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tickle-bugs · 1 year

Note

For the warmup prompts can you do Beetlejuice and Lydia (platonic! I do not ship them romantically in any way whatsoever) with the dialogue of “I bet I can get you to say my name.” If not, I totally understand!

So for people who haven’t seen/listened to the musical the vibe is completely different from the movie LMAO less “this is our weird uncle beetlejuice the family won’t talk to him he’s wanted by the feds and can’t come within 500 feet of the house” and more “cool but still weird cousin beetlejuice who collects strange rocks, is always in danger of being actively actively on fire, and is wayyy too into dark humor”. It’s a good show! If you like comedy musicals with a rock lean to the soundtrack, you’ll probably like it. It’s got a Little Shop of Horrors sensibility to it, I think.

If anyone tags this as ship w/ Lydia and Beetlejuice I will crawl out of your screen like the girl from the ring and gnaw on your bones I’m so serious

AU where the plot of this show doesn’t take like. A week LMAO. Basically Lydia hasn’t said BJ’s name yet but she also hasn’t decided what to do with her dad yet. So they’re at an impasse. Lydia regularly goes to hang out in her haunted attic and lament because Delia won’t go up there, thus making it safe. Beetlejuice keeps doing Say My Name-style ad pitches to get Lydia to summon him properly but he’s not very good at it.

EDIT: FORGOT THE BODY HORROR WARNING OOPS!! It’s very mild but just in case anyone needs it <;3

Full-Time Spectres

Lydia’s life is far from conventional, perfectly so, but she’s started to adapt to the strangeness in the walls of her house. She doesn’t have the one ghost she wants most of all, but she’s got three that do just fine for entertainment and scheming purposes. She’s gotten used to the cold spots, the occasional flicker of the lights, and Adam’s habit of walking through walls rather than doors--he figured out that he could and never wanted to stop.

Some things she’ll never adjust to, though, like her attic being strewn with scraps of brutalized board games.

Monopoly’s been pinned to the wall with a knife, Ludo sits perfectly still on a shelf with suspicious-looking green liquid in the shot glasses, and a chess board hovers in the air, eternally aflame. It’s a massacre and she doesn’t know where half of these things came from.

“What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” Lydia kicks the door shut behind her. The door creaks open. She kicks it closed again with a frown.

Adam looks up and squints at the door. His eyes dart around as if he can see the schematics of it and diagnose the problem from halfway across the room. Lydia allows herself a tiny smile.

“Adam’s teaching me to play checkers.” Beetlejuice beams, which is unsettling in itself.

“Well, I tried to reach him to play chess, then a few other things…it didn’t go well.” Adam pushes his glasses up his nose and surveys the board in front of them. He captures one of Beetlejuice’s pieces with a triumphant little ‘aha!’.

Beetlejuice takes a long, pensive look at the board. Very thin tendrils of smoke curl out of his ears as he tries to decide which piece to play. Adam, sweet Adam, goes to help him make an advantageous move, but Beetlejuice shushes him.

“What are you doing?” Lydia sidles over to Barbara, who fumbles with an old lamp. She sets it down before she can shatter it.

“Well, it was going to be a surprise but…” Barbara gestures excitedly to a small nook in the attic. She’s rearranged various boxes of her former belongings to build a shoddy sort of booth. A heavy, ugly floral curtain hangs precariously over the doorway.

“It’s a dark corner!” Lydia gasps sarcastically.

“No—well, yes, but it’s supposed to be a kind of mini dark room? I don’t know much about them but I know you’re always taking pictures.” Barbara shifts awkwardly.

Oh. Oh.

Lydia cradles her camera in her hands, running her thumb along the outside. The pebbled texture is a kiss to her fingertips. If she concentrated hard enough, she can remember the feeling of her mom’s warm hands over her own, showing her how to hold the camera.

“If you don’t like it—“

“You made this for me?” She whispers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Still workin’ on it, but yes.” Barbara gestures lamely.

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing but time. Might as well use it right.” Barbara shrugs. Lydia bounces on her toes.

“I’ve still, um, gotta clear out all of our junk. Adam and I don’t need it anymore, not really, and you need room to breathe. I know it’s not much, but--”

Lydia crashes into Barbara for a hug. She’s icy to the touch, but her touch is the most comforting thing Lydia can imagine. Barbara pulls her in close, cradling the back of her head with her cool hands. There is no heartbeat in her chest, but Lydia can feel that it’s not empty.

A memory of her mother prickles at the back of her mind. She pushes it down.

“Do you want help?” Lydia pulls away and looks towards the dark room, ignoring the twinge of grief in her gut. She can see its potential around the edges.

“It’s your surprise! You can’t help with that!” Barbara gasps, affronted.

The curtain falls heavily from the hooks and thumps into the ground. A plume of dust kicks up and Lydia coughs.

“Okay. Maybe you can.” Barbara scratches her head. Together, she and Lydia hoist the heavy curtain back into precarious-looking hooks embedded in the wall. As they back away from it, silently begging it to stay in place, Beetlejuice sits up ramrod straight.

“Adam, Barbara’s throwing away your coin collection,” Beetlejuice gasps and points over Adam’s shoulder.

“What? They’re vintage!” Adam whirls around. Beetlejuice moves a bunch of pieces around, making a bunch of captures, and eats a piece for good measure. He winks at Lydia. She fondly rolls her eyes.

“You know I would never.” Barbara says. Adam deflates. She kisses his forehead. He grumbles a little but accepts it.

When Adam turns back to the board, Lydia has the express joy of watching him go through the five stages of grief in real time. He looks from Beetlejuice to the board in sheer despair.

“Why do you keep eating the pieces?” Adam puts his head in his hands.

“Because, Adam dearest, it makes you mad.” Beetlejuice pats his shoulder solemnly. Lydia snorts.

“Well, I’m officially out of games.” Adam pats his thighs and stands. He ambles over to Barbara and appraises the curtain. He puts his hands on his hips and starts muttering about supports and tracks. Lydia tries to follow along but her eyes near-instantly glaze over.

“Sooooo, Lydia.” Beetlejuice slides over to her. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing argument. Calling yourself ‘the worst of the best’ isn’t exactly a glowing review.” Lydia wrinkles her nose.

“These two like me!” Beetlejuice points at the Maitlands. Barbara gives a teasing ‘meh’ gesture just to see him splutter in offense. She laughs softly.

“I’ll admit, I’m coming around on him.” Adam chuckles.

“Thank you, Adam. Mwah.” Beetlejuice blows a kiss in his direction. Adam turns a little pink and goes back to working on the curtain. Barbara whispers something in his ear that makes him turn even pinker.

“They like anyone. I’ve met cardboard with stronger opinions than them.” Lydia scoffs, then turns. “No offense.”

Adam and Barbara both shrug.

“Fair point. Counteroffer: you hate your dad, I hate your dad, let’s kill him.” Beetlejuice gives his most enthusiastic jazz hands. Lydia stares at him blankly.

“Denied.” She pushes his hands out of the way.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you suck. Your fate hinges on me and you can’t even get me to say your name. You spend all your time cheating at board games because you need me more than I need you. That’s pretty lame for a big, scary demon,” Lydia says mockingly, curling her fingers into claws. When Beetlejuice gives her the finger, she gives two right back with a smirk.

“Lydia, be nice,” Barbara chides, goosing Lydia’s side. She yelps and smacks her hand away.

Beetlejuice gasps. Lydia slowly meets his sparkling eyes.

“No.” Lydia points at him. Beetlejuice smiles slowly, wicked and full of mischief.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you--”

Lydia steps back, Beetlejuice steps forward, and all hell breaks loose. Lydia springs over a pile of Maitland junk and ducks under Adam’s arm. She shoves him into Beetlejuice’s path.

Beetlejuice simply picks Adam up and deposits him elsewhere like a Maitland mannequin. He squeaks and leaps out of the way of their chase.

The two of them circle each other around an unbuilt dining room table kit, Lydia just barely keeping out of arm’s reach. She bolts past a dilapidated spin-your-own-yarn kit and dives through Barbara’s legs to hide behind her.

Beetlejuice stops and visibly considers the consequences of doing the same. Barbara gives him a withering look. He tries to circle around her, but Lydia’s excellent at moving her around like a meat shield. Beetlejuice visibly starts scheming.

Barbara looks at Lydia, looks back at him, and slides out of the way.

“Barbara!” Lydia screeches in outrage but there’s not enough time to screech and run. He grabs her and pulls her into a bear hug.

“Thank youuuu, Babs!” Beetlejuice grins at her. She shakes her head fondly and honorably discharges herself from the battlefield.

“Hey Lydia…I bet I can get you to say my name.” He cackles evilly. Lydia hisses at him, but damn it, she’s already giggling nervously. He swoops his hands over her stomach, wiggling his fingers but not quite touching.

“B-Beetlejuice!” She squeaks and rocks up onto her toes in lieu of running.

“That’s one!” He singsongs, finally touching down on her stomach. She folds into his hands—unwise, really—and curses Beetlejuice to the high heavens and below.

“Think we should help her?” Adam leans over to Barbara. They both watch Lydia worm around in Beetlejuice’s arms, not making much of an escape attempt despite the volume of her threats.

“Nah.” Barbara moves a crate of nearly-unused embroidery hoops out of the way with tender care. The curtain collapses again. Both Maitlands sigh.

“Beetlejuice, you fucker!” Lydia growls, but quickly loses it to laughter. He’s doing this infuriating little pinchy-thing to her sides, one that makes her leap clear off the ground each time. She tosses her head back and cackles, her whole face scrunched with the force of it.

God, she hasn’t laughed like this since…well, it’s been a while. She’d forgotten that she could.

“Eh, that probably counts. One more!” Beetlejuice finds a deathly spot on her lower ribs and decides not to leave it alone.

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee--AHHH!”

“Hm, yeah. See, now we’re gonna have to start over.” Beetlejuice tasers her sides, right at that spot, and feigns disapproval. Lydia makes a noise at a pitch audible only to dogs and demons.

Crunch.

Lydia’s foot connects directly with his face in a frankly-stunning high kick. He drops her roughly. Something goes flying across the room and hits the wall with a quiet thump. Barbara gasps sharply and covers her mouth in shock.

Beetlejuice touches his nose—or rather, the space where it used to be, and a thick hush falls over the attic. Everyone’s eyes drift to the nose, now fallen among jars of the most rancid-looking kombucha on the face of the earth. It twitches plaintively.

He laughs, loud and boisterous. His lack-of-nose whistles as he does. Adam picks up the fallen nose and gags before tossing it to Lydia and wiping his hands on his shirt.

“Got your nose,” Lydia giggles weakly, depositing it into Beetlejuice’s hand.

“Nice shot.” Beetlejuice chuckles, uncomfortably nasally, and shoves his nose back into place with an awful crack. He takes a long, wheezing inhale and gives her a thumbs up.

“So…” He sidles close to her, bringing back the jazz hands.

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighs.

“Lydia, are you alright?” Delia’s voice curls faintly up the rickety staircase. She climbs up, but not all the way—Lydia can tell by the shuffling of her awful shoes.

Everyone freezes.

“Lydia?”

She opens her mouth to answer Delia and Beetlejuice squeezes her sides. She yelps and whirls around, but he doesn’t even have the decency to feign innocence. He just does it again, waiting for the precise moment she goes to speak.

“Y-Yeah, I’m o-okay.” Lydia wrestles with Beetlejuice’s hands, her voice shaking with barely-restrained giggles.

“Oh god, please don’t make me come up there.” Delia’s ‘whisper’ is anything but. Beetlejuice snorts.

“I’m fine! Just, uhm, doing spring cleaning.” Lydia calls back, stomping on Beetlejuice’s foot. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay.” A long, heavy pause from Delia.

“You can go now!” Lydia yells. Delia’s heels click quickly down the stairs, back towards the dreary living.

“You’re insufferable,” Lydia hisses at Beetlejuice, punching his shoulder. He holds his hand over his heart and gives a grand, sweeping bow. When he stands up, he smacks his head against the dagger in the wall. Lydia snickers at him.

He turns around like a penguin, never one to do things normally, and makes a delighted noise at the pierced Monopoly board. He pulls the knife out of the wall and pokes his finger with it a few too many times, fascinated with the sharpness of it.

He stretches, makes a bunch of vague measurement and aiming gestures, then lobs the knife straight upwards. It lodges into the ceiling with an enthusiastic ping! The blade warbles with the force of it.

Beetlejuice slaps the Monopoly board down on the floor and plops down in front of it. Adam bemoans the state of the attic ceiling as Barbara consoles him.

“Wanna play?” Beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the board changes, shifting into black, whites, purples, and greens. Graveyard moss creeps along the edges of the board. Monopoly components spawn into existence on the board, appearing in puffs of fog and comically-quiet wails of the damned.

“Sure.” Lydia sits opposite him. She pokes at some of the moss. It sprouts to meet her touch.

“If you get stabbed, you lose?” Beetlejuice casts a cursory glance to the still-wobbling knife. The blade shifts slightly out of the ceiling.

“Deal.” Lydia sticks her hand out to shake. Beetlejuice takes it with gusto.

“You guys wanna play?” Lydia turns to the Maitlands. Barbara and Adam look at each other, communicating in that telepathic way of theirs. Barbara grins and leads Adam over to the board to sit.

“I call thimble!” Adam reaches for it. Beetlejuice swats his hand. Adam reaches again. Beetlejuice swats him a little harder.

“You can’t have the thimble. I’m the thimble.” Beetlejuice pinches it between his fingers.

“Can I have the thimble?” Barbara leans close to Beetlejuice and looks up at him through her lashes. Lydia never would’ve guessed that a demon could blush, but sure enough, Beetlejuice’s face takes on the slightest bit of color.

