confirmed your fears. Day two and they were still at zero points. “I know patience and endurance is a major component,” You growled to yourself more than anything. “But for hell’s sake, Iruma! You can do better than this!”

“He may still catch up,” Balam offered as he appeared beside you, startling you. How could he be so large and move so silently? “There are still a few days left.”

You huffed and crossed your arms. “I know, but still…. Zero? Literally everyone else has at least a few hundred, if not a thousand!”

“True, but only a few have adapted like him and Lied," He pointed out as he picked at the table, looking for things he would be able to eat quickly and discreetly. "Already a fifth of students have withdrawn, and that number will only rise through the night. I think that we could probably see nearly a quarter withdrawing by morning.”

You hadn’t realized it was that many, though you had known the majority of the teachers were out saving students who hadn't been prepared before nightfall made the forest even more deadly. At least most of the Misfits had found a place to camp for the night, safe and secured with each team holding a couple thousand points each.

Well, nearly everyone was settled for the night - except two certain students.

“Az and Sabnock are still going pretty strong, and they already have over fifteen thousand points," You looked up at him and gave him a little conspiratorial smile as you nudged him lightly. "I bet you’re pretty proud.”

The change of topic made Balam smile rather bashfully under his mask, which you could tell just by the expression in his eyes as he looked away, scratching his neck as it turned pink. “A little,” He admitted before his expression changed. “Though, I’m disappointed Asmodeus reverted to using his evil cycle so early. But Sabnock pulled him out just as I instructed. Even if they don’t win, this event will strengthen their skills significantly. Honestly, this is an excellent opportunity to test their skills on the battlefield while still providing a controlled environment.”

He was very proud of his students, and it made you smile as he continued to discuss the pros and cons of the events and his thoughts on his proteges’ progress. And honestly, you could've easily stayed there just sipping at tea while listening to him talk, except you noticed the pile on your make-shift desk was quickly continuing to grow while people came and went.

After a moment, Balam noticed your expression wilting as you stared past him, and looked to see the towering stack. His hand found yours, squeezing lightly to catch your attention. “I’ve kept you long enough, do you need help?”

Your smile returned, though looking more tired than anything. “Nah, it’s the only way I can contribute. Besides, I’m sure they could use your help out there with the students.”

He looked towards the chaos and sighed himself. “You’re right," He paused for a moment before almost shyly offering: "Perhaps we could enjoy some tea together afterwards? Once you're caught up and the chaos has settled?”

You felt your face warm as you nodded, “I’d love that. Maybe somewhere private enough you can eat properly too, okay?”

His smile returned, along with a deep blush. His free hand reached up and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin softly. "That would be wonderful."

--+--

When someone dropped papers on your desk, you didn’t look up anymore. There was no time as you crunched away at the numbers, desperate to get a handle on the pile before morning broke and the students started their hunts once more.

Two more days. Just two more days of this.

However, when the demon delivering the latest batch didn’t move but cleared their throat, you finally looked up. Momonoki smiled, though there seemed something rather… mischievous about it. “How are you doing?”

“Uh, good?" Honestly, you were exhausted - and knew if you were extremely lucky, you might get a few hours of sleep before the morning came. But, you were more curious about why Momonoki was making conversation when you barely had said more than a word to the other teacher since you started. “Uh, how about yourself?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old,” She waved before leaning closer, her smile growing even larger. “So, I heard a rumor from Raim that Lord Sullivan confirmed you and Balam are courting.”

Courting? Your mind blanked for a moment before frantically making the realization of what she was implying. Courting. Dating.

You and Balam. Dating.

"W-what?" You spluttered, your face becoming red-hot. "C-courting?"

"It's so cute!" She squeed, pressing her hands to her heart before her smile fell slightly. "Granted, Balam is quite… odd. Okay, he's very odd, but still! A forbidden romance in the halls of Babyls!" She sighed almost dreamily, lost in her own inner world and oblivious to your growing plight. "The mysterious unranked daughter of the Great Lord Sullivan, returning with an unclaimed child to her father's home! And then the fearsome White Gargoyle of Babyls, who finally found someone to look past his flaws for the demon beneath. And then trying to keep their love hidden from society because they know how much everyone would disapprove of such a match! It's a love story fit for a novel!"

You couldn't even think of a response, just stare blankly as her words sunk in, your mind trying to reconcile her words with reality.

A forbidden romance. Unclaimed child. Disapproving society. Secret love.

You.

Balam.

Momonoki took your stunned silence for something radically different as she winked, a finger pressed to her lips. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me! As long as you share the juicy details later, you lucky devil!"

You gaped as she left, still giggling to herself as she returned to the forest.

Courting. Balam.

Yes, you could admit you had a crush on him. And that he was very attractive (and you were kinda miffed Momonoki implied otherwise).

But you had tempered the emotion - suppressing it. You were intent to be happy as just friends. After all, there was no way he would be romantically interested in you! Not when he sometimes acted like you were some rare exotic creature he was studying.

And now there are rumors going around? Perpetuated by your own adopted family?!

You just wanted to find a hole and hide. The rumors were going to go around the school like wildfire; and how were you going to face him - or anyone - after that?

You grabbed your phone, work be damned as you started typing angrily.

--+--

//Why do people think I'M COURTING BALAM?! What does that even mean?!//

Lord Sullivan chuckled to himself. He had been wondering how long it would take the rumor to reach you. It probably wasn't right for him to spread the gossip he had heard amongst the students. But when he had met with the tutors of the Misfits --barring Balam who had his own duties-- well, he couldn't resist when they posed questions about his 'unknown' daughter.

They all had wanted to know what kind of demon could raise a child like Iruma. And well, he had to cover both of your identities without raising too much suspicion. And what was a better way then to distract them with a little juicy gossip?

//To be fair, my dear, the rumor has been circulating since the beginning of the semester// He started, remembering hearing the details from Ronovoe Rosevelt himself. While he could hardly see any of it being true, it had given him a similar idea to the revised version that spread through the school.

You and Balam would make a very cute couple. And Balam could certainly keep you safe. //But I might have accidentally talked about how happy I would be if you and Balam were courting. You two are just so adorable together. Opera and Raim even agreed with me!//

That was a brief summary. He didn't need to include the pictures he had taken of when you were engrossed in a conversation, or when he sighted you and Balam together. How Raim excitedly started jumping to conclusions that he didn't bother correcting.

//what? WHAT?? THAT ANSWERS NOTHING! Dad!//

//oh ho ho, my beautiful princess! Don't worry so much!//

Soon, Opera's phone chimed, making both demons pause in their stroll back to the school. Sullivan easily peered over the security demon's shoulder, confirming his suspicions.

//OPERA! How serious is courting?//

Opera barely paused before quickly typing back: //I have an important matter to attend. If you have questions about courting, I suggest you ask Balam >;3//

Lord Sullivan chuckled as Opera sent the message with a straight face before pocketing the phone. "It seems Raim' and Momonoki's love for gossip is stronger than we realized."

"How do you think he'll react once he hears?" Sullivan asked, and Opera tilted their head as they thought.

"Hmmm, it depends on whether he's realized things yet, or if he’s been as oblivious as she has. Either way, it'll be quite amusing."

--+--

Just outside the main tent, you held back a scream as you read Opera's response.

Those two were in on this. They really did start the rumors!

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma --+--

"These two had better be lying about Professor Balam," Asmodeus growled to Sabnock, his eyes narrowed at the Doro-Doro Brothers ahead of them.

"Oh?" Sabnock wasn't paying complete attention to his partner, and instead keeping a keen eye out for more high-ranking ingredients. He was still determined not only to show-up the two demons ahead of them, but when the festival itself.

"If he really is a womanizer and breaks Iru-mama -- I mean Ms Suzuki's-- heart, I will find a way to break him." Even if it meant enlisting the help of his own mother - Az swore he would do it. Not only were you Iruma's mother, but you were a respectable demon in your own right, showing the same traits he adored in your son.

To think that their instructor that he had respected had such a side hidden from them. Yes, demons had many sides to them, but this was nearly unbelievable.

Sabnock paused once he finally processed Az's words. "Wait, do you think those two are actually together?"

Az scoffed, "Have you not been paying attention when she visits?" He certainly had, and to him it was impossible to miss how their teacher's attention shifted from being focused on working them to the bone to being completely enraptured by you as soon as you entered the room.

Or how you brightened as soon as you saw the giant demon. Yes, you waved to him and Sabnock in their training, showing that compassion so rare in a demon, but a blind person could see who had your true attention.

"They're both odd," Sabnock excused with a shrug, apparently not as convinced. "Between the professor's skinship and Ms. Suzuki's 'mother hen' nature or whatever - plus they're both nerds about imaginary creatures. Who can really tell with those two?"

There was no denying both adults had their oddities that set them apart from the rest of Babyls' faculty. But… "I am unfortunately very familiar with the signs of infatuation." And you both had them in droves.

"So you believe the rumors from Walter Park?"

It was Az's turn to be confused. "Rumors?"

Sabnock grinned as he imparted his knowledge to the other student, if only to see Az pale before turning a deeper pink than his hair. Though from anger or embarrassment, Sabnock wasn't sure.

Either way, their teacher was likely going to have an awkward conversation after the festival. Especially when the rest of the Misfits discovered the rumor.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #balam shichiro #balam/reader #suzuki iruma #lord sullivan #kalego naberious #opera #balam shichiro x reader

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edupunkn00b · 5 months ago

Text

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 21: The Mad Lads

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Final Chapter: The Mad Lads - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 4302 - Rated: T - CW: Swearing and a little innuendo at the end, angst and comfort

Together again, at last.

Never before had Janus—intentionally—been on the receiving end of the twins’ nightmarish Illusions.

