#i just need to have somewhat of a control over where the survey goes

[empresskaze]

I caved, here's a somewhat short Mal/evo/lent drabble. I tried keeping it as vague as possible so people who aren't familiar with the show can enjoy it. Only thing you really need to know is John is an entity in Arthur's head that only (usually) he can hear. John has control of Arthur's eyes and his left hand. John's parts are in bold.

Not beta'd. I will post this to ao3 too.

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Old Habits

Summary: Arthur begins to fall into his habits as he and John pursue Larson. Set post episode 29.

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"Arthur?"

No reply, not that he expects any. Since arriving in New York, Arthur had grown considerably more irritable in general. The private investigator had barely slept in the two days since they arrived by train.

John, honestly, had been pretty used to Arthur's behavior since Addison. His companion rarely seemed to pay much attention to his physical or emotional state unless, one John pestered him about or two, Arthur collapsed.

John was hoping the latter wouldn't happen this time around.

"Arthur?" He tries again however keeping the aggravation out of his own voice proves difficult.

"Not now John!" Arthur snaps, "Just tell me when it's safe to cross. Thanks to you I've nearly been run over twice!"

"Right, and how awful people in this city drive has nothing to do with it?" John bemuses. "Left here. Step to your right side there's a crowd waiting for something."

"I wonder what." Arthur says casting his head so John can get a better look.

"The sign reads Anything Goes, the people waiting are wearing in fine suits and long gowns, some women have furs over their shoulders." John replies taking in the flashing bulbs of the marquee.

"It's a musical by Cole Porter." Arthur responds nearly out of breath as his pace picks back up.

"What’s a musical?" John inquires.

"A play where people sing." The irritation in Arthur's voice isn't lost on John. "Do you even know where we're going?"

"Like a movie?" John asks. He feels Arthur's whole body tense. "Yes, the street we need is up here, wait...okay turn left again. Stick close to the building, there's less people here."

"Right fine." Arthur says hugging the wall. "What do you see?"

John takes a moment surveying the dim alleyway. "The buildings block almost all the light coming, we're only a few steps from the street and I'm struggling to see, it looks like any lamps used to light this way aren't working. Whether that's on purpose I'm not sure."

"Do you see anything..." Arthur chews on his words as he looks around hoping it'll help John catch something.

"Anything?"

"Fuck, John I don't know! Out of the ordinary, something that shouldn't be there, a door or...I don't know something!" Feeling the crumbling brick with his right hand, Arthur flicks away the dust, "Does this look like somethings behind it?"

"It looks like a old brick wall, Arthur." John replies lowly.

"Fuck!" Cursing, Arthur kicks what he hopes is a box he felt near his foot. "A deadend, of course!"

"I did tell you our informant didn't appear trustworthy."

"I know! I know! Just already two days here and so far we've found nothing about this Cult or Larson or..." His words are cut as Arthur falters, instinctively his hand reaches out to find anything to steady himself.

"Arthur!" John's own vision darkens as Arthur's eyes flutter. "Arthur! We need to leave, you're dead on your feet."

"It's fine, just...give me a moment, John." Arthur staggers up, leaning against the wall. His breaths shudders in his chest as he attempts to summon whatever strength he still has.

"Of course." John softens his tone, "But when was the last time you ate or slept?"

Arthur's huffs, "I thought you didn't like when I ate?" He stumbles forward, "This way?"

"Arthur..." He's making excuses again, this isn't lost on John. "Yes a few more steps and you'll be on the street...yes here. A cab is coming, hail it."

"We should..." Arthur begins, lazily raising his hand in the air. The will to keep his own eyes open for John is slowly becoming harder.

"We will, for now let's return to the hotel. You need to sleep. Nothing good will come if you pass out in an alley."

"Right...right..."

John directs them to the cab. The ride back to the hotel is quiet, John feels Arthur slipping in and out of consciousness. His friend feels oddly warmth too though John isn't sure how. Bringing the left hand over, John uses the fingers to brush the side of Arthur's face.

Arthur hums, "John?"

"We're almost to the hotel." He says softly.

Arthur sits up, unconditionally rubs at his eyes. "Door handle?" He paws at the door.

"Yes there. It's coming up."

Arthur fumbles for change to pay then exits, the crisp wind hits his face. "Christ." He mutters, "Tell me the door is close."

John sneaks another look at the cityscape before focusing back on the approaching hotel. "To your right...little more, there. It definitely feels colder than before."

"Well it is December." Arthur says as he walks toward where he remembers the elevator is.

"What do you mean?" John asks as he directs Arthur to the proper floor button.

Arthur leans against the side of the elevator, arms crossed over his chest. "December, you know winter?"

"Okay..."

"Christ, John the seasons!" Arthur quips but a small cough follows, "We're in winter right now, so it's cold." The elevator dings signaling their floor. "I can't wait to crawl into bed."

John, still unsure about this 'seasons' talk decides to shelf it until later. "This time try to sleep for longer than an hour...one more door down, here."

Before Arthur can fish the key out, he coughs again, so John manuevers his hand into the coat pocket, unlocking the door.

"Thanks." Arthur's voice sounds weaker than normal. John still feels this strange warmth coming off the private eye.

Not bothering to remove anything but his shoes, Arthur feels for the thin blanket covering the bed, climbing beneath it. "Sorry but I can't keep my eyes open anymore."

"That's okay..." John pauses, using his hand to pull the blanket up closer around Arthur. "Arthur....why do you feel warm?"

"I don't, I'm cold actually." Arthur's voice is nothing more than a sigh as he slips into hopefully a dreamless sleep.

John once again feels Arthur's face, no he definitely feels warmer than normal. Time always passes slow while Arthur sleeps. John wants to admit it doesn't bother him anymore, not since the coma, but times like this John begins to worry about his companion. His hand continues to brush over Arthur's face and hair as his friend sleeps fitfully at times.

The first days after finally leaving the estate, Arthur seemed better at take care of himself, eating more in that time then John had witnessed before (much to his chagrin), sleeping better, going shopping for new clothes, getting a much needed haircut and shave. Arthur had talked about remembering what he learned but to John, it seemed it easier for Arthur to slip into old habits lately with the trail to Larson stale. However, he listened to him about leaving the alley, perhaps there was hope.

Several hours pass, John feels Arthur's body shiver though still wrapped the filmsy blanket. Arthur's brow creases, a faint whimper escapes his parted lips. John gently pats Arthur's shoulder.

"It's okay Arthur, the dream will end soon." John says knowing Arthur won't wake, "This too shall pass."

[sunnyie-eve]

Gold Bars(Pt.6)

Series: Never Leave You | OBX

Paring: (JJ Maybank x OFC! Rafe Cameron x OFC!)

Word Count: 2410

Warnings: mention of abuse, JJ being jealous

Last | Next

John B tells the other three that the gold never actually went down with the Royal Merchant; it's been at Tannyhill the whole time. The message about the wheat is code for gold and they just need a survey map to figure out exactly where it's hidden.

"What the plan?" Pope asks.

"Good question. So Sarah Cameron's coming tonight. She'll bring an original survey map-," Kiara cuts John B off not happy she was involved now.

"Do I look like the type of person to fall for Sarah Cameron?"

"Do you want us to answer that, or?" Pope looks at him so John B tells him to stop and Kiara complains more.

"Kie, I get it you don't like her or trust her but if we want to get this gold, and she's the only person that can give us the map to find it… we have to work with her a bit whether you like it or not. It's her being involved somewhat or no gold. What do you choose?" Callie looks stands up from where she was sitting.

Kiara groans because Callie had a point so they all go to John B's van to go meet with Sarah. John B goes alone to see her while the other four wait in the van. A few minutes pass and Kiara and Callie hear yelling for help then they all do running over to find Sarah begging for help as John B laid on the ground passed out.

Help arrives taking John B to the hospital and Sarah goes with him while the others go home hoping he would be fine. When Callie got home her aunt and Joey weren't home yet.

"Now… You've had me worried all day!" Callie slaps JJ's chest as they walk into her room. "I knew he would do something to you!" Callie looks at him in better lighting.

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't JJ! I know how Luke is and I know what it's like. It's okay, to tell me the truth. You don't have to lie to me." She tears up.

"When he passed out on the couch… before I let I pointed the gun at his head. I wanted to pull the trigger to end it all but I couldn't." He tears up so Callie wraps her arms tightly around him.

"As much as I would love for that man to die… I wouldn't be able to pay for you to get out of prison."

"I meant what I said… you look beautiful tonight." He whispers rocking her side to side.

She pulls back to look at him, "You look cute in a waiter outfit." She giggles. "So what exactly happened to when the assholes corner you?"

"Before they could do anything security showed up. As I was leaving Rafe told me to tell you, you look pretty hot for a Pogue. I turned around to punch him." JJ looks up rolling his eyes.

"God, you make me want to kiss you." Callie laughs.

"Thought you wanted to go slow? Just flirty friends?"

"You're making it really hard for me not to speed shit up. You aren't in the friend zone circle… you have one foot on the line and one foot outside of it. And I would love it if you at least kept both feet on the line." She steps up to him.

"I can't help where I end up in your friend zone circle. You decide where I go not me. I have no control ma'am. But I will wait until you pull me out of there. I promise I'll never get tired of waiting for you. Trust me, I've been waiting for ten years…" JJ gets his clothes to get ready for bed.

-

The next day at The Wreck John B lets the others know that he was staying with the Camrons since Ward is helping him out. Pope and JJ decided to joke around with him now living over in Figure Eight.

"It's out of whack cause the guy was ganja'd when he drew it." JJ looks at the map.

"It's cause the coast has changed so we just have to look for landmarks that haven't changed." Callie looks at him then at the map.

"What about the old forts?" John B suggests.

"Battery Jasper." Kiara points at the map so they head out looking for parts of the map that hasn't changed.

The five end up at the Crain house, "I heard that Mrs. Crain buried her husband's head in the property." JJ says and they all look at the house.

"I never really believed the stories of this place." Callie says as they walk in the property.

"What stories did you hear?" JJ walks up next to her.

"The one where she killed her husband with an axe and that she's been holed up ever since. On certain nights when the moon is full, you can see her in the window." Callie says in a spooky playful tone.

"No, it's not funny, cause it's all true. I swear to God, guys, this is all real. I knew Hollis. Jeez!" JJ says then goes on to explain the story he was told.

The group then has to split up to search around better, "I'll search the northeast quadrant, you search the northwest." Pope tells JJ walking off.

"The decapitation quadrant." JJ tells him.

"Oh, come on." Callie grabs his arm dragging him with her to look but they don't find shit.

They all end up under the house looking since it was the only place they haven't looked, "Down came Mrs. Crain and cut off all our heads. Up came the sun and dried up all the blood." JJ sings.

"Can you stop?" Callie turns around to look at him annoyed. "I don't think there's any water down here." Callie looks around.

Kiara and John B end up fighting about Sarah then slapping each other because of mosquitoes then they all start to swat them. "Why are there so many mosquitoes in a basement?" Pope asks.

"There water somewhere then down here or they wouldn't be here." Callie says and they both look at the wooden floor and find out there was water underneath.

"Well, well, well." Pope says as they all look down it.

"That was a good dad joke." John B tells him.

"They built this part of the house right over it." Kiara says.

"This is where she hid the bodies." JJ sparks Lu making everyone tell him to stop it.

"So we found water." Pope looks at John B.

"We're gonna need a really big rope."

Back at John B's place, he invites Sarah and Kiara was not happy. She didn't trust Sarah one bit and said he had to choose between her or Sarah before storming off so Pope goes after her.

Caught in a difficult position, John B decides to try and get Kie and Sarah both on the same page as he realizes he needs both of them for the mission ahead. In order to do that, he concocts a drastic plan to force their hand. John B's mission was to get Sarah and Kie onto an abandoned boat in the open water together and left alone to deal with their issues so that's what they did the next day.

At the moment Sarah was locked away on the boat and when Kiara arrived Callie, JJ, and John B acted like they couldn't fix the boat. As she checks the boys and Callie rush off jumping into the water swimming to Pope. They other two girls were pissed but John B told them not until they figure it out.

"You think they will make up?" JJ asks Callie as they head to John B's place.

"They'll talk it out when they get high." She nods her head.

While Kiara and Sarah are forced to makeup, the others drink and smoke back at home having fun. At the moment Callie went home to get a bag of clean clothes so it was just the boys.

"Why exactly did you kiss Callie?" JJ asks a little drunk staring at his best friend.

"Wait, you kissed Callie? When? Before Sarah right?" Pope looks at John B.

"Why are you randomly bringing this up now? You didn't care when I told you." John B asks confused.

"Someone wants to fill me in? I thought no secrets or no Pogue-on-Pogue macking." Pope looks between the two.

"After running from the lighthouse he kissed her and before that he flirted with her." JJ moves his hands around with holding a beer.

"Again, why are you bringing it up?"

"Just answer, why did you kiss her?" JJ raises his voice.

"Because she cared about me! And I missed her and she was beautiful, and I just wanted to. I liked her when we were younger to man." John B shouts out at him.

"But I liked her first! You knew how much more I liked her and you go and kiss her!" JJ stands up from the hammock.

"She didn't kiss me back so she didn't feel the same JJ." John B sighs.

"I know she didn't because she told me. And guess what she kissed me! Twice! Hey, cupcake, your back." He smiles as Callie shows up.

"Is everything okay?" She looks at each of them.

"You kissed JJ, twice?" Pope looks at her so she looks at a drunk JJ.

"The first one was just to get him to wake up. The second one he kissed me." She looks back at the other two. "We said we're just friends." She adds as JJ lays back down on the hammock.

"I'm going to bed. We have to get the girls tomorrow." John B heads inside slightly hurt deep down that she kissed JJ but not him.

"I guess I'll get some rest too. You can babysit him." Pope heads inside as well.

"What happen to our kiss being a secret?" Callie slaps JJ.

"I'm sorry, I was just mad at why John B kissed you so I said you kissed me instead of him." He looks up at the sky.

"You don't need to be mad." Callie lays next to him, "Because like you said, I kissed you not him. Can you tell me what that means?"

"You like me not him." JJ looks at her.

"Exactly." She gives him a smile.

-

With Sarah and Kiara now on the same page with their problems in the past, the group head back and checks out the well the next night. When they get to the garden, it turns out there are motion sensor lights so Sarah and Kie are forced to shut them off by heading inside the house.

When the two get the lights off the other four head to the basement setting up to lower Callie down since she was the lightest out of the four.

"Guys, I have one request… Don't drop me." Callie tells them so JJ plays around.

Even though Callie wasn't heavy it was still hard for Pope and JJ to be careful since all they had was a rope. John B didn't help holding the rope since he was watching Callie go down and was the messenger between the two if it got difficult to hear as she got farther.

While JJ was trying to get situated he falls and Pope couldn't hold the rope alone so Callie falls fast yelling whoa.

"I had one request!" Callie yells up.

"You good, Cals?" John B points his flashlight down.

"What the hell happened?" She looks up at him.

"Little technical difficulties with JJ." He tells her so JJ says sorry.

"Just keep going, but slow please." She tells him and he tell the boys.

As they lower her she looks down trying to see the bottom finally after some time she sees the shitty water, "I'm hanging over sewage looking water."

"You want back up?" John B asks her.

"Not yet, just keep going." She tells him so they lower her into the water and it was cold. "Eww, I'm at the bottom!" She lets them know.

"How is it down there?" Pope asks.

"Worse than I thought. I'm starting to regret trading places with John B to make this easier for you guys." She looks at the shitty water.

"Find any gold yet?" JJ asks her.

"If I did, I would have told you." She feels something with her foot, "Here goes nothing." She holds her breath going under to pick it up but it was a jaw of a skeleton making her freak out. "JJ! JJ! Pull me up! Please! Pull me up! JJ! Come on! JJ! Please!"

They start to pull her up and John B helps since she sounds terrified but they stop when she yells wait over and over as she pulls some of the well rocks finding a hole. "I think I found something. Give me a minute." She tells them so she starts to crawl through the hole getting muddy. As she gets to a bigger part she finds a hold bar then look around seeing more as she moves mud around.

"Callie, it's time to go!" JJ yells out to her as the girls come rushing down talking about Mrs. Crain attacking them.

"I'm coming!" She tells grabbing some gold then crawls back. As they pull her up they had to stop as Mrs. Crain came down with a shotgun so Callie used her body strength to climb up. The group was no longer there but Callie was right behind them jumping into the moving van.

"Are you okay? Are you shot?" JJ asks worried as he drives.

"You look disgusting." Pope looks at Callie sitting there out of breath.

"You smell like ass." Kie makes a face.

As they group talk about what happened Callie pulls out the gold bar till someone notices them and ask what it is. "We did it! I did it!" She yells making everyone cheer.

"Full Kook! Full Kook! Full Kook!" They all chant loudly.

"Okay, so what made you freak out?" JJ asks as he hoses her off to get the mud off her when they get back.

"You were right, Mr. Crain. There was a skeleton jaw down there." She tells him taking off her dirty clothes.

"I told you!" He shouts at her.

"So what exactly did you see?" John B walks over to the two.

"There was like 500 bars or more like thousands. I couldn't tell because it was all muddy but it was everywhere. Covering the walls, stacks of it." She says rinsed off.

"Wohoooooo!" He hugs her before rushing off with Sarah to get back to her place.

"We should get to your place so you can actually take a shower." He tosses her one of his tank tops to put on since she was just in her bra and underwear.

"Yeah, I still smell." She puts it on them finds a pair of John B's shorts to put on as well.

[littlerose13writes]

Hello, please like this post if you are willing to help me with a lil project, it just involves filling in a short survey and will take maximum 15 minutes (and hopefully will be fun too!) only requirement to take part is that you like cursed child (because that’s what it’s about lol) and your survey response will be completely anonymous!

I need 100 responses in total so please let me know if you’d like to help! A fun isolation activity for all the fam (if all your fam likes cursed child) :)

[cow-smells]

Party Favors (Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz / reader)

Request:  Can I have one for a Hawk smut where he’s having a little pool party and  the reader is usually always wearing modest/baggy clothing but she wore  a pretty sexy bikini to the party and everybody is shocked cuz she is  hiding a super nice body under all those clothing. Hawk gets a boner  seeing her and has to go inside the house to fix his problem and the  reader goes inside the house and catches him and offers him some help  and he’s shocked because she seems innocent. Basically a version of that  fast time at ridgemont high bikini scene lol  (for: @le-fashionmwah )​  

A/N: there’s been an influx of requests for Hawk smut so I really hope this hits the spot lol. felt really dirty writing this even tho its probs not that bad?? idk. lemme know. also, for some reason i only looked up that scene/movie halfway in to writing this, so i hope this is somewhat what you visioned

Words: 1582

Warnings: nsfw :)

Read on AO3

It had been a couple of months since your family moved to California, and you were loving it.

You befriended the Cobra Kais as soon as you started school and they had invited you to a pool party today at Sam's house.

You were a little bit reluctant to go at first, preferring to keep your weekends to yourself, reading a good book all curled up in one of the over sized hoodies you usually wore; that was, until Hawk came along.

    “Come on,” he whined to you a couple of days earlier. “Miguel's going to be all up in Sam's ass and I'll be bored as hell. You gotta come keep me company.”

You hated to admit it, but you were putty in his hands. You were nursing an ever growing crush on Hawk from the moment you first layed eyes on him; so naturally, you were easily convinced. You were desperate to make a move on him, but you were still new and friendless other then the Cobra Kais; you feared making a wrong move and losing them all.

