#*tosses the idea onto that on-fire garbage pile*

[alifeasvivid]

Never Strikes Twice, aka a UKUS assassin/thief AU (outline)

Okay, but this prompt has actually been sitting in my ideas-document (which is aptly labeled “Plot Bunnies” because that’s what we used to call them!) for awhile now and I stole it from one of those tumblr prompt thingies. I actually think it works a smidge better with Alfred as the assassin, but a) I didn’t wanna impinge on ask-hitman-jones’ territory, b) I don’t always like to go for the obvious, and c) I especially don’t like to do things I think have been done before, so in the same kinda vein as my superhero AU, this is where I’ll probably take this one.

Warnings include: murder, theft, swearing, smut, general amorality. Neither Arthur nor Alfred are “good” people. Arthur enjoys killing people and Alfred really couldn’t care less about that fact. This should go without saying, but I do not condone murder. I feel like you know that already if you read this blog. To a lesser extent, I also generally do not condone thievery, at least not the way Alfred’s doing it here. It is unlikely that “justice will be served” at the end of this fic.

I’m breaking my “maintaining the four year age gap” thing, because to me it makes sense if the gap is slightly larger here.

Twenty-six year old Arthur Kirkland is a man of many diverse talents, but undoubtedly, his greatest skill is murder. So that’s how he makes his living. For the right price, he’ll take out just about anyone in the United Kingdom. He has his limits, but most of those can be summed up in a basic "no children” policy. Everything else is on a case by case basis. He has turned down several jobs on what might be called moral grounds. He doesn’t have a preferred method. He’s an expert sniper and that comes in handy, but there is something to be said for the thrill of a close-contact kill. Arthur has been honed and trained from an early age to do just one thing and he is wholly unparalleled at it.

So as he prepares to end the life of a wealthy politician (the politician’s opponents had given him a likely-exaggerated sob story about how corrupt he is, but Arthur hadn’t been paying attention to it), the last thing he expects is to see a shock of blond hair fly past the man’s bedroom. Arthur’s immediate suspicion is that a rival assassin has been hired to kill Arthur after his own job is complete. Insulted, Arthur follows in the direction the blur went. Clearly, whoever it is must be quite the amateur if he allowed Arthur to see him. Unless that’s part of his game. Very well, Arthur will simply pin the murder on this other person. Mind running a million miles a minute, he pushes open the door to the study to find...

...Nineteen year old Alfred F. Jones, a young man of many specific talents, all of them culminating toward one singular goal: stealing very valuable things. It’s a victimless crime, he reasons. He steals from exceptionally wealthy people and everything he takes is probably insured out the ass, so who really loses? Occasionally, he’ll be hired to steal something, but mostly it’s just for the rush he gets doing it. When it’s over, he’ll find someone to fence what he took and he’ll move along. American-born, he was drawn to the UK by the many museums, art galleries, and wealthy nobles from old, titled families with old, resplendent manors, but this time, he is in the home of this politician to steal something back.

Arthur immediately draws the gun he carries just in case and aims it at Alfred, who has a flashlight held between his teeth. Arthur would prefer not to shoot anyone as it’s rather inelegant, but needs must. Though, a split second of observation identifies Alfred as a thief and an unarmed one at that. Honestly, who breaks into a house completely unarmed? Some might call it stupid. Arthur knows it’s cocky. The thief clearly thinks himself good enough to be in and out before being noticed. Arthur thinks he might shoot him non-fatally just to teach the welp a lesson.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur asks.

With no surprise, Alfred removes the flashlight from his mouth and grins at Arthur like a boy with his hand caught in the biscuit tin. “Hey, man. Don’t mind me, I’m just taking some stuff. You can put that gun down, I’ll be outta your way in just a sec.”

“You realize I’m going to have to kill you, right? I’m here to kill the owner of the house, surely you’ve surmised that much by now,” Arthur deadpans without putting the gun down.

Alfred leans in toward the safe again, cradling his flashlight nonchalantly between his head and shoulder, “And I got no intention of interfering with that, dude. So let’s say you go about your business and I go about mine and we’ll call it a night.”

Woken by the noise, the man Arthur was sent to kill and who Alfred is stealing from, throws open the door to the office and flips on the light. “Who the hell are you two? I’m calling the police this ins--!” He hits the ground before he can finish his sentence. Arthur had whipped around, ducked behind him, put his own gun in the man’s hand and helped him shoot himself in the temple before even ten seconds had passed.

He turns back around to face Alfred. “Bloody hell, look what you made me do.”

But the young thief is already gone.

Arthur is ready to write off the incident as another job completed, even if it was not the most adeptly executed, until he runs into Alfred again. And again. And a few more times after that.

And on the sixth time, Arthur really does shoot him. Once. In the leg. Nowhere near any major arteries. You’d think Arthur had shot him in the gut for the way Alfred whinges about it, but Arthur only wanted more information and Alfred has a terrible habit of being too good at disappearing before Arthur can question him. He tranquilizes Alfred to get him out of the house they’re currently in and back to somewhere secure where Arthur can interrogate him.

Alfred wakes, tied to a chair. Arthur demands to know who his employer is and why he is always stealing from houses while Arthur is ending the lives of the occupants.

“I don’t have an employer,” Alfred says, “it’s just a coincidence. I’m Alfred, by the way. What’s your name?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at the audicity of the question, but then makes the mistake of leaning in close to Alfred’s face. “It cannot possibly be coincidence, not six times!”

Alfred’s eyes sparkle in a way that makes Arthur vaguely uncomfortable, no easy feat. “Okay, then it’s fate. Destiny. Kis... met.” He leans forward just enough to kiss Arthur fully on the lips.

Arthur sputters and jumps back, tells Alfred to stop following him and leaves, thinking that’s the end of it.

But of course, it isn’t. As the trend continues, Arthur senses that there is more to Alfred than what appears at first, but when Alfred is not seen at a few of Arthur’s assignments, Arthur does a bit of research and finds out that if he wants answers from Alfred, he’s going to have to break him out of prison first.

IDK. Listen, do you have any idea what it’s like to live in my head!? This shit is just constant.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Late Night Favor (Shadow Monster x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Urban Fantasy

Warnings: Explicit content up ahead (18+ ONLY), Oral, Fingering

Word Count: 4000 Words

Summary: A couple of small good deeds leaves you with a late night visitor, looking to repay a debt.

Request: "You unknowingly rescue a shadow monster and bring it home with you, after a couple days of lurking in the shadows of your home and recuperating it shows you just how thankful it is." I had this idea forever ago but was never able to execute it. My opening idea was that a few kids are shining flashlights at something, tormenting it, and you swoop in to save it and chase the kids away. You thought they were hurting a cat or something, but find nothing and head home.

What do you think? Would you like to take it on? I'd be honored if you would 😊

A/N: *Throws this into the street to appease for the fact I haven’t updated Out of the Woods in THREE MONTHS IM SORRY*

It was the perfect weather for a lazy day inside. The pitter patter of the rain on your window had almost lulled you back to sleep during breakfast, and the thunder had provided great ambiance for reading. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajamas and we’re enjoying a soap opera binge on the coach when the peace was disturbed.

At first it was just the sound of clattering trash cans, not uncommon from the alley outside your window. But then it was followed by the raucous laughter of teenagers, rocks being thrown against the concrete, and a sharp hissing.

You hoist yourself up and off the couch, meandering toward the balcony, expecting to see a bunch of kids fucking around; Maybe using the cover of the fire escape to hide from the rain and smoke some weed.

Ah, memories.

But instead, you see a huddled group of boys pointing a flashlight into the pile of garbage right by the dumpster. One of them picks up a pebble and throws it into the light beam, causing another hiss and a jerk of movement. The boys laugh even louder, the one on the right nudging the one with the flashlight.

“Dude, do it again!”

Flashlight agrees, quickly moving the light into another corner as the one on the left throws a rock in the opposite direction. A shape of pitch black hisses again, deterred by the rock and scared by the brightness. Your brow furrows.

“Hey!”

The boys jump, looking in all directions.

“What are you three doing down there?” They finally look up at you, messy-haired and bleary-eyed. They shrug and ignore you, one even throwing another rock, bigger than before. There’s a sad yelp as it collides with the blackness.

You grit your teeth, grabbing your jacket off a nearby shelf and yell again.

“Fuck off! Leave the poor thing alone!”

They all laugh insufferably, the way most stuck up teenagers do.

“Or what?”

You shrug on your raincoat, picking up the baseball bat you keep strategically placed by your couch.

“Or I’ll come down and make you, jackass!”

You kick open your  fire escape, slippers already damp, and start marching down the staircases. The boys get the message and run away, still jeering and laughing. Seems you weren’t as intimidating as you’d like.

You shuffle down the fire escape, slowing down as you approach the poor creature. You lower your back and peak under the dumpster.

“It's okay, little guy, I won’t hurt ya.” You set down your bat and crouch, kissing your lips as you hold out your free hand. All you see is a hint of glowing eyes, nervously peering out, before the dark shape disappears completely, hidden by the shadow of the dumpster. You’re tempted to sit down and wait for it, hoping to check if the poor stray was injured, but the wet concrete looks unappealing. The bottom of your sweats are already drenched.

You stand up, sigh, and go back up the fire escape. You unlatch the dusty pet door on your sliding glass balcony and make sure to leave a hot thing of milk and some water just outside. You ponder going out to get cat food, but the well-timed weather report tells you to stay off the streets. Slumping back down on the couch, you keep on eye on your fire escape, hoping that whatever it was, it’s okay.

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

The next day is sunny, the rain clearing away any air pollution and leaving blue skies to shine down through your window, waking you up extra early. As you sit down with a cup of coffee, switching on the news before starting work, you notice the empty bowls on your balcony.

You set down the mug, walking over to the door and checking the bowls. Seems that little stray had needed the refreshment, as both were licked clean.

You refill them, making sure to add  cat food to your grocery list.

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

After a long day of work, you’re feeling particularly domestic and decide to bake some cookies. Your brain is sore after staring at a screen for eight hours straight, a simple task like this is the perfect thing to keep it from melting completely.

You open up your window, letting the cool night air into your kitchen as you check  on your baking cookies. Wiping flour off your pants, you turn on the radio and throw a glance to your living room.

You had set up a tiny blanket pallet right next to your pet door, the weatherman’s warning of another thunderstorm tonight having you worried for your stray. Hopefully a full belly of milk will convince them that your house is safe enough to find shelter in.

But the afternoon is beautiful, not too cold and not too hot, only the slight tang of metal in the air hinting to rain. With a ding from the oven, you take out the cookies and set them on a cooling tray on your window. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafts over you as you take a sip of your tea, staring out into the city streets. Small puddles still speckle the pavement, catching the headlights of nearby cars and flashy billboards.

A quick sound, something hitting your balcony door, that jerks you out of your reverie. You set down your mug and slowly peek out from your kitchen, wondering if you should’ve grabbed  a kitchen knife. But it’s just your pet door, flapping back and forth in front of two, now empty, bowls. Aww, seems your stray took a step inside. Too bad you missed it.

The gurgle of your stomach convinces you to take a crack at the cookies. If they were too hot, you could just wash them down with a nice glass of milk anyway. Maybe even put on a sitcom while you snack.

You lightly tap the top cookie; Warm, but not unbearable. Steam rises as you break it open, blowing in the middle and taking a tiny bite.

Fuck, good job _____.

They’re perfectly done, just soft enough to melt in your mouth. You grab two more, holding them in between your fingers as you hold the other half in your mouth. Maybe you could bring the batch into work tomorrow, give your coworkers a nice surprise. That is if you didn't have 10 tonight. But 20 should be just enough-

Huh, that’s weird. There's only 19, including the one still dangling out of your mouth.

You could’ve sworn you baked 20.

Well whatever. Your coworkers can handle not coming back for seconds tomorrow.

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

“Ow! Fuck!”

You bite your lip, trying not to yell out more curse words as you rub your stubbed toe. You limp to your kitchen, fumbling for the light switch to avoid another incident. All you had wanted was a midnight sweet snack, was that so difficult? You’d thought you could navigate your apartment pretty easily in the dark, but the pain in your foot says otherwise.

The light flickers as you finally find the switch, reminding you that you’re going to need to change the bulb sometime soon. But that's a problem for another day; Right now, it’s cookie time.

You don’t bother pouring yourself a glass or getting a plate, devouring the treat in three bites and throwing back a quick swig of milk. It’s almost midnight, not like anyone’s watching-

Oh, wait.

You slowly close the fridge door, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake the little stray curled up, asleep. The little ball of black was snuggled into the pallet, tossing and turning. A flash of lightning cracks outside your apartment, washing your living room with light. The ball jerks in shock, the thunder afterwards only frightening it more, forcing it to curl up even tighter.  

You take small and light steps towards the tiny bed, not wanting to approach the scared beast too quickly. The room is lit up again by another lightning strike and the little stray forces it’s body backwards and away from the window. You crouch down real low, the small bits of light helping your eyes adjust to the layout.

“How are you doing, little guy?” You whisper, mostly to yourself, tapping your fingers against your carpet. Part of you wants to pet it, but think it might be better not to. No need to startle it. “Is the lightning scary? You can come to my room if you want, I’ll protect ya.”

Midst the black, you see two little eyes, little blips of light that open with another flash of lightning. But they aren’t yellow, nor are they slitted, nor are they anything remotely animal.

They're like the headlights of a car, blinding white with no definition at all. Not even pupils. You're startled, eye’s widening as the creature lifts it’s head. A long smile runs across their face, full of razor sharp teeth.

“Oh my, that sounds delightful.” They purr, and you find yourself losing your footing and falling back on your ass. Your fingers dig into the carpet as their body slowly begins to unfurl out of a ball and stretch into a massive form, as if their whole size had been hidden away somewhere else; Like it had been literally in the shadows.

You scramble backwards, breath picking up as the creature stretches it’s long limbs, colorless eyes still locked onto you as it stands up and up. It rolls back its shoulders as it sits on its haunches, its form still towering over you even when crouched. You notice the shades of huge antlers sticking out from the side of their head, only adding to their intimidating height.

The creature still has that terrifying smile, all canines and no molars, it’s unblinking eyes still staring deep into your soul.

You’ve heard people do weird things in times of high stress, of strong emotions, good and bad. Like the wires in your brains get crossed when trying to find the right response.

“Uh, do you want a cookie?”

You think you get that now.

The creature chuckles, a soft timbre that echoes unnaturally.

“No, dearie, I have already indulged in your confections. You see,” They creature leans forward, falling to its knees to crawl towards you. If it weren’t for the overwhelming fear constricting your heart, you’d almost think it was seductive, “You’ve done so much for me these past days, I think it’d be only fair if I helped you indulge in a far-” The creature’s face looms over yours, their arms caging your sides as they lick their lips, “-sweeter treat, yes?”

Your eyes search their face, trying to find signs of trickery or malice, maybe even some demonic sense of humor.

As if I’d even know what that looks like.

“Are you-” You catch a breath, now noticing the fine musculature of their shoulders, and the definition of their arms, “Are you propositioning me, like, for sex?”

The creature laughs again, their eyes crinkling up as they throw their head back. But when they look back down at you, you can almost feel the lust radiating off their gaze, details be damned.

“Yes, lovely, I am.”

You take your eyes off their face, a little too overwhelmed to stare directly into their blistering expression. Not to mention the blinding light which has begun to put red spots into your vision.

Instead, your eyes fall upon their thick thighs, the small tail waving behind them, and how unnervingly sexy you find the way their claws are digging up your rug.

You slowly move your head, catching the creature’s eyes.

“I-uh-I guess? Yeah, yeah I guess that sounds good. Um, what was your name?”

The creature smirks, a single claw tipped finger tilting up your chin, as they whisper,

“Nocter.”

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

Well, this is definitely the weirdest way I’ve gotten someone into bed.

Nocter’s antlers brush against your stucco-ceiling as it pushes you down on the bed, their shining white eyes staring deep into yours. Their lack of pupils is almost unsettling, but when they run their claws down your chest and pinch your nipples, you find it hard to care. You bite your lip, fighting back an embarrassing whimper as they trace one finger around the bud, pebbling the skin.

“Aww, has it been a while, sweetling?” You roll your eyes, but let out another squeak as they flick their thumb across your other nipple, the palm of their hand pressing against your ribcage.

“M-maybe.” You mutter, digging your finger into your bed sheets as their hands dance across your skin. One pulls up the bottom of your pajama shirt as it nudges one of their legs in between your thighs, pushing their knee up against your crotch.

“Don’t worry,” They push the fabric up to your neck, laying a kiss on the center of your stomach, then your chest, and then your jugular. When they plant one on your jaw, they lean in real close, “I’ll make sure to treat you right.”

Nocter’s long tongue splays against your jaw, licking a stripe up your cheek as one of their hands moves from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. They slip a couple fingers underneath, lightly petting the area right above your crotch. They’re such a tease, and you love it.

Nocter pecks the side of your face, over and over, while their hand moves further and further down your body at an agonizing pace. Their hot breath sends goosebumps down your neck, washing over your face as they exhale with every kiss. You catch them off guard when you turn your head toward them, catching their lips-mid peck and eagerly sticking your tongue outward. They purr with delight, their thin almost-lips quickly devouring you.

A long string of saliva connects the two of you as you detach, taking the time to shimmy out of your shirt. You pull them closer, your hands digging into their shoulder muscles and fingers just brushing over the long ridges on their back. They chuckle once again, pulling their fingers out your shorts and merely digging their palm into the fabric of your crotch.

“Eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” You mumble in between kisses, “This is for me, isn’t it?”

“Ohoho,” kiss, “Someone’s showing their feisty side a little early.” kiss, “What happened to my benevolent, saintly saviour?” kiss.

You pull away from their lips, quickly latching onto the crux of their neck and taking a nip. “S’not fair.” You say, taking a deep whiff of their skin as you suck and bite. They smell like brimstone and a bonfire, not quite what you 're expecting, but not unpleasant. “You can’t tease me like that and not-” Your cut off as the pad of one Nocters fingers presses up against your entrance, the fabric only amplifying the sensation as they begin to tease it.

“Deliver?” Nocter finishes, sinfully smug. You throw them a glare. “I’m a good guest, scout’s honor.”

You roll your eyes right before they lock you into another kiss, rubbing the pads of their fingers up and down your crotch. They use their hand to push you backwards, sinking deeper into the mattress as they situate their knees under your thighs. One they pull back from the kiss, your face and lips thoroughly debauched, your legs are splayed up on their pelvis and they easily slip off your bottoms. Nocter takes a whiff of your underwear, the crotch now slightly damp, giving you a wink before they throw it over their shoulder.

You jerk your hips slightly upward, and Nocter tuts.

“Patience, sweetling.” They roll a hand down your abdomen, fingers splaying onto your stomach, nails just teasing the skin. With a kiss to your inside calf, Nocters hand ghosts across your entrance. You can’t help biting your lip, the heat and their touch sending your mind into a frenzy.

They continue a path of kisses down your leg, now pressing their finger right up against your hole. They only pause to suck on their index and middle fingers, coating them with a heavy and blue-tinted saliva. Once they’ve reached the middle of your thigh, nipping at the apex, they sink into you.

Nocter’s fingers are long, articulated and move with sure movements. They start off slow, scissoring you open, simpering as you dig your nails into your bed sheets. The pads of their fingers push against your walls, just grazing sensitive spots as they make a slow ‘come hither’ motion. Your hips jerk forward, humping into their palm. They smirk against your skin, nipping another love bite as they retract their fingers until only the tip remains. You catch your breath, holding it until they sink back into you, shoving their fingers forward with far more force.

You whimper as their fingers pull back, only to follow with quicker thrusts. Nocter’s aim is pin-point in finding the most pleasurable spots inside you, the feeling only amplified by the pinpricks of their teeth into the fat of your thigh. The tip of their tongue licks hot trails of spit tantalizingly close to your hole, which clenches around their bony fingers. The slick sound of your juices, the skin of their palm slapping against yours, is downright pornographic.

Your legs try to clamp around their shoulders, the overwhelming stimuli triggering an instant reaction, but Nocter pins your right leg down to your bed easily, never losing focus on fingering you. The tips of their claws trace the inside of your leg, the hard edge of their wrist digging into fat.  Your fingers reach to grip around something, anything to keep you grounded as the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. They find their way around Nocter’s left wrist; You’re almost afraid you’ll leave bruises, before remembering how sturdy every part of their body seems to be.

You let out a whimper as the crests of an orgasm seem to overwhelm you, nearly gasping as Nocter quickly removes their fingers. In any other state of mind you might have made a comment, look down and wonder why they’ve stopped. But the heat in your belly compels you to grip their wrist tight and to throw your hips upwards. With a desperate breath, you plead,

“P-please! Please, don’t stop.”

Nocter doesn’t chuckle, doesn’t make a sly remark about your neediness or your lewd movements. They lean forward, giving another kiss right below your navel, and pet your wrist.

“Of course, dearie.”

With a wink, they lean down a lick a long stripe up your hole, giving one last kiss to your leg before plunging their tongue inside.

You didn’t think it was possible for them to reach even deeper inside you with their tongue than their fingers, but the sparks which fly in your core say otherwise. The ridges of Nocters tongue brush against your walls as they flick the appendage back and forth, the tip pressing forward with controlled motions. It doesn’t thrash back and forward haphazardly, but reaches for those sensitive spots and plays with them.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You yelp, feeling an icy-cold liquid run down your ass. From the sound of smacking lips and muffled moans, it must be Nocter’s saliva. They let out a groan, pushing their jaw forward as their eyes clenched shut. The hand on your leg pinches skin as it tightens up, the other pressing your hips down, but the pressure they apply is phantom at best. Nocter seems to revel in your pleading humps for more, meeting each movement with a thrust of their jaw, the base of their tongue stretching you open.

The two of you keep that rhythm for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. Sweat drips down your chest and off of your belly, your legs muscles on fire as you continue to push upward and into Nocter’s face. You start feeling that impending wave begin to crest again, with your limbs shaking and your throat hoarse.

“Nocter, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-I’m so close!”

This time, Nocter doesn’t let up on their pace, reaching one hand down to deliver a hard slap on your ass and forcing a yelp out of you. Your speech devolves into slurred curses and your hands move to touch them, to find some grasp in reality. Nocter continues to suck and tongue-fuck your hole as your thighs clench around their head. Your humps are tiny and weak, your lower half barely holding itself up.

The knot gets tighter, a firecracker fuse about to blow in your abdomen. In the heat of the moment, your hands find their way to Nocter’s scalp and grab onto the base of their antlers. Their moan rumbles through you, right before you yank their head forward, their tongue hitting the deepest part of you as you shutter and-

“I’m cumming!”

Another moan vibrates against your hole as your body shudders and jolts, your hips still pressed firmly against Nocter’s face. But in the next moment, a heavy weight falls over your body, slumping you down onto the bed. Your chest heaves, eye’s fuzzy as Nocter’s tongue ‘pop’s out of you.

Your gaze wanders over your stucco ceiling, droplets of sweat rolling down your neck as you try and catch your breath. You can feel Nocter’s large hands rolling a massage into your thighs, their own heavy breathing brushing over your crotch.

A fuzzy shape of pure black comes into your vision as Nocter hovers over you, their body hovering just an inch above yours. They give you a small peck on the cheek.

“Feel good?” They whisper.

All you can do is nod, your shaky hands wandering over their back. There’s no sign of sweat on their skin, but you can feel the heat running off of it as they nuzzle into your neck.

As your fingers dance over the ride of their back, you can hear the rumble of a low purr coming from their chest, but they stay hovering over your body. You press your hands into their back, applying weak pressure to encourage them to relax.

“It seems I’ve repaid my debt.” Nocter murmurs into your ear, pushing themselves up onto their hands, pulling even farther from you as their eye’s look around your room. You keep your hands wrapped around their waist, stopping them from fully getting up. They look back to you, white eyes slightly widening.

“Would you-” You take another deep breath, “Want to stay? For the night?”

Nocter stares at you, the black void of their face almost unreadable. But when they run a claw down the side of your face, it burns with affection and longing.

“Would you want that?”

Your room is nearly pitch black, only the lights of the street peeking in between your curtains. Nocter’s body seems to absorb all light near it, their hot body like a heating pad. But their eyes are so bright, so full, so mesmerizing; Like a full moon on the dark city sky.

“Yes, I would.”

Nocter’s nods, their expression barely changing, but you think you can see a hint of a smile amidst all the black. They let their body relax, pressing their chest against yours as they sink into the sheets and nuzzle back into your neck.

You can smell the sweat coating your body and feel the way you stick to the sheets. Frankly, the both of you kind of smell.

But it doesn’t stop you from snuggling into Nocter’s body, eye’s heavy as you peacefully fall into sleep.

[fivelakesinwriting]

Drew starkey x reader where the cast is hanging out and swimming at the lake and it’s night. the cast notice the romantic tension between drew and the reader, they all slowly leave so they can be alone. Finally drew kisses her (can u do smut pls)

Hi, sweetness! I actually love this, so cute. And as a water girl/ lake lover, this is dreams.

Author's Notes: I just want to be friends with these people, so badly and this is basically one of my dream parties. And Drew Starkey can take me night swimming anytime... This one is long, but I think it's fun, it's flirty and I think it's kind of sexy. Please let me know what you think xoxo

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Sexual references - sexual innuendos (I didn't do full smut, sorry. But it's still fun! I do have an idea for a potential second part...)

Requested? Heck yes! Requests for OBX are open!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

It was the perfect night for a swim. The sky was so clear it was almost as if they could reach up, grab the stars and count them in their palm.

Instead, they all decided it would be the perfect night to have a fire on the beach to accompany their swim. Everyone packed a bag, a cooler and drove down to the beach.

Drew drove her in his truck, just the two of them, down the to beach. His windows down to let the late night summer breeze hit their faces. He smiled over at her quickly when her heard he laugh, her hands pushing her long hair out of her face as the wind created a tunnel in the cab of the truck.

"Windows up next time?" Drew laughed softly as he adjusted his hat on his head then made the turn to the parking lot for the beach. The lot was empty except for the few cars that were waiting for the two of them to arrive.

"No. I like it." She smiled as she twisted her hair and held it to the side while he slowed his truck down, then parked it beside Chase's car.

"Good. I like the whole windblown look on you. It's cute." Drew smiled over at her as he pulled the keys from the ignition and undid his seat belt.

"Says the guy who doesn't have to brush his hair." She replied as she unfastened her own seat belt, then followed his lead and hopped out of the truck.

"You made it!" Madelyn squealed with a slight slur, her arms tossed around her friend's neck, their bodies hitting Drew's truck with a soft thud.

"We were like, five minutes behind you." Drew replied with a laugh as he reached into the back of his truck to pull out her backpack and his cooler. He kicked Chase in the shin as the wavy haired man walked up with raised eyebrows and a cheeky smirk.

"I didn't say anything, asshole." Chase grumbled as he reached down to rub his bruised flesh.

"You thought it." Drew replied under his breath as he lifted their items from the back of his truck and started to walk down from the parking lot towards the beach.

Drew walked next to Chase on the beach, the two watching as Madelyn drunkenly grabbed Her hand, and pulled her down to the shore. An eruption of giggles filled the quiet night air as the cold water of the lake touched the tips of their toes.

"So, you two?" Chase asked as both he and Drew placed their coolers down at the same time. Each man opened the lids of their respective coolers and pulled out either a can, or a bottle of beer.

"Getting there." Drew nodded with a sip of his beer, and another adjustment of his hat on his head. He kept his eyes trained on the shoreline as Madelyn grabbed Her hips and pulled Her down onto the sand.

"Guys! Sorry, we're late. JD forgot that cars need gas in order to function. So, we had to stop." Rudy called from the parking lot, before he came running towards them.

"S'alright." Drew laughed as he hitched at the waist, reached into his cooler and pulled out a beer to hand to the blonde man.

"Are they drunk already?" Rudy asked with a point the girls who wrestled on the beach as he pulled the tab on his beer.

"Madelyn is, yes." Chase laughed as he pushed his hand through his wavy hair.

"Ladies!" Madison yelled as she ran as fast as she could through the sand, stumbling only once, to get to the girls who still wrestled on the beach.

"She's drunk, too. Shotgunned a beer in the gas station parking lot." Rudy snickered while he watched all three women hug on the sand with a raucous of giggles.

"So, we lighting this thing? Or are we going to stand here like creeps all night?" JD asked as he finally made his way over to the rest of his friends and dropped down a pile of fire wood.

The boys took their eyes of the girls, letting them play in the sand for a bit longer, and took to building the fire in the stone pit on the beach. Drew tossed in the match and watched as the flames began to burn up the newspaper used for kindling. He jumped slightly when he felt arms wrapped around his chest from behind.

"Did you bring my bag down?" She asked softly in his ear, the sand from her body falling onto him.

"Yeah. It's right by the cooler. Going for a swim?" He smirked as he turned his body slightly to look at her. If it was possible, her hair was even messier than it had been when the windows were down in his truck.

"Yeah! The waves look like so much fun." She smiled as she ran her hands over his shoulders then made her way over to her backpack and began to rustle through it for her bathing suit.

"First of all, where are you going to change? Second. You're going to freeze your ass off in that water." Rudy replied as he crunched his beer can, tossed it into the garbage bag already full with a few empties courtesy of Madelyn and Chase, then grabbed a full can.

"Question one. I will change in Drew's truck. Question two. You don't know my threshold for cold, Pankow." She replied with a skip in her step as she carried her bikini in one hand towards Drew's truck to change.

Drew flicked a stone at Chase who mouthed a less than quiet "go" at his friend as the woman walked away.

"To help her put on a bathing suit? I'm sure she's fine." Drew replied as he finished off his own beer.

"She might need help tying those strings, Drew." Madelyn stated with a sing-song in her voice, her shoulders shaking from side to side.

"Fuck you, guys." Drew scoffed as he stood up, tossed his empty can then made his way towards the parking lot with his hands in his pockets to sounds of whoops and hollers from his friends.

He walked up to his truck and vaguely saw the shape of her body move around in the back seat of his truck. He bit at his bottom lip, then ran his thumb over it as he leaned against the driver side. It took all his conviction to not steal a peak through the open window.

"Good in there, hon?" He asked softly, his hands still in his pockets as he kept his eyes fixed on JD's license plate across the lot. He would not look at her bare back as she tried to tie up her bikini, one hand holding the triangles of her top to her breasts while the other reached behind her to tie the strings.

"No. I hate these fucking things. Can you help?" She grumbled from the backseat, as she reached to open the back door and shifted in the seat so her back faced him.

"Sure." Drew nodded as his bottom lip made home between his teeth again. He took the large step forward to stand behind her then took hold of the strings to her bikini and pulled them tightly around her chest.

"Thank you." She replied softly as his fingertips brushed over the back of her neck and tied the strings in a knot, his hands lingering over her shoulders for a brief second.

"You're welcome. This is a nice colour on you." Drew stated as he hooked his index finger in the top string of her deep purple bikini.

"Thanks, Drew." She smiled as she sat up on her knees in the backseat and faced him.

"Lady! Are you coming swimming or not?" Madelyn yelled from her spot on the sand, her bathing suit already on which led both Her and Drew to believe Madelyn changed on the beach.

"Yes, Madelyn! I'll be right there!" She laughed while she pushed her hair back from her face.

"Tell Drew to hurry up with your bikini! It's not that difficult!" Madelyn giggled as she took a swig from a wine bottle before she took off back towards the fire pit.

"Don't say anything back. She's more wine than woman at this point. Come swimming with me." She laughed as she reached for his biceps as he held his weight against the door frame of the truck. She pulled her body up close enough for a kiss but didn't give him the satisfaction of pressing her lips to his.

"Alright. I don't need help with my swimsuit, though." Drew grinned as he pushed himself off the truck and walked back towards the fire. He let out a heavy exhale when he knew he was far enough away from her earshot.

Drew, Chase and the girls made their way into the brisk water for a nighttime swim while Rudy and JD chose to stay and tend to the fire. Chase let out a loud yelp as a wave rolled in, cold water reaching up to his chest.

"You're a baby, Stokes!" She laughed as she began to tread water, then make the few front strokes over to Drew.

Drew took hold of her waist then pulled her close to keep her above the rolling waves. Their height difference apparent in the water.

"It's fucking freezing. What are you? A polar bear?" Chase replied, teeth chattered as he wrapped his arms around himself.

"You have to go under! Otherwise you're just two different temperatures." Madison giggled before she dove under the water, her feet splashing water high above everyone's heads.

"No. Fuck that. I'm not drunk enough for this." Chase shivered as he began to make his way out of the water. He raised his eyebrows at Drew as he looked at the woman in his friend's arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

"I'm coming, too. I need more wine." Madelyn smirked as she swam over to Chase, her own eyebrows raised up at Drew.

"I'm going back up, too. Rudy is ruining that fire." Madison stated quietly as she pushed her long hair back from her face, and made her way towards the shore.

"They're all wimps." She smiled up at Drew, her arms around his neck as they both waded in the water as a large wave rolled over them.

"I don't know, hon. It is kind of cold in here." Drew laughed with his hands on her lower back to keep her close. It was the closest they had ever been, with the least amount of clothes on.

"I think it's nice. And you're warm, so I feel good." She stated softly as she placed her right hand on the back of his neck, her fingertips twirling the hair.

"Don't get me wrong. I'll deal with this cold water if I can have you wrapped around me like this. I really don't mind it." Drew grinned as he wrapped his left arm around her waist securely while his right hand grabbed at her thigh.

The two of them simply waded in the water for a bit, wrapped around each other and in the sexual tension they had created. She kept her hands on the back of Drew's neck, occasionally twisting a bit of hair at the nape.

"Drew?" She asked quietly after a few moments of sweet silence between them.

"Yeah."

"Did you see anything when I was changing in your truck?" She smiled at him as she placed her hands on his shoulders, her eyebrows raised.

"I mean..I may have seen just the side of these." Drew replied as he tilted his head to the side, the hand he had on her thigh reached up to brush the underside of her breast.

"Drew!" She laughed as she tossed her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a hug, her legs tightening around his waist.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. You're so pretty." Drew smiled while he nuzzled his face into her neck and tightened his grip around her.

"I forgive you." She whispered as he pulled his face from her neck and looked into her eyes, his nose brushed against hers.

Drew muttered a barely audible, "thank you" as his adjusted his hold on her, both his hands on her thighs to keep her around him. He felt her hands in his hair, giving the slightest of pulls and the other shoe finally dropped.

Drew pressed his lips to hers, closing the tiny space between them. He released a sigh of relief through his nostrils while she whined ever so softly in the back of her throat. The kiss between them had been building for weeks.

They finally broke apart, but only for air. Drew gripped at her thighs while he peppered her lips with kisses. Her hands pulled at his hair as she tried to catch her breath again.

"Drew?" She asked between pecks on her lips.

"Yeah, honey?" Drew muttered as he kissed his way from her lips to her neck.

"Do you think I could steal a peak at you in the back of your truck? It seems only fair." She asked as she released a heavy breath, her hands on his shoulders as his lips created a seal on her neck.

"You can have way more than a peak if you want, honey." Drew grunted as he lifted her higher around his waist, he pulled his lips off her neck so he could look at her face.

"Okay. Will you take me back to the truck to get warm?" She asked softly, her eyes downcast to watch as her fingertips caught the beads of water on his chest.

"Thought you'd never ask." Drew grinned as he adjusted her legs around his waist, then began to walk them back towards the shoreline. He placed her back on her feet softly on the sand and gave her backside a nudge towards the parking lot before he ran his hands through his hair.

"Are you guys finally coming back to the fire?" JD asked with a raised eyebrow as he poked the flames.

"In a second, yeah. She's cold, so we're just going to sit in the truck and warm up. Change out of these swimsuits." Drew replied as he shook the water off his fingertips.

"Whatever you say, Drew." Madison grinned as she rolled onto her stomach in front of the fire and cracked open another can of beer.

Drew muttered under his breath as he grabbed Her backpack then made his way through the sand towards his truck - the back door open. He walked to the front end of the truck, dropped the bag then made his way around the open door where his heart began to race.

"You're naked." Drew stated flatly as he looked at the woman sat up in the backseat of his truck without her purple bathing suit, the heat of the truck blasting.

"Can't sit around in a wet bathing suit, and you have my bag." She smiled over at him.

"Yeah, but you're naked in the back of my truck." Drew smirked as he held his weight against the frame of the door, his eyes scanning her body shamelessly.

"Do you want to come be naked in the back of your truck with me, Starkey?" She laughed as she turned to sit up on her knees, facing him.

"Uh huh. Sure do." Drew nodded as he reached down to untie his swimsuit then tugged it down to his ankles. He climbed inside the back with her and shut the door behind him, leaving his swim trunks in the parking lot.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment Thank you for your support! xoxo

Requests for OBX are open!

[sunlightxing]

Show Me Some Respect

After working for years as a secretary to General Hux aboard the ship, the Finalizer, life could not have been better for you.

That was until Hux informed you that Commander Kylo Ren would be joining you on that ship. Almost immediately, you both resent eachother, but after being forced to spend more alone time with him, you begin to wonder, what's so bad about him after all?

Chapter 2: Learn Your Place

The first day spent aboard the Finalizer alongside Commander Ren goes anything but smoothly, and a new set of horrifying emotions develop, twisting your feelings towards him.

The wait to board the Finalizer gave you plenty of time to anxiously dread the next few months of your work on that ship. Things ran so much more smoothly when it was just your secretarial tasks for Hux, but now, something told you Commander Ren would see to it that your job would be much more difficult.

After spectating a brief meeting with Hux and two male pilots prior to leaving the base, fear wasn't a strong enough word to describe how you were feeling. Commander Ren would be on the Finalizer for an incredible, unknown, length of time, and you did not want that. Though there'd only been two encounters between the pair of you, neither of them could be categorized as good. The first, he brutalized your boss, then ripped apart every bit of confidence you had for yourself. Then the second, arguably the worst, he saw you in your weakest moment, and with judging eyes, scanned every inch of your bare flesh.

Hux informed you of how the time with Commander Ren could be very long, or very short. You hoped for the latter. Despite the fact you had been working under Hux for three years, not once did you ever have that brute step aboard your ship. From what you had been told, the reason seemed to be that during your first three years, the Commander was off "taking a break," whatever that meant.

"One more pilot will be added to your crew, per request of the Commander." Hux instructed the men. You had zoned out, staring across the vast landing bay, a sudden nauseated feeling flooding over your body. You knew Commander Ren wanted to pile as many men into that control room as he could, whatever it took to earn your silence.

"He's younger, but an experienced TIE flyer, he knows his stuff," you heard Hux continue, despite your state of distraction. "I trust you all will be able to work with him." You tried your best to ignore all of the callousness of Commander Ren, and pay attention to your tasks. If you stayed fixated on it any longer, you'd be sure to lose your mind, or at the very least your confidence.

The Commander, after far too long, finally made his way onto the landing bay. The younger pilot followed along behind him, looking just about sick of all this shit.

"Oh?" You thought to yourself as this tall, dark haired, scrawny boy walked down the ramp towards you. His somewhat curly locks framed his chiseled, long face so practically, and freckles decorated his nose like a galaxy. The longer you stared, the more you were captivated by his physique, blown away by every inch of him. He shook Huxs' hand, the veins poking out of his skin, pulsing and flexing as he gripped your Generals' hand. A lump formed in the back of your throat, and saliva swelled up in your mouth, almost seeping through your lips.

His hand reached out to shake yours, and you met his gaze once more, sucked in to his body and soul, wanting more, craving it. Your trembling arm pulled itself from your side, and placed itself delicately in his soft, warm grip. He clasped his hand around yours, frowning at the fact your shake wasn't near firm at all, but you felt the sweat forming upon your palms, worried he'd feel it as well. You went to strengthen up your grip, when a strong pain surged through the sides of your temples, ripping your mind apart.

You took his hand, clenching it much harder than you meant to due to the splitting pain in your head. He winced in pain at your death grip, releasing his hold, and pulling away in an effort for you to release your own. The pain finally exited your mind, leaving you confused, but then completely flustered at how you had just embarrassed yourself. You retired his hand back to his side, looking at him with sincere remorse in your eyes.

"My apologies," you stammered, placing your gaze at your feet, not wanting to stare at that boy, or Hux, who was probably horrendously confused. He nodded rather sarcastically, and then went on to very weakly shake the hands of the other pilots.

"Uhm, right then," Hux stated, gesturing over to the ship. “We’ll be making our departure."

You sighed, trailing behind the rest of the crowd, horrendously embarrassed with that performance. Wonderful first impression.

On your way up the ramp, in your daze of uneasiness, one of the pilots bent over to pick up the broach he had dropped from his vest. However, in your effort to not start convulsing, you had no idea the man had stopped, and were seconds from smacking into him, until you were pulled away from the encounter.

A hand reached out, griping your bicep with sheer force. The possessor ripped you back away from the pilot, and you felt something, or rather, someone, press against your back. Whatever it was, it sent a burning sensation throughout your entire body. You looked down to see the hand wrapped around your bicep was encased in a black leather glove. Slowly turning your head, heart pounding against your chest thunderously, you looked up to see the Commander staring down at you.

"It would do you some good to pay attention,” he remarked, tightening his grip.

You attempted to rip your arm away from him, but his strength was far greater than your own. "It would do you some good to not be such a prick!" You cried, continuing to try and make him release you.

"I told Hux to teach you some manners, but obviously he failed at that,” his voice hissing.

You glared at him, hoping he could see your angered expression through that stupid mask. “For the record, Commander, the only person I behave this was towards is you. So, maybe I'm not the problem," you said as you poked your finger into his chest.

