#i saw this one post talking about burn marks from cigarettes

[qquiinnyy]

burns always stay

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73    

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived   @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @jay-ghostly @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @josephquinnswhore @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @djarinsstuff @justherebecausesafarisucks @cedricbitch @rebel-soldat  

My Masterlist!

[unyandere]

Yandere killer x reader who is a Theatre Kid and CAN’T stop making musical references every two seconds

Tw: Theatre kid behaviour (I should know, I’m a theatre kid) songs from Hamilton, Epic:the musical, Six, Heaters, Ride the Ciclone (and maybe other musicals) mention

Maybe some musical references here and there but nothing too big

Other Tw: probably cringy, I feel bad for the Yandere, LOTS of bad English, oh dear you are not ready for this musicals references (I am not tagging the musicals fandoms, I feel like my silly goofiness is too overwhelming today)

Wanna read more unyandered works? Here’s the master post

You shot your photo aaaand… posted!

Now that you thought about it, this was your first post on insta, and it was a photo of you smiling in the theatre awaiting to see the play that would’ve started in just a few moments.

You almost couldn’t contain your excitement, buying the ticket had been a real struggle, but finally you would have been able to see THAT musical.

You were mumbling some of the songs from the musical you heard on Spotify, while trying to calm yourself down.

After a couple of seconds you heard a ping, a notification, from your phone.

The show would have started in less than 10 minutes, but looking at a notification wouldn’t take more than a couple of seconds.

Well, looking at the phone you noticed it was just your childhood friend liking your post.

You smiled at yourself.

On the other hand, your so called childhood friend was… well, he was certainly not well.

Tied up to a chair, beaten up and, oh lord, were those burn marks on his head?!

Yeah, he wasn’t exactly at his best.

But the guy in the same room as him, who, oh so casually, was smoking a cigarette, that so casually happened to be the cause of the burn marks, was someone that could be considered physically well, mentally… let’s just say his therapist had to see another therapist who also needed to see another therapist after that and so on.

The cigarette-smoking-guy was also in a good mood!

Talk about being lucky…

Why? Well, he just found that his muse, his everything, his sweetheart (who didn’t even know him but those are just flimsy details, aren’t they?) was pretty close to where he and his victim were and, on top of that, was oh so cutely looking at a play.

He didn’t really like plays, but if his sweetheart, his everything, his muse liked them… well he could stand to lose a few pounds hours.

Maybe… just maybe… after this job (extorting vital info for a particular company from your friend) (he was really keen on making your friend either disappear or become his accomplice in making you fall in love with himself), he could wash himself, dress up nicely and, maybe, meet you outside the theatre.

And, who knows, maybe he could… dine with you? Oh, how his mind rode off thinking of all the things you two could do together.

It took him ten minutes to recompose himself, ten minutes that he could have used to finish this job earlier.

He almost got angry with himself, but he stopped before: he didn’t have the time for that.

And so he looked at your friend.

“Sooo… how about you tell me those little secrets of yours, then you help me out with this one little-itty-bitty really legal thing and then, on an incredible note, I let you live?” He asked smiling at your friend.

Your friend sighed.

Three hours later you went out of the theatre, feeling refreshed and happy after seeing the whole play.

You knew you would sing those songs in repeat for the next three weeks.

But, as soon as you were outside you saw your childhood friend with… a guy in a black trench that looked like the outlet version of JD from Heaters.

Obviously, you went to your friend to greet them and tell them what a GREAT show you saw and give them a preview on how you would annoy them for the coming weeks.

They looked at you smiled (kinda forcefully?) and introduced to you their new friend telling you that “They were also musicals fans”.

To be honest, that was in no way true, he, the killer and kinda kidnapper on demand, hadn’t seen A musical in his whole life, he just knew some of the most famous titles.

But he did ask your friend to introduce him in a way you would want to talk to him.

And BOY DID THAT WORK.

You grabbed his wrist, your happy-neutral expression becoming more and more crazed-happy the more seconds passed.

“You..” you looked at him, eyes shining “You like musicals?!”

He slowly nodded (he was in an emotion between the most extreme happiness one can feel, the most fear one can feel and the most in love one can feel).