    That is how you came to find yourself in Sam's back yard, trying to recognize familiar faces. You arrived with Miguel who as per Hawks prediction quickly abandoned you to chase after Sam, leaving you to fend for yourself. You scanned the yard filled with your peers; you couldn't recognize anyone – at least, not by name. Taking your phone out of your hoodie, you tried calling Hawk to no avail. He didn't pick up.

Assuming he wasn't answering because he was driving over (you didn't want to think he might have decided to pass on the party after convincing you to come), you decided to do the only thing there was left to do at a pool party – go for a swim.

    You took a deep breath and took hold of your over sized hoodie, pulling it up and off of you, leaving you in nothing but the new bikini you got just for this (and maybe, just maybe, for Hawk too).

    You didn't notice the many pairs of eyes that were suddenly focused on you.

Embracing the carefree air of the party, you jumped in to the deep end of the pool, letting your body sink for a moment before propelling yourself up to breathe. The cold water woke up your senses, letting you forget about your previous shyness if only a little. You swam to the edge of the pool and pushed yourself up to sit on the ledge.

    “You're the new girl,” a voice suddenly asked. Looking aside, it was a boy you recognized from English class. He allowed himself to take a seat by you. “sit behind me in English, right?”

    “Yeah,” you smile, happy to have been noticed. You two go on with your small talk for a little while until an extremely recognizable figure walked out the house.

    “Hawk!” you called, more eager than you probably should have. You excused yourself from the boy who acted as a pleasant distraction, rising to your feet and making your way over to him, your bikini dripping heavily.

    It took Hawk a heavy moment until he responded, his jaw slightly slacked as you came to stand in front of him.

    “Hi,” he finally said, feeling his mouth dry. Hawk had to train his eyes intensely on yours, lest they venture downwards.

    “Took you long enough,” you tease, nudging his arm playfully. “oh, sorry,” you apologize at seeing the spot you touched become dark with moisture. “I'm wet.”

    Yes, you are, Hawk thought to himself.

A slight gust of wind hits you, and you cross your arms under your chest, trying to preserve your heat.

    Hawk looks aside bashfully, heart pounding at your now even-further pronounced breasts. “I, um,” he mutters, “forgot my bike running. I'll be right back.”

Without a second glance to you, Hawk leaves in a rush.

You see him through a window and to your surprise, he doesn't leave the house. He detours to a bathroom.

You felt confused and slightly offended – what was the rush to leave you like that, after you greeted him so publicly too? Was he... embarrassed to be seen with you?

The negative thoughts began plaguing your mind; there was only one way to settle this, you decided. With that, you entered the house to confront him.

    You're two steps in to the living room when Moon gets an eyeful of you. “Damn, Y/n!” she surveys your scantily clad body with a grin. “You were hiding that under all those layers? Good for you, girl,” she winks. Your quest to Hawk continues with reddened cheeks and a little grin.

    You reach the bathroom you saw Hawk enter and knock, calling his name.

    “What?” Hawk replies, his voice strained and perhaps agitated.

    “I'm coming in,” you declare boldly, turning the door handle and prying it open.

    “No, don't -” Hawk begins, but it's too late. You're already in.

Hawk's face is red, his shirt is tousled – which brings your eyes down to his unbuttoned jeans, and a prominent bulge coming from them.

    Your eyes widen as you realize what you just walked in to. “Oh.”

Hawk looks just about ready to bury himself alive. “Would you get out already?”

You space out for a moment as your brain runs through the course of events. He walked in, saw you, left with a boner.

    Huh.

    “I can leave,” you finally reply. “or,” his eyes lighten in confusion. “I can help you out.”

    “Help – help me out?” Hawk stutters and he scolds himself for acting so timidly, like Eli rather than Hawk. He needed to regain control of the situation.

You shut the bathroom door, making sure to lock it. Walking up close to him, Hawk looks down at you, trying so hard to regain his composure. You sink down to your knees.

    He nearly protests, cowers away, asks what you're doing. But then he doesn't. He's Hawk, and Hawk doesn't back away when the girl he's infatuated with is eye-level with his dick. He stays put. He takes control.

Your hand goes to caress his hardness over his clothes. Hawk one-ups you and pushes his jeans and boxers down, revealing himself to you completely. His hand weaves through your hair, letting him see your expression better.

He's worried, for a moment, that he might have taken things too far, read you incorrectly. A thought that's quick to leave his mind once your tongue is on his tip.

    He thinks his heart might actually beat out of his chest. He would have never, not in his wildest dreams, be able to imagine this scenario happening in real life. Although he wanted you for a while now, he didn't think you returned his feelings. Besides that, you were usually modest, you clothing hiding your body under it and you never flirting with anyone. He'd never peg you for the type to go down on him in a bathroom during a party with half your school year just out the door.

    Hawk groans as you slide your tongue from his tip to his balls, cupping them in your hand. It's nearly overwhelming to him when you spit in your hand and begin to pump his shaft.

Hawks grip on your hair tightens; you take him in your mouth. Hawk can't help the throaty moan that leaves him as you take him as deeply as you can, hollowing your cheeks as you pull away.

His free hand comes behind your head and his fingers find the strings holding up your bikini, which he allows himself to pull on until they sever and the top of your bikini comes loose.

    Finally taking control, Hawk uses his grip on your hair to guide you on and off his dick, making you take him deeply enough you have to relax your throat to accommodate him.

    “You're such a good girl for me,” Hawk groans as he gazes down at you with his dick in your warm mouth. “you take me so well.”

Your heart swells at the compliment, at the clear pleasure you're bringing him.

    Hawks moans rise in volume and his hips rut gently forward while he holds your head in place. Without warning a gust of warm liquid pools in your mouth. Hawk pulls out and before you can think to move he cums, white strands painting your lips and cheeks before dripping down to your bare breasts.

You swallow what made it to your mouth and look at Hawk towering above you. He looked absolutely spent... and content.

Hawk helped you to your feet, this time allowing himself to stare at you to his hearts content. He helped you clean off your face before taking it in his hands and kissing you deeply. You couldn't believe you had managed to do all that before sharing your first kiss.

Breaking apart, Hawk lets his hands skim down your body, his thumbs flicking your nipples playfully before taking hold of your bikini strings and tying them back up behind your neck, leaving your breasts still covered with his cum underneath the fabric.

He finished tying the knot, kissing you once more. “You're my girl now.”

There's a question there, beneath the deceleration, so you nod. Feeling bolder than before, Hawk holds your hand as he leads you back to the pool.

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

Chapter 2

Characters - Reader, Ransom Drysdale, assorted OCs 

Word count - 3100

Warnings - Drinking, language, sexual content

A/N - Hope you enjoy the next installment of my Ransom series. Still setting things up in the chapter, but we’re moving along. For a while, there will be a good amount of heavy drinking and the questionable choices that go along with that, just FYI. Remember this is fiction and the acts are not recommended. They will also be acknowledged later if you are concerned. 

Feedback is wonderful, & if you notice any errors please let me know!

Dividers made by @firefly-graphics​

Chapter 1

You order drinks plus shots. 

“To another fucking week,” you salute with Whitney. It burns, and it’s sweet, and you just want it to act fast.

“Yeah, another one.” She grabs hers, salutes, and tosses it back back. She cringes for a few seconds, but once she recovers, she picks right up with half of a conversation you weren’t having. “So, are you gonna take someone home tonight?”

“You’re more worried about my sex life than your own.” You shake your head at her.

“After what that asshole did to you, you deserve all the good fucking. I’m just trying to find a good dick to help you forget.”

“Wow, that’s sweet in a weird way.” You shake your head again, but smile this time.

“Well, it’s true. I also don’t want to feel bad if I ditch you later for my own fuck buddy.” She wiggles her eyebrows like a cartoon villain. At least she’s giving you a warning this time and not just disappearing on you later.

“Jesus, Whit. Yeah okay.” You can’t help but laugh with her. “It’s just,” you survey the group around you, “You never really know what you’re gonna find at the end of the night.”

“Uhhh, yeah. That’s what having a one-night stand is...Oh hi.” She offers a dazzling smile to a cute guy pushing next to her at the bar.

You wait a few seconds for her attention to return before you mutter, “I am well aware.”

“So pick a partner and do-si-do. Come on, cowgirl,” she nudges you, nodding to the guy in the fraying straw hat next to you. Nothing seems to deter her.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you giggle. 

She smiles and shrugs. A few minutes pass as she looks you over, studying you.

“You’re being weird about this.”

“I know.” You nibble on the straw in your glass for a moment before getting to where your mind’s been stuck for hours. “So hey, that guy we hung out with? Ransom?”

“No.” She shakes her head hard from side to side, a slightly manic giggle coming out between the repeated, “No, no. No.”

“What?” you try to sound casual, indifferent, but she knows you too well. “I just want to know what his deal is.”

“You don’t,” she insists, shaking her head.

“Why? Did you sleep with him?” 

“No, I haven’t.” She pauses for a moment, you can see she’s actually thinking over her answer. “He’s just gonna get what he wants from you and push you away.”

“You do realize that’s exactly what you’ve been telling me to do? So I should screw someone, but not him...because that’s what he does?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, are he and Michelle a thing? I don’t want any extra relationship drama.”

“Psshh, yeah, god knows you’ve had enough of that.” She stares off into the middle distance before shaking her head and focusing again. “No, they’re not together either, but please? Please? Just promise me you’re not interested in Ransom.”

“Okay, but why?”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really think you’re his type.” She lets the words hang, and you’re unsure how to interpret them until you finally settle on hurt. You physically recoil a bit when the sting of her words hits.

“Wow, ouch. What the hell does that mean?” You look down into your lap, looking yourself over really quickly and not finding anything major sticking out.

“I just don’t see it. Trust me, and tell me you’re not being serious with this.” 

Even with her strange and kind of harsh reaction, you can’t get rid of the swooping feeling you get in your stomach just thinking about him. So, you try to purse your lips to control the uncomfortable smile trying to break through. You want to assure your friend, but can’t lie to her either...at least not well. 

“I’m totally not,” you finally say with an awkward laugh behind it. Again, failing miserably to play off nonchalance. 

She sees it all and knows you’re full of shit. “No one will have any respect for you if you fuck around with him.” She says, matter-of-factly.

Where this is all coming from, you have no idea.

“You’re being mean and cryptic and I don’t like it. I’m not even saying that anything’s going to happen, but that sounds a little extreme, Whit. Come on,” you whine.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not. Just find someone and ask him to buy you a drink. Look around, you can pick anyone, but I am not enabling you and Ransom,” she quickly adds.

You try to lighten the mood by teasing her about having standards, but can’t find much ground to stand on when she brings The Ex into the discussion. She’s really on a roll tonight and pulling no punches. It’s not what you wanted or needed from the night. You came out with a mission to have fun, so you take a deep breath and decide to be the bigger person.

“Hey Whit?”

She keeps her eyes on the bar in front of her, letting you know she’s still somewhat annoyed at you. “Yesss?”

“This week sucked. Let’s get trashed.” You sling your arms around her shoulders and shake her until she laughs with you. Her party-friend is back in action.

“Fuck. Yes.”

You struggle to go along with Whitney’s plan for your night, especially when the Cowboy and just about every other guy she pushes your way fail to keep your interest. Not that you’d never had a one-night stand, but just that lately they’d been pretty awful experiences and you wondered far too often lately what a life of celibacy would look like. It’s much easier to dismiss the guys and remember that at least your vibrator can get the job done.

Before last call you give in and you text Jeff. Yes, the Jeff with whiskey dick who left you high and dry last time as Whitney reminds you with a giggle. He sounds genuinely happy to hear from you again and promises to make up for last time which makes it seem worth it to give him another shot. He’s tall, fit, with long fingers and if you remember correctly, a decent enough dick.

He manages to stay hard this time around, and he takes his time feeling you up, but the two of you can’t find a rhythm that works. You finally bat his hand away and rub yourself off while he pumps sloppily into you. Afterward, he leans in for a kiss and you turn away to give him your cheek. Getting dressed, you give him a few non-committal answers when he asks about seeing you again, and at the end of it all, you’re most grateful that you didn’t take him to your place. 

You spread out alone in your own bed and think over Whitney’s words.

Whitney knows more than a few of your dirty secrets; the friendship between you two had blossomed quickly with your guard easily let down. She never really judged you, at least not openly, which left you swirling in doubt for days, obsessing over what would probably end up being nothing. 

What made you not his type - looks? Money? Another woman? She never really had a filter, but she was being so short on the topic of Ransom which made you think even harder, rooting through some more recent bad memories.

“Am I a bad person?” you ask Carrie during the week.

“What? No!”

You accept her answer with a nod, silently thinking.

“I wonder if I should just take a break.” When Carrie looks at you funny, you clarify, “Like, maybe I am finding these losers because I am not all that great myself? These guys are all just…”

“Babe, you’re meeting them at bars...with Whitney.”

You heave in a deep sigh, “I know. And she’s not that bad.” A humorless laugh escapes. “Maybe I am aiming too high or something?”

“There’s no such thing.” You see her shoulders shift, fire in her eyes and protective mode activated like she’s done a few times in staff meetings. “What happened?” she asks.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

Whitney laughs when you tell her you’re thinking of taking a break.

“Was Jeff that bad? I thought you said he was good with his fingers.”

You look around, even if Whitney has forgotten she’s in public, you haven’t. No one else reacts though, thankfully.

“You’re such a bitch,” you sigh. She fakes offense which you ignore. “No, he wasn’t that bad, I just want to find a nice guy. I don’t know.”

Her already buzzed gaze moves somewhere over your shoulder, “Oh whoa, stop that thought. There’s a guy behind you that looks like he wants to bend you over right here. So,” she drags out, “How about we see how that goes and forget about Jeff, and nice for a while.”

She adjusts her own posture, subtly popping up her tits and tilting her chin down to offer him and enticing smile.

‘Jeff isn’t the problem,’ you think to yourself, but she’s already moving forward with her plan for your night. You toss back the shot she places in front of you and turn to check him out.

It’s not happening, even as tipsy as you currently are, this guy with the ironic mullet hovering next to you and trying to get handsy is not getting into your pants. You know it, Whitney knows it (even if she continues to flirt with his friend), hell - the people in the space station know it… but Mullet Guy is oblivious. It’s embarrassing. 

You sit there with your hands over half of your face, wishing he’d leave you alone, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you see a familiar pretty face surrounded by blonde hair.

“Do you need some help?” Michelle asks, eyeing the guy next to you.

You’re surprised she even recognized you, let alone approached you, but you’re desperate to take the help where you can get it. “Oh my god, yes.” 

She gives you a knowing grin, “You’ll find some of us in the corner booth in the back.”

“You sure?” you ask, still thrown off by the interaction and nearly stumbling off the bar stool. “What about Whitney?” 

“I’ll get her,” She gives you a little nudge. 

You slip past the guy hopelessly hitting on you, mumbling and hoping he doesn’t follow and head down the aisle alongside the bar until you reach the large, corner booth. A few faces look familiar, but when he looks up you consider turning back. Judging by his smirk, there’s no chance of that happening.

You raise your voice to be heard over the noise of the bar, “Um, Michelle sent me over,” your nerves turning it into a question rather than a statement.

Ransom raises an eyebrow like he’s about to ask a question, but nudges the people next to him to make them get up and make room for you.

“Oh, no that’s...I’ll just sit on the end.” You try to politely wave them off, but they’re already up.

“Come on in, sweetheart,” he invites you, arm thrown over the back of the seat and your heart beats double-time with just how much you want it wrapped around you. The two people who vacated their spots shift impatiently and you clumsily sit down and start to scoot over under your knee bumps into his, making you immediately stop and apologize.

“You here all alone?” he asks, swirling his drink, the ring on his pinky finger flashing in the light.

“Nah,” Michelle reappears and speaks up for you as she sets down a few glasses onto the table, “Whitney’s here, but she’s got some company. This lucky lady,” she points to you and continues with a light laugh in her voice, “Was just looking miserable with some idiot not taking a hint.”

“You should’ve just told him to fuck off.” Ransom says.

You look over the crowd, finding Mullet Guy waiting for you back at your seat. His eyes droopy from the liquor and Whitney swaying with his companion. 

“I know, I just don’t like doing that. Plus, uh, I think Whitney is trying to fuck his friend.”

“So leave her. She’s a big girl and can handle herself.”

After that he continues the conversation he was having with the others before you arrived, and once again, you sit there silently watching. 

If you can call anyone the leader in the group, it is Ransom. Watching the way the other guys at the table defer to him and how he responds to what they say makes it obvious. He knows it too, practically sitting here holding court at the big square booth. 

The conversation isn’t all that interesting, at least not to you. Some kind of pissing contest the guys are having involving some sports stats. Every now and again you hear them say something so blatantly wrong, but you don’t know them well enough to correct them. With the underhanded comments and passive aggressive insults, you can’t help but wonder if any of them are actually friends. Eventually, your attention wanders over the rest of the bar patrons.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Ransom startles you with how close he is, body still but eyes roaming. You suck in a deep breath, smelling the alcohol and his cologne which makes your mouth water.

“N-no, sorry,” you struggle to come up with an excuse for zoning out, “Just looking for Whitney.”

He tips his head, “She’s right where you left her.” You follow his line of sight, finding her easily. 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

The way his face goes impassive unsettles you, like it was the wrong answer. “We’re boring you. That’s alright. Let’s talk about you.”

“Not much that you’d be interested in, I think.” Whitney’s assertion that you’re not his type replays in your head

“I don’t know about that. I have a lot of interests.” He stares at you with this look on his face, like he’s listening to something funny, but his eyes are serious. It’s intimidating when combined with the way he’s lounged so comfortably next to you, taking up the space like he owns it and yours. His tone, and the little tickle from his fingers against your shoulder feels like flirting, and now your inner voice begs you to remember how to fucking flirt. ‘For the love of god, shake off the nerves and flirt with this gorgeous creature.’ You take a deep breath and try to sink into it.

“What do you want to know?” You ask, setting your elbow on the table and propping your face on your palm while you turn even further toward him.

One side of his face lifts almost into a smile. He starts with a few basic questions, finding out you’re not from the city, how long you’ve been around. He ignores what you ask in return, continuing with his rapid-fire questioning.

“How do you know that little brat?” he asks with a tiny flick in the direction of the bar.

“Whitney?” you chuckle and he nods, “Friend of a friend; she practically became attached at my hip once we started going out together.”

“A quiet little mouse like you and her? Really?”

“I promise you, I’m not always so quiet,” you challenge.

“See, now that is interesting. Think I’d like to see that,” he answers, eyes giving you a quick up-down in your seat.

In the seconds it takes for you to process that he is indeed flirting and you need to respond, the moment is broken by a high-pitched voice.

“There you are! You fucking ditched me.” Whitney practically howls at you. You feel like a child who got caught out after curfew as you see her eyes move between you and Ransom. “What’s happening here?”

The alcohol has settled enough to remove some of your tension. With that and her overdramatic reaction, trying to control the urge to giggle at being caught is impossible, so you bite down on your lips to keep the grin from your face. “Nothing,” you answer, poorly faking innocence.

Ransom’s eyes stay on you, you can feel it, but he talks to your friend, “We were just getting to know each other better.” He turns to look at her, “Sit down with us,” his tone almost sounding like an order.

“Getting to know each other?” she asks you pointedly. 

You can’t understand what her problem is with him, especially since he’s her friend. At this point, you’re too intrigued. It’s not like there’s any point in trying to deny that you’re attracted to him with half your body leaning into him like he’s a magnet, but for some reason you think you see real disappointment in her eyes. Biting your lip, you take a peek at him to find him waiting for your response; he’s already smug with the attention.