Even with all of Luc’s best efforts to pull away his fear, Janus’ head now throbbed and the crawling, creeping sensations of phantom bugs pricked at his skin. Visions of blood and torn flesh floated just on the edges of his mind and he struggled to push away the memories of horrors he hadn’t actually experienced. Unprotected and the actual targets of the Illusion, the corporate forces tearing each other apart back on the landing platform filled him with pity.

After recalling how eager they had been to tip Luc’s ship over the edge with both of them still in it, Janus’ pity didn’t last.

Luc, though… Something was wrong about Luc’s reaction. Still safely nestled in the bounds of Machina’s esper coil, the Illusion was effectively blocked for all three of them. Half-listening to the others, he checked Luc for injuries and anxiously waited for when it would be safe for Machina to drop his personal shield and he could try to get a real glimpse into Luc’s mind.

Pat soon joined them, cradling Luc in his arms and whispering in his ear. A lump grew in Janus’ throat. How long had it been since Pat held his little brother?

“He’s Lucas?” Machina’s voice broke through Janus’ reverie and he looked up. “The one who sold you out?”

“What?” Muse’s head jerked up, glaring first at him and then at his brother. “What the fuck did you all tell him?”

“I told him nothing but the truth,” Ro insisted, arms crossed over his chest. Virge sucked his teeth but otherwise remained silent. “I told him how Lucas betrayed us and how he abandoned you.” He looked down at Luc like he was something unmentionable Machina had tracked in on his boot. “And I told him all about how you tried to corrupt me to your side.” He glared now at Luc. “Like I could ever be anything like you.”

“Is that true? Did you try to recruit Ro?” Janus whispered, stepping back from him. The moment he stepped outside the range of Machina’s personal esper coil, the world flooded back into his awareness. A riot of thoughts bubbling in Ro’s mind, tinted with guilt poorly hidden behind an angry mask. The Muse…

Janus inhaled deeply and savored the welcome chaos of The Muse’s mind. Strong, even filtered through the device wrapped on his wrist. Gods how he’d missed that. Virge was shielded, keeping his thoughts to himself as he concentrated on getting them back to base before the corporate forces regrouped and tried to track them, so Janus didn’t pry. Pat. Janus clenched his jaw. Poor Pat was just barely hanging on, gripping Luc’s hand but looking up at Ro, waiting for more of his tale.

And Luc?

The bit he could see of Luc's mind beyond Machina's EMF carried no malice, no guilt. Not a drop of the deception that had poured off of him at every encounter since that awful night he’d left. Trembling on the floor, rooted close to Machina by the giant metal hand still gripping his vest, Luc’s eyes were dark, his powers completely jammed by Machina’s shield.

Noticing the attention he’d drawn, Luc curled in a ball, arms over his head. The energy he’d used trying to shield him from the twins’ nightmare vision had left Luc shaken. Tears coursed down his cheeks, broken and despondent in a way Janus had never before seen him.

Janus stared at him, the silence of his mind… unnerving.

“You can turn off your coil, Machina,” Silvertongue said quietly, eyes still fixed on Luc. “He can’t—”

“Don’t do it, Mac,” Ro spoke over him. “Hesper’ll only trick you. He can control your emotions. We should land, get rid of him and just go back home.”

“You’re making him out like some kind of supervillain!” The Muse snapped.

“Isn’t he? ‘Hesper the Hacker,’ running around and blowing things up when he thinks you get too angry? Thinks he’s Robin Hood or Roosevelt or—”

Machina hadn’t turned off the coil yet—the confusion painted on his face needed no powers to read as he watched the brothers argue. He hovered just this side of switching it off.

“Wait,” Janus stopped him and took another step back from the edge of the shield. “He’s right—”

“What?!” Patton and The Muse both cried.

“Well, not—Just, keep it on,” he said to Machina. “But keep it low. Just on you,” he said. The Muse’s eyes widened, picking up enough of his thoughts to see his plan. “Keep it just on you. And on him,” Janus said and pointed at Luc.

Metal grip tight on Luc’s vest, Machina complied, though the glances he gave Ro and The Muse left Janus uncertain how much time they had before one or the other brother’s arguments held sway.

Janus crouched down to better see Luc’s eyes, brown and tear-filled. Vulnerable. Luc looked away.

“Luc?" He shuddered at the sound of his own name and Janus had to fight the urge to reach for him. "Did you actually try to convince Ro to betray us?”

“I said he did! He—” Ro interrupted and Janus raised one hand, watching Luc’s reaction and listening to everything coming off of him. With the shield this low, he was picking up… something.

“Let Luc answer!” he hissed.

Luc addressed the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself. “Of course not,” he whispered. “I reached out just…” His eyes flicked up to the twins. “I wanted to know how Re was. And I tried to explain—”

Ro scoffed. “You mean you tried to make excuses!”

“Maybe,” Luc shrugged, voice shaky and dull. “Maybe that’s all it was. All any of this is. Let me be the monster of your fairy tale, dear Prince.” He gestured vaguely and wouldn’t meet any of their eyes, affecting a perfect apathy with his expression.

But his heart screamed.

“Believe what you will, ma cheri,” he muttered to Janus, tone icy. But the tears in his eyes flowed faster, spilling down a stiff mask. “Just let me out and be done with it.” He jerked his chin at the control panel then finally locked eyes with him. “Thirty thousand feet should do it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Pat finally spoke, wrapping both hands around Machina’s wrist. Even his massive fingers wouldn’t meet around the exosuit. Undeterred, he looked up at Machina, tears belying the angry set in his jaw. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

A sob burst from Luc’s lips and he clung to his brother’s leg, shaking. Janus moved closer, just within the boundary of Machina’s shield.

“I think you can turn it off, Lo,” The Muse murmured, breaking his spell of indecision. Machina complied but kept his grip on Luc’s vest.

In the second between the coil deactivating and the soft orange glow returning to Luc’s eyes, the full force of his mind slammed into Janus’. Fear and anguish, a thrashing panic at being seen so open, so vulnerable. The twins felt it, too, saved from falling only by Machina’s other arm.

Luc dried his face on his sleeves and avoided Janus’ gaze. The harsh orange light from his eyes cast long shadows everywhere he looked. “Thank you. That’s much better, my dear Silvery Tongue,” he purred, the steadiness restored to his tone. The puffiness in his face, however, and his voice, hoarse from his earlier sobbing, was harder to hide. He pushed Patton away and scrambled to his feet.

With nowhere else to go, he stood between Machina and the inner hull, the durasteel bot frame a wall between him and his former family.

“How long, Luc?” Janus asked, reaching for what lay beneath the now familiar, oily duplicity that had returned with his powers.

Eyes down, Luc adjusted the buckles on his vest before waving vaguely. “‘How long’ what, ma cheri?”

“Come on, Lucas, don’t fuck around,” The Muse had begun to twirl a tiny glowing sphere between his fingers, that anxious stim Janus hadn’t seen in years. “Just be straight with us.”

Encased in its suit, the robot’s gaze ping-ponged between them, its confusion suffocating in the small space. Lucas didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended that no-one appeared to have clued the new guy in on his full history with the team. They’d just pointed their shiny toy soldier in his direction and said ‘Bad.’

It stood now, sentry-still with its head exposed, watching them all with big worried eyes. No matter how he tried, Lucas couldn’t ignore the genuine concern pouring off it. The bot stepped back, putting a physical distance between itself and the others, but that didn’t stop its concerned little glances at Pat and Jan.

Lucas couldn't miss the way it hovered close to Re, a guard dog on a short leash.

Pat inched closer, rivers of sorrow and grief flowing from his mind. But Lucas wouldn’t stop him, even if he didn’t understand what Pat was looking for. More evidence he was the villain Ro and Jan thought he was? Another peek at his cracked mask?

Absolution for ignoring him all these years?

Avoiding his brother's eyes, Lucas stared past Pat’s shoulder. Virge was guiding the ship north, past the Canadian oil fields and through the chaos of the Megalopolis. Likely trying to lose any corpo tails they might’ve picked up before circling back home. Nicely done, Virge.

Pat reached for him, misinterpreting his little nod. Lucas shook his head. “Let me go,” he muttered. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Yeah, we do, Kiddo,” he nodded, still moving closer. “And we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

“I’m telling you all, he’s just manipulating you!” Ro spat out, one hand locked around Re’s arm and trying to pull him back. The robot moved away, leaving him exposed to the others. He started to follow but it activated whatever anti-power shield it had carried in his ship and Lucas slid back from the empty sensation. He did not need to be left another sobbing mess at this wannabe Iron Giant’s feet.

The robot’s eyes widened.

“He’s not manipulating us,” it began.

“He’s manipulating himself,” Jan finished, stepping closer and reaching for Lucas’ hand. “I asked you how long, Luc.”

Lucas flinched. He didn’t know which hurt worse, hearing Jan hiss out ‘Hesper’ or hearing him say his actual name with such softness. Lucas squared his shoulders, eyes stinging his lids, and pushed out a laugh. “As lovely as they are, ma cheri, your gold and chocolate eyes and a few pretty words don’t change a thing between us.”

He managed to smile and focused on a spot just below Jan’s earlobe. The memory of his slurred accusations wove together with Andrew’s final pleas.

There was no going back.

“You meant what you said when you called me a traitor, dearest." Jan had the gall to look ashamed. He was ashamed. Not that he mattered any more. Lucas held tight to the barbed wire wrapped around his chest. "I could feel your heart. You hadn’t spoken in anger or in haste. You’d meant every little word.”

Lucas settled his goggles firmly on his face, blocking the orange light from his eyes. “None of it matters.” Pat’s chin trembled and Re? Shaking his head, Lucas closed himself off as much as he could from Re’s thoughts. He shrugged, turning from them before they heard his traitorous heart tell them how much it all really did matter. “Maybe it’s all true anyway. I’m a Judas in your midst, ready to sacrifice you all for a bit of silver.”

