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adnauseum11 · 2 months

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Restricted Operating Zone (John Price x Reader)

Kate has a job offer for John.

850 words

CW: swearing, reference to oral sex

Kate considers it lucky that John is about as relaxed as she’s ever seen him, because he’s not going to be pleased when she delivers the lines she’s been asked to say. John’s a pro, surely, he knows how it goes. Kate’s orders aren’t her own half the time, and often not a first choice.

“You’re looking better every time I see you, John, still having fun in retirement?”

John nods slowly, a flicker of something crossing his face before he replies.

In a split second he’s called forth an image in his mind’s eye of his love, her leg thrown over his shoulder and fingers tangled in his hair while he knelt before her in the shower. Her head thrown back as she cried out into the steamy room. She had given him shit over making her cum that hard before work, which had made him laugh. She would be back by now, rattling around alone in that drafty, shitty place she was calling home for the moment.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He plays a card and leans back, observing her. “Any particular reason you mention it?” He may be out of work but his senses are still keen to corporate grade bullshit.

“We’ve been having issues with an objective-“

“Oh hell –“

“Just hear me out John” Kate’s trying to get a word in edgewise but John’s not entertaining it.

“No, I don’t need to hear what you’re gonna say. The answer is no.”

Kate sighs, knowing it would go this way and yet, she still has a job to do. She presses on, pushing her luck as much as she dares. She waits a few extra beats to play her card – both literally and figuratively - not because she is unsure, but because she needs John to settle. It works and the anger bleeds out of his eyes, replaced with the cold calculating look she’s more intimately familiar with.

“They’re offering a wildly lucrative contract. It’s a highly sensitive mission, small task force, Gaz is available and will sign on if you do. An intercept and collect. Exfil already lined up. Just need a signature on the dotted line.”

“Laswell, I’m going to get you a hearing aid for your next birthday. No.”

“John, I wasn’t authorized to accept ‘No.’ This needs to happen, or shit gets hairy on a global scale. Hence the price tag. One last job and you can set up shop with your little missus. I’m guessing you two are still seeing each other?”

The mention of John’s love in the same breath as work makes him clench his cards. His focus narrows onto Laswell, and she has the presence of mind to be uncomfortable with his sudden laser focused attention.

“What did you just say?” There’s a very real threat of menace in his tone.

“Hey – ho. This is a friendly card game, folks. Kate, don’t talk shop at the card table.” Kate’s wife attempts to intercede, placing her own cards down and looking from guest to guest with concern.

Every invited guest around the table has worked with Kate, and understand the implications of the work. None have worked as long or as closely with Kate as John, and even retired he’s a leader. All eyes swing to Kate to see how she will react.

“I never see him anymore unless it’s here at cards.” Kate says by way of defence, petulant even in the face of a pissed off John Price. “All I’m saying is it would be nice to start a new life with a nest egg, is all. What if she gets sick?” Her tone is innocent but John sees red.

Kate’s wife is shaking her head in warning, but Kate is too bullheaded to take the advice on.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see you unless we’re playing cards, Kate.” John responds coolly, folding the cards in his hands flat against the table. “I served my time. I’m moving on with my life. Don’t mention her again, that’s a warning.” His big frame is sitting fully upright now, the loose-limb posture he’d been in since he’d arrived evaporating.

“You’ve got 96 hours to decide John, or the offer disappears.”

“I don’t need any hours to decide, Laswell, ‘cause I won’t be attending your latest clusterfuck. In fact, I’m not going to attend this poker game.” John throws what could have been a winning hand on the table and stands abruptly.

“John, there’s no need – “

Kate’s backpedaling, realizing she’s overstepped far too late.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks. In the meantime, don’t contact me.”

John tucks the chair back into place with way more force than necessary, spilling Kate’s drink as it collides with the frame of the table.

“Jesus Christ Kate – “

Her wife is wide-eyed, staring at her with disappointment as John yanks his coat from a peg, slamming the door on his way out.

“Shit.” Kate curses, holding her dripping cards up.

“Did that go how you hoped? Maybe listen to your wife next time.”

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos

Next Chapter

#fanfic #call of duty #john price x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x f!reader #john price #captain price #fanfiction #ao3fic

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 14 first part

(RR The Untamed Masterpost) (Canary’s Pinboard - more Masterposts)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Murder Turtle, Continued

Lan Wangji wakes up after a good night's sleep leaning against a rock wall, to find that his leg is no longer splinted, and his perfectly clean and unbloody headband has been put back on his head while he was sleeping.

Leaving aside the "not waking up" part of things, how, exactly, did Wei Wuxian get his headband on without mussing his hair? Did he bring a crochet hook?

Wei Wuxian gives him a sitrep and then they cozy up and have an extended conversation about the nature and history of the Tortoise of Slaughter. Wei Wuxian is interested in everything Lan Wangji has to say, and Lan Wangji talks a lot more than usual; they are completely on the same wavelength here and are enjoying swapping obscure knowledge.

Lan Wangji: My lacerated leg and I are actually super aware that it has big teeth, but thanks for the reminder.

In the course of the conversation, Wei Wuxian mentions his plan to 1. sneak into the tortoise's shell and 2. drive it out of its shell so they can attack it.

OP did a little tortoise research and learned that the only species of turtle that can leave its shell is the Koopa Troopa.

Good news for Wei Wuxian: If you jump on its shell in the right spot, you can rack up a pile of extra lives.

Does that make the Tortoise of Slaughter a giant Koopa Troopa? Perhaps...the king of the Koopa Troopas?

I'm gonna say yes.

(More after the cut)

Let’s Go Killing

Wei Wuxian is exhilarated by the idea of fighting a giant dangerous monster with Lan Wangji. Some day Wei Wuxian will found the Nike clan, because his motto is definitely "Just do it."

It's sweet how, in his romantic notions about chivalry and Lan Wangji, he's completely elided the original reason they were (sort of) told to venture together.

Wei Wuxian: I'm still on the "find the Yin Iron" quest; I'm just skipping the "suppress it" part.

Wei Wuxian weighs up their chances against Bowser and tells Lan Wangji that even if they die, it will be badass to be killed by a famous monster, so they won't have to feel embarrassed.

This is the exact moment that Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian go from "smitten" to "gagging for it."

Lan Wangji: as soon as we get out of here I'm going to borrow a whole lot of books from Nie Huaisang

The boys come up with a plan that involves a rather long montage of collecting archery equipment and deconstructing it. This potentially-dull montage is fun to watch because they are both very, very good looking.

Artists who want to draw Wang Yibo as an elven archer, this is your episode.

Now we suddenly have, with zero explanation, telepathy. Ok, sure. It seems to work kind of like a phone conversation, in which they say specific things to each other, rather than like Cherry Magic telepathy where you can hear everything the other person is thinking. Or at least, neither of them is embarrassed, so I assume they are maintaining some mental privacy.

Club Ruohan

Same, Wen Chao, same

At some point there is a boring sequence at Club Ruohan. Wen Ruohan doesn't know where Xue Yang is, but really wants his hunk of Yin Iron. Wen Chao thinks that WRH's 3 pieces of Yin Iron should be able to beat Xue Yang's 1 piece, but apparently he is dumb and that is not how math works. O...kay? OP does not understand this either but whatever, Wen Ruohan is boring, moving on. This scene is really just here to make us think about Yin Iron before Wei Wuxian jumps into Bowser's shell.

Bigger On The Inside

So then Wei Wuxian climbs into Bowser's shell, which is, to quote The 12th Doctor, bigger on the inside.

Bowser’s shell is the approximate size of my entire house. It is also bathed in a hellish pure red photo filter, which OP has done her best to remove for these gifs, because it gives me eye strain and it obscures Xiao Zhan's hotness.

Camera Operator: What did I do?

Wei Wuxian wanders around inside, finding random corpses encased in slime cocoons. Tortoise, spider, xenomorph, whatever. There are also random curtain things hanging all over, and then at one point Wei Wuxian stares into the face of a corpse, and then does a jump scare response at the camera operator even though nothing particular happened.

I imagine the corpse was supposed to open its eyes and say "killl meeee" but it got censored. He also makes about 8 other faces at the camera operator, so we get that the inside of this TARDIS-like tortoise shell (must...resist...temptation...to...say...TORDIS) is yucky.

Lan Wangji waits outside listening to Wei Wuxian telepathically complain about the smell. He is anxiously clenching a bundle of string and an arrow, and wishing he could clench Wei Wuxian Bichen instead.

Serendipitous Yin Iron

Wei Wuxian backs his way through the TORDIS until his butt bumps into a sword that is steaming with resentful energy. That's right: Wei Wuxian is about to pull a piece of Yin Iron almost literally out of his ass.

He grabs it and is overwhelmed by its screaming resentful energy and has to let it go again.

So this is what a vibrator with 4 batteries feels like

When Bowser comes looking for him, however, he quickly decides to go for it, grabbing the sword and singing "I've Got the Power (Gonna Make You Sweat)"

Wei Wuxian plunges the sword into Bowser's lower jaw, and Bowser pulls his entire head out of his shell with Wei Wuxian attached, while leaving the rest of his body and all rational laws of physics inside the shell.

Gamera Versus the Cultivators

What follows is one of the more ridiculous action sequences in the history of the world, and I say that as someone who likes Mothra movies.

Wei Wuxian hovers in a perfect horizontal plank while “hanging from” the sword, which is held well below the level of his torso. While Bowser spins him around. For much of the time, Bowser keeps his head still and just waves his neck around.

Lan Wangji and the camera operator do everything they possibly can to make "guy pulls on string" look interesting.

Everybody tries really, really hard and the actors are great at pretending something is there when it isn't, but this whole sequence is just horribly conceived.

What works well, though, is the Yin energy and Wei Wuxian's wrangling of it. He starts off being frightened and overwhelmed, and looking like it's too much for him; I dont' know if they made his face puffy on purpose or if that's just what happens when you spend days hanging from the ceiling fighting an imaginary monster. But he looks slack and unwell as he grapples with the iron sword.

Which makes this moment, when he gets control of it, deliciously creepy. He uses the power of the Yin Iron to stick a bunch of pokey things into Bowser's neck.

Lan Wangji has seen him struggling and now sees him...not struggling. Which scares the piss out of him, and he moves to finish the fight as quickly as possible, slicing up his hand and breaking the string. Combined with the pokey things, this does the trick and Bowser dies while Wei Wuxian faints and falls into the water.

Do the Whumpty Whump

Lan Wangji rescues him and wakes him up, and Wei Wuxian clutches the Yin Iron sword and tells Lan Wangji that he was knocked out by the screaming of disembodied voices.

This certainly sounds like a strange and dangerous phenomenon, so Lan Wangji carefully asks him to explain everything.

Ha ha ha j/k. Lan Wangji asks him exactly nothing about the strange sword or the black smoke or his weird evil smile or his new power over pointy objects. Lan Wangji appears to have a Star Trek: TNG level of unconcern about strange phenomena happening directly under his nose. But in fact he has noticed what's up, which is why he will be instantly distressed when he sees Wei Wuxian's flute moves at the Wen Corporate Headquarters.

Wei Wuxian has a fever (stay positive test negative) and comments on Lan Wangji's being so nice to him.

Wei Wuxian: I could never have imagined Lan Er Gongzi acting this concerned about me. Lan Wangji: what else have you never imagined me doing, while we're on the subject?

Lan Wangji transfers a stream of spiritual energy to him. Lan Wangji has so much spiritual power he can be a battery for Wei Wuxian without breaking a sweat or, like, noticing whether Wei Wuxian has a golden core or not, for that matter.

Wei Wuxian basks in the nice feeling of gigajoules for a while but then decides he's bored. So then he pouts, whines, and cajoles Lan Wangji in exactly, EXACTLY the way he whines at Jiang Yanli. I think this, while annoying of him, is a leap forward in his relationship with Lan Wangji.

He's letting his guard down and not just allowing Lan Wangji to take care of him; he's demanding to be cared for on multiple vectors, when he asks the guy who's already busy healing him to sing to him as well.

Lan Wangji obliges, singing him the song he composed about their love cultivation journey, while Wei Wuxian (or possibly Lan Wangji) (or possibly both) has a flashback to assorted sexy interactions that they've had so far.

Wei Wuxian memorizes the song perfectly on one hearing, before passing out.

Writing Prompt: Baldur’s Gate III / Untamed Crossover AU featuring elf archer Lan Wangji

I DARE YOU

Soundtrack: 1. Everybody Dance Now by C+C Music Factory 2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf

Wei Wuxian fainting tally (cumulative): 3

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #the untamed spoilers #restless rewatch the untamed #my gifs #canary3d-original #asian whump

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billiewena · 3 years

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for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

#if you were one of the people who offered to beta read back in march know I WILL be reaching out to because I need it lol #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #fanfic #spn 10x05 #also this is a given but if you did want to be tagged when this is posted hmu!#been having so much fun with this especially with writing the new songs #also tbh the musical itself is the closet I will get to writing a sam & cas fic so that's been fun too lol #ESPECIALLY because then I can immediately add dean's reaction to it which is typically 'time to walk straight off the stage'#it's also fun to write a s10 fic since I'm a 'dean's been in love since s8 at least' truther #anyways new to this and my untreated adhd means I make a gazillion typos/take forever to work on things/get distracted by new ideas but #literally every positive comment on that first post is the reason why I'm still workin' at it

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the-broken-truth · 3 years

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The Queen’s Claim Part 1 - Kamilah Sayeed x Roxanne Wolf (Bloodbound MC)

Summary: Roxanne is - just as her surname - a lone wolf; she keeps her friend circle small and doesn’t trust anyone but that doesn’t mean she won’t have a little fun every now and then to relief stress from her job at Raines Corporation. But what happens when she finds out that her latest one night stand was with Kamilah Sayeed - CEO of Ahmanet Financial & her boss’s closest friend? And not just that - What happens when Roxanne learns of Kamilah’s Claim to her? After all - The Queen Doesn’t Share.

Warning: Futa MC - Don't Like Then Please Don't Read.

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Roxanne groaned as she reached from under her blankets and reached for the ringing touchscreen phone that rested on her nightstand to the left of her bed. Once it was in her grasp, she lifted her aching head before opening one eye to look at the contact of the person who was calling her on her day off; while she was having a massive fucking hangover.

Calling: Adrian Raines

'Why is Mr. Raines calling me on my day off?' Roxanne growled in her mind before she accepted the call on the 4th ring, placing the phone to ear but making sure her cheek didn't touch the screen.

"Hello?" Roxanne asked in a very tired and slurred voice.

"Good morning, Roxanne. I apologize for waking you up on your day off but I am in dire need of your help at the moment." Mr. Raines greeted her.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Raines?" Roxanne asked after she cleared her throat to speak clearly to her boss.

"The Assistant that was supposed to work today had a sudden emergency and called in at the last minute and I need help with the meeting I have with the CEO of Ahmanet Financial & a few others today. Can you please come in for the duration of the meeting? I'll pay you for your time." Mr. Raines explained. As much as she wanted to remain in bed and sleep away from her hangover, she knew she could use the extra money.

"Of course, Mr. Raines. I can be there in 30 minutes. There just one problem, I don't have any professional attire to wear for the time I'm there." Roxanne explained.

"That's quite alright, Roxanne. You won't be working the entire day so you can come in classic attire if that's better. I will see you in 30 minutes." With that, Adrian hung up on his end.

Roxanne sat up in her bed, causing her long back hair to fall in front of her face. She moves her black locks from her eyes - letting them adjust to the sunlight - before she got out of bed and started getting ready: she took a quick shower, got dressed in her black jeans, white t-shirt with a tribal wolf howling over her heart, her black boots, and her black leather jacket with metal spikes on her shoulders. She watched herself in the mirror as she tied her hair in a bun on the top of her head. Opening the cabinet, she took two hangover relief pills before she walked back to her nightstand to get her phone and her car keys, leaving her bedroom; only to run into her roommate and best friend - Lily Spencer - in the living room.

"Hey, Roxy Wolf! Where you off to in such a hurry?" Lily asked as she looked up from her game.

"My boss called and asked me to come in to help with a meeting with some big-time CEOs or council members since the assistant that was supposed to help today didn't come in." Roxanne said as she looked at her purple-haired friend.

"Anyway, what happened last night? I thought you went out drinking." Lily asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I did. Had a little fun and came back home." Roxanne said.

"Damn - Roxy Wolf Strikes Again! Breaking hearts and minds with her incredible dick game!" Lily announced.

"Damn it, Lily. You didn't have to say that." Roxanne said through locked teeth.

"It's not my fault you have more one-night stands than you do leather jackets. Honestly, you should be careful; not every girl is going to accept you hitting and quitting them." Lily warned.

"You tell me that every time, I'm always careful. I don't do love - I just need stress relief from time to time." Roxanne said as she made her way to the door. She bid Lily goodbye before she left her apartment.

[About 25 Minutes Later]

Roxanne made it through the doors of Raines Corporation with five minutes to spares; that was a small victory in her mind. She smiled to herself as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the meeting floor. After the ride up, Roxanne plopped a mint in her mouth in hopes to remove any trace of alcohol from her breath; once she was certain that there was none, she stepped over to the large white double doors and knocked firmly but respectively upon the wooden surface.

"Who is it?" The voice of Adrian Raines called out from the other side.

"It's Roxanne, Mr. Raines." Roxanne answered in a clear voice. She waited for a while until the door open and the smiling face of Adrian Raines appeared in the threshold.

"Roxanne, thanks again for this. Please, come in a meet the other Council Members." Adrian said as he moved aside and allowed Roxanne to come into the room behind him where 5 other people were waiting.

"Roxanne - I would like you to meet the Council." He began as he gestured to the closest person to him. "This is Adam Vega - He is the U.S. Senate." Adrian explained as he gestured at a tall tan man with black hair gelled back with a matching goatee in a tan suit with a white undershirt.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir." Roxanne said with a respectful bow of her head.

"Pleasure is mine, Ms. Wolf. Adrian speaks highly of you and I can see why seeing as you arrived here earlier than you were expected." Adam said with a small smile upon his face. Adrian continued with the introductions.

"This is Cecil Romano IV - also known as the Baron. He's the Owner of the Shrike and has much influence in the community." Adrian said as he pointed at a rather fat man in a purple suit with vertical white lines, a grey vest with a white undershirt, and a blue tie. He had grey hair with a mustache - for some reason, the more Roxanne looked at him, all she saw was a fat mafia boss that ate too much pasta for dinner...and breakfast.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romano." Roxanne said, biting her tongue in hopes to not laugh at this fat man.

"Hmph." That was all he said - maybe his throat was too clogged with pasta sauce to give a proper introduction. Adrian moved on.

"This is Lester Castellanos - The CEO of Castellanos Meats." Adrian introduced the man - He has brown skin and brown eyes. He has black curly hair and a beard that is graying. He wears a beige business suit with a white shirt underneath. Something about him made Roxanne's blood curl.

"Hello, Mr. Castellanos." Roxanne began, only to be cut off by the laughter of this weird man.

"Please, call me Lester. Or Daddy. Whichever you prefer." Lester gave his best 'gentleman' smile but all he looked like was a pedo.

"I...don't think I will be calling you either." Roxanne said as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"And why not, sweetie?" Lester asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because I'm pretty sure I have more girls calling me 'Daddy' than you do." Roxanne said with a smirk; making everyone else in the room chuckle at what she said but Lester just looked confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked but before Roxanne could answer, a slim light brown hand got in Lester's face and pushed him away from Roxanne as a rather alluring female voice called out.

"It means she has a bigger dick than yours, Lester. I know I can see it." A woman with light brown skin, long, wavy, dark brown hair, and brown eyes said as she looked into Roxanne's silver eyes - this woman...she was dangerous, in both a good and bad way.

"Nice to meet you, Sexy. I'm Priya Lacroix - I'm a world-class fashion designer. I'm sure you've heard of me." Priya asked with a voice a smooth as honey but as sharp as a dagger's edge but Roxanne just looked into her eyes with a smirk as she took Priya's hand into hers and brought it to her lips.

"That I have, Ms. Lacroix. Only a fool would not know you." Roxanne smirked as she placed a kiss on the back of Priya's hand, making the woman smile even wider.

"I like you and I'd like to get to know you better, once this meeting is over and done with." Priya purred as her hand turned upright in Roxanne's hand, her nails grazing under to black-haired woman's chin with the most dangerous of touches. Before Roxanne could speak, another voice rang out into the air.

"Get your hands off her, Priya." This voice was angry...offended...and...

'Familiar? Where have I heard that voice before?' Roxanne asked herself as she looked in the direction of the voice - her eyes widened as they met familiar brown eyes.

The woman that stood before them was around 5'3'' - She had light brown skin, straight brown hair, and brown eyes. She wore a purple jacket over a white shirt, dark purple pants, and a necklace - That necklace was one that Roxanne had seen before.

"Geez, Kamilah. What's wrong with you?" Adrian asked. Before turning back to Roxanne. "Oh, Roxanne. This is Kamilah Sayeed - She's the CEO of Ahmanet Financial & my closest friend." Adrian smiled but the horrified look on Roxanne's face made him look worried. "Roxanne, is something wrong?" He asked.