“Yeah.” 

“What about your break?” she spits out.

You feel too many people looking at you, but you can’t answer, too shocked that she’s put you on the spot like this.

“Remember?” she asks like you’re forgetful, “You’re taking a break because you’re looking for a nice guy.” She over-enunciates as she stares daggers at Ransom.

“Why don’t you get the stick out of your ass, Whitney. I’ve been nice all night, haven’t I sweetheart?” The hostility between the two makes your back go rigid, anxious for the moment to end and the spotlight to be directed anywhere else.

“I’m fine,” you tell her as firmly as you can.

She shakes her head at you, but sits down anyway, jumping right into flirty conversation with Eric who is sitting at the end of the booth, notably there without the girl from the other weekend.

“Hmm,” Ransom hums right against your ear, making your skin tingle. “I think someone just got in trouble.” He’s clearly amused and not sounding remorseful at all.

He makes a move then. It’s slight, but you feel him tuck you a little further under his arm. Part of you is glad Whitney is distracted, but the other part wants her to notice it and realize she might be wrong.

“I…yeah,” you stumble over your words, confused and flustered between the two of them. Chest tight and pulling in short breaths and stomach swooping with excitement, you internally scream, begging for him to make it worth it.

[hobiiwan]

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand. 

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

--

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable. 

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments. 

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off. 

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.” 

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds. 

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it. 

--

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy. 

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen. 

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss,  “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”  

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead. 

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!” 

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate. 

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation. 

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

--

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground. 

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it. 

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown. 

--

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas. 

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest,  “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.” 

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?” 

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response. 

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.” 

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

--

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air. 

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld. 

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings.  The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one. 

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship. 

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone. 

--

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits. 

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice. 

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.” 

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while. 

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers. 

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once. 

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm. 

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days. 

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes. 

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar. 

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?” 

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it. 

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.” 

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld. 

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.” 

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest. 

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol. 

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight. 

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass. 

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him. 

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead. 

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first. 

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand. 

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely. 

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people. 

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too. 

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second. 

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer. 

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration. 

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place. 

You want to do that too. 

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs. 

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks. 

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront. 

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths. 

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow. 

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance. 

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve. 

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape. 

Happy New Year, indeed. 

--

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both. 

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen. 

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before. 

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room. 

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign. 

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic. 

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again. 

--

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours. 

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left. 

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair. 

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid. 

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever. 

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin. 

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork. 

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual. 

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin. 

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers. 

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow. 

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started. 

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal. 

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil. 

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

--

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag. 

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

--

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army. 

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you. 

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all. 

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door. 

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze.  His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest. 

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.” 

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?” 

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence. 

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels. 

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you. 

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever. 

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say. 

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise. 

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh. 

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 6

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia AU

Word Count: 3.3k

Previous Chapter

For some reason, you had never expected Baekhyun to turn you down, and for the life of you, you couldn't figure out why. Just because he kissed you? Because he held and comforted you when you needed it over the past few months? When did you become so sure that he even liked you?

His words come back to you as you drop face down onto your bed in an attempt to silence your cries. "I know I'd be the luckiest man on Earth to have you, but we can't be together." You couldn't be together because you wanted to be involved in the same world as him? Deep down, way deep down, you knew a part of what he said made sense. What he witnessed happen to his sister and Minhyuk was horrible and you completely understood why he wouldn't ever want to experience that, but that didn't mean you liked it.

After you felt like you had emptied your body of tears, a knock sounded on your door. You had every intention of ignoring it because there wasn't a single person you wanted to talk to right now, but whoever it was, they were adamant to see you.

Once the fifth round of knocks comes, you push yourself onto your side and loudly say, "What? What do you want?"

You didn't care how it came off or if you sounded like a bitch. All you wanted was to be alone. Once you spot your doorknob starting to twist, anger quickly begins to stir in you, but once you see Yixing's concerned face, it melts away entirely.

He quietly walks into the room while surveying you, and you knew right away what he would see. A splotchy, flushed face still slightly wet and stained with tear tracks and swollen eyes, but you didn't care. You look at him with a blank stare and blink, causing him to quickly shut your bedroom door and come over to you on your bed.

He tries to hide the worried look on his face as he sits on the edge of your bed, but you see it.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I told Baekhyun I liked him." You answer blandly.

Yixing jolts at your sudden confession before confusion slides onto his face. "But why are you crying?"

"Because he turned me down."

Yixing's mouth falls open, and he blinks a couple times before he shakes his head. "I'm sorry... What?"

Even though everything in you wanted to forget what happened, you give Yixing a recap of your conversation with Baekhyun and watch as Yixing's facial expressions go from confused to bewildered to pity. After you finish, he silently sits there and processes everything you had told him. A minute passes by before he nods and turns to you.

"He's terrified of the past repeating itself. After everything happened with his sister and Minhyuk, Baekhyun was such a mess, and that's putting it politely. Actually, he was a completely different person than he is now. Imagine Chanyeol, but with a death wish. Baekhyun pushed every limit that he could to the point where Junmyeon lost hope of ever getting the old Baekhyun back. For a while, the only reason he stayed alive was for his mom. Even though they rarely saw each other, they were all the other one had left..." Yixing trails off, pausing in thought.

"That was around the time I joined EXO. I had never known Baekhyun before his sister's death, but I hated who he was then. Over time, he found ways of healing and eventually came to be who he is now, but it wasn't pretty."

You were enraptured with Yixing's words. Baekhyun had once told you his story and about Jisoo and Minhyuk, but hearing it from another perspective was truly eye-opening. Your heart ached for him and imagining Baekhyun like Chanyeol was something that was almost out of your realm of comprehension.

Yixing looks down and grabs one of your hands, giving it a squeeze. "I'm not saying I agree with him, but I want you to know where he's coming from... Imagining him back in that position or you there yourself terrifies me. I can't even begin to think about how much it terrifies him."

You're quiet for a moment as you search for your voice, but then you lick your lips and say, "I understand where he's coming from... Everything you've said... God, I can't imagine... but what's his plan then? To be alone forever? Isn't it better to have loved and lost than never loved at all? There's a reason that's a famous quote."

Yixing gives you a small smile. "I don't know what his thoughts are... but if you're asking me... I don't think you should give up on him. He cares about you. Any idiot with eyes can see that."

You nod your head and look down at your lap. You had no idea where to go from here. Yixing lets you sit with your thoughts for a moment before he squeezes your hand again to get your attention.

"I wanted to thank you."

When he notices your visible confusion, he smiles. "Minseok came and talked to me. It seems a little birdy told him how I was feeling."

"I'm sorry if I broke your trust, Xing, but they needed to know how you were feeling, and I didn't know what else to do to help..."

He shakes his head at your words. "I'm not mad at you. I'm grateful for what you did. Talking to Minseok helped a lot, and I think I was able to help him a little too."

A genuine smile breaks out on your face. "Well, good, I'm glad. In fact, this is the best news I've heard in a while."

"Jongin also came and talked to me. Very passionately. And loudly."

The grimace on his face was enough to pull a laugh out of you, and in that moment, you knew everything would be okay."

Sehun's POV

Sehun knew what he was doing was possibly very stupid and definitely incredibly dangerous, but it was something he felt he had to do. He couldn't explain it.

He couldn't help but think about how wrong he felt with the Baem. It didn't feel natural, and he felt like he always had to watch his back. Not to mention, the Baem somehow knew he wouldn't cooperate with them, and they were willing to kill him.

Then, there was the fact that he knew he was somehow connected to EXO. He didn't know how or why, but it was a bone-deep feeling he had, which is what had led him to do something that would most definitely get him killed.

He was going to help EXO out.

He didn't know how much help he was going to be or if EXO already knew the information he had gathered, but that wasn't going to stop him. He knew it was a risk and that EXO could kill him on the spot instead, but it sounded like he was a dead man either way.

Sehun had spent the past week learning all of the Baem's shipment routes, what they had in their inventory, and as many of their warehouse locations that he could find, and now, he just had to get the information to EXO. Which is what he was currently trying to do.

The Baem thought it was time to send him on a "solo" mission into the city. "Solo" because he knew the leaders had someone tailing him. This was just another one of their stupid tests, but Sehun jumped on the opportunity to get the hell out of that garbage compound they lived in.

They had sent him to a neutral ground auto shop to pick up some smuggled parts the Baem had requested from the crooked owner; however, Sehun had heard rumors that maybe the shop wasn't as neutral as they thought. Jaesuk, the one human being Sehun would consider to be his friend right now, had warned him that the auto shop may appear to be neutral but was actually EXO controlled, or so he heard.

That was when Sehun saw his opening. If the owner was EXO controlled, then that was how he was going to get the information to them. If Jaesuk was wrong, however, Sehun would be dead by the end of the night. It was still a chance he was willing to take.

Sehun didn't have much of a plan. All he had was an old ass map that he found at the compound, and he had to hope it was somewhat up-to-date. He had circled the locations that were Baem warehouses and drew a symbol next to each one signifying what they held. He highlighted their truck routes with arrows and wrote time blocks of when their vehicles would drive through. Lastly, for some unknown reason, he wrote the number 1485 in the bottom right corner of the map.

He didn't know what the numbers were for, but he knew they were important, and they weren't the only ones or things he was remembering. Locations, phrases, codes, they were all slowly coming back to him. He just had to figure out what they all meant.

Sehun came to stop outside of the address he was given and looked around. It was like every other auto shop he had seen, but in better shape than what he had been expecting for some reason. The giant garage doors were wide open to let in the gentle breeze from outside, and he could see workers tinkering under and around the vehicles on the lifts.

Sehun was looking down both directions of the street when he felt eyes boring into his back. His follower was, unfortunately, still there. He just hoped whoever it was wouldn't come inside behind him.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door to the office and walks in. The smell of oil seeping in from the garage hits him as he looks around.

"Just a minute!" A deep voice comes from the back.

Sehun doesn't respond but walks up to the counter and leans on it. He nervously taps his fingers on the hard surface while he waits and tries to stay as calm as possible. This situation could go a hundred different ways, and he had to be ready for anything.

An older gentleman pops out from the back and looks at Sehun with a smile. If he had to guess, he would say the man was in his late 50's and physically not a huge threat, which allowed Sehun to feel some relief. He would be able to take him if necessary.

"Oh Sehun!"

The man greets him as he walks up to the counter. Sehun eyes him suspiciously before assuming the Baem sent information to the owner on who to look for. Oh, but he was very wrong.

"How's Chanyeol doing?" The owner asks him in a friendly voice.

Sehun freezes at the question. The only person named Chanyeol he's ever come across was Park Chanyeol, of EXO. Why would this man be asking him how Chanyeol was doing?

Sehun tries to hide his confusion as he looks the owner up and down. Apparently, Jaesuk's rumors were true. This man was friendly with EXO.

Instead of answering him, he pulls the papers that Minho gave him out of the pocket inside of his jacket and slowly hands them over to the owner. He waits for a reaction, and it doesn't take long.

As soon as the owner took the papers and looked down at them, his entire demeanor changed. He could see the caution that entered the man's face as he took in the Baem's business emblems on the paper.

The owner's eyes slowly leave the papers and travel up to Sehun's face. He searches his gaze for a moment, and it was clear both men were cautious and confused.

When the owner stays frozen in his spot, Sehun subtly looks over his shoulder to try to let the owner know that they were being watched and he hopes with everything in him that the owner understands what he's telling him. As Sehun looks back at him, he snaps out of his frozen state and takes off to the back.

Sehun was slightly bewildered for a moment, wondering if all hell was about to break loose, but then the owner comes back out with a couple of boxes in hand.

"This is half of it. You'll have to come back tomorrow for the rest." The owner tells him gruffly, the friendliness from earlier gone.

When the owner starts shoving the boxes over the counter towards Sehun, he knows this is his only chance to give the man the information he's gathered. As stealthily as he can, he slowly pulls out an envelope from his jacket and places it on the counter. He pushes it towards the owner while reaching for one of the boxes.

When the owner sees it, he freezes for a moment before quickly swiping it from view and putting it behind the counter. Sehun grabs the other box at the same time, hoping to hide the encounter from whoever was watching him outside.

"Is this going where I think it's going?" The owner asks quietly.

He didn't know how, but he knew the owner was talking about EXO.

"Yes, but without attachments."

The owner furrows his eyebrows at Sehun's request to send the information anonymously but eventually nods.

"Consider it done."

Relief floods through Sehun, confusing him even more. It was like his body knew what was right and was ten steps ahead of him, but his brain was a foggy mess. Either way, he's relieved to know the owner will pass it on anonymously because if he's wrong, he doesn't need EXO hunting him down too. One group of killers was enough.

Later that night, Sehun laid in his bed and pondered over what 1485 could be. A date? An address? Why did he feel compelled to write it down? How was EXO supposed to know what it was?

Another set of numbers flash through his mind after those and it was like his brain was screaming at him again. 1248-94. Those were important numbers, and for some reason, the 94 felt extremely significant to him. The number's kept repeating over and over in his mind until finally, it hit him.

1485 was a P.O. box number.

With this realization, he knew exactly what to do when he went back for the rest of the shipment, he would find the P.O. boxes burned into his mind, and he would leave whoever was on the other side a message.

Baekhyun's POV

You had been avoiding him for the past couple of days, and he hated it. He was miserable without you by his side, and he wished, more than anything, that he could take back what he said, but nothing had changed. All of his reasons for saying no to you were still valid. Unfortunately.

As Baekhyun lousily makes his way up the stairs to his room, he spots Jongdae knocking on his bedroom door.

"What's up?"

Jongdae turns at Baekhyun's voice and opens his mouth to speak, but pauses as he takes in Baekhyun's appearance.

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy. What's going on?"

He could tell Jongdae was tempted to ask more questions but was thankful when he let it go.

"That shipment from the auto parts store is coming in 1 hour... You're supposed to be the point of contact, but..." Jongdae trails off while looking him up and down. "You don't look that good right now..."

Baekhyun gives him a look. "Thanks, Dae."

"I'll go in your place. Why don't you... sleep or something."

Before Baekhyun can reply, the two hear feminine giggling coming from the stairs, and they both look over in confusion. You were the only girl here, and you definitely didn't sound like that.

Finally, Chanyeol's head emerges up the steps. A goofy grin was present on his face, and his clothes were a mess. Accompanying him were two females, one hanging off of each arm, and they looked just as much of a mess as he did. Their clothes were barely there, and the best way to describe their messy hair was "sex hair". Baekhyun watched the three struggle up the stairs in disgust. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

"Jesus christ." Jongdae mutters as he leaves Baekhyun to fend for himself, throwing "good luck" over his shoulder.

Baekhyun suddenly very much wanted to go to that meeting now as he watched the trainwreck make their way towards him. Instead, he attempts to make an escape into his bedroom. Ignoring Chanyeol's calls to him, he walks into his bedroom and starts to close the door when a heavy weight pushes from the other side.

Knowing it was Chanyeol, and realizing the intentions he had in bringing the women here, he uses more force to push at his door, but attempting to move Chanyeol was like trying to move a building.

Chanyeol gives one final shove causing Baekhyun to stumble backward and let go of the door. Chanyeol smiles at Baekhyun as he walks the girls in.

"Ladies! This is my rude best friend, Baekhyun. Baek, these are our new friends Ashley and Julia."

One of the girls pauses and gives Chanyeol a pout. "My name is Jaehwa."

"Whatever. It doesn't matter." He waves her off and turns to Baekhyun. "I've brought them here for you. They're going to help you loosen up and forget about Y/N."

One of the girls walks up to Baekhyun and puts her hand on his arm. "Yeah, we'll make you forget all about whats-her-name."

Intense anger washes over him, and he pushes her hands off him with a scoff. "What you're going to do is leave. Now."

"Oh, lighten up!" Chanyeol sighs as he walks past him and collapses on his bed. "Y/N isn't gonna give it up to you, so you might as well use them."

Baekhyun looks over at Chanyeol in disbelief. This was not his best friend. This was a stranger he hated.

"Who the fuck are you anymore?!"

He watches as Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders before proceeding to pass out. Moments later, he feels two sets of hands touching and rubbing his body, and there are about three seconds left before he loses his shit. He throws his hands up in the air and moves towards the door, out of reach of the two girls. Before they can process what he's doing, he's opening the bedroom door and moving behind them to push/escort them out.

He lets out a sigh of relief once they're in the hallway, but the girls were still determined to stay with him.

"Come on, Baekhyun. Let's have some fun." The girl, apparently named Jaehwa says, while turning towards him and grabbing his shirt. The other girl giggles and pulls at his arm to wrap it around herself.

Baekhyun wasn't a weak man, and he could definitely shake two girls off of himself, but they appeared to be really fucking persistent, and he didn't want to end up hurting them without reason to.

He looks up to the ceiling and tries to gather some patience when a scoff interrupts his thought process.

"Fucking really, dude?"

He feels his entire body go stiff at Jongin's voice and slowly looks down the hallway towards it. Jongin stood there with an irritated expression on his face as he shook his head, but it wasn't Jongin that Baekhyun's eyes landed on.

It was you.

Tagging: @knjkitten​​ @kpopserene​​ @multifandombxxch​​ @tashaxvamp​​ @kpop---scenarios​​ @bhyunni​​ @chanyeolismybaby​​ @flaming-laboob​​ @taetaeeyong​​ @lilbitoflyssa​​ @misstressporkchoppp​​ @hoseok-wang​​ @spiltkpop​​ @isha454 @depuis2mille​​ @marovekian1​​ @ladylynae​ @abby8451 @lynniev​​ @insta1010​​ @sawadabegum @avxngxrrogxrs​​ @equesasprokishi @imstuckinafictionaluniverse​​ @layisanangel​​ @mongryong-the-corgi​ @overthelamebowz​​ @lizbether01​ @thatanonymousgirl-as14​​ @nothingbutadeadesceane​​ @kim-ji-hyeons-world​​ @suhappysuho​​ @futuremrspcy​​ @lovebuginlove​​ @skylions-den​​ @precious-seungwooya​ @softysuho​ @kuppyjiminie​ @blushinyouth​ @bat-shark-repellant​ @vickylamore​ @heartshapedenchiladas​ @cardtak​ @tanithrea​

[good-rwbyaus]

@honorable-asshole​​:  I need you to know this is absolutely amazing. And for a title might I suggest "rising snow," since the mid is both rising to the occasion and trying to prevent the collapse of what probably amounts to the world economy? 

#Rising Snow AU :: Pieces 12-14 :: mod lilac   [ first ] [ previous ]

honorable-asshole asked: Au where Whitley has actually been running the bank accounts since he was young and keeping the group financially viable

// This AU’s name is Rising Snow now. xD. Thank you to honorable-asshole, both the AU namer and the AU inspirer. 8). Runner up for title namer is azdfox for Whit and Wit. - lilac

12. Impression

It didn’t take long to get a response. After Klein and he had their discussion about Acacia, he found his scroll ringing the next day despite it being set to ‘do not disturb’. It was from an unknown caller with a nonsensical 22-digit number, but he didn’t need to be a genius to figure out who it was.

Click.

“I see you’re the big bosss now,” said the woman on the line; he could hear a slight electronic hum resonating with her voice, a blatantly obvious attempt at voice modulation. So blatant that it told him that she wanted him to know - suppose that was one form of sincerity. Despite the voice mask though, it couldn’t hide the drunken slur in her words, one that he couldn’t help but be irritated by. 