He stood taller, shoulders forced back against the heaviness pulling him down to the deck. Pulling him closer to Pat’s open and waiting arms. Closer to the hum of Jan's heart. Lucas shook his head. “Just leave me off at Scotia Shore, take your hodge podge family and go home.”

“I can hear you, Lucas.” Re muttered, voice thick with tears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Meus is right,” The robot said. “He—”

“‘Meus?’” Lucas hissed, head whipped up and glaring at the bot. Yes, this was the presence he'd felt with him when Jan had first visited. The creature he'd left alone with Re.

Lucas didn't need to force his anger to the surface. Ro accused him of manipulation when he did nothing as his own brother was groomed by some interloper? He risked meeting Re’s eyes and moved closer. Let this hunk of junk even try to touch Re again. Whatever the fuck powered his shield couldn’t last forever. Gaunt and bubbling with emotions, Lucas could shatter him without hardly trying.

He just barely stopped himself from taking Re’s hand. “‘Meus?’” He whispered, shaking his head. “Illud subris?” [ ‘“Mine?” “Mine?” Does it own you now?’ ] He looked over his shoulder and the skinny thing stared past him, eyes on Re.

Lucas met Re’s eyes. How could the others have let it hurt him this way? “Or does it think I didn’t teach you what that means?”

The thing shifted in its metal suit and Re looked at it for a moment before turning back to him. -”Re… I won’t let anyone hurt you again,”- Lucas promised privately. -“Say the word and I’ll get you out of here. I’m so sorry I left without you before. Never again, Re,”- he gripped his other hand, ignoring Ro’s huff of protest. -“Never again.”-

But Remus just squeezed his hand and smiled. -”Lo’s not hurting me, Lucas. No-one is.”- Gaze bouncing between him and the bot behind him, he spoke aloud. “Ille dedit mihi quid neminem poterat." [ ‘He gave me what no-one else could. ] Libertatum meus.” [ 'My freedom.’ ]

Joy radiated from his face, from his heart, from his mind. Lucas’ throat closed. The bot did this? After siphoning off what he could from Jan to guard him from the twins’ Illusion and maintaining his composure now… Luc was feeling more drained than he’d felt in years. Not since…

Head bowed, he squeezed his eyes shut behind his glasses but Re tugged at his sleeve until he looked up. Re jiggled the coil on his wrist inches from Lucas’ face, his wild smile bright and contagious. “Mea sui.” he added, touching his own chest. [ ‘I own me now.’ ]

Lucas traced the outer circuitry and the hair on the back of his hand stood on end. It was just a fucking EMF, a lot like the one in Re’s old room, but… He moved Re’s hand close to his chest then stretched it out and away. The field had no impact on him, and apparently not on any of the others, either. It was tuned just for Re.

“How?” he whispered, throat tight and hands shaking. He had to get out of here or else—

Jan moved closer then, backing him against Re’s chest. Lucas stood as tall as he could, but it was getting harder to resist the softness in Jan’s eyes.

“Luc, I was wrong about Re. I was wrong to give up.” Jan offered his hand, palm up. Ungloved. “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lucas spat back, sarcasm falling flat. How long had he waited for these words? How long had he schemed of finding a way to free Re from the prison of his own powers? How long had he dreamed Jan would find him and tell him he’d been wrong?

Too long. “So just let me out and go celebrate,” he said.

He had no place here. Not anymore. Ro’s scowl grew, conflict brewing in his thoughts as his brother’s and now Jan’s words began to sway him. Fuck, if Ro started in, too, he was sure to break. But no, Ro looked away, resolute and staring at the floor.

Why wasn’t he relieved? Lucas waved a hand, dismissing his own stupid hope. “Unless you’d rather just take me to your bosses. I’m sure there’s a bounty to collect.”

Buffeted by the torment threaded through Lucas’ voiced words, The Muse stared at Ro. -”Still think he’s just manipulating us?”- He couldn’t help needling his brother, just a bit, with the brittle façade Lucas was clinging to. They could both feel it.

Back when they were kids, Jannie used to joke about how loud Lucas would get when he was tired. About how much of his real thoughts would slip through, laughter in his mind when they hid in the trees instead of coming to bed. The swears he stifled that night he burned his hand on the kettle.

He and Ro had always played dumb, pretending they couldn’t hear him as well as they actually could. But late at night, they could hear Lucas’ thoughts from any room in the house. It made it easier to not get caught when sneaking extra treats from the kitchen.

And when they took that extra trip out in the transport when Papa Bear and Jannie were away.

But there was nothing fun about the way Lucas seemed ready to crumble now, the way he stiffened at Jannie’s approach. Or the way he’d lain sobbing at Logan’s feet when they’d first come on board.

Even now, Lucas’ eyes flickered behind his glasses. No matter how much power he burned through, he couldn’t seem to stop the waves of loneliness flooding out of him.

-”Are you saying Jan’s been lying to us this whole time?”- Ro wouldn’t look at Lucas, probably blocking out his silent, wordless cries.

The Muse shook his head. -”I don’t think it’s either or, Ro.”- He watched Lucas deny and evade Jannie and Pat’s questions, avoiding all of their eyes but, not since that first moment when Logan had released him, never really moving far from either of them.

All this time, The Muse had thought Lucas had been upset with him. Disappointed in his loss of control. Ashamed of what he’d done back at the bar. But that wasn’t it at all.

Virge was blocking them all out so he could fly, and Jannie and Pat focused on Lucas. Ro was an angry wall, his own confused mess of hurt crashing against him. They would spiral together if they weren’t careful.

So he sought out his haven in Lo’s eyes. His shield was still up, burning cold air thick and empty around him. At least his musing about testing whether his growing sympathies for ‘Hesper’ were all a trick had given him a little warning.

But when would he drop it again? Recognition had lit up his face when he saw the truth. C’mon, Lo, you know it’s safe. You can drop your shield. No-one’s gonna hurt you here.

Without the distraction of their counterattack, the silence where Lo’s thoughts should be in The Muse’s mind was growing unbearable. Tuning out the growing desperation in Jannie’s voice and the false boredom in Lucas’, he stared at Lo, waiting, hoping, wishing he would just—

-”’Whenever it hurts, whenever you hurt, remember this feeling,’”- Lo’s voice spilled out in a rush. Warmth and heat and comfort and need all wrapped up together, gloriously tangled with his own.

-”Lo…”- His tentative grip last night, his fear he’d somehow miscalculated with the coil. Those big blue eyes asking him to never let go.

Locked away in his suit, Lo gripped his hand in their thoughts and smiled. -”I’m right here, Meus,”- he sent back. -”We’ll figure this out.”-

The Muse was still nodding when he heard Lucas, his voice cracked and strained. “Just turn me in already!” he said in a falsely annoyed tone, like a hotshot who’d grown tired of waiting for his drinks to be served in some old vid. “Take me to Jaipur. Take me to Abracadabra. Take me back to my ship to be blown to bits, just—”

His eyes blazed bright enough to bleed around the edges of his goggles. The Muse shook his head and pulled him into a hug. Lucas shuddered in his arms but didn’t pull away. Tears leaked past screwed shut eyelids and he let out a whimper before gradually melting into The Muse's embrace.

He rubbed Lucas’ back and said aloud, “The only place we’re taking you, Lucas, is home.” He looked out over his shoulder at everyone else. “Right?”

Papa Bear didn’t answer, just joined their embrace, ruffling Lucas’ hair. “Not letting you go this time, Kiddo,” he whispered through tears.

Virgil had turned in his seat, watching them all as he chewed the corner of his lip. “Well I'm sure as hell not throwing anybody out the ship.”

The Muse stuck out his tongue. “Not even if I asked nicely?” Virgil’s glare dissolved in a little chuckle and he rolled his eyes before turning back to the controls.

“How ‘bout you, Ro?”

His mind spoke for him but The Muse stayed quiet as Ro frowned, the arms crossed over his chest now looking more like he was hugging himself. -”But how do we know this is real?”-

Still holding Lucas close, The Muse cupped one hand, giving life to the flurry of emotions pouring from his brother. A tiny painted butterfly sparked to life, sitting placidly in his palm, opening and closing its wings to the rhythm of his heart. He grinned and offered it to Ro.

Ro stared at it for a long moment before accepting it and nodding, gripping Lucas’ shoulder with his other hand. “Yeah.”

Lo looked surprised when The Muse turned to him for his answer, but he nodded, too.

Everyone then turned to Jannie. Left hand outstretched, he looked only at Lucas. “Please will you come home, Luc?”

“My home was probably just blown to smithereens by the fucking corpos,” he muttered, harsh words softened and muffled against The Muse's shoulder.

Jannie took his hand and Lucas let him, turning to face him. His goggles were crooked and he moved to straighten them but Papa Bear took them off instead, revealing tears in his slowly fading orange eyes.

“Just trust us, dammit,” Jannie whispered and Lucas fell into his arms.

Epilogue

“Alright, Mac…” V held the exosuit harness straps at Logan’s right shoulder while he adjusted his stump. It slid into the socket with a little thwop. “Now we get to see if your valve design works.”

“Of course it works,” Logan tried to look stern, but still he held his breath as he flipped the switch sealing the exo-arm in place. Excess air hissed out and then stopped, gently gripping his stump. “Would you like to test the hold?”

V grinned, tightening the harness, then pulled up a chair. “Are you offering to arm wrestle me, Mac?”

Logan rested his new elbow on the table, hand up, and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to lose to a Traditional.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

Six and a half minutes later, the satisfying smack of flesh on wood was followed by a low whistle and a cheer from the hallway. “You got him, Kiddo!”

“Thank you,” Logan panted, readily taking one of the towels Patton offered to mop his brow.