"Maybe, it's you."

A strong hold closed in around your throat, cutting off your airway. Commander Rens' hand had moved from his waist to right in front of your neck.

"You will learn your place, or I will have you terminated!" He growled, his voice becoming more tense with every word. The energy that pulsed and surged around you was cutting off your airway, making it nearly impossible for you to breathe. Coughs and huffs of agony escaped your throat as you tried to take in even the slightest amount of air. Commander Ren had lifted you off of the ground slightly, allowing your feet to dangle and kick in an effort to make him release you. He chuckled. The bastard was gaining amusement from watching you suffer in his grasp. But there was little to nothing you could do to make him release you, other than hope Hux would return back to the ramp, see this display, and put and end to it.

Commander Ren suddenly released his grip on your throat all at once, dropping you onto the metal ramp carelessly. You clenched your neck, coughing and hacking as oxygen returned to your lungs, and blood flowed to back into your brain.

"There's your first lesson," the Commander stated as he lifted your hacking body up to his eye level by the scruff of your shirt. "Your prince won't come to save you," he huffed, "he turns into a jester around me."

You looked up at him with the upmost confusion, was he talking about Hux? The Commander tossed you back down on the ramp like you were nothing but garbage, then took off into the entrance of the ship. The second his silhouette was put of sight, you let out a sigh of relief as you pulled yourself off of the ramp, dusting off your uniform as best you could. You expected the next encounter between the pair of you to be awkward, not abusive.

Just a few hours before, he was gazing upon your practically naked body in the washroom not far from the bay, and now he was repulsed by every action you took. To be fair, you didn't take kindly to his orders, and fired back at him every chance you could, but he would come to learn that you weren't going to take a single ounce of his pettiness.

Upon entering the ship, you saw Commander Ren slowly marching down the halls, headed in the direction of the control room. A fiery rage pulsed throughout your body as thoughts of beating him in to a bloody pulp danced in your head. You charged at him, purposefully shoving him rather aggressively on your way down the hall.

That was a big mistake.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as a soft presence grazed your side. Then, with the flick of his wrist, Commander Ren slammed you into the wall, practically crushing every bone in your body. At least, that's what it felt like.

This time, he decided to hold your body up by your shoulders, and not your neck. How considerate. You laid up on that wall, practically motionless as he scanned every inch of you, almost as grotesquely as he had when you were undressed. His heavy boots clanged against the metal floor, echoing throughout the hull of the ship. Your body was shaking from fear, he had just beaten you seconds before this, wasn't one time enough?

He stopped inches from your body, lifting you higher up on the wall so you were now at eye level with him. His gloved hand began to stroke the side of your face ever so softly. It felt weirdly comforting, until he raised his hand and struck you hard across the cheek.

"Needing another lesson already?" He questioned. Tears had already begun swelling up in your eyes, and partially began streaming down your stinging face. Fuck, did that hurt.

Commander Ren placed his hand back down at his side. At this point, your assumption was right that he wasn't holding you up with his arms, he was using that stupid little quirk he came with. That force shit.

"I have a job to do, Commander, don't waste my time," you whimpered, the stinging on your cheek now turning into a violent, throbbing sensation.

He chuckled, presumably staring at where his hand has just struck you. The leather from his glove had added an extra burn to your cheek, making the strike more painful than a bare handed slap would. He seemed to take such a high amount of pleasure from abusing and taunting you.

"Right. Your job to needlessly follow Hux around like some puppet, seems very important," he sneered, leaning down closer to you. The cold glow from his mask radiating onto your face, and stung the part of your cheek where he had just struck you.

"I don't like you,” he said sternly.

“The feeling is mutual, Commander," you responded, clearly agitated. He really couldn't stand when you fired back at his digs, because the second you finished that sentence, Commander Ren tightened his grip on you, causing a mass amount of pain to shoot throughout your body.

"Let me go you-you mother fucker!" You cried out, though you hated him for making you seem to weak, you needed him to stop before he hurt you.

"Beg for it,” he demanded.

"Excuse me?" You scoffed, worried you might burst out laughing at his ridiculous request.

He clenched your body with so much force it felt like he was going to rip you apart. You winced at the feeling of an invisible entity nearly tearing you to shreds.

"You want me to let you go?" He asked, squeezing even harder. “Then beg for it."

You didn’t want to beg, show him any power over you. But the surging pain that encapsulated your entire throat was becoming to hard to ignore any longer. “Please," you begged, tears slowly trickling down your face, "please- just let me go."

The pressure began to loosen around your body, the pain retreating along with it.

“Good girl. See how easy things are when you do as I say?" He remarked, reaching his hand up to stroke the part of your face he had previously struck. He trailed his hand down your body, tracing it around your neck, and then stopped directly above your breasts. A strong, pulsating throb ignited from in betwixt your legs, and as a response, you squirmed to try and cross them.

"Look at you," he purred, "squirming at my touch. Judging by your little reactions, you don't want me to let you go."

He was right, you didn't want him to stop. You want him to run his hands all over your body, and just the thought of that made you writhe in filthy desire. But despite your want, and your crave for him to do such unspeakable acts to you right there in that hallway, your conscience was clear, and this? This was wrong, so very wrong.

Using all the strength and mobility you had, you shoved Commander Ren off of you, sending him tumbling backwards. He caught himself before hitting the floor, but as a result of his loss of focus, he thus lost his grip on you. Your body slammed into the ground, yet again. Hopefully you'd get used to it after a while, but then again, this wasn't something you really wanted to get used to.

Your trembling body was now looking up at him, his presence being all the more terrifying.

"Pest," he hissed, brushing off his uniform as he stared enticingly at you. "Look at what your twisted mind has made me do."

Your face turned bright red, a wave of embarrassment flooding over your body. With extreme urgency, you shot up from the ground, glaring at him as he continued to unwrinkle his attire. "You're the one who started this!" You yelled, disgusted that he would suggest the blame was on you instead of himself. He looked up from his occupancy, crouching down to be at your eye level, since he happened to be a vast number of inches taller than you.

"Go ahead and think that," he mumbled, shoving past you in a fit of rage as he stormed off down the long hallways.

You stood there motionless, and in complete disbelief. Not only was he trying to make your job increasingly difficult, he was trying to make you life difficult. How did he managed to so effortless cloud your mind with such unholy thoughts? You had just met the man that day, and he already had you lusting and fawning after him. To think you had allowed yourself to create fantasies of him in that moment, when you hadn't even seen his face. It simply made no sense, this just wasn't like you.

After catching your breath, you strolled off towards the control room yourself, hoping Hux wouldn't question what took you so long. There was a slight panic in the back of your mind that Commander Ren would be in there, and you weren't sure if you could face him after what just went down in the halls. You felt disgusted, violated even. He didn't have the right to do any sort of thing like that to you. But, at the end of the day, you liked it. Really, really liked it.

Hux turned to face you as you stormed into the control room. He could obviously tell by your facial expression that you were not in the beat shape, and the prominent hand-shaped mark on your face was also pretty helpful in determining that. Slowly, Hux shuffled over to you, placing his hand at your chin to angle it up in order to get a better look at your neck.

"He force choked you, didn't he?" Hux questioned, a slight trembling in his voice. You nodded, judging by Huxs' reaction, he obviously had been the receiver of that punishment as well. Hux let out a heavy sigh as he releases your chin.

"He's doing it to show you your place. To show you that he's the Commander, and you must abide by his rule," Hux stated nervously.

"He's not the Supreme Leader!" You cried, trying to get him to understand how completely aberrant that he would take commands from such a tyrant.

Hux turned away from you, "I know he isn't, but he has more power than I ever could."

Burning hot tears began to swell up in your eyes, no one but you could see that the Commander wasn't what he was hyped up to be, not even Hux. You sniffled, wiping the tears away from your eyes as you walked to your seat.

"Begin take off procedures," Hux ordered. The pilots plugged in their codes, and just like that, the Finalizer was finally off Starkiller Base.

You stood quietly next to Hux, turning your head ever so often to glance at him. He was gazing out at the infinite galaxy, but his body was shaking. You turned your gaze away from him, choosing to gaze at the same thing he did.

Hux was the one person you thought would always have your back, but he was too afraid. That man had seen your potential and looked past what others couldn't. He gave you a shot, but now, it looked like that was all he could give you.

"We'll be stationed here, whilst Commander Ren heads down to the planet on his shuttle," Hux broadcasted to the pilots. You kept your gaze on the now visible planet, though you could sense Hux was staring at nothing but you.

He cleared his throat, ready to call out the next batch of instructions. If he was getting choked up, then he obviously was regretful of his inability to stick up for you.

"Simon will be aboard the craft," Hux continued, "as he has more experience with th-"

Hux stopped mid sentence. He never does that, especially when giving orders, unless..

You turned around to see Commander Ren standing in the doorway to the control room, and your heart sank. Hux froze, not even attempting to address him. The Commander noticed Huxs' fear, and as a respond he began slowly walked towards him, his steps shaking the entirety of the ship.

"The girl will be aboard my craft, not that boy," Commander Ren stated.

Your throat went dry, and a small squeak escaped your throat. Was he really telling Hux, the man you were a secretary to, that you would be accompanying him down to the village? Why in space would he make such a bold statement? There was no logical reason for you to go down there, except for-

Maybe the Commander wanted to finish what you two had started in that hallway.

"Ren, there is no reason for her to leave my side!" General Hux barked. Suddenly, he had found his voice, and actually managed to stick up and defend you without stuttering or slurring his speech. However, with a violent glare given by the Commander, Hux was back to his weak, whimpering self.

“She'll be on my shuttle," Commander Ren repeated. “That’s not a request."

Hux pulled himself together, now placing himself inches from the Commanders face. “She is my secretary, not yours!" He asserted.

Commander Ren took a step towards him. Although the pair of them were relatively the same height, the Commander seemed to tower over Hux, maybe that was just due to the size of his power, not just his body. "Mine has been... let go," Commander Ren stated, glancing back over at you. "Would you prefer that I wait to get a new one?"

Hux looked off to the side in fear. He knew that by not allowing you to go on that ship, this mission would be ruined, and the Supreme Leader would have his head.

"She'll go with you," Hux said dejectedly, stepping away from the Commander, and back to his post at the center of the room. You looked at him, practically pleading with him to find someone, literally anyone else to go. If he knew why Commander Ren wanted you to go with him on that ship. He'd say no. Yes he would absolutely say no.

But then, what would happen to you? You'd lose your job, status, everything over something you didn't technically start, and then, there was the Commander. You weren't sure what would become of him, but as much as you hated to regret it, the First Order needed him. So you would bite your tongue this time, and go with him on that ship, as much as it pained you.

"I'll do it," You stated, shyly staring down at your feet.

Commander Ren nodded in approval, shooting Hux a menacing glare as he signaled for you to walk beside him. This shift of power left you feeling scared and confused. For the first time in years, you weren't under Huxs' direct orders. No, now, you worked for Commander Ren, and things didn't look good.

Silence reigned as you both walked next to one another, down the hallway towards the landing bay on the Finalizer. You had hoped that the Commander would try to make any form of small talk, but it looked like he didn't feel like it. You were a nervous and sweaty mess, nearly crumbling with every step you took.

"Scared to leave him?" Commander Ren asked, finally breaking the silence. You paused for a moment, not quite understanding what his question meant, nor why he was speaking to you. He sensed your lack of understanding, and went to rephrase his statement.

"You've worked for him for many years, correct?"

"Yes, sir. Three years now."

"Impressive. The longest I've kept a secretary is three weeks. He must be fond of you."

You rolled your eyes in disgust. Unlike the Commanders motivation for wanting to be around you, Hux had only pure and platonic reasons. He wasn't an angry, impatient person like Commander Ren was. Hux was kind, sweet, gentle. Despite all that, he was powerful, and didn't back down from a fight, though he wasn't showing that side of himself recently.

Two stormtroopers approached you and the Commander when you arrived at the entrance to the bay. You felt incredibly awkward being the only one there without a mask, and without a weapon.

A loud hissing came from in front of you, followed by several loud bangs. Two metal doors pried open to reveal the bay, which was covered in a plethora of TIE Fighters. Some were smaller, stacked on top of each other at fueling stations, while others sat at the center for everyone to see.

"I hope you know which one the Command Shuttle is," Commander Ren stated, a slight tinge of agitation was present in his voice.

You nodded. "Yes, the one at the center," you respond, waving your hand in the air to gesture towards the shuttle.

He purred with content, "it would've been embarrassing for you to have worked here for three years, to then not be able to identify my ship."

Your face recoiled in disgust and confusion. "Okay, thanks for your input," you groaned as you walked off to the shuttle, leaving the Commander speechless alongside his two troopers. You walked into the cockpit, noticing there was no pilot waiting inside. Commander Ren trailed in behind you, watching you stand there in confusion, desperately searching for a pilot.

"I'm flying the shuttle," he remarked, taking a seat in the head chair. He patted the one next to it. Directly next to it.

"So, it's just us in here?" You questioned, a feeling of dread spilling over you. He nodded in agreement, and a groan of displeasure escaped your mouth. You flopped into the chair, sitting as far away from the Commander as you possible could, though that was rather impossible since you seats were stationed so close to one another.

The Commander flicked a few switches, engaging the ships thrusters, and finally taking off from the bay. Instantly upon exiting, he engaged autopilot, and plugged in the destination. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg over the other and slouching in the most unprofessional way.

"Such a man of edicut,” you thought to yourself as you watched him begin clenching, and then unclenching his fists.

"Does Hux ever snap at you for that attitude?" He asked. You turned to him, trying to speak but words seemed to escape you after such a statement. Was he trying to make you hate him? Or was he just this terrible with making conversation?

"No, he never has," you scoffed. "The only person who's felt the need to do that is you."

The Commander reached his arm down to the side of his seat, flicking a few knobs in order to shift his chair to face your own. With his ankle crossed over his knee, and a hand up resting against his face, he gazed at you with unfiltered eyes. The feeling of his cold, dark stare at your body flushed your cheeks with embarrassment. “Commander-" you began to speak, but with the flick of his wrist, your seat was now spun around to face him.

"If you're going to fill in as my secretary," he scolded. "Then you must learn that you're expendable. I don't need you."

Your face recoiled in confused disgust. "Commander, if I may remind you, you're the one who insisted on bringing me."

He scoffed, gripping his hand with such force, you were afraid he might shatter it. "I gave you this position. You should be grateful for it," he ordered, tightening the grip.

You glared at him through the vision opening on his helmet. "Why would you give me this position if you despise me so much?"

He paused, mortified you would even dare to rebuttals against any word he spoke. "I didn't choose for this to happen."

"You go ahead and think that."

Commander Ren lifted you out of your seat, holding you up into the air by your neck. Apparently, he didn't like it when you repeated the phrases he once said to you back at him. "Let me be clear," he stated, "I could kill you, right now, and it would make my life so much easier."

You reached your leg out, slamming it hard and dee into his chest. He fell back against the control panel, losing his grasp around your neck, and your entire body. You dropped to the floor yet again, but this time you smacked down against the metal floor, face first. Your lip had been split open, and there was no way in space that your nose wasn't broken. You put your finger to your mouth, watching as the blood trickled down your fingers and down to your forearm.

"Do it, Commander," you begged sarcastically. "I'd like to see you try and kill me."

He shuddered, taking a step back away from you. You picked yourself off of the ground, spitting blood into the nearby waste bucket. "Do you have any towels?" You asked sternly. The Commander stood still, completely frozen in the same place he was after he dropped you onto the floor, causing this whole bloody mess.

"Commander!" You yelled, trying your best to get his attention. He slowly picked his gaze up from the blood spattered floor to your face, his body slouched and cowering.

"There.” He pointed to a shelf on the wall. You sighed, marching yourself over to the cupboard, ripping a towel off of the shelf. You wiped the blood off of your face. A presence made itself apparent from behind you.

"What do you want, sir?"

"Is it broken?"

You spun your around to face him, a blood soaked towel in hand that was pressed against your face, and water-filled eyes. "Yes, it's broken!" You responded angrily, pulling away from him.

"I told you to watch your mouth, I wouldn't have dropped you if you weren't so, difficult," he stated, his voice sounding more sympathetic than usual.

"I'm not the one who chokes people out for having an opinion," you scoffed.

The ships alarm went off, and the Commander stared at your for just a moment longer before pulling away from your gaze. He returned back to the controls. It seemed like now it was time to disengage autopilot, as the ship was now approaching the village.

"The stormtroopers will land first and handle things on the ground. We'll stay behind until that is done," he stated.

"Yes, Commander," you groaned, flopping back into your chair as you held the blood soaked towel to your face.

Though the pain of this injury was practically unbearable for you, the way he stared at you after it all happened. Just the way he paused for a moment longer to gaze at you before returning to the shuttles controls.

It made you wonder if under all that leather and metal, there was an actual, decent human being. But, going off of everything he had done thus far, you didn't believe that was true. Not yet, at least.

[heartbreakgrill]

Anyone Else; Calum Hood

You leaned down over Calum’s shoulder, blocking out the bright sunset behind the two of you. He inhaled, reveling in the coconut scent of your shampoo, fused with sunscreen and chlorine-d pool water. He shook his head lightly, reminding himself to open his eyes and focus on the phone in his hand. You lifted your free hand, that wasn’t cradling a White Claw, and pointed at a profile.

“She’s super cute! I feel like she’s your type,” you commented at the picture of a taller girl, sporting fishnets and a Led Zeppelin.

“You think I’m only into girls who like rock?” Calum chuckled a little.

You shrugged, moving away to tug over a free camping chair. You leaned back in, giving Calum the view of your neck as your hair fell away from it. He licked his lips as you spoke again, “I mean, I think you look good next to someone like that based on how you dress and shit. If you’re not into that, dont let me pressure you.”

You giggled and twisted around to look at him. His eyes focused in on yours, “Uh, yeah. Or, no, youre good. Youre not pressuring me. Just helping, right?”

“Right,” you scrunched your eyes in a beat, to show you were somewhat confused by his confusion. “Anyways, swipe right or left and lets move along.”

“Okay.” Cal did as you said, allowing the screen to switch to another girl.

“Oh, no, no, she looks too much like Crystal,” you giggled lightly. “Love Crystal, but that’d be creepy.”

“So I can’t like anyone who looks like anybody in our friend group?” Calum remarked, his heart hoping you wouldn’t break it by what you would reply with.

You wriggled in your seat, “I dont know. I feel like its weird. If they look like Luke, Ill allow it.”

His lips fumbled before his brain could reach out and grasp the words and shuffle them back into a drawer, “What if they look like you?”

“Yeah, right,” you looked back at him, “I’m unique. One of a kind, baby.”

Calum flushed as you spoke. He fumbled again, about to spill again, when Sierra called your name from the pool. “Show me that boy from last weekend?”

You quickly got up, excusing yourself from Calum, and pranced across the concrete patio to the fire pit, where Luke and Sierra were cuddled up, talking to another one of your friends. Calum tried not to break his neck and watch you animatedly talk about your Tinder date last Saturday. Yet he knew it was noticeable he was trying to pry.

He felt a hand slap down on his shoulder and Calum jumped in his seat. Michael took your seat, Crystal trailing along behind and slinking into his lap. “You got it bad, mate.”

Crystal grinned at him, “You really do.”

Calum shook his head, “Dont know what youre talking about.”

“Oh, my God,” Michael pressed his fingers to his forehead, eyes cartwheeling in their sockets. “Seriously, I never understand situations like this. I dont think it’d ruin your friendship if you asked to kiss her and she rejected you.”

“It wouldn’t,” Calum remarked, speaking the honest truth. He shifted in his seat, glancing at you before meeting Michael’s eyes. “But it would ruin me. And I dont really want a broken heart right now.”

Crystal’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “Cal, is it worse than we thought?”

“Worse?” Michael furrowed his brows, looking between the two before realization hit him like chance. “Oh, shit. Dude?”

Calum stood suddenly, tossing his empty beer can in the garbage. “I’m going home. See ya later.”

He didn’t give them the chance to say anything else as he gathered his damp towel, shoes, and bag from around him. He passed through the kitchen, waving lazily to Ashton and Kay, who were preparing the food for s’mores.

“Not staying?” Ashton called after him.

He heard Kay mutter something else to him and Ashton shocked a small, “Oh.”

You finished telling the story of Matt, who you had gone on a date with last week as Calum was pulling out of the driveway. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m going see him again.”

“Why?” Luke asked, puzzled by the fact that you sounded like you were really interested in him for the past five minutes, but didn’t wanna go on another date.

“I dont know,” you crossed your arms. “He’s just not my type. He’s kinda, like, stern. He’s funny, but funny in an unconventional way. He doesnt seem like he’d, I dont know, be playful in a relationship. Does that make sense? i want a guy who can be playful, but who’s mature.”

Sierra grinned to herself, nudging Luke with her elbow. “Yeah, that makes sense. Hey, ya know, Y/N?”

“Hm?” You looked to her.

Luke took over, “We know someone who’s like that.”

“Oh!” You smiled wider, “Who?”

You felt Michael slink an arm over your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “Calum.”

You moved from under him, his weight overbearing to you. “Yeah, okay.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Crystal sat on the couch across from Sierra.

“Nothings wrong. Hes just super out of my league. Plus, I’m not his type. I’m all, strawberries and picnics and, like, Hozier. He listens to Nickelback and he’d rather go to a club than kayak. I dont know, I feel like he wouldn’t like me because of my interests.”

“Cal’s a softer, you know that, right?” Luke replied. “Hes a big rockstar, yeah, but he loves hiking and nature, too.“

“He loves y- ow!” Michael groaned out, Crystal interrupting him with a shove to the ribs.

You gave him a strange look before looking back to Luke, “I know, but still. He’s still out of my league.”

-

The weeks passed, more pool parties and barbecues filling your lengthened free summer days that you weren’t working or going on sporadic Tinder dates. You’d been on five total, with four different guys. Each party brought more stories, more tall tales of Derek, the free lance artist who wore a scarf and ordered you red wine, Gideon, the police officer who hadn’t put his career in his bio, and got slightly upset when you talked about your advocacy for human rights. Spencer was just weird, with piles of facts, criticizing your jokes for being politically incorrect or scientifically impossible. However, Aaron was nearly perfect. He was super sweet, dressed like a normal person, and laughed at your jokes, agreed passionately with your advocacy.

Each time you retold a story, Calum would slide down in his seat, frown at the world around him, excuse himself from the party too soon. You were catching on slightly, smelling the jealousy seeping from his pores, though it was masked by chlorine. You figured he was just jealous because he couldn’t manage to match with a good enough woman on Tinder. So, tonight- though you had to leave early for a date with Aaron- you would most definitely find him a match.

Calum had arrived early to Luke’s house to get the meat started on the grill. He was flipping a few burgers, sipping at his first beer with absentminded concentration. His mind wandered as Luke rambled off his ear about something he saw on Twitter. Luke laughed at a joke he made, while Calum’s eyes lost focus and went blurry. His thoughts swirled with you- your shampoo, and its coconut scent that reminded him of his first crush in middle school. Your eyes were seen in so many, so similar, yet freckled with so much heartbreak and kindness that emitted from your soft spoken lips and light hands that had contact with the stars.

He didn’t care if he would look better next to a girl with jet black hair and a perfect body. He didn’t care if they played bass, too, or if they were famous and loved The Rolling Stones. He didn’t care if she was hard headed and loud. He liked that you were soft and quiet- he was, too. He loved that you dressed so different; your floral patterns went well with his dark jeans t-shirt combos. He didnt care about things looked, just how they felt. And things with you...Hell, you felt good.

Calum jumped as Luke shouted, “Youre burning the burger- Cal!”

Calum dropped his beer can, spilling the liquid all over his bare feet as he grasped for the spatula. He tossed a burnt burger into the trash with a huff, scooping the others onto a tray. “Sorry.”

Luke shook his head, sitting down beside Calum, who was dipping his feet into the water to clean them off. “What’s your problem, mate? You’ve gotten so quiet lately. Especially when Y/N’s around.”

“Part of me is hoping I’ll be able to fight the urge to kiss her if I just stop talking to her. But, then she comes around and i cant stop talking to her. We get on so well,” Calum murmured, though Luke could hear.

“Yeah?” Luke urged him, feeling proud he could get Cal to say so much. He was a quiet person, a loud jokester in social situations, but so soft and enclosed about himself.

Calum shook his head, huffed, “I cant settle for somebody else. I know that sounds selfish and stupid, but she’s all I want. She’s all I’ve wanted since i met her. She’s so perfect and good and...she makes me feel good. I dont know. Its not impossible for her to like me back, but she’s so obsessed with the idea of someone being her type. Its like she’s afraid to just take a chance and love someone who she doesnt have figured out. She wants it all to be certain and specific and exactly the way she expects it to be.”

Luke sighed, creating small ripples with his feet in the pool, “Cal, Y/N is like a literal angel. She’s gentle and quiet and contained and confirmed. She’s perfect, like you said. But, Sierra knows her so well. She keeps herself like that because she’s been heartbroken before. So many times before. She’s scared, yes. But I think shed be willing to give you a chance if you just tell her...tell her exactly what it is.”

“What do you mean?” Calum already knew everything about Y/N. But, he didnt want Luke to think he was obsessive even though she knew everything about Cal, too.

Luke shrugged, both of their head’s turning to the patio door as it opened. “I dont know. But, you do. Just tell her.”

“How will I know if I’m saying the right things?”

“You just will.”

Sierra led you over to a lounge chair, sitting beside you as you slipped out of your sandals and tugged off your shirt. You were left in your bikini top and shorts, a combination that made Calum’s heart palpitate. He took the courage from Luke’s words and stood, walking over to you.

“Yeah, so if he ever wants to...” Sierra trailed off as Calum’s shadow fell over the two of you.

He gave you a shy smile as Sierra grinned and excused herself.

“Hey, Cal,” your lips lifted, eyes following him as he sat next to you. “How’ve ya been?”

“Good, you?” He was shy. He knew you could tell, too. His eyes kept switching between yours and his hands, your lips and...

“I’m okay. A little burnt out. Work has been busy because its summertime. High fashion and stuff, ya know?” You laughed, jabbing at a joke. Your eyes glinted when Calum tossed his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, I know, dont you see my high-end swim shorts?” He made a motion to show off his pants, and you admired him.

“Cute,” you replied. A beat of silence passed before your phone made a noise. You didnt touch it, knowing it was rude to do so, but your brows flicked up. “Oh! Have you matched with any other girls on Tinder? If you haven’t, I’m making it my mission to find you someone else.”

“How am I supposed to think about anyone else?” He blurted out suddenly.

You stopped smiling, blood freezing and your body turning stiffly. “What?”

“Uh,” Calum thought, wondering how he should go about this. “Theres a million little things I haven’t told you. I cant go on keeping them to myself. And pretending I want anyone else.”

You met his eyes and Calum felt the world melt away. Like a focused lens on a camera, he only saw you, your golden little halo. Your shocked expression.

“Cal,” you hesitated, “Aaron.”

“Is he the guy you want to hold you?” Calum whispered.

You visibly shivered, your heart beating out of your chest.

“It kills me thinking of you with him,” he paused, “you and i could have it good. I dont know him, but I know myself, and I know that I can love you so much better than he could.”

You shook your head, sweat pooling on your hands and the back of your neck. “No, Cal. Please. Dont make it hard.”

“It’s not hard unless you make it hard,” Calum spoke as soon as you began to stand.

“No, its not supposed to be hard. I want it to be easy for once,” you said.

Calum grabbed your hand, turning you back around, “It is. I know were so different, and I’m on the road all the time, and I’m fucked up because of people from my past. I know I smoke, and you help clean up cigarette butts in the park and I’m silent when I shouldn’t speak, but if you jump, Ill jump, too. C’mon, please?”

You finally met his eyes, feeling the rhythm of your heart steady. “I know its dramatic, but I’m just so afraid. So many guys have hurt me and made me feel ugly. I carry myself in a way that allows protection and routine. I hate the idea of some disturbance because disturbance has always meant hurt. Cal...i could love you. I think I’m very close to loving you, but i dont know if i can let myself.”

“I do love you, and I’m letting myself,” Calum stepped closer, tugging you to close the distance more. “Just let go.”

With silent permission, his hands slipped around your waist and your clutched his t-shirt. Your fists were tight, your lips stoic. Until you felt a lock pick inside your soul and you relaxed.

TAG LIST: @mantlereid @boxofteenageideas

, @dinosaursandsocks , @ashhdaniellee95 @zhangyixingxing1

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon Chapter Seventeen: At a Loss for Words

<Previous / Next>

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Papyrus doesn’t miss his brother’s jokes or pranks or anything, no, of course not...

"Sans! Do you know where my copy of 'Puzzles for Inquiring Minds' went? I can't find it but it must be here somewhere!" Papyrus called, digging through the pile of papers on his bedroom floor. He was finally sorting through the mess he'd left, organizing the scattered blueprints and sketches into much neater piles to be filed away later. But he couldn't imagine where that book had gotten to.

"Sans! Did you hear me? ...Are you even home?"

He sighed, and got up to peer into the living room. Ever since Sans had remembered his shortcut ability, he'd been making good use of it, and Papyrus was never sure where he went. Sans never told him. Not that he could. But, to his mild surprise, Sans was dozing on the couch.

"Sans!"

His brother jolted awake, then looked up at him blearily.

"I need your help finding--wait is that it under the couch?" Papyrus leapt down and slid his hand under, withdrawing the battered puzzle book. "Well, I have no idea how that got there, but I suppose, in a way, you still helped me find it. So. Thank? You?"

Sans merely huffed before settling down to sleep again. Papyrus eyed him, then headed upstairs with his book to file it properly. He slid it into place on the shelf, then sat back with brows furrowed. Something was missing... No, there weren't any empty spots left, so it wasn't a book... He looked over to his table and quickly assessed his action figures--they all seemed to be in place too. His things were in order, so why did he expect something more...?

It was quiet.

Sans would've had a joke about the misplaced book. Papyrus curled his tail around his feet, and shut his eyes. It was fine if Sans didn't want to talk! His various warbles and hoots often got the point across well enough, and it still sounded like him, and he still found ways to joke around even if it wasn't wordplay. It was fine--Papyrus wasn't even sure why he missed hearing his brother's dumb jokes and trolling so much. He'd heard them all, seen that spark in Sans' eye as he thought of them, groaned at the most inane reaches of wordplay countless times. He didn't need to hear them again. But... No, Sans would get his voice back in time, there was no point dwelling on it. He took a deep breath, and went back to organizing the rest of his things, humming to himself to break up the silence.

He surveyed his work, and nodded with satisfaction--his books had been fully rearranged, divided by subject and ordered alphabetically. He'd sorted all his blueprints and schematics into folders, and his action figures were aligned into their current teams. He'd moved the rug to cover the spot he'd burnt--he'd see about getting it replaced soon, but for now it was the best he could do. Everything was clean and orderly, just as it should be. He trotted out and headed downstairs.

"Sans! With my bedroom completely refreshed, we should go out! I want to see if I can find any good carpet in the dump, but who knows what else could be there? It's been so long since we looked, there's bound to be something incredible!"

Sans blinked an eye open to study him, but otherwise made no effort to move.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Papyrus beamed at him, bouncing in place. It seemed to work, because  Sans studied him a moment longer, then got up with a yawn, stretched, then hopped to the floor and looked at him expectantly. Well, he wasn't about to let him down. He led the charge out, and glanced back to see Sans was trotting after him dutifully. It was almost like old times, and he took solace in that.

Sans walked closer to him as they passed through Waterfall, and Papyrus noted how he seemed to be scanning every shadow and crevice, eyelights darting. Sans was... nervous? Papyrus slowed his own pace--truth be told, the bottomless chasms and roaring water were setting his instincts off too, but he knew they'd be safe--they'd traveled through here dozens of times, nothing would hurt them. Besides, they were coming up to the wishing room, and Sans had always liked that spot. That would brighten his day--literally.

"Sans! Look up! The stars are especially bright today, look!" he exclaimed when they entered, and darted ahead to take in the sight--a million twinkling crystals embedded in the stone all around them. Their pale light washed everything in a soft blue glow, and he sat to appreciate the atmosphere and give his brother a chance to catch up.

Sans padded up slowly, occasionally glancing at the stars but still looking over his shoulders more until he reached him. Only then did he allow himself to look at the stars for any length of time, but something still made him scan their surroundings every few moments, staring at shadows as if to make sure they wouldn't move. And even when he did glance upwards, he didn't so much look at the stars as look for something--that look of calm, wistful wonder Sans usually wore when he contemplated the universe never appeared.

"Sans? Is something wrong?" Papyrus asked, glancing around himself and wondering if there was something he wasn't picking up on. Nothing looked out of place, nothing smelled wrong--but Sans was acting like they were in danger.

Sans looked up at him briefly, before turning away and uttering a low growl. Heart sinking, Papyrus realized his brother might have slipped--it tracked with how he'd been acting all day. Well, he'd have to get him back on track. What did he usually like to talk about here in the star room? It'd been so long, Papyrus couldn't quite remember... but he had to try!

"Not to worry, brother! We're safe here, and besides, how can you ignore all this? Do you remember when we found that human book about constellations, and we spent all day here trying to find them? We also decided to make our own since humans didn't have any skeleton constellations... Let's see... oh! There it is, the Big Skull! Shining brightly as ever!"

Sans followed his finger, then looked around--he couldn't see the constellation, but at least he was really looking at the stars now.

"You used to tell me about what real stars are, too. These are very pretty, but, you said the real stars are huge burning balls of fire or something, right? And, they're so far away, not even the humans have ever been to one. Um... there's different colors... yellow, white, red, even blue! I wonder if they come in other colors, but I don't remember. There was other cool stuff too, wasn't there?"

Sans looked up at him, then back to the stars. He'd calmed enough to lie down next to him, and seemed to be content just watching as waves of ambient magic flowed through the crystals, making their light waver. It really was amazing, and Papyrus was sure that even if the real stars couldn't be beat, this was a natural wonder all on its own. Who knew how long monsters had been wishing on these, filling them with their hopes and dreams...

He picked one--a bright, steady light that made one of the eyes in the Big Skull--and made a wish of his own.

"Okay Sans, though I'm sure we could stay here stargazing forever, we did have a mission today!" he prompted, standing up. "If you thought that was fun, just wait until we get to the dump!"

Sans crooned, then got up to follow him. He wasn't sure he'd managed to engage him enough, but there'd be plenty more chances, and perhaps he'd set the ball rolling. They continued to weave through the passages and wind down halls, splashing through cold, clear water until finally--they came to a small landing, and a rank smell informed them they'd made it to the dump.

Bad as the smell was, the piles of debris held endless possibilities, and Papyrus darted for the first one he saw. He circled it, sniffing at anything that looked interesting, clawing at pieces that caught his eye. Most of it was truly garbage--old food wrappers, filthy rags, broken plastic shells of electronics well beyond repair. But he found a deflated rubber ball that after some rinsing was fun to toss and shake in his jaws. This excursion was already looking like a success! He tucked it into his satchel and turned to see what luck his brother was having.

Sans was sitting in the middle of the room near where they'd entered, unmoving. He was soaked--in many places the water had come up to his chest, and here it was no different--but he didn't seem to care. Papyrus wasn't sure he would have normally--but seeing him like this didn't ease his worry.

"Sans! Don't just sit there! Come help me find cool garbage!"

Sans started, but didn't move. Papyrus sighed.

"Okay, well, if you just want to sit in the mud that's fine. I'm still going to look around!"

He continued his search, overturning sodden boxes and digging into moldering clothes; his heart leapt with excitement when he found a box of discarded books--but they'd been soaked, and the first one he opened fell apart, its pages illegible. Maybe someone else could take the time or had the skill to salvage them, but he had to move on. The next heap looked quite promising! He leapt onto it, sending a few things sliding, but it already looked lopsided so he wasn't messing up whoever liked to come by and sort the piles into some semblance of order. He could appreciate their devotion to cleanliness in the face of chaos--but there were treasures to find.

He began to dig his claws in, hoping to find such treasure, but something sent up an alert in his mind--a smell? He sniffed again, blocking out the damp stench of the regular garbage to hone in on it. It was faint--old. But somehow familiar, and he dug again to stir it up. It smelled... it smelled...

Like bone.

But there was something else. It was stronger--coming from nearby. Grassy, but withered--he dug more, and uncovered a dried-up stem. He clawed at it, refreshing the scent. Was this the grass smell? Yes, but not regular grass--it smelled just like... golden flowers. Papyrus jerked his head back. He pawed cautiously at the withered vegetation, mind churning. Bone, and golden flower. He stuck his nose back in, just to be sure. Bone, and flower, and old grease and the brand of ketchup Sans liked.

There was no mistaking it. The scents were weeks--maybe months--old, but they lingered. Papyrus looked back up at his brother, who still sat in the cold, swirling water. He remembered how Flowey had lied to Undyne about knowing where Sans was. He remembered how furious Sans had been at the mere mention of a golden flower. He turned the bit of plant--the tip of a vine--over with his claw, noting how the end was torn, and had no doubt. This was where his brother had met Flowey, and it hadn't been the friendly connection Papyrus had hoped.

Papyrus sighed. At least it meant Sans hadn't chosen to leave him all that time ago...

"Okay Sans, we can go home." He hopped from the garbage, splashing down. "I don't think there's much here after all, and, you don't seem to be having fun, so, let's get cleaned up. Why don't we take the ferry? Or, if you really want to get going, we, um, could... just take a shortcut."

Papyrus could hardly believe himself for making the suggestion. But if this place brought back bad memories--ones fresher than their days as experiments--then they didn't need to stay any longer. He trotted to where the water was clear, kicked his hands and feet free of mud and debris, then dunked his snout in to wash the smell of garbage out. Sans merely watched him, and once Papyrus had finished snorting water out of his nose he turned to him.

"Okay, brother! If you were waiting to take us home, you may now do it!"

Sans tilted his head, and Papyrus blinked.

"Don't give me that look! Using a shortcut, naturally. Even if I don't approve, they are quite handy for getting somewhere fast. I know you've cut home from farther away, so this should be easy!"

Sans only continued to give him a confused look. He raised a paw as if to step, but set it back down, uncertain.

"Sans... you can't have slipped this far again, can you?" Papyrus said sadly. He knew it could be a struggle--he'd gone through it himself--but it hadn't been so long ago that Sans had encouraged him to tell Alphys and Undyne their story. He'd been joking, albeit wordlessly, only a few days ago. Papyrus had thought he'd been getting enough stimulation, but... "Maybe today's just a bad day. That's okay! They happen! We can just take the ferry if shortcuts are too much right now."

The journey home was quiet; even the Riverperson only hummed softly as they navigated towards Snowdin. Once they got home, Sans clambered back onto the couch to doze once more, and Papyrus headed up to occupy himself with puzzle design. He needed to keep himself sharp too--if only to figure out how to help his brother. He got out his paper and pencils, and began sketching.

"Sans I think I've done it!" he cheered, bursting from his room some hours later. "This puzzle is going to stump any human who dares attempt it. Look!

He charged down to lay the blueprints out in front of Sans, who was still blinking wearily after being startled awake by his brother for the second time that day.

"I realized I could combine the challenge of a pressure plate lock with those steam vents Hotland is so irritatingly fond of, only I'll use spring-loaded levers instead because I have class--but, anyway, here's the pattern! Isn't is brilliant?"

Sans looked from the paper in front of him to his brother, then back to the paper--but only to nibble playfully at it. Papyrus yanked it away.

"No! You can't eat it!! Ugh! As always, my efforts go unappreciated," he sighed dramatically. "I'll refine the design and present it to Undyne tomorrow. She'll have something to say!"

He ignored the sinking feeling. At least Sans had done something silly. But he couldn't help wishing he'd said something instead.

To Papyrus' relief, it had just been a bad day after all. Sans woke up the next morning, stared at his hands for a bit, then shook himself out before shortcutting out, presumably for breakfast. When he returned, Papyrus was ready with a bag slung over his spines.

"Sans! You should come with me--I'm going to scout out the location for my new puzzle, and I'll need an assistant to hold my things. Surely you can manage that?"

Sans studied him, then uttered a hoot as he shrugged. That was good enough.

"Fantastic! Let's be off then!"

He charged out, kicking up snow, and wasn't shocked to find Sans waiting for him along the way. But he trotted after him once they'd met up, and Papyrus slowed his pace just enough that his brother could keep close. They reached the clearing Papyrus had in mind, and he set the bag down before turning to Sans to relay his brilliant plan.

"We've arrived! It doesn't look like much now... but this field is merely the canvas upon which I, premier puzzle architect, shall paint my latest masterpiece!"

He paused, and Sans opened his mouth--but as usual, the only sound he could make was an odd warble. He seemed disappointed, and Papyrus hoped his own concern wasn't obvious as he continued his monologue

"A-and! So, what I need you to do is hold the map while I survey the area and make sure my build zone is clear. Got it?"

Sans huffed and dipped his head.

"Good! Alright, here's the map. Let's get surveying!"

Sans took the map in his jaws and sat while Papyrus inspected the field. That tree was just barely in the way; whoops, there was a rock there, that was no good--hey, someone had already started a puzzle here ages ago. He'd have to tear that out. He reached into a snow poff and pulled out a little white dog--it yipped at him, and he lowered it back in. He couldn't build his puzzle anywhere near that. He finished his inspection, and headed back to his brother to see how the map looked.

"Alright, let's see... Sans!"

His brother tilted his head.

"You didn't mark any of the obstacles!"

Sans tilted his head the other way, doing his best to look innocent. Papyrus blinked, realization dawning on him. He'd only told Sans to hold the map, not mark it too, and groaned as he smacked a palm across his face.