“I sense that I’m being manipulated.” He narrows his eyes.

“Is it working?” Barbara smiles.

“Yep.” He slaps the thimble into her hand. She passes it to Adam. He beams. Beetlejuice rolls his eyes but his gaze lingers on them for just a bit too long.

“Well played, Babs. Well played.” Beetlejuice scoops up the racecar piece and frowns at it. Its tiny metal form melts and reconfigures into a small hearse. Satisfied, he places it right next to the cat piece—Lydia’s, of course. Barbara takes the top hat with pride.

When Beetlejuice jumps Adam for his extra get out of jail free card—of which there are a suspicious amount in Beetlejuice’s version of the game—Lydia laughs and swipes a bit of Beetlejuice’s money. Adam’s hiccupy cackles are the backdrop for Barbara robbing the bank in broad daylight, taking as many bills from the tray as her heart desires.

Lydia’s life is certainly very strange and painfully unusual, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She can only hope that her mom will love being part of the attic’s menagerie of ghosts and ghouls as much as she does.

#this...this got out of hand #rewrote it twice so it might be a bit of a mess but i think i got to mash together the concepts i was leaning between #hope u enjoy it anon!! thank u for this!!!#my fics #beetlejuice musical #ticklish!lydia #lil bit of adam at the end too but im not gonna tag it #lydia deetz #adam maitland #barbara maitland #beetlejuice #not gonna tag delia either but bless her heart #not explicitly ship but. i think adam barbara and beetlejuice hold hands sometimes idk #tried to include a couple easter eggs/references i hope ppl enjoy those hehe #also bj is just so much fun to write. funky lil freak

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

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Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 30

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta reading and hearing out all of my ideas. It's been a tougher arc to write and you've helped me a lot.

CW: group homes, children without parents and trauma relating to that, minor character death (Cyril’s friend), smoking, heroin addiction, overdose resulting in death, caretaker breaks down, ADHD/medications relating to ADHD, found family

===

When Cyril heard the other kids at his school talk about their families and what they were doing for Thanksgiving, Cyril couldn’t help but feel a sense of envy. He knew it was a sin to hate others for something he didn’t have. Cyril just couldn’t help himself.

The people who ran the group home were good people, but they weren’t parents. After all, they switched all the time. Just when Cyril thought he liked one of them, they changed. Sometimes, he got switched home-to-home. Moved around like a pawn on a chess board, but with a lot less care and thought.

Throughout it all, Oliver was there.

Oliver, the loud. Oliver, the mischievous. Oliver, his friend.

They were opposites but somehow both managed to be on Ritalin. Well, Oliver was on Ritalin. Cyril was on Concerta. But it was the same chemical for the same diagnosis, so they found a comradery. When Oliver got himself in trouble, Cyril was always there to save his ass.

Cyril was always afraid to lose him, but he never did. There was security in Oliver. When Cyril got moved, by some odd chance, Oliver always moved with him. In a way, they were a bonded pair of cats. They were unwanted strays, but they had each other.

Certain times of year were more difficult than others. November and December were always horrible months for Cyril. Holidays about family and love - both were things that Cyril didn’t have.

Thanksgiving dinner at the group homes was always the worst. Donated turkeys and sides, pie baked by a charity. It made Cyril feel less human, almost.

So, when Oliver snuck a note under the table, telling him to go out “to the bathroom,” Cyril took the invite to leave.

The two of them left out a window and went to the creek by their group home - their designated meeting spot in the rural jungle they found themselves in.

Oliver was smiling wickedly. It was never a good sign.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Malboros.

“I got these at the store.”

Cyril looked at them in shock. Oliver was grinning proudly.

“Did you steal them or something?” Cyril asked incredulously.

“Maybe,” Oliver responded, pursing his lips jokingly.

“Oliver, that’s a crime! What if they find out? You might get sent away.”

Of course, being sent away was always the fear. Group homes were some sort of sick privilege - there was always worse. Cyril wouldn’t survive without Oliver.

Oliver gave Cyril a small shove. “Don’t worry so much.” He pulled one of the cigarettes out of the box and offered it to Cyril. “This will help you relax.”

Cyril took the cigarette from Oliver reluctantly. Oliver gave him a light the minute he had it in his mouth.

It was true. The cigarettes did relax him. Within ten minutes, he felt better.

Cyril sighed. “I’m just tired of feeling like this object of pity, Noll.”

It was easier to talk without the weight of the fear of being judged hanging over him.

“I know what you mean.” Oliver took a puff of the cigarette. “I had to sit through a talk about ‘people who don’t have families for Thanksgiving’ and being sensitive and shit. I don’t want their sympathy. I want a fucking family.”

Cyril nodded a little. They were a bonded pair of cats, but they weren’t really family. Just deeply bonded friends of the soul, perhaps.

“We’re seventeen. It’s over for us.” Cyril looked down at the cigarette. “The fuck does my life matter?”

“Because you’re here, Cyril. You’re here with me. You’re brilliant. You could become a doctor. Then, nobody can tell you that your life doesn’t matter. You have so much more of a future than me.”

It was true - Cyril had a 4.0. Oliver had maybe a 2.9 on a good day. In a world where high school grades determined their futures, Cyril was someone who would thrive. Cyril loved his friend. He tried to convince him to try community college, but Oliver wouldn’t budge.

Oliver was wicked smart. He had a good personality. All he needed was to believe in himself more.

After a while of silence, Cyril began to hum. It was “Born in the USA” - Bruce Springsteen. He always liked the opening. So did Oliver.

In fact, he started singing, “Born down in a dead man's town.”

Cyril began to sing along with him. “And the first kick I took was when I hit the ground.”

Eventually, the two of them sang it with irony. “You end up like a dog that's been beat too much. 'Til you spend half your life just to cover up.”

Yes, they were dogs that were beaten too much. It would take half a lifetime to cover it up. Cyril just didn’t realize that yet.

They talked for a while longer until they came back stinking of cigarette smoke. They got yelled at, but it didn’t really matter. Cyril was just glad to be with his friend.

—

Sacha awoke the next morning, thinking about the odd dream he’d had. Something about Cyril freaking out about needing Narcan. It had to be a dream - some odd mix of his past overdose and his housemate being a doctor.

His head pounded and he felt jittery.

What had he done last night? He used to sleepwalk. Could he have sleep-walked and hit his head?

When he went over to the counter, Sacha saw the bottle on the counter.

Hydromorphone.

Cyril’s words came back to him. That was the medicine that Cyril was shouting about in the dream.

It wasn’t a dream, Sacah soon realized. He really had accidentally taken two of a very strong opioid instead of acetaminophen.

Shit.

He’d told Cyril about his overdose, hadn’t he? He didn’t want Cyril to know. He didn’t want Cyril to think him stupid or ungrateful or any other number of horrible things.

What would Cyril think? Surely after everything, he wouldn’t abandon Sacha. But what if he was extra watchful? What if he forced Sacha on medication to ensure it didn’t happen again, just like Master had?

Sacha forced himself to take a few deep breaths.

“It’s okay. Cyril is safe.”

That was right. Cyril was safe.

—

Something was wrong with Cyril. He hadn’t spoken to Sacha much at all that day. In fact, he’d even picked Amber up in his arms and petted her gently. Cyril never picked up the cat. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her - Cyril was just always nervous about hurting her.

Was it because Sacha had admitted to attempting suicide?

Sacha didn’t know, but he needed to say something, clearly.

“Cyril, I, um,” Sacha took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Cyril was a little startled. “For what?”

Sacha started to quiver. “For telling you about my overdose.”

An emotion resembling discomfort and remembrance flashed over Cyril’s face, before he came back to his normal, concerned look. “It’s okay, Sacha, to be open with me.”

“It was different. I can tell something’s wrong.”

Silence hung between them for a while. Eventually, Cyril put Amber down on the ground, where she quickly walked over to Sacha.

“It’s, um, a personal topic that I don’t talk much about, my history with overdoses.”

Sacha wasn’t happy with that answer. In fact, he felt a little dejected. “Mine was a suicide attempt. It was the only time I ever had access to the means. It- it was dumb luck that I survived it at all.”

It took all the courage that Sacha had to say the last part of what he wanted to say. “I’ve said mine. Can you tell me yours?”

Cyril sat pensively for a long time. Sacha’s heart was beating out of his chest.

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Neither have I told anyone.” Sacha was desperate. He felt so useless. “You’re always helping me and listening to me. Let me return the favor, Cyril. Please.”

Again, silence hung in the air between them.

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t have much else to do.”

Cyril chuckled a bit. “You’ve become so much more confident. Those tattoos really did change you.”

Sacha cringed. Those thoughts came back. He was too confident. He was arguing. He was being disobedient. It was bad. He was going to be punished.

What should he say to prevent that? What could he do? Sacha had already argued himself into a corner.

“Calm down, Sacha. Take a few deep breaths, okay?”

Cyril’s voice brought him back down to reality.

Right, he wasn’t a slave anymore. He was safe. He was okay.

…

Cyril took a deep breath, wringing his hands together. He’d told his story occasionally when he needed to for essays and the like, but it was never a comfortable subject.

“I don’t have a family, Sacha. I was a foster kid. I lived in a group home.”

Sacha was listening so intently it almost broke Cyril’s heart.

“I was transferred a fair bit, but there was this friend I had who was always transferred with me.” Oliver’s grinning face appeared in Cyril’s head. “He was kind and happy and sweet, if not a bit scatter-brained and stubborn. He was the one who encouraged me to become a doctor. He was talented with writing. He helped me with my essays for college applications and again with personal statements when I applied to med school.”

Those late nights they spent together came back to Cyril pleasantly. “He was my only connection to other people. But he struggled in ways I never knew. I presume he had what you’d call an addictive personality.”

Cyril took another deep breath, his voice shaking. “I stayed where I grew up, as did he. He became an electrician - trade school. I worked at the only emergency room in the area. One day, there was a bad batch of heroin in the area. He turned up dead at the emergency room. My name is on his death certificate. I had to call the time of his death. I had to tell his mother - his mother came to be a part of his life when he was twenty. She was the one who convinced him to go to trade school. He was 28 when he died.”

Tears formed in Cyril’s eyes. When Oliver had died, a piece of him had died with him. That hole in his heart hurt each and every time he thought of his deceased friend - the other half of their bonded pair.

“I never knew he struggled with heroin addiction. God, if I knew, I would’ve walked to the ends of the earth to help him.”

Sacha moved quietly, putting Amber down, and over to Cyril. He pulled Cyril into an embrace.

For the first time, someone embraced him first - to comfort him.

Cyril broke down crying in Sacha’s arms.

“That’s hard. I’m so sorry you went through that. It- it sounds awful. Even with everything I’ve been through, I can’t imagine having to call the death of your closest friend.”

Cyril sobbed tears that he hadn’t cried since he looked over the edge of the bridge that fateful day.

With Oliver’s death, Cyril thought he’d lost all ability to form human connections. After all, he felt more like a stray cat or a beaten dog than a human being for most of his life.

However, as Sacha held him in his arms, he began to realize that it wasn’t gone forever. No, in fact, he had another way to connect to people. It was Sacha. Sacha, the stray cat that Cyril had found on the verge of death. Sacha, his little brother that he needed to protect.

“I thought I’d lost the ability to have another human connection. It was so hard back then.”

Cyril pushed Sacha back, tears still flowing from his eyes. “But I’ve found you. You’re like a little brother to me. So don’t give up on life. Okay?”

Sacha bit his lip anxiously and nodded a bit.

“I love you, Sacha. I really do.”

To his surprise, Cyril heard back a response he never expected.

“I love you too, Cyril. You’re my family.”

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae, @whump-blog, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @whumpycries, @whumpkinz

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whumpblr #whump community #recovery whump #overdose #addiction #drug/substance use/abuse #smoking #sacha #cyril #mutual caretaking

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evilmageclub · 9 months

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hello

i have posted another chapter of my loong postcanon samsam fic. this is the 6th chapter out of 7 we're almost there i cannot Wait to physically bind this book when im done.......

anyway. if you like reading about gods who dont know how to talk about their feelings except via elaborate sexual murdersuicide you may enjoy this. medium sized sfw excerpt under the cut:

They meet in the first-floor room where Samothes takes his audiences, Samot dressed quickly in linen trousers and a thin, trellised blouse. The game board on the table in the centre of the chamber is still set from last night, when Samothes summarily thrashed his husband and two of their friends at chess, only because Samot was very drunk and hence distracted.

“Is something wrong down at the temple?” he asks his visitor now, pulling out one of the four vacant chairs for her to take. The woman who called up to him from the gardens does not sit, but lingers near the door as though eager to get her answer and be gone.

“No, it’s going fine. Isn’t there any way you can sense him, or something?”

“Or something,” Samot echoes in faint amusement. “Give me a moment.”

He crosses to one of the pink-white sandstone arches overlooking the bay, taking hold of a strand of ivy that has curled around the nearest pillar. Technically, he doesn’t need to be touching another Spring organism to extend his senses across the island, but he has lived long enough to understand the importance of appearances in spellcraft. Sunlight bathes his face as he closes his eyes to seek through root and tendril and leaf the telltale warmth of Samothes—and finds nothing.

He searches again, refusing to take that as an answer. Again, it is the answer returned to him.

Samot turns to face his visitor, struck less by anxiety than a sheer and surprising rage—at Samothes’ apprentice, at Samothes himself for fostering a populace so dependent on him that they cannot cope with his absence for a single morning—then, locating the source of that frustration much further inside himself than he thought it had been, stifles it quickly.

“How urgently do you need him?”

“Well… I suppose it doesn’t have to be now. I wanted to give him something.” The apprentice rummages in the pocket of her overalls as he approaches, producing a small flat box.

"A gift?"