“Rematch later?” V asked, wiping sweat from his own face.

“Best two out of three,” he grinned.

Patton set down a bowl of soup and a big pitcher full of icy blue electrolyte. “You’ve got a strong new arm there, Kiddo!”

Remus laughed. “As long as it’s strong enough to hold him up while he’s plowin—”

“Meus!” Logan’s cheeks burned and he tried to ignore the salacious wink Remus shot across the table.

“And that’s enough of that mental image, thank you!” Princey sounded stern but Logan caught the little quirk in his lip as he settled into his seat. “Can we all just pretend the only thing Iron Man’ll use his new arm for is push-ups?”

Remus brushed a kiss against Logan’s cheek as he leaned over, setting down a tray of roasted yams. “That sounds an awful lot like lying, Ro Bro.”

“A lie I’m perfectly comfortable with maintaining,” Janus murmured from the hall.

Lucas laughed behind him. “I see denial’s not just a riverbed in Egypt, huh?”

“Can we please talk about something else?” V asked, passing the tray of chickpeas. “Anything?”

“Prude,” Remus laughed, but looked up at Patton as he took his seat. “So what kind of cookies did you make tonight, Papa Bear?”

“Chocolate chip,” he grinned, accepting the tray with a little nod at Logan.

“Dibs!” the twins shouted in unison but Patton just chuckled.

“‘Dibs’ on what, exactly?” Janus asked, a grin defying his low tone.

“Anything!” Princey said as though it were obvious.

“Everything!” Remus said just as quickly.

Lucas sat back in his chair, grinning at the twins. “So if Pat made cookies with pickles and mushrooms, you’d be fighting over those, too?”

“To the death!” Remus laughed, stabbing a fork into Princey’s hand, turning it soft and pliable at the last moment. It took Logan a beat to notice Remus’ actual fork was still sitting next to his plate.

“And that’s enough of that mental image,” Patton laughed from the other end of the table.

“You fiend!” Princey pouted, rubbing his hand before tossing a small ball of sparks into Remus’ hair.

Lucas held up a hand, wordlessly stopping Remus mid-retaliation, then turned to Logan. “Mac?”

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Logan laughed, rolling his chair between the twins’. “Better?” he asked them.

Remus laid his head on Logan’s shoulder before using his real fork to spear a bite of his yams. -”Much,”- he said silently, mouth full.

“Thanks, Mac,” Princey nodded, then narrowed his eyes at his brother, a crooked smile softening his tone. “This isn’t over, Re.”

Looking around the table at his family, Janus grinned when Lucas squeezed his hand under the tablecloth. “It never is.”

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hamsterclaw · 2 years ago

Text

Allez

Seokjin's the latest fencer to join your parents' studio. He's competitive, beautiful and challenges you in ways beyond the foil.

My contribution to the Catch of the Century collab.

Pairing: Seokjin x F! reader

Genre: Fencer Jin AU, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit sex, sexual innuendo, swearing

You unlock the doors to your parents’ fencing studio and the familiar smell hits you. It’s a mix of musty and sweaty, permeating the very pores of the building even though you don’t think the building’s that old.

You switch the lights on and start pulling equipment out of the store room to set up for the day.

A noise from behind you startles you.

You turn to see a tall man standing awkwardly by the door.

‘Hi, I’m Kim Seokjin. I start today?’

The way his voice goes up at the end makes it sound like a question.

‘Nice to meet you,’ you reply politely. ‘I’m Y/N L/N, just setting up. My father said you were joining us today.’

Kim Seokjin is the latest trainee to join your father’s fencing school, and his reputation precedes him. He started fencing late, and he’s older than most of the trainees here, but he’s got a raw talent and work ethic that paid off when he ranked internationally last year.

‘My father won’t be in for another half hour. Would you like to look around? The gym’s open,’ you offer.

‘Do you want help?’ Seokjin says instead, gesturing to the cage of jackets and pants you’re about to wheel out into the main studio.

‘I’ll be fine, I do this every day,’ you reassure him.

He doesn’t seem to want to go, so you let him push the cage whilst you gather the collection of swords.

‘Are you training for the Asian games?’ you ask, as you hang jackets and pants up on the rail.

‘Yes,’ he says, almost like he’s embarrassed about it.

You look at him curiously as you push the cage back in and head to the gym.

You flick the lights on, watching for his reaction.

The gym in your parent’s studio is huge, designed like a fencer’s wet dream. Both your parents represented the country, in foil events. Your father was a three-time Olympian, your mother was once top ranked in the world.

You’d shown promise once, the only daughter of two fencing luminaries, and it’d broken your parents’ hearts when you’d given up aged 16 and prioritised running instead. You earned a track scholarship for university but haven’t competed since graduating.

Turns out, you don’t really have much competitive spirit in you.

Seokjin’s lips are moving, and you realise you’ve tuned him out completely.

‘Sorry,’ you say apologetically, ‘what did you say?’

He’s about to repeat it when your father appears at the entrance to the gym.

‘Kim Seokjin,’ he says, friendly, welcoming. ‘You’re early.’

‘I was just talking to Y/N,’ Seokjin says. His smile is pretty, warm, and makes you realise just how good-looking he is. You’ve seen pictures of him, of course, but most of the fencers in your parents’ school are tall, slim, athletic looking, physically blessed.

You take a step back and nearly bump into Jeon Jungkook, another one of your father’s trainees, and one of your best friends. You both watch as your father leads Seokjin away to his office.

‘What are you doing here so early Jungkook?’ you ask.

He smiles at you, casual. ‘I thought I’d fit in a workout before training today.’

‘Yeah, you need more muscles,’ you agree. Jungkook pouts at you.

You’ve known Jungkook since you trained together as teenagers, and it’s a running joke between you about how he hit twenty and then turned into a sexy, beautifully sculpted adult.

‘When are we going running together?’ he asks, slipping off his sweatshirt.

You grab the hem of his t-shirt to stop him from baring his abs as his t-shirt rides up. You know he already has a starring role in the fantasies of all the teenagers in your parents’ stable of trainees.

‘When you can keep up,’ you reply, rolling your eyes at his cheeky grin.

‘I can keep up,’ he says, waggling his brows, suggestive. ‘I’ve got stamina.’

‘You kiss your mother with that mouth, Jeon?’ you ask.

Jungkook just grins and heads to the treadmill to practice footwork. ‘See you after work.’

***

Jungkook meets you at the café near your work at the end of the day.

‘How’s the new guy?’ you ask, after you’ve ordered.

‘I like him,’ Jungkook says. His stomach rumbles loudly.

You reach in your bag and pass him a package of Pocky.

Jungkook tears it open like it’s his last meal.

You watch him crunch into the chocolate dipped sticks with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

‘Did you want some?’ he asks.

You wave him off. ‘You look like you need it more than me.’

‘I’m going through a growth spurt,’ Jungkook says.

‘You’re spurting something, that’s for sure,’ you agree, smiling when the tips of his ears turn red.

‘So tell me about Seokjin.’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Jungkook asks. He smiles at the waitress who’s delivering your drinks and she nearly spills the water, she’s so busy looking at him.

‘Why won’t you tell me?’ you counter.

‘His footwork is insane,’ Jungkook finally says. ‘He looks like he’s floating. Also he judges distance like no one else.’

‘Nice,’ you say. ‘You think he’ll get on the national team?’

‘He might beat me to it,’ Jungkook says, but he doesn’t sound in the least worried.

Your lack of competitive spirits were what made you get on so well when you first met, two outliers in a cohort of fiercely competitive fencers.

Jungkook’s still doing it though, his physicality is incredible. You were the competitive runner, but you think he might beat you in a distance run. Without trying. With a snack in his mouth.

‘Hye-mi asked him out,’ Jungkook informs you, spearing a chip from your plate and stealing it before you can stop him.

‘Yeah?’ you ask.

‘He turned her down,’ Jungkook tells you. His eyes flick to yours. ‘Is that the info you wanted?’

Your whole face feels warm.

Jungkook laughs softly.

‘Do you have a crush, Y/N?’

‘Shut up, JK.’

***

The next morning, you’re wiping down gym equipment when Seokjin approaches you.

‘Do you mind if I use the treadmill?’ he asks.

You’re surprised to see him here so early again.

‘Of course, you don’t have to ask me,’ you say, smiling.

You’re cleaning, but you also can’t help watching as he practices his footwork.

Jungkook had been right. He’s quick, light on his feet, making it look almost effortless as he advances.

He turns suddenly, and you’re treated to the straight line of his spine where his thin t-shirt is stuck to his back. God, his back. He’s worked up a sweat already.

You’re working up a sweat just watching him.

You realise he’s looking at you in the mirrors, and you turn away abruptly.

You have more to clean in the gym but you don’t think it’s good form to be caught ogling Kim Seokjin, and so you head for the equipment store.

Your father calls you into his office as you pass.

‘Your mother wants to cook hotpot tonight,’ he tells you.

‘Ok, I’m free,’ you say, mouth-watering at the thought of your mother’s delicious broth.

‘I’m inviting Kim Seokjin,’ your father tells you.

‘Ah sure. Can I invite Jungkook? He loves hotpot.’

Your father laughs. ‘I’ll ask your mother to pick up extra beef.’

‘I can get dessert,’ you say. ‘Seven thirty?’

‘See you later,’ your father replies.

***

Jungkook’s sniffing at the cardboard box containing the cheesecake you picked up.

‘Stop that. We don’t all need Kookie germs,’ you tell him, stepping a little closer so that passersby don’t bump into him on the busy street you’re both navigating.

‘I’ll give you Kookie germs,’ Jungkook mutters. His arm tightens against his side as a large group of drunk looking men pass you, pulling you closer.

‘It’s barely 7,’ you say, outraged, staring at the men.

‘No time limit on fun,’ Jungkook replies. ‘Apart from when it’s you and then there’s never any fun.’