“Only until Father comes back," he still spoke back neutrally, leaning back on his chair and away from the piling paperwork, "so you’re Acacia.”

A long pause. How drunk was this lady?

"I am,” Acacia continued, “so when are you plotttting the hostile -hic- takeover?”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. Come to think of it... that’s what he was doing now, wasn’t he? Undermining his father’s authority and trying to find where all the skeletons lie. Because he had to be the one in control in the end. His father never treated the Schnee Dust Company as a business but as his own personal piggy bank, and now that the bank was running out, the Schnees were in danger of being left with nothing. 

And he wouldn’t be surprised if his father left himself an out. What would it be? A private penthouse in Mistral? A couple offshore bank accounts in Vale? Who knows? It ticked him off greatly, but he had more important things to do than indulge in pointless anger.

‘You must not like my Father very much,” he returned.

"I don’t,” the woman said sternly, probably the most sober thing she said. “Your father took everything from me.” 

“Then why help his son?” Whitley asked. 

"You are you. Your father is your father."

“That’s not enough to reassure me,” Whitley said sharply, “You show up drunk to our first meeting, are using a voice modulator, and don’t even show your face. Are you even taking this seriously? The only reason why I’m entertaining you right now is because of Klein’s assurances that I can trust you.”

He heard something like a choke in the background and then a click. He quickly glanced at his scroll - they weren’t disconnected - she must’ve muted herself.

Another click.

“...Klein’s a good man,” the voice hiccupped out, though her voice sounded more strained - hoarse even. 

“He is. But I still don’t trust you. From what I heard, you’re not just a secretary but an expert on technological surveillance,” Whitley replied, “If I let you into the system, I very well may be letting a wolf in.”

“...You can’t keep me out in the firssst placee,” Acacia slurred. 

“Prove it,” Whitley said.

The sound of typing filled his ears before it quickly stopped.

“My show of -hic- sincerity,” she quietly said. 

His scroll suddenly went dark and turned back on. Numerous video feeds popped into view. The kitchen, his sisters’ bedrooms, Klein in the kitchen, the dining room, the lounge, his own bedroom... Alarmed, he turned towards the bookcase to his side before looking down at the scroll in his hands - it was tracking him. 

He hurriedly walked over and quickly pulled out a book that had a pin-sized hole within it. The scroll’s feed followed wherever he pointed. And the Schnee Mansion was covered in these cameras?! It was impossible for it not to be an inside job then. He shook in rage. Was his father seriously that paranoid about maintaining power - that he’d spy on his own family!? 

His attention returned to the scroll. He took a few calming breaths. 

“I’ve received your sincerity well,” he finally let out, “Another thing that my father will have to answer for.”

Another long quiet moment.

“I... yes," the voice stuttered out quietly, “...you trust me now?”

“I can trust you to put your money where your mouth is,” Whitley corrected, “That’s probably as good a foundation we’re going to get for our working relationship, since you’re clearly not going to reveal your identity. Is Acacia even your real name?” 

He then shook his head.

“Actually you know what? It doesn’t matter now. As of right now, you and Klein are the only assets I have,” Whitley said with a long exhale. A loyal butler and a drunk secretary, better than being alone with this mess. 

‘....Regardless of what happens, I’ll be by youur side,” the voice said, “even if you decide to driiive this company into the ground.”

Acacia... sounded oddly sincere about that, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact the woman was completely sloshed.

“I thought you loved the company,” Whitley asked.

“I loved the people in it,” she said mournfully, “I admired your granddad...” She paused, “Since you have his blood, as far as I’m concerned, the company is yours to do as you see fit.”

“You know that Winter and Weiss are the true heiresses, right? If you really wanted to get the company back up, shouldn’t you be asking them?” Whitley questioned.

“Do they -hic- look like they want anything to do with it?” 

“Hahaha,” Whitley couldn’t help but laugh at himself. That was true. The prize he always strived for was looked upon as garbage by his older sisters - and what was more ironic was that the company was actually garbage. Was he really the only blind one here? He sighed before he shook his head, banishing the useless self-pity away. 

“It’s their loss. I’m going to save this company,” Whitley declared, “I’m going to make sure we’re so entrenched in Atlas - in Remnant - that no one will dare do anything to the Schnees.”

He closed his eyes and looked down at his scroll.

“Will you help me towards that goal?” he asked.

“Like I said, it’s your company,” the voice replied, “I’ll go as far as you want to go, President Schnee.”

He smiled.

President Schnee. He liked the sound of that. But first things first.

“Then since you’ve clearly shown yourself in, let’s begin. I need the budget reports starting from last year...” 

---

13. Efficiency

Having Acacia on board for the past several days made his job easier. No longer did he have to sift through unimportant garbage such as meeting schedules or planning dinners or cafeteria food requests. She instead triaged his work, sending documents where they actually needed to go - he suspected she had a digital stamp with his signature on it - and made sure things got done in the background. Despite the questionable legality and hole in oversight, he found it a welcome thing. He could finally focus on more important matters such as where all his company’s money went or the increasing unrest down at the Mantle mining sites.

He’d seen signs of his company’s corruption back when he took a glance at the budget. R & D had been a black hole where money goes in and nothing comes out. Transport and Delivery had been ‘losing’ more and more Dust shipments. Customer Support was full of idiots he’d fired on the first few day of his job. Security has been demanding more funds to deal with the so-called Faunus threat without any actual evidence to their claims. 

The only thing that’s made profit at all was Dust Mining and Surveying, which was personally managed by the President. It was literally the only thing that was holding this company together.

He picked up his scroll and sent a voice message.

“Acacia. I’ve gone through the budget. I’ll be requiring your expertise. I’ll need information on the following people before I meet them two days from n-”

Klein walked in, not with a milkshake, but with a bowl of spaghetti. 

“Klein, I said I wanted a milkshake, not this.”

“You’ve been drinking milkshakes for two days now, Master Whitley, ” Klein said, “Acacia has again expressed... concern.”

He sighed as he grumpily stared at the bowl, picking up his fork.

“Is she your boss or am I your boss?” he grumbled at both phone and Klein, though no heat was in his tone. He knew Klein was looking out for him, though he was surprised Acacia did too. 

He smiled faintly as he began eating the pasta. 

His parents might not care for him and his sisters, but at least he still had people willing to stand by his side.  

-------

14. Threat

Several men, dressed in suits and blazers, sat inside a large board room; the last chair at the end of the table had yet to be filled. All of them seemed annoyed at being called at this late hour. “What’s going on?”

“Beats me. I was being attended by a masseuse when I got the emergency order.”

“Stop complaining. I was with my mistress when it happened. You know how uncomfortable it is to take that pill and not-”

“Shut it. Isn’t the president supposed to be on vacation?”

“Then how did this emergency meeting get called?”

“Because I called it,” Whitley spoke as he opened the door to the board room. Wearing a navy blue suit complete with a sky blue tie, he adjusted his silver cufflinks slightly and sat down at the end chair. “Gentlemen.”

“Whitley Schnee,” the man to the left of him said in a fawning expression, “haven’t seen you since the last dinn-”

“Shut it, Samson,” he interrupted.

“What?” Samson, the CEO of R&D, questioned blankly  before he quickly stood up, yelling “What’d you say you little bra-”

“I told you all to shut it,” Whitley growled as he glared back into the now hostile room, “Do you know what all you scum here have in common?”

“You’ve all stolen money from my company. Hundreds of millions of Lien,” he announced and turned on the projector with a push of the remote. Budget statements with padded numbers crossed out and the corrected ones filled in appeared on the screen, complete with department names. Bank transfers to personal accounts could be seen. 

Several members of the company’s board had looks of astonishment while others maintained a perfect poker face.

“You shouldn’t make false accusations.”

“This is all fake!” 

“Do you think you’re actually the president?”

“As far as all of you are concerned, I am,” Whitley countered, slowly standing up and turning his back to them, “Klein, please pass my esteemed associates their information packets.”

The butler quietly yet swiftly delivered a manila folder to every one of the room’s inhabitants. Several of them began looking through the contents and immediately became pale. 

“Some of you... Most of you - by virtue of your thieving - have committed crimes that could be considered treason to the Kingdom of Atlas,” Whitley quietly spoke to the now silent room. 

He turned his head immediately to a balding bespectacled man, “Lexington, the heating coils in Mantle should last for a decade per our agreement with the Kingdom of Atlas, so why did you construct them with material that would only work four or five years at best?” he asked before adding, “That’s pretty shifty, especially in light of your recent purchase of a mansion whose price happens to match the missing portion of the budget. Horrible correlation, right?”

“And Rex, what happened to the protective walls down at Mantle,” he asked in a kind tone, smiling, “They should’ve been finished a year ago, so why are we still two years behind?” 

His smile shifted to a disdainful frown, “Tch.” 

“As for the rest of you, you should find that my money is not easily taken. The folders will easily show that I know where all your skeletons lie.”

Quiet murmurs filled the room. Some of them clandestinely attempted to use their scrolls, only to find they had no signal - Acacia’s work. 

“What do you want us to do?” Samson said, the fastest thinking of the lot. That was why he was the closest ally of his father - ally: his father didn’t have friends. 

“At least you’re smart. Not smart enough to stop yourself from stealing from my company, but still...” Whitley replied, which made the man redden with anger, “You will all sign documents to the effect that you are willingly transferring your stocks to me. After confirmation of the transfer, you will then resign,” Whitley calmly said, “If you do those two things, I will keep what I’ve learned under my belt, and we all walk away happy.”

“What?”

“Don’t go too far, kid.”

“You think you’ll survive if you dare take on all of us,” one of the CEOs replied, “Tch. I’m done with this farce.”

Just as the CEO stood up, Whitley delivered his ulitmatum, “should anyone leave here without doing those two things, I release everyone’s information to Atlas.”

“The company won’t survive if you do tha-”

“What you’re doing is a crime. This is blackmai-”

“No, no, no. This isn’t blackmail,” Whitley interrupted with a laugh, “this is simply a business deal, a mere trading of worthless stock for your valuable lives. Now if you think that what I’m doing is a crime...” He shrugged, “I guess I have no choice but to report these things to the proper authorities.”

The room fell silent at that.

“As for the company, you’re right. Losing a lot of important assets at once will impact the company,” he lightly said before glaring at them, “Luckily, all of you are leeches and don’t fall under that category.”

Lexington bristled.

“If you release that information on us, have you not thought about what will happen to your father?”

Whitley chuckled. 

“Oh I certainly have. My father will likely go to jail after all this, and I’ll probably have to go on TV and talk about how sorry I am about my father’s crimes and that I’ll work hard to atone in his place,” he replied, “Troublesome things, yes. And of little worth, since I do agree that the Schnees will be a very hated name in the Kingdom for quite some time.”

“But we’ll at least have the opportunity to recover. The rest of you on the other hand...” he chuckled darkly, "...will probably have long met the firing squad.”

“And as for those of you who think they can escape, do you really think your connections will mean anything once General Ironwood gets ahold of you?”

The room became quiet once more as they considered the question.

“I thought so,” Whitley finished with a calm smile, a smile that these ruthless businessmen would be seeing in their nightmares - the smile of a son willing to sacrifice his own father for his goals. Everything that he wanted to show, he let them see.

“So no more objections? Shall we start the transfer of assets then?”

[stayndays]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒 & 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

time to dive into this hellhole of a series once again

if you haven’t read killer king, there are MAJOR spoilers in this post! you have been warned.

So! This was highly requested in the final survey of Killer King: to reveal the other routes if you didn’t choose the Escape Route. To start off, though, I first have to talk about something that was brought up multiple times throughout the voting boxes of Killer King, which is:

“Why is Jisung helping Minho/Is Jisung aware that Minho’s the killer/What is Jisung and Minho’s dynamic?”

Minho and Jisung, to say the least, is probably the most interesting duo in the series. They didn’t met before the party, but rather, at the party before the mansion owner was killed, and quickly formed a strong bond. You could infer that Minho wanted to pull in a party guest that would most likely stay and solve the murder, just so he has a puppet to control if things go haywire. Minho was also inspired by Jisung’s poem, which results in how his killing techniques were put into place. 

Because Jisung is kind of naive in this story, he ends up being manipulated by the killer himself, and accidentally becomes Minho’s #1 ally for the entire series. Minho grabbed the key from the mansion owner’s coat, and gave it to Jisung for him to protect, saying something along the lines of “If anybody tries to flee the mansion like a coward, they won’t be able to because you have the key.” 

Oh, also, Minho attempted to frame Jisung by leaving the white glove in Jisung’s bag. I’m like.. slowly recovering info from this series because I already forgot most of the plot.. October was a fever dream guys wheeze

But now, this duo leads us to our first route I’ll cover today! The duos all have a certain goal: Hyunin wanted to escape, another group wanted to kill the killer themselves, and another group simply wanted to solve the murder. This duo is different, however, because Minho is literally the killer. 

So the route would’ve played out somewhat like this:

You choose to align with Minho and Jisung, regardless of whether you lie or not

When the house fight occurs and everybody is split off into groups, you have the option to stay with Chan, Changbin, and Minho. If you choose this, you would get an additional chapter where you have the decision to come with Minho upstairs, or to stay behind with Chan and Changbin.

If you choose to come with Minho, you would be forced by him to throw a knife at Jeongin, who’s alone on the stairs. (this would’ve been REALLY fun to write)

Even if you chose not to follow Minho, as long as you prove that you’re truly loyal to him, he’ll eventually reveal to both you and Jisung that he’s the killer, and urge the both of you to work with him to eliminate the rest of the house members.

THIS IS THE FUN PART

Basically: Jisung doesn’t want to team up with Minho. Instead, he wants to try and kill Minho (I assume that Jisung has multiple reasons as to why he doesn’t want to tell the other members, probably because he has no evidence). As a result, since Jisung also trusts you, he tells you his plan, and now you have to choose between the two.

And according to my notes, no matter if you team up with Jisung or go solo, if you choose to betray Minho, you will die. It is impossible to succeed in this scenario. You have to team up with a murderer in order to win.

You could also try and convince Jisung to come with you and Minho’s side. Knowing me, I’d probably spin a wheel to see whether Jisung would agree with you or not LOL. If he doesn’t though, he’s gonna die. That’s that. 

So if you team up with Minho (regardless if Jisung is still alive or not) and the two/three of you are able to successfully eliminate the rest of the members, you win! And you get the ending “The Killer’s Sidekick” (even better: if you identity as a female and/or use she/her pronouns, you could be “The Killer Queen” :D)

The other two routes don’t have nearly as much info as Minsung’s route, though. One of them wasn’t even planned at all. Let’s talk about them!

Changlix’s Route: Kill the Killer

Basically, if you openly state to either Felix or Changbin that you’re also interested in killing the killer, you’d be put into this route!

In this route, you’ll tend to make more impulsive decisions without thinking straight (aka your choices will be pretty dumb) because you’re after blood, not justice.

If you kill the wrong person, that’s an automatic game over.

If you hesitate to kill Minho, he’ll kill you first, and that’s a game over.

And if you successfully kill Minho, you’ll get one of those “You won.. but at what cost?” endings, kinda like the ending you guys got! (it’s because you killed somebody, that’s why.)

Chanmin’s Route: Catch the Killer

I have nothing written down for this route. It’s pretty self explanatory. Find the killer, and trap him in a room until the police come. That’s pretty much the route, along with trying not to get killed yourself.

If you chose this route, it would probably be even more stressful than the escape route, and would probably be the most boring route to write.

If you have any questions, let me know! But now let’s dive into the questions you guys put in for the survey.

1. Was Hyunjin super suspicious in the beginning as a red herring?

I think they were all super suspicious in the beginning just so the reader jumps into the story completely blind. It wasn’t intended as a red herring, but it definitely could be to you!

2. Why does Felix and Changbin want to kill the murderer? 

Simple: bloodlust. I just needed that violent duo, y’know? 

3. Were Jisung and Minho conspiring together? If not, was Minho going to pin it on Jisung?

No and yes, that was his intention!

4. Why does Minho have a hankering for murder?

He wants revenge on his step father, the mansion owner, for neglecting him all those years. Also the dude has anger issues. Bad temper.

5. Why could Minho pass the mattress but not 5 guys?

He is immortal. He is god. He is- just kidding. He was probably doing something stupid and unplanned, like using the bathroom on the downstairs floor. That’s the best answer I can give you for now.

6. Why did Jisung decided to team up with Minho? I mean what benefit will he get from it if there is a chance Minho might even kill him too? and also did Jisung know that Minho is the killer king in the first place?

He didn’t realize he was teaming up with the killer, and if Minho did reveal that he was the killer, Jisung would most likely try to turn on him (and fail). Nope!

7. What was Minho's motive (was it just him hating the victim or was there something deeper)?

Both that, and probably bloodlust as well.

8. How did Minho get the white glove to blame Jisung later when he wasn't with us while we were searching the room?

He bought a fresh pair of white gloves before the party started. He also, most likely, placed it in Jisung’s bag before committing the murder without him noticing.

9. If we were to just body search everybody at once, would we find the throwing knives on Minho and just end the whole thing? (this was on my mind the whole time lmao, like why didn't we search OURSELVES too??)

yeah true ngl i can’t argue with that Knowing Minho, he probably has a bunch of knives hidden all around the house, secretly planting them here and there while mingling with party guests.

10. Were really 2 killer kings? 

Nope! Only Minho. There would only be more than one killer king if you ended up choosing the Minsung route. However, good idea! I should’ve thought of that.

11. Why in the hell was jisung helping minho like how did they end up as a team?

e x p l a i n e d  a l r e a d y. see i told you guys a lot of people were asking this

12. I still don't understand changbins fascination with the blood type.

This was an easter egg I was proud of but nobody caught!! The same blood type mentioned by Changbin (I think it was A?) is the same type Seungmin has! After a google search or two, I learned that blood types were passed down by family members, so if you arrange Seungmin’s family tree correctly, you’d learn that him and the mansion owner shared the same blood type, meaning that Seungmin is related to the mansion owner. Far stretch, I know, but I think it works out! If you figured this out, you would realize how smart Changbin really is as a scientist.

13. Why did jeongin light two matches?

Extra precaution! Also, he’s the youngest. He thinks fire is cool.

14. Was Minsung a team for the ~ Minsung Vibes? ~

It was not intentional at first, but then I realized the rest of the duos were popular ships in SKZ (minus Chanmin) so that was interesting!

15. Just in general why were the teams aligned the way they were?

Minsung - They’re good pals Changlix - For the bloodlust similarity Hyunin - They were both emotional enough in this story to want to escape Chanmin - It’s literally Chan and Seungmin, and Seungmin is close with the mansion owner

16. Which one was your favorite route?

MINSUNG’S ROUTE!! I wanted you guys to choose this one because it would so different from other murder mysteries!! But the escape route was my second choice, thank god.

17. Will you be doing another series similar to this next year?

90% no because of how physically and mentally draining this series was to write, but you can get a sequel if the finale somehow gets 50 notes! That won’t happen for a while. Just FYI. 