"From a few of us at the workshop. Since it’s a day in his honour and we’ve never had a birthday on record for him, so this seemed like the nearest thing." She smiles, a little awkwardly, as though alerted to Samot’s disquiet. “It can wait until later. Really.”

Easy to tell from the set of her mouth that she was excited to see Samothes’ reaction to whatever she has for him, and is disappointed by his absence in a way Samot cannot make up for. For a moment he sees in her the ghost of Maelgwyn, waiting in the hallway for Samothes’ return from a long day's work with some trinket made specifically to earn his praise.

"I’ll find him,” Samot says, his voice a little softer now. “I imagine he’s out on the water.”

The young woman nods as he makes for the door, pocketing her gift box.

“Alright,” she calls after him. “Thanks.”

Samot is already away onto the stairs leading down to the gardens, but he hopes Samothes’ apprentice will return to the Shrine before mid-morning. Between her and Finlay and Smoulder, perhaps the isle’s first High Sun Day will run smoothly enough even without Samothes there to preside over his own celebrations. Of course, he promised he’d be back—but Samot has his doubts, old fears that no logic can root out, and so he hurries. Pauses not among the waking crowds and the smell of shellfish frying, but takes the shortest path seaward under iridescent rooftops, between walls of white-grey flint. The onshore wind is bracing after the sheltered town streets, ropes and fixtures slapping against masts in a bell-like chorus, and sure enough Samot finds the man he first knew as the old fisher’s son busy unmooring a dinghy not far from where his sloop sits at anchor.

"Not at the temple this morning?” he asks.

“Got lobster pots to check,” the captain calls back as he lifts the mooring rope, "and anyway I'm not much for the faith. Not his, at least.”

“You don’t have to be. There’ll be dancing later on, and the Shrine all festooned in sunflowers. It’d be a shame to miss it for work.”

“Now, I know you didn’t come down here to canvass for Samothes.” The captain straightens up, evaluating Samot’s slipshod appearance with dark eyes framed by locks of windswept grey. “What can I do for you?”

Samot makes himself smile. Ordinarily, he would let no duty keep him from giving this man’s beauty the time and attention it deserved, but this morning older loyalties have him captive.

“It has to do with Samothes, actually,” he admits. “May I come aboard?”

#samsam #this chapter took me 6 months and im not sure i even like most of it but i had to post it before it killed me. and also for samsam day (:#absolutely 0 pressure to do so but i do owe the entire world to anyone who has commented anything on this fic so far

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lualewis · 10 months

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New profile ans I'm back to my old antics jumping into the pro/anti rabbit hole!

For anyone who can't tell, I am pretty proship. And jumping back into the rabbit hole has given me thoughts to share. To my currently 2 followers, I know you're not surprised and it will happen again!!! Eventually, when adhd allows is. Also @lightningstarborne you should get the other sibling to follow me as well so I can yell at 3 people along with the void.

Gonna be talking about the classic "fiction does/doesn't affect reality" cause it's one of the biggest arguing points with probably the most nuance.

Fiction can affect reality, but it is not in a perfect 1:1 ratio, and it usually happens in ways people don't expect. The Tetris and Jaws effects are both real, shark hunting and a fear of sharks was increased by a movie and after playing too much Tetris can make people start viewing things like pieces to be fit together until they stop for a bit.

Well let's think about those (admittedly I have seen 3 shark/underwater horror movies in 2 days and wsnt to share) starting with Jaws. The movie claims that maneating sharks are rare, especially ones of the size they had. It also pointed out how the shark was a natural part of the ocean even if it was dangerous. But people only picked up on the killer shark part. You know what parts of the movie focused on a lot more? A town focusing on making money during a holiday weekend more than caring about the safety of the people. There are arguments on screen about whether to close the beach for safety or keep it open for tourism. The movie blatantly points out how politics will bowl over things like safety until multiple people are dead. But that is not something brought up often. There are similarities with "The Meg" but those focus more on environmentalism and how a change can be disastrous. Yet people still focus on the big deadly shark aspect.

None of that is a 1:1 effect on reality. Jaws caused more people to be scared of sharks, and more people to hunt and kill them despite how low the death rate to sharks actually is. Less than 10 people die by shark per year, but across 4 Jaws movies 18 people died. Nobody was really effected by the explicit rarity mentioned in the movie, and most people don't even remember the politics mentioned. If that movie had a 1:1 effect, how did so much of the movie get overlooked?

The tetris effect is super interesting because it can happen with something as insignificant as a chessboard. Play too much checkers or chess, practice or think about the game too often? Now you're seeing images of it when you close your eyes, when things line up like the game you think of moving pieces like you would in a match? Those are tetris effects symptoms. It's been seen in people who speed solve Rubik's Cubes. With tetris, you think of fitting boxes together or of seeing them fall into place, or visualize a boarder and see pieces when you close your eyes. Being personal again, if I work security for too long and see thousands of people walking around for hours, I'll still see crowds walking around when my eyes are closed for about 2 days after. This is some kind of fiction effecting reality, but is also something that can happen with pretty much anything. See a meteor one night and think "where's the spaceship" cause you've played too many games and you've been effected in a tetris effect way. But, while these are distracting and maybe a little dangerous because of it, they're all super simple and things you can snap yourself out of with just a "wtf, I'm not playing my game" type thing. There is absolutely an effect on reality, but the extent is immediately thinking a response you would do in the thing you have literally just spent hours (minimum) doing and visualizing game elements and random times.

Violent video games are also brought up a lot. Studies are mostly inconclusive and don't always scale for competitiveness or types of violence. It's known tnag they can have an effect and for some people that is stronger. However, game companies and policies similar to movie ratings attempt to motigate this by giving age ratings. As you age, you decelope more of an awareness of reality being separate from fiction, and age ratings are a response to that. This is a part that I think is overlooked a lot. With violent video game debates, and arguments on how to age restrict some games and movies and TV shows, those age ratings are meant to be a guide for how well someone can understand and handle the content. That to some extent includes how well someone can separate fiction and reality. Using a personal example (again) my twin and I are 12 years older than our younger sisters. When my twin and I were 14, we started watching the It miniseries. My twin one day decided to rewaych it while babysitting the then 2 year old younger siblings. One of them ended up afraid of the curtains in our house because of the opening acene; being 2 she couldn't separate reality while my twin being 14 knew it was all fake.

Thats why we apart to explore darker topics, in media and our own imagination, as we age. We can understand that it is 100% not real, while still thinking about ourselves or someone else in a terrible situation. We can think about how we'd react emotionally, the actions we'd take, how everything would play out, while knowing it's not real. All media does this in some way, but I think written media can be the most intense. There is more detail laid out or explained, we can have context going back decades into the characters lives, and so many writers will change the prosody of their writing just to draw you in more. The emotions you feel, no matter what genre story you are using to feel them, are real, they are fiction effecting reality. It can be standard housewife porn that you are reacting to, or some weird violent thing on ao3, or something gross and intense in disturbing ways, and you will have a very real emotional reaction. But that doesn't mean it's effecting you in a way that will make you recreate it. Housewife porn has been around forever but that doesn't mean women are going around and immediately reenacting those books. Saying that fanfiction is going to cause people to do terrible things ignores the entirety of the history of literature and people having taboo books well before the internet got big.

There is so much nuance. Something making you go "ew" doesn't mean it's immediately the worst thing ever. Especially on the internet where you can (to some extent (fucking corporations)) curate your own experience. If you don't like a blog, stop following them or block them. Don't like a story on ao3; close it and put the tags in your exclusion list.

#proship #thoughts #ao3

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johannwolfgangvongoethe · 10 months

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Reading Umineko for fun and profit? hopefully?

multiple of my twitter mutuals love this game and talk about it all this time. and it looks really interesting, doesnt it, despite its incredibly intimidating length.

so, there is very little going in that i know about! and i am excited to experience it. :) (assuming i can fight my way through the whole thing) apparently they are all on an island. and someone dies. or something like that. if you are around people who love the game, it is inevitable to know some of the main characters, at least on a surface level. there is obviously beatrice, the woman in the painting, who my (similarily clueless friend) once called "the joker for trans women", which accurately describes her vibes. (i mean this in the most positive way. i am on the edge of my seat) otherwise i really only know battler because of his stupid name (its like hes a shonen protagonist - he has to BATTLE. FIGHT MAN) and the two girls who frequently get drawn alongside each other (the blond and the blue one) that aside, i had the vague mind to ask my friend for specific content warnings i usually look out for and they arent actually in there! even though my friend described the game as "well, in theory, umineko needs a bucket full of content warnings but if i were to list them like an encyclopedia, it would spoiler half of the thing" (great sign)

anyway, so i will write whatever thoughts i have about it. this absolutely will involve spoilers. the version i have is english and has newer sprites. (sort of sad, i actually genuinely think the original round boxxing glove artstyle has an incredible amount of personality to it and despite being wonky, the facial expressions are great)

intro + opening

kinzo in his musty dusty study talks to danjo, his doctor. despite them being friends, their relationship as a doctor and resisting patient is likened to a game of chess. and kinzo is obviously losing. i really like the analogy. his struggle with alcohol and health and his inability to improve his habits are direct moves against his friends medical advise. yet he is also framed as a very wealthy character, a king of sorts. so either way, whether he lives (the doctor convinces him) or dies (he succumbs to alcoholism), the king is lost. is this purposeful? who knows. really paints a picture of him though; there is nothing he wishes to write in his will, he needs no advise, he is actively destroying himself, and he wont leave any inheritance. so adding to his physical health, he really isnt doing well mentally, huh... makes me wonder How Much Of his sickness is related to drinking. it seems like something else is going on, too. him dying to alcoholism would paint a different picture than him being terminally ill and choosing to end his life this way (while still suffering from alcoholism but! you know). maybe then the lost king makes sense - he is lost either way, but he could still choose to make a few last good moves. also he made some sort of contract with beatrice and she has him wrapped around her pinky. well, we shall see.

this line specifically does not seem to bode well. beatrice what are you going to do to those people.

also i didnt watch the opening. my friend told me to watch this one instead :) good music

episode 1, part 1

battler has less dignity to him than i thought. idk what i expected. his name really is that stupid. he is a bit cringe but adorable nonetheless.

Both groups are at the top of my must-kill list. george is voiced by suzumura...

free space for those who know about my affliction of being a lavi d.gray-man fan. sometimes i can still hear his voice. his glasses do the scary anime villain thing. for now he is very nice, though i am fully expecting some bait and switch for his personality.

anyhow. some more notes:

does battlers upside down cross zipper mean anything??????? i like to imagine hes just a bit chuuni.

everyone in the family has that silly little emblem on their clothing

jessica is an instant fave for me personally bc of how she speaks

eva and natsuhi have some incredible beef going on in the back. love the toxicity going on here. both of them already seem like there is a lot to them, just from the first expressions

there is also some obvious conflict between the servants and the ushiromiya family and also... just between the servants, which is most visible in kanon

apropos. kanon transgender? eyebrow lift

so grandpa beat his kids and grandkids with his own fists and wooden sword. AND his hobby is dark magic. damn

the family is unwell, it seems

i have to strangle battler with my own two hands

the family introduction is very cute and they seem very lively and real, like an endearing bunch. battlers internal monologue is very on point for an 18yo. so sorry about whatever is going to happen. also are their weird western sounding names and the architectures of the guesthouse related to their patriachs obsession with beatrice? (points at her.... white woman.... i think) i wonder how the flight attendants knew how to pronounce all that. its funny to imagine the staff took little notes on it when they checked in.

knowing battler is a mamas boy is a very interesting little bit of info. "father issues damage you but mother issues rewrite your dna" or however that post goes. i absolutely believe in this. its horrifying. knowing battlers mother died and then he lived with his grandparents AND THEN THOSE DIED TOO. GIVE HIM A BREAK!!!! ..... wait this game is about mysterious murders isnt it. oh god.

we are informed there used to be a torii on the coastline of the island but it got destroyed by a lightning. ominous. maria also reacts to this. kumasawa wants to elaborate further on local myths but jessica stops her. there are also no seagulls (ah.... namedrop) to be seen anywhere. lets put a pin in all that for now. children with promonitions are a common trope after all.

now this is a bit of a personal thing but the fact they have a rose garden in full bloom on october is ridiculous. and youre trying to tell me they smell too, despite obviously being modern crossbreeds? get real.

welp. glass shatters. the clock strikes 12 o'clock. thats where im pausing the notes for now.

all that said, dont you think spending that much time talking about how much battler wants to touch his cousins boobs was strange :( dont you think

#seagullposting

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contreparry · 2 years

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🍵Spilling tea (by accident or on purpose/literal or metaphorical - or both!) for any friend/ship of your choice for DAWC? :)

Here's some Josephine/Leliana from the perspective of Inquisitor Trevelyan, for @dadrunkwriting!

Evelyn didn't know what she expected when Leliana invited her to a "midnight tea party" up in the aviary. Knives, maybe? Threats? Secret information that was for her ears and eyes only? But when she padded up the rickety wooden steps into Leliana's abode, icy wind cutting through her cloak and wool wrapper, she hadn't expected... this.

"Come, come! Sit down! According to the almanac we have the best view in all of Thedas for a meteor shower!" Josephine exclaimed as she waved her over. Her curly hair flowed loose over her shoulders like a molten river of rich polished rosewood, like the dark squares of her brother Lawrence's travel chess set. Before Evelyn even knew what was happening Josephine herded her towards a small brazier, where Leliana, Cassandra, and Sera sat huddled around the metal box. As Josephine bustled around the small space, pulling items out of a well packed (enormous) basket, Cassandra rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and the stars that shone down on them.

"She roped you into this as well, did she?" Cassandra grumbled. Sera shivered and inched closer to the brazier, reaching towards it to warm her hands.