You laugh at his rudeness. ‘Want me to carry the cake?’

‘Yes, but I also want to be the one to give it to your mom,’ Jungkook huffs.

‘She already loves you,’ you say, rolling your eyes. ‘Oh, by the way, Kim Seokjin’s coming for dinner.’

‘I hope there’s enough beef,’ Jungkook says, worried.

You take the box off him. ‘I’ll hold the cake, you stand in front of me so no one bumps us.’

Jungkook frowns. ‘Why did we have to come here for cake?’

‘You know it’s the best cheesecake,’ you say. ‘Sometimes you have to put in the work to get the best.’

‘Really?’ Jungkook asks, smile cocky.

‘And that’s why we’re never sleeping together,’ you joke.

Jungkook laughs and whines at the same time. ‘I already offered to give you Kookie germs,’ he tells you.

‘Sperm is actually sterile,’ you inform him. ‘Come on, hurry up, we don’t want to be late.’

‘My sperm isn’t sterile. It’s full of little Kookies,’ Jungkook says.

You burst out laughing. ‘I’m glad we’re getting this out of our system before we have to behave in front of Kim Seokjin and my parents. I meant there’s no germs in sperm.’

‘Want to see for yourself?’ Jungkook offers, but he’s already hailing the bus, ushering you on.

The cake makes it to your parents’ in one piece, and you pass it quickly to Jungkook before reaching for your keys.

The door opens before you can get the keys in the lock, and Kim Seokjin’s standing there, looking at you and Jungkook.

‘Hi,’ you say, smiling brightly.

He smiles back. ‘Need a hand?’ he asks Jungkook. ‘I brought dessert too.’

In a moment both you and Jungkook are standing in front of the beautiful layer cake Seokjin’s brought.

‘Nobody likes a try-hard,’ Jungkook mutters.

You nudge him, hard.

‘It looks beautiful, Seokjin.’

Your mother greets Jungkook like he’s her long-lost son, ushering him away to help her in the kitchen, leaving you and Seokjin standing in a corner of the dining room.

‘I didn’t know you and Jungkook knew each other,’ Seokjin says.

‘We used to train together when I fenced,’ you tell him. ‘Before I gave up.’

Seokjin looks down at you, and you sense he has questions, everyone you tell usually does, but all that comes out is, ‘I like training with your father.’

‘I’m glad. He thinks highly of you,’ you tell him.

Something occurs to you. ‘If you want, I can come earlier in the mornings to open up so you can work out.’

‘Don’t you have another job?’ Seokjin asks.

At your curious look, he says, quickly, ‘Your father said you have another job, which is why you open up in the morning and he locks up at night.’

‘I do, but I don’t mind coming in a bit earlier. I’m up anyway,’ you say.

‘If you really don’t mind, I’d like to have an earlier start on Wednesdays,’ Seokjin tells you.

‘Done. I’ll come in earlier tomorrow,’ you tell him, smiling. ‘Does 6am suit you?’

‘That would be great,’ Seokjin says. ‘Thank you.’

Jungkook emerges from the kitchen. ‘Hotpot’s ready.’

You’ve barely filled your bowls when you see a gleam in your mother’s eye as she looks at Seokjin.

You know what’s coming next, so you intercede smoothly.

‘What do your parents do, Seokjin?’ you ask.

Your mother’s mouth snaps shut.

‘My mother was an accountant, my father is in the shipping business,’ Seokjin answers. You get the sense he’s as used to answering these questions as your parents are used to asking them.

‘Which school did you go to?’ Jungkook asks, just about managing to look serious despite his mouth full of beef brisket.

Seokjin shoots you and Jungkook the universal trapped look familiar to anyone who’s ever been interrogated by an Asian parent.

‘I went to school outside Seoul and then I did my business degree, which is when I got into fencing.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ you ask, on your mother’s behalf.

‘Or a boyfriend?’ Jungkook asks.

Your father eyes you and Jungkook warily. ‘I’m sure Seokjin wants to enjoy his food instead of answering all these very personal questions,’ he says, pointedly.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’m single.’

He looks at you. ‘Are you single?’

‘I’m single,’ you say, and he smiles.

‘Good.’

You can feel your face heating up, and are thankfully saved by your mother’s tongue click of disapproval. ‘But you and Jungkook ---’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook pipes up. ‘What about us, Y/N?’

Your father gets up. ‘I’m going to get more meat to put on the grill.’

You put your beef on Jungkook’s plate so he’ll shut up.

‘Jungkook’s had a lot of girlfriends, mama,’ you tattle.

Your mother’s eyes widen as she looks at Jungkook, whose eyes are equally wide but whose mouth is full of beef preventing him from saying anything.

Seokjin chuckles quietly to himself.

‘The broth is delicious,’ he tells your mother, taking pity on Jungkook.

You take advantage of their moment of distraction to steal your beef back from Jungkook’s plate.

***

On Wednesdays you go in early to open up the studio for Seokjin and finish your other job at midday so you can help out at the studio.

You’re passing through when Mira, another fencer who trained with you and Jungkook, grabs you.

‘Can you practice with me?’ she asks. ‘I need a challenge today. It’s you or Jungkook.’

‘What’s Jungkook doing?’ you ask.

‘He was cornered by his fan club,’ Mira says, rolling her eyes. ‘He stripped his top off in the gym and I haven’t seen him since, just heard the screaming.’

‘Ugh,’ you say. ‘Let me get dressed. I’ll be there in five.’

You have your own fencing gear still because you often step in to train the younger trainees, especially on Wednesdays, or if there’s a match and your parents are unavailable.

You get dressed and warm up with Mira.

‘Ready to get your ass kicked?’ you ask.

Mira laughs. ‘I miss your shit talk.’ She pulls on her face guard and clips her body cord on. ‘Try and catch me, Y/N.’

You used to fence with Mira all the time as trainees, although there are no weight classes, she’s roughly your size, the size you all were before Jungkook hulked out.

You get into first position and another trainee, Ji-lin, calls out the orders.

Mira’s fast, quicker than she was, and you haven’t fenced competitively in years. She scores three points in quick succession whilst you’re still finding your feet.

‘Where’s that ass-kicking?’ she taunts, and you smile despite yourself.

You’re not a competitive person in general, but you enjoy fencing.

It’s combat, but it’s also graceful, beautiful.

You’re so relaxed you almost feel like you’re water.

Mira’s quicker than you, but you’ve also always found her predictable. The only reason she gets away with it is because of her speed.

You parry and feint and land a beautiful jab to the centre of her chest, retreating almost before she realises she’s been hit.

The next three points are yours, and you’re not worried because you know you’ve got this.

You fight hard for the next few points, and land another on her shoulder as she tries to retreat.

You’re 14-14.

Dimly, you realise you have an audience of more than Ji-lin.

‘Ready for your ass-kicking?’ you ask Mira.

She laughs, slightly muffled through her face guard, but you can hear her loud and clear. ‘Bring it.’

You haven’t done this in years, but muscle memory alone helps you remember.

You hear Ji-lin call out, and then you’re up, advancing towards Mira. You see the tell-tale movement of her foot and know exactly what she’s up to. As soon as she lunges, you dance back and tap her on the shoulder.

The buzzer sounds, and your green light comes on.

You greet each other from the ends of the piste and are about to pull your helmet off when another fencer approaches.

The fencer’s tall, much taller than you, which puts you at a disadvantage, but you’re so high off of your victory over Mira you don’t mind.

You nod and get into position.

Mira pulls off her face mask, giving you a thumbs up as the other fencer attaches the body cord to their foil jacket and their weapon.

She nods to you. ‘Ok to go ahead with another match?’

You nod. You’re not tired in the least, and your adrenaline’s still running high.

‘En garde, pret, allez,’ calls Mira.

You watch the other fencer as they advance towards you, hoping to catch a clue.

There’s a familiarity to their footwork. You’ve seen it watching them on TV, and, with a jolt, you realise you saw it more recently than that, in the gym.

You try to parry, but the tip of the blade’s already touched your foil jacket.

You can’t see Kim Seokjin’s face, but you know it’s him.

He scores three more points in quick succession, taking them from you before you get your head in the match.

You wonder, idly, if Seokjin knows it’s you.

You think that you should probably think about that another time before you get your ass beat.

You score two points purely because he wasn’t expecting you to come at him.

You switch styles, a trick your mother taught you, useful for confusing anyone who’s watched you and thinks they know your fencing.

Knowing your distance has always been your strength, you can be as aggressive or defensive as you like and still score when it counts.

You score another two points, but you can already tell you’re not going to win. He’s stronger, faster, and he seems to be keeping up with you perfectly well.

Your ankles clash as you lunge carelessly at him, and your momentum sends you tumbling sideways.

He reaches out quickly to grab you, lowering you to the ground gently.

He pulls off his face guard, and you’re greeted by his stunning face, flushed and sweaty.

He doesn’t seem surprised when you take your own face guard off. So he had known.

‘How’s your ankle?’ he asks, worried. ‘We clashed pretty hard.’

‘It’s ok,’ you reply, rubbing it gingerly. ‘I’ll just put some ice on it.’

He unclips himself, and you, and lifts you in his arms before you get a chance to protest.

‘What are you doing?’ you squeak, torn between embarrassment at being handled like a child and the sudden urge to bury your face in his broad chest.

‘I’ll take you to the medical room,’ Seokjin says.

‘I can walk,’ you say, dryly.

‘What if I wanted to impress you with how strong I am?’

Your face is burning, your heart beating so fast you think you’re going to pass out.

‘I know you’re strong. We were fencing,’ you say, faintly.

‘I’m bigger than you. I shouldn’t have gone so hard,’ Seokjin says, sounding more like he’s rebuking himself.