"She knows who I am, Adrian." Kamilah said as she began walking closer to Roxanne while Priya moved away to get a better look.

"She does?" Adrian asked. "How?"

"Because..." The intimidating Egyptian CEO looked down the into wide silver eyes of Roxanne, who could have sworn the eyes of the woman before her were turning red. " She shared my bed last night...and I claimed her body." Kamilah said with a dangerous smirk on her face. Everyone looked shocked at this information - except Priya, she looked pissed. While all this was going on, all Roxanne could think was...

'MY LAST ONE-NIGHT STAND WAS MY BOSS'S FRIEND?!! WAIT...WHAT DID SHE MEAN WHEN SHE SAID SHE CLAIMED ME?!!'

"So..." Kamilah began as she leaned in closer to Roxanne's ear. " Did you really think that I would let you get away from me?" She purred as the tip of her tongue grazed the shell of Roxanne's ear, making her shutter.

'Ah, shit. Lily was right...I'm in trouble.'

[End of Part One - To Be Continued]

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound

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destiniesfic · 3 years

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132 Hours, Chapter 6:

“So what does it say that they have no fear of extorting one of your brothers, but they’re reconsidering everything now that they know who my dad is?” I ask.

“I’d rather fistfight Dain than your dad,” Cardan says, with a snort.

Note: There is a content warning this chapter for discussion of past attempted sexual assault. The incident in question is not depicted.

Read chapter 6 on AO3, or read below:

The thing about the Valerian incident is that it was supposed to be the third-worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The first worst thing is, obviously, my parents dying, because that is always the first thing. It would have been bad enough if I wasn’t there for it but I was—buckled in the backseat with my sisters, walking away with only scratches, all of my broken parts invisible.

The second worst thing is finding out that Locke was playing Taryn and me off each other. You might think, well, that’s not as bad as the Valerian incident, except that Taryn knew what he was doing the whole time and continued to date him after. Suffice it to say, that sucked, and it continues to suck every day to look at my sister and remember she chose a boy over me. And I kissed Locke, too. He isn’t worth it.

Against those two things, Valerian seems like an obvious third-worst, which I’m sure would piss him off to no end if he knew. Except he haunted me in a way that the Locke thing didn’t, and in a way the accident that had killed my parents had stopped doing years ago. When we were still young, Taryn and I would clutch each other’s hands, white-knuckled, whenever we went driving in the rain, which thankfully wasn’t often. We would flinch at police sirens, watch ambulances drive by with dread. At least that faded when our other scars did not.

It doesn’t seem right that, even after Valerian was expelled, he lingered. But so what? So what if I grew clammy when I had to press through a clot of bodies in the middle of a crowded hallway? So what if I found myself looking out for a flash of blond hair disappearing around corners ahead of me? So what if I checked classrooms to make sure he wasn’t there, although of course he wasn’t, because that’s what being expelled means? That’s nobody’s business but mine. I was already vigilant all of the time, and even though extra vigilance just made for an exhausting final semester, I was fine. I was used to it.

It was so stupid. Because something had happened, but nothing had really happened. Valerian had gone and I was here. I won.

Didn’t I?

“Jude,” Cardan says from somewhere very far away, whispering for some reason. Then a little louder, “Jude.” And then, finally, “Duarte?”

I pick my head up. “What?” I snap.

Cardan jerks his head at the door, but doesn’t say anything. I sit forward. There are raised voices coming through from the other side, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. My own thoughts were loud enough that I had missed them.

So stupid.

“What are they talking about?” I ask Cardan, who has at least been listening longer.

He shakes his head. “Dunno. My best guess is your dad has them scared shitless.”

That’s my best guess, too. I look down and realize that my hands have been curled into fists this whole time. I force them open, looking at the little red crescents my nails imprinted on the meat of my palms. So Cardan doesn’t see them, I lean over my crossed legs, resting my elbows on my knees and my chin on my hands.

“So what does it say that they have no fear of extorting one of your brothers, but they’re reconsidering everything now that they know who my dad is?” I ask.

“I’d rather fistfight Dain than your dad,” Cardan says, with a snort.

“Not Balekin?”

Cardan shrugs one shoulder. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is Dain’s work now.”

“Why?”

“Because Balekin would have me killed outright.” I am surprised by how matter-of-factly he says it. “No theatrics, either. Probably make it look like an OD or something, then try to assert his claim over my share of the corporation. He was my guardian for years, probably thinks that gives him the right. And Dain would know that.”

I raise my eyebrows. Unlike Dain, I didn’t know that.

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “But Balekin doesn’t think he has to kill me, yet. I assume he thinks that because he raised me, when I do have the power to vote on company matters, I’ll do so in his interest. Or maybe he believes I can be persuaded to give my share up for the right price. That’s what happened with Rhyia.”

Rhyia’s the only one of Cardan’s siblings I know well. As Vivi’s best friend, they were always in and out of each other’s houses growing up. She’s laid back, poly, and has always been nice to me. I’ve met Cardan’s brothers a few times, too, since Madoc works with them, but they’re so much older than us that they’re basically in another world. The world of adults, which I will probably not get to join until college. “What did Rhyia do?”

“Rhyia has zero interest in the company. I mean, none. Dain bought her out.”

“And you do have interest in the family business?”

“Not so much.” Cardan gives me a tight smile. “But I would never, ever sell to Dain, and he knows that. My brothers have been vying for control of the company for years. I think this is Dain’s Hail Mary. He gets my share, he’s basically got half the family votes locked in.”

“Well, no wonder negotiations are taking so long. Balekin can’t like that.” I glance uneasily at the door. “Would you? Sell him your stake?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep it just to be difficult.”

“Can’t really picture you in a board meeting,” I say, turning back to him. “In a suit and tie. Sitting through PowerPoint presentations on the stock market or… media buys in Australia or whatever.”

Cardan shudders. “No, thanks. I do look very dashing in a suit and tie, but I can leave the rest of it.”

I don’t exactly want to think about Cardan in a suit and tie. I don’t want to think about his brothers squabbling over the family fortune. I don’t want to think about our abductors arguing because of my dad. And the thing I don’t want to think about most keeps winding its way around my insides, curdling my stomach.

My parents. Then, Locke and Taryn. Then, Valerian.

I have to ask, or it’ll eat at me like acid.

“Why did you say that?” I whisper.

Cardan, who had apparently been lost in his own thoughts, looks back at me. “Say what?”

I sit up straight. I don’t want to slouch for this. I don’t want to be without armor. “What you said about me. About what happened with Valerian.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He grimaces. “I just didn’t really think it through.”

Any normal person—or maybe just any non-alpha person—might have apologized at the end of that statement, but because it’s Cardan I’m not holding my breath. Instead I look right at him and ask, “Why would you even bring it up?”

“Because…” Cardan sounds confused. “Because I was listing the things about you that I think are kind of badass and that’s one of them?”

Disbelief strikes me like a lightning bolt. “What?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like the circumstances were great—”

“I had to physically fight off one of your erstwhile best friends so he wouldn’t rape me,” I say, very slowly, very clearly, “and you brought it up because you thought that was, what, cool? You thought that was cool of me?”

Going by the way the color drains from Cardan’s face, the way he swallows, it seems like he is beginning to realize how monumentally he has fucked up. “Well,” he says, “first of all, erstwhile, great SAT word—”

“Cardan,” I bark.

He shuts up. He did say he tended to joke when he was nervous, but I am not in the mood for jokes. I am struggling to keep control of my breath, my little flame, to keep from breathing fire and burning him to a crisp. Sure, maybe he was trying to make me sound scary so our kidnappers would be impressed, or something. But he could have left that out. Everyone moved past it. I moved past it. I am going to college and I will never have to think of it again, except that now I am, because he brought it up.

But before I can figure out how to chew him out for it, Cardan decides to keep talking again. “Jude, you’re, what, five-four?”

“Five,” I correct, out of habit.

“Okay. Valerian’s six-two. He has to weigh nearly twice what you do and he’s an alpha. That’s a fight you were built to lose and you didn’t.” I open my mouth, but he continues, “Yeah, I was impressed, okay? I would have been impressed with you just for trying in the face of, frankly, fucking terrible odds. And I guess I was also impressed with you for fighting because… I don’t.”

I stare at him. “You fight,” I say. “You fight people all the time. What about the time you punched that sophomore because he looked at you funny? What about when you put Eliza’s little brother in a locker and left him for half a day? We all knew that was you and your friends, even though he wouldn’t tell on you.”

“Okay—”

“What about the time we were on that field trip in eleventh grade and you guys pushed me and Taryn into the fountain in Madison Square Park because you thought I needed to wash off my stench?”

“That was like a year and a half ago,” he says, disdainfully, like I’m the one being gauche by rehashing it.

“It was winter,” I say, crossing my arms. “It was cold.”

Cardan closes his eyes and holds up one hand. “Fine, fine. I have… lashed out. I’m not proud of it. But that’s different from what you did. All those times you mentioned, I knew I would win.”

“It must be nice,” I snap. “Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us have our fights picked out for us the day we’re born, and we learn really early that there are no easy victories.”

“I do know what it’s like to lose, Duarte,” he insists. “Don’t talk about me like you know me. I know what it’s like to—feel small.”

I really doubt that, but I say, “Sure. Maybe you do. Maybe there’s a bigger, badder alpha somewhere up the food chain angling to turn you into dinner. But you know what? You’re still at the top and I am way the hell down, as far as society’s concerned. So I’m sorry I’m not so impressed with you for admiring me because I stood up for myself. Do you know why I had to do that?”

Cardan is silent for what feels like a full minute, and then says, “Because Valerian—”

“No, not because Valerian.” It feels so freeing to talk to him like this, knowing that he cannot do anything about it. It feels like yelling at him on the beach. I don’t know where I am going or if I will ever stop. “Why do you think he felt like he could do that? Why do you think he felt like he could do it at school—of all places—and get away with it? Because you made it okay to make me a target the day you first pushed me down in gym. Because every time you and your friends and the other shitty alphas sneered at us in the hall or tripped us or did worse, nobody did anything about it. Of course Valerian felt empowered to fuck with me, because I’m not worth anything, and you, personally, have made that exceptionally clear.”

There’s a prolonged stretch of quiet where all I hear is ringing in my ears. When Cardan speaks, his voice is low. “I don’t think you’re being fair.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, life isn’t fair. Obviously. Or did you not listen to any of what I just said? If life was fair, my parents would be alive. If life was fair, we would have never fucking met.”

Silence falls like an anvil pushed over the side of a cliff in an old cartoon, and I’m not sure whether I’m the roadrunner or the coyote. I feel the weight of it crushing my chest. I can’t look at Cardan’s face.

Luckily, we are not left alone long. The door is opened without a knock by the Roach, the Ghost standing close behind him. No guns this time, just the undeniable certainty that I am wounded and we are outnumbered.

“You guys want to wash up?” the Roach asks. “Stretch your legs. We’ve got food out here.”

I look at Cardan without thinking, then quickly look away. “Sure,” I say. “Can I use the shower?”

“If you’re quick about it.”

I nod and ease myself toward the edge of the mattress, bracing myself against the wall to stand. A searing pain shoots through my injured leg, both from the sprain and the now-aching gunshot wound, and I grimace. I see Cardan sit forward as if to help me, but something in my face makes him keep his distance.

“I can help,” the Ghost says softly, moving into the room.

“I don’t think so,” Cardan says. “You shot her.”

“Let him help,” I interject, just to piss Cardan off. “He can make it up to me.”

The Ghost crosses the room and wraps an arm under my shoulders so I can lean on him. I begin to make my way out of the room, favoring my left leg. The Roach looks past me, at Cardan, and says, “Come on, kid.”

“Why am I ‘kid?’” Cardan asks as he stands, clearly irritated. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him jerk his thumb at the Ghost. “How old is this guy?”

“Older than you.”

“Not much,” Cardan snorts.

“I have a young face,” says the Ghost. That may be true. He looks somewhere in his twenties, although where is anyone’s guess. It’s a handsome face, at least. Good bone structure. And I am pretty sure his stick-straight spine marks him as ex-military, even though his sandy hair is long enough to curl a little. I am disturbed that, even up close like this, I can’t scent him at all. Those must be some strong maskers.

Cardan grumbles something under his breath and follows us out of the room, sliding into one of the folding chairs. The Ghost helps me into the bathroom, but closes the door behind me so I can wash off in private. There’s no shampoo, so I reconfigure my abused elastic and make my hair sit in a bun on top of my head while I use the soap to wash off. On the whole I am not much better, but I do feel more grounded, a little less grimy. I towel off, put my two-day-old clothes back on, and wash my mouth out with water before limping out of the bathroom.

The Ghost helps me into another folding chair and props my injured leg up on the empty sliver of Cardan’s chair. Cardan nurses a can of Coke, but as soon as I am settled he sprints to the bathroom to have his turn. The Bomb, seated to my right, wordlessly offers me a choice between a Slim Jim and a protein bar. I pick the protein bar and tear open the wrapper, nibbling at it as the Ghost checks my bandages. I had tried to keep them out of the water, but wasn’t completely successful, and he ends up re-wrapping the one around the graze. I do not look down and try to make myself eat.

It’s one of the good protein bars, at least. Peanut butter-flavored and doesn’t totally taste like chemicals. I make a mental note to check out the brand when I get back home.

If.

Cardan comes out of the bathroom with a hand towel draped around his neck, catching the drips from his wet hair. “Rolling out the red carpet, are we?” he asks. “Snacks, bespoke medical care…”

The Ghost, finishing with my bandages, stands and skulks to the wall. He seems to prefer standing to sitting. The Roach slides into the empty chair across from mine. “Finish your Coke,” he says to Cardan. “We’ll talk.”

Cardan scowls, but he crosses to the chair and sits down. He bumps my foot a little by accident, but doesn’t look at me. “It’s funny how when it was just me you guys were concerned with we were stuck in the room for twenty-three hours with no snacks, that’s all.”

I don’t want to admit it, but he has a point. “It is funny,” I say, looking at the Roach, who I’m gathering is the nominal leader of the group. “What is it about my dad that has you guys so spooked?”

“Do you know what Madoc does?” the Bomb asks. Her voice is curious and holds no malice, no expectation that I should know already. It’s concerning.

“He’s a lawyer. A good one.”

“That’s not the half of it,” the Roach says. “He’s a fixer.”

Cardan snickers. “What, like on Scandal?”

“Oh, kid.” The Roach shakes his head. “You wouldn’t joke if you knew the shit he’s cleaned up for your brothers. Or your father, for that matter.”

“I know a little,” Cardan replies, surprising me. “My dad had a few lawsuits mysteriously go away. ‘Settled.’ And everyone knew what he was.”

“What was he?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

“He was an alpha,” Cardan says, but he talks to the Roach, not to me. “The old school kind. It’s how he ended up with six kids. My mom—my real mom, who was, by the way, an omega, although none of us are supposed to talk about it—sure got a payout in order to go away. I wonder if Madoc had anything to do with that.”

I put my protein bar on the table, feeling ill. “No,” I say. “No, Madoc wouldn’t do that. He lives by a code. I mean, he was married to an omega. One of the partners at his practice—”

“Sure, there are jobs he won’t take,” says the Ghost, from the far wall. His arms are folded across his chest. “I know of at least one. And this sort of thing obviously isn’t his style. But he knows how the world works.”

I shake my head.

“You said you got krav maga training,” he continues, in a striking non-sequitur. “What else?”

“I—there was—” But I falter. Boxing, practicing on the well-used punching bag in our basement. Weekends spent at the shooting range, not just learning how to aim and pull a trigger, but how to clean a gun, how to take it apart and put it back together. The weeks in the summer that would always be reserved for a sort of improvised boot camp upstate. The Swiss army knives, engraved with our names, so we’d never be caught unarmed.

“He knows how the world works,” the Ghost repeats. “Enough to protect you from it.”

“And if it’s any consolation, my mom got a good enough payout to fuck off somewhere warm,” Cardan says, finally looking at me. “If that was Madoc’s work, he did her a favor. It’s not like she wanted to stick around, anyway.”

I don’t know whether I want to tear off the heads of everyone in this room or disappear. I can do neither of those things. I steady my voice and say, “So you guys don’t want to get cleaned up, is that it?”

“I know of your dad. Know some of his associates.” The Roach gives me a tight smile that seems to strain some of his scars. “Personally, I’d rather remain off their radar. Our employer wasn’t forthcoming about who you were, Jude Duarte, even though they knew, and none of us is thrilled about that. The Ghost is sorry for shooting you, by the way.”

The Ghost frowns. “I expected her to stop when she heard the warning shot.”

Unfortunately for him, I kept running. I am always running, and I never know when to stop. But I just shrug.

“We can’t let you go just yet,” says the Bomb. “But we’ll try to keep you more comfortable. Honestly, we thought this would be a twenty-four hour babysitting job, just watching him. It was supposed to be.”

“You could have left me on the beach,” I say angrily.

The Bomb and the Roach look at each other. “We thought you might help ensure Cardan’s good behavior,” the Roach says. “A… miscalculation.”

“One of the more astounding fuck-ups of our career,” the Bomb adds. She grins at me. “Turns out you’re an instigator.”

“Frankly, we now need the money from this job to disappear,” says the Roach. “But again, we’re not going to hurt you unless you misbehave. You have our word on that.”

“For what it’s worth,” Cardan mutters.

“And with that ankle, you’re not going to be mobile for a while anyway.” The Roach nods at my leg. “We’ll keep it wrapped. Make sure you’re both comfortable. The storm should blow over soon and then it’s back to your charmed life. College, yachts, whatever. Sound good?”

Even though I don’t want to, I glance at Cardan. He catches my eye, the corners of his lips turned down. We can’t say what we’re thinking: the storm’s barely begun. Because if I wake up the next morning in that cell with him, we’re going to have bigger problems than a sprained ankle. And we still don’t know which of our captors might also be alphas, so it isn’t safe to tell them a goddamn thing.

“Sounds great,” I lie. Cardan gives a tight nod.

We’re screwed.

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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fritae · 3 years

Text

The Missing Piece - Ch 10

Worries 🌸

gang! au / ceo! au

characters: dabi x f. oc, lov

status: ongoing

read on ao3 here.

I spend hours turning in bed, replaying Dabi's words to me earlier.

He cares about me.

Right?

That's the only way I could interpret what happened. He got angry on my behalf, even though he didn't look it.

My cheeks redden as I recall how warm he was to hold, despite most certainly being the most awkward hugger I've ever met. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to remember what it was like.

It wasn't a short hug...but I wish it was longer.

Snap out of it, I tell myself with a groan.

I'm so touch starved I can't believe a hug from Dabi would make me feel this way.

I jolt in bed when I hear the front door open.

"Aliyah?"

Within moments, my suite mate bursts into my room, jumping onto my bed.

"Who is he?!" She screams with glee. "That's your boss?!"

My heart paced with excitement. "Yeah. Nice, right?"

"Nice?!" She jumps up again. "He's so hot - but something about him -"

She suddenly stops.

"What?" I ask her cautiously.

But after a few moments of consideration, she shrugs. "I don't know, forget it. I feel like I've seen him before."

I shrug. "Might have run into him at a corporate event or something? The company may not be all that but Dabi looks like he's been around."

She nods. "You're right, that's probably it. And oh my god," Her voice picks up, that excitement creeping in again. "Mr. Lane's face! He's so pissed you don't even know, oh my god, he's probably still fuming! He didn't even last for the whole dinner, he called his new secretary and told her to run a background check on Mr. Dabi and the company."

"He's a psycho," I laughed. But then a troubling thought occurred to me. "But he wouldn't do anything to the company, would he?"

Aliyah shrugs. "Beats me. You can never tell with Mr. Lane."

I shake the thought out of my head. Choosing to focus on the good (and the fact that Aliyah is here early for once!), I eagerly share what life has been like for me at the Blaze. I leave out certain details of course, especially those conferencing Dabi and company intel, but I'm overjoyed by Al's interest.

And when we finally say goodnight, hours after we were supposed to, I lay in bed again - already thinking of tomorrow.

- --

"Dabi won't be in today," Tenko tells me in the morning.

I pout.

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "He told me and Jin to put a pause on new intake for the next few days so I don't think there's much to do, either. Honestly, if you want to go home from now, you probably can."

He didn't ask for any updates or give me instructions this morning either. I thought maybe he was waiting for me to come in to let me know what we'd be doing today.

He said he'd see me tomorrow, I remember. I try not to feel disheartened. He's a CEO, after all.

It's just...I was looking forward to seeing him today.

"You gonna go?" Tenko snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Oh," I say apologetically. "Nah, I'm used to being here all day. I'll try to make myself useful somehow."

I leave him and head for Dabi's office and go through his correspondence, rescheduling any meetings he would have had today or tomorrow for later in the week. If he isn't in the office today, he'll likely want to be briefed whenever he comes in. He won't be in the mood for a meeting.