18. Did the knife in y/n’s hand ever come out or was it just stuck in there the entire time?

It was there the entire time until Hyunjin pulled it out at his house. I actually still don’t know if this is medically accurate or not, I literally had to ask my mom what to do in this situation. Our text messages went something like:

Me: If a knife goes through your hand, should you pull it out or leave it in? Asking because of a TV show  Mom: Leave it in and go to the hospital... Me: Ok thanks mom

I think that’s it? I still have a lot I want to talk about, but that information will only come out if people ask me! So come ask me hehe have fun. Thank you, so incredibly much, for following Killer King. It is my pride and joy, literally.

taglist: @desertofdessert @crscendoforsung @cotccotc @leggomylino @skzctnightnight @freckledberries @nizhonimoon @hanniiesuckle17 @binniesbabybear @tsuki-moons @lbxgsunshine @csbverse @mangoisawesome @peachyhan @worldtriiiip @golden–rain @bubblyjisunq @kimpchi @loey-letters @pokyloky @wherevermyway @avrea-tt @bossuns @sunoo-luvs @katherineee19 @ph0ebevix @qt-k1mb @444scb @grandmasterslickfox @k-pop-valda (now we can all abandon this series for good!)

[anotheronechicagobog]

Functional Dysfunction - Rheese - Chapter 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog​

A/N: This is a new series I’ve been trying to work on and I’m so happy that I’m finally done the first chapter! It’s IMPORTANT to note that this the fic I took a survey for a while back so; Sarah Reese has a double specialty of ED and Neuro. Also, it’s a bit AU so be prepared for that. 

Warnings: swearing, vomit, unplanned pregnancy, talk of abortion

The waiting room was a decent size, but she still felt small. Surrounded by medical diagrams and leather couches, and pregnant women, and pregnant women with children. She felt completely out of depth and she was finding it hard to breathe. Her tunnel vision was only broken when the nurse called her name. The older woman smiled at her obvious nerves and Sarah was instantly relieved, not because of the woman’s assuring demeanour, but because she knew that if she had gone to a doctor at MED instead of Planned Parenthood, she would have instead been met with shock, judgement, and awaiting a comment from Doris.

“Dr. Singh will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

So Sarah laid back on the examination table in the flimsy blue paper gown with her unmentionables in the breeze, because of course, Sarah found herself in a situation where she’d need a transvaginal ultrasound instead of a pap smear. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm herself down.

“Ms. Reese?”

“Hi.”

“Hello, I’m Dr. Singh. You believe you’re pregnant?”

“Yes, I took two home tests, I’ve been nauseous but only between two and four in the afternoon and one and four in the morning, I missed my period, I’ve been fatigued, and my breasts have been sore. And it’s... Uh, it’s Dr. Reese, actually.”

“Okay, then. Are you in your residency?”

“Halfway through my second year.”

“So you know how this works then.”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring any support? We have counsellors and resources you can use. Your mental and emotional wellbeing is just as important as your physical health.”

“I’m fine. I just want to get the pregnancy confirmed and then book an abortion. I’m in my second year of residency, the father was a one night stand, and my main source of income comes from my mother who would not approve of me having a baby out of wedlock.”

“I completely understand. Med school was hard enough for me without pregnancy and then a baby. We’re still going to have a counsellor talk to you about it beforehand, make sure that you’re making the decision for you and not for anyone else.”

“Alright, I guess.”

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah was right, she was pregnant. She wasn’t surprised and it didn’t change how she felt. So when she walked into her next shift she didn’t expect a concerned Maggie to approach her. “Hey Sarah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Maggie, why? Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“You’re pale, you haven’t been eating much lately, and you’ve been more tired lately. What’s going on Reese, are you sick? You can talk to Goodwin and she’ll give you time off.”

“I’m grateful that you’re worried about me Maggie, but I’m not sick or anything, I promise. It’s just stress.” Sarah tried and failed to tell herself that she wasn’t technically lying, but pushed that thought to the back of her mind and took in Maggie’s disbelieving demeanour.

“If you’re sure...”

“I am.” Maggie gave her a look that clearly said ‘I don’t think you’re telling the truth but your lie is plausible so I’m letting it go for now’ as she exited the doctor’s lounge, leaving Sarah alone. She took a deep breath as she put her stuff in her locker before grabbing a clean pair of scrubs. After she’d changed into them she looked into the full mirror of the dressing room, staring herself down. She willed against herself not to do it and lost. She turned to the side and placed her hands over her abdomen. She knew that the fetus inside of her was tiny, the size of a sesame seed, but... She didn’t know what she was doing, truthfully. So she shook her head and squared her shoulders before tying her hair back and walking up to the nurses’ station. “What have you got for me, Maggie?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew Pierson was seventeen and optimistic, something that both she and Rhodes admired. It made their daily rounds and checkups much easier. On most days they both went at the same time so that both departments were able to get first-hand results and to prevent miscommunication. The only problem was that they were always at 3:30 pm, smack dab in the one-hour afternoon window of Sarah’s ‘morning’ sickness. She did her best to quell it in advance; ginger tea, fresh air, mindful of what she’d had for lunch, and she was always drinking water. Sometimes though, like today, morning sickness couldn’t be quelled or repressed. She and Rhodes were discussing Andrew’s latest brain scan and what his injury meant for a valve replacement, when it reared its ugly head like never before. The bile was rising up her throat, fast and hot. She stopped talking in the middle of her sentence, drawing attention from her colleague and her patient. She didn’t register dropping her tablet. She darted into the adjoining bathroom and emptied the little liquid she had in her stomach. Even after it was all out she had to sit there dry-heaving. The burning discomfort in her throat didn’t bother her like it used to, and the painful twisting in her stomach annoyed her more than anything else at this point. When the hellish nausea finally passed she was able to register that she wasn’t alone. Rhodes stood behind her, holding her hair back for her. She turned to look at him and he clearly felt unbelievably awkward, like her, but she did see worry clearly on display behind his eyes. “What’s going on, Reese? You’ve been sick all week.” She hastily got on her feet, only for Rhodes to have to steady her when her balance wavered and mind spun from doing it too fast. After she was okay enough that Rhodes could let go, she warily made her way to the sink to rinse her mouth, only to find that there was some vomit on the edges of her lips and chin, only furthering her embarrassment as Rhodes tried to make eye contact in the mirror.

“It’s nothing-”

“Okay, stop. This is not nothing, you don’t think I’ve noticed how pale and nauseous you get every day? I may have my head wrapped around for too much but I’m not an idiot. Not to mention, you literally just dropped our patient’s brain scans to vomit. You are not fine, actually, you know what? Let’s just go down to the ED, get you checked out-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Reese, these are continual symptoms, they could be the sign of-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“... Oh.” Sarah bit out harshly, turned the water off, and left the bathroom, leaving Rhodes standing by the toilet, as she blinked back tears. The look in his eyes, the acknowledgement, the pity. She picked up her, thankfully undamaged tablet, as a demure Dr. Rhodes came to stand beside her again. “I’m very sorry Mr. Pierson, I think I ate some bad sushi yesterday. Let’s just finish our appointment and then we can get you started on your new preparation plan so that you’re ready for surgery, okay?”

“Sounds good, and I hope you feel better soon, doc.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Rhodes had spent the remainder of Andrew’s appointment standing beside her clearly shocked and somewhat muted. When they both left though, he steered her into the closest conference room he could find. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, now if you’ll excuse me I have other patients that need my care-”

“What about you? Who’s caring for you? You’ve been really sick, and although pregnancy explains it, it doesn’t change the fact that you have concerning symptoms or that Maggie is one bathroom trip away from admitting you into the hospital herself. Because I haven’t heard anything about you in any of the gossip I’m going to assume that you haven’t told many, if any at all, people here. So is there anyone who knows? Anyone who can help you out? And what about the father? I mean you’re pregnant, you’re going to have a baby. Have you spoken to Goodwin yet? She’ll work with everyone to make sure that you’ve got everything you need-”

“Okay, stop! No one knows and I want to keep it that way. I’m not... I’m getting an abortion. And I just...” Sarah took a deep breath as she blinked her tears away. Not now, not at work, not in front of Dr. Rhodes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” He stood there awkwardly, his arms hovering around her form, unsure of whether he should embrace her or not. Sarah shrugged his hand away and took a few controlled breaths. “I won’t tell anyone, but, does anybody know? And I don’t mean from work, I mean in general, do you have someone to talk to about this? Or take you to and from the procedure?”

“No but it’s fine, I’ll just call a cab after.”

“What if something goes wrong during the procedure, who are they going to call? You have to list an emergency contact.”

“I’ll be fine, everything will be fine.” Sarah took a steadying breath as she tried to quell her morning sickness, again, and stop her body from shaking. “Are you trying to reassure me? Or yourself?” Sarah honestly didn’t have an answer for that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah cursed herself constantly over the fifteen-minute drive it took to get to Molly’s. Not only did she reveal a pretty damning secret to one of the hospital’s top surgeons, but she hadn’t been able to get out of going to the bar with the rest of the ED staff. And since Molly’s was a firefighter bar, owned by a few members of the 51st firehouse, the father of her child was most likely going to be there. She sat in her car, trying not to let the dread fill her as she stared at the ornate door of what was now her least favourite bar, not that she enjoyed drinking enough to have a favourite. She took the seat next to Maggie and tried to join in on the laughter that was being shared amongst her colleagues. But she couldn’t, she felt hot and cold all over, her breathing was tense, her chest was constricted, and her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. The fact that Jimmy Borrelli, the father of the unborn child inside of her that he didn’t even know about, was staring at her with familiar lust-filled eyes, and that Connor Rhodes, currently the only person who knew about her pregnancy, just entered and looked at her with a mix of shock, horror, and concern, did absolutely nothing to help with her stress or her pregnancy symptoms. Rhodes made his way over to the table with a guarded look on his face. “Hey guys, how about I get the next round?”

“You’re not new anymore Rhodes, we know you’re not a complete stuck up ass, you don’t have to keep trying to bribe us.”

“Thanks for your words of kindness, Halstead, but this isn’t bribery, this is me offering beer.”

“... Fair enough, man. I think we’re all up for it.”

“Great, hey Reese, would you mind helping me carry it all over?” The meaningful look Rhodes sent made it clear he was using this as an excuse to talk to her away from their co-workers. “Sure.” She tried to sound chipper as she hopped out of her seat, but her voice was tired and it cracked partway through the word. Rhodes visibly frowned and Sarah could feel the concerned stares from her co-workers. They walked to the counter and nodded at Hermann, ready to wait until he was available. “I know that you’re... ‘Cancelling your subscription’,” he spoke lowly, mindful of all the ears around them and how fast gossip flourished among the groups present, “but you still, you know, have it. Should you be drinking?”

“I’m not. I’ve missed too many get-togethers and because of my, uh ‘binge-watching’. People, Maggie in particular are getting suspicious. And honestly, even though I’m ‘cancelling my subscription’, I can’t bring myself to do anything to harm... You know. I, uh, I don’t even drink, really.”

“Yeah, I know. Is there anything else I can get you, then?” Sarah shook her head even though her stomach had turned on her and was eating itself. The bodily organ betrayed her, making an audible growl that could be heard above the music bursting out of the speaker directly above them and the loud mixture of conversations that made nearly everything inaudible. He raised his eyebrow as she scolded herself internally and tried to ignore the warmth creeping up to her cheeks at his bemused expression. “You sure about that? How about some food? I hear that Mills has taken up working the kitchen here, the food should be good.”

“The food is great! And I’m not just saying that because I own that place.” Sarah jumped at Hermann’s voice, not knowing he’d gotten back to them.

“Would you mind showing me a menu then, Hermann? I won’t turn down free food.” Sarah nodded her head at the man standing next to her with a slight smile on her face, feeling better than she had all day if she was being honest. “Oh, is the good doctor buying again?”

“Yes I am, which reminds me, three pitchers of Coors please, and-”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And spaghetti and meatballs, please.”

“You got it. Here’s your beer, glasses for everyone, and your food’ll be brought over to you when it’s done.”

“Great.”

“And Reese?”

“Yeah?”

“Give us a good review, will ya? We could use all the help we can get to gain some traction for the kitchen.”

“You got it.”

Sarah eyed the tower of glasses she had in her right hand, concentrating far more than necessary if she was being honest, to make sure that she didn’t drop them. When Sarah set the glasses and full pitcher down she took the opportunity to look around the tables at her colleagues. Everyone had gone back to their conversations, and weren’t regarding her with caution, except for Maggie and Manning. They shared a look with each other, then her. “I’m fine, promise.” They shared another look with each other before discreetly taking her hands into theirs. “We don’t believe you.”

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 5: Breaking Point

happy valentines <3 here’s a slower-paced lowkey fluffy chapter for the occasion

summary After his disastrous mission to Arkngthand, Fahjoth's confidence has taken a kicking and his mood has hit rock bottom. Can he find the courage to face up to his next task?

content warnings none

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

 —————————————————————————————

Antabolis, at least, had been grateful for Fahjoth’s delivery. He had taken the cube with enthusiasm and offered for Fahjoth to return at a later time, when Antabolis may be able to give him a key to delve deeper into Arkngthand. Fahjoth had politely declined; the last thing he wanted to do was return there anytime soon. In fact, he would die happy if he never had to go near another Dwemer ruin ever again. 

He didn’t bother to attempt to read the notes that Antabolis gave him, nor was he even listening much to what Antabolis was saying. He was desperate to return to his bed and collapse into it, and in his current state of feeling constant aches and pains he found that he couldn’t care less about Sixth House or Nerevarine cults, whatever they were. 

By the time Antabolis finally bade him farewell, Fahjoth felt just about ready to drop. I’ve just got to get back to Cosades’, he told himself as he staggered through Balmora’s quiet streets under the dusty cinnamon sky, clutching Antabolis’ papers tightly in hand. As he paused to look up and watch the first stars begin to twinkle dully from behind the light evening mist, Fahjoth supposed he would have to meet Ribyna for that drink tomorrow instead. Finally, he reached Cosades’ house and let himself in. 

Cosades was sitting at his table, drink in hand as he perused the pages of a dusty old tome. He glanced up as Fahjoth entered, raising a brow at the state he turned up in, but offering no comment on it. Wordlessly, Fahjoth approached and passed the papers over to Cosades, already staring longingly over at his bed on the floor of the corner of the room. 

“These notes are from Hasphat Antabolis? Excellent. I trust he didn't work you too hard for them,” Cosades said, though the look on his face as he surveyed Fahjoth confirmed that he already knew the answer. As Fahjoth began to remove his armour, he couldn’t help but grimace at the poor condition it was in now; he would definitely need to take it to be repaired tomorrow. 

But as he was about to get himself settled for the night, Cosades spoke up. 

“I'll look these over in more detail later, but now, I have some new orders for you," he announced. Fahjoth felt his heart sink. 

Already? After casting one more glance towards his bed, he turned his attention back to Cosades and nodded to signify that he was listening. 

“I've glanced at Hasphat Antabolis' notes,” Cosades continued, a mild frown on his face. “They cover the Sixth House admirably, but not the Nerevarine cult. So. I’m going to need you to pay a visit to someone who can fill in the gaps. Hop on over to the Mages Guild and get Sharn gra-Muzgob to tell you what she knows about the Nerevarine. She'll have some silly errand for you, but do what she asks. And report back when she's given you the information.”

For a few seconds, Fahjoth was struck dumb. There was a searing heat growing in his chest, one where he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream or break down and cry, but instead he swallowed and jerked his head in a nod. “Now, sir?”

“Better had,” Cosades agreed, “before it gets too late. She won’t thank you for that.” 

“Right.” Fahjoth’s voice was flat and somewhat husky in his attempt to keep his emotions bottled up, and he scarcely said goodbye to Cosades before he turned and strode back outside into the chilly dusk air. There was a lump in his throat as he walked, and though he knew it was exacerbated by his exhaustion, Cosades giving him yet more orders had been a crushing blow. All of his doubts came roaring back, playing on his mind and reminding him that he wasn’t good enough, and he certainly couldn’t keep up with the tasks he had been given. Yet, what choice did he have but to try? Fahjoth began to wonder whether this job would be the death of him as he paced onwards to the Mages Guild, bracing himself to be given a task that would nearly get him killed a second time. 

 —————————————————————————————

Sure enough, the irritable Orc that Fahjoth encountered in the depths of the Mages Guild had not given up her knowledge freely. In return for the information Cosades was seeking, Sharn gra-Muzgob ordered Fahjoth to collect a skull from an ancestral tomb, requiring him to retrace his steps back towards Seyda Neen. 

While in theory this didn’t sound too taxing, Fahjoth was more than wary of what he might discover in an ancestral tomb. The stories he’d heard from the locals had been more than enough to sow worries into his mind; instead of crumbling ruins and murderous thugs, curses and ghosts and the walking dead would be the hurdles he would have to overcome this time, which had been all but confirmed by the enchanted sword that gra-Muzgob had lent him for the errand. 

Fahjoth felt almost numb at this point. He was terrified, of course he was, but he was too physically, mentally, and emotionally drained to deal with it. He could barely even spare the energy to think about what lay ahead, nevermind try to process his feelings towards it. He paused as he reached the southernmost bridge spanning the Odai River, turned his gaze up to the stars, now set against a deep indigo sky, and wondered whether it was too late to meet Ribyna for that drink. Well, there was no harm in checking in. So he changed direction, heading for the South Wall Cornerclub rather than returning to Cosades’. Even if he couldn’t find Ribyna, perhaps a drink would help to steady his nerves. 

As he wandered down to the bottom floor, sure enough, he spotted a familiar figure nursing a bottle at an otherwise empty table in the corner of the room and made a beeline for them. Ribyna looked up as Fahjoth approached, initially grinning at the sight of her twin, but once she fully registered the mess that he was in her face fell into an aghast gape instead. 

“What the fuck happened to you?!” she exclaimed without so much as a greeting beforehand. Fahjoth sighed as he parked himself down at the table, dropping his head on his hands and preparing himself to recount the long, miserable tale. 

“So then I got back to the bridge, and there’s this old man who’s just stood there, and for no reason he just goes fucking nuts and attacks me,” he concluded once he had covered the rest. “Conjured a fucking skeleton and everything. I fell down the... the chasm thing, then when I got back up, I just legged it.”

“Holy shit...” Ribyna mumbled, staring at Fahjoth in astonishment. “Had a hell of a day then, didn’t you?”

“That barely even begins to describe it,” he scoffed. “I feel like I’d have had an easier time if I just went to Oblivion and back.” 

To Fahjoth’s shock, Ribyna bit her lip, evidently trying to hide a grin. That couldn’t have been further from the reaction he had been expecting. “What?” he asked, a wary frown on his face. 

Ribyna hesitated, as though struggling with whether to speak up or not, but after a moment of pause she blurted it out. “Oh come on, all that shit happening— it’s a bit funny!”

“Funny?” 

At once, any hint of laughter on Ribyna’s face vanished, as Fahjoth felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. 

“I nearly fucking died today and you think it’s funny?!”

“I never said that—!” Ribyna protested, but Fahjoth was already livid. All of the frustration, shame, and terror he had felt that day had compounded with relentless exhaustion, and now an intense stab of hurt from Ribyna’s reaction had been enough to light the fuse. 

“But it’s funny, you said!” Fahjoth snapped, struggling to force himself to remain seated at the table as he ranted at his sibling, while his voice rose in volume and attracted more than a few stares from the other punters. “It’s funny that I nearly died, it’s funny that I couldn’t handle the one job I was given, it’s funny that it went so fucking tits-up and you probably think it’s funny that I’ve got to go back out and do the same thing, and probably get myself actually killed this time!”

“Fahjoth—” Ribyna started, shuffling her chair around so that she was sitting beside him, but Fahjoth cut her off. 

“‘Cause— ‘cause that’s what’s gonna happen! I’m gonna do a ‘favour’ for someone, maybe not this one, but maybe the next time, or the one after that, but— sooner or later it’s gonna kill me!” The lump in his throat had firmly lodged into place, and Fahjoth felt his eyes burn as tears threatened to spill. He was less enraged now; all he felt was distress and fear, flooding his chest with a dull, unyielding ache. 