"... Leliana said that there was a midnight tea party?" Evelyn offered weakly. A tea party. An actual midnight tea party. Leliana had been... sincere in her invitation.

"Ah. I thought as much," Cassandra sighed. "Sit. It will be a long night." She raised her arm, gestured towards the empty space at her left. As if to hasten her decision the wind blew even fiercer, and Evelyn practically dove between Cassandra and Sera to huddle for warmth. Sera plastered herself to her side, grumbling about warm beds and sleep and dying in the cold. Leliana, who sat across the brazier from their little crowd, smiled pleasantly at them.

"If you three are anything less than happy to experience a wonder of the natural world, I will gut you all. With pleasure," Leliana murmured. Well. That was much more in line with what Evelyn thought the evening would entail. Cassandra huffed angrily as Sera curled up like a cat against her. Evelyn carefully undid her wrap and draped it over Sera's shoulders so they could share. Much more practical, Evelyn tried to tell herself even as Sera's cold hands burrowed into her cloak and brushed against the bare skin of her neck.

"I always wanted to see a meteor shower," Evelyn offered. "Too many lights in Ostwick to see one properly, and we haven't had field trips in nearly an age." Sera's little snort stirred the hairs at the back of her neck.

"Shoulda brought Dagna- Dagna likes them... intellectual bits. Smart," Sera yawned. "Take- take notes, Inky. Do a drawing, for her? M' all thumbs wi'- with a pencil..." Sera began to nod off as Josephine returned to the group, carrying an iron tea kettle and the picnic basket.

"A midnight snack and plenty of hot water for tea! Would have brought some spiced wine, but it would've required an entire copper tub-" Josephine explained before she plopped down next to Leliana and busied herself with handing out heavy clay cups. Evelyn held hers and Sera's as Josephine hefted the iron kettle onto the brazier and prepared her little teapot. Despite the smell of the coals and the cold, Evelyn picked up the scent of chamomile on the air.

While Josephine chattered on about the meteor shower and how she was so delighted to have some guests to observe it with her, Evelyn watched Leliana. She watched as the woman's beautiful face and her mysterious smile... shifted. It was such a subtle change, one that could almost be blamed on the dim lighting, but Evelyn was a botanist and was trained to spot the slightest differences- which mushroom is delicious and which is deadly? What flower is medicinal and which one does nothing? Which is sweet and which is bitter? But she saw how Leliana's smile went soft, observed how her shoulders relaxed, saw how her eyes were fixed on Josephine's face as Josephine gave a short history lesson on the astronomer who predicted the meteor shower (Antivan man, a famous recluse). And when Josephine nearly spilled the chamomile tea on Leliana's lap in her excitement, Leliana only smiled and held out her cup for more tea, her eyes alight with excitement and obvious adoration.

What else could it be but adoration? Evelyn would have never thought to gather a group of companions in the freezing night air to watch the skies for just anyone. No, it would have to be someone special, someone worth such an effort, and while Josephine Montilyet seemed a fine lady and potentially a good friend- Evelyn wouldn't have done it for her. Possibly for anyone. But Leliana...

"They're always like this," Cassandra commented, her normally gruff tone almost fond. "Maker help us all when Leliana falls into one of her romantic moods."

Always like this? How long had- but as she thought back on every time she was with both Josephine and Leliana, she had to admit that there was something there, simmering away with every lingering touch and longing glance. It was there in the way Josephine fussed over Leliana, insisting she get some rest before hastily demanding the same of anyone else in the room. It was there in Leliana's gentle teasing- always so gentle with Josephine when her tongue never hesitated to poke at prod at every other soul within range. It was there in the flowers- oh Maker's Breath, the flowers! Of course Leliana wouldn't have just happened upon a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, nor would she have just happened to think that the only person in all of Skyhold who would appreciate it would be Josephine Montilyet. How blind had she been?!

"Ah. I-" Evelyn glanced over towards Leliana, who was watching Josephine as if she hung up the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky (and perhaps the meteors as well). "I think it's sweet. Lady Mont-"

"Josephine, please! This is a casual affair," Josephine insisted before offering a small savory tart with cheese in it. Evelyn took it carefully, only to have it snatched up by Sera.

"Josephine, then," Evelyn amended as she took another proffered tart and held it away from Sera's grasp. "Do let us know if there will be another astronomical event. Perhaps we can find a few more star lovers to join our numbers next time?"

Josephine's broad smile (and Leliana's clear approval) more than made up for the fact that her entire backside felt like an ice cube.

#da drunk writing circle #my writing

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msfbgraves · 1 year

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Konmari day 16: goodness I think I've finished paper.

That only felt like finishing a triatlon. Or six.

Paper is really a dangerous one with 'tie-ins': I certainly haven't finished all the 'omg I ought to look into this more' going through all your personal and legal papers inspires. And because of that, it really doesn't feel like I've accomplished much at all, even though this was the toughest category for me yet. But first of all, I need to get to komono, because there are movers here come next Monday. And Marie-san says you have to get through clothes, books, and papers before you get to komono, she's very strict about this, so I have.

But I don't know if I'll be so obedient next time.

The problem with 'paper' is, that at least for me, I'm not certain what she actually means. Categorise all your papers and give them a designated spot, including pending paperwork? In that case, it should not have cost me more than half a day. I've done this for twenty years, my house is seldom overflowing with heaps of paper. It does happen, but that has nothing to do with not understanding how to sort through papers, and more with being completely overwhelmed or in pain.

But if it means: "Dealing with any and all potential issues these papers are about", well. That's... that's. I mean, Jesus. No.

I have tackled a few things, because you want to, but I've also had to look at a lot of things that A, I would not absolutely have had to look at in this detail, and B, are very painful.

I have never really liked looking back all that much.

At fond memories, yes. But I can't remember a year of my life since I've started to form memories, that aren't also filled with intense, bad memories. Three years old! Ah... remember the ear infections? And the operations? Four years old! Remember how humiliated you felt when the stronger boys held you down at recess? Six years old! Ah, I remember that doctors' visit to determine when you had to continue that Czech physical therapy programme, the one that, thirty years later, has been reclassified as medical abuse, producing symptoms commonly found in child sexual abuse survivors? Yes, I do. I remember my mother being so astonished that I'd been terrified to attend that exam. I had no desire to revisit those memories, but here we are, aren't we? Ah, a chess certificate. That's nice, I like chess. A termination of my German bank account in 2006. I suppose that can be tossed. University notices- cool. More medical records. Everywhere I look are medical records and psychological evaluations about life being just that bit too hard for a crip who never qualifies for any accomodations. Minor car collision from 2014. Joy. Ah, there is your father's will. Remember he is dead?

And something that the cancer box has made very clear to me, and the papers reconfirm: handling painful things doesn't automatically make them less painful. It's not cathartic. What it does do, of course, is make papers easier to handle and give you an overview of what you're choosing to keep - which in the case of papers is more about preventing any legal or medical difficulties. But for me, it's like looking through a life full of photos except that here, hardly any of the fun parts are recorded; photos at least sometimes show the good times. I'm hoping that I can allow myself to shelve some of these records and not take them out unless strictly necessary. It's good enough to know they're there and accessible when needed. But only when needed. Some of the things that are important simply do not spark joy.

Well at least I am allowed to move on to komono, which is why I started this whole thing.

#konmari #personal #tw medical abuse

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catrose13 · 2 years

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Chapter Six The First Rule Of Any TTRPG is NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY, I think that my favourite of this chapters "Brought to you By"s is 2021, You Were One Of The Most Years Ever. Because it certainly was. Also remember there are SPOILERS

Oh no, now we're seeing things from the Parasites perspective, this is not a thing I ever wanted

Go Bakura! Trick that MoFo!!

...Rabbit...

Eugh Math and Sand two of the worst things

...Ammit's wearing a tiny hat?

Mokuba in what way does that resemble a dog?

Well at least Shadi's aware of where he ranks in this situation.

"White haired thief".... Mokuba I don't think he's talking about Pegasus

Ammit, Devourer of the Wicked

Is Mokuba talking about Tristan's nephews dog?

Shadi...you are so old

...Joey how do you know how much cocaine costs?

Joey's Dad is seriously in the Bad Parent Box with his Mom and Yugi's Parents

Tristan is such a Mom Friend

Téa when in doubt always guess a lower number

Oof Burgerville, I actually read some of the manga so I've read that bit. Big yikes

Well at least Yugi is aware about the Parasite

They really have had a day haven't they?

....Yugi you really need to phrase things a bit more delicately, you may give poor Yami a heart attack at this rate. Goddamn "Shadow Game Cherry"

"Knives up our sleeves" because cards would be cheating but stabbing your opponent clearly isn't

Oh Damn, Tristan's right guys! There's even a song and everything! It's catchy! I feel like he may need to start singing to them "Don't you know you never split the party? Clerics in the back keep those fighters hale and hearty. The wizard in the middle, where he can shed some light. And you never let that damn thief out of sight" Two of the fighters have bugged off to find, I guess, the cleric, the wizards have gone off to battle for the thief leaving possibly the other cleric behind

"Glaring furiously, like a cat forced to go to the vet" I can envision it perfectly

Shadi now is not the time for your dubious sense of humour to make an appearance

"With a sword. Right down the middle"...This will be important information to remember children

"Thanksgiving at the Wayne House" THE WAYNES!! 🤩

...Shadi those dudes were seriously screwed in the head, despite being a "Created" human you were still a person and they should definitely not have shopped you in half like some sort of sad pizza

...Technologically adept... this should have been another clue

"Dino-obsessed weirdo"... I know who that is

Op Ishizu has now got an Idea

How the heck did she keep all those questions straight?! Actually no she knows the Waynes, nevermind

"Dinosaur Blood Guy" Wow Rex

Despite everything Marik can be surprisingly sneaky

Poor Weevil freaking out in the background "Blood stuff?! What Blood Stuff?!"

"Less crazy Face tattoo brother" and "Blonde. Probably in a crop top and half of Fort Knox in jewelry" These are the best descriptions

HODGEKISS... is it the same one?

lol Wilburforce, that is certainly a name

Oh yeah I doubt there's two incredibly dumb Hodgekiss in the world. Or at least I hope not

...Do the Ishtar brothers know that Hodgekiss could potentially claim Blood Brother status from Ishizu giving him blood?

Ahh Relationships, the only person whose allowed to be mean to you is me

The Heart of the Cards loves Yugi

Lol Seto's Blue Eyes White Dragon is not a fan of you Parasite, prepare to lose your face

...Celtic Guardians are wild. "Just shoot me across the Board Bro!"

Who are you Red Coated Graverobber Goblin?

Lol God Complex Kuriboh

Oh man that Blue Eyes is really determined to get rid of the Parasite

I kind of love the Duel Monsters, they're so spirited

MAHAD, you have a Name! You Remember Things! I mean apparently you also have Amnesia but you still remember more than Yami does

Ah Bakura is ready for his Revenge

Heh Parasite has no idea how to command his Chess pieces

Graverobber Goblin Pawns are on Strike, Blue Eyes White Dragon Queen is looking to kill the player and the only one on their side of the board who know how to play won't help. Nice

Joey freaking a little about the "Romantic Foxes" sounding like the voices of the damned

...We're still talking about the Chupacabra?

Lol yeah Golden Retrievers aren't just cute and friend-shaped, they are also dogs you take hunting

Oh no the Clown done fucked up

Téa's so strong and fierce. She's going to absolutely destroy that clown

"Loud and Attractive is what I do best" Aw Joey

Ballerinas man, they're terrifying...kinda like hippos now that I think about it

"Mr-With-A-K"

Joey's notebook is gonna be so full by the time he actually gets to Pegasus

Oh man I just noticed Pega-SUS....his name tells you he's Sus

Téa's Yugi and Yami's Queen

Aww cute little Mousetrap. Such a good snek

More aww, brotherly snuggles!!

...I'm feeling deep concern for Marik "Future Pharoah and Ruler Of The World" that is a deeply concerning statement, especially the Caps

...Odion are you plotting Hodgekiss' demise?

Little Brother getting the snuggles!! I just want to wrap him in blankets, but I fear that if I tried I'd lose a limb. Sadness

"Karnak Blood Lady" and the "Karnak Dinosaur Blood Guy" those are certainly names

Odions like Hopeful feeling...text message...less hopeful feeling

#fanfiction #rereading #review-ish #tpofatgif #The Power of Friendship (And This Gun I Found!)#gallusrostromegalus #spoilers #YuGiOh #ygo #Chapter Six

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the-modernmary · 3 years

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chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

“BAU,” you supplied.

“—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

“So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

“I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

“— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you.

Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

“Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

It was exhilarating.

“Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

“It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

“Yes. Or no.”

Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

“Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

“Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

“Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

“Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

“And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

“As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

“Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

“All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

Two moves to checkmate.

“Sustained,” said the judge.

“Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

“I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

“What did you major in for your undergrad?”

Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

“None,” Aaron said finally.

“None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

“A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

Checkmate.

“Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

“Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

“The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning.

“In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

“I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

“He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

“That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

“Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

“Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

“Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

“I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

“Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

“Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

“What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

“You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

“Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

“Not at all.”

“I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip.

“I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

“Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss.

His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs.

Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

“What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone.

“Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

“More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

“Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

“By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

“Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

“I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

“Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

“I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was.

“Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

“Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it.

The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

“Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

“Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

“Forgetting something?”

You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

“These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

“Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

“I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

“Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #Aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds fanfic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #my writing #criminal minds

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emiewritesthings · 3 years

Text

doctor, doctor - jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n takes it into her own hands to look after a sick jay

a/n: i’m not gonna lie i think this is one of my fav things i’ve ever written, i would really appreciate some feedback and p.s the beginning of it is based on that scene from brooklyn 99 :)

masterlist

“okay, it’s 10 o’clock, meaning halstead is officially an hour late to work,” y/n announced as she appeared from the break room with a mug of poorly made coffee. looking around, she had immediately distracted everyone in the room with her playful smile. “okay let’s do this, theories!” she encouraged, taking a sip with excitement, but immediately regretting it as s he spat it back in the mug and abandoned it on adam’s desk as she leant against it.