Hours and hours pass as I spend my time overlooking the company employees and making a record of potential clients.

After I finish a few late night phone calls for Dabi and make notes of the most urgent things he should know when he comes in tomirrow, I decide to go find the others.

But when I walk into the lounge, the only ones I find are Atushiro and Toga. They're huddled together on the couch, talking in hushed tones.

It is pretty late at night. Perhaps they went home already.

"Hey guys," I say with a smile, carrying a few sodas with me. Immediately, they sit back and put some distance between them.

"Hey," Toga says. They accept the sodas with a smile.

"What've you been up to?" I ask them. I pop open my can. "It feels like there isn't much to do today."

"Why do you sound upset about that?" Atsuhiro comments with a laugh.

I get flustered at that. "I know, I know. I'm a workaholic. I don't know what to do with my life outside of work."

"Go home!" Toga says with a groan. "You've done more than enough today! Dabi specifically didn't give us work and you're over here doing extra."

I groan. "I don't want to go home though, what would I do?"

They both laugh. "Normal people things! Watch a show, paint your nails, order Chinese - you know, hashtag self care or whatever."

I roll my eyes, stalling for time. I don't know why, I just don't feel like going home just yet.

I put my phone down and lay back on the couch.

"Maybe I'll just stay here."

"Go home!" They shout.

I laugh and put my legs down.

"How come you guys aren't going home?"

The two of them share a look.

"We have things to take care of later tonight." Atsuhiro says.

That makes me sit up. "Ooh what kind of things? For Dabi?"

He nods.

I feel a pang in my chest. Why did he give them something to do and not me?

But they've been here longer, I try to reason with myself. They're friends and partners. He's known them for years. If anything urgent comes up, of course they'd be the ones he reaches out to.

I think quickly. "Is he coming in later or something?"

Toga hits me. "No, he isn't. Are you trying to find an excuse to do more work?"

I shake my head with a laugh, but I secretly feel...disappointed. It's not that I want more work, I just...was hoping to see him. Work just happens to be the only way I can do so.

Of course he isn't coming in later, though. It's already 10pm. Most of the company clocked out hours ago. And he undoubtedly has things to do if he hasn't come in.

He didn't even have time to respond to my text.

"Okay," I sigh in defeat. The two high five each other, and I pout as they lead me downstairs.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell them quickly as I leave. "If you guys need anything at all, just shoot me a text!"

"We'll be good, don't worry about us!" They wave.

I shove my hands in my pockets and make my way to the bus stop.

They'd text me, right?

But something dawns on me just before I get to the bus.

I freeze, my fingers digging around.

But there's nothing.

I pat all around me and check my purse for good measure.

"Shit, I forgot my phone!

I quickly run back to the Blaze.

---

I enter the marble doors again, only for some reason there's something different in the air.

As I make my way upstairs, I hear a murmur of activity. There's a frown on my face as I try to figure out what is going on.

I head up to the lounge, but this time it is empty and the lights are all off.

The only sounds come from Dabi's office at the end of the hall.

Is something wrong? I wonder with a frown.

I make my way to his office, my heart pounding in place.

With a single knock, I turn the knob. And my heart falls as I lock eyes with Dabi sitting behind his desk.

Dabi immediately sighs, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "Shit."

"What's going on here?" I ask.

Standing around him are Tenko, Jin, Toga and Atsuhiro, the last two staring back at me with wide eyes.

No one answers me.

I look from one face to another.

Eventually Dabi looks up at Jin, an unforgiving glare in his eyes. "What the fuck happened to she left?"

Jin shrinks under his gaze. "That's what Toga told me!"

I feel my heart fall. Was he avoiding me?

"Do...you not want me around?" I swallow.

I don't look at him as I ask, afraid of what I might find in his face. So he was. I glance around, hooking my purse on my shoulder and turn around. "Sorry, I just came back because I forgot my phone. I'll- I'll go-"

Dabi pushes his chair back. "Rina, wait-"

But when I look back at him, I gasp.

My hand unconsciously covers my gaping mouth.

"Dabi, you're- you're..."

He's bleeding.

Not a drop or two this time.

But a circle of red adorns his lower left side. He holds a now equally red rag to the area to stop the flow. I look at him in horror but he turns his face away from me.

"Fuck," I hear him mutter through gritted teeth.

"Dabi, what's-" I feel my eyes water.

I immediately run up behind his desk, my hand clutching the one he holds to his wound.

"What's wrong? You're gonna be okay, right? What do I do- we need to take you to a hospital - Toga, help me! You're gonna be okay Dabi, I'm here."

Toga shuffles forward but Dabi glares at her. "I'm not going to a fucking hospital, I'll be fine." I feel bad for the way he yells at her. After all, it was my suggestion. "I just need to stop the bleeding."

I turn back to look at the others, but the lack of shock on their faces stuns me.

"Did you guys know about this?"

Atsuhiro runs his neck and avoids my gaze too. Suddenly the frequent questions about when I'd go home made sense.

"I see." My voice cracking. "Is that why you guys were waiting for me to leave?"

"Well, that NNTV douchebag-"

"Toga!" Dabi growls.

I turn to Dabi, my blood turning to ice. "Does this have something to do with Mr. Lane?"

He ignores me. "Take everyone and leave." He tells Toga. When they don't move immediately, Dabi snaps. "Now."

The team scrambles out the room. If it weren't the circumstance, I'd laugh when Jin stumbled. But as soon as we're alone, I turn back to him and clutch the lapels of his jacket.

"Don't lie to me," I say. "Please Dabi."

The man groans and sits back on his chair, as if there wasn't blood dripping out of his side. I pull up a seat and sit next to him, my hand closing in on his, holding the rag in place.

"We're gonna have issues with Lane," Dabi mutters. "I uh, went to see him today. But...it's like he was expecting me."

"Why would he be expecting you?" My mouth drops. "You mean to tell me Mr. Lane did this to you?"

Dabi sighs.

When he takes to long to reply, I press the rag harder.

"Hey!" He grimaces. "Okay, okay. You know how I told you I have business to take care of on the side?"

"Yes."

"Well. I think he found out a couple things."

I lean in closer. "My friend told me about that! She said he ordered a background check on you, he wanted to know everything."

Dabi shrugs. "Yeah well, if he knows who I am, then he doesn't just have everyday knowledge. He probably deals with shady shit too."

Too?

My heart pounds in fear.

"And who the hell told you to go pay him a visit!" I hit his arm. Dabi immediately groans and I recoil. I cautiously touch his arm. "Sorry."

He shakes his head.

I motion for him to go on as I find a little bowl of water under his desk.

As he talks, I absentmindedly take the rag and rinse it into the bowl. He probably intended to do that himself had I not come in. I squeeze the blood out and just as I am about to press it against his skin, I wince at the sight. The blood was dripping out slowly, meaning the wound wasn't too deep. But that's clearly a stab wound. Dabi got close enough to someone that they were able to pull a knife on him.

What if it had been worse? What if I had lost him today?

"Dabi," I interrupt him. He looks down at me, the blue in his eyes could be green in this light. I softly brush my thumb against the wound. His eyes darken in response, and I feel my heart ache at the way he grabs my hand. "Stop."

"Who told you to go to him, you idiot," I punch his arm again. "What the hell were you thinking."

He grips both my hands now. "I had to send a message."

"What kind of stupid message was worth this?"

"Now he knows not to mess with my people." Dabi replies. My eyes go wide.

I'm part of his people.

The thought brings a blush to my cheeks and I get angry at myself. Look where that got him.

If he is like this after hearing one conversation between me and Mr. Lane...

"Besides..."

I wipe my eyes into my elbow.

"He probably won't be taking any more cars for a while now," Dabi smirks. "If that guy of his didn't pop up out of nowhere.."

He leaves that open ended.

Did Dabi really plan on hurting Mr. Lane?

The thought sends a shudder down my spine.

Just who was Dabi.

What did Mr. Lane find?

"Were you going to..." I whisper. "..you know."

Dabi looks completely nonchalant, as if he had gone to leave Mr. Lane flowers or something.

"I was just gonna scare him." He says, and despite everything, it sounds honest. "Sure, he didn't think I'd go that far. But I miscalculated too. Now I gotta fuck him up before he tries to fuck me up."

I swallow. Is this what Dabi meant by information comes with a cost over here?

"I'm sorry Dabi," I tell him, my tears falling over my now bloody hands. "I didn't want you speaking to Mr. Lane and if I-"

"Relax," Dabi cuts me off. "I'm going to make use of that guy. I'm just trying to find the right moment."

I let go of the rag.

"You can't be possibly planning on seeing him again."

Dabi doesn't respond.

The tears start to fall again. "You promised me I wouldn't need to worry about you," I say, my voice getting shakier and shakier. "You said goodbye and see you tomorrow, knowing you were fucking going to Mr. Lane today!"

Dabi looks at the door in alarm, and his eyes narrow. He grabs the hand I'm waving in his face and I could tell his patience was running thin. "Rina, I'm trying here. If you saw what Mr. Lane looks like now you wouldn't be so worried about me. But I'm gonna need you to lower your voice."

I turn my face away from him and wipe the tears from under my eyes. Dabi suddenly gives me a weird look and I glance at my hands.

Fuck.

I grab a napkin and rub the blood off my face until I can wash it off later.

He watches me cautiously. I don't meet his eyes as I take the rag off to rinse it again.

"Stop moving," I mutter, lightly dabbing his skin with the wet cloth.

Dabi hisses.

"Sorry. Does it hurt?"

Dabi groans. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Just...shut up. Stop moving so much."

Dabi grows silent.

For the next half hour, I continue my ministrations, avoiding his gaze. I know having me so close to him makes him slightly uncomfortable. But I don't care.

"Take off your shirt," I tell him once the bleeding seems to stop. "I'll try to wrap it up."

"No."

I look at him, my eyes ever more hurt.

"No," He repeats, his voice more stern. "I'll do it myself later."

Without thinking, I lean against him and close my arms around his torso.

"I know you keep saying not to worry but what am I supposed to do when you walk in looking like this?" I whisper against his chest.

He looks up at the ceiling, trying to hold his breath.

"You've gotta stop doing that, princess."

My heart beats faster.

"Or what?" I challenge him, hugging him tighter.

He glances at my lips ever so briefly and looks away.

"You'll fuck me up."

I ignore him and hug him anyway, not caring about the stains that undoubtedly cover my shirt now.

I don't know long we stay that way.

Dabi doesn't hug me back this time...but he doesn't move away either.

I wish I could know what he was thinking. What he means by Mr. Lane knowing who he is, and what uses he may have for him. What he did to him today and how he was able to slip free.

But every day, I discover that more and more secrets exist between us.

#dabi #todoroki touya #dabi fanfic #dabi fic #dabi angst #dabi x oc #dabi fluff #dabi x female reader #touya fluff #bnha fic #touya todoroki #mha #mha fic #league of villains #anime #anime fanfiction

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imagine-lcorp · 4 years

Text

Begin Again (One Shot)

Request

Lena and fem!Reader were going on a few dates here and there and like each other very very much. However, Lena’s super duper friend, Kara Danvers, thinks R is not good enough for her ‘cause R’s a regular person who doesn’t seem like she’ll fit up to Lena’s standards. This is said when Lena brings R to game night and Kara secretly pulls aside R to talk. After that, it’s very obvious that R’s gradually distancing herself from Lena and Lena notices. (Part 1) Lena asks Kara for help cause she’s her best friend and all and Kara feels super guilty and spills everything to Lena. Lena gets lowkey pissed at Kara and goes to find R and explain that Lena does genuinely like her no matter what and just fluffiness alsjdhdladhsksjdh (Part 2)

A/N: Hello guys! I’m trying to keep up with your requests, and so far I haven’t lost my mind in the lockdown!! How fun, isn’t it? Anyway, enjot this little one shot and as always kudos to the dear anon that sent it!!!

Lena Luthor x Fem!R//Word Count: 1,883

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

It was still early in the morning when you saw, from the corner of your eyes, two cups of coffee be placed at your table. You paused the music coming from your headphones and stopped the typing on your laptop, so you could look up and see them better, imagining the person who had brought them had maybe mistaken you for someone else or was a friendly stranger doing their good deed of the day. However, your heart almost came to a full stop when you saw the names on the cups. Yours and hers alone.

You took your headphones off and looked up. "Lena."

"I hope I'm not interrupting." She stood in front of you just like the first time you had talked, but this time she looked more nervous than you had ever seen her. "May I?"

"Hey, sure." You responded with the same hint of nervousness.

"I bought you your regular, hope you don't mind." She took the cup with your name and handed it to you.

"Not at all. Thank you." You took the cup and placed it near your laptop.

"I wasn't sure I was going to find you here. You hadn't come much these days." Lena took the empty seat in front of you, looking a bit sad.

"Yeah, sorry, I was at home. I've been, um, really busy lately." You knew it was a lie but still you tried to excuse yourself.

"Have you?" She asked with a hint of hurt.

No. You hadn't been that busy.

"Well, I..." You started but, before you tried to come up with another excuse, she cut you off.

"Sorry, no. You don't actually need to explain." She shook her head no and her eyes softened on you. "Kara told me about your conversation."

"Oh." You simply said and looked out the big window near your table. You couldn't meet her eyes as you remembered. "That conversation."

It had been a couple of months since you and Lena had started to date. You even had met in this little coffee shop where you were seated. You came often after office hours, when it was almost empty, to work and have something to drink before heading back to your apartment. You liked it in here since it was one of the few places where the coffee and wi-fi were both excellent, and it was open until late so you could enjoy the sounds of the city but without the back and forth of the crowd.

After some time, you noticed there was someone else that liked to come in late for a cup of coffee and a little dessert, if she felt in the mood. She was tall, beautiful, dark haired, and it was not so often that you would be graced with her presence, but when she came she would sway in like she already owned the place. That was her charm and every time she came through that door your eyes would find her. Until one night you finally decided to do something in hopes you could talk to her.

Lena came another night to find that her regular order had been paid in advance. Thanks to the nice stranger that sit on the corner by the window, as the barista had explained to her. You almost didn't hear her come to your table but, when you saw her silhouette approaching you, you stopped your work and focused on her. There was a little smile in her face and you swore that was the cutest thing you had ever seen in your life.

"I hope I'm not interrupting. May I?" She nodded at the chair in front of you and without a second thought you said yes.

This became your regular routine. You would stay at the coffee shop, talking and drinking until it was almost time to close. There were some extra nights too when you only came hoping to find her, just to have the opportunity to talk to her again. Not much time passed before you also managed to find the courage to ask her out. You liked Lena Luthor, and you were lucky enough she liked you back.

Lena thought you were wonderful and, some part of her had to admit it too, you had some charm on your own. It was your personality, the way you smiled at her, the fact, she knew, that you would sometimes come sinply to talk to her. You didn't expect anything else but to keep each other company. It was nice to know that for someone, at least, that was enough, and little by little, and without noticing, she would come too hoping to find you. When you started dating, Lena finally realized she hadn't felt this way in a long time. She was falling for you, and she hoped you could make it work. However, things changed after the last game night with her friends.

It was the first time Lena had invited someone to game night and the Superfriends were happy to have another guest with them, specially if that new guest was Lena's new love interest. They all wanted to get to know you. When you arrived, Lena was a bit nervous about how things would play out but she soon found out she had nothing to worry about. You were a natural with people and you were more than thrilled to try and beat the Danvers sisters.

"Hey, can I have some?" You asked Kara as you found her in her kitchen, putting some homemade snacks in plates. Your first round of games had ended and everyone was already craving something to eat.

"Sure. We got some chicken fingers here, mozzarella sticks too, we got some nachos over there. There's plenty to choose from actually." She said looking at the table full of food.

"Thank you." You smiled at her and went to grab a mozzarella stick.

"Hey, hope you don't mind me asking but, you are not from around here, are you?" Kara said as she kept preparing the plates and you answered between bites.

"No, I moved to the city a year ago."

"What brought you to National City?" She asked with a curious tone. "It seemed like the place to be." You simply said. You had visited the city a couple of times before you moved and you had liked it, with aliens and all.

"Right." Kara stopped for a moment to look at you. "So, you and Lena, uh? Where did you meet, exactly?"

"She frequents the same little coffee shop downtown where I sometimes go to work." You explained.

"You work at the coffee shop?" She rasied an eyebrow at you. You started to feel there was something quite inquisitive about this conversation.

"No, no." You chuckled. "I work as a freelancer, so I go there sometimes for a change. It's a nice place, really cozy, like my apartment but without the mess."

"You live downtown?" She kept questioning. "Nope, not even close. I'm from the rent side of the city too, but on the other corner of it."

"Oh, that's a long way from here. Is Lena taking you home?"

"With some luck, maybe." You smiled but it seemed like Kara hadn't registered your answer and kept looking at you. "No, I got my bike."

"Wow, you are not like the type she usually dates." She said after a moment and went back to putting food on plates.

"What type is that?" You asked. "Mostly CEOs, tech geniuses, self-made corporate billionaires." She said.

"Sounds like I'm in the wrong league." You replied with a little confused frown.

"Sorry, I don't mean to make you unconformable. It's just that Lena's life can be too complicated sometimes. You have to be really special if you want to keep up with that."

"Got it." You nodded slowly.

"Good." She said, finishing the plates and taking a couple to take them with her. Then she turned to smile at you as if this had been nothing but a friendly chat. "Now, ready to lose the next game?"

Whatever kind of conversation you expected to have with Lena's best friend you didn't expect it to be this one. Although she hadn't said anything rude or intimidating, you couldn't help but feel out of place after it. You knew how to read between the lines, and you understood what Kara had tried to say. You and Lena were too different, living too many worlds apart. Lena had her own standards, and Kara wasn't sure someone like you could be enough to live up to them, to live up to her. Kara had given you something to think about and now you couldn't stop thinking about it. So much that when Lena invited you to her apartment, after the night was over, you declined her invitation.

Things began to change between Lena and you and, at first, she couldn't understand why. You postponed your dates, some of her calls and messages would go unanswered, and your little encounters at the coffee shop became less constant.

"I don't understand. We were getting along just fine this last couple of months." She explained one morning as she walked with Kara.

"Have you talked to her?"

"Yes, not much, but it's obvious she's avoiding me. We haven't seen each other since game night." She sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"Since game night, you said?" Kara suddenly stopped, realizing she was probably the one to blame for it. "I think I know what happened..."

If looks could kill, Kara was sure she would have been dead the second she was done explaining the sort conversation she had had with you. But Lena didn't have the time to be angry as she immediately went looking for you.

"I'm sorry." Lena said searching for your eyes.

"You don't have to be." You sighed. "She worries about you and...she kind of had a point."

"What point is that?"

"That I have to be special to keep up with someone like you." You looked at her. "Compared to you, I'm a commoner, Lena. What could I offer to the girl that has everything?"

"Your company and a cup of coffee." She said without hesitation, the corner of her lips lifting in a shy smile. "(Y/N), I like you, I really do, and what I liked the most about you is that you didn't have to give me anything else but that, a coffee and our endless time for conversation. That's why I kept coming back here, because I haven't been as happier as I am when I'm with you. That's all I need and, I promise, I won't ask for anything else."

You were speechless, taking in every single word she had said. If she had asked for your heart in a silver plate at that moment you would have run all the way to the closest store to find the shiniest one and let her have it.

"You could ask for dessert." You smiled as you came to your senses. "I'm sorry I let it get to me. Do you think we could start again from where we left off?"

"Dessert is on you." Lena smiled back at you with all her confidence restored and the assurance that you would make it work, no matter what.

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x reader #lena x reader #lena x you #lena luthor x you #one shot #request #begin again #coffee shop kinda au #Female reader #fem!reader #fem reader

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elexica · 3 years

Text

Second Chance Christmas {{ December 26 }} - Last Chapter -

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/69446895

"I can promise that I am not giving up on us.”

Full chapter under the read more!

Joey had awoken either alone or to the sounds of needy children almost every morning for the last three years. At first, waking up without Seto there was a relief—he didn’t have to deal with him or any of the intensity that came with Seto Kaiba.

Eventually, he did miss him in that bleary moment. It was frustrating that the first few minutes of his morning, every morning, were dedicated to a feeling of loss.

Even that had faded away. For a while now, waking up in his own bed didn’t inspire any thoughts of Seto. Joey had returned to a state where his mornings were not tarnished by Kaiba’s absence.

But his taste of Christmas with the man—the kind one who had so graciously been a part of his family, not the cold one, who left into the snow without a second thought—was enough to leave Joey tormented.

Waking up alone had never seemed as empty than the morning of that day after Christmas. He opened his phone screen, tapped the world clock app, and saw that it was already late in the evening in Domino. Kaiba had no doubt already landed and returned to his life, as if nothing had happened.

The entire good experience melted right off of Kaiba. Back to his old life, his old ways. Unchanged, unaffected.

It felt like there was broken glass inside Joey's chest. It was almost nauseating to feel so disconnected after everything that had happened.

But something had happened. Something had changed, Joey was sure of it. And things could be different.