"Ugh, of course!! Okay. This time, I'll hold the map, and you go find all the stuff that's in my way. It should be easy, since I already found all of them. Give me the map."

Sans passed it back, then laid down.

"No! Sans!! You have to tell me where the old puzzles and tree roots and dogs are so I can avoid them!"

Sans waved a claw in the general direction of the field, grumbling something.

"Saaaans!" Papyrus cried, stomping his foot and earning low, hissing chuckles from his brother. "Oh, I see! This is a game to you! Well, I'll have you know I take my games very seriously! And! I've never been beaten yet! Nyeheheheh!"

He ended up marking the map himself while Sans watched with amusement. He didn't mind--he was just happy Sans was playing with him like he always would. He missed the banter that would usually accompany it, but... after yesterday, he'd take what he could get.

"There, the map has been marked, no thanks to you," he said when he'd finished. "Now I can plot my setup properly. But first, this snow has to go!"

He found himself expecting a pun, but none came, so he instead focused on his magic and summoned long horizontal bones to sweep the field, clearing a wide swath. He summoned another set, and sent them the other way, pushing even more snow away and leaving only a thin dusting over the ground. Time for the final step. He concentrated, and summoned a trio of his special attacks. They fired simultaneously, melting the remaining snow away and leaving the ground steaming.

"Perfect. All set for the site of a truly excellent puzzle. Wouldn't you agree, Sans?"

Sans hooted his approval, and Papyrus recognized the look in his eyes. He must've thought his snow-clearing technique was really cool--he looked proud of him. He'd probably have made some dumb joke about it to hide how he really felt, but he only watched and waited for what he'd do next.

"Okay, I think that's all for today. Help me put up this caution tape so passers-by don't accidentally set foot on the site and mess it up."

The 'caution tape' was just toilet paper with 'CAUTION: BRILLIANT PUZZLE ARCHITECT (PAPYRUS) AT WORK' written on it in marker, but Papyrus was nothing if not resourceful. He set up a perimeter of bones, slotted the paper tube between a pair of his brother's upper and lower fangs, then ran with the free end around his setup a few times and tied it off.

"Well, a job well done, mostly by me," he congratulated as he surveyed his work. "But, it was nice to have you here too, brother."

Sans rumbled in apparent agreement.

"Tomorrow, I'll begin laying everything out. I think I spotted some scrap metal at the dump yesterday that should work quite well... You don't have to come with to get it, I know that'd... be a lot for you..."

Sans just looked at him. Maybe he didn't remember how yesterday had gone.

"But! That's enough for now! Let's go home and have lunch, and then decide what the afternoon is for."

As they walked back, the quiet of Snowdin's forest settled in around them; it was hard to believe they'd once fled into the surrounding woods with the intention of never coming back. Papyrus found himself feeling anxious at the memory, and momentarily quickened his pace before realizing he was leaving Sans behind. He looked back, and saw Sans looking at him curiously.

"Sorry Sans, I just.... We spent a long time out there in the woods, and, while Snowdin is definitely still my ideal location for our base of operations, it's... perhaps a little soon to be frolicking out here again. It won't bother me forever! Don't worry! But I'd like to get home."

Sans crooned sadly, and the next corner they rounded put them right in the living room.

"Oh! Sans! I didn't mean I didn't want to walk... Oh well, I suppose it's too late now..."

The room blinked, and they were back on the road. Sans was smiling at him mischievously.

"Oooh! Sans!!! Cut it out!" he howled, lunging at him to knock him over. Sans sprung out of the way, his true agility on rare display. Papyrus continued to chase after him, managing to succeed only because Sans was in even less shape than usual. He caught up with him quickly and pushed him into a snowbank.

"Now you'll chill out! Nyeh heh heh heh!" Papyrus teased as his brother rose from the drift and shook off.

Sans opened his jaws--but only a low hoot came out, and he paused a moment before giving a resigned shrug. Papyrus felt his heart sink yet again.

"Oh Sans, I know you'll get your voice back soon! You just have to keep trying... but, if you really don't want to talk, I suppose I can tell the jokes for both of us..."

Sans blinked, and uttered an inquiring hoot.

"It's fine, really! All your puns are very easy to replicate, so, I'll have no trouble filling in! It'll be 'snow' problem! Nyeh!"

Sans snorted, looking amused and concerned at the same time.

"What, you think I can't? I never expected I'd get such a cold reception, especially from my own brother!"

Okay, Sans was laughing now, good. He didn't want him to feel bad for not working as hard as he did, even if he did want him to work harder. Sans working hard recently had... not been good.

But it was lonely. Papyrus couldn't deny it anymore. He didn't remember the last time Sans had actually told him a joke even when he'd been able to. And now, sure, he still found ways to be obnoxious and clown around, but there wasn't the banter Papyrus loved. There wasn't the subtle encouragement or occasionally truly thoughtful musings. He was making progress on his new puzzle, but Sans wasn't there to double-check his work and point out oversights with brotherly ribbing.

Papyrus could easily fill the void with his own voice, but it just wasn't the same.

"Geez, and it seems like he still won't even try?" Undyne said when he'd shared his feelings during a sparring match.

"Well, he'll sometimes act like he wants to say something, but, when it doesn't come out right, he just kind of gives up," Papyrus sighed as he deflected a spear. "I've been telling puns in his place, but, I'm tired of the conversation being so one-sided. And I think maybe he is too."

"Aw man," Undyne uttered, finishing her volley. "So, what are you gonna do? Do I need to noogie some sense into him or what?"

"No, no!" Papyrus declined as he set up his attack and sent it at her, "I think he just needs some encouragement, which I am very good at. I'll figure something out! He's bounced back from this kind of thing before, I know he can do it again!"

"Hmm... Well, maybe you should just tell him what you told me," Undyne suggested, finishing an artful dodge around his attack, "and even though I know that's easier said than... said, how else is he supposed to know?"

Papyrus huffed. "That would cut to the chase, wouldn't it. I just have to hope he understands... I'm... not always sure what gets through...."

"He's still slipping sometimes?" Undyne asked sadly, and he nodded but smiled anyway.

"Not for very long! He has bad days and good days, and it's usually more good than bad, but, I can tell it... doesn't really... It's not a thing that worries him, so he doesn't do anything about it."

"Geez, well, sounds like you need to get encouraging him, huh?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

They finished their sparring match and retreated indoors for drinks, discussing the latest nonsense Mettaton had gotten up to and what their next cooking endeavor should be now that they knew about instructions over tea. Papyrus shared the blueprints for his new puzzle--which Undyne thought needed more spikes and fire pits. He'd normally agree, but that wasn't the tone he was going for so he politely disregarded her suggestions. He left her house that evening feeling revitalized; he'd forgotten how nice it was to have a full conversation.

He clattered in, and immediately bristled--he smelled the mess before he saw it. He dashed into the kitchen, where torn and broken containers littered the floor. Sans stood half in the fridge, the shelves askew as he'd forced his way in to scavenge.

"SANS!"

Sans startled, skittering backwards and knocking even more tubs of leftovers to the floor. Pulling free, he stared at Papyrus with eyes wide, his snout stained with the evidence of his crimes. He'd broken into the newly reopened food museum and destroyed it.

"Sans, I can't believe you!" Papyrus scolded, tail lashing. "I'd ask why, but not only do I already know why, it's not like you'd even answer! Ugh! You knew I was going to be back soon, you could have just waited! Or gone to Grillby's like you always do!"

Sans glanced away, then sat with a sorry whimper.

"Fine, but you're helping me clean this up! This is the worst mess of things you've made yet!"

Sans whimpered again, and tried to approach to give an appeasing nuzzle--but Papyrus pushed him away.

"Oh no, not until you clean yourself up too! I can't believe you're my brother sometimes, ugh!!"

Sans backed away, looking defeated. He cast about, then tried to gather up some of the wayward containers, sweeping them into a pile with his claws. He looked up and gave a questioning hoot, but Papyrus snorted.

"No, you can do better than that! Come on, let's get the shelves cleaned off and put back in first."

The whole process took longer than if Papyrus had just done it himself, but Sans had clearly slipped again--hard, this time. He struggled to use his hands instead of his jaws to manipulate the items he'd scattered, didn't understand the order they needed to do things in, and Papyrus kept having to get him back on task. He was so frustrated that when Sans tried to sneak a few more bites, he hissed at him--it stopped Sans on the spot, but he spent the rest of the time worried he'd begun slipping too.

They finally finished the fridge, and Papyrus grabbed a washcloth and his brother's skull to give it a proper scrub; Sans protested only weakly before quieting down and laying still until the ordeal was over. Papyrus tossed the washcloth in with the rest of the towels they'd used to wipe up the fridge, then trotted to the living room with a huff. It'd been a while since he'd been so genuinely frustrated with his brother.

Sans lay on the kitchen floor for a while before finally getting to his feet slowly. He plodded into the living room, saw Papyrus had taken the couch to watch TV, and settled to the floor nearby. Papyrus didn't want to talk to him. He hadn't even done anything that bad or surprising--the fridge was a beacon of temptation for a monster who liked food as much as Sans did. But he wasn't even trying to resist, or be more like his true self, even when everything had otherwise gone back to normal. It felt like he didn't care--about himself, or about him. And that was what had Papyrus upset.

The following day remained tense. Papyrus was still frustrated, and ignored his brother while he bustled around the house and got ready to continue working on his puzzle, paying no mind when he hooted an inquiry at him. He couldn't even tell if Sans was with it today or not, and didn't want his help anyway. He hurried out, and threw himself into puzzle construction.

At one point, he felt a presence--someone watching him. His instincts told him to look, it could be danger--but he refused, focused on digging the trench for an electrical line. He had work to do, and he wasn't going to let anyone distract him. He'd forgive his brother eventually--it wasn't really Sans' fault he was like this. But right now, Papyrus was tired of having a beast for a brother.

He finished digging out the placements for his pressure pads, and wiped his claws in the snow before picking up the tools he'd brought and heading for home. There were tracks in the fresh powder--so Sans had been out here at some point. Papyrus huffed. Who knew what he'd come back to this time.

But he opened the door and found everything in order. There were no new smells, and Sans was laying on the couch, watching TV. He got up when Papyrus entered, trilling a greeting--but Papyrus sighed and trotted past. Sans watched him go, and was quiet the rest of the evening, even as Papyrus went about making dinner. There was nothing to say.

Papyrus found the house empty when he got up the next morning.

"Sans?"

His room was empty, as were the living room and kitchen, and a pit of dread formed within Papyrus' ribs. Had he pushed him away? Had he fled, for the final time, to live as the beast he thought himself to be? Had he lost him for good...? He paced, and that's when he finally noticed the sheet of paper on the floor where Sans had laid the other night. For a brief moment Papyrus considered the possibility his brother had become stationery... then realized it was a pun, and had to choke back his own laughter. He'd have to tell Sans that joke at some point, provided they could get everything between them sorted out. He approached the paper, and studied it.

It was crudely drawn--Sans had never been artistically inclined like he was, and he hadn't been practicing his manual dexterity, so the rough, unsteady lines were to be expected. But the scene was clear--Sans had drawn stars along the top of the page, and a line at the bottom representing the ground. There was even a scribbled out attempt at an echo flower. It was the wishing room, and in the center of the page, he'd drawn a little stick figure of himself looking up. Was that where he'd gone...?

Papyrus set out at a brisk trot. The wishing room wasn't far, it'd be easy to find out what his brother was up to. He wove past other early risers and leapt over bridge seed puzzles before finally arriving at the cavern, eyes darting. It wasn't a large room, so his brother had to be close... There! The soft light reflecting off his bones almost made Sans appear to glow. He was sitting near the far end of the passage, looking up at the stars just as he'd drawn. Papyrus approached slowly, unsure what his brother was planning--it was just as likely a prank as it was something genuine.

Sans saw him approaching, and the relief that crossed his face was clear. Maybe this wasn't a prank. He stood as Papyrus drew near, and for a moment, they simply faced one another. Sans opened his mouth.

"hhhheya brro," he rasped.

Papyrus tackled him.

"SANS!" Papyrus yelled, but this time it was out of joy. "You--you did it! You're talking again! I'm so--it's--Sans!!!"

Sans chuckled, not even trying to fight the pile he'd been wrapped up in. "ssstill hard, but, tryin'. wanted to. sssay sorry. for letting you down."

Papyrus extracted himself enough to look his brother in the eyes. "Oh Sans, I'm--I'm sorry for being so cross with you. It, just... I missed you! A lot! But it was like you didn't even want to try..."

Sans thudded his skull against his brother's chest. "sssorry. did want to sometimmmess. didn't want to... a lot. hard to choose. easy to... not think about it. but. like i ssaid. couldn't let you down."

"Oh Sans... I'm very, very glad that you tried! And! Succeeded!! In only one night? Normally you'd be sound asleep!"

"couldn't," Sans replied, his smile seeming bittersweet. "not with you mad. so, went out, howled, made noises i didn't know i could. glad i didn't sleep."

"W-well, I'm glad too. And, um... will you keep trying?"

"listen, i, uhhh, think i better. maybe it's easier to... not deal with everything, but... it's leaving you hanging, and, i can't do that to my bro."

"And you made me come all the way out here just to tell me this?"

Sans shrugged, finally pulling free to shake himself out. "dunno. felt right. think you tried to talk to me here a little bit ago or ssssomething?"

"I did! I'm glad you remember!"

"yeah. stars. i remember you talking about the stars, and how it was the calmest i felt that day. so, coming back here... just made sense."

"Wowie. That's very poetic, Sans."

"hey, i'm good for more than just puns sometimes," Sans said with a wink, and for the first time in ages, Papyrus felt like he really had his bother back

"Hard to believe as it is, it's true," Papyrus agreed, standing as well. "What may also be hard to believe is how much I've missed said puns."

"well, i'll do my best to make up for lost time," Sans replied lightly as they started to walk back. "just might take me a bit to get... star-ted."

"Oh my god," Papyrus said, but couldn't stop smiling. "Clearly, it will not."

[silverhandy]

House call - chapter 2

Chapter 1 I ao3

    Through his career, he’s been to a lot of places of varying degrees of decay, from the long-abandoned hotels subjected to evergoing gang disputes to the city’s garbage dump stretching miles upon miles outside of the city, a sea of trash and metal, often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, piling up into mountains, where every step meant a very real risk of slipping and impaling himself on a rust-bitten shard. Hidden in between were those unfortunate enough to end their journey in a place like this, abandoned by their rivals or hitmen too lazy to attempt hiding a body within the guts of the city. If they had a working car, and almost all of them did, it was way easier to just drive whatever was left of their target and dump it to be devoured by rats and whatever else evolved enough to survive in a place like this. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check if the person they were leaving there was actually dead, hence the reason why he’d sometimes get calls begging him to fish a guy (or lady) down on their luck out. He found himself digging through trash more often than not, futile in his attempts to pinpoint his awaiting patient’s location. When he was starting out, the thought of giving up his search wouldn’t even cross his mind, he’d spend hours looking, even dragging along metal cutters with him, figuring they’d come in handy. They probably would’ve if not for the fact that he often wasn’t even able to find the person who called him, localization data too patchy to give him a solid lead on where he should even start.

    After a while, when he established himself and lost some of his rookie idealism, he put in a disclaimer that he wouldn’t go trash diving anymore, no matter the pay. A small step, but even at the beginning he tried to have standards.

    V’s apartment was far from Night City’s biggest trash dump, but something about the chaos within it reminded him of that when he switched on the lights. As if the hurricane had swept through the place, some of the furniture was tilted over, a pile of clothes, dangerously balanced on an overfilled laundry basket, threatened to collapse and spill over at any moment. A half-finished box of noodles laid abandoned on the counter, accompanied by a mosaic of pills from a knocked over bottle.

    Viktor found V curled up on the floor next to her bed, wearing a washed-out Samurai t-shirt and sweatpants, covers dragged along with her halfway between the linoleum and the mattress. He could barely see her face from the way she was bundled up. V didn’t move upon hearing his footsteps, didn’t even flinch when he kneeled next to her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

    The ripper dropped the heavy bag at his side and gently cupped V’s face in his hands, wincing at how burned up the woman’s skin was, and turned it so he could take a quick glance. V’s eyes were rolled far back into her skull. Viktor started to have an idea of what he was dealing with here, has seen the wreckage that offensive hacking can cause many times before. They usually started out slow, identical to a bad case of flu but then, if dismissed, proceeded to stir fry one’s brain until not much was left.

    Viktor opened his bag and pulled out a small, remote biomonitor. It took a few seconds to fully calibrate, but eventually, the screen lit up.

    ‘V, can you hear me?’ he asked, not counting on her to answer. 'I’m going to connect your personal link now and see what’s going on in there, okay?' he reached for her wrist, already feeling her racing pulse, and connected it to the device. While it was loading, Viktor propped it up on the wall and grabbed V to lay her on her back to make the job easier for himself, and pulled out a few small gel-filled Ice-Pax. He knew she probably needed more, but those will have to do for now.

    Just as Viktor placed two under her arms and another on her groin, the monitor beeped. He reached over her to grab it and swiftly ran a basic diagnostics program, but save for the things he already knew, it didn’t spew out anything interesting. She was vastly overheated and her blood pressure shot up to a point where an angrily red window kept popping up to inform him of a 72% percent chance of an incoming cardiac event, but he dismissed it for now. Instead, Viktor chose a different angle and ran a more advanced version of the program, letting it comb through V’s frontal cortex and RAM.

    ‘There’s the rub’ he hummed to himself as the program kindly highlighted the results. He let out a long sigh. If V had come to see him a day earlier, he’d fix it in five minutes and she wouldn’t even notice, but now she’ll be out of commission for at least a week before she can even get out of bed. He’ll have to tell her a thing or two about responsibility, not that she’d listen to him anyway. Patients never did, but it still might be worth a shot.

    Viktor typed a few commands to enclose the scrambled code from her RAM and before pulling out V’s personal link, copied her real-time vitals chart onto his interface. After it appeared within his field of vision, he pulled out a worn-out connecting cord that he’s been promising himself he’d replace for ages now and inserted it into the neural port at V’s nape to get a better working field, now that he knew what the problem was. RAM damages were problematic in their very nature but pretty easy to fix once caught, not much of his medical knowledge needed. Viktor simply fired up what ripperdocs tended to call a “palate cleanser” and let it do the work, putting back together what the bug has managed to break.

    While the program was fixing up V’s tech, Viktor got to work on her body. Flipping the ice packs, he took a quick glance at her temperature and was glad to see that it had started to slowly go down, followed by her pulse and blood pressure, all three leaving the life-threatening territory. None of them were quite to his liking just yet, but at least now Viktor was sure V would pull through. Reaching into his bag, he eventually found an IV set, but decided it’d be better to move her onto the bed first, sparing himself all the gymnastics with the tubing and cables. Minding the biomonitor still plugged into her, Viktor leaned down to lift V and put her on the bed. She was quite heavy, the dead weight of her limp body adding to the feeling, but he didn’t even break a sweat carrying her. Taking the covers from the floor, he put them on her, straightening the wrinkled material intuitively.

    Having done that, Viktor grabbed her arm and carefully inserted the needle. To his relief, it went in on the first try. Glad he didn’t need to poke her any more than necessary, Viktor looked around and realized that V didn’t have anything even remotely resembling an IV stand, but when he looked up, he noticed a small hook, probably remains of a poster frame, conveniently placed over the bed. Stepping up on the edge of the bed frame, he placed the bag there, and after making sure that everything was in place, let it drip. That should do the job, maybe paired up with a shot of dopabenzamine if she won’t improve in the next few hours.

    Viktor let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s been holding his breath ever since V called. Biomonitor’s estimated time kept shifting but eventually settled on six hours and twenty-three minutes. Viktor nodded to himself and turned around to take another look at the mess that V’s apartment has turned into. He leaned down and reached under the covers to grab the unpleasantly warm ice packs, and throw them in the freezer, wondering if he should clean up, just a little bit. Would V get mad at him for snooping around? Then again, she’ll need a few days to recover and this ever-growing mess around her surely won’t help. Or should he ask Misty? They were closer, he was pretty sure that she’s been over at V’s place at some point.

    Maybe he shouldn’t be overthinking this. Just a little bit, he told himself as he gathered the pills spilled on the counter, inspecting the label while he was at it. Strong shit, impossible to get by simply waltzing into a pharmacy. Viktor made a mental note to ask about it later, just to make sure that V doesn’t swallow these like candy. Of course she doesn’t, he reprimanded himself. She’s an adult, a stupid, reckless one, but an adult nevertheless. It still won’t hurt to bring it up, though.

    He put it back into the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen to deal with the noodles, and since they were on the verge of no longer being edible, he just tossed them into the trash can, along with other unfinished takeout he found in various places around the apartment. He didn’t want to snoop through V’s things, so he just folded the clothes that were sprawled all over the floor and couch and put them in a neat pile. When he was done, the place looked somehow presentable, so he settled on the couch opposite V’s bed.

    She appeared to be sleeping, although far from soundly. No longer completely unconscious, she kept tossing and turning, her face grimacing as her recovering brain no doubt served her a concoction of fever dreams.

    Just as Viktor leaned down to relax a little, he heard a ping of an incoming text message. He pulled it up

Misty

>that lady from Biotechnica is here to see you again, but you don’t seem to be in, what should I tell her?

                                                                                              >Tell her to fuck off

                                                        >I’m at V’s and have to stay for a few more                                                              hours, she screwed herself up real bad this                                                            time

>oh no what happened>

>?

                                                         >I’ll tell you all about it later, I got it covered                                                             for now

    He fully expected Misty to call him, alarmed, but apparently, he managed to reassure her just enough. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a second, but must’ve dozed off at some point, exhausted after over twenty hours without a chance for a shuteye. When he woke, a groan escaped his lips as the stiffness of his neck hit him with full force.

    That’s what you get for sleeping sitting up, old man, he told himself as he reached to grab his glasses off the floor. They must’ve slipped off at some point during his nap. Viktor stood up and stretched until he heard his joints crack. Still tired, he rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to wake himself up and walked up to V’s bed to check on her. When he reached for the biomonitor to check the progress bar and see how long he’s been sleeping, V moved slightly. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, looking right over him, and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she looked up and saw Vik standing next to the bed and her expression went from blank to confused.

    ‘Vik? What…’ V cleared her throat. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

    ‘You don’t remember calling me?

    ‘Not quite’ she bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. I was feeling like absolute shit after that last job, thought I could just sleep it off.’ she said quietly, propping her head upon her elbow. ‘I didn’t expect it to grow into...whatever that was.’

    “A neurogenic cybervirus is what that is. Invisible until it starts to fry your brain. You gave me quite a fright.’

    “Fuck. I knew something was off about that netrunner, after she...eh, nevermind. Vik..how long have you been here anyway?

    ‘Uh,’ Viktor took a quick glance at the biomonitor ‘seven hours, give or take?

    ‘Fucking hell. I’m..’ she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’m gonna pay you back. What’s your house call fee again? I don't remember it being listed…’

    ‘Nah, it’s okay. I usually don’t do house calls, so consider that a favor. Just promise me that when you feel something’s off after a job, you’ll come to see me right away. There’s a lot of real vile stuff out there and you won’t even know until it gets you. That’s what you have me for.’

    ‘Sure, dad. You can spare me the lecture' she chuckled. ‘But for real, Vik. Thank you.’

    ‘No problem, really.’ he grabbed the biomonitor. Four minutes left. ‘You’re gonna feel like you were hit by a truck for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I’ll check up on you in a few days and send in Misty or Jackie in the meantime to help you out since I’d rather you didn’t get out of bed more often than necessary. Next time you see me, consider getting that new set of optics and a gun grip. Might save your ass next time someone attempts to do you dirty like his.’

    Something akin to a smile appeared on her face. ‘Doctor’s orders?’

    ‘Doctor’s orders.’

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives an Uber) Ch. 1

Part One | Two | Three | Four

Billy pulled up alongside the line of parked cars outside the embassy to wait for his Uber fare, ignoring the honks, and clicking through his playlists for the one Max had rated “least offensive”. He frowned into his glove compartment at the assorted air fresheners, and grabbed a cold bottle of water, sticking it in the cup holder for the back seats.

He checked his shirt—probably he was picking up a janitor, but just his luck some prime minister’s car blew a tire, and there he’d be with some leader of a country and secret service in his car, covered with dried beans and guac like he’d killed a burrito with a spear and eaten its corpse with both hands, roaring and beating his chest—his shirt was clean, and he took a steadying breath.

While he was yanking his earring out and dropping it in the cup holder, his fare ducked inside behind him. “Hey,” Billy said, over the honking of the surrounding—furious—drivers, “You’re my fare? Mind if I get your full name?”

Something clonked into the door opposite his fare, and rattled around on the floor, and the man—younger than Billy, Billy was fairly sure—flopped sideways across the seats with a groan. Then he started snickering. “You sure you want all of it? You got something to write it down?”

Billy glared over his shoulder. “Are you Steve, my fare... what the hell are you wearing?!”

“You don’t like my sash?” his presumed fare laughed, lying across Billy’s back seats in some kind of extremely shiny white outfit, with medals, and a cross on a chain. “They said it matched my eyes.”

“What the hell are you…” Billy trailed off again. “Is that a sword? Is that a tiara on my floor?! Why in the fuck—”

“It’s a coronet,” the actual Disney Prince in his back seat corrected him, putting his probably very expensive loafers on the window as he laid back, closing his eyes.

“Get your goddamn feet off my window,” Billy hissed. “You are my fare, right? You’re not just some...cosplaying menace. Or is cosplay Cinderella about to climb in?” he squinted suspiciously at the embassy, and the irritating pile of shiny clothes in the back laughed again.

“I’m Stephen of Blois,” he said, and Billy’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m Grand Cross of the Order of the House of Orange.”

“You’re the right person— the fuck does that even mean,” Billy growled, pulling forward into traffic amidst an even louder cacophony of honks, like a herd of geese.

‘Stephen’ pointed at one of the medals. “Royal Air Squadron Commander,” he offered, and Billy contemplated hitting the brakes so hard his passenger fell off the seat.

“Stop fucking with me. Where the hell are we going,” he snarled, and all he got was a sigh.

“Anywhere, I guess. Where do people go when they’re fleeing the scene of a crime?” He sat up and leaned forward between the seats, and Billy got a noseful of expensive soap, aftershave, and breath against his ear. His very-much-gay dick woke up, and he cursed it, gritting his teeth.

“You’re saying you’re a fugitive? What’d you do, steal that ensemble from Elvis?” he shot back, and Steve snorted.

“No, I, uh. I just. I’m escaping a wedding.”

“Oh, shit,” Billy stared into the rearview mirror, and almost hit the car in front. “You—you what, you just left somebody standing at the altar?! That’s—what the shit—”

“No!” Steve yelped, then let his forehead fall against the seat behind Billy’s head, and groaned. “I didn’t—she just—I thought she, y’know, I didn’t think she wanted to wanted to, but we’re friends? And then she started yelling at me about her friend Barb, and—”

“Speak English,” Billy suggested, and Steve kicked the back of his seat.

“I thought we both knew we were getting married, and we’d just—be friends, you know, she’d do what...what she was going to do, and I’d do my thing, and we’d be married, succession secured, you know, so nobody would care—”

“Holy shit, you really are. Somebody,” Billy sputtered, hunching his shoulders a little as he registered he probably would not get a five-star rating for shouting at royalty. “Some tourist told me she was in town for ‘the wedding’ the other day. Thought she just thought everybody knew her niece, or something.”

“It’s been arranged since we were six!” Steve moaned, dropping back to lie across the seats again. He waved at the ceiling. “They got the cathedral and everything! She’s in the dress! And all of a sudden she starts crying ‘bullshit, bullshit’ that she can’t marry, because Barb.”

“Who the hell is Barb,” Billy asked woodenly, his eyes wide as he turned onto a side street. “Wait, are you supposed to have a bodyguard?!”

“So I said okay, I’d call it off, if she was—she was gonna set the whole thing on fire, I think. It’ll be super romantic in the news,” he said, sounding wistful. “She’ll probably forget to change out of her wedding dress and go propose to her librarian right in front of everybody. Just...stomp in in her twenty-four foot train and propose over the Information desk.” He sighed.

“Where the hell am I supposed to be driving,” Billy whispered, staring at the man in the back seat.

“I want drive-through,” whined Stephen of Blois, dropping his chin on the seat behind Billy’s shoulder. “I heard you can get anything at a drivethrough in America.”

“Not really,” Billy sighed, glancing at the pleading brown eyes in his rearview mirror. “I mean. Burgers. Tacos. Ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” breathed the royal in his backseat. “I want ice cream. I deserve ice cream.”

“It’s not very good ice cream,” Billy told him. “I mean. You might want a...restaurant, or something.”

“Ice cream!” Stephen said, throwing his hand forward like he was leading a charge, and Billy headed for the Dairy Queen.

“What do I even call you?” Billy asked, making an illegal u-turn as his passenger whooped. “Stephen?”

“Ugh, no. Steve is fine,” said Steve, pressing his face against the side window, kicking his coronet, and tossing it into the front passenger seat. It glittered as it went by.

“Put your damn seatbelt on,” Billy choked, watching the thing roll around, diamonds gleaming.

Steve grinned over, and did not.

“Where you actually going?” Billy asked, once they were in line. “Back to your hotel?”

“God, no, everybody’s going to yell at me,” Steve said, eyes narrowed at the menu. “May I...eat in your car?”

“Don’t order food,” Billy made a face. “The ice cream’s okay, but the food is garbage.”

“Hmm,” Steve nodded, but ordered like five things, prompting Billy for his order, and then flirted with the people at the window, who stared open-mouthed.

“I think everybody else knows who you are,” Billy said, finally, as they sat in the parking lot, and his royal passenger climbed out to sit in the front.

Steve chucked the coronet out of his seat again, over his shoulder into the back, and unwrapped everything to make happy humming noises into a banana split. “Nope,” he said, around a whole scoop of ice cream with pineapple syrup. It dripped on his fancy jacket, and he swallowed, clearing his throat. “M’nobody. Where else can we go?”

“...I don’t know,” Billy ate his Blizzard with a spoon, watching the leader of some country somewhere trying to tie a knot, with his tongue, in the stem of the cherry off the sundae he’d bought at Dairy Queen.

After watching his fare try to eat a chocolate-dipped cone, and discover the inherent trap as the melted ice cream in the chocolate shell escaped through a crack and jizzed all over his fingers and shiny gold medals, Billy groaned into his hands. He leaned over and yoinked the cone out of Steve’s hand as he stared in betrayal at the ice cream running down his elbow.

Billy stuffed the ice cream grenade in the plastic bag their food had come in, and then started dabbing Steve off with a handful of napkins.

“My ice cream cone,” Steve whispered, his expression shifting from betrayal to heartbreak. “What have you done.”

“Can’t believe you rule a country,” Billy growled back. “I disarmed your goddamn dipped cone bomb before it ruined your fucking...Armani or whatever. Thank me.”

“I was eating that,” Steve muttered, but he started to grin as Billy leaned in, scrubbing down his wrist and neck. Steve started laughing, like Billy was the one being an idiot, and Billy felt himself flush as he folded the sticky napkin over and wiped ice cream off Steve’s jaw, and Steve smiled, his eyes dark and warm in the light from the streetlamps. His breath was warm on Billy’s fingers, and he smelled like chocolate.

Billy wanted to lick it off his lips. He jerked back and put both hands on the steering wheel, where he could keep an eye on them. Don’t touch him again, he told himself sternly, and took a few slow breaths, telling himself to stop noticing the moles down Steve’s neck, and the texture of the hair on his arm in Billy’s hand.

Billy took another bite of Blizzard, and thought fixedly about the condensation on the cold cup dripping through his fingers, and the roof of his mouth going numb.

“Hey,” Steve muttered, fiddling with his phone, his plastic spoon sticking out the side of his mouth. “Hey, Billy. I’ve got a bad idea. Let’s do something. While I have, you know, uh, no security. Really bad idea.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go bowling.”

“What?!” Billy said, trying to breathe an oreo, and choked.

Steve patted him on the back, shoving his phone in Billy’s face with a picture of a neon sign reading Leatherneck Lanes. “Come on,” he leaned in, “—I just got stood up at the altar. Take me bowling?”

“Do you even know how to bowl?” Billy asked, once his lungs had some air in them.

“It says they rent shoes, and sell wings,” said Steve, sounding perplexed. He frowned over, licking his lips, so they were shiny. “What are the wings for?”

Billy bit his lips together, on the clock, yet wanting to lean in and push his fare back against the seat, and lick into his mouth—and also, on top of it all, trying to think up a believable lie about buffalo wings. He stared into the prince’s intent brown eyes. “...they’re not real wings,” he confessed, unable to pull his mind off kissing.

“I know they’re not real wings,” Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Buffaloes don’t have wings. Are they toy wings? Do you...do you buy accessories for your toy buffalo? It says they have a buffalo ranch.”

Billy stared at the royalty in his car, mumbling about buffalo-themed bowling alleys, and wondered how anyone could stand him up at the altar.

Driving through for ice cream already had people snapping Steve’s photo, so for the bowling alley, Billy rummaged around in his bag and threw his sweatshirt at the prince’s head. “Change up, Charming,” he said, “—or we’ll summon up the media.”

“Oh, neat!” Steve said, excited about the sweatshirt, and trying to spread it across the dash. “Is this a hoodie? It is! Look, it has a little hood! And a front pocket, like a kangaroo!”

“Just put it on before I shove it in your mouth,” Billy hissed, his blood pounding in his ears as Steve stripped down, and the Royal Abs were exposed under the light of streetlamps. The rain on his windshield cast shadows of water trickling down Steve’s unbuttoned shirt and the skin of his flexing torso as he squirmed out of the stiff uniform-style jacket. He leaned back in the seat, his shirt sliding up with the jacket to show his chest hair and the flex of his shoulderblades, and then yanked it back down, pushing up his sleeves. It was still open all down the front.

“Let me finish my ice cream,” Steve mumbled. “Before I get it on your hoodie.”

Billy stared straight ahead as Steve made MNAH MNEEEEH noises licking the underside of the banana split container, and then began licking ice cream off himself from elbow to thumb. “Put the damn sweatshirt on,” Billy growled, both hands clenched on the steering wheel, and Steve laughed.

“Don’t want to get it all sticky,” he said, and Billy glared over to meet sparkling brown eyes and a wide smile.

He grabbed the hoodie and shoved it in his prince’s face, which was how he ended up with his arms around royalty, helping the prince of, it sounded like, several countries aim his balls.

And Billy couldn’t stop giggling softly about the buffalos.

“They should have toy buffalos,” Steve insisted occasionally, out of the blue, glancing from Billy’s grin to the bar. “They should! I want one!”

“Yeah, sure, Your Highness,” Billy agreed, nodding with his eyes wide.

“Hey,” said Steve, watching his gutter ball pass the pins. “I have, ah, I have another one. Bad idea. Probably it’s stupid.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Billy, licking his lips, and rubbing his hands on his pants, because fucking Prince Steve was warm and toned in Billy’s sweatshirt, and kept leaning into his space. “What’s your bad idea?”

Steve watched Billy’s mouth, grinning like an asshole, and Billy cleared his throat, stepping back. Steve stepped close again, close enough for Billy to feel his body heat. “Let’s get a motel,” he whispered, biting his lips in a tense smile. “Tonight.”

“Holy shit,” Billy staggered backward into the score calculator, staring at Steve’s face.

He looked intent, but didn’t close the distance. Max is going to murder me, Billy thought, licking his lips again. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” Steve grinned, and opened his mouth—probably to say something else irritating—and Billy held up a hand. “Wait, hold up. I gotta call my little sister.”

“You have a little sister?” Steve’s face softened, and Billy knew he was fucked.

“Yeah, and I gotta let her know I’m not drunk in a ditch somewhere,” Billy muttered, turning away so he couldn’t see Prince Goddamn Charming, looking ridiculous in styled hair and casual clothes, his whole face an enthusiastic question mark about Billy’s only family.

Max answered the phone with “I made tuna. You want some?”

“No, uh, I—” Billy turned to watch Steve lining himself up to throw again. His rented bowling shoes squeaked loudly against the floor, and the lights shone off his hair, rumpled where he’d yanked at his crown.

He narrowed his eyes at other bowlers, glancing around and scooting his feet with an intent expression. The peal of raucous music from a pinball machine startled him, and he hopped sideways on one foot, but then firmed his jaw, rolled his shoulders, and used his Royal Grace to throw the carefully selected Royal Bowling Ball straight into the Royal Gutter.

“What?” Max bit out.

Billy swung to face the other way, smiling helplessly. “I, uh. I’ll be late.”

“Oh,” she said, and he heard a whoop from behind him, and turned around. A kid was showing Billy’s fugitive prince how to bowl, and it looked more like they were practising poses for the Power Rangers. “Billy?” came Max’s voice. “Uh. A-are you in a bar?”

“No!” he told her, grabbing the phone with both hands. “No, no, it’s—I mean, yeah, there’s a bar in here, but we’re bowling. I, uh, the um, my fare wanted to go bowling. And he doesn’t know how to bowl. I’m—I’m just showing him how to bowl.”

“Oh,” she said, and he hoped she was distracted, and not trying to stare through the phone as hard as he was.

“We ordered some hot wings,” he reported. “And he wants to try root beer. He’s not from—they don’t have root beer. There. Where he’s from. I’m on the clock, Max.”

“Okay,” she said, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Max, he is hot as hell, I am—I think I’m like 30% gayer since he got in my car—”

She laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“He’s a Disney character,” Billy hissed. “It’s okay, I-I swear. This isn’t—I’m not—I’m not doing ...dangerous dumb shit, I promise. I’m not fucking up. I—I am gonna have the dumbest story to tell you, but I gotta go.”

“You left sunscreen in your pocket in the wash, asshole,” she said, rallying. “Dumber than that?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry!” Billy laughed. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah you do,” she muttered, and hung up.

Billy wandered back to Steve, still frowning down at his phone, and Steve threw an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. Billy inhaled cologne that probably cost as much as his rent.

“Unexpected obligations?” Steve asked, smiling.

He looked a little downcast, and Billy wondered what to say— his and Max’s family history was hardly first date material. With a prince. A prince who was his Uber fare, he reminded himself, and not his date, not really. The reminder was bracing, like stepping out into a cold wind. Billy’s had been the first car that pulled up, and he’d blushed and stared, and this prince had a few hours to kill. What am I doing, Billy wondered. “I like to call and check in.”

“How old is she?” Steve asked. “Do you need to get back?”

“Uh,” Billy said, grimacing, and remembered Max had rented a movie they needed to watch, and he had homework for three classes.

“I apologize,” his prince said, stepping away. “Of course you have your own schedule. Thank you for your patience with me. Where would it be convenient to drop me off?”

“Shit, no,” Billy followed him like a moth, ready to smack himself to death against a shining light. “I’d be working all night anyway.” He picked out a bowling ball. “You haven’t even tried root beer. I got all night.”

“You’ll stay?” Steve’s polite smile broadened into a real grin, and his cheeks flushed. Billy wanted to bite them. “...thank you.”

Billy tried, honestly, to bowl badly, and even things out, but His Highness was unparalleled at somehow missing all the pins even when he managed to keep it in the lane. Towards the end of the game, Billy was actually trying to help him bowl —instead of pretending in order to wrap both arms around him—and Steve kept leaning back to try and see his face and almost knocking them over, so they were laughing so hard they nearly fell.

Steve swiveled in his arms to face him, and Billy tried to pay attention as the right royal arms slid around his neck, the warm weight of a muscled body leaned against him, padded by Billy’s sweatshirt over starched groom trousers, and over it all Steve was grinning, pink-cheeked and a little smug. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he whispered.

Billy swallowed as his mouth started overproducing saliva, realizing he was about to get his face fucked in a bowling alley during work hours—by a man disappointed by the lack of winged buffalo plushies available for purchase.

“Yeah,” Billy whispered. “Yeah, okay.” He checked his back pocket for a condom, yanking Steve along behind him to the bathrooms, and then hauled him in the empty stall, and pinned him to the door, already breathing a little heavily in anticipation.

“Whoa,” Steve laughed again, watching Billy lick his lips. “Wow. Uh, I just— mmph.” He opened his mouth for Billy’s, humming as he ran his hands down Billy’s back, and yanked him even closer with one hand on each of Billy’s ass cheeks. “Damn,” he whispered, pulling back, and Billy leaned in again, knowing men that dragged him into bathrooms didn’t tend to be patient, but also that Steve still tasted like chocolate and ice cream, and he kept making little happy noises.

“Sorry,” Billy muttered, bringing his hand up to turn Steve’s head to just the right angle, and counting down fifteen seconds in his head to keep kissing the man before he had to pull back and get down to business. He could feel Steve’s smile bunched under his hand, and he couldn’t not kiss that too, mumbling ‘Sorry, sorry,’ again as Steve laughed.

“Just—jussec,” Steve grabbed Billy’s face with both hands and held him off, grinning. “Just—wait for a moment. You won’t get in trouble? Coming away with me?”

Billy snorted. “Maybe with Max.” At Steve’s narrowed eyes, he shook his head. “My sister. And no. Nah, it’s just—I get paid for jobs I take. I don’t have hours. I logged off.”

“So you were working tonight, and now you aren’t,” Steve said, running his thumb up Billy’s cheek, and Billy licked out and grabbed it in his mouth.

“Mmn,” he grunted back, sucking hard, and Steve’s head thudded against the door as he made a weird startled snorfling noise.