“uh, he forgot to set his alarm?” antonio suggested, willing to play along with the little game that y/n had created. however clearly his answer didn’t suffice as y/n scrunched up her nose and shook her head in disappointment.

“you are a detective in a unit that just last week rescued 5 people kidnapped and used as chess pieces in a human sized version of the game and the best you could come up with is he forgot to set his alarm? pfft, disappointing, dawson. who’s willing to take this seriously?” she scoffed, brushing his idea off with a simple roll of the eyes as the group laughed at her ridiculousness.

“maybe he has been murdered by a gang looking for revenge.” adam piped up, earning a sudden and rather forceful slap on the back as y/n cheered. her eyes looking over at antonio as she gestured towards the less experienced detective.

“yes, that’s what i’m talking about. bit dark, ruzek, but better than dawson’s,” y/n hummed, adam clearly pleased with the praise he had received by the pretty detective. “any one else wanna shot?” she offered it out into the room, suddenly the sound of rolling wheels on the chair had everyone turn to face al who was munching on a ham sandwich.

“he walked into the middle of a drug ring, slept with the kingpins daughter and is now having limbs removed, one by the hour.” suddenly an eery silence fell in the bullpen as al suddenly disappeared back to his desk and everyone was left with an image that she was sure was burned on the inside of everyones mind.

“uh, okay, someone might want to arrange a psych check for olinsky asap,” y/n mumbled, pointing in the direction where he had once been and looking around as if checking that she hadn’t been the only one to hear al’s suggestion. “anyways, all of you are wrong. clearly he has joined a motorbike gang and now makes his money on the road striking off names on the government’s hit list.”

just as the room erupted into discussion about how idiotic this conversation was, as well as their ideas, the sound of footsteps caught y/n’s attention as she arrived at her desk. however as he reached the floor, the reason for his absence was clear.

“woah, you look like death.” adam chuckled, it immediately being silenced as jay sent a deadly glare his way. with his skin paler than normal with undertones of green, a layer of sweat draped over his forehead. jay flashed as smile at y/n as he passed, reaching his desk and collapsing on his chair with a wince.

as everyone went back to what they were doing, y/n found herself straying her eyes away from her computer screen for longer and longer periods of time until she found herself by his side with a sickly sweet grin, pun intended.

“i don’t wanna hear it, y/l/n.” jay mumbled, massaging his temples with his fingers hoping it would somehow sooth his pounding skull. whilst usually he had every minute of his day just to hear the woman chat away about whatever crossed her mind, he had found himself in quite the state since last night, leaving him restless and irritable.

“believe it or not, i just wanted to make sure you were alright,” y/n’s entire demeanour crumbled as she melted at the soft features of his face that came with being so vulnerable. but from the look in jay’s eyes, it was clear he didn’t 100% believe her excuse. “and to ask what the hell you think you are doing here? you are sick jay, you need to rest.”

it was very rare that jay found himself ill. in the years that y/n had been working by the man’s side, she could count on one hand the times she had seen him with so much as a cough. in fact she had called him captain immune system for a period of time when she realised he was pretty much indestructible. y/n couldn’t deny the concern bubbling in her gut seeing him so weak.

“i’m fine,” with her eyes slitted in a look that practically shouted ‘bullshit’, jay continued. “i promise, it’s just a little cold. nothing serious, i think i’ll survive.” he joked dryly, finding it incredibly hard to look away from y/n for her eyes were filled with a warmth that he knew was an expression usually saved for those she cared deeply about.

“yeah well, you need to take care of yourself, jay, i’m being serious. chicago can cope if you just have one day off, get your energy back.”

y/n was reminded of the times she had the exact same words spoken to her by the exact person that didn’t seem to want to take them onboard. every time she had so much as a sniffle he would be straight over with some soup that his mother used to swear by and the name of a box set that he would put on for the two of them to watch as he sat stroking her hair in order to try and convince her body to rest. neither of them had anyone else to take care of them, so had taken it upon themselves to be that person for the other.

“now, i’m gonna go tell voight that i’m taking you home before you infect this whole office.” before he could object, she had already ran (not literally but jay was impressed by her speed walking) to her boss’ office. knocking on the door, with a sweet smile and a sea of words running off her tongue so quickly that voight had to agree just to shut her up, y/n returned by his side. “come on, germ face, your carriage awaits.”

“you know i love it when you talk dirty to me, y/l/n.” winking at her, y/n giggled as she supported him back down the stairs and out of the station. the two chatted away, y/n explaining how she thought al was secretly a sociopath and jay filing her in on the newest instalment of his apartment block drama until they pulled up in front of jay’s apartment building.

as they walked through the door, jay’s arm resting around y/n’s shoulders as he struggled to find strength, they managed to reach the sofa before y/n’s body gave up. both of them letting out large breathes before looking at each other and falling into laughter.

“you hungry, i could try making your mom’s soup?” y/n asked, as she pushed herself up to look down at the man. her hair falling down around her face and tickling jay’s skin. “i’m sure it won’t be as good as her’s but i’m willing to give it a try.”

the way she was sat with the large window gleaming light behind her, y/n almost looked like an angel. her eyes and smile were wide, with her beauty wrapping its hands around jay’s neck squeezing until his head felt light and he nearly reached up to touch her porcelain skin. but jay had noticed the sensation way before he was blocked up with a cold.

“yeah, uh, that sounds nice.” jay agreed with a minimal amount of sass, but y/n didn’t seem to notice as she moved off the cushions and towards the kitchen. she had pretty much memorised the recipe when jay had finally given it to her on her birthday after offering to pay for it multiple times. whizzing around the kitchen, she was too busy to notice the tired eyes admiring her from afar.

jay wished his mom was alive to see the woman that she would have loved. all the times he had brought girls back to his family when he was younger didn’t add up to an ounce of the beauty and power that y/n held in her middle finger. the way she bit back at his wit, but also had the ability to spot when he was upset from the other side of the city. she was everything her mother wanted in a daughter in law, everything she wanted for her little boy.

“okay, give me your honest opinion. i can take it i promise.” y/n sudden appeared with a tray that held a large bowl of the semi-thick orange liquid, a glass of water and a couple pills. approaching jay, she carefully helped him up from where he laid and placed it onto his lap. “actually that was a complete lie, do not tell me the truth. i may just cry.”

“why thank you, nurse y/l/n.” he teased.

“it’s doctor actually.” she quipped back.

jay chuckled lowly, as he grabbed the spoon and took a large spoonful to his mouth. feeling the slight sting of his tongue at the heat, it was only when the flavours hit that he was suddenly transported to an earlier time in his life. a simpler time. only this time there was y/n by his side.

“the verdict?” she prompted, taking a seat besides him, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“not sure whether i want to tell you, don’t think you’ll fit in this room if your ego grows any bigger.” y/n grinned as she leaned over to press a kiss against his shoulder. jay closed his eyes at the contact, feeling the ache in his body freeze for a moment as it registered the tingling sensation. “all jokes aside, it really is good.”

“i’m glad, your mother was a smart woman.” she nodded, leaning forward to turn tv on. jay continued to spoon the soup into his mouth, as y/n chose a show that they both had started together and had refused to watch another minute without the other. y/n leaned back making herself comfortable, having already texted voight telling him that she would most likely need the entire day off, and getting the go ahead, she had no plans other than being by jay’s side for the next however many hours.

it was sometime in the early evening and the tv continued to emit light, but neither jay nor y/n was paying any attention to the drama. jay, with his head on y/n lap, was leaning into her touch as her short, thin fingers ran through the dark strands that sprouted from his scalp. his body wrapped in a blanket that y/n had grabbed from his room, he felt completely at peace.

“you know what, i think you are more bearable when you are at death’s door.” y/n joked quietly, as the forest green eyes were exposed back to her own. jay groaned in annoyance, realising that there was no sweet y/n without the sharped tongue y/n. a trait he adored, but at his own expense.

“and to think i was starting to think you had gone soft on me, y/l/n.” he hummed, wishing he could forever have her giggle on repeat wherever he went, for the sound made goosebumps run down his neck and down his arms, like some kind of magic that only y/n possessed.

“as much as i love you, i can’t risk my bad ass reputation for you.”

although jay was sure it was just part of her banter, the moment the ‘i love you’ fell off her tongue, he found himself wide awake, unable to push past the feeling in his gut as it looped over again and again in his mind. y/n could see the conflict in his face, as he glanced up at her with something she had never noticed before.

“you mean it?” he asked.

“mean what?” confused, her fingers fell from his hair, making jay regret ever opening his mouth.

“do you really, you know, love me?” he knew he had committed too far to try and retreat. maybe he could blame it on the fact he couldn’t think straight, although she was like a lie detector that wouldn’t let such a bogus excuse pass. y/n blinked down at him, watching as he sat up to look at her with a hunger that needed to be addressed. swallowing the lump in her throat, y/n nodded.

“of course, you are one of my best friends, jay.” it was true, but it wasn’t the full truth, both of them knew that.

“i didn’t realise we had started lying to one another,” jay’s eyes were soft, as he reached to place his hand against her cheek, smiling as she slowly leaned into it. closing her eyes, she tried to find what direction she was looking for, but didn’t dare take the first step. without even thinking, jay jutted forward and captured her lips before they could form a single syllable.

gently, but passionately, jay and y/n moved their lips against the others. the feeling was ever-growing as the kiss deepened and deepened until they had no choice to pull back, deprived of their ability to breath. as jay’s eyes came back into view, y/n, for the first time in her life, had lost the ability to form a sentence.

“we just...” she began but it ran off quickly. jay chuckled.

“we did.”

the two sat in silence, examining the other one’s face until y/n found herself moving forward until she was sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist as she pressed her lips against his. just like before their bodies and minds were set ablaze with desire and what had remained unspoken for what felt like forever. jay had nearly completely forgotten about the illness that had put him in the care of the woman that he craved more than anything else the world had to offer.

as their lips parted ways, suddenly the air had thinned and everything felt... normal. jay’s lips were unable to break out of the large grin mould that y/n had put them in, which was soon mirrored by the young woman. a small giggle escaping her lips.

“if i get whatever it is you have, i expect the exact same treatment.”

“only for you, doctor y/l/n.”

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ofnifflersandkings · 4 years

Text

Endgame Strategy

Character: Benny Watts

A/n: I said I’d write for the hot chess people so I did. The timeline for this is kinda confusing but the desperation I had to write this made me simply not care.

•

“(Y/n)!”

A familiar voice pulled you from your current task of getting Benny’s two ton apartment door shut. You barely got yourself inside before a pair of arms promptly wrapped around you.

You staggered backwards by the sudden weight, a noise between a wheeze and a laugh escaping you as you registered who it was.

“If it isn’t my favorite drama queen!” You pulled back to get a good luck at Beth, a big grin busting out on both of your faces.

“Come in,” She ushered you in, helping you take off your coat and asking you little questions as she lead you over to the sink.

You were a pretty established photographer for some big fashion companies, so you had been traveling with Cleo around Europe for the better half of a year. You’d telephoned Benny as soon as all of your campaigns wrapped up and he instantly insisted you come to New York to make up for lost time.

You had just started to get a word in when you felt someone come up behind you and squeeze you abruptly, practically toppling you over. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

You looked over to see Benny already looking down at you with a grin before promptly ruffling up your hair. “Hey stranger,” He grinned. You pushed him off and turned to give him a proper hug.

You noticed Arthur and Hilton lingering behind him and you pulled yourself from his hold to greet them as well.

“You came at the perfect time,” Benny said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “We were just about to start.”

“What do you say, (Y/n)?” Hilton asked. “Finally gonna indulge us and play a game?”

You shoved his hands off of you and sent him a smile. “You don’t need some newbie slowing down your thunder,” You noticed Benny giving you the pleading look he always sent your way when you turned down playing chess. You swear you thought he knew how to deflate his eyes on purpose so he looked like a kicked puppy. “No, I don’t need your patronizing when I barely make it past five moves.”

Benny was an old childhood friend of yours, so you had known Arthur and Hilton for almost as long as he had. And they made it their personal life mission to rope into playing against one of them. But you were renowned for your patience and they’d yet to wear you down.

Beth sent a small pout your way and handed you a glass of water. “Oh please, now who’s the drama queen. You were doing great when I was teaching you last time we saw each other.”

Benny’s gaze shot up. “What?”

You scoffed at her, completely forget about your last encounter. “Now that’s not fair, we were hardly playing. You had to show me where to move every five minutes.”

“When did you see each other?” Benny pushed.

You sighed, smoothing down your sweater. “When I was in Paris with Cleo, we only saw each other the one night and I was just bored and tipsy enough to let her show me.”

She grinned at you, shoving her arm into you as she leant into your side. “I think you have lots of potential. I could make a grandmaster out of you, I know it.”

Benny’s eyes followed you as you moved from your standing position to sit next to him on the sofa.

“You never let me teach you how to play,” He murmured to you with a huff, causing a small tuft of his hair to fly upwards.

Benny had made several attempts to get you into the game he loved so dearly. And as one of the few constant people in his life he wanted you to be part of his world. But each time was met with a firm refusal on your part, insisting you wouldn’t get it. He’d try to pull every trick in the book, every charming smile and all the pretty words he knew to try and convince you to let him show you, but you were always indifferent to his charisma.

It annoyed the shit out of him.