He had gone to sleep so troubled with these conflicting thoughts, but sitting in his quiet bed, watching the snow sprinkle down, he had a new sense of clarity.

When he closed his eyes, he could see their future stretch in front of him, days and weeks and years sprawling across the room.

Joey would never get rid of all of those things that Kaiba had left behind. He was a sentimental bastard, and at least he knew who he was. Joey’s eyes hit the wedding photo lingering in his room. If Joey couldn’t even toss out the extra turtlenecks after three years, Joey was not optimistic he’d ever fully clean out the house and wipe all the traces of Kaiba from the home.

And goddamn it, he knew Kaiba too.

That man wasn’t going to move on either.

So, Joey supposed, they might just keep doing this. Every time they exchanged the kids, would Kaiba tag along for some ill-advised tryst? Like an addiction, circling back for another self-destructive hit, knowing nothing could really change.

Or would he avoid Joey like the plague, and instead every few years fall into some act of God that would leave them to another excruciatingly loving experience.

How many times would his life be uprooted by falling back in love with that asshole? How many longing touches would they scatter across decades?

Playing enemies while secretly pining for each other? Damn it, hadn’t they already gotten that out of their system?

Joey was so fucking sick of missing him.

Kaiba was too stubborn, and maybe too hurt, to make the move. Joey hated the emotional responsibility that fell on his shoulders.

But, Joey wondered, had he actually laid it all on the line? He never once asked Kaiba not to return to Japan. He blocked the door, but he didn’t actually say it. He showed up at the airport, but he didn’t actually say it.

His ex-husband had the emotional intelligence of a brick on a good day. Joey wasn’t just as bad as Kaiba for not just saying it. But Joey sat in bed, the cold covers pooling around him, and considered that he could be part of the problem.

And maybe, if he wanted them to be back together, he had to do it. If he didn’t want to live this way forever—he was in a position to change it. He wasn’t corporation stock, he wasn’t an asset, something without any control over what Kaiba did.

So Joey got up. He made himself some coffee. It was seven in the morning, but he was sitting at the kitchen counter, dated laptop jammed open, on the speakerphone with Serenity before the hour was over.

Everyone always admired Kaiba’s force of will. A personality that could overcome every adversity, defy reality itself, control space and time. Master the global marketplace, dominate the NASDAQ, and change the fabric of society.

But Joey’s force of will was something else too. And he wasn’t going to wait for however many years it took for Kaiba to admit that he wanted to stay there, in their home, raising their children together.

If he had to, he’d drag the bastard straight from Japan. His dumb husband was just waiting there, getting old and sad in some fancy condo.

And so he spent the entire plane ride to Domino city trying to figure out exactly what it was that he wanted to say to set his stupid, stupid man straight.

. . .

“Mokuba?” Joey hoped it was still the right phone number. The Kaiba brothers were always updating things, changing software, making their communication methods that much trickier to obtain. It was a real possibility that this phone number now only went to a stranger.

“Jounouchi! What’s up? How are you doing? The kids are growing up so freakin’ cute!”

Joey was disarmed by how warm Mokuba always was. And it laid bare just how little he’d really thought through the plan. “Um, well, I’m in Domino. I’m here to see…” Joey almost said Kaiba. But it was off-putting to refer to their shared last name. It never bothered him as a teen, but as an adult it sometimes hit Joey that Mokuba probably didn’t love the traces of language that made it clear that he was the secondary Kaiba when it came to these affairs. Still, Joey wasn’t sure he was allowed to call him Seto anymore.

“Ah, I see. Nii-sama just got back yesterday. Seto didn’t tell me any of the details, but…” Mokuba’s tone shifted. “Everything okay?”

The question was stingingly sincere.

Joey sighed on the other end of the line. “Yeah, you know your brother. I mean. Look. I’m in Domino and I guess I just need to see him. It’s dumb—”

“It’s not dumb,” Mokuba interrupted, sounding more adult than Joey had ever heard. It was like he really was getting an edict from the esteemed Vice President of Kaiba Corporation.

“Yeah. Can you get me a badge or whatever to visit his office. We need to talk and…”

“I see. He can’t be allowed to dodge it, huh?”

Joey laughed, despite himself. It was a bit mournful, but it wasn’t totally devoid of life. “Nope.”

“Yeah, I can hook you up. I’ll get the pass sent to your phone.”

Joey nodded, even though his phone was conventional, and Mokuba couldn’t see him. “Thanks. And congrats on getting married. From what I’ve heard, she sounds like a keeper.”

Joey could hear the glowing smile on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, I think so too.”

. . .

The lobby of Kaiba Corp. HQ was mostly unchanged since the last time Joey had seen it, though it looked somewhat creepy in the dark. It was lightly, tastefully, decorated for the season. Twinkle lights on some of the pillars, echoing in the dark like suspended lightening bugs.

So close to his goal, Joey stalled. He paced in the empty cavern of the lobby. Maybe he shouldn’t bother. Maybe this whole adventure was some twisted flight of fancy, brought on by watching one holiday film too many. Did he look too closely at the snowflakes trapped in Kaiba’s eyelashes and see something that wasn’t really there?

In the middle of his troubled, nervous walking, Isono appeared. Put together and just like Joey had seen him when last trading off the kids. Sunglasses on—even though it was the dead of night in the deepest part of winter. Stern and silent, Isono directed him to the elevator.

Isono never had much of a relationship with Joey. The man had watched him at most major life events outside of his house for the fifteen years preceding the divorce. Joey realized that his presence was somewhat more comfortable than all of the anonymous faces Joey had passed by in the once-familiar city.

The floor indicator increased quickly as the two men rocketed toward the top floor, where Kaiba could properly brood over the entirety of Domino.

In the stilted silence, they arrived at the top floor, and Isono put his arm out to stop the elevator doors.

“It is good you are here,” Isono said. Something about his voice sounded reflective, and it gave Joey the confidence he wished he did not need.

The city glowed in the background, pulsing like magma. Kaiba sat at his broad desk, illuminated by the blue light laptop in front of him and the ethereal glow of the city at his back. Joey was pissed that when he walked in, Kaiba didn’t bat an eye. It felt as if Kaiba had set the appointment.

Joey wondered to himself whether Mokuba had messaged him, or inadvertently triggered some alarm in procuring the pass. Even so, Kaiba was where he was supposed to be, sitting in his dark office, typing away at whatever it was he did all day.

Since the grand entrance did not have the desired effect, Joey proceeded to stomp over to Kaiba’s desk, push down the screen of the laptop, and kiss him.

This succeeded in starling Kaiba, his blue eyes wide in surprise. Almost too shocked to kiss back. Almost. Kaiba still reached a hand across, thumb skimming over Joey’s cheek.

“Y’know why I did that?” Joey asked, breaking the kiss.

Kaiba shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “No, I—what are you doing here?”

Joey propped himself up on Kaiba’s desk, sweatpants-clad butt shifting a stack of papers.

“I kissed you because I wanted to. And I’m here because I want to be. And I didn’t buy a return ticket, Kaiba. Because I want to fly back with you.”

Kaiba opened his mouth to speak, but Joey silenced him with a hand.

“I’m gonna make it really simple for you, cause apparently this is hard for you.” Joey announced. “Here’s the situation: I broke up with you because you refused to be part of the family in the way that I needed. You were acting like a bad partner, and I did not deserve that. But… You… you proved that you could be a good partner. So here’s the deal.”

Joey walked forward, completely enveloped by Kaiba’s heated stare. “I want you. I want you to be at the house. I want to raise our kids together. I want to go to sleep in the same bed with you, I want to wake up in your arms, I want a lot of other things.”

Kaiba wisely kept his mouth shut, opting to watch Joey with soft, sad eyes. Joey wasn’t going to let it get to him.

“And I think you want that too. You were happy this week. A lot. And this is sappy but I’m gonna lay it out.”

Kaiba gestured with one hand that Joey should continue. The darkness didn’t leave much for Joey to see, but the way that the glare of the city glinted off of his eyes… it looked a little like water was pooling. Joey took that to mean that his evaluation was correct, enough—Kaiba did love to correct people.

“I don’t know how many special moments, or special people we get. And I don’t know how many days I’ll get to look over and see you. And what a mess you are and how strangely you hide that and… and you know what?!”

Kaiba opened his lips a little, but didn’t have anything to say. So Joey dismounted from the desk and continued.

“I came here, cause I’m done wasting my time. You talk so much about your precious time, how busy you are. But my time is mine, and I’m sick of watching the kids grow up without you. I’m sick of not seeing the magic parts of you, and the genius and the… we fit together, damn it! We’re both fucked up, we’ve got no idea how to do any of this. But I want to figure it out with you.”

Joey realized he hadn’t been breathing as he let it out. He took a breather, trying to collect his thoughts, wiping at his own face.

“So. Yeah. I have a proposal for you. Fly with me back to New York. Let’s try again. Like, really try. You actually be part of this—like my partner. We’re too old for the on-again off-again bullshit. I don’t want to have to get over you. And honestly, I’m worried you’ll never get over me.” Joey shrugged, “You’re not really the moving on kinda guy.”

Finally, Kaiba stood up behind the desk. His shadow was so imposing, a terrifying mixture of height and darkness. “So what? You want me to be on vacation forever?”

Joey hadn’t anticipated that much vitriol in his voice. He had been pretty proud of his speech.

“No. But... you are just as free as you want to be.”

Joey wanted to run, felt the fight or flight instinct lighting up in his gut. But he was finally done retreating. Joey walked towards the silhouette.

“I’m going to ask you—just once more—do you want to do this? Not my way, and definitely not your way. But some new way that we can find together.”

“I am not a man of compromises, Jounouchi.” Kaiba turned away.

“When you want something, really want something, nothing can stop you. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“When have you known me to do anything by halves, Jounouchi?”

“The last year of our marriage.” The answer had been given almost instantaneously, but it hung in the air for a full minute. “But you’re right, I don’t think that’s really who you are. So, come back to New York. And prove it to me.”

Joey took one more step forward. He could feel Kaiba’s tense breath, they were so close. “You can be emotionally constipated on your own time. I’ll go first: I’m sorry for not being more honest and just telling you what was going on. Now it’s your turn to apologize.”

“What do you want me to apologize for?” Kaiba demanded.

“You’re the genius. Whatever you think will be enough to convince me to let you come back to the house so that we can live our lives together. The way we were meant to.”

“I don’t—” Kaiba started.

“Do not call my bluff, Kaiba. You really don’t feel sorry about any of this?” Joey waved his arms, gesturing at everything.

“… I…” Kaiba looked out at the vast city below, glowing electric with holograms and New Year’s decorations.

“You don’t have to say it. The best apology is shaping up. And I know you get it. I’ve seen you get it. So please. Just… was it that bad? Just being my husband for a few days?”

“No.” Kaiba refocused, look drilling into Joey. “I regret allowing you to labor under the assumption that our relationship was not important to me. That you were not the brightest light in my life.”

Finally, achingly slow and gentle, Kaiba tilted his head down and pressed a kiss to Joey’s forehead.

“I cannot promise that it will never happen again. But I can promise that I am not giving up on us.”

Fin.

#puppyshipping #Violetshipping #seto kaiba #Kaiba Seto #Jounouchi Katsuya #Joey Wheeler #it's FINALLY OVER #i worry it is a little threadbare #maybe I'll revise it someday #but for now #hope y'all enjoy

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 7

Maul had been many things in his life.

Student, Assassin, Sith- hopeful, Madman, Crime Lord, Ruler of Mandalore.

Now he could add corporate spy to that list.

Joy.

Maul found Kenobi and Si Treemba sitting together in the battered mess hall that the Monument was equipped with, each with something suitable for their species. Zabrak were technically omnivorous, but his particular brand had an affinity for meat. They were hunters first and foremost. They both had their heads down, and Si Treemba’s green skin was pale with his anxiety and disappointment. A plate of dactyl and fungus sat in front of him.

Maul sat next to the pair, and scarred the life out of the both of them. He caught the elbow Kenobi threw at his face with ease. He peered at the jedi, unimpressed.

“You look like someone pissed in your moof juice,” he said before Kenobi could do something silly like apologize. That didn’t stop the little jedi from looking contrite.

“We had no luck. Did you?”

Maul lifted his shoulder. “I found the thermocoms, in a vat of lubricant. So they’ve been recovered but there’s no way to tell who took them. Fingerprints and DNA would have been wiped away. The hutt’s are on a rampage, too. They’re ready to kill someone.”

“I see,” Kenobi’s shoulders slumped. “If only…”

“Mmmm?” Maul prompted him while he stole Kenobi’s dinner out from under him. The boy was so sad he didn’t even fight him. Or maybe Kenobi was just a push over right now.

He looked guilty of something too.

“It was just a thought I had. When Jemba was threatening everyone. Why didn't Master Jinn just use his lightsaber to cut him down? He’s a cruel person and a criminal, and he won’t stop hurting people. Master Jinn could have stopped it, but he chose not to. I just wonder why.”

Maul paused, his stolen dinner halfway to his mouth.

It was disconcerting to realize that Kenobi had had the same thought that he’d had.

It seemed like every time they interacted like this Maul was thrown off course. Kenobi was not chosen by Jinn. Kenobi was willing to kill someone just like that, however he might justify it.

Kenobi mis-read his expression, because the little jedi sunk lower in his chair.

“I suppose that’s not the jedi way, but we’re supposed to defend the defenseless and seek justice in all things.”

Maul mentally gagged. Familiar anger bubbled up under his skin, beneath the scars that Sidious had left on him. If the jedi had found him they wouldn’t have helped. He was too dark, wasn’t he? Too tainted. At best they would have sent him Dathomir to be a slave to the Nightsisters. He had been defenseless and they had never defended him. No one had.

“There is no justice in this galaxy,” Maul told Kenobi darkly, his yellow eyes burning. “Not unless you make it yourself.”

Kenobi looked startled at him, but Maul didn’t pay him any mind. He shoved food in his mouth.

Si Treemba watched him eat, his eyes on the salt resting on the table. That was right. It was a rather horrible drug to them, wasn’t it?

Maul paused.

Maybe he should just poison the hutts and he could convince Jango to leave this job early and go find his brothers? Hutt’s were hardy, but Maul was creative. Starship fuel would do it, right? And he could certainly make it look like an accident…

“You know,” Kenobi said suddenly, “there‘s one think I don‘t understand. Jemba puts on a good show. But I sense he‘s afraid of Clat‘Ha and the Arconans. And the mandalorian too.”

“Jango,” Maul corrected, “Jango Fett. He would be a fool not to fear him. Mandalorians are powerful warriors, capable of going toe to toe with jedi. Don’t they teach you history in that fancy temple of yours?”

Kenobi made a face at him while Si Treemba swallowed a mouthful of dactyl and fungi.

“We think you‘re right, Obi-Wan. He fears us. Even though it is not our intent, he knows we will destroy him one day.”

“How is that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“In Offworld mining, the chiefs and overseers make fortunes, while the common workers make nothing. Many of them are slaves. But at Arcona Mineral Harvest, we have no chieftains, no overseers. Each worker shares in the profits. This did not bother Offworld until Clat‘Ha began to expand our operations. So she contacts the better workers at Offworld. If they are slaves, she offers to buy them and set them free if they will work for us. If they have signed work contracts, she offers to buy the contracts. Now she has the support of a mandalorian and she is more a force than before.”

“That sounds fair,” Obi-Wan said.

“It is fair,” Si Treemba agreed. “That is exactly why Jemba fears us. Many good workers wish to join us, only the bad will stay at Offworld.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, touching his chin in a familiar gesture. “So in a few years, Jemba will have only chiefs with no one to boss around. He‘d hate that.”

Si Treemba grinned, then turned serious. “But Jemba has stalled us. He has raised the price on labor contracts and slaves. We can no longer afford to hire Offworld workers.”

Maul quietly filed that information away. He had no love of slavers, and freed slaves were loyal to a fault. He could use that to his advantage.

(Maul ignored the little voice that was starting to sound annoyingly like Tano, or perhaps Ezra, that pointed out that he had been little better than Sidious’ slave once. He was a darksider, he didn’t need weaknesses like sympathy.)

“It’s no surprise. Hutt’s run the crime empire in the outer rim. Of course they’ll use glorified slave labor for legitimate businesses too. Does Jango know all this?”

Si Treemba shrugged. “We thought you would know. He is your guardian, isn’t he?”

Maul curled his lip. “I need no guardian, and I am no Mandalorian.”

“Ah. We are sorry. We had heard that Mandalorians were fond of children.”

“I’m not a child,” he snapped irritably. “But you are not wrong. They’ll adopt anything that moves if given the change.”

“I heard Mandalorians were killers for hire, a violent race that tried to conquer the galaxy,” Kenobi said quietly.

Maul snorted. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Mandalorian isn’t a race. It’s a creed. Anyone who swears the Resol'nare is Mandalorian. I haven’t, and he hasn’t adopted me, so I’m not a mandalorian.”

“You are a simple zabrak?” Si Treemba said dubiously.

Maul flashed him his sharp, gap toothed grin.

“Not hardly. I am a-” dark sider, crime lord, warrior, assassin, “Nightbrother.”

Si Treemba grimaced. “You should keep yourself hidden from the Hutts then, Maul. We understand that Nightbrothers are very prized on the black market.”

Kenobi looked ill. He pushed the rest of his plate towards Maul, who had no qualms finishing the bird. Perfectly at ease, he kept talking while he ripped the flesh apart with his sharp teeth. He was still getting used to the feeling of his eye-tooth being missing. Zabrak had a few extra teeth than humans, but his hadn’t even started to come back in, leaving a fleshing gap in his mouth that he kept worrying with the tip of his tongue. It tasted faintly like blood even though it had stopped bleeding some time ago.

“I’m aware. The Nightsisters breed us to be strong and resilient, among other things,” Savage hadn’t enjoyed telling him about their homeland, but Maul had learned on his own. He learned much on his own after the rise of the Empire, about the sith and the Nightsisters both. Some of it was useful. Most of it would have had Kenobi pale and puking if he knew what his people were capable of. “Slavers from Rattatak tried to steal me once, for a warlord there,” he added idly.

“And you escaped?!” Si Treemba stared at him in shock. “We know Rattatak is a dangerous place. They have gladiator tournaments and many civil wars.”

“It wasn’t that hard. There was only a small force, and I was not alone for it.”

Maul looked down at the bones on the plate. Wasn’t Ventress on Rattatak now? Or if she wasn’t she would be soon. Maul wasn’t even certain she’d been born yet. Or would be, if he arrived on Dathomir before she was born. He could not promise the survival of all the Nightsisters if his brothers were not in top shape. Talzin may or may not have been his mother, but he would not allow harm to his brothers go unpunished.

How much would that change? How involved in the galactic plan had Ventress been a part of? She had briefly ruled Rattatak, before being made an apprentice to Dooku, who was in turn an apprentice to Sidious. Had that happened yet? Was Dooku still a jedi master?

Time travel was just one headache after the other.

“Still. We think it is very impressive. There are many brave people on this ship,” Si Treemba said with a small smile. Kenobi returned it weakly. Maul tried not to roll his eyes.

Si Treemba was far too easily impressed.

Kenobi too. Shouldn’t the jedi have prepared him better for this?

In fact, shouldn’t the jedi have sent him with an actual guardian, instead of on his own? Jinn certainly didn’t count. The man was much more useless than Maul had initially thought. He’d respected him for his fighting prowess, and for raising a jedi as good at fighting as Kenobi was, but how much credit did Jinn actually deserve, if Kenobi was here on his own?

“We should tell the others that you found the thermocoms,” Kenobi suggested.

“I already told Jango.”

He’d looked exasperated by Maul going off and doing investigating on his own, but hadn’t scolded him in front of Clat’Ha and Jinn. Even if he had, he wasn’t Maul’s father. Maul owed him a small debt, but that was all.

That was all.

“Oh.”

Maul eyed Kenobi speculatively. “Why aren’t you training to become a knight?” he asked suddenly, the question that had been bothering him for hours. Surely nothing Maul had done would change Kenobi’s life up until this point. Which meant that his Kenobi, the one he’d fought for decades, had had this happen to him too. He’d been sent away from the temple. He’d been assigned a farming job. And somehow he had returned to the temple, made a master out of Jinn, and become a powerful duelist as well.

Kenobi jerked back like Maul had come at him with a knife instead of a simple question. Maul could taste Kenobi’s disappointment, fear, and insecurity. And there, at the center of it all, was anger. Maul had gotten him angry before. Enraged over the death of his loved ones. This was a different kind of anger.

Maul carefully prodded at Kenobi’s mental shields. They weren’t as strong as they would be in the future, and Maul had to be mindful. His own shields were still ragged and being built back up, but he would need more time to get them back in shape.

Maul hid a grin. Kenobi looked away from him, down at the table, and fiddled with his sleeve cuffs.

“I would rather not talk about it,” he said quietly. “The temple decided that I wasn’t fit for- for the role of a knight. That I would be better suited to serve in other ways.”

“As a farmer.” Maul said dubiously.

“Yes,” the word came out sour on his tongue, “The agricorps are an important, honorable way to serve the galaxy.”