You stopped breathing for a moment.

“OMG! WHATSYOURFAVOURITEMUSICAL?WHATDOYOUSING?YOULOOKLIKEABASSBUTYAKNOWIDONTLIKETOMAKEASSUMPTIONS…DIDYOUSEETHISPLAY?DIDYOULIKETHELASTSONG?IDIDNTREALLYLIKEHOWTHEYEXCLUDEDTHECHORUSBUTICANUNDERSTANDTHESTORYREASONBEHINDITIMEANITOBVIOUSLYISAMETAPHORABOUTTHEPROTAGONISTBEINGABLETOBETHEMSELVESALONEWITHOUTTHENEEDOFANYONETELLINGTHEMWHATTHEYHAVETOBETOBEHAPPYBUTWHATDIDYOUTHINKABOUTTHISDECISION?” You asked, not so calmly.

He didn’t process the question, more precisely, while trying to understand what you were saying his brain went into overload, caused a crisis and collapsed on itself leaving him with one thought: her face was really cute.

“I like your head” he said, not being able to form a decent phrase.

You obviously took the reference (which technically wasn’t there) and laughed.

“Man, you Henry the VIII?” You joked.

He didn’t understand the joke, and neither did he remember anything about Henry the VIII apart from him being called the “Golden Prince” or something, so he thought you were looking at him and complimenting him on his looks.

And he totally had to return a compliment.

But then another person, a girl you knew from drama class, chimed in wanting to ask your thoughts on the play but she was stopped by him (who misinterpreted her wanting to come to you as her trying to attack you)

“Yo, you got a bone to pick?!” He asked her.

You and her looked at each other, then him, then each other again and you both, being both theatre kids obviously, smiled devishly.

“You’ve come so far why now are you pulling on my dick? I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch, but here’s some advice listen up” you both sang and then took a (extremely melodramatic) breath “BEEYOTCH”

And, yes, you both started little dancing together the choreography.

Nit doing it too much (cuz you know you were still in public) but doing it enough for your friend and mr. Killer and kidnapper on demand to see.

And he… he was confused.

What the hell did you two just do? Why did you two sing? Why were you both moving your hips? What did he say that made you two act like that.

“Why Lord-“ he started but as soon as he said that you two stopped looked at each other and attempted the last part of “The ballad of Jane Doe” (the part with the Why Lord) even though none of you were a soprano so what people heard were two chicken like voices schreeching and hurting everyone’s ears.

And now, now he was regretting his life choices, as he was cursing the fact that he was in love with you and not with, idk, a mentally stable and not socially awkward person.

“You are the-“ before he could even finish the sentence you two chances song, almost reading in each other’s mind with the typical telepathy ability that all theatre kids have once they sell their soul to the devil in exchange for the part they want to be casted as.

“-WORST KIND OF GOOD CAUSE YOU ARE NOT EVEN GREAT! A GREEK WHO REEKS OF FALSE RIGHTEOUSNESS THAT’S WHAT I HATE!!!” You and your drama class classmate sang as one voice as you both exchanged really full of pride stares to one another.

“I-I’m sorry” mumbled the Yandere “I will go to work”

And as soon as he said the word WORK, an ancient almost primal instinct woken up inside you and your classmate.

And you both started singing “The schuyler sisters” from Hamilton

And so, the Yandere pining over you just, quietly, walked away.

Traumatized and comforted by your friend who was also put at discomfort by your… peculiar antics.

[bysaber]

would’ve, could’ve, should’ve

Pairing: Dabi x f!Reader

Summary: You remember moments of your relationship with Dabi, regretting it all. Inspired by the song with the same name by Taylor Swift.

Content: angst, toxic relationship, mature content, light smut (brief oral f!receiving) mentions of marking/burning, alcohol, we don’t see Dabi’s side of the story but it is implied he took advantage of reader’s kindness

WC: 1.3k

A/N: I actually had thought about writing this one since I first listened to the song last year but for some reason I never did. Now I wrote it all in… two hours? while listening to it on repeat. I’m super anxious to post this one !! and no beta’d, we die like men.