“Billy,” Steve whispered, yanking his hand back—his thumb scraped along Billy’s teeth, and Billy winced, wiping his mouth. “Billy, listen—Billy.” He grabbed Billy by the shoulders of his jacket and held him at arm’s length. “Stop.”

“Shit,” Billy said, realizing he’d screwed up, as always. “Jesus, you actually want to talk. Okay. Shit.” His dick didn’t even care, still pounding with all the blood in his body as Billy avoided looking at Steve’s face. Billy pushed back to sit on the toilet. “Sorry. Sorry, shoot, go ahead.”

“...Billy,” Steve repeated, stepping close again, and Billy nodded, his peripheral vision taking in the misspelled graffiti and lack of toilet paper in the grotty bathroom where he’d hauled a prince. He’s gonna back out, Billy told himself, and took a slow breath. “Billy?”

Billy smirked up, wishing he hadn’t promised Max he wouldn’t drink. “Not much like your—your fucking— consort, am I. Say your piece, your majesty.”

The sweatshirt hood and Billy’s fingers had messed up Steve’s hair, and he pushed it away from his frowning brown eyes. “I just...I’m paying you for the drive here, right, but you weren’t working for fun, can you afford to—”

Did he notice I ordered the cheapest food, Billy wondered, the humiliation sinking deeper in his stomach like he’d swallowed one of the bowling balls. “It’s fine, I’ll work more next week—”

“No,” Steve shook his head, digging his wallet out of his bag.

“The hell do you think is going on here?” Billy asked, watching. “Are—are you trying to pay me for sex?”

“No!” Steve hissed, glaring over. “No, I’m just—look, let me give you some money. Now. Let me pay you like my driver. Then I won’t—you won’t have to think about. Anything.”

“Anything like what,” Billy asked slowly, watching a prince leaf through the wad of cash in his fancy leather wallet, and wondering what he’d been planning with so many bills. They were probably all ones, he realized. For having a good time around town, until he decided he liked the look of his Uber driver.

“Let me just—” Steve groaned, biting his lip, and tucking his wallet away. “You’re gonna have my fare to the hotel, and—if you need the money, I’ll keep—just take it,” he pushed a stack of bills at Billy, who glanced down at it, then back up.

The top bill was a hundred. “What the fuck,” Billy said.

Prince Steve laughed, trying to fix his hair by feel, and avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Do—d’you still want a blowjob?”

“What the fuck,” Billy said once more, with feeling.

“I’m done talking,” Steve said, shrugging. “If you—I’m sorry this is awkward, I don’t know what to—”

“You made it awkward,” Billy glared down at the handful of cash, then back up at Steve. “Why the hell are you handing me all this money?!”

“See, now you can get pissed at me,” Steve grinned, his eyes flicking up to Billy’s expression, then down and away. “Don’t have to wonder whether I’ll pay up, now. You probably have rent.”

“I have rent,” Billy repeated, waiting for it to make sense. “I still don’t get it.”

“I hired you,” Steve groaned, his back thudding against the door, and sliding down it to sit on the ground as it creaked alarmingly. “I can’t—I hired you and then hit on you, this was such a bad idea—”

“Guess I’m just too sexy for your own good,” Billy told him, running his tongue around his teeth, and Steve stared at the motion of his tongue.

“God, you are,” he growled, folding his arms over his head. “Can we just—can we just start over? You’ve got enough money you don’t need to work tonight, and I’m—you just saw me bowling.”

“...you think I’m gonna act different if I need your money,” Billy finally put it together, and sighed.

“I don’t know!” Steve flailed a hand, smacking it into the side of the stall. “Maybe you’ve wanted to smack me this whole time, and you’re afraid I won’t pay my cab fare! Oh,” he stopped short, and whipped out his phone. “Mark me paid, and I’ll leave a rave review, then you don’t have to worry about that—”

Billy pulled his phone out slowly, considering. “So this isn’t you paying me for sex.”

“Hell no, why would you be a sex worker in California,” Steve mumbled, flicking the wrong app, opening the weather report, and mumbling in a language Billy didn’t know as he fumbled back to the Uber app. “Ugh. You wouldn’t even have a union, probably—”

The toilet creaked as Billy started laughing. “A union? Uber drivers don’t even have a union—”

“That’s terrible,” Steve looked up, frowning. “Do you get benefits?”

“What?!” Billy snickered harder, the inside of his skull feeling less sandpapery against his brain as he started to accept that the prince he’d hauled into the bathroom was honestly just trying to be a responsible date. And sucking at it. “I think you’re thinking way too hard about this.”

“I bet the owner would take my call,” Steve said thoughtfully. “People usually do. Maybe I could get some traction here with my unionization programs.”

“...you’re some kind of...union activist,” Billy asked, weirdly charmed.

“My family took the French Revolution very seriously,” Steve mumbled, finally getting the Uber app open.

“Anyway, this is way too much money,” Billy flapped it at him. “Way too much money. I could take, like, a week off.”

“So do it,” Steve shrugged, glancing up. “Watch something dumb with your sister. Buy yourself some—” he flapped his hand, “—I don’t know. I’d be paying my driver a lot more than Uber fare, y’know.”

“But he’s probably got...training. Bodyguarding, or—or something,” Billy whispered, staring at the fanned-out bills. Now he took the time to count it up, it was more than a week’s worth. More than a month, taking fares. He thought wildly of having money in the bank, after paying rent. Not having to wonder whether they’d be homeless if his car broke down and he couldn’t work. “This—this is too much, Steve. This is a shit-ton of money, I can’t—I can’t take this.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve got up to kneel in front of him, pressing Billy’s fingers around the money. “It’s yours. One-time gift, okay? I’ll be less generous next time, I promise. Pretend it came from your boss, okay? Class-action lawsuit for not having a union.”

“You’re so fucking strange,” Billy whispered, but allowed Steve to clasp his fingers closed on the cash.

“Now if I piss you off you can throw a drink on me,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss him again, and Billy was hard for this total freak, but he started sniggering again into Steve’s mouth.

“You were really looking for flying buffalo toys,” he whispered, and Steve snorted, shoving him into the wall.

“Shut up. They said buffalo wings, they should deliver. You want a blow job or not?”

“I get one?” Billy asked, laughing harder—not that it was funny, just he hadn’t expected to end up on a public toilet, clutching more money than he’d seen in cash outside of movies, with an actual prince kneeling, horny, at his feet. “Am I in some kinda gay Hallmark movie?”

“I might be bad at it,” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s belt, and Billy yelped and squirmed to get his wallet out and stuff the money in, having visions of it scattered across the floor as he threw it like confetti in the throes of orgasm. And in my life, everything goes down the toilet, he thought, but leaned to lick into Steve’s mouth.

“Mmph,” Steve mumbled, sliding his fingers into Billy’s hair, and Billy leaned into it, letting Steve tug at his belt, and helping him pull it free. Billy fished out a condom, and Prince Steve, ready to give Billy Hargrove a blowjob on the floor of the public bathroom at a bowling alley, grabbed it, and yanked at the packet with his teeth.

He got it open—after just long enough that Billy was about to offer help—and pulled it out, eyes intent as he ducked lower and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, aiming the condom and unrolling it like he was in Mission Impossible.

He was bad at it, to the extent a hot guy doing his best at licking Billy’s cock could be bad, and Billy came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, kissing Steve’s head in an overabundance of fondness.

Part One | Two | Three | Four

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 9 - Just A Little Bit

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

With Hermione and Harry's friendship mended, and her bond with the twins, strengthening, Hermione finds herself looking up. The only thing left to do is fix Ron's attitude and keep herself from throttling Rita Skeeter the next time she sees her.

Fred and George have found relief in both Hermione's help and her friendship. Unfortunately, as a result they've been neglecting their other friends and someone isn't too shy to point it out to them.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 8

Oh, no I'm not the one, oh, you can ignore I'm not like those you had before Oh, hell no

  “It’s just absolutely ridiculous, right?”

“Are you still on about that?” George asked, his tone laced with practiced boredom as he laid on his back in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He had somehow come into possession of a quaffle and was repeatedly tossing it in the air and catching it, occasionally passing it to Fred when the mood struck.

“Yes, I am still on about it! How anyone could read this garbage and believe it, I will never know.” Hermione threw the quill she’d been writing with onto the desk, ink blotting across her parchment, and picked up the Daily Prophet once again. An avid reader of the wizarding newspaper, Hermione never gave much thought as to whether the stories of journalist Rita Skeeter were true or not. However, as she stared at the words printed across the page for the hundredth time, she questioned whether the woman had ever written anything factual in her life. Harry had told her about the disastrous interview the night before – Rita Skeeter’s devious smile, the basic lack of attention, her casual yet inappropriate flirtations, and her Quick Note’s Quill scribbling away all the while. Therefore, it hadn’t surprised her when the article portrayed a weepy yet confidently disillusioned Harry Potter pouring his soul out and then boasting on his magical prowess. What did surprise her, though, were the last few sentences.

“…Harry Potter’s close friend, Collin Creevey, has informed us that the young Triwizard participant can regularly be found in the company of a Miss Hermione Granger – a pretty muggle born fourth year. While officially their relationship has not been confirmed, it’s hard to deny the tell-tale signs of young love,” Hermione read, her voice raising to a shout by the end. Folding the paper, she threw it aside once more, this time as far out of her reach as humanly possible. Whirling through the air, the heavy paper made contact with an unsuspecting first year walking by. Hermione winced and gave the boy an embarrassed apology before picking up her wand and cleaning the ink from her assignment. She looked at the contents of her notes thus far and huffed. The words blurred together, her anger resulting in an altogether apathetic state for anything that wasn’t the infuriating article. Turning her head, she glared at Collin Creevey from across the room as he sat in the corner with his brother and a few other younger Gryffindors. They chatted away, playing the perfect role of innocence.

“Hermione—” Harry gave her a pleading look “—could you please just let it go?” He placed a hand gently on her forearm. At that moment, two third year girls walking past, spotted the placement of his hand, and hurried past, whispering and giggling to each other. Harry removed his hand quickly, grimacing. Hermione sighed, taking a moment to think about how this affected not just herself but Harry as well. Whispers and pointing she could deal with but lies were intolerable. It was just so…immoral! However, she imagined all Harry wanted was for all of this to disappear, to forget about it, and to be able to go back to some form of normalcy. She leaned back in her chair. If she could do anything for him at that moment, it would be to do as he asked.

“Alright, I’ll let it go. But don’t think I won’t give this Skeeter woman a piece of my mind when I finally meet her.” She sat forward and began writing out her study guide for transfiguration again.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Harry said in amusement, before turning back to his own work.

Unlike George, Harry and Hermione sat at a table adjacent to the fire accompanied by Fred. Harry was working on an extra paper given to him by Professor Snape after his abysmal duel with Malfoy. Hermione was working on transfiguration, and Fred on his latest product. It was another sweet, similar to their Ton-Tongue Toffee, but ultimately very different. Earlier that night at dinner, Fred and George had ran into the Great Hall flushed with excitement. They pulled her away from the Gryffindor table and into the adjoining corridor, ignoring Hermione’s questions and feeble attempts to pull her wrist from Fred’s grasp. Once out of earshot from their curious peers, they began to bombard her with their latest and greatest idea – Canary Creams. Fred insisted that the idea would be hilarious, a sweet that when eaten, turned the person into a giant canary bird.

Silently, Fred slid his notebook on top of Hermione’s work and pointed to a list of possible wand movements and an incantation to charm the sweets. It really was a tricky thing when you thought about it. Sure, some sweets were already available that caused physical changes to their consumer, but none that she knew performed full form transfiguration. Pairing transfiguration, charms work, and potions was no easy feat. To successfully develop a Canary Cream, they had to produce a lasting charm that utilized transfiguration elements to result in a temporary transformation of the whole body from human to aviary. It was, to put it lightly, difficult.

George had helped early on with the charms aspect of the spell, but now they needed Hermione’s help with the transfiguration part – a subject, lucky for them, she was well versed in. Closely, she surveyed the work and found herself quite impressed. The incantation seemed to be correct and the wand movements as well, except there was just something about them that was…off. Mentally, she visualized the movements and when it finally came to the last movement, she realized the mistake. Dipping her quill into her ink, she crossed off the last tap and replaced it with a flick and then a tap, before sliding the notebook back to him. Fred shook his long ginger hair from his face and assessed the changes she made as Hermione returned to her own work. Looking down at her papers, she tried to find where she left off.

“What’s this for?” Fred whispered. Turning towards him, Hermione was caught off guard to find the boy so close, leaning towards her and pointing at her correction.

Blinking a few times, she answered, “You do want them to be human sized canaries, correct?”

Fred stared at her for a moment, and then back down at the paper before smiling. “Yeah, I suppose we do. I knew there was a reason we asked you to help.”

“If I remember correctly, I volunteered. Should I be regretting that?” Hermione teased.

“Don’t you dare Granger,” responded Fred with a wink. Heat pooled on Hermione’s face and she nervously grinned back, unsure of what to say. Fred spoke again, “Are you sure it will only be temporary?”

“What are you guys working on?” Harry asked. Hermione jumped, pulling back from Fred and the notebook they’d been piled over.

“N-nothing! I’m just helping Fred with his studies. He’s struggling in quite a few of his subjects, so he asked me to tutor him,” she lied. “Isn’t that right Fred?” She turned to him with a sweet smile.

Fred glared back at her, but ultimately cleared his throat and looked to Harry before speaking, “Yeah, I asked Granger to help me. But don’t worry Harry. It’s strictly professional. Wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to steal your girlfriend from you.” He ended his sentence with a cheeky grin. Hermione responded the only way she knew how – by kicking him in the shin under the table.

“Ow!” Fred reached under the table, and rubbing his leg. “Did you just kick me, Granger?” he asked, his long hair falling into his eyes.

“Yes, and you very well deserved it.”

Fred looked to Harry for support but only met his grinning face and a shrug of his shoulders. He then looked to his twin, still lounging on the floor but much more interested in the conversation.

“Don’t look at me, I think you always deserve a good kick in the shin,” said George, chucking the quaffle to his brother. Fred caught it easily.

“Some good friends you are,” Fred grumbled throwing the quaffle back to George before they all let out a few good-humored chuckles.

“I’d say they’re better friends to you than they are to me.” The voice took them by surprise. Looking to the portrait entrance, Hermione saw Ron, having just entered the common room to find the four enjoying themselves without him.

“Do you have a problem, mate?” Harry asked, his voice stony.

“I’m not your mate,” Ron responded, a touch on the dramatic side in Hermione’s opinion.

“Well if you’re not my mate then I guess you can just piss off. Yeah?” added Harry lightly, turning back to his work. Hermione looked between the two, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Ron gave her a nasty glare before turning to his brothers.

“You two can’t possibly believe him, can you?”

“Yeah, we do,” Fred and George answered in unison. George sat up properly, tucking the quaffle under his arm.

“He may be the Boy Who Lived—” started George.

“—but he’s not nearly bright enough to put his name into the goblet,” Fred finished.

“Sorry mate!” the two called over to Harry who merely shrugged, finding no offense in the statement.

“What happened to family loyalty?” Ron asked his older brothers, a hurt expression on his face.

“I think there’s a ‘being a complete prat’ contingency to that concept, brother. Besides, Harry’s family too.” George stood and stretched before tossing the quaffle at Ron, who caught it unenthusiastically.

Ron turned to Hermione now. “Guess I know why you always take Harry’s side. Thought you two would at least have the decency to let me in on the secret. But I guess there’s a lot of things you don’t tell me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get a word out Ron continued, “Doesn’t matter though, everyone else agrees with me anyways.” With a final glare, he turned and headed towards the boys’ dormitories, ridding himself of the quaffle on the way.

The common room was silent after Ron’s departure. Hermione realized that everyone had stopped to listen in on the dramatic scene. She really wished they hadn’t. One look at Harry and she knew he was wishing the same thing. His shoulders were hitched all the way up to his ears and his face was unnecessarily close to his parchment. The quiet weighed on Hermione like a thick and heavy blanket. She returned to her work, but the more she stared at the pages of her book, the more uncomfortable she became. Every fiber of her being wanted to storm up those stairs and give Ronald a piece of her mind, but she was worried she didn’t have the strength. Then something Fred had said to her in the hospital wing rang clearly in her mind, giving her the strength, she needed: …there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You’re more badass than I could ever be.

She rose, pushing back her chair. Harry, Fred, and George looked at her.

“If you’ll please excuse me,” she said politely, turning on her heel and heading towards the stairs that led up to the boys’ dormitories. She had only been in Harry and Ron’s room twice before, but she still knew the way. She climbed the spiral stairs in a fury, having no idea what she was about to say, but knowing she needed to say something. Her period of silence with Ronald Weasley had to end. Coming to the dormitory door, she pushed it open, not even bother to knock as anger and determination fueled her actions.

“Bloody hell Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, covering his bare chest. He was standing in the middle of the room clad only in his pants, trousers and shirt strewn aside in a pile, as he uncomfortably shifted. His face and chest were red as a cherry tomato, flushed in embarrassment, but he glared at her all the same. Hermione coughed, caught off guard by his state of undress. She had never seen Ron without his shirt, let alone his trousers. Trying not to focus on the freckles that spattered his chest, the flush that now covered her face, or the strange tug in the pit of her stomach, she pushed past the awkwardness of the situation and continued on with what she originally intended to do. Looking to her left she noticed Neville was also present in the room, confused and uncomfortable. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Neville, would you please excuse Ronald and I for a few minutes?”

The pudgy blonde boy nodded quickly and jumped from his bed, fleeing the room in a full run.

“Hermione, what are you doing in my room?!” Ron asked in a yell.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ve come to make peace. To have a heart-to-heart as they say…” Casually but with purpose she strolled further into the room, past Ron, to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Now? While I’m sodding naked?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, starting to feel normalcy return at Ron’s thickness. “Well put some clothes on if it’s so important to you, but yes, now.”

Ron stared at her, frozen where he stood. When he failed to move, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head insistently, urging him to hurry up. Ron scurried to his trunk and pulled on a pair of striped bottoms and a vibrant orange Chudley Cannon’s shirt, before plodding over to sit next to her on the bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, closing himself off to her and the world around him.

“What?” Ron stubbornly asked, avoiding her gaze.

“I think I deserve an apology from you,” said Hermione bluntly.

Ron looked up at her in surprise. “I need to apologize to you?!”

“Yes. You do—” Hermione stayed strong, squaring her shoulders “—Ronald, we have been friends for nearly four years. More importantly you and Harry have been best friends for just as long. Have we once ever lied to you? Deceived you? Betrayed you? Not supported you?”

Ron didn’t answer. Instead he looked down, resting his forehead against his knees.

“No, we haven’t—" she went on “—Now I don’t know what’s exactly been said or not said between you and Harry, and it’s not really my business. All I know is that when you accuse me of not being a good friend to you, it hurts. I’ve done my best to try to support you and Harry as I see fit. And that support involves believing and trusting you both when you tell me something. So, when Harry tells me he didn’t put his name in the goblet…I believe him. Because he’s my friend and until he does something to make me not trust him, I will continue to trust him. I’m not ‘siding’ with him to spite you and honestly this whole story you’ve concocted, that we’re conspiring against you, makes you sound like an absolute loon.” Hermione finished her speech and tucked her own legs up to her chest, hoping Ronald would respond to what she said with reason. When he didn’t automatically bite her head off or demand she leave his room, she let out a deep breath of relief.

She watched as Ron’s mouth scrunched up in conflict, his long hair covering his eyes and most of his emotion, until finally, he spoke, “I know you two aren’t plotting against me.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion.

“Well I mean, I guess at first I thought you were, but now not really. It’s just not fair. No one likes to be second, especially to Harry Potter. Harry Potter’s stupid friend…”

Hermione’s heart broke. She unwrapped herself and scooted sideways, pulling Ronald into a tight hug. He stiffened at the contact for a moment and then relaxed. They had never been physically close, the way she and Harry were, but Hermione felt this situation called for it.

“You’re not Harry Potter’s stupid friend, Ronald. You may not see it, but you’re worth a lot more than you realize. Are you a bit lazy when it comes to schoolwork? Sure—” they chuckled at her comment “—but you are not stupid.”

She pulled back, looking into Ron’s eyes for the first time in weeks. “You know, I think if he could, Harry would switch places with you in a second. Fame isn’t always a good thing.”

Ron nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and felt the heavy weight of Ron’s head atop hers.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he mumbled sincerely, slightly begrudgingly, but sincerely, nonetheless. Hermione smiled. Despite his bullheaded nature and obnoxious tendencies, Ron really did have a big heart. She was warmly reminded for a brief moment why, despite all his character flaws, she possessed an affection for him.

“So, how are you going to make things up with Harry?” She perked up, breaking the nice serenity of their resolution with their next challenge. Ron sighed in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, dropping his arm off her and rubbing his face.

Hermione hopped off the bed. “Well, do it on your own time, I suppose, but try not to take too long. Harry’s going to need the both of us this year.”

Ron stood as well and walked her to the door, nodding in agreement. Hermione pulled the door open and turned, looking over Ron’s kind face. A moment of impulse and Lavender’s nagging words to make a lasting impression took over and before she knew it, she was lifting onto her tip toes and placing a quick peck on Ron’s cheek. She watched as Ron brought a hand up to where her lips had touched, his cheeks turning a shade of pink under his fingertips. Throats cleared from behind her and Hermione turned, finding the twins standing in the stairwell, arms crossed and smirking. They had obviously been snooping.

“Goodnight Ronald,” said Hermione quickly, closing the door in his face and turning towards the twins in annoyance.

“Is this the young love Skeeter was talking about then?” asked George amusedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, answering in irritation, “Get an earful then?”

“Nah, couldn’t really hear through the door,” George admitted in disappointment.

“Too thick,” added Fred.

“You know, we really should invent something for that,” mused George, looking to his brother.

“I’ll start whipping up the schematics tonight,” bit Hermione sarcastically as she pushed past them and headed down the stairs. She found Harry right where she left him and sat back down in her seat. Neither said anything as she picked up her quill and got back to work. They sat there for quite some time until Harry finally broke the silence. She wasn’t sure how late it was, but the fire was beginning to burn low and they were the only two left in the common room.

“I got a letter from Padfoot last week,” he informed her. Hermione perked up at the news, hoping that something good would come from Harry’s godfather.

“What did he say?” she asked, setting down her quill and rearranging her notes.

“Not much—” Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair “—he wants to talk on the twenty-second. Guess he doesn’t trust sending letters anymore.” 

Sirius Black, also affectionately known as Padfoot, had great reason to be untrusting of the mail as he was currently still on the run from the Ministry of Magic. Accused of a crime he did not commit, it was barely a year ago he used his Animagus form to break out of Azkaban, the wizarding prison. Then through a series of incredibly complicated and confusing events (some of which included time travel), she and Harry helped him make his overall escape on the back of a hippogriff.

“Talk? How are you going to talk?” Hermione asked, placing her things into her book bag. Surely Sirius wasn’t planning on coming onto the school grounds. With ministry officials scurrying around for the tournament, Hogwarts was a risky place to be. The whole country of England wasn’t a safe place for him really.

“I don’t know. He just said to be in the common room at one in the morning,” admitted Harry as he collected his things as well. Hermione frowned.

“Well I just hope he doesn’t plan on putting himself in danger of getting caught or seen,” she said, looking purposefully at her best friend.

“I just hope he has some advice on how to not die this year in the tournament,” said Harry. Hermione bit her lip and something tugged sharply in her chest. She reached across the table and placed a hand atop Harry’s.

“Harry James Potter, you are not going to die. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hermione proclaimed the fact with so much conviction, she surprised even herself. Harry looked at her though his round glasses, his green eyes scanning her face. For what? Sincerity? Truth? Answers? Hermione did not know, but what she did know was that she wasn’t going to let Harry down. Her breakthrough with Ronald was only the first step. He placed his other hand over hers and gave her a tight smile. Hermione blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill down her face. After a moment they stood and left the common room to their respective dormitories. Not another word was needed.

    Fred sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall eating his lunch. He thought there must have been some greater power looking out for him today because they were serving his favorite – shepherd’s pie. The day had been a rough one so far and the little comfort that came from his favorite food was enough to take the edge off. That morning, after another futile attempt to catch a visiting Ludo Bagman, he and George had gone over their inventory and funds. Needless to say, it was depressing. Turns out they needed the money Ludo owed them more than they thought. They were for all intents and purposes, broke. The advertisement they sent out for had profited quite well, but with their mother’s raid before the start of term, their supply was limited and soon they would no longer be able to supply products to keep up with demand. He and George wagered they could make a larger profit off of new and exciting products, but they really only had a few sickles and knuts for pocket money. The whole situation left them with one option.

“Harry—" Fred spoke, catching the attention of the dark-haired fourth year “—mind being a dear and letting Georgie and me borrow Hedwig?” He watched as Harry swallowed his sip of pumpkin juice and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Uh, sure. What for?”

“That my dear boy—” smirked George “—is classified.”

“Really on a need to know basis,” Fred added, sniffing importantly.

“You know, I think I’d rather not know actually. But sure, she’s up in the owlery. Just make sure you bring her a treat, or she’ll be put out for a while and I’ll have to pay the price,” Harry informed them before stuffing a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. It was at that moment Fred spotted a flushed and chipper Hermione entering the Great Hall. Her hair was especially full and bouncy as she skipped towards them, her cheeks and nose a soft pink hue. Fred imagined she would be in a better mood today after what he could only imagine was a reconciliation between her and Ron last night.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted the lot of them cheerfully, setting her bag down and sitting next to Harry.

“What’s got you all pink? Just come from a hot snogging session?” George asked cheekily. Hermione’s face transitioned from its soft pink to a brilliant red. Lifting her nose up in indignation, she trained a disapproving look on George.

“If you must know, I’ve just come from Hagrid’s—” she loaded the plate in front of her with shepherd’s pie and vegetables “—he had me over for tea, and so naturally I’m starving.”

Harry snorted, shooting pumpkin juice across the table. Fred cried in despair as the last of his lunch became covered in regurgitated liquid.

“Gross mate,” said George, scrunching up his face as he wiped his wet cheek with his robes.

“Sorry,” coughed Harry sheepishly.

“Did you see the new notice on the bulletin board this morning?” asked Hermione. They all shook their heads. She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed they didn’t keep rigorously up to date with the daily affairs of the school like she did. Fred watched hypnotically as Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and took a bite of her food. He concentrated on the odd way her nose scrunched ever so slight when she chewed, almost like she was intrigued by the taste alone. Hermione had a very small nose. Not in a disproportionate way, but in a very pleasing way, he decided. Thin across the bridge, it’s up-turned end pointed ever so delicately into the air. It was also spattered with freckles, much like his own but not quite as obvious. From far away you’d never see them, but as you got closer, you’d notice the light patterns of golden brown that adorned the bridge spreading under her eyes.

“Earth to Freddie!” George bellowed in Fred’s ear.

Fred jumped, covering his assaulted ear drum. “What?!”

“I was saying they just put out the announcement that next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought maybe we could all go!” Hermione proposed for the second time.

“Or do you prefer to sit and stare at Hermione all day like a twat?” George asked.

Fred frowned at his brother. “I wasn’t staring. I was simply lamenting over the fact that I have to buy Granger a week’s supply of sugar quills.” Luckily, they were a very cheap sweet, thought Fred.

Hermione smiled sweetly, but Fred caught the devilish glint in her eye he was becoming very familiar with.

“I don’t know Hermione—” said Harry “—you might have to go without me.”

“Why?” she asked, her face falling. Fred watched Harry lean in and whisper something to Hermione. She pulled back and nodded, her face a mask of concern and understanding. Leaning back in, it was her turn to whisper something to him – information that he and George were not privy to. Her small hand reached up from under the table and landed on Harry’s upper arm as they pulled back smiling. Obviously, they had come to some kind of agreement that both were happy with. Fred felt an odd sensation wash over him as he watched the two engage in their private conversation. It was the same feeling he got in the hospital wing with Angelina and again when he watched Hermione kiss his little brother on the cheek.

If he didn’t know any better, watching this interaction, he might have believed Rita Skeeter’s accusation that her and Harry were entangled. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the strange route his thoughts had taken. Glancing down the table his little sister, Ginny, was sat next to Neville Longbottom and a few of her friends, laughing and gossiping as they ate. Just past them sat a group of first years looking over a copy of Seeker Weekly, and then further down were Lee, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina. The first three seemed to be engaged in an excited conversation. Lee was lecturing Katie on something with a tired look on his face while Katie shook her head and brought a hand up to her brow. Alicia watched the two, grinning as she stifled a laugh. But the last, Angelina, was looking at him. As their eyes connected, he gave a small friendly smile. However, he was not greeted with a smile in return like he expected. Instead she stood abruptly from the table and headed towards the exit to the Great Hall.

 Fred stood too. “I’ll catch you later Georgie. Gotta’ go take care of something.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he raced out of the Great Hall to catch up with Angelina. He found her not too far down the corridor.

“Angelina! Hey, wait up!” called Fred, jogging towards her. Angelina stopped and turned, waiting for him to close the distance between them. From her crossed arms and scowl, Fred could tell she was upset. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on her cheek.

She brushed him off. “Nothing,” responded Angelina, pushing her dark braids over one shoulder, and looking away from him. However, Fred could tell from the tone in her voice that there was in fact, something wrong.

“Come on. Don’t lie to me Angie. You can tell me. What’s wrong?” implored Fred as he reached out his hand again and pulled her face towards his, coaxing her to look at him.

“Oh, now you’re here for me? How nice of you to actually pay me the time of day,” bit the athletic chaser. Her reaction struck Fred dumb. Is she mad at me? he wondered in utter bewilderment.

“What have I done?!” he asked defensively. Just then a group of Hufflepuffs rounded the corner, casting sideways glances at the quarreling couple. Angelina grasped Fred’s wrist, pulling him from out of the middle of the corridor and tucking them into a small alcove.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks! You’re always too busy hanging out with Granger and Potter to spend time with any of your friends,” accused Angelina, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and shifting her weight from foot to foot. A pang of guilt rushed through Fred. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a puff of breath. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really hung out with any of his usual friends in a while. Lee, he saw nearly every day as they shared a room, but he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to any of them for more than a few minutes. He looked back at the girl in front of him to begin his apology but before he could, Angelina continued.

“Look, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to just answer me honestly. I won’t freak out or anything, just be honest—” Angelina took a deep breath “—do you maybe have a crush…or something on someone?”

“What?” asked Fred.

“You know? Like on Granger or…whatever?”

“Her—Granger, she’s just a friend. She’s been having a bit of a hard go of it lately, you know, with Ron and Harry off their rockers. George and I sort of took it as our responsibility to look after her. But you know, as friends. She’s a cool girl and I like her alright, but just as a friend. Only a friend. That’s it,” said Fred, feeling dizzy at just how many times he used the word ‘friend’. It was as he repeated the word, however, that he wondered just how true it was. He hadn’t ever really thought of Granger in that way. Perhaps that fact alone meant they were just friends. Angelina seemed unconvinced.

“As for not spending time with you—” Fred went on “—I’m sorry. We haven’t actually been spending all our time with Granger. Mostly George and I have been working on our joke shop stuff. We’ve hit a couple of roadblocks you see.” He let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about the lack of money and dwindling supplies.

Angelina’s expression softened. “I guess I’m just used to having you all to myself. It’s been hard to adjust what with quidditch being canceled and everything…” said Angelina. Fred smiled knowing that was probably the closest he’d ever get to hearing Angelina admit she was wrong.

“You know, Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. How about you and I spend it together?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Angelina smiled sweetly.

“Are we good then?” asked Fred. He watched as Angelina’s smile turned into a playful smirk.

“Yeah, we’re good. But we have a lot of catching up to do.” With that statement she grabbed his wrist again and started pulling him down the corridor.

“Where are we going?” Fred asked dumbly.

“To catch up. I was thinking it’s been a while since we paid a visit to our secret passageway.”

“Oh—” said Fred and then realization struck “—Oooooohh! Oh, you saucy minx.” And with that his pace quickened till the two of them were practically running towards poor Gregory the Smarmy.

Chapter 10 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

[preferredrealty]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time - A Mob!Shawn Mendes Series

Part 5 - Texts and Tasers 

Warnings: Tasers and swearing

Masterlist 

As always: Feedback is appreciated 💛🌻

(Y/N) stared blankly down at the pavement in front of her, the white fila trainers on her feet the only thing she focused on. As if the world knew she was in a sour mood, thunder clouds rolled over the city early this morning, raining since the early hours. 

She felt like her entire outlook on life had changed, she looked around her and didn't know if she could trust anyone, anybody could be a gang member in this city, anybody could be a thief, a murderer. A City she once seen nothing but opportunity in had now become a blackhole in her mind, sucking in everything good and turning it into nothing. 

The music blasting through her earphone had just switched songs when she glanced up and seen a shady looking man trying to stop people on the street, holding open one side of his jacket, she could make out think black rectangles lining one side of his coat making her speed up her steps to reach him. "How much?" She asked making the man jump, as he stuttered to actually get his words out, shocked to have a customer. 

- 

iMessage from Shawn: I know I said if it's really what you wanted that I would stay away but I can't get you out of my mind. 

iMessage from Shawn: I stopped by the diner. Deloris said you've been off sick. Are you okay?

iMessage from Shawn: Just let me know you're okay baby. It's been three weeks please talk to me.

(Y/N) groaned looking at the messages from Shawn as she pulled her coat off, hanging it on a familiar peg at the diner, looking around it feeling safe in her favourite spot in the world. 

"Hey baby." A soft voice cooed from behind her, spinning she sighed throwing herself into Deloris' waiting arms squeezing her in a much needed hug. "Hey Deloris." She smiled pulling back, tying her white apron over her pink waitress uniform. "Want to talk about it?" Deloris whispered as Greg passed by giving a nod to (Y/N) in recognition. "Nope, I want to forget about the past few months. They never happened." (Y/N) said with a strong voice, walking away towards Greg to see what needed done. 

As Deloris left the kitchen Greg put an arm over (Y/N)'s shoulder with a giant smile. "Say the word and I'll make him regret it." (Y/N) shook her head with a giggle pushing Greg's arm off as she loaded a order onto the silver trey, whizzing out of the swinging doors, a smile on her face that could win an Oscar.

"Can you take that table baby? I'm busy with this one." Deloris nodded towards a table at the far side of the diner where four particularly large men had just sat down. "Sure." (Y/N) sighed tucking a lose piece of hair behind her ear as she walked towards them, the smile plastering on her face one again.  "Afternoon gentlemen, what can I get for y'all today?" She asked with a cheerful tone. 

"Hmm" One of the men started, leaning on the table his eyes racking up and down (Y/N) making her shift uncomfortably. " I think I'll start with a Strawberry milkshake, I hear they're to die for." There was something in his voice that put (Y/N) on edge as she scribbled down his order. Along with the others. "Coming right up." She said rushing off to the kitchen pinning up the order. 

"(Y/N) your phone is going non stop." Greg groaned as he plated a order making (Y/N) sigh as she walked over to the wall with the pegs on it, reaching into her coat pocket seeing five new messages. 

With out reading she started to reply.

iMessage to Shawn: I'm fine. Delete my number.

Putting her phone on silent she slid it into the white apron she was wearing before walking back out the front of the diner, seeing the four men sitting silently. Something about them just wasn't right. 

"Can you close up tonight (Y/N)? Jerome wants to take me out tonight." Deloris grinned making (Y/N) giggle slightly, loving the relationship between Jerome and Deloris. "Of course, I owe you for covering for me last week." She grinned. She hadn't really been off sick, Deloris had seen Shawn coming before (Y/N) did, knowing they were on the rocks Deloris had pushed (Y/N) into the storage room just as Shawn walked through the doors, leaving as soon as Deloris said she wasn't there.

- 

Shawn stared at the text, his teeth chewing on his cheek. It had been six hours since he got the message and he couldn't bring himself to delete her number. 

Shutting his phone he stood up walking towards the table where his team were studying the latest job they planned. 

"Alright so everyone clear on what's happening?" Connor asked as everyone nodded along. "Alright we have a month to get everything ready before we go after The Cobras so take tonight to relax, tomorrow we start training and planning." Shawn finished for Connor, giving everyone the signal to leave, leaving only himself, Brian and Connor standing the in basement of his house. "Still nothing?" Connor asked as they left the basement, heading for Shawn's kitchen, where he opened a beer. "A text-" Shawn started before opening his phone showing it to them. "Well..that's- That sucks man." Brian clapped Shawn on the back as his own phone rang. "Ohh booty call." He grinned walking out as he chatted to whoever was on the over side of the phone. 

"I'm sure she'll come around man, She liked you, she really did." Connor sighed sitting on the counter top, tossing an apple in the air and catching it. "She's scared of me." Shawn huffed glancing at the clock on the wall as it struck 8pm, knowing the Diner would be shutting down for the night. "She's not scared of you man, it just our.." "lifestyle?" Shawn hissed repeating her own term as Connor nodded his head. "She'll come around, I promise."

-

"Shit!" (Y/N) sighed as the back door of the Diner slammed shut, locking behind her, the keys to the diner sitting on the counter teasing her. "Damnit." She whispered thankful that she had shut everything down before getting locked out, thankful she had put her coat on before she decided to take out the trash. Throwing the bags in the garbage she started to walk out of the dark ally. A male figure started walking towards her making her steps falter. "Shawn?" She called out hopefully. Getting a unfamiliar laugh in response. "Shit." She whispered turning to go the other way, only to see three more figures blocking the other way. 

"So you're the little diner girl who's got Mendes distracted hm?" One taunted, she instantly recognised him as the man who ordered the strawberry milkshake earlier. 'You act clueless' She heard Deloris' voice in her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know a Mendes." She said, pulling her coat closer around herself.

She started to walk at a fast pace past the man standing on his own only to be stopped when he grabbed her elbow. "Don't lie to me sweetness." He hissed making her flinch, eyes flickering to the other three who still stood at the opposite side of the ally. Spotting a broken wooden crate by his feet in the garbage (Y/N) took a deep breath. "Don't call me that asshole!" She snapped, her other arm reaching for the crate, swinging it with enough force it splintered over his head, making him let go of her other arm. 

Acting quickly (Y/N) knocked over a pile of empty kegs from the bar next door to the diner, blocking the ally a bit before the took off running in the direction of her apartment, hearing the yells of the men behind her.

Her lungs burned and feet stung from the force of her feet hitting the concrete below them as she ran, not chancing to look behind her as she ran, coming to her apartment building quickly, still hearing them following. With her key already in hand she quickly opened the door, running up the four flights of stairs, her hand quivering as she struggled to her out her phone. 

Busting through the door of her apartment she slammed the door, pushing the bookshelf next to it across with struggle before standing in the middle of her apartment. Her brain thumping in her skull as she heard the echo of feet coming up the stairwell. Running to the window in her apartment she pushed it open seeing the fire escape outside it slick with rain water making her panic and step back into her apartment leaving the window open. 

Glancing at her bedroom a idea quickly came to mind as she heard them thumping at her apartment door. Running into her room she hit call on her phone playing this works. 

-

Shawn glared at the empty seat next to him as he sat on the Santa Monic Pier thinking back to the night they had spent here, his heart squeezing as a clap of thunder echoed through the city. 

The blaring of his ringtone made him glance at his phone, his blood turning to ice when her name met his eyes. Sliding the answer button Shawn raised his phone to his ear. 

"Baby?" He whispered only to be met by heavy breathing. "Shawn! Oh my god Shawn, they're trying to get into my apartment please help!" Her shaking voice made him stand quickly, making his way to his car. "Baby calm down. Tell me what’s happening." "I can't talk they're trying to get in! I'm under my bed hiding please sha-" It went quiet as he heard a crash then muffled sounds of men shouting. "Baby I'm comin-" He was cut off by the dial tone of her call ending. "No, no, no shit!" He cursed starting his car, calling the only person closer to her right now than he was.

- 

(Y/N) stared in shock at the blank phone screen in her hand, cursing herself for not charging it fully that morning. She held her breath as she clutched her dead phone in her hand, the darkness of the storage space under her bed making her feel like she was suffocating. "Fuck she's gone!" She heard one yell from the living room. "The windows open she must have gone down the fire escape." Another said as foot steps faded away making her let out a breath of relief, shifting slightly feeling something dig into her pocket she reached into her pocket pulling out a thick back rectangle making her eyes widen, forgetting she had bought it. 

The sound of foot steps returning made her clench the rectangle struggling to find the on button in the dark, her fingers pushed on something making a whirring sound come from the taser in her hand and a small red light started flashing, her thumb landing on another button which she guessed is the trigger button.

As foot steps got closer to the bedroom the whirring sound intensified, only seeming to get louder as the footsteps got to the end of her bed. The noise stopped and the red light turned to green as she heard tapping on the bed making her clench the taser tightly.

"Okay." She whispered. "You can do this." She took a deep breath as the bottom of the storage space was lifted slightly, light flooding in. As it was lifted higher (Y/N) closed her eyes, letting out a yell as she jammed the taser into the body at the end of her bed, hitting the trigger button. 

Hearing a yell in response (Y/N)'s eyes flew open seeing the taser stuck in the crook of familiar red heads neck as his body jerked and he fell to the ground. "Brian?!" She yelled pulling herself out of the gap under her bed, dropping to her knees next to Brian who was still convulsing on the floor.