Kenobi’s declaration sounded utterly hollow. Maul propped his chin on his hand and his elbow on the table with a ‘thump’.

“Nearly everyone needs food to live,” Maul conceded. “But you don’t want to be a farmer, do you little jedi?”

Kenobi shook his head miserably.

“No.”

Maul watched Kenobi squeeze his eyes shut, his face flushing under his freckles, before he drew his shoulders back and sat up straighter. His expression smoothed, at least a little. He hadn’t perfected his sabacc face yet.

“But it was decided by people wiser than I am. And it was my own fault so-”

“So here you are.”

“So here I am.”

Si Treemba, who had been watching the pair quietly, piped up. “We are glad you are here, Obi Wan. We are proud to be your friend.”

That, at least, got a smile out of Kenobi.

“Thank you, Si Treemba. And thank you too, Maul.” He must had seen Maul’s confusion. “For helping us. You didn’t have to.”

Maul huffed at him. “Of course I didn’t have to. But I’m stuck on this ship with the rest of you. If war breaks out it might be inconvenient.”

The pair looked at eachother, then at Maul, and started laughing quietly.

Maul stared at them blankly.

He hadn’t been joking!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maul really needed to find a place that was private, where he wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone.

He was getting tired of only having a blaster and a knife. He wanted his lightsaber back, and unlike jedi he didn’t need to waste his time exploring some overglorified ice cave to get one. He could make his own crystals, and he had his whole life.

His original crystal, the very first one he’d ever made, had been made from necessity. He’d been sent to kill a reclusive jedi master, Siolo Ur Manka. He hadn’t been able to, and when he was forced to flee he drew upon a design he’d found in his masters sith holocron. A blue print left from the weapon of Darth Zannah, Bane’s apprentice and an unbeatable combatant.

It took him four days to properly craft the crystals, two for each one. He had entered a deep meditation, one that almost killed him with dehydration. He’d been sustained by the darkside and his own feelings. In the end he had used the trick of the second blade to run Manka through.

That lightsaber had served him well until he’d lost it after his duel with Sidious on Mandalore. Now, surrounded by hostility and in the presence of jedi, he felt its absence much more acutely than he had on Orsis. It’s weight had always been a comfort on his hip. Even in those years lost to madness he had kept it with him in a box in his scrap cave.

He wished, sometimes, that he had taken Sidious up on his offer to name it.

“It, like myself, is nothing more than a tool in your fist. It is undeserving of the honor of a name. Let it be nothing more than what it is. An instrument of murder, and nameless.”

Still true. Maul was an instrument for murder, an accumulator of power, but it was under his own authority now. Not Sidious’.

His name was his own, whether his mother had given it to him or Sidious had bestowed it upon him, he took it and made it his.

Maul.

Now, years later, Maul had learned how to make a lightsaber crystal in less time than two days. He only needed half of a day to make one now, and a furnace to provide heat to the raw materials.

Those materials, raw minerals and stones, were easy to find on a mining ship. A furnace would be easy too, for the same reason. Miner’s kept small ones with them for any number of reasons, and ships themselves usually had very hot engine’s he could utilize.

The problem came with the face that Maul couldn’t find a moment of peace.

A strange thing for a darksider to seek. Sith did not seek peace, but Maul required privacy at the very least to do this, or he would out himself to both jedi and Fett as well.

He was not interested in that at all. Too many complications.

Anything he needed to build the ‘saber itself was on the ship too. He’d made a small bag of pieces he could use. Spare pieces of mining equipment, ship parts, bits of weapons he’d taken the liberty of removing from the whiphids, would all come together to make a perfectly functional lightsaber.

While Maul wouldn't be able to conceal his saber in a cane anymore, Jarrus and Ezra were wonderfully creative. When Maul had had his fake legs he’d kept his saber in one of them for a time, before he was old enough to warrant a cane.

Now neither of those were options.

Maul ended up patted Jango on the shoulder at breakfast.

“I’m going to go sit in the vents,” he said, the truth. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Jango narrowed his eyes at Maul.

“Are you… okay?”

Maul was fairly certain that he meant mentally or emotionally.

“I’m fine. Don’t wait up.”

Jango caught his shoulder before he could leave completely.

“Maul,” he said, his voice gentling again, “If there’s anything you need, you can tell me. I’ll do my best to help you.”

Maul really didn’t understand him. Maul was no mandalorian, and he really could handle himself, even if Jango didn’t understand that. Jango had no obligation to him. Maul was just some rabid zabrak that had fallen out of a vent and tried to strangle him. He’d known him less than a week, and already he wanted to help him recover his brothers.

He wanted to adopt him for Force sake!

Against his will Maul felt some tension bleed out of him. Jango was genuinely concerned, but also amused. Others might not have given him the same freedom that Jango did. But Mandalorian children were independent too, if not as independent as Maul was. He’d been self reliant for so long.

“I am fine. It isn’t something to worry about…. Well. The Jedi might worry about it,” he admitted, tilting his head.

Jango’s mouth twitched towards a smile. “Don’t get into any trouble you can’t get out of.”

Maul snorted at him.

“Give me some credit,” he chided.

Jango patted his head, mindful of his horns. “Of course. You could take the whole Galaxy by storm if you set your mind to it, couldn't you?”

Maul was aware he was teasing. That didn’t stop the vicious grin from curling on his face.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said again, and left Jango in their shared room. The man was reluctant to eat outside of it, or remove his helmet anywhere on the ship. Maul doubted he was one of the more hardcore Mandalorian’s who never took it off unless in the presence of family, so it must have been healthy caution.

Maul made sure no one else was looking before he crawled into the vents. One good thing about this ship being so dilapidated was it made it easy for a small zabrak to get around unseen.

He made his way to the engine room.

The engineers were keeping a decent eye on things, but they missed Maul picking his way to the sublight engine. While the hyperdrive was engaged it wouldn’t be used to propel them, but it would still be kept running so it could take over in case they dropped out of hyperspace unexpectedly.

Maul searched until he found the hatch that led to the firing cells. They helped dispurse the heat created by the engine inside, to keep it from melting under the sheer force of fission reaction that happened inside. If they were out of alignment the engine would overheat and explode.

Maul used the Force to keep the heat inside when he pulled the the hatch open, and used it again to guide the particles inside the firing cells. With part of his focus on keeping the raw minerals, small quartz, carbon dust, and simple coal, in the center of the firing cell Maul scampered back into the vents, out of sight.

Then he focused.

Trusting the unrest of the ship to hide his workings from Jinn, and trusting the Kenobi was too caught up in his own turmoil to notice either Maul closed his eyes and focused.

Piece by piece he pulled the pieces together and drew heat around them.

Maul reached into the ocean of his being. Deeper and deeper, past the darkest parts of his being, until he found the harsh center where lava made of rage bubbled lazily. Waiting for his use.

Maul gripped that heat and pulled.

Anger twisted in his grasp and steadily wrapped around the components of his crystal. Layer by layer, he added more of himself and more of his anger. Anger as jedi, for never coming for him, for discarding Kenobi’s potential. Anger at Dooku and Vader for taking his place. Anger at Sidious for a life time of torment and pain.

Anger at himself, for not taking his life into his own hands the first time. For not saving his brother, or Kilindi or Daleen. For failing his men. For failing his own ambitions, and letting himself be struck down by the same man twice.

Maul breathed in, and along with that anger came threads of something else.

Maul had always drawn on his anger and ambition to drive him, but something else seeped into his mind.

Kilindi. Daleen. Savage. Kast. People he had failed once. People he would not fail again.

His hearts twisted hard in his chest. Never again would he allow himself to fail his people. They were his. They belonged to him.

Their lives were his. Their future was his. Their goals and dreams belonged to him. His to ensure, his to defend, his to push them towards.

His.

Slowly, inside the firing cell, the components started to split into two distinct crystals.

Offense and defense. Anger and determination. Vengeance and loyalty.

Sweat beaded across his brow and the heat increased.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall set me free.

Maul poured himself into the firing cell. Each sliver of stone fitted together and sealed with the fires of his being.

Piece by piece.

Maul forced them together, under the head and pressure of his anger and need. A new heat wrapped tightly with the rest as a part of him he’d half forgotten existed cracked open and bled into his crystals.

Gold eyes snapped open and he sucked in a ragged breath.

The engineers had changed. He didn’t know how long he’d been in that fiery state. Maul waved shaking hands at the engineers, who had the sudden idea to go get caf while he stumbled messily into the engine room.

His hands were tremblings.

Maul barely had the energy to open the valve and float his crystals out into his waiting palm. He barely noticed how hot they were when they dropped into his black tattoed hand.

Two crystals. One red, the other scarlet. Just a shade of difference, but enough to catch his eye.

Maul carefully pocketed the two crystals and stumbled back to the vents. He was utterly exhausted, physically and mentally, but he felt more stable to have the stones against his thigh.

Jango came back to the room to find Maul passed out on his bunk, sleeping like the dead. It was the most relaxed he had seen the boy since he’d been nearly comatose on their way to Coruscant.

If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest he might have panicked and dragged him to the medical bay.

As it was he settled on the bunk on the other side of their small room and watched the boy rest. He may not know what had happened, but he knew that tension had risen high on the ship today, and he had the inexplicable feeling Maul was responsible for it.

He would have let him sleep, but at that exact moment the ship lurched and alarms sounded, blaring red lights through the room.

They were under attack.

#Darth Maul #Maul #darth maul time travel #Star Wars #star wars the prequel trilogy #jango fett #obi wan kenobi

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bobdylanrevisited · 3 years

Text

The Times They Are A-Changin’

Released: 13 January 1974

Rating: 10/10

Cards on the table, this is my favourite folk album of all time. ‘The King of Folk’, ‘The Spokesperson of his Generation’, ‘The Protest Singer’. These are all labels Bob hates, however this album confirms that he is all these things and much more. Whilst there a few love songs thrown in, this album is defined by it’s more radical tracks, as Dylan takes society to task.

1) The Times They Are A-Changin’ - This is another song that is as true today as it was in ‘64. The themes of youthful anger, and much needed change, pour out of this album and can still be applied to the issues we march for today. Like ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’, this will go down in history as a cultural turning point in both popular and protest music. Bob has continued to perform this live over the last 57 years, which shows just how timeless the lyrics are, and you should check out the melancholic, ballad version he played for President Obama at the White House in 2010.

2) Ballad Of Hollis Brown: A devastatingly sad song, which tells the story of a farmer, who is forced to kill his starving family. As well as civil rights, another theme of this album is the treatment of working class families, left behind by the government. It’s a grim but important tale, and the snarled singing really helps the message hit home.

3) With God On Our Side - This is a satirically political ballad, based on the notion that ‘god’ was behind all victories for America, regardless of if the opposing sides also believed in him. Dylan sings of those who won’t forgive the Germans, and being told to hate the Russians, and takes the persona of a naive patriot who puts faith ahead of reason and free thought. This must have been somewhat shocking in the early 1960s, in a deeply religious country like America, and is even more shocking that just 15 years later, Dylan would be putting out albums as a born-again Christian.

4) One Too Many Mornings - An unbelievably understated, romantic ballad, about regret, potentially aimed at Suze again, a theme carried over from ‘Freewheelin’. However, this is also one of Dylan’s most reworked songs, and each time it sounds like a completely new song by a completely different artist. The electrifying 1966 version, the country version with Johnny Cash or at the Isle of Wight festival in 1969, the Rolling Thunder version from 1975/6. Whilst Bob is a chameleon, shapeshifting across different genres, this song is so perfect that it remains a classic, no matter how much he changes the sound.

5) North Country Blues - Another song about the failings of the American Dream, and the disregard of the working class. This time the story is told by a young woman in a failing mining town (possibly Dylan’s home town of Duluth/Hibbing, Minnesota), where the oil companies have moved overseas to save costs. This is a heartbreakingly beautiful song, and is a scathing attack on capitalism and the consequences of big corporations chasing a few extra dollars, that again wouldn’t feel out of place if it was released today.

6) Only A Pawn In Their Game - Bob played this song all around the country at protests and civil rights rallies, culminating with him performing it at The March on Washington, where Martin Luther King Jr gave his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech. It tells the tale of Medgar Evers, a black rights activist in Mississippi, who was murdered by a white man. Yet it also talks of how the poor white man is also a victim, and is spurred on by elites who want to keep the rich whites in power and are threatened by the Civil Rights Movement. It’s a radical song, and is a brilliant dissection of both race and class relations in America. It’s a very sad state of affairs that, like much of his work from this period, the song is still as relevant now as it was back then.

7) Boots Of Spanish Leather - Almost identical to ‘Girl From The North Country’ in tune and theme, this is yet another bittersweet song for Suze, after her time in Italy and Bob travelling to see her, yet she’d already returned to America. What sets it apart are the beautiful lyrics that are both achingly sad, yet full of warmth. In other words, I love it.

8) When The Ship Comes In - Hell hath no fury like a Dylan scorned. Following him almost being denied a room at a hotel due to his scruffy appearance, his touring companion Joan Baez had to vouch for him. Once he was finally in his room, he composed this shanty that sounds almost too cheerful, until you realise the lyrics are full of wishes that his enemies be taken by the sea and drowned. It’s a brilliant song, the reels you in with the happy music, and knocks you off your feet with its enraged fantasies.

9) The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll - It pains me that Hattie Carroll’s name could easily be replaced with Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, and far too many countless others. Whilst some say that certain elements of the story are exaggerated, this is possibly Dylan’s most powerful song. The depressingly familiar theme of murder, civil rights, injustice, and wealth have never hit harder. Particularly in modern times, the line ‘the ladder of law has no top and no bottom’ is all the more relevant, as is the story of a white man barely getting a slap on the wrist for murdering a black woman. It’s a perfect song, almost prophetic, and is still ideal for causes like Black Lives Matter, just as it was for the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.

10) Restless Farewell - On any other album, this song would be a highlight. It’s only due to the other tracks being so brilliant, that this almost feels like a let down. However, upon closer listening, this is an incredibly angry song masquerading as a ballad, that lashes out at rumours of Dylan’s plagiarism, upbringing, and blossoming career. It’s almost the first of many beautifully constructed ‘fuck you’ songs to his detractors, something that Bob would become all too familiar with over the next few years.

Verdict: Perfection. In my mind, no folk album will ever come close to living up to this. Even the outtakes from these recording sessions are better than most people’s careers, particularly the perfection that is ‘Percy’s Song’. If his career ended here, he would still be remembered as history’s best songwriter, but Bob was only getting started. Whilst the Newport Folk Festival was crowning him as their new king and the political voice of the counter culture, Bob was getting ready to go through his first metamorphosis and follow his own path, no matter who he pissed off in the process.

#bob dylan #the times they are a changin'

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marueonmain · 4 years

Text

WINDFLOWER

part three ~ without the dolphin ~

(part one) (part two) (part three)

A/N: Thank you all so so much for reading! I never thought people would care about my writing and I am so appreciative. I’ve got messages/asks open for comments or questions.

Summary: Y/N warms up to Alex. George advises him to not be an idiot.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Secondhand Embarrassment. Mild Language.

Word Count: 2.3k

There was no music in the lift. There was no music to interrupt Alex's music blaring into his ears. If there were someone around, they would have heard his questionable song choice for the four-minute trip from his apartment to meet the deliveryman and back again. Not that that trip required music.

However, consider that the brain could think thousands of thoughts in four minutes, and the chances of those all being pleasant thoughts are minuscule. Why take that chance? Why not drown them all out?

DING the sliding doors opened. Alex stepped out with a bounce in his step set in-time with the backbeat of the chorus playing in his ears.

Coming from around the corner where the mailroom was, Y/N brushed past him in a flash of blue clothing. She did not seem to see him.

But he saw her, like a Where's Wally game he was not aware he was playing. He took out one of his earbuds, slipping it in his pocket. Alex was determined to be normal: to make up for the initial awkwardness of their first meeting.

Y/N walked past the lift and started for the stairs. She was on the fifth or sixth step.

"Red!" called Alex.

"Hmm? Oh, hello," she said, smiling.

"How are you doing?" It was uncomfortable for him to be on a lower plane than to whom he was speaking, but Y/N was not moving, so neither was he.

"Tired."

"For tired, you don't look too bad. No I didn’t—you don't look bad. You look good!" Amidst recovering from his slip, Alex noticed how different Y/N was then last time. Different in appearance, with her softer expression and relaxed shoulders, and in her aurora. It was calmer, more open.

"You look good too. That shade of yellow—" she pointed to his sweatshirt, "—compliments your hair."

"Really? You think?" He thought he might just melt or spill open in front of her.

"I'm not a liar. What are you up to?" Y/N looked around, keeping her head on a slight swivel. She returned to meet Alex's gaze with something like concern shining, hiding behind her animated expression.

"I'm meeting a deliveryman. If you want, you could come and eat pizza with George and me." After a short beat, he added, "Invite Sammy too."

"Is George your flatmate or..." Y/N intentionally trailed off.

"Flatmate." Alex thought he might have seen Y/N's smile widen more so for a second at his answer. But he could not be sure what he saw was real or just a manifestation of what he wished to see.

"He sounds nice."

"George? Yeah, he's lovely. Not as lovely as me, of course."

Nodding in mock seriousness, Y/N confirmed, "Of course."

It was a simple conversation, but it felt so alive: so real: so this is happening right now and Alex felt so present. Like looking at himself in the mirror late at night and being hit with the conscious recognition of I am a person. Here I am this corporeal being. Not made of words or thoughts, what I find funny or opinions I like, my mental state or view count.

Alex was real talking to Y/N. Words were free-flowing out of him as he processed and reacted simultaneously. Such an understanding – if harnessable – could lead to solutions for world hunger or maybe even get him to three million subscribers within the year.

"So, you'll come along?"

"I can't." Y/N frowned a slight frown. Her nervous nature returned as she cleared her throat and began to fiddle with her fingers.

"Come on, Red," his voice whined with the plea before stabilizing, "It'll be fun. It's not just pizza. I was planning on throwing together a salad as well to go with it."

"How healthy."

"Oh? Do you not know?" Alex paused so Y/N could shake her head. "I'm only buying a pizza to support local businesses; I'm really an expert in the kitchen."

"Is that right?" She raised an eyebrow.

"World-renowned."

"You know what? I see it now. Better than Ramsey, aren't you?"

"Leagues better. I'd challenge any chef to rival my bagged salad mix. It's spectacular – delicious."

Y/N giggled, and Alex joined.

Music had continued to blare from the earbud he left in, but he had been able to ignore it during the conversation. Until a particular song came on – one he downloaded as a joke – and he heard the line: got our song...up and ready

Did Alex wish Y/N and he had a song? No, that was dumb. An unrealistic expectation the romance genre shoved upon its (generally) female audience. But did he? Kind of. It would be cute. Men can want to be cute, too, right?

"So, you'll come?" he asked...again.

Y/N fiddled with the collar of her chin-hugging top. "I would, but I can't. Sam would—don't you think you've made your deliveryman wait long enough?"

"Probably. You have some time to change your mind; just ring me if you do."

"I don't have your number."

"Alright," he made a give it here gesture, "I'll plug it in."

Y/N's bright expression faltered a smidge as she relinquished her phone to him. It was an older model but still a smartphone: no passcode: no apps other than those built-in. Her wallpaper was a picture of Sammy and her on a nature walk.

Alex’s prominent adam's apple jumped. A pain like indigestion or like guilt stabbed him in the stomach. After plugging in his number, he took an extra second to double-check it and add some personal flair.

Y/N took her phone back. "Why the emoji? I think I'll know who you are without the..." Y/N squinted at the screen. "...without the dolphin."

"Never know. It could be a good reminder."

"I suppose, it does match your eyes," she muttered, still focused on the phone. Y/N froze for a second, clearly not having meant to say that out loud.

"There you go, it's perfect. Don't be afraid to call or text me; I'm on that thing 24/7, and I promise to reply in at least one-to-two business days. Guaranteed."

She scoffed, "You should go get your pizza."

It would not be the first or fifth time Alex had forgotten about a deliveryman, and – while he would let his extra-large go stone-cold before willingly break off a conversation with her – it was apparent Y/N was itching to get somewhere.

"True." Alex gave a short wave, maintaining his distance. "I'll see you later."

"Bye.” Y/N disappeared up the stairs.

~LATER~

Alex balanced the extra-large pizza box in one hand. Never having worked in food service, his confidence in doing so was even lower than his regular self-confidence. With his other hand, he patted himself down, looking for the key to his apartment. He cursed at himself for having locked it out of habit when he left.

There was muffled shouting coming from inside – sounding both playful and angry. It took a single step through the door for Alex to recognize the source of the shouting.

George was in his bedroom watching a video back without his headphones on.

A great grief. A true unseen struggle for all youtubers – headphones were uncomfortable. Constant low-pressure squeezing developed into the biggest hazard of the job: chronic headaches. Both flatmates had expressed how they sometimes woke up to the feeling like they needed to relieve a phantom pressure and take off their headphones despite not wearing them to bed.