Truth was you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of him. You’d seen him play at almost every match he was ever in and it was almost scary how good he was. You could play a casual game and maybe boast a win or two, but playing against him wasn’t something you think you’ll ever do. Besides, give him the satisfaction of having your inevitable defeat over your head? Not in this lifetime.

You let out a light laugh, smiling at Beth as she moved to grab the other boards from Benny’s alarming collection he kept stuffed in the closet. “You’re too intimidating when you play, I’d be distracted.”

Benny rolled his eyes, thinking of the stern look that permanently sets on Beth’s face. The woman who looks like she’s three seconds away from going for your neck during her games but he was too intimidating.

You took a sip from your glass of water and lightly knocking over one of the knight pieces on the board in front of you. “I don’t see why it matters, I’ll be beat regardless of who’s playing.”

He frowned, he’d always wanted to play you. Not because he cared about winning but he just wanted you to see his skill firsthand. You didn’t bat an eyelash at winnings anymore, and you never stuck around for his in-depth lectures about game theory with the other players. But he also knew you liked knowing the way things worked. And since chess was his bailiwick, Beth being the only other American player who could beat him, he knew you’d be impressed. At first he just thought you weren’t interested, so knowing you were being taught by someone else stung twice-over.

You knew something was wrong when he didn’t send a clever remark back your way. Benny liked to think he was this cool and collected character, but really he could be quite the prima donna. Knowing him for as long as you did made him an open book, you could almost always know what he was thinking.

“Don’t be such a baby, Bens.” You grinned, leaning over to tap the end of his nose, something you always did to irritate him. “She crushed me anyways.”

“You’d win if you let me teach you.” He argued, looking at you pointedly.

“I don’t need to win, that’s your job,” You leaned into him, trying to stroke his ego to get him to drop the subject.

Benny’s ears perked up and he was about to go into of his grand self-assured lectures when Beth interrupted him, promptly placing the boxes of chess boards on the table in front of him.

“I dunno, (Y/n),” Beth gloated, passing a box to Hilton. “I think he’s losing his touch, last time we played I damn near emptied his wallet.”

That got your attention, and you sat up with a laugh. “You’re kidding? In speed chess?” Your cackles only grew when she gave a proud nod. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

Benny scoffed, pushing away from you to help set up the boards. “You hardly missed anything-“

“She kicked his ass, ,” Arthur chuckled, loosening the cap on his beer bottle. “Said she’d kick him the crotch too when he tried to argue with her.”

You raised your glass to Beth in commencement. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

“Another simultaneous?” Beth asked, noticing they were moving the boards onto the floor, she turned back to you. “Have you ever seen once of these?”

You shook your head dramatically, moving from your place on the sofa to the floor so you could sit right next to the action. “Nope! I mean I know what they are, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

She smirked, placing the clock at every board while the boys situated the pieces. “Well, you’re in for a treat, these are my specialty.”

You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees so could you watch every move. The speed of the game was something you had long gotten used to, but it never was any less impressive. You don’t know how anyone’s brain could go that fast, but watching the pieces fly around the board completely fascinated you.

Beth really was everything the chess magazines said she was and maybe even more amazing in person. You found it hard to pull your gaze away from her hand, watching as she completely tore through the three boys pieces. Hilton and Arthur were the first to lose, knocking over there kings.

You got ready to settle in while she took on Benny, but not even a few moments later you watched him grimace and reluctantly fish his wallet from his pockets.

“Wow,” You breathed out, looking over at Beth with a gaze that could only be described as positively starstruck. “I mean I knew you were good, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

Beth felt her face get a little warm, not used to such straight-forward praise. At least not since she was a child prodigy. She reached her hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes, and pulled her gaze away from you.

“I can do it again.”

Benny felt his eyebrow twitch, he was used to your praise being directed at him for the most part. You had grown up with him constantly talking about and challenging others to play chess. And when he started to make a name for himself he’d taken you along with him. Before your work took off, you had more time to see his games in person. But, even when you couldn’t physically be there, you always called when you saw the results in Chess Review or tuned in to one of the broadcasted matches.

He was the best in the States for a long time, so you had become especially hard to impress. He knew Beth was better him than by miles, but to finally have his title of best chess player you knew taken away made him feel scratchy.

But he scoffed, straightening his back to try and get his focus back. “Not if I have anything to say about it, Harmon.”

And so for about three more games, she absolutely crushed the three boys. You got closer to the boards each time, admiring Beth’s superhuman skill. It made you feel a little sting of pride, the girl was showing up three of most arrogant and skilled players you knew.

“God,” You leaned back onto your elbows, sniffling a giggle when. “I would’ve given any amount of money to be here to see the faces on these boys when you did this the first time.”

Beth smirked, rounding up the pieces to put them away in their cases. “Me too, we could’ve gotten it all on camera.”

You groaned. “Such a missed opportunity.”

You lolled your head over and saw Benny staring intently at the board, a deep frown on his face. You smiled, scooting over so you could lean all your weight against him. “Don’t look so sad, Bens. I’m sure you would’ve gotten her eventually.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what you used to tell all the sorry losers I used to beat.”

You closed your eyes, settling into his side and sighing at his warmth. “You’re not a sorry loser. You’re the best chess player I know.”

“Still?”

“Hey now, I didn’t drag my ass to every one of your matches for decades for you to question my loyalty,” You teased, you opened your eyes and saw something on his wall. Nestled snug inside a frame was the first time he was on the cover of Chess Review.

“You remember when I took that?” You nodded towards it.

Benny smiled properly, his eyes getting a familiar shimmer. “Yes ma’am, I told them I wouldn’t be on the cover unless you got to take my photos,” He wrapped an arm around you. “Course if I had known it’d make you a hot shot photographer who had to go away all the time I might’ve kept my mouth shut.”

You smiled, reaching up to flick his forehead. “I’ve taken all your photos for decades” You made a sweeping notion with your hands to all the various magazines scattered around his apartment. “Even when we were kids, I think I earned my little adventures abroad”

Benny gave you a look, one you couldn’t quite place, but he kept your gaze for awhile. A small smile snuck up in the corner of his mouth before he looked down, strawberry blonde strands hiding him from your view.

“Well don’t stay away so long next time, yeah? I missed you.”

#the way this has bi disaster just written all over it #benny watts imagine #benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #the queen’s gambit #the queen’s gambit imagine #queen’s gambit imagine

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

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dat-town · 3 years

Text

throw me to the wolves (and i’ll return leading the pack)

Characters: rebellion leader!Juyeon & thief!you

Genre: action, kind of enemies to lovers, historical (set in early 1900s like in Mr. Sunshine)

Warnings: some suggestive themes but nothing explicit, violence, minor character deaths

Summary: As the king’s thief, you had been assigned to get back the stolen map of the palace. It’s easy as pie but you would have never expected such consequences of your actions and you certainly did not expect Lee Juyeon in your life.

Words: 8.3k

Author’s note: title is a Seneca quote as far as I know (and I swear it will make sense), also the concept is very much inspired by TBZ’s Road to Kingdom Reveal and Danger stages.

Lee Juyeon might not have been of royal blood but he had definitely been born to rule.

The first time you met him, he pressed the blade of a knife against your neck, pinning you to a dirty wall in the outskirts of Hanseong.

"Not the nicest way to say hi to a lady," you remarked casually as if neither the closeness of his firm, strong body nor the sharp object grazing your skin didn't affect you. He was a lot stronger than you, you knew that, it would have been useless to go against him with brute force, so you had to be smart about it.

"You are very far from a lady," he sneered at you, dark messy hair falling into his fierce eyes.

Meeting his gaze, your heartbeat stopped for a moment in fear before blood rushing to your face tinted your pale cheeks in the colours of rosy sunrises. His eyes were murderous and he held his weapon steadily, so you were sure he wouldn't have hesitated to slice your throat if things didn't go his way. He was a dangerous man, you knew that already. With a reputation like his, you expected nothing less.

Although he might have had the reflexes and the wits, he might have been able to find you but you weren't going to just let him win so easily.

"Oh, am I?" you tilted your head nonchalantly yet careful not to hurt yourself because of your own hastiness. Then you elegantly lifted your right leg to link it behind his thigh almost as if you wanted to pull him closer. As expected, he faltered momentarily, blinking surprised at your bold and suggestive move, but that was all you needed to pull out your own dagger from its case on your leg and point it at his abdomen with a triumphant smile playing on your carmine lips. Oh men and their confidence, they always overlooked the skills of women.

Juyeon gritted his teeth, pressing his lips together firmly and as he was looking at you through narrowed eyes and you swore you could almost see the cogs in his head turning.

"Not that I don't enjoy this but what about we continue this discussion in a more civilized manner?" you croaked a brow at him challengingly to which the guy just let out a ridiculing snort.

"Well, you could have thought of that when you robbed me," he remarked almost as if he was waiting for you to deny it. But you just shrugged, unbothered.

"Stealing from a thief can hardly count as a theft."

"But it doesn't change the fact that I want my possession back," the young man retorted and you cracked a smile at that. That wasn't unexpected, of course, he wanted it. A lot of people desired the same thing in those chaotic times.

"Well, I don't have it with me but if you are willing to pay me more than my current client I might consider giving it back. I won't risk my life for nothing. Not even for that handsome face of yours," you teased pressing his buttons on purpose, testing him but the guy let out another snort, this time with a roll of his eyes. He clearly didn't appreciate you joking around but you were dead serious about your offer. In this kind of business you were dealing in, betraying a client had a high price.

"What about you giving it back nicely and I will forget about this little incident?" he offered you a chance to come clean and there was a dangerous edge in his voice, a 'because if you don't...' kind of threat. Oh, so he was the revengeful kind. It didn't really surprise you but he also wasn't the first man promising to ruin your life. But also because of that, his words could not scare you.

"What about I start screaming and men will come and save me from a pervert who pushed me against the wall?" you asked and from the flinch of his mouth you knew you had won this time. Because Hanseong might not have been the most righteous place of all, men still liked to play the hero if a pretty girl called for help. Juyeon must have known this as well, so his silence made you smile. "What about we play by my rules? Be at the Eastern altar of the Buddhist temple by the time the bell rings last at midnight and we might make a deal if you bring enough cash."

“Aren't you afraid that I will just take it?” he pondered the thought but he should have known better.

“Aren't you arrogant to think I would let you have it so easily? So what will it be? Should I scream?” you provoked him on purpose and did not like his smirk one bit. But at least he pulled away, lowering his knife, slipping it back to its place while his gaze wandered down to your rolled up skirt and the dagger you held in your hand.

“There are better ways to make you scream,” he said hoarsely and you couldn't decide whether it was supposed to be a threat or he was just being cocky. But before you could have questioned his motives, he swiftly climbed over a wall, disappearing into the shadows.

Lee Juyeon was fuming. He hated to lose and for some reason, meeting you felt like a slap. He didn't like that you had something over him, something that he really needed, so he had no choice but to cooperate, something he really hated to do with people he didn't trust and he certainly loathed your fleeting loyalty. Your kind, who didn't believe in anything, always chose the side which seemed more favourable, was the worst in his eyes because you two might have been criminals just the same but at least he did it all for a reason, a greater cause.

"Did you get it back?" Changmin greeted him excitedly as soon as he stepped into their hideout but Juyeon didn't spare him a glance, he went straight to their safe.

"She didn't have it with her," he murmured grumpily and mindlessly but the other boy was quick to catch on that tiny detail.

"Wait... she? It was a girl that almost broke Chanhee's nose?" he gasped to which the guy he just mentioned threatened to throw the closest object at him which happened to be a stolen jewellery box.

"Thank you for the reminder," he spoke up ironically sweetly.

Juyeon just shot them a disapproving look.

"Yes, it was a very annoying girl," he said, blood still boiling because of the fact that this unknown girl managed to break into their hideout and steal the map of the palace. They worked too hard to get it just to get it taken away by a pitiful thief.

"We will get it back, don't worry, but we can't make it too easy for her because then she might get greedy. Get some of the boys. We are going to pray tonight," Juyeon said as he fixed his sword on his side.

Changmin and Chanhee exchanged a knowing look but neither of them objected. They knew better because if Juyeon was good at something other than having a tongue as sharp as his blade, that was planning. He just didn't like when things got out of hand.

The temple was eerily quiet moments before midnight. When the bell of curfew woke up all the birds that flew away, Juyeon stepped out of the darkness as well, making his way slowly towards the altar but just as he stepped inside the temple, a familiar voice echoed all around.

“Aren’t you curious why I chose this place?” came the rhetorical question from somewhere in the shadows. “Because the acoustic is so perfect that every little step can be heard clearly. So you better leave your boys out and come in alone.”

Juyeon gritted his teeth and signalled to the others to wait outside. He hated that he was outsmarted by you. Not because you were a girl, he prided himself in the fact that he didn't care about that. He didn't like anyone crossing his plans and you were doing that as if you had the time of your life waltzing through his chess board.

He took careful, calculated steps inside the temple. He halted for a moment when he saw you sitting cross legged in front of a golden statue of a deity. He himself had never been religious, no god had given him a reason to believe, so he believed in what he could see and experience: himself and his group.

"Let's cut to the chase. I brought the money," he said, throwing the bag of coins between the two of you.

You hummed, acknowledging the heavy weight of the bag. But if you wanted to be honest, you didn't really care about money. Sure, it was a good safety net in case your previous clients turned against you but money couldn't save your life, you could have done nothing with it dead.

"Why do you need the map of the Palace?" you roll the sheet of paper in front of you, so both of you would see it: the pretty architectural plan of the most important building complex of the empire.

"Isn't it obvious?" Juyeon croaks a brow at that, glancing down on the paper and the candles nearby, wondering whether you would threaten him to set it ablaze if he wasn't cooperative. If you were arrogant enough to think you could be faster than him.