- 

Shawn parked his car half on the curb as he quickly turned it off, running towards (Y/N)'s apartment building seeing the black front door busted in. "No, shit!" He shouted running up the four flights of stairs, seeing splinted wood as he busted into the hallway, his feet carrying him straight to (Y/N)'s door. A large sigh of relief left his lips as he seen (Y/N) standing beside her couch a hand over her mouth. It wasn't until he heard her soft giggles that he seen Brian laying on the couch with a wet cloth pressed to his neck. 

Walking straight up to (Y/N) Shawn pulled her into hug before looking down at Brian confused only to see Brian glaring at (Y/N). "What happened you?" Shawn asked as (Y/N) started laughing again. "She fucking tasered me!" Brian cried out moving the wet cloth revealing two red circles on his neck. 

Shawn turned to (Y/N) with wide eyes finding her now staring into space, clearly in shock. Taking her by the arm Shawn guided her into his room, setting down on her bed. "(Y/N)...Baby can you hear me?" Her empty eyes turned towards him making Shawn frown. "Okay, I'm going to pack you a bag, you're coming to stay with me for a while." Shawn stood up finding a black hand luggage suitcase in her closet, packing all the essentials. He stopped when he heard a small sobbing from behind him, turning quickly he found (Y/N) with her head in her hands sobbing into them. 

Sitting next to her he moved her so she was sitting sideways on his lap, her head buried in his neck. He felt his jaw clench as he hugged her close to his chest, his eyes clocking on Brian who now stood in the door way holding what looked like a playing card in his hand, as he turned it over the sight of a family Cobra made Shawn's blood boil knowing exactly who done this and he was going to put an end to him.

[fuwafuwamedb]

The Rayshift Thefts Pt 2 (Rin, Cu Chulainn)

Thus far: 1

___

Shit.

Cu Chulainn carried the woman back towards his bedroom, doing his best to be quick and quiet about it. The woman in his arms was holding him tightly, her eyes roaming over the area as they headed to the comfort and safety of his bedroom.

It wasn’t the cleanest room. He couldn’t claim to be some kind of organized or neat kind o’ guy. There were a few shirts and things on the floor. He had a mess of sheets and he was pretty sure they smelled kinda like shit now that he was thinking about it. Looking around, he had an overfilled ashtray and he had a pile of beer bottles in the corner of the room.

“…Tell me we’re not staying in here for now.”

“It ain’t that bad.”

“I smell fish.”

Yeah, okay. It was that bad. He wasn’t that damn golden or red archer. He lived like any typical guy lived who didn’t have women frequent his room.

Cu Chulainn carried her back towards his desk, setting her down and pushing a few magazines back so he could set down the first aid kid.

“You could take me back,” Rin offered.

“Let me treat this.”

“Okay.”

She lifted his shirt back up, letting him see the wound again. The bandages were shit. It looked like he had a larger wound than expected on her stomach. There was no way of being able to handle this kind of wound without stitching it shut. He’d seen that nurse do it before on him. The wound had hurt like a bitch for a few days, but it had healed up.

He could use some fishing line and a hook to get the job done.

“Hold on.”

“I’ll just be here.”

The woman watched him, not saying a damn thing for once. He was used to the nonstop demands and complaints. She’d been about that kid before, the one who had saber. If her sister had won the war, did that mean that the kid was gone?

If so, that meant his promise was gone too, wasn’t it?

“So, Rin,” Cu grabbed his fishing toolbox, opening it up near the seat and glancing at her.

She was cute as could be, but this wasn’t gonna work.

I gotta have her lay on my bed.

“What is it, Blue Man?”

Blu- Oh.

“My name is Cu Chulainn. You may feel free to call me Lancer if you want.”

“Cu… What is it that you want?”

She was having her eyes glaze over a little. Her face was leaning in towards him a bit as she continued to bleed out.

She was dying on him.

“Rin, I gotta have you lay down so I can close this wound.”

“It won’t close magically,” Rin murmured. “My sister stabbed it with a special weapon. She didn’t mean to. She was tired of being alone. She hated me because she thought I hated her and wanted her dead. I didn’t though. I’m glad that she and Shirou will be happy.”

“Rin,” Cu slipped his hands under her legs and around her back. “I’m going to carry you to my bed. I have to close this wound and then get you some fluids. You’ve lost too much blood on me.”

“I’m fine,” she replied.

“You’re not fine.”

“I… I’m just tired.”

He laid her back against the sheets, not paying any mind to their state at this point. They’d need washed either way. He’d clean up the room while she was asleep. With a woman around, it was probably best to make it look decent.

“Your bed smells like you,” Rin murmured.

“Yeah? Sorry about that.”

“I like it.”

He glanced up at her as he pulled out the fishing hook and line from his toolbox. Threading it, he could see her on the side of his vision, pulling one of his pillows in and smelling it.

“You smell musky.”

“You’re definitely out of it. I think you’ll regret that statement later.”

“I don’t have anyone. There’s no one to care anymore about me. Sakura has Shirou. Archer is gone. The priest took all the Tohsaka fortune. I’ll be kicked from the estate in a week at most since the bastard refinanced my house.”

She whimpered as he made the first stitch.

“Leave it.”

“You’re going to survive, Rin.”

“It hurts.”

“You’re tougher than that, woman.” He leaned over her, looking her dead in those dangerous baby blues. “What happened to the mage who wanted to be the best of all of them. You were gonna win that war.”

“I lost. My family is gone.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t have any idea, but what you’re doing hurts.”

“I’m saving your life.”

“Why?”

Why? Was she really asking him why he was saving her life?

Cu Chulainn leaned in, holding her wound carefully as he pressed his forehead to hers. He could see that gaze lingering, her body lying far too calmly beneath him.

She dared to ask him why he was saving her life, as though it were not the obvious thing to do. She was actually trying to devalue herself, after showing him all that confidence. He’d not been off when he’d thought of her like a bird with a broken wing. The confidence and the glory that was this woman had been ripped apart by her time and war.

“…You said you saved me before. You asked if anyone touched me.”

“I did.”

“Then you saved me from being used and killed?”

He nodded, finding a soft smile on her lips.

“I don’t know what happened, but you must be a strong servant at least. I would have liked having a servant like you in the war I’d been in.”

Oh no.

She didn’t get to go saying things like that. She didn’t get to make it seem like she was going to die. Cu leaned in, pressing his lips to hers a moment before he resumed his efforts. The stitches were tight, probably more so than they needed to be, but he couldn’t help himself.

He pulled the sheets away, tossing them to a corner of the room and pulling a fresh sheet from the closet nearby.

He had her dressed in wrappings and curled up on his bed soon enough. Her hair ribbons were tossed onto the nightstand.

Slumbering away, she lay there from the moment he left to the moment he returned.

Those blue eyes opened for a fraction of a second, glancing to him before she fell back asleep.

His fool.

No, that wasn’t quite right, was it? She’d never really been his, but he’d imagined it before. She had all the warmth and the confidence when she was healed and treated right. Soon enough, he’d have the stubborn woman back at his side, demanding and commanding him around.

He pulled the trash bins in his room around, filling them up with garbage and throwing his soiled clothes and fabrics straight into the laundry shoot.

While she rested so peacefully, he meandered, leaving his room locked.

Laundry was stressful, but he had a collection of snacks retrieved from the kitchens. He had his trash dumped and gone, leaving no trace of the bloodied bandages. He went to the supplies closet and stole some cleaning products, beginning to work on cleaning up the space that Rin rested in.

Hair was pulled from the shower drain.

Dust was wiped from the overhead fan panels, the built up dirt making his nose curl in disgust.

He cleaned and changed things around until the room was at least looking like it should. He had a fire going in the corner fireplace. He had the floors gleaming and free from debris.

By the time dawn came and he could hear others moving about Chaldea, Cu Chulainn had his arms wrapped around his one dream master. His lips pressed softly to her temple.

Your bed smells like you… I like it.

He liked a lot of things about his wee woman.

When she healed, he’d have to take the time to let her know.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Embers in a Wounded Heart

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner/scentedbygunpowder Word Count: 11,233 Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2020 Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: Part 2 of 5 Summary: Post-PD. A drive to look for more of Berthold Hawkeye’s research sends Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, and Jean Havoc back to Hawkeye’s childhood home. But although the years have faded the wounds of Hawkeye’s heart, the embers still exist. This trip, ordered by Mustang, threatens to flame them back to life. With Hawkeye and Mustang at odds with each other, and an unknown but heavy history hanging overhead, Havoc isn’t sure what this research mission will mean to the future of his commanding officers.

Prologue || Part I || Part II || Part III || Epilogue AO3 || ff.net

CHECK OUT THE WONDERFUL ART ACCOMPANYING THIS CHAPTER!

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Part II

Although Havoc was not a farm kid himself, most of his neighbors had been. The store had always opened early, and he had been rustled out of bed to help too. The military hadn’t done much to change that, honestly, and so the next morning he rolled out of bed bright and early. He wasn’t surprised to find that he was the first one up. Mustang was notoriously not a morning person, and Havoc had heard Hawkeye tossing and turning during the night. She had only seemed to settle down after he had heard her get up and move the rusty lock on her door.

He dressed in his uniform pants and an undershirt and pulled on his boots before running his fingers through his hair and ambling as quietly as he could manage downstairs. His first stop was the kitchen, and he rummaged through the cabinets until he found what he knew Hawkeye had to have ordered—coffee. And bless her, it was a big jar of it. A little more rummaging had him finding a coffee pot to clean up and use. He went out to find the wood pile, brought a few pieces in, and set to work stoking the fire in the stove. That done, he cleaned the coffee pot and prepared it. Leaving it on the stove to boil, he went out to check on the horses, making sure they were fed and watered and doing well. They seemed fine, but he’d have to ask Hawkeye about a pasture or such for them.

When he made his way back into the kitchen, Hawkeye was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee already in front of her. She, too, had her uniform pants, boots, and undershirt on. She didn’t have her usual array of guns on, although Havoc had no doubt that she was still armed, and her hair was a bit messy, as if she still needed to brush it. She looked worn down, not rested at all, and he frowned a little at that. Clearly, she hadn’t managed to sleep well, even after she had locked her door.

“Mornin’ Hawkeye,” he said, not too cheerfully lest he risk her wrath. “Ya found the coffee. Good.”

“Mm,” she said. “Yes. Thank you for starting it.”

“Honestly, a day doesn’t start right without it.”

“You can say that again.”

Havoc poured himself a cup, adding a bit of sugar to it. He could take it black like any other military man, but if he had access to sugar, why shouldn’t he add it?

“Checked on the horses,” he said. “I’d like to find some place to let them graze. But I didn’t see a good place to pasture them.”

“Mm…” Hawkeye was quiet for a moment. “There’s no fencing around anymore, but there might be some rope. You might can stake them down or tie them up in the old orchard and let them graze there. But don’t go on the south side of the orchard near the woods. There’s a spring there that feeds a nearby pond a bit off and the ground is very swampy. Sometimes gases get trapped underneath it.”

“Gotcha.” Havoc said trying not to grin. He wasn’t sure if it was being back in the country, or just her being so tired, but he could hear the country seeping back into her speech. “You know the area pretty well, don’t you?”

“Spent a lot of time outside,” she said with a sigh. “It was better than staying inside.”

She stood then and headed to get herself another cup of coffee before working on for breakfast. Havoc sat back and took another drink of his coffee. Sure, lots of country kids would rather stay outside than inside, but there was something in the way she said it that told Havoc there was more to the story than she was letting on.

Still, mornings were not the time to question things too much, especially when they were just waking up. So, he sat there, drinking his coffee and not really thinking about anything while Hawkeye rummaged around and pulled out some food to start breakfast. For a few minutes the only sounds were her rummaging, and the birds outside. Havoc took a breath, and simply enjoyed the moment.

But his Ma hadn’t raised a layabout, and he couldn’t just sit there while Hawkeye was working. “…you need a hand?” he asked, watching as she bustled back and forth in the kitchen. He supposed that he knew she could cook, but it was odd seeing her so domestic.

“No, thank you, I can do it myself,” she responded.

He blinked for a moment, then altered his question. “Okay. But do you want a hand?”

She paused for a moment, then looked back at him. “…If you want to.” She finally said.

Havoc stood up with a stretch, and then moved to help her out, pretty decent himself with the basics of cooking a simple breakfast.

The two worked together pretty well, working on bacon and eggs and toast. Partway during it Mustang stumbled into the kitchen, yawning, and heading straight for the coffee. He blearily looked at them.

“You two need any help?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Hawkeye said, her voice suddenly sharp. “It’s under control.”

It was a quick turnaround in attitude, and it caught Havoc off guard. He glanced back at Mustang, catching the slightly frustrated look on the other man’s face. Somehow, he got the idea that if he left, things wouldn’t improve, so he just gave Mustang a shrug when Hawkeye wasn’t looking and didn’t try to make any excuses. Mustang just shook his head and gave a resigned shrug in return.

Well, at least Mustang wasn’t taking too much offense to it. Or maybe he was just too tired to make a big deal out of it. Whatever it was, Havoc just hoped that it would make some sort of subtle truce that would hold for a bit.

Silence reigned over the kitchen, aside from the needed communication and Havoc found himself wishing that there was a radio in the kitchen so that there was some sort of noise or sound going on. In contrast to his own family’s kitchen, which was usually bustling with life and sounds and smells, something here almost seemed to keep all sound muted. He wasn’t sure if it really was something about how the house was built, or if it was just perception, but it was there, nonetheless, and it made him crave some sort of sound.

Breakfast didn’t take them long to cook, nor did it take long for them to finish it and start another pot of coffee. Mustang didn’t look like he had slept much better than Hawkeye, and Havoc began to wonder if he was the only one who had slept decently, despite that dress form looming over him all night long.

“So,” Havoc finally broke the silence. “What’s the plan for the day?” He noticed Riza tense, but she didn’t say anything, just gave Mustang a hard look.

Mustang ignored it. “We need to search the house from top to bottom, to see if there’s any alchemic research left in it.” He said.

“Alchemic research?” Havoc questioned, a little confused. Then again, a lot about this didn’t make sense. Why were they at the house Hawkeye grew up at for research anyway, alchemic or otherwise?

“Yes,” Mustang said, and he was decidedly not looking at Hawkeye, which struck Havoc as odd. “The captain’s father was my alchemy teacher.”

Havoc stared at the two of them, gobsmacked, that bit of information bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt. There were so many ramifications from that, and his mind tried to grab onto just one so that he could start processing just what this meant and how that changed just about everything. One thought did stand out above the rest, though.

“So—wait. Does that mean that Hawkeye’s father taught you Fla—”

His words were cut off as Hawkeye abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, plate in hand and jaw tight. “I’ll see to the horses,” she said, her voice short as she scraped her plate in the garbage can and put it in the sink. Before Havoc could blink, she was out the door, shoving it open and then forcibly slamming it behind her.

Havoc stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention back to Mustang. He was looking at where Hawkeye had been with an expression that Havoc was familiar with. It was similar to the one that he sometimes found Mustang looking at him with: an expression of guilt coupled with the knowledge that nothing could be changed, just accepted.

Havoc had no idea what to do.

The expression passed quickly, and Mustang stood up too, although less abruptly. “Let’s get the kitchen cleaned up,” he said.

“Yessir.”

The current revelation ran around his head as the two of them worked. Havoc may not have been the smartest man on earth, or even on the team, but even he realized that this shifted perspective on a lot of things.

This explained why Mustang and Hawkeye were so close. He always knew that they knew each other in Ishval, but he thought that was where they had met. Apparently, they knew each other before that. Way before that. How far back, though? He remembered hearing Riza talk about her “father’s apprentice” back at the Academy, and it had always seemed like she had known him since she was pretty young. Ten, eleven maybe? Before she was a teenager, anyway. She had even said that he was the reason she had joined the military. There had always been something in her voice as well, something that had made Catalina swear up and down that whoever this boy was, he was clearly Hawkeye’s first love. And then there was the flame alchemy—

Havoc shook his head, needing to put all of this in order. It changed so much! But before he could, the door scraped open again and he looked up from where he was drying the last dish. Hawkeye was back and Havoc was pretty sure that questions and distractions would not be a good thing right now. Or maybe ever, if he was honest with himself.

Her eyes swept over the two of them, and there was challenge in her eyes. It was a challenge that Havoc wasn’t going to rise to.

“Are the horses alright?” Mustang asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I knew a good place to tie them up and let them graze.”

“Good. Be sure to go back and check on them later.”

“Of course, I will.”

There was something else in the conversation, something that Havoc didn’t know what was, but something in Hawkeye shifted for a moment. Mustang’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. It was one of those silent conversations that Havoc just didn’t have the context for, and that there was no point in trying to figure out, honestly. The two of them just had too much history for him to be able to interpret it--more history then Havoc had ever suspected, apparently.

As suddenly as it had begun, the moment was over. Havoc put down the last dish with a quiet exhalation, and Mustang let the water out of the sink, drying his hands on the dishtowel. “Alright. We need to get down to the reason that we came here.” Suddenly both Mustang and Hawkeye were all business, and Havoc felt himself straightening in response. “Captain. If your father had any notes left, where would he have hidden them?”

There was a weird tightening of Hawkeye’s shoulders, and suddenly the anger was reignited in her eyes. “It wasn’t as if he ever told me where he planned to put his notes. Sir.”

There was a definite bite in the response, and it was undisguised. Havoc’s head snapped over her way in shock. It seemed completely out of character for the normally stoic woman.

Motion caught Havoc’s eye and he turned his attention back towards Mustang. The man had drawn himself up, stiff, and was, Havoc could see, clearly angry.

Whatever had just happened was a landmine, and Havoc could only hope that it didn’t blow while he was in the room. Whatever this was between them, it was dangerous. If it went off, Havoc had the uncomfortable feeling it would cause a lot of damage that might be irreparable.

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but Havoc took his own life in his hands, and spoke up.

“Seems to me that the study or the library would make the most sense, at least to start looking,” he said. “Might be obvious, but we’ve gotta start somewhere. Either that, or maybe a top down approach? Start at the attic and go down to the basement, then out to the outbuildings?”

The tension eased slightly, and Havoc thanked every god he had ever heard of that he hadn’t been shot or roasted—or both.

“That would be better than looking piecemeal,” Roy admitted.

Hawkeye stiffly turned away from them. “I’ll get us some lamps for the attic.”

Hawkeye was back momentarily with the lamps and the process of pouring the oil in and lighting them helped to distract from the previous tension. To get to the attic, they had to head up the back stairs which were, as Mustang had warned Havoc, rickety. There was a small door off of the back stairs that led up to it, although the door was stuck from disuse, and Havoc ended up having to get it open for them.

The attic was not the biggest one Havoc had ever seen, and he had to stoop a bit, the roofline not far from Mustang’s head. He honestly wasn’t sure that anyone but Riza would be able to get into the furthest reaches of it, especially with all of the stuff in it. It had chests and trunks, old pieces of furniture, frames and decorations—and lots of dust. Hawkeye made her way over to a window to try to let some air in while Mustang surveyed the cramped space.

“We’ll have to look in every part of everything,” he said. “Every trunk, every chest, every piece of furniture, and everything that’s in the trunks and chests.”

“The walls, floor, and ceiling too, sir,” Riza said, looking down at something. “There’s plenty of hidden space here.”

Mustang frowned. “That’s true. It also makes things more difficult. I don’t want to dismantle the house.”

Hawkeye snorted, but Havoc had the feeling that it was more about the idea of dismantling the house than it was any sort of jab at Mustang himself.

“What about your alchemy?” Havoc asked, trying to keep the plan going.

“What about it?” Mustang asked.

“Well, you can do that clapping kind now, right? Like the Elrics did. Can you just clap and transmute the wall to see on the inside of it and then transmute it back?”

Mustang blinked at him for a moment, and then considered. “I don’t know. Let me try.”

“If you mess anything up, you’re paying to fix it,” Hawkeye shot back.

A slight look of irritation crossed Mustang’s face, but he stared at the wall for a moment. His irritations faded, and instead he gained a look of concentration on his face. For a moment, he did nothing, and then he clapped his hands together and touched the wall. The wood in it lifted up, showing the inner wall—and whatever was crumbling in it.

Mustang jumped back with a look of disgust on his face. “What is that?” he asked.

Havoc leaned close. “Looks like stuff that was used for insulation.” He looked over at Mustang and Hawkeye. “That could be a problem, if it’s like that throughout the house.”

Mustang was looking at it as if he were considering his options. “Fullmetal would just find a way to improve it. The problem is, I’m not sure what it is.”

“Can’t you just clap it into something?” Havoc asked.

Mustang shook his head. “It’s better to know what the material is first, so I know what I’m working with. Although Fullmetal managed on the fly. I wonder…” Mustang trailed off, a look of concentration on his face, and Havoc shrugged to himself. Whatever he was thinking now was far beyond Havoc’s ilk.

“Havoc. Come help me.”

Havoc looked up from Mustang and focused on Hawkeye, who had moved to one side of the attic, moving a few items around.

“Sure.” He made his way over to her, having to be careful not to hit head on the rafters as he walked. “Whatcha need?”

“We need to look through everything,” she said. “While the general is over there trying to figure out alchemy, we need to start looking. Help me move this trunk and look through it.”

“What, exactly, are we looking for?” he asked her as he grabbed a handle on the side of the trunk, still not sure what exactly these alchemy notes would look like.

That odd stiffness returned to Hawkeye, and he noted with interest it seemed to happen in reference to her father’s alchemy notes the most. Did Hawkeye have some sort of bad relationship with her father and alchemy? There was something going on here for sure.

“You know the basics of what alchemy looks like, don’t you?” she asked him as she grabbed the other handle.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “The circles and some of the information. Kinda have to when you’re around alchemists as much as we’ve been.” They lifted the trunk enough that they would have room to open the lid.

“Then look for anything that has that on it.” Her hands ran over the trunk, finding and releasing the latch.

“Like papers and stuff?” Havoc asked.

Riza paused, stiff, the trunk’s lid half lifted, and not facing him. “…anything.” She said. “My father… has been known to keep notes in unconventional places.”

Her voice was tight, with an undercurrent of anger, and it felt dangerous. Havoc swallowed, not sure where to go from here.

“Hey! I got it!”

Mustang’s voice broke the moment, and Havoc looked over his shoulder to see Mustang with a decent piece of insulation in the open part of the wall and looking particularly pleased with himself.

“Good for you, sir,” he said. “Gonna reinsulate the whole house now?”

Mustang gave him an irritated look, opened his mouth and hesitated, his eyebrows drawing together. Havoc blinked at him. Was he actually considering reinsulating the whole house?

Before Havoc could make any sort of comment, Riza interrupted them both. “You work on that, sir. Havoc and I will take care of the rest.”

There was clearly no room for argument, so Havoc resigned himself to a day full of searching for notes that he didn’t understand in places that he wouldn’t have normally considered.

He hoped he was getting paid overtime for this.

Hawkeye was, apparently, in no mood for talking, not that Havoc was surprised. With Mustang concentrating on the walls, and Hawkeye directing Havoc, he soon was deep in searching through the contents of trunks, for secret compartments on furniture, and for any other imaginable hiding place. Clothes, shoes, hats, bags, every layer was examined. Holiday decorations, baby things, photographs and paintings, journals and notebooks, old dishes, keepsakes and knickknacks, they were all gone through carefully, looking for hidden places and secret compartments. The trunks themselves and the pieces of furniture were all examined thoroughly, searching for hidden places and pockets. Mustang worked diligently on the floors, walls and ceilings, looking for hidden places.

(and if the walls and floors looked a little better when he transmuted them back into place, well, Havoc wasn’t going to say anything)

They took a break for lunch, which was just sandwiches that they could rustle up quickly, and Havoc went out to check on the horses, needing to straighten up from the cramped attic. Unfortunately for his back, it didn’t take long before they were all back to work again. By the time the sun was going down, they had searched the attic and come up with nothing but a coating of dust.

Havoc wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or not that the work had kept them so busy that there hadn’t been time for talking about the things in the attic. On one hand, it kept most things from devolving into more of that hostile tension. On the other hand, Havoc couldn’t help but feel like there were missed opportunities in not talking about things that they found.

One thing he did know, though, was that they were all dirty and they were all hungry.

“There’s not much hot water,” Hawkeye said as they came down the stairs. “If we’re quick, two people might be able to get a shower before it runs out. The other will either have to wait, get a cold shower, or go down to the pond. That water should still be decently warm.”

Havoc made a face. “So, two of us, huh? Wanna play for who gets out?”

“Personally, I think it should be done by rank,” Mustang said.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Havoc said. “So, you’re obviously going to sacrifice for your men, right? Being the higher rank and responsible for our well-being and all.”

“That’s not—” Mustang began, working into a rant.

Hawkeye interrupted them. “I’ll go to the pond.” She said, already starting to move passed them. That stopped both men mid semi-fake argument. She seemed to take their lull as a reason to continue. “I need to wash my hair, and that will take far too much hot water. You two can use the water here, and I’ll take care of things at the pond.”

She was already walking past them, when Mustang reached out, grabbing her by the arm. “No, Hawkeye you can’t—” he cut off at her glare.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do in my own house, Roy Mustang.” She hissed out, jerking her arm out of his grasp. “I’ve bathed in that pond more than a few times—I’m sure you remember.”

Normally Havoc would have taken that to mean some sort of embarrassing story, possibly involving Mustang catching Hawkeye bathing and Hawkeye shooting him, but there was something else in her voice, and something about the way that Mustang stopped that made Havoc wonder just what it was about.

There were way too many weird undertones with these two lately, and it was, quite frankly, giving Havoc a headache.

“I dunno, Riza, it seem ungentlemanly of us to make you go off to the pond to bathe,” Havoc said, scratching his chin. “And I’m pretty sure Catalina’d kill me if she knew you went to a pond to bathe while I took a warm shower.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Let us go. I need to stretch my legs anyway, and I’m guessing that the general here could show me the way.”

They both sort of hesitated, but then Hawkeye, her jaw working, finally nodded. “Fine. Let me get you some supplies. I’ll meet you back down here.”

She disappeared and Mustang sagged just slightly in relief. “Thanks, Havoc,” he said.

Havoc grinned at him. “You owe me one, sir. And I’ll expect you to pay up eventually.” He ambled off then to go find clean clothes to change into. These were dusty enough they’d probably have to be washed, and he had no idea how that would be handled here.

It shouldn’t have taken Havoc by surprise at all that Hawkeye had thought ahead and ordered a second set of items for bathing, knowing that this would happen, and within a few minutes Havoc and Mustang were ambling through the near dark towards the pond, clean clothes, soap and shampoo with them.

It was a pretty walk, with the trees and an overgrown forest path. Havoc could see several different kinds of plants growing, and a part of him itched to dig them up and take them back so his Ma could have them. He saw signs of plenty of animals too and thought that this would be great hunting ground. He was pretty sure that Riza had hunted when she was young. He wondered if this was the same path she had travelled down.

Mustang, in contrast to Havoc’s own enjoyment and relaxation, was anything but relaxed. He didn’t seem to enjoy the outdoors, and he got more and more tense the further away from the house they got. It was clear that he just wanted to get this over with and get back to the house as quickly as possible—or, Havoc figured, he wanted to get back to Hawkeye as quickly as possible.

The pond was in a small clearing, forest on one side, and field on the other. There was a small, shoddy dock built, and reeds in the edges of the water. It didn’t look to be too snaky, which Havoc was glad about. He didn’t want to die after getting bit by a snake while bathing in a cow pond—or sheep pond, or whatever kind of animal drank from it.

They stripped down quickly enough, getting into the water and leaving their clothes and supplies on the dock. The water was colder than Havoc would have liked, but it wasn’t terrible.

“Kinda glad we’re the ones that came out here,” Havoc said, dipping down further in the water. “It’s more exposed then I’d like for Hawkeye to be.”

“It’s private land all around here.” Mustang was reaching for the soap, so Havoc stayed partially submerged in the water. “No one should be out here, so she should have been safe.” His words and tone were casual, but Havoc could hear the tension underneath them.

“Should, yeah,” Havoc said. “But I went plenty of places I shouldn’t have as a kid. Ponds in the middle of land that’s practically been abandoned sound like a great place to go.” He took a breath, and dunked his head under the water, letting his hair get wet before he stood back up, most of his upper body out of the water, and shook his head. “Hawkeye said she’d bathed out here before. They not have running water when she was a kid or something?”

Roy seemed to tense at the question, and Havoc noticed it. “No,” he finally said. “They had all the plumbing that was needed. But the hot water was limited, and sometimes this was better for her.” Mustang dunked himself under the water, and Havoc reached for the soap.

There was definitely a story in that, he thought, as he started to soap up, but it didn’t seem like the funny kind. Mustang came up with a gasp, and reached for the shampoo, and not much else was said between the two men as they finished bathing and dressed. Hawkeye was out of the shower by the time they got back, and already working on supper. Havoc took care of the horses while Mustang put their things away and set their clothes to soak in the wash tub. By the time all of that was finished, Hawkeye had supper ready and they sat down to eat. All of them were pretty weary, which cut down on just about all conversation. After supper was finished and the kitchen was cleaned, they all made their way towards bed, with no one suggesting they do anything else. They were just too tired.

But Havoc didn’t fall asleep right away. He laid in his bed, gazing up at the ceiling, a toothpick between his teeth (bless Hawkeye and remembering that he was trying to cut back on his cigarettes). This house, this place, felt full of memories. It was like they weighed it down. Everything Hawkeye and Mustang did, everything they said, and everywhere they went seemed to have some sort of memory attached to it. There was a history here, a heavy one. And Havoc would lay dollars to donuts that it had everything to do with why Hawkeye was so upset with Mustang.

It wasn’t a mystery he was going to solve, though, and Havoc flicked his toothpick into the ashtray Hawkeye had stuck in his room, rolled over, and went to sleep.

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Havoc and Hawkeye were the first ones up. Just like the morning before, after putting on the coffee, Hawkeye started breakfast and Havoc checked on the horses. Mustang came down a little later, still yawning, and asked if he could help Hawkeye. She gave him a sharp retort that Havoc was sure had a double meaning and they ate their food in the silence of those not quite yet awake.

It was after breakfast when the day really began. Another day of searching for hidden alchemy notes wasn’t exactly something that Havoc was looking forward to, but it was the general plan. With the attic finished, it was onto the second floor. The three bedrooms, the bathroom, the master bedroom, the study, and the hallway itself were the rooms on this floor. They needed to be searched, hopefully all by today. It would be another day of hard work, but Havoc was glad that he could at least stand up straight here, as opposed to the attic.

“So? Where do we start?” he asked, looking at both of them curiously. That tension seemed to rise between then again, along with some silent communication.

“The Master bedroom,” Hawkeye finally said. Mustang looked as if he wanted to say something, but she cut him off with a look. “If that’s alright with you, General.”

Roy looked back at her, an expression of irritation settling on his face. “Yes, of course, Captain. But I’m sure that Lieutenant Havoc and I can handle it and the study.”

“With all due respect, sir, you’ll be focused on the walls and floor again. Havoc and I can take on the rest of the room together. It’ll cut our time.” Hawkeye said, clearly not happy with the idea of being dismissed from searching the master bedroom.

“Perhaps so,” Mustang said. “But if you search another room that will also make the search go faster.”

“I disagree, sir,” she said, her voice tight. “Because some of that furniture is heavy. Either I will need help moving furniture and will call you or Havoc away from your search, or you will need me to help move furniture and call me away from my search.”

Mustang wasn’t backing down. “Captain. I can make this an order.”

Neither was Hawkeye. “And I can kick you out of my house, sir.”

Hawkeye’s entire posture was one of resolute stubbornness, but it felt like she was teetering on the precipice of something. Mustang looked frustrated, angry, and his jaw was set too.

“Fine,” he finally said, whirling back towards the master bedroom. “If this is how you want it, Captain.”

“I do, sir.” She bit back, following him in.

“….hoo boy. What I wouldn’t give for the distraction of Hayate now,” Havoc muttered.

“Havoc!”

“Coming, sir!”

The master bedroom was neat and tidy, but there was a tightness to Hawkeye that the room itself didn’t seem to have a reason to cause. Havoc didn’t question it, though, just kept an eye on her as they worked. It was odd, actually, to see Hawkeye this emotional. Oh, she wasn’t emotional as if she were crying, or clinging to something. But it was obvious that she was emotional, and that she was trying her best to keep her emotions under control. It seemed that everything about this room was pushing her a little more and a little more towards a loss of control, though. She was winding tighter and tighter as they went through the closet, the dresser, the chest-of-drawers, and every personal object that was contained in the room.

Mustang was keeping a close eye on her too, Havoc could tell. He honestly wasn’t sure if Hawkeye could or not. Normally, yes, she would notice right away. But with as tightly as she was wound, Havoc wasn’t sure what she was noticing and what she wasn’t. The bed was the last thing that they examined, and by that time Havoc was eyeing Hawkeye and wondering if he should say anything. He was on the edge of it when Mustang spoke up instead.

“Captain. Havoc and I will move this back. I think we could all use something to drink.”

Hawkeye’s jaw tightened. “Sir, I—”

Mustang cut her off. “Just some water or something else. We’ve been working a while, it’s not going to hurt us.” Hawkeye didn’t move. “That’s an order, Captain,” he said.

Hawkeye dropped the pillow on the bed the same ways she didn’t slam doors—meaning that she didn’t actually slam it down, but somehow it came off that way anyway. “Yes, sir,” she ground out, and turned with military precision to leave the room.

Havoc didn’t move and waited until he was sure that Hawkeye wouldn’t be able to hear them. “General…” he started hesitantly. “Is she—”

“Her father died in this room,” Mustang said abruptly. “She had been caring for him, but I was with him when he died. She walked in right after.”

For a moment, Havoc said nothing, but it did make the way that she was reacting more understandable. “I see, sir.” There was silence for a moment more. “Well, should we move the bed back?”

Mustang stirred then, looking up at Havoc. “Yeah. And then we can mark this room as finished. We’ll go to my room next.”

“Yessir.”

Havoc worked with Mustang to set the room back to rights, and then the men made their way down the stairs for a stretch and a break. Hawkeye had already sat out some glasses and poured them some lemonade. Mustang looked at it questioningly.

“Mrs. Nelson sent it with the supplies,” she said without preamble.

“Ah.” Mustang sat down at the table and pulled a glass to himself.

Havoc didn’t sit down yet, stretching and shaking out his legs a bit. “Mrs. Nelson?” he said. “Is she the wife of the man who owns the general store?”

“Yes,” Hawkeye replied. “She’s a kind woman.”

“Yeah?” Havoc asked, finally pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Mustang snorted into his glass. “She always made sure any of the kids around were behaving,” he said. “No one acted up around her. She gave me directions to this house when I arrived in town.” He made a face. “She fussed over me and called me a city boy.”

Hawkeye sat down too. “You were a city boy, sir. You still are,” she said. “But she was always getting onto the children. I knew that if I needed to wait things out, I could hang around there. And she’d give me some food sometimes when she saw me walking back from the bookshop to the school at lunch time.” She paused. “I’m not surprised that she sent along a few extra things on the wagon.”

“Seems like a nice lady,” Havoc said.

“Yes, well.” Hawkeye stood abruptly, taking her glass with her. “She did what she could.” She quickly drank the rest of it and sat about washing her glass.

Mustang let out a quiet sigh in his glass, and Havoc took note of a look of guilt that crossed his face. What was that about? It sounded like Hawkeye and her dad had it difficult with money, but why would he feel guilty about that? Or was that even what he was feeling guilty about? Was it something to do with that “waiting things out” Hawkeye had said (which, he thought was kind of dubious. Just what was she waiting out? And why did it sound like a common occurrence?) Or was he feeling guilty because Hawkeye—it sounded like—went hungry sometimes as a child, and he wished that she hadn’t had to?

It was another piece to this weird puzzle he had, and to be honest, Havoc wasn’t sure that he’d ever have all the pieces.

Mustang tilted his glass back and drained the rest of his lemonade out of it, and Havoc did too, figuring he better follow suit.

“Come on. We should get back to work.”

The three of them went back up the stairs and started in on the bedroom that Mustang was staying in—or, as Havoc noticed both of them called it, Mustang’s bedroom, as if he had already had ownership of it. Then again, if he had stayed here to learn alchemy from Hawkeye’s dad, Havoc supposed this just might have been his bedroom.

Once again, they took it apart bit by bit, examining every part of the room. Nothing of note was found, except for some papers wedged under a board that neither Hawkeye or Mustang would let him look at. He couldn’t help but notice that they both seemed a bit embarrassed about them, and filed that away for later teasing. They finished the room quickly and moved onto Hawkeye’s room, although Havoc couldn’t help but notice that in his transmutations of the floor, to look for hidden notes, Mustang didn’t transmute the burn marks away.

They went to Hawkeye’s room next, which, admittedly, left Havoc a little uneasy. Maybe it was just because it was a woman’s room, or maybe it was because he was her room, but it felt like a violation somehow. Mustang was stiff, and it only took a glance at him to tell that he felt similarly.

Havoc took pains not to look through her things, mostly sticking to checking out the furniture itself while Mustang took care of the floor and ceiling. Hawkeye, likewise, was protective of her privacy, looking through her items on her own. The only time she broke with that was when Mustang got near to a couple of places on her floor. At those places she pulled the floorboards up herself, looking through what seemed to be an eclectic collection of things that she didn’t let either man get a good look at. Havoc didn’t push. Her privacy was her privacy.

He did notice one particular item that seemed to have fallen into Mustang’s hands, and Havoc couldn’t help but note that the rabbit looked a little better when they left than it had looked when they had first come in.

From there they moved from there to the bedroom Havoc was using, which was full of a bunch of odds and ends. It took them a little longer to get through it all, but by now they had the rhythm of searching down. Truth be told, it didn’t take them near as long as it could have. Still, they turned up nothing, and, when they finished, they all sat there, a bit tired.

“What do you all say to some lunch?” Mustang said, a bit weary sounding.

“I think it sound fantastic,” Havoc said. “I think anything that means a break and involves food sounds fantastic.”

“There are leftovers from supper last night in the refrigerator,” Hawkeye said. “We can reheat them in the oven.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mustang agreed, and the three of them drug themselves downstairs.

Lunch didn’t take long, although it was filling. It wasn’t relaxing, though. It was clear that Hawkeye was still very much on guard, every little move or twitch noticed. It was almost as if she were waiting for something to happen. However, unlike missions where she was waiting for something specific, now it was almost as if she were waiting for anything to happen. And although Mustang was acting as if things were normal, it was still obvious to Havoc that he was worried about Hawkeye, and that she was still not receptive to it.

They went back upstairs after lunch, just the bathroom and the study left. The bathroom wasn’t big, and so they took care of it fairly quickly, although the plumbing did make a few things a bit more difficult. Fortunately, the old pipes were very sturdy and held up well to clumsy soldiers and alchemists. The study was the only room left after that, and both Mustang and Hawkeye seemed on edge about it.

To Havoc’s eye, it seemed like a fairly typical study, only with lots of alchemy references on the walls, and books that were directly related to high level alchemy sitting around. He had almost expected something messy, but it honestly seemed rather well organized actually.  They started the routine again, only this time with books included. Havoc hoped that they had actually found something when he came across some alchemy notes stuffed under a drawer. Hawkeye, however, dismissed some of them right away as “too basic” (which actually surprised Havoc. He didn’t realize that Hawkeye knew anything about alchemy, to be honest) and the rest Mustang looked through, examining for clues and ultimately disregarding. It was the only thing they found and searching through the study took much more time than Havoc had thought it would. He was ready to be done with it by the time the sun was setting.

Unfortunately, there was still quite a mess in the study. There were papers everywhere, books still to be put away, and furniture to be moved back. They were all tired, but Hawkeye was looking particularly exhausted, Havoc couldn’t help but note. She seemed a bit pale, and a bit more withdrawn. There was an exhaustion starting to play on her face, and Havoc wondered if maybe she needed to sit down.

“It’s getting late,” Mustang said, looking at the setting sun out of the window. “We should call it. Captain, why don’t you go see about dinner? Havoc and I will get the room back in order.”

“It’ll go faster with three sets of hands, sir.” Hawkeye said back.

“And supper will be later.” Mustang pointed out.

“Sir, there’s a lot of work here to be put back—”

“Which will mean that you’ll have plenty of time in the kitchen without us getting in your way.” Mustang cut her off.

“Sir, I—”

“Captain.” His voice was firm. “You know as well as I do that you don’t want me near your cooking. And you know how to work that stove better than either of us. We can do this. But we can’t do that. You can.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then with a long breath and a sharp exhale, left, heading towards the stairs and down to the kitchen.

Havoc turned at stared at Mustang. “Did—did you just tell Hawkeye to get back to the kitchen?”

“I gave her a task,” Mustang said, glowering at him. “And besides, she needed to leave. Nothing good is attached to this place.” He looked down at the paper he held in his hand, and then pulled out a glove. “Nothing good.” He snapped, and Havoc watched as the paper burned, wondering what had been on it.

The men were silent after that, as they cleaned up the study. Hawkeye had a good supper going when they made their way downstairs. After supper Havoc once again tended to the horses, Mustang worked on the dishes, and Hawkeye took the time to attend to the dirty uniforms from the day before. It had, once again, been a long day, and, after taking turns for the shower, it wasn’t long before they were all in bed.

Havoc could hear Hawkeye lock her door immediately, but he was aware of her restlessness, and couldn’t help but wonder as he was drifting off to sleep, if he was hearing her tears as well.

 The next day arrived bright and early, just like the day before. They had fallen into a routine, with Hawkeye and Havoc up almost with the sun, Havoc tending to the horses, and Hawkeye working on breakfast. Mustang stumbled down the stairs later and they all ate a very quiet and somewhat tense breakfast. After that, it was time to get to work.