Licking your lips, you felt the salty taste of your tears mixed with the sweet wine you were now drinking. His large t-shirt engulfed your body as you sat on the floor with nothing but a bottle and a cigarette.

“Who am I?”, a whisper escaped from your lips, blurry eyes scanning your room.

The worst thing about being left behind was having to face the remains of those who left you.

And that's what you had to deal with, day after day.

Dabi was gone, but he was everywhere.

His toothbrush in your bathroom, untouched. His clothes in your wardrobe, never washed - you can still smell him as if he was standing by your side.

No, as if your nose is deeply pressed against his neck inhaling his scent like you did all the times he had his arms wrapped around you - touching, kissing, fucking. Needing. You always needed each other all too much.

“No,” you say aloud. “I needed you. Alone.”

His fingerprints are burnt into your headboard. A vivid reminder of the night you felt too much, the night he came inside you so hard he lost control of his Blue Flame and left his mark on your bed.

“I actually like it,” he said afterwards, the same fingertips now pressed on your waist firmly. “It’s a constant reminder of who you belong to.”

“Are you saying you marked your territory?”, you scoffed, trying to push him with a smile on your face. Dabi pulled you harder against him, brushing his nose on your cheek before biting on your jaw.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he licked the skin where he just had bitten and laughed teasingly. “I want my fingerprints burnt on your skin next.”

The memory hit you like a truck.

You quickly pulled a pillow from the bed at your side and screamed into it, the air leaving your lungs at how loud you screamed. But it wasn’t enough.

You screamed again, again. And again.

Your screams weren't purging the pain.

Your throat was sore already, and you took three big gulps of the wine to try and ease it all.

Your mind felt foggy,

and yet–

All you saw was Dabi.

Dabi. Dabi. Touya.

“I don’t like alcohol.”

“Yeah?”, the dark-haired smiled, putting down his beer. “Why?”

“It makes me act like I’m not myself. And I black out super quick,” you already had your answers ready. “And the terrible hangovers.”

Dabi laughed, truly, honestly laughed. He looked around the diner you chose to eat with him – somewhere empty so no one would see the both of you.

Not only because he was a wanted man. But because he was so different from you, and people would talk if they saw the two of you together.

Your friends would talk, your family would.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, it's just…”, he laughed a little more. “You said alcohol makes you act like you're not yourself. I guess I do the same.”

If only you had listened, you would've escaped him. You could have. You should have.

But you stayed. You stayed because he made you feel things you’ve never felt before, he made you feel important and alive. He gave you the thrill to live.

The way Dabi looked at you, you could never forget– his half-lidded gaze, always full of lust and passion, as if there were nothing in the world he wanted more.

The way Dabi spoke to you at different moments of the day, teasingly or just so full of confidence. Sometimes, you could swear his voice was filled with adoration.

“What a beautiful thing like you is doing in a place like this at 1 a.m.?”

It was the first thing Dabi ever said to you.

As you were sitting alone at the docks near your apartment, your feet swinging above the water, he came to you. The presence of another person, especially a man, scared the shit out of you, so you immediately stood up and faced him – you took his appearance fully in the faint light and you remember thinking how handsome he was, scarred and everything.

Scary, yes. But handsome.

“I didn't realize it was so late. I’m going to meet my boyfriend,” you lied, afraid he might do something bad.

A smirk appeared on his lips, “Sure, doll. Want me to keep you company until you meet this boyfriend of yours?”

You shivered and stepped back, “No. I’d like to be going by myself, thank you.”

When Dabi noticed you were genuinely scared, he dropped the act right away, “Look, doll. I ain’t gonna hurt you. But I’d rather take you out of here before a guy worse than me finds you.”

Worse than me, you noticed.

“Let me take you home, will you? Because shit’s about to go down here,” he confessed.

“Right… okay,” you said mostly because you didn't know what to do. Whatever was about to go down, you wanted nothing to do with it.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised and you immediately lowered your head to hide your tinted cheeks. If he noticed, he never commented on it, “While we’re on it, why don't you tell me why you’re here so late, huh? No boyfriend shit, angel.”

What were you doing there, again?