"Take high ground," a familiar voice commanded. "You have to down this guy."

Pre-recorded George asked, "Where is he?"

"Left. LEFT! Your left! Goddammit George, you dyslexic bitch."

It was with bitch that Alex recognized the other voice in the recording– it was Joshy, and it was a fortnite video from the sound of it.

"This gun is so weak it's hitting nine damage," pre-recorded George complained.

Joshy screamed, "Let's go; we got to go!"

"You do your thing. I'll be over there in a bit."

Their bickering continued sounding identical in tone to that of a couple outside divorce court. Viewers loved how shit George was at fortnite and how increasingly frustrated that made Joshy: the shouting, the swearing, the idle threats and name-calling. Pairing up together for these types of gameplay videos would often have them banging out a quarter to half a million views per video.

Meanwhile. Alex placed the pizza box on the coffee table and fell onto the sofa with an exhausted sigh. Sitting up, he grabbed at the box lid and started claiming the best-looking slices in his head.

Eyes flickered to the closed-door: George had not heard him come in – surely not. And he would not be mad if Alex started in on devouring the pizza without him – surely not. Right?

Stacking two slices on top of one another, Alex crammed them into his mouth quick, as if scared they would be taken away from him, and burned his tongue.

"Help me," pleaded the pre-recorded George, "Help me. Help me."

"Nah. Don't think I will."

"Josh, if you don't revive me right now. I swear to god, I will piss in your mouth while you sleep."

Alex snorted, choking on the third slice of pizza he had fit in his big mouth; he had been on the receiving end of that piss threat before, several times. Most recently because he left a plate in the sink and George swore if Alex did not clean it that second, he would...well...piss in his mouth.

"That's not very nice." Joshy mimicked genuine sadness. "I got you."

1/3 of the pizza was gone, and Alex decided it fair to call George in before he scranned it all himself. "George! Pizza's here!"

"Alright!" George (the real not the pre-recorded) shouted back. There was the sound of his door closing and the padding of his socked feet down the short hall before he appeared around the corner. Met with Alex and the 2/3 of a room temperature pizza, he asked the appropriate, "What the fuck?"

"I was starved."

"And here I was thinking the one excuse I would accept for taking twenty years to get the pizza was that you'd run into the street and got hit.”

Alex spoke around his mouth being full, "Sorry."

"Whatever." He snuck in a quick smack against the side of Alex's head as he joined him on the sofa.

Both men sat in silence, shoving slices of pizza into their mouth like it was a competition. Like there was no other food in their apartment. Like they could not order another pizza. Like it proved something.

Breaking the silence, Alex swiped the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his mouth and asked, "Are we still filming that opening pokemon cards video tomorrow?"

"Yes. Just need someone to film the over-the-shoulder angle. Lewis is sick."

"Sick with what?"

"Not the bug." George rolled his eyes mockingly. His eating had slowed down after hitting the wall, half-way through his fifth slice. "It's like a cold or something. Could you ask your new mate Sammy to do it?"

"Why not ask Will to come down?"

"Don't trust him," he said, shrugging.

"Fair enough. I'll ask him when we hit the pub later." Alex stood and walked to the kitchen. At the sink, he washed his hands with dish detergent and, cupping his hands into a bowl, washed around his mouth with the soapy water. Satisfied, he took a towel to his hands and face before returning to see George shutting the lid on the pizza box. "What do you think of Sammy?"

"How do you mean?"

"Just in general."

George shrugged. "He's cool."

"Yeah," Alex agreed – because he did agree with the statement; he liked Sammy.

There was a pause, and, in the interlude, George stood and grabbed the pizza box. He brought it to the kitchen bin; balancing it on top the overflowing rubbish. Curious and perhaps thinking he heard a tonal shift in their dialogue, George settled himself to be pressing his shoulder against the wall nearest where Alex stood. Leaning like he was in a how do you do fellow kids meme.

Alex felt very much 'squared up' to. He turned to be met with a quick tilt of the head and a scrutinizing near-glare from his flatmate. It was not unlike George to stick his nose in where it does not belong; could this be considered that type of situation? Alex did ask for his opinion.

Clearing his throat, George asked, "Is this about Y/N?"

"I was talking to her earlier and—"

"Why were you talking to her?"

"—and I got the sense that Sammy might be like a tad controlling. I don't know."

"Are you serious?" George asked harshly before continuing in a softer voice – with a hint of hesitation, of caution, "You know what happens when you jump to conclusions like that. You shouldn't be chatting up Y/N behind Sammy's back."

"It wasn't like I cornered her. We ran into each other." Alex tugged on his sleeves, pulling them past his shaking fingers – seconds away from crawling into himself.

It was not playful bullying between friends anymore; it was a telling off. And neither was comfortable. George's eyes pleaded for Alex to look up and meet them, and for Alex to understand. Alex held no negative feelings toward George. But Alex hated himself for reacting as he was; he hated being human and having sensitive moments. Though he could not stop it.

"You have got to back off. Ok?" George confirmed, "If it means we can't have Sammy in the friend group, then that's what it means. We'll find someone else to film for us tomorrow."

"No, it's fine. I'll ask him," Alex said as he pulled up and straightened his posture. He smiled at George's concerned expression and added, "I'm not interested in Y/N."

#imallexx #imallexx imagine #imallexx x reader #alex elmslie #alex elmslie imagine #alex elmslie x reader #internet sensation #commentary crew #eboys #memeulous

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

A Little Help From Beyond

@krbkmonth2020 on Twitter.

Kiribaku Ghost Prompt. Warning character death, misunderstandings, pining, happy ending I promise.

“Deku you fucking dumb son of a bastard!!!” Bakugou cradles the dying man tight to his chest with his head pressed against his face. His teeth gnashed and gritted, eyes squeezed tight against the truth that his childhood friend was bleeding out in his arms. Tears stream down his cheeks, a visible waterfall breaching his mask. “You’re not supposed to die!” They were Twin stars of the pro world! Rivals till the end who could push each other to achieve only greater and greater heights! “What the fuck am I supposed to do now!!”

“S—Sorry… Kacch—an…” Midoriya squeezes Bakugou’s hand with what little strength he has left. “You shine for us both now…”

The second Midoriya closes his eyes for the last time, a brilliant flash starting from his hand quickly envelops Bakugou’s. A surge of energy rips through the blonde’s body and he instantly knows exactly what just took place. “No! No, fucking no!” He shakes the limp body. “Fuck you! I don’t want this! Damn it!” He collapses on top of his friend, gripping to the torn green costume. “Damn it Deku! I-I don’t deserve this…”

Time dragged on from that moment for Bakugou like a movie that wouldn’t end. Day after day, week after week. Every night his dreams replaying the events that took his friend’s life and the guilt tore through his psyche, leaving him an empty shell. He didn’t even want to go to the funeral because that… that would have made this final, and he didn’t want to accept that Midoriya was gone. But his friends dragged him to it. You need the closure Katsuki. You need to process what happened, so it doesn’t destroy you. News flash, it already was.

So, he pushed everyone away after that. If anyone showed up at his apartment, he would rage at them through the door until they left. Any villain that crossed his path paid dearly regardless of their crime, because it was the only way he could release the building anger and pain. All his life, Midoriya was there and no matter how much the guy could get on his nerves, he’d never imagined a time he wouldn’t be around. And now, when they’d finally found their balance… he’s gone.

After a month, the only person brave enough to keep trying was Kirishima. It was a choice to stay close because he could understand why the man felt broken. If he lost Bakugou he’d probably feel lost too.

“Come on Katsuki, just open the door and let me in.”

“No. I told you I’m fucking fine and I don’t wanna talk to anybody!”

Kirishima rests his head against the door, uncaring if anyone passing through the apartment hallway found it odd. It killed him that this strong, proud man was slipping into a deep depression. He assumed one reason was a survivor’s guilt for living through a fight that cost Midoriya his life. But the other was more personal, and probably the biggest struggle of all to get past.

Throughout UA he’d watched the two men battle, heard the stories of their childhood, could see that despite the rough treatment, Bakugou cared deeply for his old friend, and he wondered if there was an unrequited aspect hidden beneath the surface. Did one or the other possibly…

“You can’t lie to me, man. I know you’re not.”

“I said Fuck off shitty hair!!”

Inside the apartment, Kirishima can hear the music cranked up to tune him out. He sighs and closes his eyes, placing a hand against the smooth wooden surface of the door. “I can love you like Deku,” he whispers as the tears pool behind his eyelids, “if you just let me in too.”

All through high school and into their adult years, their friendship grew. Somehow, he’d wormed his way into the hot heads inner circle while everyone else were called extras. But there was always one other person that meant more to the blonde and that was Midoriya. Even dead he was still rival’s with the man.

He shakes his head. It didn’t matter now. There’s nothing he can do about Midoriya, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let Bakugou lose himself over it. It was devastating, he understood that, Deku was his friend too. But now it was important to take care of the living. Broken hearted and dejected, he walks away, swiping at the few tears that broke free. But he’ll be back tomorrow to try again.

Off to the side, watching this scene unfold, Midoriya floats out of the way as the sullen redhead walks past his conscious spirit. It’s been almost five weeks since he’d died, and it was frustrating being stuck watching the people he knew falling apart over it. Bakugou was the worst, but what he’d just heard Kirishima say blindsided him. To a living human, his words were spoken so quietly that even if they’d been standing next to the man, they wouldn’t have heard anything more than a mumble. But he did, loud and clear. Eijiro Kirishima was in love with Katsuki Bakugou!

“Wait, but does he think I had, or we were!” He’d grown up with Bakugou, but he wasn’t in love with the man!! Wow, he never thought anyone would make such a leap in terms of their friendship! But it was cute to know someone loves and cares for his friend. Midoriya shelves those thoughts away for now and disappears through the door to check on the blonde.

What he finds is a darkened room with the blinds drawn and his old friend sitting on the couch with his head hung low. If he could produce tears, they would fill his eyes. It was a heartrending sight. He moves over and kneels in front of the blonde, reaching out to place his hand on the man’s knee. It goes through as it always does, so he retracts his clenched hand in anger, closes his eyes, and screams. “Argh!! This sucks!!”

All the sadness and frustration rages outward in a surge of energy from his unheard scream. If he’d been alive tenants two doors down would have heard it. When he opens his eyes, Bakugou is staring straight at him with a confused expression. Wait, what?! He waves his hand in front of the man but gets no reaction. Okay, no, he didn’t see him, so did he hear the scream? He tests this theory, screaming at the top of his lungs; still no reaction.

Growing frustrated, Midoriya stands up and starts pacing back and forth in front of the couch. He puts his analytical mind to work, but he didn’t understand what just took place. “It was probably just a fluke. Kacchan looked up just to look up. Argh, this sucks!!” He kicks through the coffee table in a fit. “I don’t know anything about being a ghost!!”

“Deku?”

Midoriya whips his head back around to see Bakugou with his hands cradling the sides of his face, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Stupid, Deku’s dead dumbass, that couldn’t be his voice. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m fucking losing my mind!”

“He heard me?!” Midoriya tries to reach out and grab the man’s shoulder, “Kacchan! I’m here!” But it slips through the man’s body. Pissed off, he swipes his hand at the man’s body over and over, desperately trying to make contact. “Fucking damn it! Just let me comfort him!” He screams at the air.

Bakugou flinches and gasps. He looks around, confused. The windows were closed, yet he swore it felt like a burst of wind just hit him. Okay, now he was getting creeped out. First, he thought he’d heard his dead friend and now a ghostly wind? He runs his hand over his face, “maybe its sleep deprivation,” he rationalizes to himself since he hasn’t had a good night sleep in over a month. He stands up and walks away towards his bedroom.

As he watches Bakugou leave the room, Midoriya stares down at his hands, wide-eyed. It was like his quirk! If he could learn to control this energy, that might be the key because each time his friend sensed something, it was when his energy surged. “Woo hoo!!” He pumps his fists in the air. Now he just needed to figure out what to do with this newly found power.

He follows Bakugou to the bedroom and sees the blonde writing in a notebook. When he’s finished, places it on a nightstand then goes to the bathroom. Midoriya funnels as much energy as he can into his hand and miraculously, he’s able to turn the pages. Awesome! He was getting a small handle on this ability.

It was a journal! He never knew the man kept a journal! But the more he read, the deeper his heart sunk. It was filled with regret and anger, of not treating him better when he was alive, not saving him in the end, of not realizing how important he really was. Bakugou felt he didn’t deserve to be given OFA… “Oh, Kacchan,”he looks over at the closed bathroom door. OFA had accepted him once before because he was worthy of it. But the worst part was, the man felt all alone. “But you’re not alone.”

When he hears the turn of the bathroom doorknob, Midoriya backs away so he doesn’t scare Bakugou with the page turning. The blonde skulks over to his bed and just drops onto it like a sack of potatoes, quickly turning off the lights and pulling the blanket over his head. He swore he heard soft sobbing sounds coming from the man. And that’s the last nail that shatters his heart. Bakugou wasn’t a crier.

He’d always looked up to the Bakugou as the strong one, able to deal with anything thrown at him. And while the death of a friend or even a parent is devastating, it frankly surprised Midoriya that it would become so all-consuming for him. ‘I never realized how much I’d really meant to him.’ But now he did, and he needed to make sure the blonde got through this.

Midoriya leaves via the window and heads to Kirishima’s home. He needed to check on the man and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t give up on Bakugou either. But when he arrives, he’s was already asleep. So, he sits on the edge of the bed and practices affecting their corporeal world.

Using the same techniques, he’d used in life to gain control over the power of OFA, Midoriya channels energy into his hand and places it over Kirishima’s. The sleeping male gasps lightly but doesn’t wake up. That’s a start. He concentrates to keep the hold strong. “Kiri?” He asks quietly, “Can you hear me?”

“Izuku? Whoa, why are you here?!”

The man’s eyes stay closed, and he doesn’t appear to be awake. But clearly, he was hearing him and responding to it. Like sleep talking. Perfect, that works.

“I wanted to check on you Kiri and tell you not to give up on Kacchan.”

He sees Kirishima’s brows furrow. “I’d never give up on him.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, do you love him Kiri?”

“Yes, but he loves you not me and you love him too. I can’t get in the way of that.”

“Kiri, Kacchan doesn’t love me like that and neither did I.”

“But he’s so upset over your death. He must love you.”

“Oh Kiri, he’s upset because of guilt. We grew up together, and it just hit him hard that for the first time in 20 years he must face this world without me around.”

“That’s true…”

“So now more than ever he needs you, Kiri. Kacchan needs someone to turn to who’ll never give up on him.”

“I can do that.”

“One last thing. It’s hard for Kacchan to talk about his feelings. The more you push, the more he’ll back away.”

There’s a long pause before the man responds. His brows furrow as if deep in thought, but Kirishima eventually lets out a long exhale. “Okay. You know him best, so I’ll do as you suggest.”

Midoriya places his free hand over his friend’s forehead. “You sleep now and thank you for taking care of him for me.”

“Goodbye Izuku.”

“Goodbye Eijiro.”

When Midoriya releases his hand, the man slips back into a more relaxed sleep. The harrowed look on his face replaced by a small smile, as if it had lifted a great weight from his shoulders. Kirishima wasn’t out of the woods yet regarding Bakugou, but at least now he could move forward without thinking he was interfering in something that never existed.

With one last look at the sleeping male, Midoriya hoped for the best and leaves to go back to Bakugou’s apartment. Of all the places he could have been pulled back to after he died, not his own apartment, his mother’s home, even the UA campus, it was here and he’s finally understanding why. There was still one last unfinished business to be tended to.

And now that he knew he could reach the living in their sleep he could try to talk to his childhood friend… But as he sat on the edge of the blondes bed, watching the restless man, he debated whether he should. It would probably be best to let someone amongst the living help him because they would have to continue the work. Yet this was his old friend and he couldn’t stand by and just observe.

With a hand placed on Bakugou’s chest, he pushes his energy at the man. No talking, just emotions. In life he’d always been a positive person, and so he uses those same emotions to influence his friend now from the other side. Midoriya watches on tentatively, first seeing the man stiffen up, then his body slowly relax. It was working. A soft sigh escapes the sleeping male along with one tear. It wasn’t much and hopefully just the small sense of Midoriya’s presence would be enough to calm the blonde for the rest of his slumber.

He smiles and releases his hold on the man. “It’s gonna be okay Kacchan. I promise…”

The next morning, Bakugou awakens more rested than he’s had in weeks, which was odd since he swore, he’d felt like shit when he’d gone to bed. Come to think of it, the scant memories of his dream were of happier times instead of reliving his friend’s death, and it even felt as if Midoriya was there in the room with him. ‘No,’ he shakes his head, ‘it’s cause you were hallucinating last night, idiot.’

When he looks at the clock, he realizes he’d overslept, which was highly unusual for him. The time read 10 am, but because he’d drawn the blackout curtains, the sunlight never alerted him. Oh well, it was his day off, anyway.

A knock at his front door drags him out of bed. Really?! He growls as he stomps to the door. If it was Kirishima again here to beg him to talk, he swore to holy hell he would beat the fuck out of the man. He was tired of everyone trying to force him into talking!

“Katsuki? You up man?”

“What the fuck do you want now Eiji?!”

Kirishima takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I just want to apologize f-for pushing you too hard. I get it, okay, you’re not ready to talk yet but when you are, just know, I’ll always be here for you Katsuki.” He stops there, waiting to see if the man will respond, but after a couple minutes of dead silence, it’s clear there wouldn’t be any. He’s crestfallen. But at least the man wasn’t yelling at him which was a start. “Okay, I’ll be going now. See you around, man.”

On the other side of the door, Bakugou listened to the words coming from his friend. It was a complete turnaround from the night before and frankly surprised him a bit. No, he wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he pleased that Kirishima finally recognized it. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated their concerns, he just wanted to deal with things on his terms.

And of all of their motley crew, Kirishima would have been the only one he would talk to when that time came. His feelings for the redhead were still a little confusing. Well, to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure where his heart had been swinging before all of this had happened. But one thing was for certain, he could always rely on Kirishima.

“Wait, Eiji…” He cracks the door open enough to see the man a few steps away but turned back to look at him. “If you agree not to talk about it, you can come in.”

The redhead smiles with relief and holds up a hand, “I won’t.” This was a step in the right direction, and he wasn’t about to ruin it. ‘Thank you Izuku.’ Whether the dream was wishful thinking or something else, he’s glad he’d had it.

Midoriya watches the apartment door close behind them. A tingling sensation washes over him and his body slowly disappears. He smiles, his job is done. Bakugou needs to let him go before his soul can be at peace and this is his confirmation that the man is on the road to recovery. One day he’ll see his friend again, but it was Kirishima’s turn now, and he knew the redhead wouldn’t let him down.

Over the next few days, Kirishima keeps to his promise never bringing up Midoriya’s death or even the man in general. He could tell Bakugou was still fighting with himself internally, but at least he wasn’t locking himself away alone in the apartment. After the workday was over, he dropped by, sometimes brining dinner with him, at other times Bakugou cooking. Oh, how he missed his best friends cooking! Just by looking at the blonde, you’d never think he’d be a whiz in the kitchen, but his meals were always perfectly prepared.

Things almost felt back to normal in these moments. Their conversations revolving around the usual. Dealing with villains, their families, and what their other friends were up to. Anything that could distract from sadder topics. Kirishima didn’t care how long it would take to get Bakugou through this event, but he was ready and willing to do whatever it takes.

He let Bakugou prompt or direct conversations most of the time. It was safer that way then to tread into a topic that might trigger a bad memory. But one of their favorite things to do was simply sit on the couch and quietly watch movies together. For as loud as the blonde could be, he wasn’t much of a talker anyways.

The night started off no differently than the last three before it. Kirishima arrived around 6 pm and Bakugou had cooked dinner. The blonde knew his friend was off the next day, so he decided it was time to get a few things off of his chest. He’d agonized over this for far too long and finally realized he’d never get over Midoriya’s death by holding everything in.

It had started the morning he’d woken up for the first time in a month without a nightmare. His brain told him he was imagining things, but his heart had felt Midoriya’s presence around the night before. A soothing presence and the unmistakable comfort only the childhood friend could provide. Maybe it was because of this turn around that he’d let Kirishima in that day, but whatever it was, it had been the start of his healing process.

“What should we watch tonight,” Kirishima asks with the remote poised in his hand. “Action, horror, or comedy?”

Without looking up from the floor, Bakugou reaches over and lowers the man’s hand slowly. “I rather just talk, if that’s okay?” Though he needed to address the main issue at some point, there was another reason he needed to get off his chest first.

Kirishima puts the remote down. “Of course. What do you want to talk about?” Expecting it to be about Midoriya, he made sure to give Bakugou his undivided attention.

“Did you notice anything different about my quirk today?” Since the day Midoriya died, he’d been careful not to reveal what had happened. But in his stress with the villain, his control had faltered.

“Not really, but I couldn’t watch you the entire time.”

Bakugou sighs, “you gotta promise me never to reveal what I’m about to tell you.” He turns and looks at the man. “No one can know I told you Eiji, absolutely no one.”