This time their goal was the downstairs, or at least as much of it as they could get to that day. It contained a well-stocked library and Havoc was not looking forward to looking through all of those books. It had taken long enough with the books in the study yesterday. The library would only take longer.

“Where do we start today?” Havoc asked when they finished cleaning up from breakfast.

Mustang looked around the room and shrugged. “Well, why not start here? We’ll have to go through it eventually anyway.”

It was a good enough reason as any, and they started, making their way through every dish, cabinet, appliance and piece of furniture in the kitchen with no success, unless you count a few snacks eaten on Havoc’s end of things successful. He certainly did. The dining room was next, and the process was repeated, with the exception of the dishes in the china hutch being handled very carefully.

“Nice china,” Havoc said, taking the time to look at pieces he unwrapped. They were white, with hand-painted yellow and pink roses decorating them, and a smooth finish over that.

“Not really,” Hawkeye said. “There’s a lot that’s nicer. But it was my mother’s.”

“Well its nice enough,” Havoc said. He peered at the bowl that held the broken piece. “What happened to this one?”

Havoc could see Mustang tense a bit, but interestingly Hawkeye’s tension over it was minimal.

“I broke it,” she said. “I was about five or so, and wanted to look at it, but I broke it. Father wasn’t happy with me. It was the first thrashing I got.”

“The what?” The casual way she said it startled Havoc.

“I should have left it alone,” she said. “I didn’t realize how clumsy I was.” She frowned, reaching in and picked up a piece. “I have no idea why father didn’t fix it. But I never touched any of it again. Not until I was much older.”

She turned to get back to work, and Havoc stared at her for a moment. The thrashing could have just been a turn of phrase, and not meant literally. A look at Mustang made him doubt that. Havoc carefully put the bowl holding the pieces down and filed that information away to add to the puzzle.

The dining room was a bust, as was the sitting room after it. Havoc did discover that the piano was horribly out of tune, and Riza had never used it, which was interesting, but not important to their search. They broke for lunch after that. It was a quick affair, again, as all of them wanted to get this search over and done with, although it seemed as if it were for different reasons.

Havoc watched Hawkeye and Mustang as they continued to search the hallway, the washroom, the bathroom, the living room, and got started on the library. Hawkeye was still going through the process diligently and thoroughly, but she was tense and angry at Mustang. She responded to him with his rank, and with “sirs” and not once by his first name, something she would have more than likely done even with Havoc there under normal circumstances.

It wasn’t as if it was a secret that she and the General cared deeply for each other. If she had been calling him Roy this whole time and they snuggled up in the same room at night, Havoc wouldn’t have blinked an eye. But instead she was cold and standoffish towards him. There was an underlying anger in being here, almost a betrayal.

Mustang, likewise, was not happy with Hawkeye. He wasn’t calling her by her name either, just her rank and last name. He obviously wasn’t happy about bringing her back here, but he was also frustrated with how she kept freezing him out. Mustang was also worried about her, Havoc could tell.

It felt like every day the tension was building. Only while it was building between them, it also felt like it was leading them closer to something. Havoc just didn’t know what that something was. He was honestly a little afraid to find out.

The sun was starting to set again when they decided to call it quits for the day. They were all tired and discouraged by then, and Hawkeye clearly unhappy about something to do with the library. Or at least, that’s what Havoc thought it was. But whatever it was, it left dinner a tense affair and Havoc wasn’t sure if any sleep that they got would be restful or not. Or, well, at least not when it came to Hawkeye and Mustang. He was going to do his best to sleep just fine. Whatever problem his commanding officers had, he couldn’t do anything about it.

However, sleep didn’t come easily to him that night. Hawkeye’s words wouldn’t get out of his head. “Father wasn’t happy with me. It was the first thrashing I got.” The first? As in there was more than one? A frown formed on his lips as he laid there and considered everything.

She obviously wasn’t happy about being back here. The house was uncared for, things had been sold for money, and Mustang had come as an apprentice. He knew Hawkeye had been hunting since she was a young girl and knew how to find food in the wild. She could make a meal out of almost anything. She was extremely frugal, not wasting anything if she could help it, and repaired almost everything instead of buying something new. She had said that there hadn’t always been water in the house as well, and there was almost no electricity to the house. The items that were in it were obviously old or worn. Money had obviously been a problem. Had Hawkeye grown up in poverty? Had she spent nights hungry, not had clothes and things that she needed?

But the library and study were well taken care of, well stocked, with newer books in them. Her father was an alchemist, and Havoc had been around enough alchemists to know that they often got obsessive about things. Could her father have been obsessive about alchemy to the point that he neglected his daughter?

It was possible.

But there was more to it. Havoc was sure of it. That comment about the thrashing, Mustang’s reaction, Hawkeye’s non-reaction. The way Hawkeye was tense as if she were expecting something, anything to happen. How on edge she seemed to be. Even outside of this place, Hawkeye always did take any hits without really reacting to them, just getting up and moving on with what she had to do. She was even the best of them at tending to injuries, never fully explaining how she had such good skills. Had Hawkeye been abused as a child? Had she had to tend to her own injuries? Had she been through that, alone, before Mustang had come?

It was also possible.

Havoc rolled over in his bed, uneasy at these possibilities. He always knew that Hawkeye had some sort of past, and that she had grown up at least a bit sheltered from the world. But the possibility of it being worse than that left him with a twisting, sinking feeling, and he resolved to watch Hawkeye a bit closer the next day.

The next day began as all of the others did, and Havoc didn’t expect them to begin any other way at this point, even if he hadn’t slept well after his late-night thoughts. The routine had been established by now. Coffee started by him, checking on the horses, coming back in to find Hawkeye cooking, Mustang coming down a bit later, and then they all got to work again. Today they went back to the library, working their way through the rest of it, stopping only for lunch. It was late afternoon when they finally finished, and the last book was closed and shelved. Once again, it was a fruitless endeavor, and Havoc was beginning to feel like this was just a huge waste of time.

“Well, that only leaves one more place inside,” Havoc said. “We can probably get started on the basement at least.”

There was a pause and, when neither of his COs replied, he looked between them for a moment. Both of them stood stiffly, but Hawkeye was obviously pale. She had been getting a little more so as the day had gone on, and Havoc was a little worried about her.

“…I suppose we can,” Mustang said. “Captain—”

“I’ll get you lanterns,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll be back.”

She left, and Havoc looked after her curiously. It didn’t escape his notice that she had said that she would get them lanterns, not that she would get lanterns for all of them. It sounded like she wasn’t going down there with them, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. But it concerned him.

Mustang was looking after where she had left, his jaw tight, his gaze set. Havoc couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through his mind, but he doubted that the general was having any good feelings. Mustang glanced at Havoc as if calculating something, and then took a heavy breath. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll wait in front of the door.”

The door to the basement was not far. It was a heavy looking door with a lock on it, and Havoc had to wonder why the door needed that kind of lock from the outside. Mustang reached to unlock it, and Hawkeye appeared, still pale, with two oil lamps lit and in her hands.

“Here,” she said. “You’ll need these.”

Havoc reached and took one even as Roy took the other. “Not one for you?” Havoc asked.

A look passed through Riza’s eyes, one that, if Havoc had to put a name to it, would be terror. It was gone, quickly, as were most emotions that Hawkeye wanted to hide, but it still startled him.

“I think it’d be best if the Captain went ahead and started on dinner,” Mustang said. “We could use a hearty meal today.”

Mustang looked at Hawkeye. Havoc couldn’t read what went on between them, but Hawkeye finally gave a nod, and glanced over at Havoc for a second. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice tight, brittle.

She took a step back from them, a very quick step, as if she were distancing herself from danger. With a final look at her, Mustang opened the door and headed down the steps. Havoc turned to flash a smile back at Hawkeye, but all he could see was her paleness, and the way her breathing seemed to have picked up.

He opened his mouth to say something. “Havoc!” Mustang interrupted him, and, with a bit of a smile back at her, he hurried after Mustang and down into the basement.

The basement wasn’t as big as the house, but it still had plenty of room in it. Plenty of room that seemed to be filled with things. Havoc had expected the usual things that people kept in basements: dried food, maybe some alcohol, shelves with tools and the like, boxes for storage. That wasn’t what this basement was like at all. It was more like a laboratory, and for some reason it sent the willies through him. Bottles of chemicals lined shelves. Items that Havoc knew were common in alchemic formulas sat on them too. There was a large table with an overhead lamp hanging above it. A cot was nearby, with a pillow and blanket half-wadded on it.

“Well this is inviting,” he said, trying to shake the creeps he was feeling, and failing. Honestly, it reminded him a bit of being back in that lab, when Solaris came out of a doorway and revealed herself to them--and then paralyzed him. He shuddered a bit and looked around, ignoring the ache in his back and legs. There was no other way in or out of this room, so he didn’t have to worry about that at least. “Where should I start?” he asked.

Mustang was looking around the room, anger burning in his eyes, which Havoc was not expecting. He didn’t seem angry that Hawkeye wasn’t with them, but Havoc didn’t see anything down here that might spark that kind of anger in the man. “Over there,” Mustang said, gesturing to a wall of ingredients. “Start there.”

“You got it,” Havoc said, turning to get started. He could hear Mustang working in other parts of the room, and they settled in to work.

Or, at least, Havoc tried too. Mustang was hyper aware of everything he was doing for some reason, and kept steering him away from different areas, setting him searching through things or areas that were fairly innocuous and obviously didn’t have anything hidden in them. Finally, after Havoc had commented on the odd rings in the large table, Mustang sent him out, told him to go up stairs and check on Hawkeye.

Havoc shrugged, and headed up the stairs, more than glad to get out of that basement and shake the uneasy feeling off of himself. He emerged into low light streaming into the hallway. The sun was setting by this point, and Havoc stretched. Maybe if he was lucky, Mustang would call it for the day, and he wouldn’t have to go back down there tonight.

And then Havoc froze. It suddenly occurred to him that something wasn’t right, and he stopped, listening.

The house was silent.

There were no sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen.

Havoc immediately went on alert, reaching for the small gun that he had kept on him, because he was just as paranoid as Hawkeye was. “Riza?” he called, listening. There was no answer. He cautiously made his way to the kitchen, peering in. The kitchen was cold and empty. There weren’t even signs of a meal being started. “Riza?” he called again. Still no answer.

Telling himself not to jump to conclusions, Havoc checked the washroom and the bathroom, but she wasn’t there either. There were no signs of her. There were no signs of foul play, either, which was good, but it didn’t alleviate his concern.

Havoc made his way back to the door to the basement. “Boss,” he called down. “You wanna get up here.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Mustang was coming up the stairs, taking in Havoc’s posture and pulling on his gloves. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“Hawkeye’s missing,” he said. “There’s no sign of her. There’s also no signs of foul play. But it doesn’t even look like she started supper.”

Mustang cursed under his breath. “Alright. We need to find her. Start a sweep of the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was hesitation from Mustang. “Check all the places someone could hide,” he said. “No matter how small.”

Havoc looked at him for a moment, trying to work through the implications of that, then nodded. “Right.”

They took opposite ends of the house, slowly making their way through it and looking through every nook and cranny. Doors, cabinets, storage compartments, furniture, everything was looked through, under, and around. They had no luck on the bottom floor, though, and silently met at the bottom of staircase. It was already turning dark. They needed to find her soon.

With a nod they headed up the stairs, Mustang taking the side with the master bedroom and study, and Havoc taking the side with their rooms. There was no sign of her in Mustang’s bedroom, but when Havoc went in hers, he knew where she was.

Her window was open, that rabbit was gone, and there were tree branches scraping the outside wall.

Havoc holstered his gun, and went to the window, pulling himself out of it. It took a little maneuvering, but he was able to get to the roof line within a few seconds. Once he could on top of the roof, it took him a minute to spot Hawkeye. She was sitting up there, hiding in the shadows of a chimney, staring out over the property in the fading sunlight. She was hard to spot, although Havoc was sure that was the point. The shadow wasn’t quite big enough to hide her, although he could imagine a child-sized Hawkeye hiding completely in it. He stopped his mind before he began to hypothesize on what she might have been hiding from as a child.

Movement from her caught his eyes, and he noticed that faded stuffed rabbit in her hand. She was gently playing with its ears, almost mindlessly, which explained why its ears looked more worn then the rest of it. Havoc doubted that, despite her seeming inattention to him, that Hawkeye was unaware of him. In fact, he was sure that she knew that he was there, and so didn’t bother to try hiding himself from her, instead pulling himself up on the rooftop

“You scared us, you know?” Havoc said, pulling himself fully onto the roof and making his way over towards her carefully. He sat down beside her, looking out over the land with her. “Helps if you tell us if you need some alone time.”

“…Sorry,” she said, her voice soft in volume, but rough in quality.

Havoc shrugged, not saying anything about it, and looked out at the view. The sun was just about set at this point, and the sky was already lighting up with stars. It really was a beautiful sight. “It’s a real beautiful view up here.” He commented, keeping his eyes looking forward on the view.

“It is,” Riza agreed. “It always has been. I used to come up here a lot. It was always a good view, and no one ever looked up here for me.”

“Yeah? I can see why. It’s not easy to get to,” He commented, wondering how she’d respond to that bit he had left dangling.

“That’s why I liked it,” she said, responding to it. “I could get up hear easily, but it was hard for—for others.”

It didn’t escape him that she glossed over who getting up here might have been hard for, but he didn’t push. Instead, Havoc nodded, and then glanced down at the bunny. “Did he come up here a lot too?” He asked.

Hawkeye glanced down at the rabbit in her hands. “Yes,” she said. “Every time, unless I was in too big of a hurry.”

He kept his mind from speculating what reason she might have had to hide on the roof in a hurry. Havoc nodded instead, quiet for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mustang’s head pop up above the roofline, and he gestured low, letting him know that he had the situation under control. Mustang hesitated for a moment, and then disappeared again, and Havoc returned his attention fully to Hawkeye. “You weren’t in too big of a hurry this time, then.” He commented.

“It was more habit than anything,” Riza said with a sigh. “I just wanted to be left alone for a while.”

“Yeah, you’ve kinda made that clear,” Havoc said, tilting his head back to look at the awakening stars. “Or, at least you have with Roy.” She tensed up at the mention of him, and Havoc decided to gently push. “What gives, Ri? You two are joined at the hip most of the time.

“It’s nothing,” she said, abruptly stopping her petting of the stuffed rabbit and putting him down on the roof, although she didn’t let go of him. Instead she let him and her arms rest between her legs, her feet planted, and knees bent to keep her from sliding off the roof.

“Mm, I don’t think that’s true,” Havoc said, taking note of her posture and tone. “Look, Riza, we both know I’m not the smartest man. But I’m pretty good with people. And at this point even someone deaf and blind could tell that you’re angry at him, and he’s frustrated with you.”

She didn’t say anything, just frowned and looked down, her gaze settling on the rabbit she still held.

“Look, I get it. This place, it’s not a good place for you. There’s some stuff that’s happened here, and you had to deal with it on your own. I don’t know what, and I’m not asking. But whatever it was, it was bad enough that you don’t want to be reminded of it. But you’re back here now, reminded of it constantly and you’re mad at Mustang for bringing you back. You understand why, but you don’t like it. You don’t like that he’s the reason you’re feeling this way again and so you’re taking it out on him.”

Her jaw worked as she glared down, her hands holding tightly to that bunny.

“Riza.” He turned his head to look at her, leaning so that he was at least more in her periphery. “I get it. This place makes you feel alone. It makes you hurt. But you have to remember, you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me up here with you, and you know I love you, Ri. We’ve been friends too long for that not to be a thing. But you also know I have no idea what’s going on. Down there you’ve got someone who loves you more and is hurting alongside you. He knows and understand your past. He wants to help you with all of this, and he’s hurting because he knows that he’s making you hurt.”

Her eyes had dropped now, no longer a glare as she looked down at the bunny in her hands. Her jaw was trembling. Havoc reached a careful arm out and looped it over her shoulders, drawing her up next to him. She didn’t resist, although she didn’t lean into it either.

Havoc gave her a squeeze. “You don’t have to face this alone. You don’t have to be a pillar of strength. You’ve got someone down there who’s ready to walk by your side. You just have to let him.”

There was a tremble to her now, and a sort of shuddering to her breath. Havoc didn’t say anything more, but instead waited. Sometimes, a gentle patience was what was needed more than anything.

“I’ve hurt him,” she said, her voice low, trembling. “I was so mad, because it felt like he was breaking a promise, because it felt like being used again. I—I just—”

“It’s okay, Riza.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, her shoulders finally slumping. “I don’t want to be alone ever again.”

Havoc held her closer, gave her a kiss on the head like he would one of his sisters. “You don’t have to be,” he said. “He’ll never leave you alone. You just have to let him in.”

Hawkeye didn’t say anything else. She just shuddered again, leaning into him more. Havoc just sat there and held her as her silent tears fell.

[aesop1]

clumsy [1]

pirate!chanyeol x reader

a/n: hello, im new. i like exo. i decided to write to my heart’s content at 1 am. i wrote this in about an hour. on my phone. with no beta readers. so let’s do this!

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: none so far, just a few swear words; no semblance of a plot; may not continue this, depends on how i feel.

(i do not own gif)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

———————-

“yn, would you help me with this load?” your father called out from the front of the saloon. glancing over, you spotted him stumbling whilst balancing two large crates atop one another. he sighed in relief as you claimed the top crate. “thank you.”

“of course,” you carefully traversed the cobblestone incline leading to said saloon, ignoring the murmurs from the customers within.

in your small village on a small island, everyone knew everyone. meaning everyone knew you: the klutz who co-runs this place with her widowed father. by klutz, you’re not the cute, clumsy, trip-over-her-feet-into-a-dashing-gentleman’s-arms klutz; you’re zone-out-for-a-second-and-not-notice-the-wooden-bench-you-just-successfully-flipped-over klutz. after your third grand mishap, everyone labelled you as variations of clumsy, one of the most famous ones being:

“bungler, do you need help?” one of the men clung to the bar called out, earning some dramatic guffaws from his colleagues.

the first moment you heard the term bungler, you laughed. your father quickly explained to you the negative connotation revolving that word, basically calling you clumsy and awkward in a rather mocking sense. ever since, it has stuck to your character and become your alias around town.

successfully dropping the crate in the kitchen, you leaned back in your stance, hands on your hips as you caught your breathe. the rough melodies of traditional sea shanties meandered through the kitchen, taunting and reminding you that outside awaits a whole audience of creatures who are just waiting for your next spectacle. you were brought back to reality by the sound of the other crate being placed on yours.

“yn, dear,” your father gently pinched your chin as he took in your conflicted form. “head upstairs, I’ll finish up here and close. you’ve worked hard today, as you always do. thank you.” with a smile and the familiar burning sensation in your eyes, you held back your tears and thanked your father, hugging him and sliding out of the kitchen to evacuate to your room.

upon entering, you untied your apron and tossed it to your bed, cracking your joints everywhere as you finally allowed relaxation to overtake your being. collapsing onto your bed, you closed your eyes for a well deserved moment. you knew it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be so clumsy, but having a whole town mock you really takes a toll on you, as it would anyone else.

they treated you as if you were a jester, as if you were meant to appease to their humor, their entertainment. you were a show pony with a twisted ankle and they merely laughed. finally allowing a tear to slip to your pillow, you clutched the linen blankets beneath you, seeking some sort of comfort. some escape. you sat upright and stared out the bay window overlooking the vast sea.

before her death, your mother spent her days filling your mind with wonders and promises of a better life out beyond the horizon. stories of princes saving princesses and knights conquering territories. however, your father kept you grounded with his forewarnings of sea storms and pirates. oh how pirates petrified you. filthy criminals gone rogue, pillaging villages just like yours for some excitement and wealth, murdering those in sight for any reason they can think of. if they didn’t like your face, they’d carve it out cleanly just for fun. the memories of the horrific tales your father would whisper to you as scary stories always turned your blood cold, all before your mother would hit him for scaring you and then comfort you with her own stories.

a sudden chill ran up your spine as you continued to admire the ripples of the ocean, a foreboding aura emitting off the once tranquil site. shuffling to lay down, you pulled the blankets over your head, trying to shake off the fear that coursed through your veins.

—–

a deafening screech outside jolted you awake, sitting up and hyperventilating as you took in your surroundings. you were in your room still, wearing the same clothes you wore to work. everything would’ve been normal if it weren’t for the glow of red flooding your room from the fires just outside. peering out the window, you choked on your breathe when you saw your childhood town in flames, bodies littering the floor like a war scene. screams continued to fill the atmosphere, clashing metal sending a numbing sensation through your body.

ignoring your fears, you willed yourself out of bed and bounded down the halls to find your father, grateful you had decided to wear pants the day prior. however, lady luck decided to turn a blind eye to you, sending you skidding down the hall and falling directly on your back. while you attempted to catch your breath, you rolled over and peered down the staircase before you. if you were struggling to inhale before, the scene before greatly helped your misfortune when a sharp gasp hit you.

your father lied dead right at the open doorway, a shadowed figure towering over him. due to your rather raucous scene, the silhouette was staring directly at you. frozen for a moment, you stared at one another, a prey subject to it’s predator’s deathly gaze. with a pivot your way, the pirate took one step towards you which sprung you to action, clambering to your feet and dashing down the hall again, ignoring the ache in your muscle. realizing you’re trapped, you took a sharp left into your father’s room, scanning for a weapon you could use. of course he had nothing, spending his days in his kitchen every chance he had.

a deep chuckle resonated through your house, overcoming the chaos outside. the blood rushing to your ears blurred the sounds outside, leaving you hypersensitive to the thudding of his boots stamping on the weak wood of the stairs. your heart leapt, running entirely on adrenaline rather than reason.

with that in mind, you already found yourself clawing out the window and grasping the dense vines lining the walls. rather than traipsing down like any same person would’ve, you instead climbed up onto the roof. your father wasn’t really one for house maintenance, the many missing shingles proving that statement. scaling the treacherous terrain beneath you was a harder feat than you could ever imagine, a shingle skidding off the roof right past your father’s window most likely giving away your location.

with no other option in mind, you stood there, overlooking the ashes of your now ruined community. a pang of sadness hit you as you spotted the bloodied face of your taunter from earlier and you shut your eyes. probably not the best idea, especially when the thump behind you startled you to death, another shingle sliding out from beneath your feet. for the second time that night, you fell, the impact causing a snowball effect of loose shingles giving out. you rolled off the roof entirely, plummeting directly to the ground and blacking out.

——–

faint voices enticed you from your slumber, pulling you into consciousness. you weren’t aware of the first few minutes of the conversation, but as you came to more, it became clearer and clearer.

“it was a pretty good load, I’ll give you that,” a voice chuckled out, followed by the familiar sound of coins clinking together into a pile.

“I told you so,” a vaguely familiar voice chimed in. the depth of the voice almost lulled you right back to sleep, your brain now concentrating on how smooth and alluring it was.

“why hadn’t we attacked before?” the first voice asked, steps getting louder and louder. or maybe it was just the pounding in the back of your head.

“it’s such a tiny speck on the map, I didn’t even think about going there before. who knew it was such a hotspot for trading.” the steps were indeed getting louder, as well as the voices. especially that buttery rich voice that could fill a theatre with ease. “they didn’t even have a militia.”

“they deserved to be hit by us, they were too comfortable with their safety.” you rolled your head side to side, hoping to coax your eyes open before the two reached you. “what’s this?” your eyes shot open when you realized the voice was less than a meter away. you forced yourself to take in your surroundings, drowsiness still a very apparent factor in your muddled mind. wooden crates surrounded your being, a white tunic covering everything. you held your breathe as the cloth was lifted slightly, but not enough to reveal your concealed form.

“ah baekhyun took it after my incident.”

“what incident?” a snicker from the previous man resounded, then a long exhale.

“I went towards this saloon because I saw the owner dead at the front. I wanted to see if any of the guys were in there looting. by the time I reached the front door, I just saw a girl run, slip, and fall right on her ass at the top of the stairs. when she looked at me, she recovered and took off.” the other voice sniggered at the story of my misfortune. “I decided to follow her, I thought she was amusing. she disappeared for a minute, but then I saw a shingle fall. by the time I reached the roof, she was gone. not really sure how she got away so quickly. when I climbed down and out the front door, I saw baekhyun struggling to pull this supply barrow. so I helped him. I doubt anything useful is in this.”

“should we check?”

“I’m not really in the mood to sort out garbage, let’s just send jongdae and sehun down.”

“sounds good.” their voices began fading away before a door closed, completely muting them. you sat up, wincing at the throbbing sensation in your skull. pushing the tunic off, you discovered you were in a supply room of sorts. your bones ached, specifically your entire backside. you guess you fell directly into the barrow when you fell off the roof. you stretched your limbs forward, awakening the heavy weight of sleep from your body. turning your head, you noticed a porthole right beside you.

you crawled over, peering outwards to the endless blue. no signs of land anywhere and an eery stillness settling over the waters. your stomach sunk once your predicament clicked in your fuzzy mind; you were a stowaway on the ship of pirates who destroyed your village. even if you managed to find an escape from here, where would you go? your home was your father, the man who lie dead on your front door. a body of chilled air began suffocating you, your throat swelling up with the familiar forewarning of tears. you pulled your legs close to you and hugged yourself, the last person you had in this life.

the door creaked open, introducing two new voices. instinctively, you leapt out of the barrow, ignoring the pain shooting up your person and dived behind some other crates.

“so chanyeol said we had to clear out the barrow with the tunic,” one voice stated.

“I’m not seeing it,” the other voice answered. you decided to cautiously peek out to witness who you’re dealing with. a man, tall and thin yet by no means lanky. the other being on the shorter side, yet still significantly taller and stronger than you. you’re going to die. “there’s a tunic underneath this barrow, not on top.”

“well yeah that’s the only barrow in here, even if it didn’t have the white sheet over it, we still could’ve figured it out, idiot– wait.” silence fell over the two. you peeked out again to see the shorter man with his arms up in a halting position, most likely the man to cut himself off. “why would chanyeol describe it as having a tunic if it didn’t.”

“I don’t know, maybe it had the tunic when he came down and he just took it off.”

“why would he still describe it as that if he took it off himself?” more silence. the taller one stared down at the other, emotionless as he processed his words. without warning, he pulled out a sword from his side, backing away and scanning the room. the shorter one followed suit, revealing a sword of his own as he walked the opposite way of the taller one. he was walking right towards you.

holding your breath, you recoiled into the wall, praying that the boxes around you would shield yourself. it seems the tables were turning in your favor, because the man stepped by you, continuing to search for his trespasser. when he and the other man met at the other side of the long room, they shrugged to one another and turned towards the door.

“well that was weird,” the taller one mumbled in an agitated tone.

“let’s tell chanyeol. even if there’s no one on board, he should be aware of the possibility.” with that, the door opened and shut. for precautionary measures, you waited a minute or two, at least until your heart stabilized and your breathing evened out. you leaned back against the wooden walls and clawed at your olive toned pants. you were shaking, whether it be from fear or the dread which began appearing the minute you awoke, you were near your breaking point.

the spare drops of adrenaline motivating your weak heart caused you to finally stand. you crawled over the boxes carefully, making sure to not make a sound and alert anyone who may be nearby. although you knew the coast was clear since the two men left. all you had to do was find an escape and–

“how could we forget we were sent down here to check the garbage,” a voice from before blurted out as the doors slammed open, the other one laughing at the clear aggression evident in his comrades actions. without even thinking, you leapt back into your spot from before. of course you just had to stumble over the empty crate which had hidden you from the assailants, causing it to topple over with an unnecessarily loud crash.

there you sat, in the open, curled into yourself and staring at the two men who stared right back in shock. it felt like an eternity went by as you all refused to break the trance set by the three. your eyes darted between the taller one and the shorter one, taking in their young and… un-pirate like appearance.

you were expecting large, bulking men with wiry beards tinged with silver, scars over their blinded white eye with an eye patch resting comfortably on their forehead. layers upon layers of coats and ragged clothes to keep warm during cold ocean nights. maybe a hook or a peg-leg, but at that point you were stretching it.

at the end, it was the tall one who just so happened to cough and break the silent pact. you scrambled to your feet, the two men already grappling you before you could even stand erect. they both lugged you away, dragging your flailing and screaming body away.

splinters dug into your ankles, the only protectant you had being your stockings beneath your pants. the grip the men had on your arms were sure to leave bruises on your delicate skin. your screaming reduced to a series of pleads by the time you reached the deck of the ship. your eyes began blurring with the tears that you held back this entire time, the gravity of your situation hitting you.

they brought you to a hallway which lead you to a large room laced with treasures beyond your imagination. never have you seen so much gold in one landscape. jewels scattered across a rococo desk, necklaces lining any edge they could dangle freely on. a bed that could hold five yous and still have room for comfort sat against the edge of a wall, a scarlet duvet stretched across the planes of the bed like a coat of snow. candles were the only source of light here, no portholes in sight.

“where’s chanyeol?” the tall one asked aloud.

“I’m not sure. he went in here before we went downstairs.”

“we still have to clean out the barrow.”

“I know, sehun. fuck, why do you have to keep reminding me.”

“you seem tense, dae.” sehun reached his free arm to dae’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. dae immediately reacted by slapping his hand away.

“leave me the fu–” a door opening interrupted the two bickering, all attention directed towards the man leaving what you believe was his private restroom. “chanyeol.”

your eyes expanded when you met the face of the pirate who has been plaguing your life since last night. the roof pirate. he looked at the two men, then down at you. when his eyes landed on your helpless being, the twitch in his eyebrows revealed he remembered exactly who you were. with a clap of his hands, he took two long strides to stand before the three of you.

“well look at this,” he slurred out in a lazy manner, as if he had all the time in the world to deal with you. “you found my stray kitten. good work, boys.”

“your what?” sehun spluttered out, earning a smack in the back of his head from dae.

“jongdae, sehun, you are free to leave.” he never took his eyes off you, a smile slowly stretching upon his connivingly handsome face.

“do we still need to clean the–” another slap and a whine and they were gone, leaving you stranded on the floor with this man standing above you. the situation reminded you too much of the last scene you saw of your father lying dead beneath this man. you cowered away from his gaze, your cheek pressed against your shoulder. the man crouched to your level, grabbing your chin and turning you towards him. his hands were calloused, yet some warmth seeped through the rough exterior. rather than it being the comforting warmth of a fireplace or a home cooked meal, it felt more like the flames of hell themselves, tickling your skin with their embers. you were forced to stare at him, a demon trapped in the body of a boyishly attractive being. black hair tousled haphazardly like a nest, obsidian eyes darting around to each and every feature on your face, narrow cheeks cascading downwards into a sharp jawline.

“looks like I did manage to claim you after all,” he finally spoke, tapping his finger against your jaw. tonguing the side of his mouth, he leaned forward to your ear, fiery breathe sending shivers through you. “I’m going to make your life a living hell for trying to run away from me.”

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

shelter; adam page [two]

Notes: 

Originally posted on my main, and literally no one asked for this. I haven’t written a third part but.. I plan to keep this one going and so, it’s getting transferred to this blog. I swear, soon.. Soon I’ll write a third chapter to it. Hell,maybe even sooner than you think. ;P. 

Summary: 

It’s only been one night / day so far and already the tension -and awkward flirty close moments of lingering sexual tension, is so thick you can cut through it with a knife. A trip to the grocery store and lots of flirty bantering back and forth.

Pairing:

Adam Hangman Page x OFC, Birdie McGregor

Warning:

alcohol tw possible. mentions of sheltering in place / covid-19, kind of a slow burn to it and kind of not.

                             CHAPTER TWO : WHATS THE HARM

Having totally forgotten about Adam’s arrival back at the house the night before, I got up when I heard my alarm going off nearby. Yawning, I stretched my arms up and rubbed my eyes upon lowering them. For a few seconds I was scratching my head at the fact that I’d fallen asleep in the living room, but I ultimately shrugged it off, standing and quietly padding across the hallway and into the kitchen.

What I needed was caffeine.

And food, if the growling of my stomach was anything to go by.

I rummaged through the fridge, gathering ingredients for pancakes, eggs and bacon. I placed it all on the counter nearby, and I was digging out a mixing bowl when I thought I heard the door to Adam’s bedroom close and footsteps coming towards the kitchen. It hit me then, Adam had come home the night before.

And naturally, around the time he made it into the kitchen, I was remembering the soft press of rough lips against my forehead last night and I could feel my body heating up at the memory. I took a deep breath and tried like hell to get myself together.

Music… Music would take away the silence and drive out any possible tension that might be heavy between the two of us; again, we are practically strangers who just happen to be sharing a house.

But of course, the first song to play when I fired up the SiriusXM app on my cell phone?

An inherently sexual one from the bluegrass and folk station I’d been listening to the night before while grading the last of the actual papers I had to grade and making an online lesson plan for the new week approaching.

I think I played it off pretty well, humming along as I found my electric mixer, plugging it in, focusing intently on mixing the batter for chocolate chip pancakes. I didn’t dare look up though. I could just feel him in the room with me, watching me.

The song ended and the batter started to get smoother and I cut off the mixer, sitting it to the side, taking one of the attachments to lick clean. When I turned around to grab something, I found myself body to body with Adam and I gulped.

All I could do was try -and fail at not staring. He eyed me and chuckled softly. “You’re up early.” I finally managed to mutter. Adam shrugged and I caught him eyeing the other attachment that was still hooked to the mixer, sitting on top of the counter. I gave a soft laugh and turned a little, detaching it and holding it out to him.

He took it and I bit my lip as I watched his tongue trailing slowly over the curved bits of the attachment. After he’d licked it clean, he held it out, this soft sort of little smirk on his face as he did so. “Everythin’ okay, darlin?”

“I.. yeah. Yeah, everything is totally fine.” I tangled my fingers in my hair, dragging them through as I held his gaze. Adam chuckled and spoke up calmly. “Your bacon is burnin, woman.”

“What? No… Well fuck.” I groaned as I shook my head. Adam hurried over to the stove, grabbing the skillet and wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt bacon while laughing. He made his way to the garbage, hurriedly tossing the burnt bacon down into the trash. All I could really do was stand there and laugh at myself.

And shake my head about it, of course.

I swear, sometimes this man can bring out my true inner awkwardness without so much as anything more than a smile.

My alarm started to go off again and I groaned as soon as I realized that meant it was 8:30 and time for me to get upstairs to my room, to my laptop. Because I had a classroom of students waiting for me on Zoom.

I opened the cabinets, rummaging around for the brightly colored Fiestaware plates I’d picked up a few months ago, taking a turquoise one and an orange one out, sitting them on the counter top. Adam was standing at the stove, apparently, he’d decided he just couldn’t eat breakfast without meat of some kind, so he was making sausage. Despite my trying not to, I found myself just sort of watching him. Thinking about how much more relaxed it was than I’d anticipated the night before when he got in. I’d been fearing there would be this overwhelming awkward tension between us, given how little we actually know about each other.

It was nice to discover that I was potentially wrong about the situation.

Adam happened to look up and over at me, catching me in mid stare. I quickly diverted my eyes, focusing on the growing pile of bacon on a navy blue plate sitting nearby and reaching out to take one. He reached out at the same time and our hands brushed and we both just sort of stared at each other for a second or two before Adam broke it in half, holding out one piece to me, sticking the other piece into his mouth and chewing it up.

“I make you nervous or somethin’, darlin?” Adam finally asked the question after the silence became too much for him.

… oh you have no idea, sir… and i’m watching your rodeos now and… every single time you tug at those jeans before you get onto your bull to ride, it does something to me… the thought came, but I shook my head quickly, taking another bite of the half of bacon he’d given me a second ago. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seem tense or something.” Adam muttered it quietly, glancing down at the countertop as if he were already assuming the worst. He looked up and over at me and I bit my lip, taking a sip of the coffee I’d just poured myself.

… really? I thought I was handling this pretty well, all things considered… I mulled it over as I finished eating the strip of bacon and finally, I sighed. “Probably just stress from everything going on right now. You definitely do not make me nervous. You’re probably about as scary as a box of kittens if I have to be honest, Mr. Page.”

“We’ve been livin here together for a while now. You can call me Adam.” he chuckled quietly, stepping a little closer and shaking his head as he stared down at me.

“Sorry, it’s just force of habit?” I apologized, shrugging as I studied him intently, smiling in the hopes it would reassure him.

I mean… Technically, I’m being honest. It’s not him that makes me nervous and flustered, it’s the way he makes me feel whenever we’re around each other. So technically, I reminded myself a second time, my nervous feelings have nothing at all to do with him.

“It’s okay.” Adam gave this gentle and teasing sort of smirk as he held out another piece of bacon to me. I took it, grateful to have something to shovel into my mouth and take my mind off of exactly what feelings his sudden closeness and presence  did stir up in me.

Definitely longing. Attraction. So many emotions I couldn’t quite put my fingers on just yet. I reached for some syrup to put on my pancakes and as I turned to do it, I found myself body to body with Adam in the middle of the kitchen. I gulped when I felt one of his hands brush against my hip and he bit his lip, nodding to the counter. “Somethin you need?”

“The maple syrup.” I managed to get it out, even as I felt his hand brush right against my skin again. If I were a lot bolder, I’d almost assume he was flirting with me. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I shoved it right back out.

Because there’s no way he’s flirting right now. Nope. Not at all.

His laughter got my attention and as soon as I realized that I’d missed my pancakes and drizzled maple syrup haphazardly over my plate instead, I felt my cheeks heating. Cutting into the stack and dipping them in the syrup, I met his gaze boldly. “Bold of you to assume I didn’t do that on purpose, Mr… I mean Adam.”  I corrected myself quickly, remembering that me calling him Mr. Page apparently didn’t sit well with him.

He shrugged and took a bite of his own stack of pancakes and then a sip of orange juice, groaning as soon as he’d swallowed the juice down. “Is this real oranges?”

“Mhm. That’s how my grams always did it. Hand squeezed. Tastes better than a crapload of sugar, I think.”

“It really does.” Adam muttered through a mouthful.

“Shit. I need to finish this and get upstairs. I may be home but I’m still workin..” I muttered, mostly to myself. Adam nodded and took a few bites of his food, asking the question, “Think you might wanna help me out later? Gonna go check the cows.”

“Of course! Hey… if things get weird like I figure they will, dumbasses panic buying all the things.. Couldn’t hurt to think about a garden or something.” I threw out the suggestion, half expecting him to think I was crazy or in panic mode.

Panic mode he wouldn’t be entirely wrong about because I have been freaking out a little.. No, I’ve been freaking out a lot since this virus hit. Either way, I was more than a little surprised when he reached out, fluffing at my hair and nodding thoughtfully while giving me one of those bright grins of his. “It’s not a bad idea, actually. I can go to town later, pick up some things.”

“You don’t have to..” I trailed off and Adam shrugged, chuckling. “I’m here, might as well do somethin’ useful.”

I gave a nod and raked out my food into the compost bucket, sitting my dish in the sink. Adam did the same and after a few seconds, he spoke up again. “Thanks.”

“For what, exactly?” I raised a brow as I asked the question. All I do here is literally what he asks me to do and tries to pay me for. I dragged my fingers through my hair, taking another sip of coffee while I waited on him to answer my question.

“Not bailin out and going back to the city when all this shit broke.” Adam smiled at me and I nodded, shrugging. Honestly, I moved out here to escape the city. To clear my head.

To live that simpler life I enjoyed as a kid at my grandparents house over summer break.

And maybe, my mind saw fit to remind me, you sticking around has everything to do with a certain bull rider, hmm? - but of course, since I’m not willing to admit that and risk making things extremely awkward, I shoved that thought right out of my head.

“Like I said. It’s not a big deal. I wanted to get outta the city, there’s really nothing there for me.” - it wasn’t a lie either, all I left behind was a tiny and crappy apartment, a string of failed and bad relationships and teaching a group of kids who were so used to hearing they’d never amount to shit that they were preconditioned to not even attempting to learn and try to get themselves out of their situations. It was disheartening on a good day, downright depressing on a bad one. I sighed and gave him a smile.

“Hey.. If you really want to go into town and look into getting seeds and stuff, wait until I’m done with this Zoom class? I’d like to go too.”

Adam smiled, nodding. “Aren’t you late for your own class,ma’am?” he teased as he held my gaze and leaned in a little closer. When he trailed his thumb over the corner of my mouth I gave a soft giggle and he explained quietly, “You, umm.. Syrup.” and I thanked him for getting it, going silent for a second or two.

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure a good half of them aren’t even up and functional yet. It’ll surprise me if anyone’s even signed into the classroom and waiting.” I gave a soft laugh and grabbed the rest of my coffee and Adam leaned out of the kitchen to holler down the hall after me jokingly, “Hey, teach! You might consider puttin on pants before you start your lesson, right?”

I looked down and palmed my face, biting my lip. “Fuck.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was really tense around him. I stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning against the hallway wall to really think about it. Now that we’re all sheltering in place I’m going to have to find some way to work around all the feelings this man stirs up in me. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my damn mind.

“Okay, tomorrow we’re going to start on time.” I was smiling as I signed off of Zoom, giving one last wave goodbye to the students who’d actually signed on to be in class. We’d mostly talked about how hard things were around our little rural area because of the shelter in place. Then we’d gone over a history lesson and done a little english.

I stood and stretched, turning to peek through the curtains out of my bedroom window. And I bit my lip as soon as I realized that the noise I’d been hearing earlier was apparently Adam, who’d gotten bored from the looks of it, and was going over a section of land with the tractor, breaking up dirt.