Ah, yeah.

You went there because you had an anxiety crisis – college stuff. You were nineteen years old.

College. Fuck, you dropped it months ago.

Why did you do it, again? You can't remember.

Something about working for real to buy a house. For you and Dabi.

A strangled sound scares you, but then you realize it's the sound of your own laugh. Choked, painful, bitter.

“Dabi!”, his name leaves your lips as a prayer.

“Say it again, doll,” he demanded, stopping his worship just to talk to you. “Say my name.”

You cried out his name countless times, his tongue circling your clit teasingly while two of his fingers fucked you the way he knew you liked all too well. When you faintly cried, “Touya…”, he rutted pathetically against the mattress as he sucked on you.

His fingers were quickly out of you, both of his arms around your legs, pulling your cunt closer to his face. In one quick glance, there was devotion. “I want you making a mess on my face, got it, doll?”

“Fuck you, Dabi,” you barked to the empty room, your words slurred.

You refused to call him Touya. He wasn't Touya to you. Not now. Not anymore.

He wasn't anyone to you.

“Fuck you, fuck you.”

You stood up, immediately regretting it as everything pinned around you. Closing your eyes, you tried to count to ten before walking towards the bathroom. What you saw in the mirror scared you; a ghost of who you used to be.

You were messy. You were a mess. You doubted your value and you felt ugly in every way possible – inside and out. The bags under your eyes and the way you were neglecting your appearance didn't help your self-esteem.

Dabi left two months ago. How could you possibly still be so miserable?

Rage filling your chest, you went back to your room and grabbed your phone. You wouldn't call him – the idea of hearing his voice made you want to puke from anxiety. But you would text him, yes. You needed to hurt him as much.

You needed to.

As you opened your messages with him, you saw it – the last texts you sent.

please.

don’t do this

touya. please, come back

touya?

I miss you.

He never opened them. It angers you even more as you type:

I hwte you. I hate you for all you did to mw

I regret you all thw time

I miss who I wss befpre I met you

I cant let this go

After months with nothing from him, your heart drops when the messages immediately go from sent to read.

[solarwynd]

https://www.tumblr.com/solarwynd/747670005344239616/httpswwwtumblrcomsolarwynd747651444915748864?source=share

The PR strategies all weird cause whoever leaked a video of jk with woman in his house but few days later the guy came and told everyone bes got no gf? I mean he could leave it at that yet he cleared cause he was getting comments but heyy he didn't talk about video and we all know there's too many coincidences happening in that video to say he's not jk, that is him with his dog nd a woman in his apartment Period.

The RM one was Funny for me cause it was Clearly intentional there was no "accident" there. He posted because he wanted to, he deleted because people saw it and the job was done. I remember he also posted a pic where you can visibly see a cigarette 🚬 burn mark on his pant and armys caught it right away at that time so no one was surprised he smoked. Jk's cigarette scene wasn't surprising for me but armys are stupid to think it was invasion of privacy i mean to a point it was but he also knew what he was doing. They could have done more with dating rumours like click a pic of him where it's only him and the woman in the frame if they actually wanted to make a pr stunt with that rather than whatever they did. That is only if it was pr stunt otherwise we don't condemn any privacy breach. Always hoping it's the members that reveal their partners on their own than all this drama.

About the jk doing lives after live and singing all of jimin's new releases that was something else.....i wasn't surprised that he used to sing jm's songs but it was unexpected given "jikook" were no where to be seen, but the first live that he did and watched all of jimin's content was actually surprising for me. Idk what anyone else belives tho but from whatever i have seen over the years one thing i belive is jungkook loves jimin as an artist. He admires jm alot. You ask him about other members' songs he might not know it but if you ask him about jimin's songs he'll know all of it with lyrics and choreo at good level. He always watch jm when jm is rehearsing like he's always there sitting infront of jm watching him when he's performing. I mean who wouldn't that's jimin who's performing. But of course this mfkr will never admit that like he'll do for RM. I was actually expecting him to be more vocal for taehyung's album too but he was inactive a whole month when tae's album Dropped and i even saw tkkrs throwing tantrums that he never supported tae the way he did for jm etc. I mean technically tkkrs would help him for so you'd expect more for jk also given they were together the whole yr. But even when Taennie paris video came he went live few days later and was simply enjoying his lives it was when Angel pt1 was released and he was singing it, doing tiktok choreo for his betsies' songs and all. Tkkrs were disappointed then too but they always find a reason to cope so they did. He Infact that way actually showed more support towards jm than other members During his drunk live era lol. As you said it could be that he wanted fruits from both ships but then Shippers are either way going to support him, infact tkkrs needed more as tae's paris video was circulating. But we don't like it when others say jk was promoting jm cause we all know it's armys watching his lives so I'm hesitating to belive he did that for support from Shippers.