‘There are no weight classes in fencing,’ you reply.

His only answer is to shift you in his arms, pulling you in closer to his chest.

At this angle, it would be more awkward to pull away, so you let your head rest on his chest.

Seokjin deposits you on the couch in the medical room and opens the fridge for an ice pack.

You start undoing the laces on your shoes.

‘Just lean back,’ Seokjin chides. He pulls your shoe and sock off gently, and hands you the ice pack.

You try not to think about the fact that like this, your foot is propped between his thighs.

His thighs in tight fencing pants.

Shit, don’t think about what else is between his thighs…..

Seokjin’s voice is amused.

‘What are you staring at?’

‘Nothing,’ you squeak.

Seokjin gets up. ‘I was just going to have lunch. There’s a little place around the block I like. Do you want to come with?’

‘S-s-sure,’ you say, wondering if you’re dreaming. Maybe you’d knocked your head and you just haven’t realised it yet.

Maybe you’ll wake up and you’ll just be on the floor of the studio and ---

‘Hey,’ Seokjin says, his voice pulling you out of your little spiral. ‘I can carry you there if you want.’

‘No, I’ll walk,’ you say. You put some weight on your sore ankle. ‘I’m fine.’

***

You are not fine, but Kim Seokjin is. He is damn fine.

He’s changed out of his fencing gear and into the usual loose tee and sweats he comes to the studio in, and he really shouldn’t look as fine as he does.

‘What are you doing on Saturday night?’ he asks. ‘My friend Yoongi’s doing a gig, I was going to go support him. It’s probably the last night in a while I’ll get off before I really need to focus on training for the Asian Games.’

‘I don’t have plans,’ you tell him.

‘So do you want to come?’ Seokjin asks. ‘If not I can meet you before.’

‘I’d like to come.’

Seokjin looks pleased. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

You’re glad your choice of attire seems to fit right in at the club Seokjin’s friend Yoongi is performing at.

Seokjin hands you your drink and stands next to you. He’s dressed up for tonight, and he looks so pretty you’d be intimidated if it weren’t for the horrific puns he’s been dropping on you since he picked you up.

His hair’s styled back from his forehead instead of flopping into his face. The button-up shirt he’s got on is unbuttoned over a crisp white shirt.

You’d known he’s taller than you, of course, but you hadn’t realised how attractive you’d find it.

Seokjin nods. ‘How’s your drink?’

‘Yeah, it’s great, thank you.’

‘You look really pretty,’ Seokjin tells you.

You look down at your clothes like you hadn’t agonised for a half hour.

‘How do you know Yoongi?’ you ask.

Seokjin puts out an arm in front of you as a group of men pass by, too close.

‘Went to school together,’ he says. ‘Did you go to school with Jungkook?’

‘He came to train with my parents when he was a kid,’ you tell Seokjin. ‘We used to compete together.’

‘Why did you give up fencing?’

He seems genuinely curious.

‘Wasn’t good enough,’ you say.

Seokjin looks at you searchingly.

‘I didn’t want it enough,’ you amend.

He nods. ‘That’s fair. I used to envy all the fencers who got early starts.’

You say, ‘It seems like you’re doing ok.’

You’re teasing him, of course, he’s a phenomenal fencer, and he’s got time to make his mark.

‘I kicked your ass today,’ he agrees.

You laugh. ‘Look at the size of you.’

‘Didn’t realise you were looking,’ says Seokjin, and there’s a flash of heat in his gaze.

Your heart starts to pound faster.

His eyelids lower just a fraction, enough that he looks devastatingly sleepy-eyed, lazy, when he says, ‘I’m sorry about your ankle.’

It’s hard to think when he’s looking at you like that.

Thankfully, the MC announces that Daegu’s very own Suga will be taking the stage, so you don’t have to muster enough voice to reply.

Seokjin’s friend Yoongi has a raw power to his voice, a kind of irresistible, sexy energy that draws you in even when it looks like he’s making barely any effort.

You’re kind of glad you never went to school with either of them.

After his performance, Seokjin takes you backstage to meet him.

Yoongi greets Seokjin with affection. His forehead still gleams with sweat, his hair is saturated with it.

He smiles politely at you as Seokjin introduces you.

You compliment him on his performance as Seokjin goes to get more drinks.

‘Seokjin says he went to dinner at your parent’s house the other day,’ Yoongi says.

‘You can come too,’ you say, not missing a beat. ‘My mom’s broth is delicious.’

Yoongi laughs. ‘Sure, I’d love that.’

‘Will you be around for the games?’ you ask.

‘I’ll probably try to be around if Seokjin competes,’ Yoongi says.

‘Great, I’ll see you there, then. My friend Jungkook’s going to the qualifying rounds as well.’

‘Perfect, you can explain the rules to me,’ Yoongi says.

You can’t imagine watching fencing with someone who doesn’t know the rules.

‘Ah, damn. Now I’ve fallen in your estimation,’ Yoongi says, softly.

You can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s ok, I can’t perform like you can.’

Seokjin returns.

‘I’m coming to dinner at Y/N’s mom’s house next time,’ Yoongi informs him.

‘And he’s coming to watch you fence,’ you say.

‘Great, you can explain how it all works to him. He doesn’t listen to me,’ Seokjin says, easy.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You’re too busy complaining about how I never listen to actually teach me anything.’

You tune out as the boys argue good-naturedly.

Seokjin gets your attention with a hand on your shoulder. ‘We should get going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

He drops you off outside your apartment.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘I had a great time.’

Seokjin grins. ‘Me too. We should go to Yoongi’s next gig.’

‘Love to.’

Seokjin gets out of the car, but you’ve already opened your own door.

‘Should I walk you to your door?’ he asks.

You can’t stop a giggle. Your door is barely two metres from where you’re parked.

‘I think I’ll be ok, you know.’

Seokjin leans over you a little.

His lips are close to yours, pink, plump, pretty.

‘Night Seokjin,’ you say, looking at him.

‘Night, Y/N,’ he replies. He leans down to kiss you on the cheek.

It’s sweet, warm, and he smells so good your heart does a backflip.

It’s the perfect end to the night.

***

Your voice is hoarse from cheering Jungkook on through the qualifying rounds. Seokjin, who’s higher ranked nationally and internationally, is only just fencing his first bout now.

He cuts a beautiful figure as he walks through the arena in his fencing whites, tall and lean. With his fencing mask off, his gorgeous face is on show, and you can see heads turning as he passes.

He stops in front of where you’re seated, eyes scanning through the people around you. When he sees you his face breaks into a smile, and your heart flutters.

Your own smile is bright, happy. You probably look idiotic smiling at him like this, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He lays his bag on the ground, pulls out a foil and starts warming up.

Beside you, sweaty Jungkook chugs water and nudges you.

Despite his sweatiness, you put an arm around him.

‘You’re doing amazing, JK, you’ll make the team for sure.’

His trademark shy smile is so bashful you think you can hear a collective sigh from the room.

Your friend is a heartstopper, for sure.

‘Well, there’s two rounds to go,’ he mumbles, faux-modest.

‘That’s true,’ you say, seriously. ‘And Wang Jinsong is strong today.’

His brows furrow, and his lips are already pouting when you laugh.

‘You’ll be fine, JK.’

Seokjin’s bout starts, and he lunges forward, aggressive, quick, skilled.

You wonder if his fencing style reflects his personality. He’s quick but calculated, a distinct style evident in his movements and approach.

At the end of his bout, which he wins with ease, he barely looks like he’s broken a sweat.

You’re impressed, and you should be more impressed by his skill than his thighs but damn his thighs are beautiful, long, lean, muscled.

You’re heading down to congratulate him when he’s approached by a fellow fencer. She takes her mask off, long hair swinging, and smiles at him.

Seokjin seems happy to see her, he’s smiling back.

They look striking together, both tall, long-limbed, beautiful.

‘Looks like you have competition,’ Jungkook says, unhelpfully, and you grab his arm.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ you say, a confidence in your voice you don’t feel.

Jin turns to you as you and Jungkook approach.

‘Hey,’ he says, warmth in his voice.

He exchanges congratulations with Jungkook.

‘So, are we on for a drink later?’ asks the tall girl.

‘Sure,’ Jin says, easily.

You work hard to keep any of your emotions showing on your face.

‘You did amazing, Jin,’ you say.

‘Thanks,’ Jin says.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause, and you turn to Jungkook. ‘So I should help you get ready.’

Jungkook’s quick sometimes when he wants to be. ‘Sure,’ he says.

You leave Jin and the tall girl standing together whilst you walk off with Jungkook.

‘Want me to kick his ass in our bout?’ Jungkook offers, after a moment.

‘For what?’ you scoff. ‘It was just a kiss, and he’s just going for a drink with a girl with legs longer than my entire body. No biggie.’

Jungkook laughs, and a moment later, you’re laughing too.

***

You do not know how Jungkook managed to convince you to come out tonight.

You’re more than happy to congratulate him and Jin for getting on the national team for the Asian games, but you do not need to see gorgeous Jin getting off with tall girl, who also made the women’s team.

You’re the least decorated person in the bar. Normally that would be fine with you, but your confidence is low tonight. You’re wearing a short skirt that would look a lot better if you had longer legs.

You collect a round of drinks and bring them to Jungkook, Mari and your friends.

In your absence at the bar, Seokjin and tall girl, whose name you now learn is Jihyo, have both joined your table.

You’re trying not to look to closely at how close they’re standing to each other.

‘I’ll get more drinks,’ you say, putting the tray down.

‘I’ll come with,’ Jin says. He looks at Jihyo. ‘Usual?’ he asks.

You don’t want to know how he knows her usual drink.

There’s a bit of a wait whilst the bartender makes your orders.

You look at the bottles lined up behind the bar like they’re the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

Jin clears his throat. ‘You look beautiful.’