I gave a soft laugh, pressing my hand against the window and shaking my head. “I meant a little garden, sir.” I mumbled quietly as I made myself step away from the window and focused on throwing on some of my older jeans and one of my favorite old plaid shirts. I was tugging on my boots at the front door of the house when Adam walked in, sweaty and grimy. I wrinkled my nose at him and he chuckled. “First a beer, then shower. I know, darlin. Looks bad.”

“You’re a little burnt on your shoulders actually. How long have you been out there?”

“Long enough to get everything disked up and ready. Now all we gotta do is go into town and buy seeds and stuff.”

“Yeah, about that.. To clarify, I said garden.”

“And? That’s what I did, woman.”

“That’s a field, sir.” I gestured to the window, to the plot of land he’d just spent an entire half day plowing and preparing to plant. It was… definitely much bigger than your typical ‘garden’ plot. Not bigger than my grandparents, but they were also farmers too, and they liked to take produce down to market and sell it 2 to 3 times a year.

Adam was just a semi pro bull rider who rodeoed most of the year and raised cattle and horses or broke horses the rest.

“Not out here, it ain’t. I got the land, might as well put it to use, right?” Adam dragged his fingers through his hair, giving that lazy grin that was notorious for making my stomach flutter ever-so-slightly. “Sides.. Maybe if I can get it growin now and this thing lasts as long as people are talkin about, I can give the stuff we don’t use to some of the neighbors down the road or somethin.”

“Yeah, true.” I agreed and bit my lip, shaking myself out of deep thought when I remembered that he’d mentioned something to drink. I started to walk towards the kitchen where he’d vanished to but almost as soon as I hit the doorway, he was leaning in it lazily, staring down at me.

And me, being lost in the blue of his eyes, well.. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. I cleared my throat and muttered quietly, “I was gonna grab a glass of tea.”

Adam stepped aside, but not quickly enough because we wound up brushing against each other in the doorframe. And again, I felt his hand lingering at my side subtly.

“I still say I make ya nervous, darlin.” Adam spoke up from where he stood as I poured my glass of tea after reaching the fridge. I gave a soft laugh, shrugging it off and I looked up, meeting his gaze. “I still argue you’re wrong, Adam.”

Adam coughed, but I heard him clearly say Bullshit as he did so. I gave a shrug and a teasing look as I took another sip of my tea. “Whether you believe me or not, Adam, that’s on you.”

He chuckled and took a few more quick sips of his long neck bottle before clearing his throat. “Should probably get showered so we can get goin. Curfew and all.”

“Yeah, this is true.” I answered, sitting down the glass I’d been drinking from and looking up at him.

“Days just seem to bleed into each other right now, ya know?” Adam mused and I nodded in agreement. They certainly did. Each one passing slower than the last. He’d only been here a day and a half. I’d been dealing with this part of it for almost four. I had the strong feeling that by the third day, the poor guy was going to be going stir-crazy.

And hopefully, just because we were now having to do the actual  cohabitating part of our arrangement, with him here now, things would  be just a little easier than I’d originally seen this whole thing going, when I thought Adam wouldn’t be coming back home until his usual and expected end of rodeo season.

Then again, I found myself thinking, literally no one ever saw any of this coming. And maybe I should just make the best of the situation, stop making it awkward, stop being so tense around Adam. This arrangement we had going did not have to be awkward at all.. Putting my own…. Attraction to the man aside, we could definitely be friends, there was no harm in that. I got it set firmly in my mind that rather than continuing to dwell on just how attracted to Adam I was, I was simply going to try for co-existing and hopefully, if I was lucky, making friends with him.

Given my luck in more recent years, -all of it bad, that was probably the far better thing to do.

Even as I made the decision, I got the distinct feeling that just trying to be friends was… Going to be a little more challenging than I thought.

Still, I thought to myself as I put the empty glass into the sink to wash later, I could at least try. That would definitely make this whole shelter in place scenario so much easier for both of us.

Adam was showering so I sat down at the dining table after going through the pantry and the fridge and the cabinets to see what we’d need to get us through for a few weeks. I’d just finished making my list when I heard him chuckle from behind me.

“Oh how cute, she’s makin a list.” Adam teased and I glanced up at him, poking out my tongue. “So I can get in, get what I know is needed and get out.”

“Where’s the fun in that though, hm?” Adam questioned, blue eyes fixed on me and gazing deep into my own. Almost as if he were definitely trying to distract me, which of course, it did work. I grumbled and tore the sheet of paper free from the magnetized notepad I usually kept on the door of the fridge and held it out. “Either way, fun or not, it is all stuff we’re going to need. So, if you don’t mind, hang onto that?” I asked, pretending to pout when he took the list and eyed it as if he were going to crumple it only to slip it in the pocket of faded blue jeans.

“I make no promises,darlin. If I see junk food, I’m buyin junk food.” Adam waved his hands and I couldn’t help but smile at it because it was just… Cute? Okay, that sounds so frickin cheesy… But it’s true? He looked cute. As if he were a kid, trying to tell his mother he hadn’t done something that his mother probably knew full well he had.

I eyed him and shook my head, laughing. “Okay, alright. It’d be nice to have a pint of ice cream later.” I grabbed my keys from the key rack on the iron ‘home’ key rack hanging beside the door and I turned to him, tossing them. “You’ve been staring at my car since I moved in. I know you want to drive it.”

He pretended to scoff for a second or two, but he quickly grabbed the keys from my hand, giving me that boyish smirk and sending my heart race again. “It’s just because I want to find out if Dodge really is a good company.. Ya know, being a Ford or Chevrolet guy myself for so long.”

“You do realize that Ford stands for Found On Road Dead, right?”

“Hey, hey.. No need in bein mean, darlin. Besides, your little sports car is probably just fast and not built to last.” Adam was stepping closer, staring down at me, biting his lip. If I were a lot more self assured, I’d almost want to say he was staring at my lips like… No, he didn’t want to kiss me.

He probably sees women who are so much prettier on the daily when he’s out being a rodeo star. He probably takes them back to his hotel, I found myself thinking next, having to clear my throat abruptly just to clear my mind and get the focus back on our outing. Adam’s hand lightly squeezed my side and he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“What?”

“It’s nothin. C’mon, let’s go get this done.” Adam was reaching out over my shoulder to push the front door open and when he brushed against me as he leaned in a little to do so, I looked up at him. “I warn you, it’s an absolute madhouse in town. And if you think we’re getting toilet paper or anything? Likely not.”

“Why toilet paper?” Adam questioned, a brow raised as he shook his head and muttered about some people and their overwhelming lack of common sense. I sighed and shrugged, making my way to my Challenger, standing by the passenger door as I tapped my foot and waited on him. When he finally got to the car, he eyed me. “You’re not in?”

“You have the key. City girl here, remember? I never just leave my car or the house unlocked… Speaking of… You did lock up the place… Right?”

“Darlin, we are in the middle of nowhere.” Adam pointed out, gazing at me before turning to look back at the front door to the house after he’d aimed my key fob at the car to unlock it. “Sides.. I can’t exactly lock up the barn and stables, all the valuable stuff is in there.”

“Doesn’t matter, Adam. The door needs to be locked. You never know what could happen.” I pointed it out mildly, going on to tell him that 3 times in a month my old apartment had actually been broken into before I left the city to move out here. He eyed me in concern and I quickly reassured with a shrug, “I wasn’t home for any of them, thankfully. Does piss me off knowing that given all the bigger scale crime though, actually doing something about it would’ve done nothing in the end.”

“You didn’t report it?” Adam gaped at me, shocked when I admitted that I hadn’t tried to actually get anything done about it. I almost wanted to cringe, thinking back about it because it was one of those things, ya know? Where you suck at defending yourself for the most part and getting fucked over becomes the norm. You just kind of let it ride, go with it and hope for the best down the road. If you’re wondering, yes. I did this a lot. And yeah, on occasion I do still do it. It’s just.. Easier… Not to be a troublemaker or make waves.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, giving a defeated sigh. Nothing I could say to explain it would make this any more logical, I could just see it in his eyes. He was genuinely confused as to why I didn’t try to report it.

“It’s not really friendly there like it is around here, okay? Besides, the cops have a lot more important things to worry about, like the actual murders and robberies that happen all the time.” I explained it away, but I felt it boiling at my gut all over again, the anger I’d felt all three occasions to coming back, discovering that a few possessions and some money were gone. The pathetic excuse and my lack of action was also still eating at me and this had taken place a year ago.

Adam cleared his throat and dug around, finding his house key as he muttered, “I’ll go lock the door. Can’t hurt.” and I gave him a relieved look, getting into the passenger side of the car. He hurried back down the brick front steps and got into the driver seat, taking off down the long dirt driveway. As we drove into town, I squirmed in my seat a little.

One, I’m not used to being a passenger in my car. Like at all. Two, I was starting to feel that thick tension creeping back in. The air seemed like it hung heavy with words not said. It was starting to get to me, so I guess that’s why I reached out, turning down the volume on the radio. Adam seemed to be off in his own mind too, because when I finally thought of something to say, “Looks like it’s gonna rain soon.” he muttered a quiet and thoughtful, “Probably so.” and swore under his breath because he’d just spent over half the day plowing up the ground and the rain might mess all that up now. I couldn’t help but give a quiet laugh.

“Just curious, darlin… Ain’t you got… Like… family or a man back in the city?” the question came totally out of the blue and when I glanced over, he was doing it again, giving me that look all over again.

“I don’t, actually. My parents and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms. As far as a relationship, haven’t really… Been in one of those for almost two years now. I..” I paused, biting my lip and taking a deep breath, “got burned really bad in the last one.”

Adam nodded, muttered quietly, “Me too.. On the relationship thing, I mean. Parents are livin in some retirement community out in Colorado. My dad’s idea.” Adam shrugged and reached out, turning the volume up just a little, leaving me to kind of sit there and puzzle out what he’d just admitted.

Okay, in what world is a hunky semi-pro bull rider not involved with at least one person? And he certainly seemed like a nice enough guy from the little we’d interacted since I moved into his house… It definitely made me wonder and it only further drove home the fact that maybe getting to know the man I’m cohabitating with isn’t a bad idea at all.

I mean… we should know a lot more about each other than we already do.

The local supermarket came into view and Adam pulled my car into one of the closer spots to the door, sitting there for a few seconds as if he wanted to say something else. When he finally did break the silence, it was to gently repeat something he’d said earlier in the morning.

“Ya know.. We’re stuck together in this. Wouldn’t hurt to get more comfortable around each other, I’d think.”

“No, it definitely wouldn’t.”

He smiled at me and then raised slightly in his seat, digging out my list, holding it out to me. “Your list, darlin.”

“Tease all you want, but when you’re back at the house and we actually have everything we need to last a while, you’ll see the reasoning there.” I laughed softly, taking the slip of paper from his hand. For a second or two, our fingertips brushed and I bit my lip. He did the same before answering with a shrug, “Won’t matter if I wanted a candy bar or somethin and we don’t have that.”

“You’ll get your junk, sir. Are we going in or are we just gonna sit out here and talk about it all night, cowboy?” I teased, almost wanting to cringe at the flirtatious tone in my voice while also praying to hell that Adam didn’t actually… Read that much into things, because it hadn’t really been intentional. My breath caught in my throat when he eyed me a second or two, this soft and laughing smirk on his face as he got out. I got out too, shutting the door behind me and Adam locked the car, extending his arm. I grabbed a cart and bit my lip when I felt his chest ever so slightly brushing into my back.

He chuckled softly next to my ear. “I still say I make you nervous.” he dared to say it and I bit down on my lip harder, taking a deep breath, turning slightly to look over my shoulder at him, my head shaking and a teasing grin on my face.

I mean… If he’s gonna tease me, why not, right?

“I do believe someone is ignoring social distancing protocols, sir.” I stepped from beneath the way he had his arms on either side of me, his hands on the cart handle and slunk over to the potatoes, grabbing a 5 lb. bag and returning with it, putting it into the cart, flashing him yet another little smile and laughing.

Adam chuckled, grabbing for a bag of apples near the fruits and vegetables, putting them into the cart. “Cute diversion. But I’m still goin by what I said earlier at the house. For some reason, I make you real nervous.”

“Nope.” I’d turned away, busying myself with buying ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise and when I turned back with the three bottles, I found myself body to bod with him again and he was staring down at me thoughtfully, reaching for two of the three bottles in my hand to sit them into the cart. He didn’t break his gaze a single time and I found my breath catching.

Something my grandma said to me once about her and Grandpa came rushing back to me and I mulled it over before quickly shoving it right out of my head.

I barely know Adam. This is just me, being awkward as fuck because I have always been awkward as fuck around men I’m attracted to. It has to be… Right?

But gazing up at him as he gazed right back, I suddenly wasn’t as confident in that as I’ve been up to this point. I mean… I keep feeling like he’s flirting with me. Like he feels truly comfortable around me and this is the real Adam… Not the Adam I’m used to seeing after a winning round at whatever rodeo he happens to be riding in on television when I watch. He’s not cocky, not intense.. He’s just.. A genuinely sweet and good guy. Funny, down to earth and charming.

I tried to get a grip of myself as he started to laugh quietly and reached out, taking the paper from my hand. “Maybe if each of us takes half…” he suggested and I swallowed hard, shaking my head, giving him a smile. “No, no. No. Today’s just been… Weird. I’m used to being alone when I do this. But this is fine, I’m having a good time. And for the last time, no… you do not make me nervous. Not even a little.” I said it in a rush and he chuckled, shrugging as he grabbed a jar of pickles and put them into the cart.

“Whatever you say, darlin. What’s next then?”

“Uh… You’re gonna love this. The mandatory junk food and quick meals.” I joked gently, making him laugh as he pointed out, “You do realize I can cook, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re in and out of hotels at least 100 plus days a year, so…”

“And yet, you nearly burnt down the kitchen just this morning.”

“Bite me.”

“Where, darlin?” Adam joked, again with that grin that I couldn’t tell whether he was being a tease or whether he was… Really flirting with me… Like he was into me.

Then again, I’ve never been good at deciphering cues or hints, to begin with. So, I don’t dare get my hopes up that high.

[breadcaaat]

part five

part five

Jeongguk x hybrid!reader

| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

Words: 5.4k

Genre: action, fluff, angst, violence... eventual smut

Warnings: buckets o’ blood, more nudity, foul language, discussion of human trafficking 

Jeongguk was on his knees, face mask and headband on, fat yellow sponge in hand, surrounded by rosy suds. He already knew he’d be throwing these clothes out at the end of the day. That was fine. He could buy new ones, especially now that he was financially set for the next few years.

Yes. You read that right.

On Y/N’s flight from the auction center, she’d crawled out a vent she had hid in to escape the guarddogs and dropped into an office, where a woman had been running cash through a money counter. One choke to unconsciousness later, and she’d packed away a full cargo of pure, fat, dirty cash from the sales that night into the backpack Jeongguk had spotted on the floor earlier.

“We can’t use this,” he’d said.

“Why not?”

“Because people were sold to make this money.”

“Not people; person, singular. About one moderately-priced hybrid.” 

Jeongguk looked at her uneasily. 

“Aish,” she muttered, “ - doesn’t matter. Think of it this way: we’re keeping their sellers from making profit and supporting one - ” she’d pointed at herself “ - of their products. Consider it ironic. And you can finally quit that job at the moving company.”

He still wasn’t sure where he stood on that topic, but for now his focus was simple. Leave no trace. 

There was blood on the tile (thankfully no more than a few spots on the carpet) but it hadn't dried yet and so was relatively easy to mop up. His biggest concern wasn’t the staining, though. Y/N had told him that most all these hybrid crime centers had guarddogs: dog hybrids with sharp noses that made sure nothing unauthorized left any of the sites alive. His tiger girl had left a big, fat, smelly trail leading down the streets, up the walls of his building, and straight into his apartment through the balcony, so if they had any chance of remaining undiscovered they needed to blast any and all traces of smelliness to the fucking exosphere.

So, while he scrubbed away, she ran to a convenience store (clean, not covered in blood anymore, with her hood up and some sunglasses on) with a fresh wad of cash to buy four big jugs of bleach.

By the time she returned, he was already packing away all the towels and the sponge he’d used to mop everything up into a trash bag. They worked quietly, efficiently. Next, the bleach.

His most immediate concern was the apartment and any smelliness that lingered about it, so he as he bleached down their living space, she climbed down the piping she’d clambered up in the first place and bleached away all traces of blood and any previous scent-markings. (She’d pouted a little at this, knowing it was necessary but mourning the loss.) They decided to work on the alley together.

It was about five o’clock - an hour and a half later - when she deemed the apartment sufficiently un-smelly, so Jeongguk packed up the trash bag with all the unsalvageable, bloody materials and packed it down to the alley.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs, he sighed and noticed something not totally interesting, but notable. It was fucking late. He’d been up late before, of course, with long work hours and everything, but never this late. Walking down the echoey, concrete stairwell made him feel like the only man on earth and it wasn’t… a bad feeling. He was starting to understand the appeal of late night walks. Maybe he should join her on her next one.

When he got down there, he could already smell the bleach. She’d uncapped a jug and was currently splashing it along the apartment-side wall, getting rid of any blood-smells or previous scent marks. He caught her attention by setting the bag near the dumpster and scooping up a jug for himself.

“We’ll have to burn that. I can smell us both on it. Ever lit a trash-fire?” she asked, and he found himself chuckling despite everything.

“Sure, I’ve lit things on fire. Most boys do.”

“Good. Dump it on top of that drain instead.”

He did, and it landed with a thump and a squish, which made his stomach twist a little. “Ew,” he muttered. Y/N handed him a matchbook and pulled out a tube of firestarter.

“It’s going to rain in the morning.” She uncapped the tube and doused the garbage bag.

“When?

“I’d say in the next hour or so.”

He nodded. That saved them from hosing away the bleach. It’d also - presumably - wash away any obvious bleachy or burnt scents left behind by their cleaning.

Finished with the tube, she tossed it on the pile. “Before we light this, I’m gonna clean up my trail back a couple blocks. We still have two and a half jugs and that should be enough.”

“It’d be good to burn the jugs too, is what you’re saying?”

“Exactly. Be right back. Check for any details we missed. The bleach is stinging my nose and I can’t smell anything.”

He nodded, and she lugged off the remaining jugs of bleach to clean the rest of her mess.

🐯

Jeongguk got the honor of flicking the match onto their little trash fire, and it took quickly. Unbidden, a sense of relief flooded him. This should be the last of it. All we do now is wait for the rain.

Y/N sat next to him, stripped down to her skivvies once again. Her clothes were in the pile right now. “They smell like I just cleaned up a crime scene,” she’d told him when he’d asked why she was stripping again. He’d decided to just shrug it away this time. It was alarming how quickly he was becoming desensitized to nudity and blood.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked. The sounds around them were almost ambient; like a campfire near a road. Except this was an alleyway and the trash fire was lit to destroy evidence. Potato, tomato.

“No. Why?”

“You’re good at it.”

She scoffed incredulously. “I just crawled into your apartment early in the morning covered in blood - which I know makes you nauseous - after having committed three gruesome murders in which I tore two victims open by the rib cage and used their entrails to kill the last one, then also a major robbery of an organized crime syndicate and - ” she tipped her head to look at him, eyes gleaming with the peacock sheen of her cat’s-eye night vision “ - you commend me on how good I am at concealing the evidence?”

He scratched his nose. It did sound a little ridiculous. I’m probably in shock, so. “... Just thought it was clever how you burnt it over the grate so it doesn’t leave any ashes. I wouldn’t have thought to do that.”

She giggled. “You’re the ride or die type, huh?” There was a shuffle as she shifted to lean on him, tucking her head between his shoulder and neck. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of shit - and I’m sorry - but I’m glad it was you in the restaurant, and I’m glad you fell in the river.” She nipped at the column of his neck and he had to remind himself that It’s platonic, she’s part animal, animals nip at each other platonically. “I’d probably be dead of fever in an alleyway had you not taken me in.”

She wrapped her arm around his, and they stared down at the trash fire as it died away, burning away quickly.

“Thank you,” she finished with a murmur.

He didn’t answer, but set his head on top of hers. She chuffed, and a little purr rumbled up through her chest.

🐯

“I’m sorry Mrs. Gim,” Jeongguk rasped “ - but I can’t come in today.” His voice sounded downright pitiful. It might’ve been the fake coughing or the toilet paper stuffed up his nose that had her convinced and already fussing, but that’s not important. Was he actually sick? Absolutely not. Tired? Absolutely.

In order to wake up early enough to make this call and skip on his morning shift he’d had to set NO MORE than eight alarms, each two minutes apart, and really they hadn’t been what’d woken him up; Y/N had by biting his ear with a growl that’d rumbled through his skull, just hard enough to make him yelp.

“ - Should I bring you some soup? You weren’t out in the rain last night, were you? Tell me you didn’t go outside with an umbrella or so help me - ”

Jeongguk latched onto that last bit and faked a nervous laugh.

“Jeongguk,” the woman hissed, and he almost felt sorry for himself.

“I can call in Jaesoo to cover?” he whimpered, and Sunghyun hissed again (Aish! Sure. Stay in bed and don’t leave it.)

A few goodbyes and reassurances to take care of himself later, Jeongguk hung up the phone call, picked out the toilet paper, and flopped back into bed.

“Is Gim’s your only shift today?” Y/N asked.

He grunted a negative, voice rough in the morning-time.

“What else then?”

“Night shift at Gloss. Then I gotta go deposit the money so it can rack up interest, pay off our rent - and that’ll take a couple different accounts, maybe banks.”

“Why not just one?”

“That much cash is suspicious.” He giggled then. “It’ll look like I robbed an organized crime syndicate or something.” She growled and jabbed at his ribs, and he giggled a bit more before quieting down again.

More than anything, he wanted to go back to sleep. The past few weeks compounded upon last night had exhaustion dripping off his every bone and pore, but realistically he knew there were errands he had to run today. Last night’s trash fire wasn’t the end of their clean-up, though it’d felt like it. His sense of caution still flared. There were loose ends that needed clipping.

The money was probably the biggest. With his situation, there was no way he could’ve acquired it in the eyes of the bank without having robbed a place, and revealing Y/N’s existence was out of the question completely. He needed a good excuse. And better clothes.

An idea flickered to life, but he rushed to tamper that flame before he did something impulsive.

It was no secret that Yoongi - his boss and friend - had connections underground. Though Jeongguk hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he knew his hyung had done plenty of gang tattoos, and he was many a kingpin’s go-to. Gloss was not only neutral ground in all the territory-mongering that went on, but also Yoongi’s pseudonym. None of his clients knew his real name and that was for safety. That was the type of crowd he’d been surrounded by since fourteen, when he’d done that first tattoo.

He must’ve learned something through by osmosis through all those - what - eleven years? If Jeongguk confided in him, he could learn how to go about this clean-up neatly.

On the flip-side, Yoongi might also fire him and cut ties. Another safety precaution. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - blame him for it. That was Gloss’s tried and true method for making sure his shop stayed neutral through all the crime and conflict of Seoul’s underground, and he’d kept it up for his whole career.

There was a shuffle in the sheets beside him as Y/N shifted to look at him. She was laying on top of the covers - too hot - and he’d zoned out on her tail as it had curled up and thumped idly on the duvet in a steady rhythm.

“You’re juggling something.” It was an observation, not a question.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Penny for your thoughts then?”

“I was just thinking about all I have to do today.” He stared up at the ceiling, hand on his chest and index finger tapping a quiet beat.

“We,” she murmured quietly, and he smiled.

“I don’t know if you can help me in what I have to do. It’s all legal and money stuff. I’m just trying to figure out where to start, I guess.” They were silent for a moment as he debated telling her about Yoongi.

Well, what’s the harm, huh? “I know someone that might be able to help us. Just, advice-wise.”

She hummed and fluffed her pillow. “Tell me about him then.”

“His name’s Yoongi, but at the shop he’s called Gloss.”

“You work there, right?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty much run the place since he was a kid. Dropped out of high school to do it. Since he wasn’t trained professionally his tattoo operation is underground and I mean, the guy’s been tattooing gangsters since forever. He must know something, you know?”

She nodded thoughtfully, and her eyes drifted shut after a moment. “I bet you he’ll still know something in a couple hours so… it won’t hurt if we sleep a bit more.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted. Gotta call Jaesoo first…”

🐯

It was about ten now. An hour ago, he’d written up a resignation letter and had just delivered it to the moving company, now meandering his way over to Yoongi’s shop to start up what would probably be a fucking monumental disaster. He was having Y/N meet him in the alley near there, both having decided their story would probably be more believable with her presence. He just hoped things would go well. Jeongguk knew he was putting a lot of trust in Yoongi telling him all this - he’d have to rely on Gloss’s neutral nature to not let on about him to anyone who came asking, which was a risk.

“There it is,” he murmured to himself as he spotted the storefront, and drew in a deep breath, adjusting the strap of the back pack on his shoulder. Shit, this is making me nervous. He let the breath out as a loud sigh, not too unlike a war cry. Let’s go. We got this! Yoongi’s my friend and he’ll handle it somehow. We’ll be fine.

The bell jingled as he marched in.

Yoongi was currently at one of the stations giving a client a trim, and he looked up at the kid with the usual greeting for customers on his lips, fading off the moment he saw his face. Curiosity replaced it.

“Jeongguk?”

“Can we talk?” His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like he was hyperfocusing on something.

Didn’t even say hi. “Mm. Sure. Meet me in the back, I gotta finish up here first.” This’ll be interesting. He turned back to the client.

Jeongguk nodded, and briskly strode into the hall at the back of the shop, eyebrows furrowed cutely. Yoongi idly counted his footsteps, only to hear a little screech of rubber on tile as Jeongguk stopped and skidded back into the main area. “Hi hyung!” A little wave, and he disappeared again. Yoongi smiled faintly and shook his head.

Down the hallway, Jeongguk bypassed Yoongi’s office and scooted further down the hallway to an iron door. It provided access into the alley out back and could only be opened from the inside. He pushed it open and ducked his head out.

Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Good. She’s stayed hidden.

Jeongguk whistled a small tune.

A shadow dropped down from the fire escape, near-silent, and slid past him into the building. “Good to see you. On the left,” he murmured, and she disappeared into Yoongi’s office right as the man turned the corner, wiping his hands after a quick wash.

Seeing Jeongguk, he asked, “Why are you here so early?”

“I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Are you quitting?”

“What? No.” He shook his head, opening the door for Yoongi who moved past him to his liquor cabinet, not noticing the figure lounging on his couch. “You might understand better why it is I took on a fourth part-time, though.”

“Oh yeah? Shoot.” He pulled out a crystal decanter of bourbon and poured them both a glass. “Two pinkies or three?” He didn’t notice how tense it was Jeongguk got then, or if he did, decided not to comment.

Jeongguk’s hand tightened around the strap of his pack. This is it. Tell him everything. He decided to just act first before he chickened out.

He unzipped it and upended the contents on Yoongi’s desk. Actions do speak louder than words, right?

Yoongi paused his pour.

He may have had his back turned, but the sound of tumbling money is something he’s familiar with. He decided to knock back the glass before pouring another refill. “That better not be what I think it is Jeongguk. That better be you spilling a stack of flyers for a poetry slam or some shit.” He knocked back the second glass and poured another. “Two or three pinkies, you goddamned punk?”

“Two please.”Jeongguk murmured.

Yoongi kneels and pulls out a second glass from the liquor cabinet. Y/N chooses then to speak up.

“I’ll take two also.”

There’s a clatter as he bangs his head on the cabinet, spinning around with the widest eyes Jeongguk’s ever seen on him. “Who the hell - ?”

“I let her in,” Jeongguk murmured, shifting to stand in front of the door to block Yoongi from making a run for it. “She’s a friend of mine. Yoongi, meet Y/N.”

There’s silence for a moment. The tiger girl sits soundlessly on the couch, completely covered from head to toe in clothing - her face is even concealed by a dark pair of shades and a face mask. Besides her name and voice, there’s little to differentiate whether she’s a boy or girl. Yoongi recovers his composure quickly, standing up from the ground and picking up two cups as he does.

“Alright, two pinkies each and four for me. Why’s she here Jeongguk, and who is she?”

“Well, uh, her name’s Y/N - ”

“We covered that already. Who is she, Jeongguk?” Finished with his pours, he handed him their drinks and took his own, sitting down at his desk. Jeongguk sank into the cushions next to Y/N and handed her her drink. Surprisingly, she decided to take charge of the conversation.

“Do you know what hybrids are, Mr. Yoongi?” Idly, she took a sip of the alcohol and grimaced, thinking better of it and handing to Jeongguk.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle over one of his knees. He sipped at his drink. A tense moment passed.

“Sure. I heard of ‘em.”

Jeongguk blinked. “You have, hyung?”

“Yeah, people talk. I keep my nose out of it though, and that’s for safety.” He sipped at his drink again, then narrowed his eyes a bit. “Why are you asking?”

“Well - ” she started, taking off her shades, face mask, and hood. “I am one.”

Yoongi’s face remained impassive, masked, calculated. It was his business face, the one he used with customers. Neither removed or engaged. He nodded, but made no effort to continue the conversation.

Y/N took the lead.

“I’ve been… this, for about four years now. Started out as a pet whore then demoted to a cagedog. You know what cagedoggers are?”

Yoongi nodded again, and Jeongguk felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle.

“So, I did that for three years. In the last four months before I got out of it - the cagedogging, I mean - I purposely lost fights so I’d get resold and resold to the cheapest cagedoggers. The last deal took place at night in a restaurant Jeongguk was eating at, and he helped me escape.”

“That was the day I broke up with Bora,” Jeongguk interjected, and Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t really know exactly when that was since his presence in the kid’s life was minimal outside of Gloss - but it gave him a rough timeline. A little less than six weeks ago.

“ - Right,” she continued. “So, after that night I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I just kinda…” a little blush, and her ears fluttered back, “... followed him around for a day. Figured I’d return the favor somehow, and I wanted to thank him but he’s so goddamn busy all the time it’s hard to get a word in.”

Yoongi chuckled a little, tipping back the rest of his drink.

“So then he fell in a river, and - ”

Yoongi choked on his drink. “What did he do?”

Jeongguk grimaced, and picked at his bangs guiltily. “Uh.”

“When did it happen?”

“A day after I escaped.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jeongguk, who avoided making eye contact like the plague. Y/N rushed to move on with a heavy exhale before Yoongi started wasting time scolding him.

“Anyway,” she continued. “He fell in a river and I saved him. Brought him back to his apartment and ended up staying the night. We’ve been denning together since then.”

Jeongguk giggled a little. Denning. What a cute word choice.

“How’d you know where he lives again?” Yoongi asked, and Jeongguk perked up a little. He should’ve asked that question before and hadn’t, somehow. God, that’s such an important detail. I hope I haven’t skipped over anything else like that. He bit his lip in nervous thought, spaced out and distracted for a second.

“I’d been following him around, remember? The night at the restaurant, I circled back and made sure he got home safe. That’s how I learned where it was.”

Yoongi nodded a bit, satisfied.

“So,” he drawled, leaning forward to ruffle through the pile of cash on his desk. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“I revisited an old auction site.”

“You’re talking abandoned storage auctions or slave auctions?”

“Slave auctions. Specifically hybrid.”

“Ah. Continue. Also, why?”

“I needed closure, I guess. It was the one place I solidly remember the location of.” She picked at the elastic strings on her facemask, uncomfortable showing any measure of vulnerability to someone not-Jeongguk. It’s okay, she assured herself despite wanting to swallow those words back up. He trusts him. I can trust him. Move on.

“So - ” she forced herself to look up, “ - there was a situation, and I hurt a few people and had to escape.”

“Y/N, you killed three people. They didn’t scrape their knees because you pushed them,” Jeongguk murmured, and Yoongi was surprised to hear the words come from his mouth more so than the fact Y/N had killed someone - he’d made a comment about murder so… casually.

“Right. Yeah. And, uh, on the way out I grabbed this. Now we’re here.”

There was silence for a moment as everyone digested the situation. Yoongi picked at the rubber band circling one of the cash bundles, evaluating the figures in front of him. Y/N sat still as a shadow, eyes on him. Jeongguk fidgeted with his bangs.

Yoongi took a deep breath.

“Why’d you come here?” he asked.

“... I’m in over my head, hyung.” Barely a whisper. Jeongguk wouldn’t meet his eyes, face flushed in shame. This isn’t going to work. I’m going to lose a friend today. “You’re the only person in Seoul I trust that can help us.”

Yoongi looked at him thoughtfully, poker face on in force. Jeongguk felt like he was being watched by a cat.

Finally, he let up with a sigh.

“Clean this up.”

Jeongguk’s heart sank.

Silently, and with a burning face, he scooped the cash back into the bag. Some of Yoongi’s sketches got pushed off with it and he scrambled to pick them up. “Ah - “ he put them back, disorganized, on the desk, “ - I, uh, sorry hyung. We’ll just… get going.” He zipped the last of it up.

“Alright,” Yoongi murmured. “Gimme that before you go.”

Unbidden, a small, suspicious growl crawled its way up from Y/N’s chest. Jeongguk, confused, asked, “Hyung?”

Yoongi sighed and took it from his hands, ignoring the snarl shot at him.

“I can tell you have no clue how to launder money, so I’m gonna do it for you. Can’t leave loose ends in business like this. Sloppiness’ll get you killed.”

She stopped snarling abruptly, and Jeongguk froze in surprise. “Hyung?”

Yoongi smirked, soft and a little bitter like he wanted to swat a younger sibling over the head for doing something troublesome. “I’m older than you, so it’s my job to take care of you. Pull some stupid shit like this again, though, and I’m tossing you in a closet or something.”

Wow. I honestly thought we were gonna get booted to the curb, Jeongguk thought. He was too speechless to say thank you, but Yoongi could see it in the way his eyes twinkled, watery at the edges.

Taking the bag, he made some space in his liquor cabinet and stashed it away. He’d deal with it after hours.

Still turned away, he said, “Go on, git. Don’t you have work, punk?”

“No. Off day.” Jeongguk paused, overcome with this immense sense of gratitude - he was so goddamn lucky to have the people in his life that he did. “Can… can I come in early?”

“Sure,” Yoongi grunted, with a soft smile. I hope this shit doesn’t get him killed. 

“Now git.”

They gitted.

🐯

The police station was having a quiet day, which was honestly the worst in Hoseok’s opinion. It made him jumpy and restless. He sat at his desk, tapping his pen across a notepad and bouncing his knee. And - with a glance at the clock - he realized it wasn’t even lunch time yet. He had a whole two hours until he could - what, eat more and get more energy? Run a lap around the station? Offer the chief a lap dance, just for the exercise?

Hoseok tossed the pen away, buried his head in his hands and moaned, blowing a long sherbert into his palms. The office remained not-busy - probably out of spite.

“You know, Jung - “ his partner commented idly from where he sat across from him, feet propped up on the desk with his nose buried in a racy hentai - some shameless tentacle number; “ - usually, it’s a good thing when we’re not busy.”

Hoseok moaned into his hands again.

Officer Ri Doyeon’s thin eyes flicked up at him over the rim of the book in his hands, and Hoseok started to make little tooting noises. A piece of Doyeon’s soul leaked out and slithered away when he recognized the tune as Darude’s “Sandstorm.”

“Dude,” he whispered in exasperation.

The tooting morphed into what sounded like “Fur Elise,” reaching a grand, existential crisis-inducing crescendo before fading off into one positively grand finale of a sherbert.

Doyeon was overcome by the impulse to choke out his partner with the tie around his neck. “Are you done?” he asked.

Hoseok didn’t answer, head still in his hands. Doyeon returned to his manga.

“Ri-sunbae?” Hoseok murmured after a moment. Doyeon hummed.

“Do you think kazoos like getting blown?”

“Out,” Doyeon hissed. The book in his hands clapped shut with the finality of a man driven to the edge of sanity. “Get - get out. Go take a smoke or a run or jack off in the bathrooms - whatever the fuck men in their twenties do - I don’t fucking care just burn some of this goddamn energy you fucking middle-schooler.”

“So that’s a no?”

Doyeon belted the book at poor, bored little Hoseok who broke the silence of the office with a yelp, scrabbling out of his chair. “A smoke, Hoseok!” Doyeon barked.

“Got it, got it,” he placated, retreating from the office. His grumpy partner huffed and circled the desk to snatch his manga back up from the floor, returning to his earlier position.

Hoseok wandered through the station, looking for something to do. Lately, this is all work had been for him. Boring. Unsatisfying. Unrushed.

The KNP's (Korean National Police’s) Sex Crimes Division was not a good place to work for someone like Hoseok because it was - due to multiple factors, none of them good - not very busy. The situation was not nearly as optimistic as Doyeon made it sound. There are still plenty of sex crimes in South Korea. So many it’s downright shameful. But this is a culture where we don’t talk about those things. No one reports anything, he thought sadly.

His mind wandered back to a case he’d been forced to drop last week. A woman, at a company dinner on her second day at a new job, had been lured away by a supervisor, raped, and then subjected to revenge lawsuits on the charges of defamation when she’d spoken up, yelled and worn into dropping all charges. Yesterday, he’d learned that she’d lost that job. Life ruined in a week. And he couldn’t help. I don’t blame them, I guess. The law doesn’t exactly do much to help. The thought was a bitter one.

His wandering lead him to the roof, and he stepped out with a sigh. I thought I’d be able to help more with this job.

I feel more useless than ever.

He gazed over the balcony, propping his elbows up on the railing. Maybe a bit lonely, too.

All his friends were busy and his family was based back in Gwangju, so he didn’t really get to socialize much anymore. Most of his time was spent with grumpy, middle-aged Doyeon, who was so inclined to social reclusion and coping with all of his failed marriages through nasty hentais that he wasn’t that fun to hang out with.

When was the last time Jeongguk and I hung out? As thoughts turned to his best friend from college, he flushed a little in guilt. Five weeks ago, Jeongguk had broken up with his girlfriend of a year and called him at midnight to cry and babble for a bit, only to hang up a few minutes later because he “... Gotta go, wan’ ramen…” (Sniff.) “Gunna get ramen… bye Hobi-hyung.” Those had been the last words he’d heard from him since - not counting the odd text here and there. I should be a better friend, sheesh.

“Let’s call him,” he murmured to himself, and pulled out his phone.

Jeongguk picked up after three rings. “Hyung?”

“Hey Ggukie!”

“Oh, hey! Haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

“Yeah, sorry for checking out as long as I did. Thought I’d check up on you.”

“Ah hyung, no worries. Seoul’s a busy place to live. Where are you?”

“The station, as usual. You?”

“The station.”

Hoseok perked up. “Wait - really?”

“Yeah, the train one.”

“Oh, you little pest. I got excited there for a second.”

“Aw,” Jeongguk bit out cheekily, and Hoseok could picture so clearly that competitive and endearing little smirk. “Has hyung missed Jeonggukie? Lil’ ol’ me, tiny little Ggukie? Bunny-boy Guk?”

“Oh shut it - I miss kicking your ass in Smash Bros, that’s all.”

“Aish! Shut up hyung - you literally only ever play as Waluigi or Kirby and I always win.”

“I love Waluigi and Kirby more than I love you.”

“Well then I’m a slut for Link. Glad everything’s in the open.” A giggle. “Love me a man in a tunic.”

Hoseok laughed, and they both relaxed into a comfortable pause - softly tuning into private thoughts and the sounds of each others’ environment.

“We should have a tournament again, me an’ you. Waluigi and Kirby vs. Link,” Hoseok joked. Opposite to what he expected, Jeongguk sighed in response. “Hey,” Hoseok murmured, brows knitting. “What’s up?”

“I had to pawn off my PlayStation last month for rent.”

There was a pause again, not as comfortable as the last. Hoseok frowned watched the street down below. He was realizing how far they’d grown apart in this last year, as he’d invested his time in becoming a policeman and Jeongguk had dropped out of college to escape the relentless, malicious rumors targeting him. Touchy subject, that last one.

The world is full of injustices.

By the day, Hoseok’s starting to feel more and more powerless to fix any of it.

“Hobi-hyung…” Jeongguk started, soft voice drawing them both out of their melancholy daze before they sank any further. “We can grab drinks later? If you like?”

He’s such a sweetheart, Hoseok thought.

“Sounds great, Guk,” he hummed. “Usual place?”

“Usual place.”

“When are you free?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Works for me; text me when. I’ll see ya, Guk.”

“See ya then, hyung.”

They hung up, and Hoseok put his phone away to gaze at the skyline for awhile.

A/N: i have three-ish weeks until i disappear into the wilderness of alaska, so either i finish it in that time or organize an adminship with someone to post my updates. we’ll see

also, thanks for all the support!! yall’re lovely 💞

Taglist: @feed-my-geek-soul @starryannaaa @not-novoa @astronomyturtle @anoushe01 @seokchella @dinorahrodriguez @mischiefmakerliesmith5

Taglist Glitches: @infiresssnct 

[hannahmcne]

Her Royal Highness - Chapter 25

Audrey wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to be feeling.

Her ex-boyfriend's wife who happened to be her mother's enemy's daughter had invited her into her group. Mal had literally tossed her a sword and said she'd need her. Now Audrey had no idea why. It was quite clear as soon as she joined the rest of the group that they were far, far different from her. They were mostly men who had been on various fencing teams and whose dads or uncles or grandfathers had taught them to spar at a young age. There were a couple of girls, like Lonnie, but all things accounted for, they were about seventy-percent men.

There was black upper-body armor for their use, though Audrey wasn't quite sure where they'd gotten it. It was placed alongside the walls of the utopia for everyone who would be entering the outside. The soldiers already had theirs strapped to their bodies.