At the end i would say if jm ever does such dating rumours pr he can simply drop the hd pics and we'll be happy. He either way doens't have too many crazy y/n like the other two, and we'll get rid of shippers too. Imma throw those pics on Shippers' faces.

Them Dora bangs he had were real bad. And even with as grainy as the vid was you could still see the shape of them clear as anything so it was him lol.

Joon doing what he did honestly felt like he wanted to join in on the other member’s revealing they smoked cause he felt left out, but atp it was no longer a novelty. (for BTS)

Jk’s relationship with Jimin is difficult to decipher because it’s no doubt they’re on good terms with each other and I do agree with him holding some type of admiration for him but it’s not really akin to how he is with hobi or joon. I’d always dread when he’d go live because I knew there was always a chance he’d mention jimin in someway and that would be all it took for jimin’s report page to start posting R&Bs like rapid fire. And it’s crazy because he would be the one initiating it but jimin would still get hated on.

TH doing all that cheerleading for JK, going to his live show just for him to ghost him for his debut was 🥴 but nowadays I’ve felt like their relationship is symbiotic on that end. Like they know when to dial it up with each other to get what they want for themselves so probably didn’t mean anything to him that he didn’t.

If Jimin wants to reveal his S/O down the line he will. He’s very private so I doubt he’d make it a spectacle. Unless he gets married then there’s no way that’s not getting publicized in some way.

[suna-reversed]

Icarus’ Irony ☀️

Toji Fushiguro x Fem! Reader

alternative title: “but I crumble completely when you cry”

2k+ words

Minors DNI‼️

A/N: if you haven’t already seen this cosplay, go get some Toji brainrot

Warnings/Tags: mentions of violence, manhandling, dacryphilia, mild dub-con, fingering, mating press, cum play, breeding kink, size difference, cheating, smoking/alcohol, shotgunning, degradation, slight praise, angstt, hurt/comfort

“Do you know of how Icarus fell?”

His question snapped you out of your post orgasm daze. You looked up at him from where your head rested on his bare chest, thighs straddling his lap, quivering a little as you pulled away to look at his face in the moonlight.

“He flew too close to the sun?”

Toji looked deep in thought as you answered, nodding his head slightly,

“Ah yes, he did…”

You almost purred as his warm hand slid up your thigh, kneading the sore-marked flesh,

“ ...but that wasn’t what what damned him”

He paused again, dangling the lit cigarette held in between the index and middle finger of his other hand, the same fingers that were buried deep inside of you not too long ago,

“...his ruination came with his desire. The closer he got, the more he craved. His delusion didn’t even let him feel the searing heat that burned through his flesh. He was too lost in thought of the eternal glory he believed he’d found.”

Toji adjusted his gaze to meet your eyes, the acrid scent of smoke hitting you as he leaned forward. His actions seemed slowed and you found it hard to differentiate the golden aura around his silhouette from his actual self. Has he always been so ethereal? 

“Do you think he smiled?” 

“Huh?” you mumbled out drowsily, your head falling back on his chest, breathing in his intoxicating scent. night-chilled mist and cedar. His hoarse chuckle sent shivers down your spine. 

“I asked, do you think he smiled...knowing he was the only one to ever get that close to the sun, even if it destroyed him in the end?”

You heard Toji take a puff out of his cigarette and your breath hitched as a hand came to your jaw, tilting your head up as he exhaled out the smoke in between your parted lips.