“Of course, you can trust me Katsuki.”

He looks away again. “Midoriya was actually born quirkless…”

It takes Bakugou approximately 30 minutes to explain the truth about Midoriya, All Might, and the quirk known as One For All. How he’d figured it out and that’s why they brought him into the fold. He brings up the fight with Shigaraki as an example of why it’s so important to keep it a secret. The power of the quirk was one thing, but it’s transferability was another reason. Bakugou explains what happened during the fight with Nine.

“It was the first time Midoriya shared OFA with me.”

“First time?”

Bakugou sighs. “Do you remember a bright flash of light at the time he died?”

“Yeah, but I just thought it was a reflection.”

The blonde shakes his head. “That was OFA transferring to me.” He holds his hands up and stares at them, concentrating to make a bit of electricity spark around them.

Kirishima’s eyes widen. That was not Bakugou’s sparks but looked like Midoriya’s lightning instead!

“I was so angry when it happened! How dare he just give this to me! I don’t deserve it. It should have stayed with him… he should be the one alive wielding this power…”

Despite his shock, Kirishima recovers quickly. “I’m sure he felt you deserved it, or he wouldn’t have given it to you.”

“Yeah… I know. All Might explained to me afterwards that OFA has to accept the person too. You can’t just,” he waves his hand gesturing in the air, “give it to anyone. I think… I was just angry because this is supposed to be Deku’s power, not mine. He deserved it, he earned it, a-and I never did.”

“I think you did.” Kirishima places a hand on his friends shoulder. “Midoriya thought you did, and that should be enough to believe in yourself man. He wouldn’t have given it to you if he thought you couldn’t handle it.”

“But what if I can’t do it justice? I’m not exactly the symbol of peace.”

That makes Kirishima chuckle. “I’m sorry for laughing cause you’re right about that, but it still doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it. Katsuki, you told me he looked up to you all his life as the epitome of a hero next to All Might. So, what if you’re not the bubbly, happy type. What’s important is that you still do what is right.”

“The public is devastated that their symbol is now gone, so am I supposed to take Deku’s place in that role? Gah!” He cradles his face in his hands. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain my new-found powers to the public. And if people notice the similarities with Deku, how do I explain it?! I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should avoid using it…”

“Stop it!”

Kirishima forces Bakugou to look at him, and when he does, the blondes eyes widen at the boldness and fierce gaze staring back.

“Who cares what other people think! The man chose you Katsuki, you, because he felt you are worthy of it. Don’t let him down and hide, cause that’s not the kind of man we came to both love and admire!”

“What the fuck did you just say?!” Bakugou’s mind reels at the man’s words. “Deku didn’t love me, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Are you really that blind?! You were his closest friend and no matter how much you bullied him growing up, he never stopped caring about you.” Kirishima sighs. “I’m not talking about romantic love. Midoriya loved you like a brother.”

“And what about you? You said we.”

Oh crap, he forgot he’d made that slip up! Ugh, of course the blonde caught it. Kirishima’s face burns the color of his hair. “I-I mean you are my best friend, s-so I, you know, I care a lot about you too and that means something.”

Bakugou laughs. “You’re such a horrible liar Eijiro.” He then places his hand against the man’s face and smiles. “But while I’m not ready to go there just yet,” he swipes his thumb gently along the skin, “you are growing on me.”

#krbkmonth2020 #kiribaku #Kirishima eijiro #Bakugou katsuki #bakukiri #bnha #kiribaku fan fiction #kiribaku fan fic #ghost prompt #Eijiro kirishima #Katsuki bakugou

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joontier · 4 years

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“One-Love”

--> Summary: Love translates to zero in the tennis scoring system – the only thing keeping the scoreless player on the court is his love for the game.

--> Pairings: jung hoseok x female reader; kim seokjin x female reader

--> Genre/warnings: tennis player hoseok! au; tennis player seokjin! au; crazy rich asians inspired! au; fluff, humor (as usual), eventual smut; more warnings as the story progresses

--> Words: 2.2k

--> A/N: AAAAAAHHHHH this story really hits home and is inspired by true life events,,, please tell me whatcha think <3 I'll try to update this next week too!!

“One-Love” MASTERLIST

Chapter 1: The First Day

You continue to gawk at all the cars lined along the driveway and those parked in an open area nearby. Each vehicle seemed costlier than the last and… was that a Bentley?! People drive Bentleys to school? You’ve lost count of how many other luxurious cars you have passed by as you watch the other kids get out of their customized vans while their chauffeurs hold the doors open.

These people were rich, rich. In big, bold letters.

Sure, it was a different feeling when you first visited the school a month ago – when no one else was here. Now that you see students in specks of blue, identical to the uniform you’re wearing right now, you suddenly feel out of place. A simple girl from a small town, you, _______, officially a Thames International student? Doesn’t exactly have a nice ring to it.

You shrunk in your seat. How were you supposed to fit in with these people? Truthfully, the only thing that reassured you when you migrated was that you got to study in an international school specially in a country whose language was far from yours and barely spoke any English but the sheer grandness of this school afforded you the least solace.

Your dad speaks up when he notices you’re awfully quiet beside him. “You okay, kiddo?” You give him a small nod in reply and he gives you a short rub on the back to soothe you. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure there are plenty of nice kids inside,” he assures you, yet you still feel that glint of worry laced in his voice.

How exactly did you end up here again?

Your father had been a tennis coach for the longest time. Life used to be okay, but with the arrival of your younger brother, who’s eleven years younger than you, things were harder to get by. You love your little brother to bits though, no doubt.

With a decreasing number of students wanting to learn tennis with each passing year and your mother giving up her career to take care of Carl, your brother, some sacrifices had to be made. Your family moved a lot (this wasn’t new to you then, the only difference this time was that you moved to a different country) which only meant you transferred schools a lot of time too. Your father made enough for your family to get by every day.

One day, a good friend from his golden days came to visit your father along with the chance to work as an instructor in an international school. Your dad couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He had left a month after he had finalized his work papers. Two years later, he got to petition the whole family to come live with him and that’s how you ended up at Thames International.

One of the many perks that came with being an instructor was that he could have one child study for free at the school, provided that he won’t be having a basic salary like the regular employees but he was given a daily allowance, and he earned extra money from private lessons with the students.

Hence, here you are, sitting in the passenger seat of your family’s Honda CR-V, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the European cars you’ve passed so far.

You weren’t born into wealth and you are not nearly a hundredth of how much worth these people probably are, but it makes you all the more proud that you’re here right now, just a simple girl from a small town probably ten thousand miles from here and yet your breathing the same air as they are, you’re in the same uniform as they are, and you are just as human as they are.

Truth be told, your father was more concerned about the sudden change in environment you had to cope with. It’s only been a couple of weeks since your family has migrated; there were a few cultural differences that had to be adjusted to, you’re also learning a few phrases here and there to get by your daily living, and now you’re going to be attending a school that not one of you even dared to dream of. To say that he was worried was an understatement.

Back home, your parents had enough to send you and you brother to a private school but Thames International was clearly on a different level. The richest kid you knew in school owned a restaurant. Here at Thames though, you recall your father mentioning that these kids have parents who own and run multinational corporations – so much for a teensy restaurant.

Your dad parks by the tennis court and you give him a quick kiss on the cheek as you head off to the main building with only twenty minutes left before classes start. Although you’ve already had a school tour when you registered your classes, there’s a completely different feel now that the hallways are packed with students.

The school’s corridors seem narrower than usual with students loitering the hallways, talking about their summer vacations. The floor has been polished so well you reckon that a few more waxing will have you staring at your own reflection when you look down. You thought hallways like these only existed in movies, except this one is way better.

There’s a faint chattering as you near the classroom and you take a deep breath before entering through the back door. This is it. When you step in, silence breaks throughout the room and you’re suddenly all too aware of the small squeaks of your sneakers against the polished floor.

Some kids stared at you while the others went on with their own businesses. Fortunately for you, the awkward air didn’t last for long. You take a seat near the back, setting your bag and taking out your binder. A boy with bowl-cut hair approaches you from the front.

“You must be new here,” he starts with an achingly wide smile and his head out for you to shake. “The name’s Jimin. Jimin Park.” You reply with your name as your hand reaches out to return the gesture.

Jimin then proceeds to point out each of the other students’ names and informs you that he’s been elected class president for the school year and wants to make sure that every student, new or old, settles in nicely.

“Like he’s been for the past seven years!” Another guy butts in from the same row where Jimin came from and the rest of the class snickers at the comment.

“Don’t mind Mark, he’s just pissed he had to spend his summer here instead of the skiing trip to Switzerland he’d been talking about non-stop last year,” Jimin shoots back while the class goes into a series of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at his remark.

“So how was your first day?” your dad takes a seat beside you, removing his cap momentarily to fix his hair underneath. Your first day at Thames went…unexpectedly well. After Jimin introduced himself earlier this morning, the other kids briefly greeted you before your first period started. You had also met Nadia who was thankfully in the same year as you so you shared plenty of classes together.

She had filled you out most of the students complete with family backgrounds, who was dating who, who used to date who, the friend groups. She had also given you a brief tour of the school, definitely more animated this time compared to the monotonous lady who gave you a tour a month ago during registration.

“There’s so much to tell! And I think I’ve made a new friend today.” He smiles at that, relieved that your first day went better than what he’d expected. You continue to tie your shoes on when you see a boy come down from a sleek, black, BMW van, clad in an all-white tennis ensemble, accompanied by a duffel bag on one shoulder and a tennis bag on the other.

Any stranger passing by would’ve mistaken this guy for a professional athlete – complete gear and an outfit to match, however, you recognize the boy, Hoseok Jung, the numerical genius from your Math class. You recall earlier how a seatmate jokingly asked the unsuspecting boy what was the product of 351 and 624 and the latter responded with the correct answer within ten seconds. How he managed to answer that quickly though was beyond you.

However intimidating at first, Hoseok’s athletic aura comes to a quick end as he misses the small gap between the pavement and the court, and almost falls on his knees if he didn’t grab onto the metal fence surrounding the area. Your father sends you a glare from beside you when you fail to hide the snicker that falls from your lips. This day was bound to get interesting.

Once Hoseok has settled down his stuff on a bench, your dad calls him over and introduces you to each other, which was more of a few nods exchanged and in a blink your dad sends you off to the other court to let you warm up on your own. Turns out, the boy has never even touched a racket before, let alone know a single fact about the sport. Hence, your dad had to start from the basics – proper warm-up, the racket and its grip, the rules of the game, and the lines of the court.

You take a break from your warm-ups just as Hoseok starts to head to the court to start practicing so you take a seat on a chair across the court they were staying at. “Okay Hoseok, we’re going to start trying to hit the balls now,” your dad says from across the net and Hoseok gets into position, swinging his racket gently as he stands on the service line opposite your father.

Your dad then throws a ball in his direction, and as Hoseok swings his racket backwards but completely misses the ball as he lets go of the racket. He mutters an apology as he picks up the forlorn instrument. Your dad waves it off, reassuring Hoseok that it was normal for first-timers.

“One more time then.” Your dad throws another ball, Hoseok thankfully hits it this time but now with too much power that he sends the ball flying straight to your father’s head. Your father being the charismatic person that he is, pretends to lose balance and stutters backwards, slapstick comedy at its peak.

Unable to control your amusement as well, you laugh along with the two, glad that Hoseok isn’t the type of person to dwell on embarrassing moments like these. When a few more students arrive for their lessons, your dad tells you both to take a break first so you both head to the water dispenser right outside the court.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence, passing beyond the lines of the courts so as not to disturb the other players. “So, tennis huh? I never thought you’d be one to play the sport.”

“Are you implying I don’t look athletic?” Hoseok asks, holding out the chain fence open for you to get out first. “N-no! Absolutely not! I just- I…” You’re at a loss for words, worried that you might have offended him and moreover, lose a student with potential.

He laughs loudly at your unnecessary worry, assuring you that no offense was taken. You can’t help the smile that etches in your face when you hear his laugh. There is something infectious about how he laughs – pearly whites on full display, his eyes turn into tiny crescent moons as he throws his head back, and the way he claps excitedly all the while.

“Mom thought it would be nice to stretch my limbs more, as if waking up in the morning isn’t enough strain for my muscles…” he sighs dramatically. “Anyways, I’ve been passing by the courts since last year because our driver started parking there. One day, while I was walking by, there was this one guy who was playing, I think his name was Andrew, and he looked so cool hitting the balls like ‘peeeuw’ and then ‘paaang’ and his opponent was hitting it back just as strong. Plus, I used to watch Prince of Tennis so…” You’ve never seen anyone so… for lack of better words, animatedly bright.

This boy could easily render the sun jobless with his charisma and energy.

The short water break ends quicker than you’d expected, your father calling you both to the court so that you could practice together. Much to your dismay though, the rest of the lesson goes by pretty quickly with Hoseok’s determination to learn the sport.

Your dad sees Hoseok’s van around the corner and decides that tennis is over for today. “Hoseok, your driver’s waiting for you.” He looks up from a corner with a frown, still trying to figure out how to pick up balls by slotting it between your shoe and your racket. “Can’t I skip my violin lessons just this once?” He calls out to the chauffeur and the latter shrugs, not wanting to tempt the kid.

Hoseok drags his feet towards the bench, your dad chuckling when he sees the forlorn expression on the boy’s usually bright facial features. “Ah, don’t worry kid, we’ll see each other again on Wednesday.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow too Hoseok!” you add, waving your goodbye.

“You can call me Hobi,” he replies with a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to see you too tomorrow.’

#hyunglinenetwork #btswritersnet #bts fic #jung hoseok #kim seokjin #hoseok x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok fluff #bts athlete au

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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I Travel Troubled Oceans - Chapter 2: The Heist

Charles was, in fact, difficult to persuade of the plan. Sure, he wants money just about as much as any of the rest of the crew. But he's also pretty fucking pissed at Eleanor Guthrie.

Although the prospect of getting one over on her – and ruining another one of the people responsible for sending him to jail and getting filthy rich in the process – is a strong incentive. And Jack's always been good with words. Persuasive, one might say. Charles is stubbly, slightly recalcitrant putty in his hands.

So they all troop down to the nearest YMCA so Charles can take a shower. And Anne shoplifts him some slightly more upscale slutty clothes, because God forbid the man ever actually wear a shirt. But he looks like a halfway respectable stripogram by the time he shows up to Eleanor's little birthday party – a fashionable two hours late so the party's in full swing and he doesn't look desperate. Though Eleanor will probably still read him that way. A pathetic sad sack crawling back to her on bended knee, ready to beg forgiveness and willing to do anything to get back in her good graces now that his former crew is a wreck and Flint's run off to America.

Eleanor thinks she's got Charles right where she wants him – under her two-thousand dollar heels. But that doesn't mean it's not a scene worthy of the fucking Baftas when she sees him come through the door.

Jack and Anne and the new guy are posted up in the kitchen, dealing to all the posh little fucks looking for a bit of white gold to get the party started right. Just killing time until Charles makes his move and he and Eleanor head to the bedroom.

And minimalist open plan living being in fashion, even in these old Victorian piles, they can hear every fucking word of the happy little reunion from a whole half a house away.

“Why Charles,” Eleanor practically purrs – and it's the purr of a Jaguar, lethal and expensive. “Whatever are you doing here.”

It's not a question.

Charles forces himself to look down at his feet. As if he's weak. As if he's ashamed.

“Eleanor.” He makes it sound anguished instead of angry. “I had a lot of time to think while I was away.”

Because Eleanor and her lot threw him away. And who knew Chaz was such a good actor? There's none of the violent, simmering fury Jack knows he feels over the betrayal. His tone is contrite and he must look suitably groveling, because Eleanor lets him continue.

“I started thinking about what was important – what was good in my life.” Namely her. And what he'd do to get her back. Though that goes unsaid, because there's such a thing as laying it on too thick, even for Eleanor fucking Guthrie.

And they – Jack, mostly Jack, who'd coached Charles through the whole interaction - must have struck just the right balance of pathetic groveling and virile masculinity with that little performance, because Eleanor says, “Why don't we discuss this somewhere more private, Charles?”

A few minutes later, Jack gets a surreptitious eggplant emoji from Charles's burner phone – the prearranged signal that he's successfully convinced Eleanor to sleep with him and that they're free to comb the house. Jack sends a winky face in response and then he, Anne, and the new guy split up to search for the cash.

Knowing Charles – and Eleanor – they'll probably be tied up for a while. Charles almost definitely literally. But that doesn't mean they can dawdle.

Anne takes to rifling through the bedrooms, disturbing several couples – and more – in the throws of passion. But she's always been good at intimidating idiots to stay out of her way – and so obviously on a mission that they don't do more than voice a few token protests. Plus, she's good enough at what she does – and they're so wrapped up in their drugged out fucking – that she's in and out before some of the participants even notice she's there. But, as Jack learns from her regular updates of terse “NO” and red “X” texts, she has no luck finding the cash.

Jack hadn't really expected Eleanor or Woodes Rogers to keep the cash in a random bedroom, where any horny houseguest could stumble upon it. So that just leaves the master suite – empty, what with Eleanor having taken Charles to the room that apparently serves as her bedroom cum sex dungeon, if Max's deeply - horrifyingly deeply - detailed description is to be believed. (Privately, Jack thinks Eleanor may have gotten just a little bit too invested in the whole Fifty Shades trend. But bored horny women are bored horny women, regardless of bank account balance, apparently.)

And Woodes Rogers is otherwise occupied downstairs, courtesy of the new guy, who's apparently caught his eye and is being rather badly flirted at, if the increasingly frantic texts Jack keeps getting are any indication. Jack feels bad, he really does – ok, not that bad, he'd do the same thing on purpose if Woodes Rogers was into queens. But he likes a little bit of rough - not that Jack can blame him – and the new guy seems to be doing it for him, even if he's got a pretty boy face. And this is probably the best chance they're going to get of having the house to themselves for the search. So he tells New Guy to stick it out and if Woodes Rogers starts getting too sleezy to make a break for it. They'll all meet at the rendezvous point at the kebab shop in the West End anyway, it doesn't matter if they don't all go together.

Plus, it'll help take the heat off if they just look like regular party goers instead of co-conspirators in a heist.

But Jack doesn't have a lot of extra time or attention to spare for New Guy's plight. Because Anne's struck out in the master bedroom, except for some rather tasteless but presumably expensive jewelry. And Jack's searched the study - a big, stupidly imposing room that practically screams “compensating” - and he's come up with zilch. A fucking goose egg, outside of a moving bookcase that hides a humidor. Probably Eleanor's.

So he moves on to the library, the last place the cash could reasonably be without them having to try and search the fucking basement.

It's probably the least used room in the house. Because sure, Woodes Rogers is a lawyer of some description and Eleanor an accountant. But the paraphernalia for that kind of stuff gets kept in blinding glass and steel corporate offices. This room is for impressing the impressionable. And it's absolutely stuffed to the fucking rafters with first editions of classics and entire sets of encyclopedias that Jack would bet real money have never even been opened by their current owners.

There are also several oil paintings in heavy gilt frames – perfect for hiding a wall safe. And if that doesn't reveal anything, there's always the horrifically overbearing desk situated in pride of place in front of the enormous bay windows. Jack can just see Eleanor there, sitting in the high backed antique chair like it was a throne, dispensing her version of mercy on groveling penitents.

Jack wonders if she ever made Max fuck her in that chair. That feels like something she'd be into.

And with that lovely thought, Jack turns to search the nearest painting – a drab toned portrait of a man who is presumably one of Woodes Rogers's antecedents. Blugh. But, heinous crimes committed during his life or no, he isn't the final resting place for stolen goods.

Jack turns to the next painting and the next with no more success. The final painting – one of hounds on the hunt – doesn't reveal the cash, but it does reveal some rather racy photographs of Eleanor and one of her previous lovers (neither Max nor Charles, so Jack doesn't remove them) in what is apparently Woodes Rogers's pathetic attempts at a black mail collection on his wife. It's quite sad really, so Jack just takes a snap of it for Anne – who'll undoubtedly show it to Max, who'll get a kick out of it - and moves on to the desk.

There, he strikes gold. Or cash, really. There's a hidden compartment in the bottom of the desk drawer with a lock on it – as if that could stop Jack. Or anyone with better fine motor skills than a toddler. It only takes him a few minutes and an unbent paper clip to open the catch.

And there lays the cash.

Jack signals Anne and the new guy to come help, since there's approximately a metric fuckton of it. Someone who's not Jack is going to have to practically crawl inside the desk to get it all. But they've found it, finally.

Thank Christ.

Jack starts laying bundles of cash into the bottom of his traveling case – one of those hard-sided suitcases that businessmen so love to use. And he's honestly not sure if that's going to be enough. But fortunately, the new guy had the foresight to bring a ratty backpack along and between the two bags and the three of their pockets, they get it all stowed away.

Jack texts Charles a Jolly Roger to let him know he can wrap things up with Eleanor and all that's left now is to get away clean.