It hadn't exactly occurred to Audrey that she might be doing dangerous things when she'd come. Truth-be-told, she'd heard Ben would be there and thought it'd be a great chance to hook up with her old boyfriend. Unfortunately, he and Mal seemed to be getting closer, and Audrey was beginning to wonder if maybe this wasn't just a bad-girl-infatuation after all. What were the chances that Ben might actually be in love with Mal, a villainess?

Audrey stood in line with everyone else, holding a sword in her hand that felt - oddly - one with her arm, even though she'd never held a sword before. She carefully observed her comrades and mirrored the way they held their weapons as they stood in unorganized ranks, awaiting the Queen of the Isle.

Mal had dressed for the occasion. She had on a sleeveless leather jacket made of a variety of purple and green shades, zippers, and other metal appliques. Attachable sleeves were currently stuffed into Mal's pockets at the shoulders. Long pants with the hems covered by her combat boots protected her legs from the sun. Her hair was down, and Audrey could see that the back of her neck was wet with sweat. Still, the area was protected from the sun. A large part of Audrey thought: 'How could Ben allow someone so closely associated with him to dress in such a fashion?' The other part of her felt silly and preppy. She pulled the armor on, which would cover her chest, back, and arms, and picked at her shorts where she'd cut off her jeans with intentions to show off as much as possible. Now, she wished she'd kept them longer so that she could pretend that fabric would protect her.

"Alright." Mal snapped to attention. Audrey looked up instinctively. A tall woman with grey hair had approached Mal and held out a large tablet. Mal took it with a smile. She turned it around to show the twenty-ish people who had chosen to join ranks in group one. On the screen was a map of the Isle. Mal pointed to a point on a pier closely surrounded by water. "These are the piers." She explained. "I know for a fact people are gathered there, but Isle rebels could be scattered all over the place, all on the villain's team." Mal pointed as she spoke. "People who waited to see if they wanted to come into the Utopia were taken captive by Maleficent and are now being held hostage. They're either subdued, held captive, or too ill to move. My goal is to bring everyone in unless they specifically tell you otherwise or try to hurt you. So, here's how this will work." Mal handed the tablet back and dug her sword into the ground in front of her.

Audrey tuned out most of what Mal was saying. Mostly, she was giving out tips for moving stealthily and keeping quiet. She carefully moved her sword from hand to hand as she evaluated Mal's stance and composure. Everything about Ben's wife was guarded, from the straight-mouthed expression frozen on her face to the way the muscles in her arms moved in the sunlight. Audrey was trying to figure out what seemed so ethereal and unreal about her until she realized that the small hairs on her arms were purple with the rest of her head. When she stood in the sunlight, she looked like she was glowing a slightly different shade.

Audrey looked down at her own arms. Small brown hairs were scattered amidst freckles, and her arms looked much less muscular than the Queen's. Probably from climbing the palace over and over. Audrey remembered what she had said almost a year ago: "Stuff like that helps me stay fit."

Climbing the palace walls, and probably running across her mom's forfeited kingdom had kept her in shape. Audrey had to bite down the bile rising in her throat.

How could Ben like her? How could Ben want her? Didn't he see all the awful things she was going to do to the kingdom?

"Alright, let's break!" Mal declared. Her eyes fell on Audrey and Audrey felt ice creep down her spine. "Audrey." Mal raised an arm and waved Audrey towards her. "You're with me."

Audrey looked left, and right, and stayed where she was. Instead, Mal came towards her with her sword slung over her shoulder. "I'll keep you safe." She promised. She turned to others in the group. "Lonnie, watch Carlos's back. Marin, you bring up the tail."

Audrey hadn't noticed before, but Islanders were beginning to mix with their groups. Marin, who was a large, imposing, dark-skinned man with tattoos and an upper ear piercing, moved to the back of the group under Mal's command. Other similar men and women were beginning to mix.

"Let's move!" Mal barked. She pressed a small hand to Audrey's back, in between her shoulder blades, and lead her in front of the group to the entrance of the Isle. Group two was following behind them. Audrey began to panic, but she kept her mouth shut as they moved towards the gates into the city. Mal readied her sword, and they flooded through, out of the city.

The air was disgusting. Audrey smelled things rotting; like the time she'd peeled an orange in her garbage and then not taken it out quick enough, resulting in a rancid smell that had filled her room for an entire day, but much, much worse. The city had been built in the middle of an uninhabited forest, where small, scraggly trees grew among large, towering trunks with knotted, uneven bark. The dirt was mottled black and grey with occasional piles of sawdust from where the builders had left it. As they continued, Audrey saw small, scorched places in the earth where fires had been lit. While the barrier appeared purple from inside the city, it now disappeared behind them, as if it wasn't there at all. Pollution and clouds had become trapped inside the barrier, resulting in an awful smog that clouded the sky from view entirely. The entire environment was made up of grey, brown, black and dirty blue.

Someone shouted in the trees "it's the queen!" and Mal raised a hand. The tips of her fingers were alight with green magic. There was a snap, and a shadow fell through the twigs and branches about twenty yards away. Audrey yelped as they thudded towards the ground. The other rebels who had been hiding in the bushes squealed and screamed, and footsteps thundered through the woods as people rushed to get away. Mal moved to stop only two more, and then continued marching her small force through the Isle of the Lost.

Her blood felt like ice and fire underneath her skin as she followed Mal onto the Isle. The group spread out and became sparsely thin. The purple-haired fae remained beside her, gently pressing her onward whenever Audrey slowed.

The forest gave way to a ditch with rotting, muddy water inside. Audrey saw defected frogs whose legs were splayed at awful angles, either from cruel Isle kids hurting them or birth defects and mutations caused by the dangerous chemicals Auradon sometimes sent with their trash. One small monster leaped past her foot with mottled purplish-green skin, a multitude of eyes spread across a sagging face, and warts bigger than her fingernails. There were no fish, and no birds flying anywhere.

A single bridge stretched across the ditch. Mal fingered the railing as she began to cross and stopped midway across to peer down through the cracks as if she were looking for anything down below. Audrey followed her and tried to ignore the cold settling into her bones and the imposing creaking of the bridge.

Across the bridge was a small collection of crumbling buildings with many different levels. Most were made of bricks with plywood roofs and tarps covering broken sides. Graffiti ran rampant. Audrey gaped at the intense slang splattered at great heights on the side of the buildings. Many of them appeared to have been done by the same hand, as they were all themed similarly. Audrey flinched when she spotted a mural of Maleficent, Mal's mom. It was beautiful, very intricate, and featured the infamous fae with her hands outstretched and bright green magic in her hands. The inscription 'Long Live Evil' was featured behind the fae woman. underneath the entire painting was the slogan 'There are so many ways to be wicked."

Ways to be Wicked. Audrey had to scoff to hide the pain in the irony of that statement. Two generations of wicked women ruining her family in two very different ways. One who cursed her kingdom, put her family to sleep, cursed her mom to a nearly-incurable fate, and the other who stole an entire country, her boyfriend, and her future.

Group one began to dissipate into the city. Mal and Audrey held their swords aloft as about four other people crept behind them. She peered behind corners as they walked, and carefully observed all her surroundings as they changed. For Audrey, it was all she could do to tear her eyes off of the buildings, where abandoned and trashed shops lined the alleyways. Audrey stepped over a dirty stuffed dog missing its left arm and leg with a large wooden stake driven through its neck.

As they rounded a corner, Audrey caught a whiff of something horrible. They'd stepped into a small square with uneven cobbling. Next to her was a shop that read: "Lady Tremaine's Curl Up and Dye" with a large pair of scissors for a logo. Hanging from the scissors was the body of a real dog, swinging back and forth. It was missing all its paws and its snout was tied closed as the poor thing swung back and forth. Mal stared at it for a few seconds.

"Cruella." She said after a few seconds. "Someone strung it up for Cruella. Probably a common villain trying to get into her graces." Mal shook her head a few times. "It's been a while since I've seen a statement like that." She muttered.

"Should we cut it down?" Someone asked.

"I don't want to waste time." Mal contemplated as she bit her tongue. "And it's probably been a few days since that thing was killed. It probably has maggots and lots of dangerous bugs. We shouldn't touch it without protection."

An Auradon man prodded the dog's side carefully with the hilt of his sword. Its entire side gave way like poking clay with your finger. Audrey gagged. "This is awful!" She hissed.

"Happens all the time, princess." A small boy in an isle vest drawled. He held two swords in his small hands. "People get strung up too." He added.

"This is barbarous!" Audrey protested. She whirled on Mal. "You're going to get us killed!" She accused.

Mal rolled her eyes. "Yes." She agreed sarcastically. "And I with you." She hefted her sword and cut the rope stringing the dog up. The body fell to the ground like a sack of cloth or cotton. Bugs flew up from where they'd nested into the body, and the fur split apart to reveal parts that were held together – not by skin, but by maggots and bacteria. An awful smell washed over them, and Audrey felt her breakfast coming up fast. She gagged again and turned to throw up her stomach.

When she came back up, the same short Isle kid rolled his eyes and said: "Nice," though the other Auradon volunteers also looked a bit green.

"Oh my gosh." Audrey began to shake. She turned to Mal. "I'm not comfortable with this. I want to go back. I want to be with group three. I don't like the Isle." She pleaded

Mal opened her mouth, and from the west came a sizzling sound of electricity, and a strangled yell. Audrey jumped. Mal closed her mouth. "Tranquilizer gun." She announced to her small group. "Team two must have found a scout." She nodded to Audrey. "Give it a few minutes. If you're still unsure, I'll find someone to take you back."

Mal's eyes suddenly focused on something behind Audrey. "Duck." She commanded and pushed Audrey's shoulders down as the group dropped to the ground. A gunshot echoed off the walls as a bullet ricocheted off Lady Tremaine's wall. Audrey screamed. She was going to die, she was going to die. She'd only come to show Ben how supportive she was of the crown, maybe sway him to at least unblock her on social media, and now she was going to die.

Mal jumped up and brought her sword up to guard herself. Audrey glimpsed the look of intense concentration on her face as she planted her feet, readied her legs, and leaped clear over Audrey's head. She whirled around as Mal rushed towards their assailant. A second bullet whizzed through Mal's hair and hit the building again. The shooter cursed.

The Isle boy behind her jumped up. "Give me a boost." He commanded Audrey and another Auradon man. They quickly got to their feet and grabbed the boys' legs as they carried him into the air. "Over there!" He pointing to Lady Tremaine's sign. The top of the rope was still coiled around one of the scissor's shears. Audrey held her breath as they carried him over the dog and towards the sign. The young man worked quickly as Mal parried their attacker, who had dropped his gun for a steel bar that had been leaning against a building. He loosened the rope around the sign and then looked down at them. "Pull away!" He commanded. Audrey and the Auradonian man quickly obeyed and put him back down a few feet away as Mal pivoted in an alleyway and began to force their attacker – a thin, bony man with tanned skin clothed in a thin, black, long-sleeved shirt – into the square. He fought valiantly, but Mal was just too quick for him to catch her. It almost reminded Audrey of when Ben had been Captain of the Swords and Sheilds team at Auradon Prep. No one had been able to catch him either.

The boy took the bar and blew it into the side of Mal's head a fraction of a second before she could lean away. It knocked her head back but hadn't caught her at an angle to do much harm - only hitting her cheek and nose a little. Still, she looked immediately offended. With a mighty swing, she knocked the bar out of this hand and quickly kicked him in the chest to send him to the ground.

The Isle boy threw an end of the rope to the man who had helped Audrey lift him, and together they rushed at the man, wrapping the rope around his arms and legs as he shouted and struggled. A small gash was in his cheek from where Mal had hit him, and his rifle was lying abandoned in the alleyway. Someone else in their group carefully walked forward and picked it up. "It's discharged." She announced. "The safety is broken on it."

"The question is where he got a gun," Mal said calmly. "Auradon is usually very careful not to send them over."

"It's not of your business!" The man howled on the ground. "We'll get you, Queen Maleficent!" He tried to spit at Mal but missed entirely.

"Mal." Mal corrected him calmly. "Maleficent is my mom."

"Do I hear a damsel in distress?" Someone chuckled from an alleyway. Audrey jumped and whirled around. King Ben – handsome as ever – was walking out of an opposing alley with a bright smile that somehow managed to make it seem like the sun was coming through. She felt an intense sense of relief to see something so normal and comforting. His collar was folded down and his clothes were clean and even on the Isle, he looked so... kingly. Audrey felt like melting into her shoes. The sword he was holding made him look even more the part of her knight. Behind him was a group of four others, including Mal's friends; the daughter of the Evil Queen and the son of Jafar.

"No distress here," Mal responded with a smirk. "But look, twenty minutes in and we've already caught our first crook." She prodded the screaming man with her shoe. "Care to assist him?" She asked sweetly.

Ben turned green. "No thanks." He said, shaking his head.

Evie rolled her eyes at him and stepped forward. "With pleasure." She purred, leveling her tranquilizer. She pulled the trigger, and bright blue electricity raced out of the barrel. Audrey felt her hairs rise up on end as every nerve ending in her body screamed: "Danger!"

It only lasted a second, and the man didn't even look harmed. Instead, he looked as if he'd suddenly fallen asleep. Evie blew off the tip of the barrel for dramatic effect, even though it wasn't smoking. "If only we'd had these to protect us before you were queen." She mourned. "Think of how we could have ruled the Isle."

All of the villain kids, including Mal, laughed. "Yeah." Mal snorted. "I wouldn't have even become queen. Auradon wouldn't have even been able to pull me off."

Audrey tensed. This was something she'd never heard before. Auradon had pulled Mal off the Island? Why? Perhaps there was truth to her rumors after all.

Ben glanced at the dog under Lady Tremaine's sign and at the man on the ground. He put an arm around Mal and used a hand at her hip to pull her towards him. "Looks like you had a party."

"Not even." Mal rolled her eyes as she put her arms around Ben's neck briefly and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Tonight, when we get back, we need to have a real party. With strawberries and everything." She kissed Ben's cheek. Audrey felt sick. She and Ben had never done that together.

Ben laughed. "Can't have a party without strawberries, huh?" He asked.

"Nope!" Mal declared. "Oh!" She gave Ben a wicked smile. "We could totally break out Auradon's 'grown-up drinks' and get drunk together." She winked at him as everyone exchanged looks at her light-hearted, sarcastic attitude.

Ben snorted. "Sorry Mal, you're still not of the age of consent yet." He told her with raised eyebrows.

Everyone in their little circle laughed. Mal rolled her eyes. "By Auradon's standard, maybe, but on the Isle, I can do whatever I want." She spread her hands wide to accentuate her point.

"Don't even give me that crap." Ben cut her off with a roll of his eyes. "I'd be willing to place money on the fact you've never had a stronger drink than orange juice in your life."

Jay and Carlos began to chuckle and elbow each other as Mal glared. "What are you doing here, again?" She snapped.

"Heard trouble," Jay answered as he composed himself. "What should we do with the people we knock out?" He gestured at the sleeping man on the ground.

"Leave them," Mal said, bending down to untie the attacker. "I don't want any of them in the city. After we get the rest of the innocents out, I'm closing borders. The original evil villains and anyone who gets kicked out of the city will have to survive out here. The blast will keep them out until tomorrow morning, at which time we'll be done."

"I like these things, but they're really noisy and they don't shoot very fast," Jay remarked as he studied his tranquilizer.

"They do their job." Mal shrugged. "Okay, we better keep going." Her eyes landed on Audrey. "Audrey, are you still interested in going back? If you go with group two, you can return to the city as soon as they find someone who needs to go back. I'm going to keep pushing through."

Ben frowned. "Back already? We just started." He asked.

Audrey glanced between Mal and Ben, and then straightened her shoulders. "I think I'm okay." She lied. "I was just a little thrown off by that dog, is all."

Ben nodded in agreement, looking a little green. "Yeah, that thing is nasty." He agreed and shuddered. "You're good to stay here, then?" He asked, holding out his fist for her to tap.

Audrey forced a smile as she fist-bumped him. "Yeah." She nodded. "Let's keep moving." She felt like she had a year ago, walking out the front door after being broken up with and sworn to secrecy by Ben.

"Bye Babe." Mal blew an air kiss to Ben as she picked up her sword from where it had been abandoned on the ground. Ben immediately tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Audrey heard him whisper: "Bye sweetheart," before group two divided from group one and began to walk down the alleyway their crook had come from. Evie and Jay high-fived Mal as they walked past, and Audrey watched the man she loved, the most important person to her, walk away with an irremovable ring on his finger and a new name on his lips. And at that moment, she'd never hated Mal more.

When they were gone, the Isle queen prodded the man on the ground with her foot.

"Do you know him?" One of the Auradonian recruits asked.

"Clay Clayton," Mal answered. "Strange to see him so angry like this. We used to go to school together. Got paired together for our Evil Schemes final in Year Nine." She shrugged. "Oh well. Let's move on."

Audrey lagged behind for a few minutes to examine Clay. He was actually quite handsome, with a square face and curly dark hair. He couldn't have been more than a bit older or younger than her. In another time, she might have dated him.

It was hard to imagine a younger Mal on the Isle of the Lost, teaming up with him to complete a school project. Audrey wasn't sure what to do with the information Mal had just given her. She swallowed, bent down, and moved Clay's head so he wouldn't get a crick in his neck. Then she picked up her sword, which was forgotten over by the dog, and continued on.

The Isle chill was starting to feel familiar to Audrey. She still couldn't get used to the way every breath felt like she was heaving as her lungs struggled to find the oxygen in the polluted air though. Her leg brushed against something sticking out of the side of a collapsed wall and when Audrey leaned down to wipe away any grudge that had come off onto her leg, she discovered that the bar or beam or whatever it was had actually wiped away a layer of grudge that was coating her skin. She had had no idea her legs were suddenly so dirty. It was the air, she realized. The pollution was so heavy that some things would solidify when your body heat came near, causing thin layers of... gunk to freeze onto your bare skin. It was... horrible. She didn't understand how anyone, villain or not, could live in an environment like this.

Mal stepped over a grate and down a narrow passageway, and some disembodied voice called out: "Queen Mal?"

A hand appeared out of a small hole near the base of the building, dirty and grimy. The skin on the person's fingernails was shredded with small, pointed rocks like splinters sticking out. "Help!" They cried, and more voice cried out from... inside the wall? "Help! Help! Help us, please!"

Mal crouched down and took the person's hand. "How many are you?" She asked in a hollow tone.

"Twenty-four," The first person replied in a wavering tone. "The entrance has collapsed and we're trapped. The villains left us because they didn't want to bring the entire place down."

"Left you?" Mal asked. "Left for where?"

"The piers," The person explained. "Everyone deserted when your armies appeared last night. They're holding everyone around the Jolly Roger and in Ursula's shop. The only people they didn't take were people who couldn't move, like us."

"Left for dead," Mal exhaled. "I'm going to get you out of there." She took her hand back from the person and examined the building. It was one that Auradon had left for the villains thirty years ago, and black mold stretched up the sides of it. Relatively tall, and about to crumble. She exhaled. "We'll have to work fast," She decided, tossing her sword to the ground. Several Auradon folks followed her example, but the Islanders frowned and exchanged uneasy looks.

"Mal," One of the Islanders frowned. "We can't do anything. If we try and make an opening, the building will come down on their heads. There's nothing we can do to help them."

Mal leveled her gaze. It was clear she knew this, and she was doubtful, but she still had to try. Audrey swallowed. "Can we find where the entrance collapsed and try to clear it from there? The stones will be looser."

"It'll be unstable there," the same Islander protested. "Where one collapse happened, another can occur."

Mal chewed on her cheek and considered both ideas. Then she jerked her head to the side and mumbled: "Audrey, come with me." Mal got back to her feet and began to walk around the perimeter of the building. Audrey hesitated, then followed carefully. They turned the corner and discovered a mostly intact wall, and then, on the opposite side, a pile of rubble. Mal crossed her arms and exhaled. "They're at the back of the building. We could clear the rubble, but we'd be here all day. And they're right, the more we clear... some of this mess could be keeping the rest from falling. We could be crushed if we move it."

Audrey examined the awful spread of rock and beam. She swallowed. "Are you just going to... leave them?" She whispered.

Mal shook her head. "I can't do that," She whispered. "There's got to be something... something magic."

Magic. Audrey's blood felt like ice. Mal exhaled and rubbed her fingers together. "Let's walk back," She mumbled. "I'll think of something... a rhyme." She turned and began to walk back the way she'd come. Audrey stayed in place, examining the wreckage with a thumping heart. She turned to follow Mal, and then something wooden stuck out to her.

"Mal?" She called, and then stepped into the mess. She heard Mal take a quick gasp and began hurrying back, and so she clambered over another, larger rock before the Isle Queen could pull her back.

"Audrey, that's unstable!" Mal gasped. Audrey furrowed her brow and pointed. "There's something wooden. Right there, see? I think it might be a door."

Mal paused and then carefully stepped atop a rock to see where Audrey was pointing. She shook her head. "It's covered by boulders, Audrey. We have the same problem as before. If we move too much, the rest of the building will crumble."

Audrey balled her fists up. There were people stuck down there in that horrible air who would die if they left them behind. She had to try something. "You can use your magic to hold it together," She declared, continuing her trek through the crumbling rocks. Black mold and a thick, oily layer of grime stuck to her hands and legs. She tossed her sword to the side and then used both hands to navigate around a portion of rectangular rock that was twice the size of her entire body. Her foot slipped and the ground gave way underneath her. She yelped as she felt her entire leg fall into a mini sinkhole and clamped her mouth shut to keep from screaming as she felt something slithering.

A wave of green magic washed over all of the rocks and the entire building as if the entire premises had suddenly been covered in glowing green plastic. Audrey looked back to Mal. Her eyes were lit up and her hands were outstretched as she worked to hold the entire building together. Shouts came from the other side. "Hurry!" Mal urged through gritted teeth. "I'm going to try and hold it all together."

Audrey pulled her leg back up. A small, bloody gash had formed underneath her kneecap, but she was otherwise unharmed. She got to her feet and hurried over to the door as voices came around the side of the building. The rest of their group appeared. Audrey watched Mal's Isle friend, Carlos, take in the situation and began clambering over rocks to help her.

Audrey reached the door and brushed the pebbles away. She pulled a rather sizable stone away from the edge of the frame and peered underneath. The door had fallen on top of a staircase going down, effectively protecting it from being covered with rubble. "There's an entrance here!" She announced and began trying to lug boulders off of the edge of the frame so that she could try to get inside. Carlos jumped over a large stone and, squeezing his frame in-between two large stones on top of the door, used his feet to push them off. He forced his fingers underneath the splintered frame and pulled up, creating about a foot's worth of space that Audrey added to by shuffling around the small pebbled on the ground to create a depression big enough for someone to be lifted through.

Carlos huffed with the effort of keeping the door lifted and turned to Audrey. "They're probably locked in a room down there. Maybe the villains left the key. You need to slip down and see if you can find them."

"Go... down there?" Audrey gasped, staring down into the depths of the dark staircase. There could be all sorts of spiders and bugs and... things. Climbing rocks was one thing - she'd gone hiking with her mom before(Hated it, but she'd done it) - but exploring the scary staircase? "Why can't you go?"

"You can't hold up the door and I can't fit through that hole." Carlos rolled his eyes. "Go on, hurry!"

Audrey looked down at the hole and swallowed. She carefully put her feet in and shimmied forward. Her feet found a solid step and she carefully maneuvered her body until her head went under and the world became very, very dark. The air became infinitely harder to breathe. Audrey tried to inhale and abruptly began hacking so hard she had to sit down. The air pollution combined with the musty underground air made for a deadly combination.

"Is there enough light for you to see?" Carlos called down from above.

Audrey couldn't respond as she looked all around. Barely, was the answer. She could see the faint outlines of the steps and the walls, but almost nothing else. She used the wall to stand back up, still coughing, and began the trek down the stairs. The hallway was fairly narrow and with the ceilings stopping about ten inches above her head. She hit the base of the staircase with a stumble and then began feeling the walls for a door. "Hello?" She managed to choke out. "Marco?"

"Hello!" Someone called. "Hello, hello?"

"I'm coming!" Audrey called, hurrying a little through the hallway until her fingers found the rough pattern of a thick, wooden door. She felt around for a handle and, as Carlos had predicted, it was locked. She rammed her shoulder into it experimentally, and her entire side went numb. "I'll be right back!" She called, and then hurried back to the staircase, narrowly avoiding tripping and busting up her hurt knee again. "Carlos!" She yelled. "I need something to pry the door open!"

There was a hesitation, and then Carlos called back: "Can you do that?"

'We're about to find out.' Audrey thought. She climbed up the staircase and shoved her hand up through the hole. "Hand me a sword!" She demanded. After another brief pause, she felt someone put a leather guard in her hand. Immediately, she turned and felt her way back down the stairs. She found the door again, felt for the handle, and then carefully used the tips of her fingers to feel the blade on the sword. The first thing she realized was that it was backwards, so she had to hold it the correct way. The second thing she figured out was that the very tip was sharper than the blade itself. "Keep away from the door!" She called to the people on the other side before feeling for where the door latched and then sliding her sword into the place where the door and the frame latched. She pushed, hard, and heard something crack, but then the blade stuck fast. She jangled the door handle and found it was loose, but she hadn't broken the handle yet.

"Audrey!" Carlos yelled from up above. "Mal says she can't hold the building together forever. Can you get them out or not?"

Audrey turned to cough into her shoulder from exertion and then put her back against one wall and her feet up on the other. Calling on every ounce of strength she had, she forced the blade into the doorframe. Something snapped, and the door slumped awkwardly to one side. Audrey dropped back to the ground and then carefully pulled the handle. The door swung open on one rusty hinge, revealing a small room packed full of people. She huffed in surprise and leaned against the wall. She'd done it. For several seconds, no one spoke. Audrey was puffing too hard, and the Islanders were so shocked by her appearance they couldn't say anything. She watched their eyes skim her bare legs and her long hair in surprise. It was clear they'd never seen a girl like her before.

"Can you walk?" Audrey finally gasped. "Mal says she can't hold up the building for much longer." At her words, the ceiling rumbled. Everyone jumped into action, pulling each other up. Those who could walk helped those who couldn't and Audrey stayed out of the way as the prisoners walked out. Then, when there were only a few people left, she stepped inside.

The room was smaller than her closet at home. Audrey couldn't understand how they'd fit twenty-four people in here, even though she'd seen them all with her own two eyes. It smelled horrible and the only light came from two or three small holes in the wall. Deep depressions were in the rock where the prisoners had been trying to escape, and there were dark stains on the floor that Audrey didn't really want to think about.

"Maren?" a woman called, leaning down by a small girl who was curled up in a corner of the room. "Can you walk? I can carry you."

There was no answer. Audrey suddenly felt a pit of dread open up in her stomach as she and two other people stepped forward to examine the small child.

"Maren?" The woman asked, confusion lacing her tone as she pulled the girl's head up, only for it to flop there uselessly. A man reached forward and felt along the little girl's neck before taking the woman by the shoulders and pulling her away.

"She's gone, Carol. She's been gone for a while. We have to leave her. The building could come down soon." He told her, pulling her towards the door. "We have to go, now."

Audrey watched the scene, feeling like a knife had been put through her chest. She stared at the little girl in the corner and swallowed as tears filled her eyes. She hadn't been quick enough. They hadn't been quick enough.

The last of the survivors left the room and Audrey brought up the tail, guiding everyone down the hall and up the stairs. Carlos and another Isle boy held the door open while Auradon volunteers helped pull people up to safety, one by one. Last of all was Audrey herself, who handed Carlos his sword and then kept a blank expression as they guided everyone off the rocks and rubble. Mal was shaking from the exertion of holding up the building as they hurried to bring everyone to a safe distance from the pile. Then, she counted backwards. "Three... two... one." She released the magic keeping the building up, and the rocks around the doorframe slid and plummeted into the ground. Like a chain reaction, the walls around the area crumbled to the ground. A wave of dust kicked up and Audrey heard everyone around her taking deep breaths before the dust hit them like a wall. She squeezed her eyes shut as the sounds of the crumbling building echoed around them.

When all was quiet, Audrey forced herself the open her eyes. The dust was still settling. The building was gone and a giant heap of rubble was in its place. Carlos took a few steps forward to head the group. "Mal?" He called.

Audrey watched a figure rise up from the ground and turn around, and she exhaled in relief. Mal's purple hair shone through the dust and her skin gave off a soft, milky glow as she examined the group with a tactful eye. "How many?" She asked. "All twenty-four?"

"Twenty-three," Audrey announced in a hollow tone. "One casualty. She was dead when I got down there."

Mal's face twisted a little in pain, but she nodded. "We need to take them to the city. Who can do that?" She examined the group. Audrey considered going back to the city, but the thought of Ben's expression came to mind. 'Already'? She kept her hand down as other people raising their hands and volunteered to take people back. Mal picked people out and organized groups, and when all was said and done their group was down to less than twenty. Those headed back to the city departed, and Mal's squadron continued in the opposite direction.

They stalked inwards. It wasn't long before Audrey could hear water. They came to a place where the uneven cobbled streets ended and were suddenly facing some old wood planks. Mal tested one skeptically.

"Should be safe to walk." She announced. "Uma and her crew usually do a good job keeping the wharf safe." She looked around. "I wasn't supposed to come down here much." She admitted. "Uma and I had a fight when we were younger and banned each other from our turfs." She stepped onto the boards and began to walk away. Audrey took her first few steps and quickly realized that the planks were actually bridges, and they were floating. Looking over the sides, she realized that the water was so black and polluted, it didn't reflect anymore. It looked like dark ground from a distance. She leaned out a little, and one of the Isle boys pulled her back.

"If you fall in, it'll be one of the last things you do," he warned. The warning made Audrey's skin cold.

They took a few turns and began to walk past a cluster of holes in a rock face that the bridge stretched in front of. As they passed, they heard a low voice singing: "Tick-tock, tick-tock."

Mal stopped. She was already at the front of the group, but she and Carlos moved so that they were guarding the rest of the group behind them. "Tick-tock, tick-tock." Mal slurred. "I haven't got all day."

There was a shadow, and then a pirate with black charcoal around his eyes appeared. He was wearing a ripped white shirt and a long red overcoat. Clutched in his hand was a curved hook.

Mal tilted her head and ran a nail over her lip. Audrey was amazed by how nonchalant she could look despite obviously guarding the Auradonians behind her. "Still running errands and delivering messages for Uma, Harry?" She asked. "Or, do you actually get to call your own shots now?"

The pirate blinked slowly at her. "Well, well, well." He said in a husky tone. "Look wha' the tide pulled in." He smiled. Bits of black lined his gums like he had brushed his teeth with charcoal. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days. He walked towards Mal until he was so close, they were almost breathing the same air and Mal was looking up. "Jus' wait till Uma hears you finally wandered in!" He smiled. "We were beginning to wonder if yer king was gonna let his trophy go wandering." He smirked at Mal, and his eyes roamed her body in a way that made Audrey shrivel just imagining his stare on her. He was like a predator planning to ravage her. Carlos stiffened beside Mal and carefully placed himself to run Harry through with his sword if he tried anything. Despite all this, Mal didn't seem to care that he was acting like he was about to force him on her. She was putting out a toxic force all her own as she guarded her squad against his poisonous gaze. "You know she'll never let you have yer old turf back." Harry slurred like a drunken man. "Queen'er no queen."

Mal blinked as if the idea genuinely surprised her. "Oh!" She said, eyeing the hook as if its presence was offending her. "Well, that's okay." She shrugged. "Because I will be taking it."

For a few seconds, the air intensified as Harry and Mal stared at each other. Then, Harry moved his hand and hooked a long lock of her thick hair. "I could hurt you." He threatened in a low tone. Carlos grew tense, and for a second Audrey was sure he would attack, but then Mal's hand jumped to action and seized Harry's wrist underneath the hook quicker than Audrey could follow.

Mal tilted her head and blinked innocently. "Not without her permission, I bet." She said, staring unblinkingly at him.

Harry blinked his charcoal-rimmed eyes at her. "You better watch your step." He warned, gesturing at the planks below their feet. "Maybe I can't hurt you on… trophy terms, but you've got a lovely little gang behind you." His eyes flickered upward and began to skim Audrey's body like he had Mal's. Audrey shivered, and Harry smiled. "I could always take advantage of yer untrained mates." He threatened

Mal hummed. "Well." She said tersely. "I'll give you a message to take back to Uma since you sound so desperate for one." She hooked her fingers around his hook. Her eyes lit up with a scary green tone that gave Audrey PTSD to when she'd had that stare fixed on her at Beast's Castle. "You lay a hand on any of my mates, especially in any sort of perverted, provocative way-" Mal set an arm on Harry's shoulder and leaned in. He began to lean away with his eyes growing wide. "And I will turn you into a clock." Mal finished. She withdrew from Harry, who took a half-step back, gasping for breath.

Harry snickered. "Is that all you've got?" He asked in a raspy tone. "You don't scare me, Daughter of Maleficent." Though his actions certainly didn't mirror his words.

"Well, you don't have to be scared if you keep your hands to yourself," Mal replied. "You've been warned."

Harry chuckled, but he sounded like he'd been forced into a higher octave. He walked backwards into the rock face and vanished.

After several seconds, Mal turned to face her group. "We need to move quicker now." She announced. "He knows these places better than I do."

Everyone nodded, and they began again at a fast pace along the wharf. After a while, they came to several dirt paths that stretched along the edge of the waters. Mal took them up onto the land and they began to make their way to the head of the pier. Around them were buildings, but these were not the buildings of stone like in Mal's turf. These were made of wood and were slowly falling apart from termite damage and wood rot. Audrey had never seen places like this in her life and she couldn't deny that it was fascinating.

As they skirted through buildings, they heard a sudden crash from about forty yards away. Three more subsequently followed. Mal, Carlos, and the other boy from the Isle exchanged looks. "We need to split up and check that out," Carlos whispered.

"It may be a trap," Mal warned.

"It'll become an ambush if we don't." The last boy decided.

"Kay." Mal nodded. She examined everyone. "You three with him, you two with me, and you and Audrey with Carlos." She decided, pointing to different people as she spoke. She patted Carlos on the shoulder. "Take care of them." She told Carlos. Audrey was sure that Mal meant: 'take care of Audrey, who did not dress for the occasion and who may lose her stomach again.' "Try and head to Uma's ship as soon as you're done," Mal commanded.

They divided, going down three separate paths and soon Mal was out of sight and out of earshot.

"So," Carlos started. There was one other Auradon boy in their group. "You're Aurora's kid, right?" Carlos prodded Audrey lightly.

Audrey swallowed. "Yeah, I am." She would have curtseyed, but she was too busy walking. "Princess Audrey."

Carlos nodded. "Mal's mentioned you." He whispered. "Ben's old girlfriend?"

Audrey's shoulders slumped. What an awful title. "Yeah." She admitted. "He broke up with me when they brought Mal over."

"That must have been hard." Carlos nodded. "I'm not sure what to think of Ben." He admitted. His voice had a sudden guard in it, as if he was talking, but wasn't sure if he should be. "We were all convinced she was being tortured and taken advantage of over here."

"Tortured?" Audrey blinked. The Auradon boy behind them seemed equally surprised at that revelation. "Auradon doesn't torture people."

Carlos laughed. He turned and stared at her incredulously. "Auradon doesn't- yeah, good one." They continued walking as Carlos chuckled.

"What?" Audrey asked, cross. "They don't."

Carlos gestured to their surroundings. "And what do you call this?" He asked.

Audrey was taken so off guard she slipped in her flip flops and slid on her butt. Her sword clattered to the ground. She had no answer. Carlos grew cross.

"Yeah." He snapped. "Auradon definitely doesn't torture people. They definitely don't lock kids away all their lives and starve them for the crimes of their parents. God forbid they send ordinary criminals to fend their way with the villains! And they'd never send people actual trash to live off of!" Carlos drove his sword firmly into the ground at Audrey's feet. "Auradon is full of liars and people who will only take advantage of you! They discriminate against anyone they don't like and push people to villainy only to-"

An arrow whizzed over Carlos's head, nicking his scalp. Everyone's attention shot to where an archer in black stood on top of a crumbling dwelling.

Audrey scrambled to her feet and picked up her sword. Carlos tried to yank his blade out of the earth, but it had stuck. He paled. "Oh no." He whispered.

"It's an ambush!" The Auradonian boy yelled. Seconds later, a second arrow was loosed and went straight through his calf. He fell with a yell.

People appeared from the shadows of the crumbling buildings as Carlos tugged at his sword with a renewed fury. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he yanked to no avail. Audrey watched in growing horror as she slowly recognized the people appearing. A tall man with a feathered hat and a curly beard… Captain Hook. A dark-skinned shadow player… Dr. Facilier. And a large, imposing man with more muscles than she could count. Gaston.

Audrey screamed, fumbled her sword, and dropped it.

"Oh, for god's sake, woman!" Carlos yelled at her. He gave up trying to yank his own sword and seized hers off the ground. He gave it a wide test swing as Captain Hook unsheathed his own gleaming weapon. He readied his sword, and Carlos rushed him. It was a quick battle. The Captain and Carlos locked swords for a few seconds before the Captain's strength forced Carlos to give in. He tried to swing for Hook, but Hook caught his sword mid-swing with his own, and the weapon flew out of reach. Meanwhile, Gaston and Facilier were approaching Audrey with menacing smiles on their faces.

Audrey let loose a cry of despair and leaped out of their reach. She heard footsteps following her, and Carlos swearing like he was the sailor instead of Hook. She dashed down the wharf and towards the water. Gaston and Facilier remained hot on her heels as she turned a corner and sprinted desperately for where she'd last seen Mal. If she could make it there, Mal had another group. She'd protect her.

Unfortunately, she'd never reach Mal. She felt Gaston reach for the nape of her neck, could feel his breath behind her when suddenly something pale and blue appeared on the left side of her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking it was Facilier, and something with the force of a speeding bull slammed into her shoulder. She was shoved clear off her path, out of Gaston's hands, and off her feet.

Audrey rolled in between two buildings and underneath a small cardboard lean-to, which shuddered and shook above her: Gaston, who was thrown off by the new arrival, tripped and skidded face-first into the dirt. Facilier slipped in the dirt beside him and tumbled to the side of the road.

Audrey watched the newcomer brace himself for an attack. He was tall, dressed in dark blue, and holding one of Mal's Isle swords with a trained, precise hand. His face and head were covered by a black knit scarf. He looked as strong and imposing as all the knights in her dreams or any of the Auradon Knights. She watched him brace his feet and her heart fluttered - just a little bit. She could see the outlines of his jaw through the scarf as he held his sword aloft and watched Gaston get to his feet. Neither Gaston nor Facilier had a sword, but Gaston growled as he wretched a wooden beam support right out from underneath the awning of one of the surrounding establishments. This he readied in his hands.

The masked man attacked. He brought a swift blow down on Gaston's head and immediately took a chunk of wood out of the beam. He used his arm to force the beam - and Gaston's arm - to the ground and then jabbed at the older man's arm. Gaston barely got away with a deep slice stretching across his bicep. The masked man continued, forcing Gaston back onto his knees and then his back. The older man was forced to use the beam primarily for defense. Facilier couldn't get close enough to help as the flash of the sword swinging came down over and over, taking chunks and leaving divots in the large beam. Audrey was in awe. The only person she'd ever seen fight remotely similar to this Isle warrior was Ben in his Auradon Prep days, but even his best fighting couldn't hold a candle to what she was seeing now. There was a snap, and the beam split into two above Gaston's head. The splinters flew into the villain's face, and Gaston abruptly kicked out, trying to take out the man's legs. A sword came down in his path, and Gaston's boot was cut open.

Audrey carefully tried to move and flee. In the event Gaston looked around, it was entirely possible he'd see her where she'd fallen. The lean-to structure above her head shuddered and promptly collapsed on top of her head, effectively shielding her from view and filling her vision with stars. Before Gaston or Facilier could ever look over to the crash, the masked man dropped his sword grabbed Facilier and flung him down a small slope. He reached down to snatch his sword back up, but Gaston has used the distraction with Facilier to seize the hero's weapon and now jumped to his feet and held the sword to the man's throat. Facilier scrambled to his feet and balled his fists up as the masked man tried to retreat a few steps.

Audrey watched in horror as the two villains forced him to his knees and Gaston seized the man's hat and flung it aside. He seized the man's sandy blonde hair and wrenched his head back. The man's disguise was jostled aside. Audrey had to clamp a hand over her mouth.

It was Ben

Gaston stamped on Ben's legs to keep him from moving. Ben's face twisted in pain, but he refused to call out. "You son of a Beast!" Gaston yelled in his face, spit flying everywhere as Ben leaned away. "How dare you –"

"Gaston." Facilier purred, drawing the older man's temper away as he held Ben's shoulders and pinned Ben's knees under his feet. Ben groaned as his head arched back and his knees were driven into the ground at uncomfortable angles.

Gaston calmed down enough to see who he'd caught. There were several long seconds where there was nothing except Audrey praying that they wouldn't recognize him.

No chance.

"Son of a Beast." Gaston purred, hoisting Ben to his feet and wrapping a hand around his throat. "Son of a Beast." He began to laugh.

They were distracted. If Audrey hurried, she could use the same scare tactic Ben had used and push Ben out of their grasp. Ben might lose a bit of hair, but he'd be free and alive.

Then Facilier joined in, laughing with Gaston, and Audrey shrank. What could she do? She was a small, tired, useless girl with no previous Isle experience. It took all of her strength to hold back a few heartbroken sobs as the two villains hauled Ben away, heading to the end of the wharf. She buried her face in her hands and broke into silent sobs.