You turn to him, expression carefully blank. ‘Thanks, Jin. Congratulations on getting on the national team.’

‘Thanks.’

You’re in damage control mode. You’re not going to ask him how he knows beautiful Jihyo.

Probably they fenced together at one point.

You very much hope so and also that she kicked his ass, unlike you.

‘Need a hand?’ asks the gorgeous bartender. He nods to your full tray, smiling at you.

Jin clears his throat again, stepping forward. ‘Thanks, I’ve got it.’

You fall into conversation with the person next to you, a pink-haired man with silver earrings and a flirty grin called Jimin.

He invites you to dance with him, and you’re tipsy enough to say yes.

You catch glimpses of Jungkook and Mari as Jimin whirls you around the dancefloor.

You’re coming out of the toilets when you run into Seokjin again.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen much of you tonight.’

‘I’m here now,’ you reply, lightly.

‘Yeah. Want to go somewhere a little quieter?’ he asks.

You step out into the cool night air with Seokjin.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘There’s a dessert place down the block. Want to get ice cream?’

You’re not sure about Seokjin’s taste in ice-cream but he sure looks pretty eating it.

He swallows a bite, throat working, and you avert your eyes.

‘I’m really glad I get to celebrate getting on the team, here with you,’ he says, suddenly.

You smile at him. ‘Me too. I won’t keep you long, I know you probably want to get back.’

Seokjin frowns a little. ‘Do you want to get back to the club? Because I’d rather be here, with you.’

‘What about your friends?’ you ask.

‘Hey, I owe you,’ Seokjin says, jokingly. ‘You opened the school at six am for months to give me extra training time.’

You try not to look too disappointed at his words.

‘I was happy to do it,’ you say. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

Seokjin laughs quietly. ‘I’m saying all the wrong things, aren’t I? I just want to spend time with you, because I like your company and I think I won’t have this opportunity in the coming few months up to the games.’

‘I like spending time with you too,’ you say, honestly.

‘Great. That’s settled then.’

Your phone starts buzzing. It’s a drunk and hungry Jungkook.

‘Are you ok?’ he hollers into the phone. ‘Where are you? I can’t see Seokjin either!’

You roll your eyes at Jin. ‘We’re at an ice cream place, down the road. Do you want ice-cream?’

Jungkook slumps next to you as Seokjin gets him ice-cream.

‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks quietly, eyes bright.

You laugh. ‘You should ask Seokjin that. Anyway, we need to look out for each other, and you’re too drunk to go anywhere alone right now.’

Jungkook perks up as Seokjin comes back with ice-cream for him.

‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks.

Seokjin, to his credit, just smiles.

‘I’ll get you ice-cream anytime, Jungkookie.’

After you’ve deposited Jungkook at home, you turn to Seokjin.

You’re about to ask if he’ll be ok getting home when he leans close, head dipping to bring his face closer to yours.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.

You slide a hand around his neck, pulling him closer still.

He swivels a little so he can face you straight on, and his lips capture yours in a kiss.

He tastes better than all your fantasies, caramel sweetness and the cherry chapstick you’ve seen him use sometimes.

You sometimes tease him about it, ask him which teenager he stole it from.

There’s nothing innocent about the way he licks into your mouth, the press of his hips against yours.

‘Want to come over to mine?’ he asks.

***

Seokjin drops his bag of foils by the entryway of his loft-style apartment.

You lean against the front door. You started off wanting to look around but now you’re just looking at him.

He’s so pretty, with his perfect skin, his hair pushed back from his gorgeous face.

He tilts his head, smiling at you.

‘You can come in,’ he says, sounding amused.

He takes a step towards you, then another.

Now he’s so close you have to tilt your head back to see his face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nervous.

‘It’s ok,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home right now if that’s what you want.’

You search his eyes. Then you put a hand on his chest.

Seokjin leans down. He’s still smiling as he kisses you. His lips are soft, gentle, undemanding.

Your own lips part under his, and in the end it’s your tongue that slips into his mouth first.

He lets you taste him, one hand gentle on your hip, his other hand cupping your jaw, fingers sliding under your hair.

You’re so lost in the taste and feel of him that it takes you a moment to realise you’re pressed against his front, fisting handfuls of his shirt.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

His lips are flushed from your kisses. He kisses your forehead when you pull away, and you wrap an arm around his neck, tugging him down so that your lips meet again.

His hand slides up your side, higher and higher, and at the first pass of his thumb over the curve of your breast, you moan softly. You’re panting a little, sticky and wet with arousal, and your clit throbs. You roll your hips against his, seeking stimulation, and feel the hard length of him against your belly.

Seokjin’s kissing down your neck now, humming against your skin. God, he feels good. The suction of his lips drags another moan from you.

He pulls back, admiring the mark he’s made on your skin. ‘My bed’s in there,’ he says.

As he turns, the profile of the bulge in his groin sends a gush of wetness between your thighs.

Fuck. You want it, you want him.

He smiles at you, like he hasn’t just caught you staring at his erection.

When he holds out his hand, you take it.

Seokjin takes you to his bedroom. He says, ‘Come sit.’

You sit next to him on his bed. He doesn’t give you any time to feel awkward, sliding his arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

His kisses are drugging, slow and languid and luring you into a pleasured haze. You have no idea how long you’ve been kissing for when you become dimly aware of the wetness between your thighs, the throbbing of your clit.

Seokjin grunts as your hands explore his body.

God, he feels so good.

You ask, hand flat on the broad expanse of his chest, if he can take his shirt off.

Seokjin unbuttons his shirt obligingly. You tug your dress over your head.

He gazes at you, frank admiration in his eyes. ‘You’re really pretty.’

You can feel your cheeks heat.

He traces a finger over the strap of your bra, then he lowers his head to kiss.

You tug him on top of you.

He comes willingly, settling his hips between your legs, erection pressing against your core.

You’re impatient with the layers of clothing between you. You want to feel more of him.

‘Take more off,’ you urge. Seokjin smiles at you, a little goofy, a lot handsome.

You encourage him by lifting your hips and wriggling your panties down.

‘Take everything off,’ Seokjin says to you. His voice is low now, his eyes dark.

You unclasp your bra.

For a moment he just stares at you.

Then he’s kissing you again, positioning himself, rolling a condom on.

He’s thicker than you expected. You grab his shoulder as he pushes into you, and he stills immediately.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You shift the angle of your hips and spread your legs more. ‘Yeah.’

He goes slow, and you marvel at his self-control.

‘You good?’ he checks when he’s fully inside you. Your grip on his shoulder tightens.

‘Yeah I’m good,’ you say.

‘You feel really good,’ Seokjin tells you, as he starts to move. He’s quiet then for a bit, concentrating as he thrusts, rocking against your hips.

God, he feels good.

You bite your lip, and Seokjin says, ‘fuck, you look so pretty taking my cock.’

His words make you tighten, and he smiles, slow.

‘You liked that. You want to hear more, baby girl?’

You’d never normally put up with being called baby girl but somehow when he says it, it sounds hot.

You moan as he thrusts harder.

‘What’s that, baby? Do you like it? Let me hear you.’

He tweaks your nipple, and you moan again.

He’s starting to get breathless now.

‘S’ fucking good,’ he pants.

You realise your nails are digging into his shoulder.

‘Seokjin!’ You cry out on a particularly hard thrust, when he grinds against your clit.

‘That’s it,’ he murmurs. ‘Who fucks you like this, baby?’

There’s pleasure in every stroke, spreading out from your spread cunt to your thighs, sending flares of sensation down to your toes.

You realise he’s waiting for an answer when he pinches your nipple, hard.

‘I asked you a question, love. Who fucks you like this?’

‘You do,’ you tell him. ‘Fuck, Seokjin, I’m close. Fuck.’

He presses his face to your neck, and you can feel his lips curve. ‘Gonna cum for me?’ he whispers in your ear, voice velvety, smooth.

‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘Yeah.’

‘Good girl,’ he praises when your head arches back and your body thrums with your orgasm.

He slows, thrusting gently as your body gradually relaxes into the bed.

‘You good?’ he asks. His voice is gentle, despite the fact you can still feel him, hard and twitching inside you.

‘I’m good,’ you assure him.

‘Good. Now you’re gonna take my cum,’ he says, and despite the fact you’ve just cum you feel another thrill of arousal.

‘Take it like a good girl, baby,’ he says.

He slows his strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into you again.

‘Can you take more?’ he asks.

You press a kiss to his neck. ‘Give me more, Seokjin.’

He falls quiet again, fucking into you until his thrusts get slower and slower and then, with a deep groan, he thrusts again, and is still.

‘So good,’ he tells you, face buried in your hair. ‘So good.’

***

Jungkook’s rustling into your bag like a ferret.

‘Stop that,’ you say, grabbing his hands to make him stop.

‘I need a snack,’ he whines.

‘You don’t need anything, we just ate,’ you tell him firmly.

‘I’ve been training hard,’ he tells you.

‘When are you leaving for national training?’ you ask, exasperated.

‘Next week,’ he replies. ‘Seokjin and I are rooming together.’

‘I’d better warn Seokjin that you snore, give him time to pick a new roommate,’ you say.

Jungkook frowns, then calms when you toss him a snack.

‘Are you guys dating now?’

‘Yes,’ says Seokjin, coming up behind you and grabbing another snack out of your bag.

You look up at him, flustered.

‘Aren’t we?’ he asks. ‘I mean, we’ve been —-‘

Your father’s voice sounds from behind Seokjin, and all three of you freeze.

Seokjin recovers his composure first. ‘I’ve been planning to tell you, sir, that Y/N and I are dating,’ he says, polished, calm.

You and Jungkook exchange a look.

Your father looks at you, and you straighten in your seat, nudging Jungkook’s hand away from your bag where he’s fishing for another snack.