Which is almost easier done than said. They walk out the door, times staggered enough that it doesn't look like they're all leaving together, and no one notices a thing. It's all very anti-climactic, honestly. The movies always make this part seem so exciting – car chases and shoot outs and etcetera. But they just walk right out the front door, completely invisible to the partiers still inside the house.

Jack leaves last, so he's only about a half block away when Charles finishes their little distraction off with a bang. They'd planned it all out – how to make it look like Eleanor had the upper hand in the breakup this time, so she wouldn't look too hard at the evening and link the theft back to Jack or Anne. How to make sure that Eleanor was left physically and emotionally satisfied enough that she never seeks Charles out for another night of fun. How to make her feel in charge and in control and like she's throwing Charles over, instead of them conning her.

And frankly, the bits Jack can hear are a masterstroke. Charles is pathetic and groveling in a way that is genuinely unappealing – but that apparently gets Eleanor's rocks off, because she's got the most self-satisfied fucking smirk on face, the one he imagines she wore the entire time Charles was in her bed. And Eleanor stands at the top of the stairs, framed by the open doorway, lauding her everything about herself over Charles as he begs her to take him back. Which she does not deign to do at all.

All the other party goers have gathered around to witness the carnage and Eleanor's not even pretending to feel sorry about making such a scene. This – this is what she's been looking for ever since Charles gave her the boot – coincidentally right before he went away on that two stretch. And she's milking her ability to get one over him in that same way for all it's fucking worth.

“We're done, Charles.”

She says it with the cold finality of a vault door swinging shut. And she sweeps back into the house, surrounded by the ranks of simpering sycophants. Leaving Charles curled into himself on the cold pavement.

#black sails #max/anne #jack/charles #fanfic #chapter 2 #i travel troubled oceans

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verai-marcel · 5 years

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Ok hear me out, oh goddess of our Arthur smut, Modern day low honor Arthur (manager of [pick a store]) and fem reader, new hire. Work romance and pure smut, because I can see Arthur being the guy at work that comes in, in the morning and says “Ladies” and ALL THE WOMEN AT WORK SIMULTANEOUSLY SING “heyyyyyyy Arthurrrrr” back. XD

Business Time at the Bistro (Arthur x Fem!Reader, Modern AU, 18+)

Summary: You’re the new hire at a trendy bistro near your house; you were tired of commuting to the big city, and decided that less stress and a 10 minute walk to work was worth the pay cut. Your boss, Arthur, seems like a nice enough guy, but when he starts to handle your training personally? You start to feel things you shouldn’t feel for someone you work for. How will you deal with your budding emotions?

Author’s Notes: My title is a Flight of the Conchords reference. If you haven’t heard their song “Business Time”, go look it up. I know it’s not quite the mood I’m going for in the fic, but it made me laugh when I thought of it, so I just went with it. Anon, this is for your cute request.

Tags: low honor Arthur Morgan, smut, office sex, doggy style, dirty talk, slice of life

AO3 Link is here, you coffee snobs.

——————–

You walked into the bistro and fell in love at first sight.

There was soft folk music wafting through the air as you took in the scent of freshly ground coffee. A tray of scones and muffins, baked in house, looked appetizing behind the clean glass case, and the decor was cozy with a hint of modernity, resisting the urge to be hipster, and yet felt trendy as fuck.

“I want to work here,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Well, we’re in need of some help,” said a deep voice behind you.

You spun around and looked straight into a broad chest. Lifting your head up, you saw the owner of the voice, and presumably, the owner of the bistro.

He was a tall man with eyes the color of a lake and sandy brown hair, long enough to bury your hands in. His beard was close cut, uniform style, and accentuated his lips that you may have stared at for a second too long.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he tilted his head. “Sorry ma’am, did I mishear ya?”

You shook your head. “No, no, you heard me correctly. I’d love to work here.”

He walked up to you and held out his hand. “Arthur Morgan. I own this place. If you want work, let’s talk.”

His hand was calloused and warm, and held yours firmly but not aggressively. When he smiled, your heart skipped a beat.

***

An hour later, you had the paperwork to start a new job as a barista manager. You had prior experience with shift schedules and managing employees, and even though you didn’t have your resume on hand, you quickly pulled up your LinkedIn profile and gone over your work history. Your quick thinking and straight forward attitude had apparently won you points.

Arthur, owner of Buell’s Bistro, said the original owner, a veteran named Hamish, had left it to him before retiring to Colorado. He said he didn’t know too much about being a business owner, but he seemed to be doing just fine, given the amount of customers you saw as you left.

Now all you had to do was give your two weeks notice to your current job, and you could finally make yourself happy.

***

You could not wait to start your first day at the bistro. The past two weeks had been a hell of a slog, trying to stay present and aware while you dreamed of an idyllic future. You were looking forward to walking to work and not having to drive an hour into the city every day. The corporate hell you escaped had made you strong, focused, and a nervous wreck at the end of each week. You were glad to be done with that career and moving on to something calmer.

Walking towards the employee’s entrance at the back, you saw Arthur get out of a dark green pick-up truck, sipping a coffee from a travel mug and checking his phone. You decided to wait for him, and waved as he walked up to you. He had told you to dress business casual, so you had on a black polo and a pair of khakis, but looking at him, you felt a little under-dressed. He was wearing a blue button-up, sleeves rolled up, with black slacks and brown Oxford shoes.

You blinked and quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed you gawking at him. Last time you had seen him, he was in a bright Hawaiian shirt and jeans, looking very casual. You had thought he looked kind of cute at the time.

But right now? He looked hot as fuck.

“There ya are,” he said with a warm smile as he opened the door for you. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the gang.”

***

“Ladies.”

“Heeeeyyyyyy Arthur!”

Three women—well, they seemed more like girls to you— chirped back to him in unison. It was a little eerie how incredibly rehearsed that seemed.

Arthur gestured to each woman in turn. “This here is Karen and Mary-Beth. They’re front staff. Tilly here runs things in the back, since she’s got a good head for numbers, and she bakes too, but we all do whatever’s needed to keep this place runnin’.”

Each of them smiled and nodded at you; they all seemed friendly. You introduced yourself, while Arthur told them about your business background.

“Wow, Tilly’s in school for business!” Mary-Beth said afterwards. “I’m just getting a degree in creative writing. Not sure how much good that’ll do me, but one day I hope I write somethin’ great!”

You appreciated her optimism and positive attitude. And her Southern accent was charming.

“Write an amazin’ play, so I can be in it,” Karen said with a smirk. Then she looked over at you. “I’m a theater major, so there’ll be some times when I won’t be able to come into work.”

You nodded. “So when it’s finals week, do you all have reduced hours?”

“Yeah, Arthur just takes over,” Tilly said.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“I can make coffee,” he grumbled, and the other girls tittered.

“The guests know it’s finals week when there are no scones,” Tilly said.

You made a mental note to get her recipes so you could keep the scones coming when she was out.

“Alright everyone, I’m gonna train our new lady, so y’all get back to it.”

“Yes, Arthur!” they all sang. It still seemed odd to you that they did it in unison.

“Are they always in sync like that?” you asked him after they had all gone off to the kitchen to prep for the morning.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, they’ve all been friends since they started college.”

“Oh.” It suddenly occurred to you that you were probably about 10 years older than the girls. Your back twinged, reminding you of your age.

“Now, let’s get started,” Arthur said, distracting you from thoughts. “You know how to make an espresso?”

***

You thought you knew how to make an espresso. But clearly you had to learn his way to making one, which was slow and deliberate. His unhurried method chafed your quick and efficient sensibilities.

However, the result was a smooth, rich, delicious drink, and you couldn’t fault him for that. You figured you’d have to learn some patience.

When Karen and Mary-Beth came back to open up the doors, you helped in any way you could, basically shadowing them for the rest of the morning. When they both headed off to class, Tilly came out to help you for another hour, and when she left for her classes, Arthur came out to help you.

“How’s it been so far?” he asked when the cafe emptied out and the two of you were cleaning up. You silently hoped that no one would come in during the next thirty minutes before the cafe closed.

“Pretty good! Learning a lot. I haven’t done front of house stuff in so long,” you replied with a laugh.

Arthur chuckled. “You got a natural warmth to ya. I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

You smiled shyly and laughed, a little nervous at how your heart was skipping beats.

He said your name and it sounded like buttered rum, smooth, warm, and sweet. Your throat went a little dry as he leaned towards you.

The jingle of the door opening distracted both of you.

“Hi, welcome!” you said, switching to customer service mode with a warm smile and friendly tone. Arthur was right, it did come naturally to you, to please people, to help make people happy.

You didn’t see Arthur scowl slightly before continuing to clean the counters.

You did, however, notice when he charged the customer just a little extra without him knowing. You didn’t say anything until after the young man had left, just as closing time hit. Arthur went to the door and locked it, turning the sign around to say “Closed.”

“You charged him incorrectly,” you said.

“Oh. Whoops,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Arthur!“

"He didn’t notice. Besides, he pissed me off.”

“By doing what?"

Arthur was silent, opting to shrug nonchalantly as he closed the curtains and started cleaning up. You got the feeling that you wouldn’t get an answer out of him, so you just sighed and cleaned up as well. Once everything was put away and clean for the next morning, Arthur locked up and walked you to your car like a gentleman, looking around for anything or anyone that might cause trouble.

As you reached for your car door, Arthur put his hand on your arm, his fingers caressing your skin, sending a delicious heat through you.

"You did real good today. Lookin’ forward to workin’ with ya.”

You smiled. “Me too. Just don’t overcharge all your customers,” you said, half-jokingly, taking the sting out of your comment.

“Only the ones that annoy me.” A half-grin appeared on his face.

“What did he do?"

"Talked to you fer too long,” he said, his voice dipping low.

You couldn’t tell if he was joking as he said good night and went to his car.

***

Somehow, three months went by in the blink of an eye. You learned about the cafe’s customers, got feedback, and started implementing some minor changes that made a difference in how efficiently the place was run. There was less waste and more time to spend on marketing, which brought in more customers. You felt like you were really making a difference; it was infinitely more satisfying than working for a giant corporation.

In those three months, you had gotten to know your coworkers and boss. The girls really were 10 years younger than you, though sometimes it didn’t feel that way. They were all mature and wonderful to talk to. By now, the four of you had gotten close enough to have a text chat group, and Tilly would occasionally ask you for help with her business class assignments.

You still refused to chirp along with the girls when they greeted Arthur in the morning, though. Seemed like it was straight out of a sitcom, and you felt embarrassed whenever you thought about doing it.

And Arthur. Getting to know him had been a bit tough at first. For all of his friendly smiles, he dodged personal questions very well, distracting you with questions if his own, or just vaguely answering you. It seemed he didn’t want to talk about his past, so eventually you let it go.

When you talked to the other girls about his aversion to speaking about his history, they absolutely confirmed it.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like to bring it up.”

“Shuts up completely if you push him.”

“Whatever happened in his past, he sure as hell ain’t gonna talk about it.”

Recently though, the girls’ favorite topic was you. Specifically, their observations of Arthur in regards to you.

On a foggy morning, before Arthur arrived, the four of you huddled around the kitchen oven, waiting for Tilly’s mushroom and kale scones to finish baking.

“I’m tellin’ you, he’s into you.”

“Nope, not going there,” you said as you went over the inventory sheet on your clipboard. “He’s just a nice guy. He does the same for all of you.”

“There’s a difference when it’s you,” Mary-Beth insisted. “His tone is softer, and he stands closer to you.”

“And he brings you lunch sometimes. He doesn’t do that for any of us,” Tilly casually mentioned.

“You girls usually aren’t here for lunch!” you responded, a little exasperated.

They all laughed and kept pointing out little things that Arthur did for you and you alone, as you kept denying that it was anything more than just a simple kindness.

But just a little bit, they got into your head.

Right at 6AM, as per usual, the door opened.

“Mornin’ ladies.”

“Heeeeeeyy Arthur!” the girls greeted.

“Good morning!” you replied separately.

Arthur’s eyes met yours with a warmth that filled you from head to toe, and gave you a smile that made your heart stutter. He said your name in greeting, his voice low and soft like velvet caressing your skin.

Then the moment was gone as he went to his office and shut the door.

The girls looked at you, a knowing smile on their faces.

“See? He’s definitely into you.”

This time, you couldn’t even deny it.

***

Another month had passed since you finally thought that maybe, just maybe, Arthur might potentially have some slight interest in you.

For fuck’s sake, who the hell were you kidding?

This past month had been sheer torture, as each time the two of you were alone, he’d sidle up to you and ask how you were doing and encourage you to talk to him. He’d brush a hand against yours, or lightly touch your shoulder, or if he was feeling bold that day, he’d say “c’mon, bring it in,” and open his arms for a hug before leaving for the day.

Of course, you hugged him back. Arthur hugs were big bear hugs, his arms wrapping securely around you as he squeezed you close. They were the best.

And you were pretty sure he knew you weren’t going to say no to any physical contact. You slowly became addicted to his touch, nearly jumping into his arms whenever he opened them. He didn’t touch you so openly when the other girls were around, but he stood close by so you could feel the heat coming off in waves from his body.

Every day, you told yourself you’d stop inviting his touch. And every day, you let him get closer and closer to you. Like a spider weaving his web, wrapping his threads of warmth and desire around you, he’d give you little smiles and tease you gently throughout the day, making you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the new teacher. It didn’t help that you had a bit of a thing for a man in a position of power over you who happened to be kind and paying you a lot of attention, for that was exactly what Arthur was doing.

You had a feeling your boss kink was going to be the end of your career. But at the end of every day, when you said good night and saw the heat simmering in his eyes as you left, you wondered if it’d be worth it.

***

“Does Arthur hug you girls when you leave for the day?”

Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth all gave you varying looks of disbelief.

“No, he never gets that close to us. He even apologies if he accidentally brushes my arm as he’s walking past,” Mary-Beth said. Tilly & Karen just nodded when you looked at them for confirmation.

“Arthur’s got a crush on you,” Karen teased in a sing-song tone as she waggled her eyebrows. “He’s never been very touchy-feely with any of us.”

“That’s because he sees us as his little sisters,” Tilly said, matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?” Mary-Beth raised an eyebrow at her.

“He told me, one night when we were closing the cafe, during that first year.” Tilly measured some flour for the scones and gently added it to the mixer. “He said he was grateful we all were here to help when he inherited the place. Hamish told us we didn’t have to stay, but Arthur was so lost, we couldn’t leave him. Said we were like his family.”

“Awww!” you exclaimed, warmed by the thought of Arthur saying something so sweet.

“So, you thinkin’ about accepting his advances?” Karen asked all of a sudden.

The change in topic was like whiplash in your head. You had to blink a few times before what she said finally sank in. It took a few extra moments to come up with an answer.

“That doesn’t seem very professional—”

The door opened. 6AM, on the dot.

“Ladies.”

“Heeeeey Arthur!”

You sighed quietly to yourself before plastering on your game face and got ready for the rest of the day.

***

That night, as you swept the floor, you were lost in thought. What Karen had said, about accepting Arthur’s advances; weren’t you basically doing that?

You were thinking so hard that you didn’t notice that Arthur had closed all the blinds and come up to you while you were sweeping the corner of the room. You looked up just as he put a hand on the wall in front of you, stopping your progress and literally cornering you.

“Penny for yer thoughts?"

You felt heat suffuse your cheeks as you saw how close he was, forcing you to look up at him. He leaned down a little, his eyes flickering to your lips as they parted, your small intake of breath more telling than anything you could have said.

“Just spacing out, that’s all.”

A bit of worry crept into his expression. “You feelin’ alright? Have I been workin’ ya too hard?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

He smiled. “That you are, sweetheart.” He slowly reached out to hold your hands in his, gently took the broom from your hands and set it aside. Then he took another step closer to you. Leaning in, he caressed your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Real fine.”

“Ar-Arthur, we can’t.”

“Why not?” He shifted nearer.

“Because I work for you!”

“I wouldn’t force ya. If you’re not attracted to me, then say so and I’ll back off. No consequences, I promise.” He said the last part with a sincerity that you believed. Then he leaned in to graze your earlobe with his lips. “But I think you are.”

You let out a small whimper of need from his touch. He softly cradled your face in one hand as he reached around to splay his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer until you were flush with his warm body.

“Last chance, sweetheart.”

You were silent, staring into his eyes, your body melting against his.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed you. You could feel him pour all of the desire he had been holding back into his kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he held the back of your neck and wrapped his other arm tighter around you.

You wrapped your arms around him in return, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him closer to you, desperate for more of his touch. He pinned you to the wall, pressing his entire body against yours as he stole your breath, took your moans as his hands reached down and stroked your curves, brushing close but not quite touching your breasts. His hands traveled to your hips, and he squeezed with his fingers.

“I want more.” He pulled back. “I want you in my office.”

He had the look of a starving man, and you were his first meal in days. He wanted to take you, consume you, devour you.

You nodded.

Smiling, Arthur took your hand and led you to his office.

***

“Always wanted to do this,” he murmured as he lifted you up onto his desk, his hands sliding your skirt up your thighs. His fingers made their way to your panties, where he rubbed you slowly, feeling the damp fabric and smirking. “Feels like you want this too.”

You nodded, unable to verbally admit that this had been a fantasy of yours lately, a fantasy that you may have jilled off to on several occasions.

His fingers pulled your panties aside as he touched you intimately for the first time. You let out a sigh of pure ecstasy as he caressed your core.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just enjoy it.”

Then he kissed you once more, stealing your breath as he coaxed your tongue to play with his, the two of you making out with a frenzied passion you hadn’t felt in a long time. His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and held you still as he kept fingering you, driving you higher and higher.

“Take yer shirt off,” he commanded. “I want to see all of you.”

You quickly unbuttoned your blouse and tossed it aside. Reaching behind you, you unclasped your bra and flung it away as well. Arthur pulled back to admire your body, a look of admiration on his face.

“Beautiful,” he breathed before he went straight for your breasts, grabbing one of them and teasing the nipple while he took the other into his mouth, sucking and licking you. All the while, he was still stroking your core, building your pleasure up more and more.

The increased sensation to your body was enough to drag you to the brink. You held onto his hair with one hand, grabbing his wrist with the other and pushing his fingers harder against your clit as he stood up straight to tower over you.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

You broke apart, burying your face into his shirt as you moaned wantonly, your legs shaking as he pressed his fingers heavily against your center, rubbing in circles.

“That’s it, good girl,” he crooned.

Catching your breath, you watched him grin and pull back long enough to unbutton his fly. Pulling out his manhood, he stepped back to you, touching the inside of your thighs. You spread your legs and smiled up at him.

“Guide me in.”

You reached out and grasped the velvet steel of his cock, stroking it twice so you could watch him let out a soft moan before you pulled him into your waiting entrance. He leaned forward, his hand cradling your cheek as he pushed himself inside of you, never breaking eye contact as you felt him stretch you.

“Oh my god, this feels so good,” you whimpered.

“Sure does,” he said in a hushed tone. “Better than my fantasies.”

When he finally hilted inside you, he leaned in and kissed you. Then he pulled out and slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise.

And that set the tone for his passionate fucking, gripping your hips so he wouldn’t smash the desk as he took you with his powerful thrusts. He groaned against your neck when you grabbed at his clothed back as you succumbed to his unrelenting pace.

“I want you bent over my desk.”

He pulled out and manhandled you until you were bent over his desk, your ass in the air.

“Perfect,” he growled as he slid back inside of you and rammed into you again and again. “Yer so hot like this.”

Then he leaned over you, and said lowly in your ear. “You like it when your boss fucks you?”

Oh shit. He knew your kink. You moaned uncontrollably and nodded, feeling your pussy clench around his cock. He smirked, knowing how you had reacted to his words.

“Say it.”

“I like it when my boss fucks me.”

“Call me Mr. Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan.”

“Good,” he purred, and reached down to stroke your core. “My best employee deserves a reward, don’tcha?”

“Yes, please!”

“Beg for a reward, sweetheart,”

“Please, Mr. Morgan, please give me a reward!”

He stood up and slowed his pace, but the intensity of his thrusts remained, the sound of his hips against your ass echoing in the small office.

“I’ll give you what you want.” He grabbed your hair and pulled. “I know exactly what you need.”

You felt his hand grab your shoulder as he suddenly fucked you hard and fast. The only warning you had was when his grip tightened on you before he let out a harsh moan and a string of expletives as he emptied himself inside of you, pushing his cock as deep as he could go, huffing as he finished.

“Fuck, that was… that was amazin’.” He picked you up and sat back in his chair, you on his lap, his cock still inside of you. He idly caressed your breasts as you both caught your breaths. When he finally slipped out from you, he laughed.

“Guess we should clean up,” he mumbled. You leaned your head back against his shoulder and nodded.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“You alright?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright. Better than alright.” You turned your head and kissed him on his stubbled cheek. “I’m glad I took this job.”

He chuckled, nuzzling you. “So am I.”

——————–

End Notes: This… got way longer than I intended. Oh well! Hope you enjoyed the ride!

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #nsft #modern au #low honor arthur morgan #writing #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #lemon fanfic #tumblr request

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