"Hm, no. I can think of multiple purposes," you told him lulling the options in your head. “But you don't have a good thief. If you had instead of trying to negotiate with me they would steal it back, so I guess you don't wish to rob the treasury. Then again you would have much easier ways to get inside if you would like to free a prisoner, so that leaves me with one option: you want to kill the king. Or someone as important as him."

Him, that puppet king so hungry for power that he didn’t even notice how his advisers controlled him.

The corner of Juyeon's mouth twitches. No matter how much he tried to act nonchalant he was annoyed how well you figured him out. His silence was enough of an answer for you nevertheless. So with a content smile on your carmine lips, you tilted your head in interest, gaze fixed on his sharp lines even in the dim lit temple.

"You know, rumours say that you are the bastard son of the late king," you told him paying close attention to his reactions but Juyeon stayed unfazed.

"And you think I will tell you if it's right or not?" he let out a mocking laughter but you weren't one to take it to heart.

"It was worth a shot." you just shrugged, then looked down on the map he so desperately wanted. "I will let you have it for free. On one condition."

"Then it's not free," he corrected you but the way his mouth tilted with annoyance but eyebrows raised in curiosity, he couldn't have been that bothered.

"I want in," you told him, clear and honest, confident. "If you really want to kill the king, I want to join."

For the first time that night the guy seemed really surprised and he didn't hide it. He looked at you as if you thought killing was a children's game.

"That's rebellion, you know, right?"

"We're both criminals, you know, right?" you retorted and he stared into your eyes, cold fire burning in his dark orbs. Moments passed like this, in grave silence and then...

"Accept her freaking condition. We do need a good thief," someone yelled from outside and you let out a chuckle. At least someone was smart on that team, you liked him already. Unlike the infamous Lee Juyeon.

"If you ever just think about betraying us, I'll kill you myself," he gritted his teeth but you merely smiled at him. You had no plans on betraying them as long as they got rid of the puppet king. And your unpaid debt.

"Understood," you stood up, pushing the map to his chest and grinned at him. "Instead of sulking, introduce me to your boys."

The notorious group was unlike any other than you had met before. They seemed more like friends and family than allies from the way they acted around each other. Of course, you weren't taken to the headquarters right away. You were taken to some inn where a guy named Changmin who seemed the most open to your arrival checked whether the map was real. They also stood guard one by one during the night as if you wanted to kill them. Gosh, it was four against one and Mr. Almighty thought girls weren't a match for him.

You immediately hit it off with Changmin over the fact that you had punched someone called Chanhee in the face while stealing the asset from them the last time. Sangyeon was kind but careful from the beginning. But Sunwoo and Juyeon seemed more wary of you but after you gave the last chicken wing of yours to the younger, he softened, so only their leader was hard to crack. You didn't exactly blame him, he just tried to keep the others safe even if he did it in an annoying way.

"Let's get one thing right: I don't trust you. Your kind, only working for money as if that was your god, not believing in something, that's the worst," he told you one evening, right before you were about to meet the entire team.

"I don't have the luxury to believe in anything else than myself. Never had," you looked him straight in the eyes, no tremble in your voice and then, for the first time since you knew him, Juyeon's eyes had a kind of understanding in them as if he knew what you were talking about.

The next day you were heading towards a temporary base and while the guys warned you about possible checks and guards on the road, neither of you expected any connotation. You travelled on horse backs with a farm-wagon like some nomads trying not to draw attention but each of you were known and wanted criminals, so it was almost inevitable to get on someone's bad side.

"Where exactly are we going?" you complained when you noticed that you took a turn that led backwards from where you departed.

"To the base, like we said, we just don't want unwelcomed guests there," Juyeon gritted his teeth, tilting his head towards the mountains. You didn't see anything special in them but he must have been aware of how ambushes around there worked because it didn't take long for the men to show their faces… or well, their intent. The first arrow pierced into the ground only a few steps away from Sunwoo's horse's feet, scaring the animals and alarming all of you. You looked around, drawing your daggers from your belt but you didn't see anyone in particular. The attack must have come from the mountains, from behind the rocks and the first one was soon followed by another again and again arrows raining down on you like a summer downpour.

"Into the woods! Right now!" Juyeon yelled and everybody followed his order without questions asked, leading the horses among the trees, into hiding. You tried to keep up and follow the guys but it seemed like you had lost their sight while watching behind your back too, checking on the approaching attackers. Eventually you decided to let your horse go, far into the woods, away from the danger on its own as you tried to hide from the men. You were like a shadow thief after all, you were good at disappearing into thin air but not if you had an animal three-four times your size with you. You hid behind a rock covered in green leaves, wondering whether you should have climbed the bamboo trees instead when you heard the steps nearing. You suck in your breath, holding it in to not make any noise while mentally cursing Lee Juyeon and his gang for setting you up. The king must have offered a nice sum of money for proving you unfaithful. Why else would they have left you behind?

Just as you thought you were by yourself, a hand clamped over your mouth, pulling your body close to his.

"Keep quiet and follow me," Juyeon, that impossible guy, muttered before slowly taking his hands off you and yanking you towards the growing bushes in the middle of the bamboo forest. There, between two ordinary looking branches he crouched down and climbed into some kind of hole that was unnoticeable from afar. You followed him, knees and hands dirty by the time you got to some kind of cave where you could stand up finally and you blinked, trying to adjust to the dark.

"Welcome to the base," you heard Changmin's cheerful voice and he lit a lamp, filling the cave with light where everybody was safe and sound. Seeing that and how Sangyeon was in the middle of treating an arrow scratch on Sunwoo's arm, you let out the breath you had been holding this whole time. Back there, you really thought for a moment that they betrayed you already and while lack of trust saved you quite a few times, this time you weren't proud of doubting them already. Not that they had any sentimental reason to get you to safety, they needed you for their mission, only that, you knew that and refused to believe otherwise.

However, the confession that fell from your lips that evening while passing the pot of jjigae around was more out of a sense of fairness than guilt.

"You told me you hate the kind that works only for the money, right?" you met Juyeon's sharp, dark, ever so telling eyes by the campfire, keeping your voice low enough, so only the two of you would hear it.

"I don't really have much choice. I work for the king to pay off my family's debt. It's this or prison and if I can make some side money like that, why not?" you shrugged, not looking at him. You weren't curious about his reaction or opinion, you told yourself. You didn't tell him to pity you.

A few long moments of silence passed while you pretended to cool the food down while stirring until Juyeon spoke up.

"Then why are you betraying him?"

"Isn't it obvious? A debt to the king has no limit, I would have to work for him until the day I die, he would never be satisfied with less. I want my freedom back," you told him, honestly, which was received only by a hum but you were glad that he didn't drag the topic out, he didn't ask about the reason behind the debt.

After that day, you were more involved in the planning phrase of the upcoming missions and eventually you met the whole team. You went out to steal this and that with Chanhee, playfully commenting on how pretty his nose was and grew totally fond of Haknyeon who made the best noodle soup you ever ate. The more missions you had been a part of, the more time you spent with them and away from the castle, the less chance you had to go back and beg for mercy if things went wrong. That was your original plan: give it a chance and retreat if it didn't work out but you had to realise that these people didn't have A and B plans, this was their one and only fight and they believed in it. It made you want it to succeed even more.

"We don't do this to rule," Changmin told you one day, after practicing sword fighting. "Nobody here, not even Juyeon desires the throne. We do this for the oppressed people, for those who suffer the most under this unfair regime."

It sounded too noble to be real but you believed him. Even more so when you heard that their takeover plan considered the loss of people and that they wished to get over with it with the least victims possible. That was why they needed the plan too: to know the best path to the throne room and the king's and his advisers' rooms without getting in the way of many guards. You also needed to know where and when the soldiers did their regular checks in the palace, so your plan's next phase was to observe the place. Chanhee has some connections and you could have your hideout in a courtesan house close to the royal quarters.

"Change," Juyeon said as he put a pile of pastel green dress in front of you. You looked down with clear disgust on your face before looking back up at a disgust.

"Are you for real?"

"You can't walk into a courtesan house dressed like that. You are a girl," Juyeon's voice was authoritative and a bit tense, you scoffed.

"Wow, now you're saying that," you rolled your eyes at him, still grimacing even when you were told that it was expensive to get said dress. In the end, you had to admit, it was the plan possible way to get in, so you picked the clothes up with a sigh and walked into a further alcove to get changed before your departure. It had been a long time since you wore skirts, those weren't too practical for climbing or fighting, so you preferred pants and anything that made it easy to move quickly and comfortably. So it felt strange to wear something like this again, not to mention it was probably silk based on how soft it was against your skin and you probably had never worn something as expensive as that. You ever let your hair down from the usual ponytail that made sure it didn't get in the way, so you looked every bit of a decent lady when you stepped out.

"Wow," Youngjae gave voice to his awe the moment he saw you and Sunwoo had to nudge him in the side to close his mouth.

The boys were either shy about it or similarly amazed, only Juyeon didn't really react. He barely glanced your way before telling everyone to hurry up. You rolled your eyes at his obvious behaviour and stuck to Changmin’s side on the way to the courtesan house. It would have been too conspicuous if everybody went together, so you formed smaller groups.

The plan was to get everyone to the new base before midnight and observe the palace for the next few days in turns. To make it even more believable, in public you had to act as if you were one of the girls working in the courtesan house, that made it less suspicious for the guys to visit you either and you didn’t care about your reputation much anyways. Not that a lot knew you, the faceless shadow thief, anyways. During the next days you gathered enough information to know when it would have been the best to attack but there must have been a whistleblower around because soldiers raided the courtesan house one of the evenings.

“They closed off every exit and entrance, we cannot get out without being caught,” Sangyeon said while Hyungseo looked out the window, confirming that there were soldiers outside as well.

“Chanhee says they are checking every room where there’s no business going on,” Changmin closed the door behind him. You were on the top floor, so you had advantage in time while the soldiers were busy checking beneath.

“Business?” Youngjae furrowed his brows, confused and got a smack in the head from Sunwoo.

“You know,” he emphasized making hand gestures that almost made you laugh despite the tense situation.

“Then hide and let’s make it look like there’s something here they don’t have the right to see,” you said pulling the fancy hairpin out, letting your locks fall onto your shoulders as you threw your red robe onto the ground, leaving a bit of a mess.

“Oh my gosh,” Youngjae shrieked, scandalized and turned his back on you, deciding to hide inside the closet followed by Sunwoo while others moved behind the curtains.

“Come on, I can’t put on a show alone. That would be even more suspicious than having a tea party here,” you complained, heartbeat drumming in your ears as you heard the approaching steps echo from the stairs outside. You climbed on top of the bed that faced the door and raised a brow at the two guys staring at you as if they didn’t believe you were alright with what you had just proposed.

“Showtime, boss,” Hyunjae decided and literally dragged Juyeon’s jacket off him before drawing his sword out, he stood behind the door in case the soldiers would have come inside anyways. That left only the team’s leader, the guy who had once said you weren’t much of a lady, in front of you, looking like he had some internal conflict.

Ridiculous. It was just a fake act, even if he was terrible at pretending, he could have made an effort. You weren’t a bad face to look at, so he really could have at least not suffered so visibly about having to get close with you. Maybe you just imagined him cursing under his breath, maybe he really was that frustrated but at least you didn’t have to force him to get on the damn bed and unbutton his shirt a bit himself. Great.

“Could you not act as if it physically hurt you to touch m–” you muttered under your breath, annoyed but Juyeon cut you off with a simple movement. He climbed over you, hovering over your body and slid a hand onto your neck, angling your head just right for a kiss that never came. Your lips parted in surprise but his only grazed against it slightly, your breaths mingling in the air while his piercing gaze shot right through you. It felt burning, the way he looked at you with those feline eyes from so close. You could practically feel the heat of his body, his skin scorching against yours – or was it you? – and your heart picked up its speed once again. The wait was nerve-wracking because you felt the tension stiffen in the air while you listened to the thuds of doors opening and closing, soldiers shouting.

When the door your room opened, revealing three men in black behind it, you pretended to be shocked and automatically reached to rearrange your clothes while Juyeon turned his head lazily towards the intruders.

“Who are you to disturb me? Did I not pay enough?” he yelled at the soldiers who exchanged knowing looks, but after looking around for suspicious signs, they indeed retreated.

You let out a breath when the door finally closed again and tried and failed not to roll your eyes at how fast Juyeon pulled away. Hyungseo cleared his throat and said something about seeing the two of you slightly undressed in a bed scarring him for life and one by one all the guys came out of their hiding place, only making comments about the recent events behind your backs.

After the visit of the soldiers, the tense atmosphere slowly dissolves into something like anticipation and determination to get done with their plan as soon as possible. You already had a good idea about the daily routine within the palace but with how frequently they changed their guards it would have been almost impossible to get through them without drawing too much attention and that was the least you wanted. If the royal guards knew about your arrival, you would have been too outnumbered to actually do anything, much less to get to the king himself. But you had a good card in your favour.

"So I will be taking the map back?"

"Right. If we have at least a bit of luck, the king and his men only know that you came to get that. Let's say you had trouble getting your hands on it..." Sangyeon explained which made you scoff out loud. You didn't mean to look down on them but it was ridiculously easy to get the map. Sure they had stood guard and they kept it locked away but a group of about ten guys was nothing you who had been robbing much more secured places than their bases. The most difficult part was to actually find them, after that it was like a children's play. So it somewhat hurt your pride and reputation as a thief to admit you had to waste days until you got it.

"Sure, we can say that I tried to seduce your boss to get the map here," you shrugged and glanced at said guy and knew that despite your nonchalant behaviour your words provoked him based on the way he clenched his jaw. "That would explain even if one of the guards recognized me. Though I don't see much of a chance for that. Although this much time would have been enough for you to get what you wanted from it, so the king will be displeased."