“I can’t keep up with it, Beebs,” he choked, his voice breaking and his face crumpling as he finally began to cry. “I can’t do this.” 

He dropped his face into his hands, his vision blurry with tears as his shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs, but seconds later he felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace which he did not try to resist. 

“Hey, hey, come on,” Ribyna said, her voice low and soothing as she rested her chin on the top of his head. “You’re okay. Deep breaths.” 

As he struggled to get his erratic breathing back under control, Fahjoth was much too choked up to speak, so he simply remained silent with his head leaning on Ribyna’s shoulder. Ribyna continued to talk, hugging him tightly and gently rubbing his shoulder all the while. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” she apologised. “It’s just... well, it’s just your fucking luck, innit? Only you could end up dealing with that much bullshit in one go.”

Fahjoth managed a watery chuckle at that. “They say guarshit, here.”

“Ooh, well, pardon my Cyrodiilic,” Ribyna jeered, putting on the poshest accent she could muster. The tiny laugh that his sibling had inspired granted him enough of a mood boost that Fahjoth finally felt calm enough to sit up again, though the churning of apprehension in his gut remained and tears still slipped from his eyes on occasion. 

“I’m sorry as well,” he said at last, glancing over at Ribyna with regret. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Ribyna waved his apology aside with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Right, let’s backtrack a bit.” She leaned on her elbows, staring up at Fahjoth with a light frown. “What d’you mean, you’ve got to go and do the same thing?”

Fahjoth sighed, feeling a knot of trepidation settle in his chest once more as he anticipated the task ahead. “Basically what I said,” he explained. “I’ve got to do a favour for someone else in exchange for information. Only this favour involves me stealing a skull from an ancestral tomb down by Seyda Neen.”

“Yikes...” Ribyna lapsed into thoughtful silence, her gaze falling on Fahjoth’s hands for a moment before she got to her feet. “Hold that thought,” she said, trotting off towards the bar. Fahjoth watched with idle interest until Ribyna returned, clutching two bottles under one arm and a plain cup and cloth in the other. She returned to her seat and placed the goods down on the table, pushing one of the bottles towards Fahjoth as she settled. “Here’s that drink I owed you. Mazte. It’s alright, give it a try.”

After giving the bottle a curious sniff, he threw caution to the wind and knocked back a mouthful — only to immediately cough as the unexpectedly spicy aroma overwhelmed his senses. But as he swallowed, the liquid filled his chest with a potent heat that seemed to spread all the way down to his toes, temporarily washing away all of what ailed him in an instant. “Fucking hell,” he remarked, “that’s not bad at all.” 

“Innit?” Once Fahjoth had put his bottle down, Ribyna reached over and pulled one of his hands towards her. She squinted as she examined his skinned knuckles, her brows furrowing into a consternated frown, and Fahjoth felt a twinge of embarrassment that he hadn’t cleaned the blood off before now. He watched as she dipped the cloth into the cup — which turned out to be filled with water — and dabbed it gently but firmly onto his hand. Fahjoth grit his teeth and breathed hard through his nose as each brush of the fabric against the tender skin incited a sharp stinging sensation, but he kept quiet as Ribyna spoke. “Anyway, if what you said is true, then getting away with just fucked up knuckles seems like a bit of a result to me.”

“I suppose...” Fahjoth admitted. “I’m pretty sure I just got lucky, though. I mean, what if I come across something worse next time? What if I’m not lucky enough?” 

“Fahji, you’ve just had a hell of a bad day,” Ribyna pointed out. “Look, I’m sure it won’t be so bad next time. Live and learn and all that. You’ll be fine.” 

Fahjoth could feel his anxieties beginning to grow again and tried to mentally take a step back, as the last thing he wanted was to break down in tears for a second time that night. “I really don’t think I can do it, Beebs, but... I don’t even know what’ll happen if I try to pull out. What if they send me back to prison? And—...” 

“And?”

Feeling very self-conscious, his cheeks flushed slightly as he prepared for his next confession. “And I really wanted to try and make this work. It’s a real opportunity, innit? This could be our only chance of ever doing well for ourselves.” He paused, nodding towards Ribyna. “Not that you seem to be having any trouble with that, mind...” 

Ribyna was quiet for a moment, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she concentrated on cleaning up Fahjoth’s hands, finishing the first and then moving onto the other. Finally, once she was satisfied, she let go and picked up her bottle instead, sipping some mazte before responding to Fahjoth. “Are there any rules about going by yourself?”

“Uh... no, I don’t think so,” Fahjoth replied, perplexed by the sudden change of subject. “Why?”

“Then there’s the answer,” Ribyna replied, grinning at Fahjoth from over her mazte. “I’ll go with you!”

“What?”

“I’ll go with you,” Ribyna repeated, a little more insistently this time. “With two of us, there’ll be a way smaller chance for you to... y’know... die. Or get fucked over in general.” 

Fahjoth’s mouth fell open slightly at Ribyna’s offer. “Are you sure, Beebs? It... it probably won’t be easy. I dunno what we’ll find in there.”

“Course I’m sure. As if I’m gonna risk letting my brother go and get himself killed,” she scoffed. “That’s my job, innit?” 

Fahjoth stared at Ribyna in disbelief for a moment or two, before he began to laugh with sheer relief. “Fuck, you’re a lifesaver. Right, are you ready to go?” 

“What, now?” Ribyna exclaimed, and it was her turn to glare incredulously at Fahjoth. “A, I haven’t even finished my drink, and B, you need to rest. We’re not going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest. Those are my terms.”

Fahjoth opened his mouth to protest, but Ribyna cut him off. “Seriously, what’s the rush? Travelling at night isn’t a great idea even when you’re in perfect condition. And like I said, you need to rest, you look like you’re about to keel over any second. If Cosades has got a problem with that, tell him to take it up with me!”

“I’m sure he’d be quaking in his boots,” Fahjoth quipped, but he couldn’t argue with Ribyna’s logic. “Since when has my little nuisance been so sensible?”

“You know you’re in trouble when you’re calling me sensible,” Ribyna snorted. As she watched Fahjoth rise to his feet, she seemed prepared to spring up at any moment. “D’you need a hand getting back to Cosades’?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright,” Fahjoth replied, wincing as he gingerly put weight back on his feet, his sore muscles already stiff from the brief period of inactivity. He leaned down and pulled Ribyna into a tight hug once again. “I’ll come get you tomorrow, then? Once I’ve got myself sorted out. And... thanks, Beebs. For everything.” 

Ribyna patted Fahjoth bracingly on the back as she returned a loving squeeze. “Don’t mention it. Now go get some sleep, dickhead!” 

Taking his mazte with a laugh, Fahjoth waved once more to Ribyna before ascending the cornerclub’s stairs and ambling out into the clear night. Every inch of him still ached something fierce, but Fahjoth didn’t mind as much now, uplifted by the thought that whatever lay ahead, he didn’t have to face it alone. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hey!! Can I request some fluff with Arthur (modern au) he finds out his s/o is pregnant please!! Thanks 😍

I hope this one’s fluffy enough! Sidenote: I know NOTHING about pregnancy except what very little is taught in the joke that is the American Sex Ed system. Also, I used my own family as a model for this piece (not saying everyone else’s would have this reaction). 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stand alone in the aisle of the store, torn. You’re scared, anxious, and somewhat embarrassed. In front of you stands the shelves, part of the pharmaceutical area. The boxes you’re looking at hold pregnancy tests. Should you get them? Part of you wonders if you’re just going through a weird hormonal phase. You’ve had them in the past, but none of them were like this. 

Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been having weird things happen. Getting incredibly nauseous throughout random periods of the day, you’re getting tired even when you haven’t done anything. Certain parts of your body have started to become tender and even firmer. 

After Googling your symptoms, everything you found said possible pregnancy. You even took this one survey that was very interactive and asked a lot of questions. One of them was “have you been sexually active within the past month?”. Well, of course you have. You’ve been dating your boyfriend Arthur for over a year. However, that test said 93% likelihood of pregnancy. When you took the test again but lied when it asked about sexual activity, it came up with some bullshit that didn’t make sense to you. Now, the only thing you have left to do to be sure is buy one of these stupid urine tests. 

You grab a box of 12, hoping no one is around to see. You shouldn’t feel ashamed for doing this, yet you do. A result of your childhood, of course. You were raised to think that a couple who had a baby outside the bonds of marriage were idiots, harlots, uncommittable morons who were dooming any baby to a lifeload of problems. As an adult though, you’ve managed to train yourself to think differently, especially now that you aren’t very close to your religious nuts who call themselves your parents. Still, that fear is there that others will think those things of you. 

Quickly, you buy the box and stuff them into a grocery bag, ignoring that it’s a single item that you could easily carry in your hand. Still, you want to hide it. When you get to yours and Arthur’s house, you stuff the box into a cupboard where you keep your other feminine items. Arthur definitely won’t look for anything in there, he knows what’s in there. You don’t take one out though. You’re not ready. 

When Arthur comes home, he can tell something’s off. He usually works from home as he’s a rancher, but today he had to make a run to town to sell some of his goods from the one grocery store in the tiny town. He actually makes some pretty fair money and he’s never bored. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks as he tries to cuddle with you on the couch while you both watch a movie. 

“Y-yeah,” you say nervously. You’ve been dreading the thought of telling him. Never have you discussed with him his opinions on having kids outside of marriage before. 

“You sure? You look kinda… darlin’, you gettin’ sick?” 

You shake your head. “No. At least I don’t think so. Arthur, I… I need to tell you something. Please don’t be angry.” 

“Sweetheart, you know I could never be angry with you.” 

You smile, loving how he can be an extremely rough man. Hell, you remember the fight he got in. It was when you were still living in that horrible apartment complex when you and Arthur first hooked up. Your neighbor was always kind of creepy, making inappropriate comments about you when the two of you passed. One time, he’d done that when Arthur was with you and Arthur got pissed. He’d started yelling at the man, but your neighbor got right up in his face. It didn’t take long for Arthur to punch him. One hit was all it took to put your neighbor in his place, but it was only a couple of weeks after that when Arthur asked you to move in, worried about your safety. 

“Okay,” you say and sit up. You grab one of his hands and place it on your thigh. “Arthur, I… I’ve been going through some kind of weird change and I did a little research. I think I…. I…” 

A tear slides down your cheek. Arthur looks worried and he reaches up to wipe it away, his thumb gently tracing your skin. 

“It’s okay, darlin’. You can tell me anything.” 

You swallow. How the hell could this happen? You and Arthur have been so careful when you’ve had sex in the past. You’re on birth control and he’s always used protection. Then, as though the answer is painfully obvious, you remember that one day when you’d forgotten to take your pill and been in the shower. Arthur joined you and one thing led to another. 

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Arthur… I think I’m pregnant.” 

His hand on your face freezes. Shit, shit, shit. His eyes have widened and his face is pale, his mouth in a hard line. Fuck, why did you have to tell him? Well, how could you not have though? More tears spill out of your eyes as you think that he’s going to end things right here and now. Your mind starts reeling with what you’re going to do after all this. 

Just as you’re on the brink of completely breaking down, Arthur grabs you and pulls you close, burying your face into his chest. You realize from the sound of his breathing and sniffling that he’s crying too. 

“Oh my God, darlin’. I couldn’t be happier. Were you scared to tell me?” 

You look up and rub your eye, trying to dry it. You nod. 

“Oh, darlin’. I never want ya to be scared of tellin’ me anythin’.” He kisses your head, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into his shirt. He lets you cry as much as you need to, intermixing his soft kisses by telling you everything’s going to be fine. 

Finally when you’ve calmed down, Arthur pulls you away slightly so he can look you in the face. 

“So… do you know for sure?” he asks. 

“No. I’ve only Googled my symptoms. I bought some tests but… I haven’t taken any yet.” 

“Well, come on then. Go take one. I’ll be here with ya every step, okay?” 

“Arthur, one isn’t going to do it. Sometimes you get duds.” 

“I know, but just take one. You can do more over the next couple of days. But only take them when I’m here, okay? I wanna be with you for this.” 

Great, now you feel like crying again. God, if you’d known he was going to be this sweet and supportive, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of stress. He pats your back, so you get up and go take a test. The box says to wait three minutes, so while it sits Arthur pulls you into a tight hug and sets a timer on his phone. When it goes off, you look at the label on the test. 

Two stripes. Positive. 

You sigh and put your face back into his chest. 

“Arthur, what am I gonna tell my parents?” you say, wanting to relieve more of the stress this thing is causing. 

He rubs your lower back. “We’ll cross that bridge in a bit, darlin’.”

“They’re gonna be pissed when we finally tell ‘em,” you say. “They’re probably going to pressure us to get married. I’m not telling you to try and pressure you into it, I’m just warning you.” 

He smiles and kisses your head. He doesn’t say anything because the truth is he’s been thinking about asking you to marry him anyways, but he wants it to be a surprise. Of course, the baby complicates things because he knows you’ll probably think he’s only doing it because of the baby. 

“Darlin’, don’t worry about them. You’re an adult, and so am I. They can’t make our decisions for us, and it ain’t their right to tell us how to live. That’s all you gotta say to them. And I know your mother. She’ll be excited for a grandkid.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, as long as she doesn’t ask me to move back in just so she can keep it for herself.” Your mom’s obsessed with kids, so you know that at least your parents won’t end up disowning you for having this baby. 

“Yeah well, you’re mine and so’s this.” He puts his hand on your stomach. “Ain’t no one takin’ my family away from me.” 

[feedmecookiesnow]

drink up, me hearties, yo ho

For @clintscoffeepot who prompted: “Coming at you with a challenge. I’m giving you four to choose between but I want at least two in the fic. Bonus points if you can fit all four. “At least we have this fire to keep us warm.” + “Scoot over.  I wanna sit next to you.” + “You need to control your temper.” + “How do you get your skin to be so soft?””

Here you go, all four of them in a Pirates of the Caribbean AU, featuring Bucky as Jack Sparrow and Clint as Elizabeth. I regret nothing.

***

Clint hums softly to himself as he gathers more palm fronds. He has no idea if they’re decent at burning or not, but it’s at least something to put on a fire. He grabs a couple pieces of driftwood for good measure, then hauls it all back to the pile.

Once it’s somewhat arranged, he steps back and surveys the heap with a brief nod of satisfaction. “Good enough.”

He turns and looks out at the ocean, hoping against anything to see the white of a sail coming over the horizon. But there’s nothing to see except the setting sun.

They’ll find you, he assures himself. Steve’s probably got the whole fleet up in arms right now. Natasha won’t let him do anything less. They’ll find you.

“What are you doing?” asks a voice behind him, and he turns to see Captain Barnes dropping an enormous pile of wood onto the ground.

“Looking for a rescue,” Clint says irritably.

Barnes snorts. “No one’s coming to save you. Or me.” He waves an arm at the ocean. “This is it for us.”

“That’s not true,” Clint tells him. “Unlike you, I’ve got friends who will be looking for me. Quite fiercely, I might add. I’m a very important person.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything. Clint’s gaze drifts to his waist, and with a slight shock, he notes the pistol is back in Barnes’s belt.

“I hope you don’t plan on using that,” he says, pointing at it.

Barnes looks down and smirks. “My pistol, or my---”

“Pistol,” Clint says quickly, ignoring the remark even as he can feel his ears heat up. “They left you with only one shot, right?”

“That’s the tradition.”

“Well, you’re not going to use it, right?”

Barnes sighs. “Ask me again in a few weeks,” he says, and turns the other way.

Clint stares after him, then stumbles over the sand in pursuit. “Captain Barnes! We have to get off this island, immediately!”

“Don’t think I’m not already working on it,” Barnes says, walking into the trees. Clint follows him, unsure of what else to do.

They keep going, Barnes clearly looking for something. He counts palm trees, and takes oddly large steps, muttering something to himself as he does so. Finally, he stops at a pile of sand, using his hand to sweep it away. There’s a large iron ring underneath; he grabs and pulls at it.

“What is that? Is there a boat under there?”

Barnes grunts and pulls again, dragging up what appears to be a trapdoor. He drops it open and dusts off his hands, then looks inside. Clint watches as his face goes from hopeful to crestfallen in about two seconds flat.

He looks inside too, seeing nothing but a pit lined with dusty bottles, cobwebbed and ancient. They’re all full of some kind of amber liquid.

Clint doesn’t get it. “What? What’s wrong? How will this help us get off the island?”

“It won’t,” Barnes sighs, cracking open one of the bottles. He takes a swig of whatever’s inside, and makes a face somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. “It won’t, and so we won’t.”

“But...” Clint doesn’t know what to say. “But you were here before?”

Barnes shoves a couple of bottles at him. “I was.”

“You got off the island then, right?” Clint dismisses the sea turtle story for the fantasy it is. He’s spent enough time around Barnes to know that while there is something fantastical about him, using sea turtles as a raft is still an utterly ridiculous story. “How did you do it?”

Barnes grabs his own armful of bottles and hops back out, striding back towards the beach. Clint runs after him to keep up. “Captain Barnes!”

“Leave it,” Barnes growls at him. “Alright? Just leave it alone.”

“No, you have to tell me---”

Barnes turns quickly, dropping the bottles onto the sand. He pins Clint against the nearest palm tree, one hand against his chest, and other hand wrapped tightly around his upper arm. “Last time,” he hisses, eyes flaring with anger, “I was here a grand total of three days. Last time, the rumrunners who use the island as a cache came by, and I bartered passage off. But from the looks of that, they’ve been out of business for a long time, and so that won’t be happening again.”

Clint sucks in a breath, dropping his own bottles to push at Barnes. Barnes holds him there for a moment longer, then lets him go. Clint drops to the ground, one hand going to his arm. There’s going to be bruises. He can already feel them forming.

“We probably have your friend Rogers to thank for that,” Barnes adds, impassively watching Clint kneel at his feet. Then he picks up all the bottles and takes them back to the firewood.

Clint gathers himself after a moment and scurries after him, tripping over the loose sand. “So that’s it,” he finally gets out once Barnes is in earshot again. “That’s the secret grand adventure of the infamous James Barnes?” He glares at him. “You spent three days lying on the beach drinking rum?”

Barnes takes another swig of his bottle and offers him a lazy smile. “Welcome to the Caribbean, doll.”

Clint can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Joking. He’s got to be joking. But there’s something in the way he’s standing, and the resigned gaze that’s directed out to where they last saw the Black Pearl disappear that makes him think maybe not.  

“Think of it this way,” Barnes says, taking another drink. “We’ve got shade trees, thank the Lord. We’ve got some food on the trees, thank the Lord again. And we’ve got rum, praise the Lord.” He raises the bottle in Clint’s direction. “We can stay alive a month, maybe more. Keep a weather eye open for passing ships, and our chances are fair.”

“A month?” Clint gapes at him. “Tony doesn’t have a month! We’ve got to do something!”

“You’re right,” Barnes agrees, and for a moment Clint thinks he’s going to be reasonable. But then he hoists the bottle in the air and adds, “Here’s luck to you, Tony Stark.” He takes a drink, meeting Clint’s furious gaze with a calm expression.

Then he sits heavily in the sand next to their pile. “Don’t think I’m happy about this, Clint. But I see no use in wailing and gnashing my teeth over something I can do nothing about.”

“Not when you can drink instead,” Clint says acidly.

Barnes shrugs and tosses him a bottle.