‘Well, that’s fine,’ your father says, gruffly.

‘I’ll do my best by her,’ Seokjin says, seriously, and your heart starts to flutter.

He smiles at you.

Beside you, Jungkook crumples his snack packet, loudly and obtrusively.

‘I’ll look after Jungkook too,’ Seokjin says, and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

‘I don’t –’ Jungkook starts, whiny, at the same time your father says, ‘Good man.’ He pats Seokjin on the back.

As soon as your father leaves the room you pull Seokjin into a hug. ‘That was kinda sexy,’ you whisper.

He quirks an eyebrow at you and whispers back, ‘You know what this means.’

You look at him curiously.

‘I’m the boss. You’d better do as I say.’

Your mouth drops open at his devastatingly sexy grin.

‘I’ll see you for dinner later,’ he says, turning to leave.

‘Where are we going for dinner?’ Jungkook asks, coming up behind you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder.

‘You’re not coming,’ you tell him flatly.

‘Hyung will let me come.’

You turn and swipe the streak of chocolate off his cheek.

‘Come on, let’s fence. You need to work off those snacks.’

Jungkook lifts his top to show you his abs, and you roll your eyes so hard you nearly give yourself a headache.

‘Put those away Jeon, for the love of god.’

***

It’s been two weeks since Jungkook and Seokjin left for training camp.

Seokjin calls you, like clockwork, every other night, sometimes every night.

You learn what his voice sounds like when he’s tired, when he’s excited, and when Jungkook’s annoying him.

You learn he can talk about himself a lot, and it should be offputting but it’s endearing. Mainly because you agree with how good looking he thinks he is.

Jungkook often involves himself in your conversations, telling you about his fencing partners, occasionally about girls he thinks are into him.

It’s quieter in the fencing studio without them but you’re excited for them.

You’re closing up one day when you hear a familiar voice say your name.

You turn, the ripple of excitement morphing into a tide when you realise it’s really Seokjin.

He’s leaning against the entrance to the studio, smiling at you.

‘Seokjin!’

He’s faster, covering more ground than you as you split the distance between you.

You bury your face in his chest partly to hide your giddy smile.

Seokjin’s arms have always been strong, but as he holds you, you notice the changes in his physique.

He’s leaner, harder and god he looks prettier than ever.

He tilts his head down to kiss you, and as your lips meet, the studio lights click off.

‘It’s a timer,’ you say, waiting for your eyes to adjust.

In the dark like this, your other senses are amplified. You can hear his quiet breathing, smell the cologne he uses, fresh and crisp.

Seokjin’s hand slides down your arm, to the foil in your hand.

‘Are you still attached?’ he asks.

He lifts the foil and touches the tip to your lame jacket.

The green light of the scoreboard lights up, illuminating the darkness.

It’s familiar to you as a night light. You guess Seokjin feels that way about it too.

He smiles down at you. He looks beautiful in the half-light.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you.

You hope he can see the happiness on your face.

‘I’ve missed you too.’

The green light clicks off as you kiss him, but you don’t need it.

You curl your hand around Seokjin’s, and he drops the foil. It clatters to the ground.

At this point, his body, even in its slightly altered state, is as familiar to you as your own.

He curls a hand around the back of your head, another around your ass, and pulls you close.

It’s many minutes before you emerge from the studio, Seokjin’s arms still around you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

His lips are flushed from your kisses, the sweats doing a poor job of concealing his arousal.

‘Shit, look at you, wrecked for me,’ you say, teasing.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Talk all the smack you want now, when we get in bed I’ll shut you up,’ he jokes.

It’s a short drive back to yours, but it’s still too long.

Seokjin starts nuzzling your neck as you fumble with your keys, lifting your hair out of the way.

You let out a barely suppressed moan as he nips at the join between your neck and shoulder, and Seokjin presses his hips against your ass, grinding his erection between your ass cheeks.

The door opens, and you stumble forward, Seokjin’s arm around your hips, his hand still tangled in your hair.

‘Bed,’ he grunts.

You shed your clothes quickly and when you turn to help Seokjin with his you’re confronted with his bare chest.

His gorgeous, golden skin gleams in the light from the streetlamps through your open windows.

You dip your head and lick a strip up his chest, tongue flicking over his flat nipple.

Seokjin hisses, his hand over the bulge in his briefs, rubbing himself for relief.

He tugs your bra strap down and cups your bare breast, thumb flicking slowly across your hard nipple. His hands are more callused than they were.

You like discovering all these changes in him amidst all the familiar.

‘Can I?’ he asks, voice strained, fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties.

You slip your panties off, and he buries his face in your cunt.

‘Gonna get you wet so I can fuck you hard,’ he tells you. His fingers slip inside you as he sucks at your clit, and you’re so sensitive already you’re pushed into an orgasm.

‘Fuck,’ Seokjin swears, eyes intent on you. ‘Cumming already?’

He fingers you through your orgasm, stopping when you put your hand over his forearm.

‘Get inside me,’ you tell him.

Seokjin hesitates. ‘You’re sensitive, baby.’

‘I want you,’ you plead.

Seokjin laces his fingers through yours as he positions himself against you.

He goes slow, watching your face as he inches in.

Your cunt pulses as he enters you, and Seokjin stops when you moan.

‘Can you take me?’ he asks, voice strained.

‘I can take you,’ you assure him.

You both moan when he’s all the way in, hips flush against yours.

You tilt your hips, and Seokjin grunts.

‘So good,’ he tells you, ‘s fucking good.’

He moves slow, purposeful, grinding against you, and you feel the pleasure start to build again.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs into your ear, lips against your cheek.

He groans when you tilt your hips, lifting to meet his thrusts.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ you tell him.

His body looks so good over yours as he fucks you, you almost can’t believe he’s real.

His biceps flexes as he takes his weight on that arm. His other hand grips your hip, and he grinds on you so hard you squeal.

His hand relaxes immediately. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, give me more, Jin,’ you murmur.

He kisses your neck, lips plush on your skin. ‘I’m giving you all I’ve got, my love. You’re so good, look at you taking my cock.’

Your cunt tightens around him but he doesn’t ease up.

Not when you’re reduced to gasping his name.

Not when you’re pulsing around him as you cum.

He keeps rocking into you until you grab his chin and plant your mouth on his.

He kisses you, open-mouthed, as his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier until finally he cums, spilling inside you whilst your name falls from his lips. Fervent, like a prayer.

You hold him whilst he recovers from giving you the best fucking of your life.

***

It’s sometime between midnight and dawn when you awaken to Jin’s hand tracing a line down your bare back.

He stops just shy of the cleft of your ass.

You turn your head on the pillow to face him.

‘Hey Jin,’ you say, sleepy, soft.

He’s smiling at you, beautiful in the half-light of your bedroom window.

‘You can touch,’ you say, as his hand once again stops above your ass.

‘Here?’ Jin asks, fingers tracing over your ass to your cunt. You’re wet for him, you’ve been wet since you woke up to him touching you.

‘There,’ you confirm, and Jin’s fingers trace between your folds, like a tease, before he’s entering you.

He stills, fingers curled.

You turn on your side so you’re facing each other.

Your forearms cross, his long and strong and muscled, yours less so, as you reach for his cock and he slides his fingers into you again.

He’s hard, warm, twitching a little in your grasp.

‘I want you inside, Jin,’ you gasp as he pumps his fingers slowly inside you, stroking, filling you but not quite enough.

‘I want to be inside,’ he answers.

He pulls you under him and enters you again, and god, he feels so good you don’t want it to end.

His rhythm’s slower now, purposeful, pulling you to the edge relentlessly.

He groans with every thrust, going deep, hitting you just right. You hold on to his ass, digging your heels into the bed to give you purchase to fuck him back.

Jin seems to like it.

He swears. ‘I don’t think I can hold it, you feel so good, my love.’

‘Don’t hold it, cum for me, Jin,’ you coax.

He plunges into you again and again, and you cry his name as your climax hits.

‘Thank fuck,’ Jin groans. He’s already cumming, you can feel him wet and slick in you as you clench around him, milking him.

Jin pulls you on top of him as he collapses back down on your bed.

You press a kiss to his sweaty, broad chest.

‘We can do this anytime,’ you say, joking.

‘5 stars?’ he asks.

‘Four. I’ll give you another if you let me suck your cock.’

Jin laughs and pushes your face into his chest.

‘I don’t have to leave until mid morning.’

‘When’s your match?’ you ask, settling into his shoulder.

‘Next week.’

‘Lucky you’re not a boxer, I’ve heard they can’t nut for a month before each bout.’

‘You can blow me in the changing rooms on match day, I’ll never turn you down,’ Jin says.

You both laugh.

‘I’ll make you breakfast before you go,’ you promise.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Jin says. ‘And the blow job.’

‘None of that is a hardship, Jin.’

‘Marry me,’ he says, instantly.

You laugh again. ‘Cuddle me to sleep.’

‘Anytime,’ he promises, sounding sleepy already. ‘Anytime.’

***

You’re sitting in the stands waiting for the final fencing bout of the Asian Games.

Jungkook’s won a title in the team event, and he’s sitting between you and Yoongi, waiting for Jin to walk out onto the piste.

Jin emerges from the changing rooms, blinding and brilliant in his fencing whites.

Not for the first time, you admire how beautiful he looks, tall and strong.

He stops at the end of the piste. He looks up at you in the stands and waves.

You wave back, and Jin lifts the hand not holding his foil.

He blows you a kiss.

Beside you, Yoongi snorts and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

You only have eyes for Jin.

He slips his mask on and greets his opponent.

You know as well as Jin does that whether he wins or not, you’ll both be ok.

Jin slips into en garde, graceful, deadly.

The ref calls, ‘Allez.’

#seokjin fic #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #catch of the century

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