"Will you meet him in person?" Haknyeon asked since that was crucial information regarding your plan. If you were about to meet the king, then they must be there, too. But no, you only met the king once and the memory sent shivers down your spine. You were dragged in front of him, clothed rugged, dirt and bruises all over you as two guards held you. You weren't proud of how you had been crying but that day, you were sure you were about to die. As a daughter of servants in the royal palace, you had no way of providing a better life for yourself. You weren't only a subject to the king but his slave. When you were born that way, there was no chance of getting out. Born as a girl you couldn't become a guard, a soldier or a scholar. It was a time when the higher you could go was becoming a concubine but you had no intention of lying under the king or a prince. You would have chosen death over that.

But no, the king must have wanted something since he didn't kill you with your parents when he learned about their betrayal, about how they sold information about him to his brother. No, he took your life and made sure to form you to his will, to make the perfect little thief and spy for him in exchange for letting you live. But he was naive to think that you would be loyal to the murdered of your parents. Because he might not have been the one to draw the sword but he was the one who gave the orders, him and not his stupid advisers who made your country rot and the people suffer.

"Probably not. He usually gives me orders through his right hand man," you said, knowing too well that said man had his temperament to match the king's. They would beat you just enough, so you could steal more for them. Maybe break only your left hand to cause enough pain but not turning you incapable for them. You were an asset, nothing more and you hated it.

"What will happen to you because of your latency?" came the next question and gulping down your own fears, you waved it off, forcing a confident expression onto your face.

"Don't worry about me and break into the king's quarters like you should," you told them, clear as the sky was on summer afternoons you had liked as a child.

The truth was, everybody knew what happened to those who displeased the king. It wouldn't matter that you bring back the desired map. If you were late, it was the same as not going along with the order.

"You should have someone to be there with you," Juyeon spoke up for the first time for a while, his gaze fixated on the map without a fail and it made the corners of your mouth twitch. It almost sounded like he cared.

"Are you worried about me, Lee Juyeon?" you raised a brow at him, cunningly like a tease but when he looked up and your eyes met, the words froze onto the tip of your tongue. There was something sad in his eyes, something you had failed to notice before. As if he understood you more than you would have thought.

"Of course, we are all worried about you!" Changmin said vehemently and you tore your gaze away from the raven haired boy to turn to him with a grateful smile.

"Then, focus on not getting yourself killed first. I can take care of myself," you claimed and kept acting like it through the meeting, deciding on the upcoming Lotus festival celebration's night for the attack. There might have been more guards around then but with more guests in the palace, it would have been easier to blend in. No to mention that the king being drunk could probably help too.

It was a good plan, one you believed in. One that could finally bring you peace and freedom. You didn't want to delude yourself too early, so you tried not to think too much about it. If the mission wasn't successful you would have been killed for sure since what you were about to do was treason and no traitor could live in Hanseong.

It was a two way street then: freedom or death. Free from the king's chains either way. Yet, the night before the Lotus festival, you found it hard to sleep. You were fidgety, even snapped at Changmin when he tried to make a joke about you finally looking like yourself in your regular clothes instead of the courtesan one. You apologized and he understood, everybody was tense after all but it showed differently. Juyeon for example was even more closed off and quieter than usual. You didn't expect to run into him at night, though.

It was eerily quiet in the corridors and you just wanted to get some fresh air, outside of the suffocating atmosphere of your room. Meeting him by the gate, however, wasn't the plan.

"Are you ditching us?" he asked in a hoarse voice, back leaning against the brick wall as soon as you passed by him like wind. His voice was more passive and sad than angry and you remembered how he warned, threatened you to kill you if you decided to betray their trust. Sure, you could have ratted them out, saving yourself but did he really trust you so little?

"I don't know. Should I?" you retorted just for the sake of it because it was ridiculous: his suspicion of you even after all this time. But he didn't answer, so you rolled your eyes. "I just needed some air. Just like you, I assume."

Juyeon seemed to complement over your reply but he must have deemed it good enough because he turned his deadly gaze away. You didn't intend to have a heart-to-heart talk with him but since you might die tomorrow, it was your last chance to ask questions like:

"You already know my reason for treason but what's yours? And don't give me some crap like for a better and fair future," you turned to him but you were careful enough to look around before talking about something like that in public.

However, Juyeon either wanted to avoid answering or simply didn't like the place as he bob his head towards the courtesan house and as his sign, you went back inside, finding solace in your empty room. It had been a long while since you had been alone with him and you remembered what happened here the last time when you were this close… even closer. Now you both sat on the ground, backs to the wall, no touching, no smart retorts, no audience.

"Have you heard the story of the Crown Prince?" Juyeon spoke up but his question made you furrow your brows.

"About Prince Hyunjoon? What story?" you wondered out loud as confused as you were. Prince Hyunjoon had been sent to study in a prestigious academy as it had been advised to the king but it was probably not for his own good, there were rumours going around that he had sent the boy away because he feared he would try to take his throne from him. He had grown to be paranoid.

"No, not him. The first born prince," Juyeon corrected you and that made sense, you couldn’t recall anything else that was interesting regarding the next ruler of the country. You believed that after his father’s death, even if he was inexperienced, he could make a better king. He was said to be kindhearted after all.

"Ah, the prince who died almost 20 years ago?"

Your question had been left hanging for a few long moments and you even turned to face Juyeon, wondering whether he heard up but what he said next made your eyes grow comically wide.

"He didn't die,” he claimed so sure of himself that it left no doubts even though it was already crazy. “But he has always been unworthy of the title of the crown prince."

"What do you mean? And how do you know?" you sprouted questions because in that moment you could do only that, even forgetting how it came up in the first place.

"You see, the crown prince was indeed the son of the queen but just as the king wasn't faithful, she wasn't either. She had her child out of wedlock but raised him as if he was the kind of royal the king desired,” the boy continued quietly, looking down at his hands, playing with a ring on his pinkie finger. “The king figured out and he was furious. He got the queen killed but the boy was rescued by rebels. He was only six at the time but from one day to another, his father who had never been a kind man became his biggest enemy, so he had grown up seeking revenge.”

You had listened to this story, his story, you were sure, and you couldn’t have been more shocked. You knew that the king was an awfully temperamental man but killing his own wife and a child? And these days he got drunk and had multiple women in his quarters? It made you sick.

“That’s my reason for treason,” Juyeon added slowly, quietly, almost gentle and for the first time you wanted to tell him something reassuring, something so unlike you but it wasn’t your place to pat him on the back and tell him everything would be alright.

“I… I never knew. I have grown up in the palace but I have only heard that the first prince had died and his death broke the queen’s heart, too,” you whispered, suddenly feeling naive but who would have thought?

“Not many people know. He hid it well,” the boy gritted his teeth, then exhaled a few shaky breaths. “But Hyunjoon knows and he’s on our side. He will make a good king.”

You hummed along, agreeing, hoping for better days and that you could live long enough to enjoy those.

"Look, I know you hate me..." you started off, not trying to come off as someone close to him just because he told you this but then, he unexpectedly cut you off. His confident voice caught you off guard so much that it had your eyes widen in surprise.

"I don't," he said and you might have only imagined it but he sounded a bit nervous. He probably wasn’t used to talking about his feelings, even if it was hate. Now, that made two of you. "I did hate you but... I hate everything that I associate with the king and you... I have seen the bag of gold coins paid for killing my mother and me."

Ah. So that was why he hated ‘your kind’ so much. The kind that took dirty money and accomplished any task thrown in their way, even murdering an innocent child. It made sense, the murderous look in his eye, the disgust he had written all over the place whenever he looked at you. He probably associated you with those who had taken his mother away from him.

“I’m just a thief. I never killed anyone, even though some I encountered would have deserved it,” you told him. You didn’t owe him an explanation or anything for that matter but still, you wanted him to hear that from you because you knew how your reputation made you sound.

"I know," Juyeon stated, oddly calm and you were dumbfounded to notice the subtle smile in the corner of his mouth before he turned his head to look at you. Dark orbs finding yours, stirring something inside you. "Your aim is too shitty for you to be a killer."

"Yah!" you gasped, pseudo-offended but then laughed it off and for the first time in a long while, for a moment you felt light and at ease. Who knew Juyeon could make you feel that way too and not just boil your blood in an annoying way.

Looking back, you should have known better. You should have seen that something was off. But your mission was planned so well that you believed the smooth execution was thanks to all those long days who had put into it and all those months and years of preparation that Juyeon and his team had behind their backs in order to even dare such a thing.

Getting into the palace during the Lotus Festival was easy. A lot of people came and went during the parade and the palace was buzzing with life. The king looked like he was having fun as well, maybe a bit too much with how often his glass was refilled with rice wine but his recklessness was only working into your favour. By the time the celebrations became dull enough for the ruler to leave, you left your signal in the throne room, wishing for counsel. It was always like this but you never met the king during these times, you didn’t even mind it. Still, waiting in the half-lit room was quite nerve-wracking while you prayed for the others to be able to make their way to the king’s chambers without any hitch. You knelt before the empty throne, head onto the ground, waiting like a good, loyal subject and you suppressed the shudder running through you when you heard approaching, arrogant steps.

“You’re late,” a voice said and you still kept your head down. But you were ready to draw your dagger any needed moment.

“My deepest apology, Your Majesty. I tried to be as quick as possible,” you mumbled out an excuse knowing well that until the right hand let you know that he wasn’t the king, you had to act as if he was.

“Then you were too slow,” the man grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at him and with widened eyes, you saw those ruthless ones that had been haunting your dreams since your parents’ death. There was the king in front of you.

But… the whole team had clearly seen him go to his chambers! Then… who was that? Who played that role in the trap? How far would they have gone? What was waiting for the others on their way to the king’s main bedroom? You had to warn them somehow!

"You really thought you could double-cross me? You thought I wouldn't know that you betray me?" the king clicked his tongue, earning your attention again, injecting fear into your veins. You wanted to turn your head, to pull away, to yell at Changmin to go and let the others know but before you could have done any of that, the king pushed you onto the ground.

"Ah, looking for your friend?" he asked mockingly and with a flick of his wristy he called for his guards, the men who carried the luml body of a familiar face.

"No! Changmin!" you shrieked in panic. He was supposed to keep an eye on you, not getting caught. Now, that it wasn't just you in immediate danger, worries took over your chest almost suffocating you.

"Although I should be grateful since you brought my long lost son back home, so I could finish the job my men couldn't," the king tilted his head as if he was pondering over the thought. Your fingers curled up in a fist, glaring at the man with hatred. He played with all of you like a cat played with mice before eating. He enjoyed your suffering and the mind games he played but you weren't keen on being one of his pawns. Not anymore.

Juyeon was ready to kill the king, even if he had to die and in a way you both just wanted revenge and freedom. You had never been a killer but you were ready to die trying in order to end the rule of a tyrant and to save the guys who had become your comrades and friends over the past few days, weeks and anyone who had the same destiny as you. Nobody deserved to have their life hung by a thread of an ultimate made by one side.

So you decided to make a risky move, a reckless one as you reached for the dagger in your belt, throwing it at the smug man the next time he turned towards you. It was a hasty movement, surprising enough for the guards to rush to the king's side but Juyeon was right: your aim was shitty.

Instead of his chest, the dagger barely grazed the king's upper arm and fell onto the ground with a pathetic thud. The man just laughed as if it was funny and picked up your weapon, turning it against you. You gulped as you backed up until the wall. You heard Changmin yelling at you to run while trying to free himself from the guards but you couldn't move, you just stood there, frozen, and watched as the man lifted his hand to strike down at you with the blade. You flinched when he moved, closing your eyes like a coward and only opened them when you felt the man get wobbly in front of you, falling onto his knees from the dagger getting him from behind. Blood spilled from his mouth as his body shook before giving up the fight and you let out a relieved sigh. Such an unceremonious, simple way for a king to die but he didn't deserve more.

"Are you okay?" Juyeon asked, voice honeyed with care and even his dark eyes softened as he stepped closer to check on you, looking for bruises. The same eyes you noticed behind the king when he approached and you had to try your best not to show surprise and relief.

"Yeah. You got here just in time. How did you know?" you gaped at the guy and the others who fought off the guards in the meantime. If the king's bedroom was a trap, how did they get out?

"That man didn't have a limp. I realized he had been a fake one to begin with," he said simply as if it was natural but you had no idea the king had a limp up until now. You still tended to forget he had lived in the palace, close to the king in his childhood and now you tried to imagine him on a throne. It was easier than ever with you being in the throne room with a dead king but Juyeon had never had the ambitions to govern.

"Well, next time you could be faster," you teased, trying to lighten up the atmosphere and luckily, the team's leader didn't seem to mind. His smug smile was back and you would have rolled your eyes if he hadn't just saved your life.

"Will there be a next time? When you're being cornered by a man?" he raised an eyebrow challengingly, a little suggestively but instead of hitting him on the chest, you raised your chin and played the same game:

"Who knows? I keep getting into these situations since I got to know you," you tsked and there was no lie in there. Juyeon smiled at you, sincerely, his eyes holding a secret only the two of you knew but he was practically pushed aside when Changmin came to make sure you weren't hurt, mumbling something stupid about it being his fault.

Juyeon looked around, proud to see his men fight for the same cause and their efforts paying off. When it was finally time for you to leave and start a new chapter in your life, you looked back on the empty throne and the bloody crown on the floor.

“We don’t need a king sitting high on his throne, it’s the time of dogs and wolves,” Juyeon muttered and outside, the Lotus Festival continued as if nothing happened. Smiling, you joined the celebrations.

So this is what it tasted like: freedom.

#the boyz x reader #juyeon x reader #the boyz x you #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #stories

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