Clint catches it, turning it over in his hand. The sun is almost completely set, and it’s getting chilly now. A drink would help to warm him a bit---either that or it’ll make him go blind, there’s no way this stuff is any good, not after all these years---

Barnes is looking at him with a contemplative expression. After a moment, Clint makes a decision. He unseals the bottle and takes a drink, pulling a face at the truly nasty liquid inside. “Oh God,” he mutters, fighting the urge to vomit everywhere.

“Goes down easier the second time,” Barnes tells him, smirking as he takes his own drink.

Clint makes a face again, but tries another sip. Barnes is right, it does go down easier. It’s still awful, but not quite as bad.

“There you go,” Barnes says encouragingly. He sets his bottle down and gets to his feet. “Go on and sit, I’ll get the fire started.”

Clint parks himself on a nearby piece of driftwood and watches as Barnes kneels down by the palm fronds.  He’s a scoundrel, Clint thinks, eyes drifting to the curve of his pants, and a good-for-nothing pirate, but I have to admit, he looks damn good in those---

As if on cue, Barnes raises his head to meet Clint’s gaze, a slight smirk playing across his mouth. Clint flushes and looks away, cursing the rum. That’s the only explanation for this.

Barnes gets the fire started, then comes back over to Clint. He drops to the sand, leaning against a palm tree. “Nice view,” he says with a knowing smile.

“Shut up,” Clint mutters, taking another drink. It’s the rum, it’s just the rum.

They sit in silence for awhile, watching the fire slowly burn its way through the wood and the leaves. For as awful as this situation is---being marooned on a desert island with a notorious pirate and little chance of rescue---Clint finds himself at ease. It might be the rum, sure, but after the stress and terror of the last few days, it’s also just nice to take a moment to breathe.

Barnes apparently feels the same way. He’s steadily working his way through the rum, a contented look on his face. His shirt is half open, revealing his chest, and there’s just a light dusting of hair that Clint finds oddly appealing---

Clint lets out a little groan and shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge the thoughts from his mind. Stop thinking about him like that, Barton. Come on.

Barnes raises his eyebrow, then offers that same knowing smile. Clint is pretty sure his face is on fire, but it’s probably too difficult to see in the flickering firelight. Still, the way Barnes is looking at him...

Clint takes another drink. Maybe if he finishes the bottle, his brain will be drunk enough to think of something besides the long, lithe way Barnes is stretched out in the sand, one hand resting casually on his hip, one knee bent up---

“Christ,” Clint mutters out loud, and sets the rum down.

“Problem?” Barnes asks, his tone highly amused.

“No,” Clint says. “No problem.” He shivers from the wind.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” He shivers again.

Barnes sighs. “You’re cold,” he says. “Come sit over here.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not proper,” Clint tells him, trying and failing to sound like he cares about those kinds of things. He does, to some extent, but all of that also feels very far away right now. “You know I’m promised to Commodore Rogers.”

“Well,” Barnes says, hurling a stray bit of driftwood at the fire. “When he shows up, you’re more than welcome to sit by him. Until then, you’re cold, and it’s warmer over here.”  

Clint scowls at him, but he’s right. His driftwood bench doesn’t offer much protection from the wind at all.

“Fine,” he sighs, getting up. He stumbles over to Barnes, the rum making him loose-limbed, and practically falls on top of him. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Barnes says, sounding very pleased.

Clint makes a face and rolls off him, arranging himself the proper distance away. He takes another swig of his rum. It doesn’t taste foul anymore, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Still cold over here,” he mutters.

“At least we have the fire to keep us warm.”

“And the rum.”

“And the rum,” Barnes agrees. He turns to look at him, then focuses on the set of bruises. “These look new. Did I do this?”

“You need to control your temper,” Clint tells him as he tilts his head up. ”Seriously.”

Barnes nods, looking apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He sighs, tilts his head back. “It’s just that that’s the second time I’ve had to watch Pierce sail away with my ship. It’s got me a bit on edge.”

“We’ll get it back,” Clint says.

“We?”

“Yeah.” He flops a hand over Barnes’s arm, thumbing over the faded tattoo of a bird. “You and me. Once we’re rescued. We’ll go get it back.”

“I don’t think your Commodore Rogers will be very pleased with that.”

“He’ll do it,” Clint says. “And if not, we’ll take his ship.”

Barnes bursts out laughing at that, shaking Clint a little bit as he gasps in air. “I’m a bad influence on you,” he says once he gets himself under control, wiping his eyes. “We’ve been spending too much time together.”

“Probably,” Clint agrees. He thumbs over the tattoo again. For whatever reason, Clint had expected Barnes’s skin to be rough and rugged under his fingertips. But other than the pirate brand, it’s surprisingly smooth and soft to the touch. “How do you do it?” he mutters, dragging his fingers up Barnes’s forearms.

“How do I do what?”

“How do you get your skin to be so soft?”

Barnes looks down at him, that fond smile playing over his face again. “Maybe we should stop with this,” he says, tugging the bottle away from Clint’s hand. “Just for now.”

“Give it back,” Clint says, swiping at it. “It’s mine.”

“Alright, doll.”

Clint feels like he should protest the informal nickname, but he likes it too much to really be angry. So he just takes another swallow, and shivers as the wind blows again. “Ugh,” he says. “Fine. Scoot over. I want to sit next to you.”

“You are sitting next to me.”

“More.” Clint moves closer, closing the short distance between them until he’s practically curled up on top of Barnes. It’s so not proper, he knows, but he doesn’t really care. He’s cold, and Barnes is warm. It’s just survival. And if it makes his heart beat a little faster, well...not like anyone but him can tell.

They’re quiet for awhile, listening to the crackle of the fire and the roar of the surf. Barnes’s arm is wrapped around him, and it feels very nice.

Clint raises his bottle to the light, squinting at it. It’s almost empty. “Drink up, me hearties, yo ho,” he mumbles, and finishes off the last of it.

“What was that?”

Clint grins and tosses the bottle aside. “Nothing.”

“Share,” Barnes says, grinning back at him. “Please.”

“It’s just a song I learned as a boy,” Clint says. “A song about pirates.”

Barnes snorts. “I know a lot of songs about pirates, but not one I’d ever teach a child. Let’s hear it.”

“It’s silly,” Clint says, blushing a little. “Back home, we didn’t know anything about pirates. They seemed so romantic, and daring---“ He blushes more, and Barnes’s grin gets a little more wicked.

“That was before I met one, of course,” Clint adds. “Now I know better.”

Barnes snorts. “I want to hear it,” he says. “An authentic pirate song. Have at it.”

“I need more to drink, first,” Clint says, and gets reluctantly to his feet. He trips his way over to their bottle collection and grabs another, taking a long swallow before turning to face Barnes again. He’s still leaning against the tree, but now he’s propped up on one elbow, and the firelight is reflecting off his skin---

You have a problem, Clint tells himself, but at least it’s a problem he’s somewhat enjoying, right?

“Well?” Barnes asks.

Clint clears his throat, suddenly a little self-conscious with the way Barnes is looking at him. “We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, we loot. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.” He takes another drink, then carries on, his voice a little more sure. “We kidnap, and ravage, and don’t give a hoot. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”

Barnes looks absolutely delighted, and he stumbles to his own feet. “More,” he demands, swaying a little bit. “More, I want to hear the rest---”

So Clint teaches him the rest, and they have more rum, and somehow they end up arm in arm, screaming the song at the top of their lungs as they twirl around the massive bonfire. Clint keeps tripping over his feet, and Barnes catches him every time, hands steady despite the amount of rum he’s consumed.

Clint eventually ends up on his ass in the sand, grinning like a madman as Barnes grabs another bottle. “I love this song!” he announces, collapsing on the ground next to Clint. “When I get the Black Pearl back, I’m going to teach it to the whole crew, and we’ll sing it all the time!”

“You’ll be positively the most fearsome pirates to sail the Spanish Main,” Clint laughs, knocking his bottle against Barnes’s.

“Not just the Spanish Main, love,” Barnes says, and okay, Clint likes the sound of that word far too much. “The whole ocean...the whole world. Wherever we want to go, we go. That’s what a ship is, you know. Not just a keel and a hull, a deck and sails. That’s what a ship needs. But what a ship is...what the Black Pearl is...is freedom.”

Clint lays his head on Barnes’s shoulder. “It must be terrible,” he says quietly. “Being trapped on this island all over again.”

“Ah well...” Barnes takes a drink. “The company is better than last time. And the scenery has definitely improved.”

“Glad I could help,” Clint says, leaning over to pick up his own bottle. It’s empty, and he scowls at it before tossing it aside.

When he looks back, Barnes is eyeing him with an unreadable expression on his face. Or maybe not entirely unreadable, not with the way his gaze keeps drifting to Clint’s mouth, like he’d possibly like to kiss it.

He’s a pirate, Clint tells himself. He’s a pirate, and an absolute bastard, and you are supposed to be promised to someone else.

Barnes sits up a little and reaches out, wrapping a hand in Clint’s shirt. “Come here,” he says, and Clint goes, because what the hell else is he going to do? His resistance crumbled a long time ago, if it was ever even there in the first place. They’ve been heading towards this moment since Barnes pulled him out of the water at the fort.

Barnes tastes like rum, and smells like smoke and sweat, but it’s somehow the best kiss Clint’s ever had anyway. He lets those strong hands tug him a little more until he loses his balance and falls forward, breaking off the kiss with a surprised noise. Barnes grins and rolls them easily until Clint is flat on his back in the sand. “Don’t worry, doll,” he says, his mouth barely inches away. “I got you.”

“I know,” Clint says, and reaches up with uncoordinated hands, sliding his hands under Barnes’s shirt. “I know you do.”

He doesn’t know what’s coming tomorrow, or the next day, or if they’ll even get off this cursed island at all. But for now, at least, he’s happy to put those thoughts aside in favor of losing himself to this moment.

“Pirate’s life for me,” he mumbles, and hears a quiet huff of laughter.

“Drink up, me hearties, yo ho,” Barnes says back before capturing his mouth once more.

[ladala99]

Luke’s Rise

(Luke’s Saga, Part 3)

Luke woke up to the sound of battle. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, the sheltering stones casting long shadows across the dirt.

Why now? he wondered. And why had no one woken him? He was the last one in the cave, which also was unusual. He sprang to his feet and rushed out to join the battle.

No one was there. The plain was empty of lions, yet he could still hear the battle. It came from all around him, and yet visibly, everything was at peace.

”What’s going on?” he roared. “Where is everyone?”

”Luke?” Ilere’s daughter‘s voice pierced through the battle sounds.

”I’m here,” he called back. “Where is everybody? Where are you?”

Ilere appeared beside Luke. He stepped back a pace, surprised. “I got through, good!” She nuzzled his chest worriedly. “I think Lightning did something to you.”

The Exile Pride’s nature mage, and the one who wanted the Primal lions like Luke dead.

”I hear battle. What’s. . .” Luke trailed off. “Is it real?”

Ilere’s daughter nodded solemnly. “It’s not all of them, but. . . You know what? I think I can show you.”

Ilere’s daughter closed her eyes and planted her feet solidly on the ground. The silver cord that connected her and Luke, but was only visible in the dream world, materialized and grew more strongly. Light shot out of the cord, forming lions made of silvery light, roaring and battling to the sounds Luke could still hear.

Everyone seemed evenly matched. Normal lioness against normal lioness; Ilere against Lightning; and the Exile Pride’s challenging male, Blaze, against Luke’s father and pride leader, Chill.

Wait, the last match made no sense. Chill was a Primal Lion. Sure, he was aging, but he still had enough strength that he should have been able to defeat a regular lion without issue. Yet here the fight was, neither side showing weakness. Was Blaze really that strong?

”I have to wake up. I have to help!” Luke said. If he was out there, he could turn the tides. He looked at Ilere’s daughter, who was still straining to keep the images visible. “Where am I? Still in the cave?”

Ilere’s daughter let the images fade. “I don’t think so - I couldn’t find you. I used our connection to reach you here.” She looked Luke straight in the eyes. “I think, to get you out, I’ll need your help. And I’ll need help from...” she trailed off, looking at the silvery line. “I might not be the same afterwards.”

She hadn’t used her demonic powers much. She had been afraid they’d corrupt her, and Luke didn’t want that to happen either.

”Is it the only way out?” Luke asked. “If... if the fight’s not too bad, maybe we should wait until your mom—“

He was cut off by an agonized roar which abruptly ended, coming from where the battle between Chill and Blaze had been. Ilere’s daughter’s eyes widened and her ears flattened.

”Was that...?” Luke didn’t want to finish the thought. Was his father hurt? Or worse...

”We’re doing this now,” Ilere’s daughter said. The silvery line between them glowed brighter.

”What do I need to do?”

”Strengthen our bond. You know how our families go - the Primal king commands the demon lioness. Take your rightful place, Luke, and give me the order.”

Luke could tell that simply saying “get me out” wouldn’t be enough. He had to use their connection.

He reached down and grabbed the glowing chain that tied their fates together. Probably unnecessary, since it was a metaphorical object, but it felt like the right thing to do. He held it up and watched as the chain tightened around Ilere’s daughter. He also felt it tighten around his own neck.

”Use your powers,” he said, “Get me back to the real world. Give me strength for what I must do. Help me win, whatever it takes.”

The chain started to glow red, like the one he had seen connecting his father to Ilere. This was it.

Ilere’s daughter also started to glow red, her eyes brightening with unholy power. Luke felt himself being lifted up, but he still seemed to be on solid ground.

”Please stay my friend,” he added. “If it’s possible.”

Lions faded into view around them, and their chain disappeared. Sure enough, they were re-entering the real world.

And Luke saw exactly what he feared. The Exile Pride’s champion, blood dripping from his mouth, and Chill laying motionless on the ground beside him.

Time seemed to slow. Luke flung himself at Blaze with a mighty roar. He didn’t even think, he just fought. His muscles felt filled with strength anew, and it wasn’t clear whether it was instinct or Ilere’s unholy assistance.

Blaze also seemed to have help. He reacted quickly, and didn’t even seem tired from his struggle with Chill. Every blow he struck hit hard, and often hit a weak spot.

Blaze seemed unphased by Luke’s attacks and slashed with deadly intent. He hit a nerve that caused Luke to collapse, and bared his teeth, ready to kill again.

Time stopped. It didn’t just seem to stop - Blaze froze in place, teeth bared and leaning in for the kill. Lionesses froze mid-slash. Red light erupted from the ground and covered the battlefield.

Luke scrambled away from Blaze’s deadly chomp. He spotted Illere’s daughter aglow.

”How is he so strong?” Luke asked, hoping she was conscious enough to answer.

”He trained for this.” It wasn’t Ilere’s daughter that answered, but Ilere herself. The elder demon lioness padded calmly away from her fight with Lightning, who was still baring her teeth. “And Lightning’s magic is strengthening him.” She surveyed the frozen battlefield. “So my daughter has potential, after all. Well Luke, will you use this opportunity to finish your fight?”

Luke looked at Blaze and his wild expression. He still felt rage at the fiery lion for killing Chill, but this was too easy. “It feels weird to attack a frozen opponent. Can’t he be de-powered?”

Ilere cocked her head. “What about the other way?”

”Isn’t she already powering me up? Especially now with the frozen time thing?”

Ilere paced around Luke. “If she can do this, she can make you invincible. Or whatever you please. Give her the order and it will be done.”

Luke looked at Ilere’s daughter. Could she even hear them? Would she still be herself after this battle? He mentally felt around for their connection, the one symbolized by the silvery chain. He found it - it felt warm now. Warm like affection. He let that feeling fill him.

Is your mother right? he asked. How much can you do?

My mother’s main power is hypnosis. Her voice echoed all around him. Mine is all about dreams. I didn’t quite do what you asked earlier - I didn’t bring you out to the real world. Instead, I forced everyone else into the dream world. Blaze believed he was invincible, and that is why you couldn’t harm him. You cannot kill him here, but neither can he kill you.

Can you wake me and only me up? he asked.

Yes.

Luke opened his eyes. He was inside a circle of pebbles with some herbs beside him. Lightning had tried something, alright, but it seemed it held him no more. He headed back to the main territory, and lions scattered around the main camp, twitching in their sleep. All had their eyes closed.

All except Blaze. His eyes were wide open, and he was growling slightly. He clearly was trapped in a dream-like state, his body refusing to move. Chill’s unmoving body was beside the Exile champion. Luke approached and sniffed his father - the body was cold. That was real. Chill was dead.

It would be so easy to get revenge on Blaze, killing him in his paralyzed state. Too easy. And something inside Luke didn’t want to simply kill the other lion. He wanted him to fully realize what he had done. That Chill had been innocent.

Wake him, Luke commanded.

The Exile champion blinked and sprang to his feet. He growled and tried to leap onto Luke, but Luke’s superior Primal strength easily forced him back. Lightning’s power had clearly faded. Blaze tried a few more times to land a good blow, but Luke easily defended himself, continuing his defense until Blaze tired himself out.

”Give it up,” Luke said. “It’s over. You may have killed the king, but you did not win the throne. If you have any respect for how this normally goes, you would leave these lands and never return.”

”You had help,” Blaze growled. “That demon. I cannot let your plague spread!” He clawed at Luke’s throat, but Luke stepped back just in time.

”You had help, too,” Luke said. “And let’s not forget you are the one that attacked us.”

Lions around the clearing started to wake up and stand. Ilere’s daughter stood by Luke’s side. The other lions didn’t resume their fights.

”I let them know the situation,” she said. “You have allies on the other side, Luke. If everyone fought for their true loyalties, even without magic, your side would win. Lightning isn’t happy, but we are victorious.”

Luke looked at the gathered lions. “What does that mean, though? Will the Exiles go home? I don’t want this to be an endless cycle.”

Ilere’s daughter gestured and Lightning came forward. The Exile mage didn’t meet Luke’s eyes.

”She is the source of your problems,” Ilere’s daughter said. “Eliminate her, and they won’t bother us again. Perhaps they might even join us. Our hunting grounds are better than theirs.” Her speech pattern somewhat disturbed Luke; this wasn’t like her. But he’d deal with that later.

”I won’t kill you,” Luke said to Lightning. “That battle is over. However, I can't let you go free after what you have done. We would have left you alone had you not attacked.”

”She wouldn’t have,” Lightning muttered, flicking her tail at the elder Ilere. “And you... I thought you were fighting against the dark magic. And here you use it?”

“You left me no alternative,” Luke said. He flicked his tail for Ilere’s daughter. “Can you keep her under control?”

---

Being king wasn’t what Luke had expected. The former Exiles all decided to stay with his pride, although half of them were still afraid of Ilere and her daughter. Luke didn’t blame them, but he made sure Ilere wasn’t given free reign like she had been under Chill.

Lightning... was tough. Luke kept a close eye on her, and if he was busy, Ilere’s daughter kept her under watch. Or just used her magic to keep the nature mage asleep. It wasn’t the best solution, but he could neither justify letting her go nor killing her.

Blaze left the pride, defeated and embarrassed.

Ilere’s daughter didn’t regain her old personality. Unleashing her powers like that had changed her, although she didn’t seem to be as evil as her mother was. At least, not yet. Perhaps she was content having something to do with keeping Lightning under control.

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Loverboy (Jimercury Oneshot)

Summary: Jim goes to Heaven to find the man that's been tormenting his mind for almost a week. (The description is really bad so please just read it it's better than it sounds.)

A/N: This was sponsored by Loverboy by Adam Lambert which I recommend listening to and also to my sheer lack of impulse control. I hope you're all well and that you have a good rest of your day. Get some sleep if you need it, drink some water if you can and treat yourself because you deserve it. This is not optional. Let me know what you thought because my muse likes feedback, leave a like or perhaps reblog if you feel like it and maybe check out my other semi-decent works?? OK, enjoy my darlings.

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, implied sexual content (OK why did I write it like that since when am I that posh)

Word Count: 2.2k+

Inspiration: Effervescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Loverboy by Adam Lambert, Mercury And Me by Jim Hutton

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

Ask to be on my taglist!

Jim had thought Heaven would be a bit more exciting on a Friday night, if he was being as brutally honest as usual. It wasn’t somewhere he frequented much, preferring the atmospheres of the smaller clubs further south of London. For someone who wasn’t typically one to approach people first, large clubs were somewhat intimidating. He wasn’t the type of guy to buy men drinks out of the blue, to put himself in others’ personal bubbles with a smile that could do him all sorts of favours later on in the night. No, Jim would much rather people-watch with his pint of lager that never left his line of vision, something you’d expect from a patron of a coffee shop, not of a gay nightclub. Jim had adopted the philosophy that if anyone noticed and fancied the look of him, then they would go to him first. Although it was that kind of attitude that left you with a certain sense of disappointment and loneliness while sitting in the back of a taxi at four in the morning, only to take you to an even more disappointing and lonely flat and an even more disappointing and lonely bed.

This time, Jim was hellbent on not feeling anything of the sort tonight, and while that was largely down to amount of alcohol he’d drunk merely one hour into his evening, it did give him a certain air of confidence that made him almost unrecognisable. They don’t call it ‘liquid luck’ for nothing, Jim supposed as he made his way to the bar.

Heaven had a particular vibe about it that Jim found near enough impossible to pin down. It was an unspoken rite of passage, for you sure as hell didn’t get men looking to experiment down there, men who were just on the wrong side of naivety, men who weren’t gay but just in case, you never know. Men like that would get eaten alive in Heaven; ones with all sorts of bad intentions tended to lurk around the larger clubs. It wasn’t sinister, per se, but it was a bit much if you weren’t quite too sure what you were doing.

Heaven was almost always full to the brim with people, but despite that it was weirdly intimate, providing you found the right person. Jim had yet to do so but he had to give himself credit, he’d only been there for a couple of minutes. He ordered his drink, trying his best to not let the shock show on his face when he found out just how expensive drinks were at Heaven, and surveyed the scene before him. It wasn’t overly exciting, everyone in his line of vision seemed to already have someone, or in some cases multiple someones. For now, he decided to let himself be absorbed into the unique atmosphere, the deafening yet grounding music that vibrated through his very core, the fluorescent lights that illuminated what needed to be highlighted and created shadows over what needed to be hidden.

Jim couldn’t help but let his eyes drift over the sea of men surrounding him. He supposed he should have felt trapped or perhaps claustrophobic in his little corner, everywhere he looked he could see people who had yet to clock his presence. But it was just that, the fact that no one had even bothered to clock that he was there, that no one had even thrown him a glance, that made him feel somewhat isolated, something he never felt in his regular clubs. He was fighting every instinct in himself to finish his drink and go, to just forget that this evening had started in such a way, because he forced himself to remember why he was there in the first place.

That man. That one man who had somehow managed to stumble into his café on a bleak Sunday morning, still drunk from the night before and clearly not having slept yet. Why else do people go to artisan cafés at six in the morning, ask for the most lucrative drink Jim had ever heard of and then for the barista’s number because he looked simply ravishing, darling. As you can probably imagine, early morning shifts weren’t exactly busy, especially not on a Sunday of all days, and the man was just so eager to talk and inadvertently reveal half of his life story, Jim couldn’t find it in himself to let the rather interesting conversation die. He’d even offered to make him a cure for the inevitable hangover he was going to get after he eventually went to sleep. They’d talked about everything and nothing for a good two hours, until the lethargic customers looking for their pre-work coffees trickled in and heavily mumbled their never-changing orders. It was at that point when Jim had chased the man out with a tea towel and a message of get some damn sleep, for God’s sake, and once he was back behind the counter the stranger poked his head round the door to say the name’s Freddie, by the way, Freddie Mercury, before leaving for good with the sound of the bell above the door being the only thing left of his presence. Well, that, the innumerable empty cups he’d left on his table by the window and the smile etched onto Jim’s face that stayed there for the rest of the day.

At one point, Freddie had let slip that he’d been drinking with some friends at Heaven for most of the night, and that it was somewhere he went most evenings. So, Jim had taken a risk and gone on that Friday night, hoping to see his mystery man again.

He scanned over the club again and started to lose hope, even if Freddie was there, it was so dark he might struggle to see him. And even if he did, what would he do? Would Freddie even want to see him? Did he even remember him? He was rather drunk at the time, oh God what if he saw him and he didn’t even recognise his face-

“Jim!”

He snapped his head to the right so fast; he almost pulled a muscle in his neck. There he was, positively glowing under the lights that would have washed anyone else out, clad in the tightest leather, under the arm of another man. Jim’s stomach dropped about ten feet, but he refused to let that spoil his evening. Besides, he didn’t think he was capable of raining on Freddie’s oh-so-sunny parade. He forced a smile onto his face, “Freddie, hi!”

Freddie tugged on the arm of his companion like an incessant child, “Paul, this is the guy I told you about! He owns the café down the road!” His voice was so full of excitement, Jim could tell he was a little bit tipsy already, but the joy was genuine.

“I don’t own it, I just work there,” he justified, squirming a bit under intensive stare of Freddie’s friend. He knew that look, the one of suspicion, the one of I don’t know who you are, but I can’t trust you yet. Jim couldn’t find it in himself to blame him for that. He may have been trying to find reasons to hate Paul, but he just put it down to the jealousy that he knew he should be trying to rein in.

Freddie was oblivious to this, or at least was pretending to be for the sake of keeping the peace, “Oh shush, darling, you seemed pretty in charge when I was there.”

“That was only because I was the only one working at the time,” he said, feeling his smile become a bit more real and suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place. He was chasing this feeling of pure elation, this feeling of finally living that he hadn’t yet felt in the two months he’d been living in London.

“Enough of this boring stuff,” Freddie ducked out of Paul’s grasp and grabbed Jim’s free hand, “I want to dance,” his eyes sparkled, and Jim was sure it wasn’t from the lights overhead. Freddie quickly turned to Paul and said, “A glass of rosé for me, darling,” before tapping his arm and leading Jim through the crowd, leaving Paul with his lips parted in disbelief and in a state strongly reminiscent of a dead fish.

Further into the club, they had found a small space to dance. Freddie had his arms looped loosely around Jim’s neck and Jim had his hands tentatively on Freddie’s waist and their foreheads were practically touching because there wasn’t much space to do anything else. He couldn’t help but wonder if Freddie had chosen such a space on purpose, and he had no idea if he was just being hopeful or if he was actually onto something. He wasn’t all too sure where Freddie was going with this. He’d assumed that him and Paul were a thing, but they hadn’t actually done anything to suggest such a thing. He didn’t want to be seen as the guy who wrecks a relationship because he’s too selfish to think about the consequences of his actions. He knew he shouldn’t care about a man he’d met less than a week ago but when you’re practically alone in a city like London, you can’t help but cling to the first person who gives you even the slightest bit of attention.

This kind of attention was different, though. Jim wasn’t blind to the way Freddie looked at him, he knew exactly what that look meant and it sent shivers down his spine every time they locked eyes. Freddie leaned in closer, if that was even possible, and whispered in his ear, “You’re thinking too much, darling. You need to let yourself go.” Freddie pulled back and looked at Jim through his eyelashes, who in turn got goose bumps just from his tone of voice alone. It was honey, smooth and sweet, slipping into his mind and giving him a feeling that he didn’t think any drink or drug could top. He could feel himself slipping into a certain state of mind that felt softer than silk and tasted sweeter than sugar. He could lose himself in just the image of Freddie dancing like that, of Freddie holding him like that, and he was so damn grateful that he could have this all to himself, even if was only for one night.

Jim tried to come back to his senses, even though he wanted nothing more than to surrender them all to the man before him, “What do you want from me, Freddie? You already came here with someone.”

Freddie chuckled lightly, letting his eyes drift away before coming back to the bubble he’d created with Jim and had no intention of popping just yet, “Paul? No, he’s dull, darling. You on the other hand,” he paused for effect, looking Jim up and down before coming back to his ear, “You’re positively edible.”

Jim embraced the closeness for a second, not allowing himself to indulge in it for a moment longer or he would have been gone with no return, “I’m serious. I don’t want to be a game to you, I want to be more than that.”

Freddie breathed deeply, taking in Jim’s aura, “Paul thinks it’s more serious than it is, I don’t really care about him so neither should you. But this? I could get used to this, if you’ll let me,” he looked up at him again, the essence of faux innocence. Jim knew what he was asking, he could read between the lines, and gave him his answer by closing the gap between them.

The kiss was soft, it was slow, they were savouring every second for what it was worth. They had nowhere else to be, and if they did, they didn’t let it cross their minds for neither of them had ever experienced anything like this and they weren’t sure if they ever would again. It wasn’t perfect by any means, you can’t expect too much from a kiss in the middle of a nightclub, but it was so addictive and so different and so new and so exciting and just so human. It was that feeling that you never knew you wanted but once you tasted it for the first time, you just craved more and more and more.

When Jim finally pulled away, just wanting to see in Freddie’s eyes if he wanted it as much as he did, he found himself gasping slightly from the intensity of the look. It wasn’t like the one he’d gotten from Paul earlier, it was one so full of desire and passion, it was everything he’d been hoping for and more. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss, just a short one that promised so much more, before doing as Freddie had said only moments ago; he lost himself in the deafening music and the blinding lights and Freddie’s eyes.

And when he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and Freddie in his arms, he was so glad that Freddie had stumbled into his life at six o’clock on a Sunday morning.

[imaginesforyourfandom]

Younger - USWNT Imagine

(Y/N)’s POV:

I was sat at the desk in my hotel room trying to catch up on my homework for the week. Being a player on the US Women’s National Soccer Team was all fun and games until the real-world hits. I was lucky enough to get called up at the age of 17 which is huge, but I am still in school. I tried to convince my parents to let me be home schooled, but I was unable to get them to come around. They were barely okay with me traveling around playing soccer as it is.

“(Y/N)” I looked over to Kelley who was leaning against the door. “We are going to go explore and maybe do some shopping. Do you want to come?”

I knew that if I went then this work was never going to get done. I fought the internal battle for a moment before shaking my head.

“I’d love to, but I have a ton of work to do.” I motioned to my computer that was sitting next to all my books. She came over with Alex following her into the room. Alex came and hugged me from behind glancing at all the work I had to do as Kelley picked up one of my books.

“AP Trigonometry” she grimaced as she opened the book reading some of the problems. “This stuff should be illegal.”

“Yeah I’m with you on that”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Yeah as you can see, I have a ton of work to do and this doesn’t even include my AP Government homework that I need to do. I don’t know how lenient my teacher will be if I don’t get it done.”

“Just tell him you were qualifying for a World Cup” Kelley said as if that was going to solve everything.

I shrugged my shoulders and moved to continue doing my work. They both stood there for a moment before Kelley headed for the door saying goodbye to me. Alex hesitated for a moment giving me somewhat of a sad smile before squeezing my shoulder and heading for the door. After they left, I sat for a few minutes thinking about all the moments I had missed with the team because of how young I was.

I couldn’t go out on the town with them because I was under 18. I couldn’t go explore the cities we went to with them because I have homework. I can’t stay up too late because the coaching staff has a strict curfew on me. Don’t get me wrong. I love to be here. I am living my dream, but it’s not fun when I don’t get to participate in all the ‘team bonding’. It’s no fun when I am at dinner with them and I have to listen to all the fun things they have done during the day.

I continued working on my work when the door opened. I turned to see Christen and JJ coming into the room. They both smiled at me as JJ came over and looked over my work.

“What are you working on?” Christen asked going through her bag that was sitting on her bed.

“AP Trig” I replied reading over one of the problems. She came over standing next to JJ.

“Do you need any help?” JJ asked giving me a smile. “I don’t know how useful we will be, but I am sure we could try.” I smiled at the blonde appreciating her offer to help.

“No, it’s okay. I know how to do it. There are just a ton of problems with multiple parts.”

“Why don’t you take a break?”

“I have a ton of work to do” I frowned at one of my questions on the paper. I glanced up to see both women having a silent conversation.

“Are you sure? We were thinking of getting some ice cream with Crystal and them. We would love to have you come with.”

“I appreciate the invite, but I really need to finish this.”

They seemed to accept the answer because both girls gave me a smile and said good luck before exiting the room. I groaned feeling annoyed at being alone again. I know they don’t want to sit in here while I am doing work, but I hate being alone.

After another hour or two, I was finishing up my AP Gov homework when the door opened once again. It was Christen who was laughing about something with Tobin. She turned and smiled at me.

“Have you finished your work yet?”

“Almost. I just have to finish this assignment and then I am all caught up” She gave me a bright smile and a thumbs up.

“That’s great”

“Yeah. What are you guys up to?”

“A bunch of us are going to this place down the road.” Tobin said leaning against the wall waiting for Christen to grab whatever she was needing.

“Oh great! I’m starving” I moved to put my computer down when I looked over at the girls who had nervous looks on their faces. “What?”

“You have to be at least 18 to get in” Tobin said giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry (Y/N)”

I leaned back in my chair letting out a soft ‘oh’. I felt the frustration building but smiled at the girls. It wasn’t their fault that I wasn’t allowed to go to the place that the team was going too.

“No, it’s fine” I smiled at them trying to hide my disappointment at not being able to participate in yet another activity with the team. “Have fun. I’ll see you guys when you get back”

“Are you sure? We don’t need to go.” Christen asked giving me a sad look. Tobin’s eyes widened at her statement, but she quickly hid it and gave me a fake smile. This was clearly important to her that Christen go to the dinner.

“Yeah I’m sure. I need to call my mom anyways”

They both nodded their heads and headed out the door. I tried to fight the building frustration and sadness, but it was starting to feel very overwhelming for me. I wanted to get to do all the fun things with the team. I was tired of hearing different stories about how fun everything is with them. I was tired at not being a part of inside jokes and missing out on important moments. Everyone wants to talk about how much of a family this team is and how great the bond is, but I just don’t feel it.

I stood up and headed towards where the coaching staff was staying to find out what I would do for dinner. When I got there, they were in the middle of a meeting.

“What can I do for you (Y/N)?” Jill asked giving me a small smile.

“Most of the girls have gone out to some place for dinner but you have to be 18 so I was wondering what I was supposed to do for dinner.”

“I can see if the team chef can make you something.”

“Yeah okay that’s fine.”

“I’ll have them bring it to your room. Which room are you staying in?”

“304” I nodded my head at her and then turned to walk away. “Hey, is it okay if I go on a walk around the hotel after I am done eating?”

“Just make sure you’re back in your room by 11 pm”

I walked back to my room and sat down waiting for my food. It was about a half hour later when it arrived. I finished it quickly before grabbing my room key and phone and heading out the door. I changed into some workout clothes before heading out the door because I was hoping that the hotel gym was still open. It was about 930 which gave me plenty of time to get a quick workout in before my curfew.

I found the gym and grinned to myself when I saw that it didn’t close until 12. I headed in and put my headphones starting my workout. This seemed to be the best way to get my frustration out.

It was about a half hour later of pushing myself as hard as I could. I sat on the ground panting a little and drinking some water. I wiped some of the sweat from my forehead and took my headphones out. I went to stand and almost jumped out of my skin when another voice broke the silence.

“Quite the workout.” I looked over to the door to see Alex standing there. She gave me an amused smile clearly finding the joy in scaring me. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why do you think there is something on my mind?” I moved to adjust the weight that I had been lifting.

“I know you. You only do extra workouts when you have something on your mind.” She crossed her arms at me and motioned for me to stop what I was doing.

“I’m fine”

“(Y/N) please” she walked over to me and pulled me down to sit with her. “Don’t keep it in. You’re like a little sister to me and I care about everything you do and everything that goes through your head”

I stared at her for a moment debating telling her what was wrong. One on hand, she was right. She knew me better than most. It was scary how well she could read me. I was closer to her than some of my actual siblings. I would probably feel better if I just opened up to her about my issues. On the other hand, she would most likely feel guilty and tell everyone else if she knew the truth. I didn’t need anyone else feeling guilty for something they can’t control.

“Earth to (Y/N)” she waved her hand in front of my face. I blinked and then gave her a sheepish smile. “Did I lose you?”

“No, I just….I don’t know how to explain it. It’s no one’s problem but my own.”

“Well, maybe I could help you fix it if you tell me what’s going on”

I stated down for a moment and then looked up at her with sad eyes. The concern on her face grew when she saw my sad face.

“It’s stupid, but I hate that I can’t always participate with everyone else when you guys do something.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment just surveying my face. I had dropped my gaze to the floor trying to avoid the judgmental look that was waiting for me.

“You know this was actually talked about today, right?” I looked up at her confusion present on my face.

“What?”

“Yeah, we all felt bad about leaving you by yourself. We know that it’s not your fault that you can’t do everything with us, but we all miss you when you’re not around.”

“It’s no one’s fault. Just a sucky situation.”

“I know. We still feel bad which is why if everyone is going out then some of us will stay back to hangout with you. We don’t want you feel separated from the team or like you don’t belong. Besides, I can’t have my little sister not feeling the love”

I smiled at the forward before moving to give her a hug. She then stood and jumped back away from me. I gave her a ‘what the hell’ look.

“You’re sweaty and I am clean. Take a shower and then I will give you a hug.”

I grinned and then took a step closer to her. She held up a hand before turning and running out of the room. I took off after her doing my best to catch up. She was fast but I was faster. I caught her giving her a hug and making sure to rub my sweaty hair into the back of her shirt. She groaned yelling at me to stop. I heard some laughter and turned to see some of the girls standing there with amused looks. They stopped laughing when I let go of Alex and took a step towards them. All of them scattered causing me to laugh. Alex put an arm around me pulling me towards the elevators.

“Come on. We have a little special movie night planned just for you.”

“How did you know this was an issue? Like, how did you guys figure out that something was wrong?”

“Some of us noted how sad you have been whenever we leave to go do some stuff and we were already feeling pretty bad about leaving you by yourself, but tonight Dawn texted some of us and told us that you seemed a little down being by yourself.”

I nodded my head making a mental note to thank Dawn. I appreciated that someone noticed that I wasn’t happy being by myself. When we got to my room, I saw most of the girls talking amongst themselves. They all turned to me and smiled.

“Finally. Took your sweet time” Pinoe said patting the spot next to her while looking at me.

“I got to shower first.”

The door opened and Kelley, Lindsay, and Sonnett walked in with snacks in their hands. They stopped when they saw me and slowly moved passed me not wanting to chase them like I seemed to do earlier.

“How did you guys get those past Dawn?” Becky asked suspiciously “Actually, I don’t want to know”

“Good cause we aren’t telling” Sonnett said handing some of the snacks out to everyone.

“Take your shower and then we are watching whatever movie you want.”

“Can we watch Infinity War?” There were a few groans and a few cheers

“I guess.”

I grinned and grabbed some clothes heading for the bathroom. I felt good knowing that things seemed like they were going to be different after today. I was going trust what Alex said and hope that it would help my FOMO. I know that they can’t change everything they do, but hopefully I would get to make my bond with some of the girls stronger. This finally feels like I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

The End.

A/N: I hope you guys don’t mind but I sort of merged the “young reader” and the “alex and reader are like sisters” requests. I figured it went well with the story.