How had he stayed this long tonight? Usually, you’d be cleaning yourself up by this time, no trace left of the man who had been whispering sultry words into your ear while pounding into you from behind moments ago. He was never this talkative afterwards either. 

“Why are you asking me this?”

He leaned back, turning his head away from you. The slightest of change could be sensed in his posture as you hesitantly brought your fingers up to trace the scar next to his lips. He’d grabbed onto your wrist halfway before it could reach his mouth everytime that you had tried it before, growling a low “wanna try that again?”, that usually led to you being stuffed full of him once more. Perhaps he was too high to care tonight?

“Why am I asking you this?” A dry laugh left his throat as he finally looked back at you, still making no attempts to pull your hand away from his face. 

“because I think you’re flying dangerously close; whether for warmth, for lust, for love; whatever it is, I have a feeling you’ll go down smiling even when the light sets you aflame.”

You were too lost in his eyes, your mind clouded by the feel of his unclothed skin against yours. How did he get the scar? Had he ever told you? Did she know about it? A burning sensation formed in the pit of your chest as your eyes slid to the gold band kept neatly on the nightstand. He removes it every single time; right before he sinks to his knees with a moan, saying his prayers in between your thighs as your heels dig into his spine. 

You couldn't register his words anymore. It all sounded like incoherent gibberish, perhaps that's what it all was. Perhaps, that’s all everything he’s ever said was. 

“I only stay with her because of my son” 

“I’ll get a divorce soon enough” 

“She wont let me live in peace if she finds out-”

All gibberish. Garbage. Empty promises. Lies. Words that held no meaning.  

His lips were still moving, but all you could hear was the loud ringing in your ears. Suddenly, the sensation of his flesh against yours felt like too much. You couldn't breathe as bile rose up to the back of your throat. You pulled your head away from his chest, but the warmth wouldn’t leave you, the wet feeling on your cheeks worsening the burning of your skin. 

Why was he still speaking? Could he not see that you were dying?

Shut up, shut up, shut up-

You found your lips moving out of their own accord 

“Leave-leave me alone I hate you”

The sob that ripped from your throat made you feel like you had just been pushed off from a skyscraper, feeling the end nearing, but it never quite seemed to come. 

Your incoherent pleas of being left alone continued as you felt muscular arms wrap around your figure; your sobs getting louder as you felt yourself being picked up, and then laid down on the plush mattress that still held the remnants of your previous feat with the man above you. 

You didn't realise you had been thrashing until a hand grabbed onto your wrists, bringing them together as Toji used his weight to pin your struggling body down, his other arm coming around to pull you into his chest, effectively muffling out your screams. 

Your sobs took a while to die out; leaving your eyes burning, throat dry, and the throbbing pain in your head worsening by the second as you continued to stare at the chipped ceiling past his shoulder. The same ceiling you had stared up at as he had ruthlessly rutted into your cunt, calling you “his obedient little slut”- “his cumdump”. 

That’s what you’ll always be, isn't it? 

You felt the grip around your body loosen, the weight lifting off of you slightly as your eyes came in level with his face. He held an unreadable expression like always. A bitter laugh escaped your throat as you looked back on all the times you had dreamed of the scar next to his lip twitching up, only for you. 

“Stop it.” His voice was smooth, your body instinctively reacting to his command. You hated it. But you still did have control over your words, 

“Fuck off” 

You saw his eyes darken, his hand moving up to grab your jaw harshly, 

“What was that?”

Smack!

Your palm burned as it landed, the skin of his cheek already tinting a deeper shade of crimson. 

Heavy silence hung in the room.

You gasped in shock as you felt a pair of lips crash down onto yours, Toji’s tongue making its way into your mouth as you groaned. You contemplated biting his tongue, but the rational part of your brain seemed to be dulling out more and more the longer that his tongue remained clashing with yours, his hands moving up your abdomen to grope your chest, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples. 

You shut your legs together as his hand tried to slither in between, but your efforts were to no avail as he grabbed onto your thigh, holding it away, not even wasting a second to dip his fingers into your heat. You felt your face heat up at the wetness he found there. Toji moved back to sit on his knees, thumb circling your clit as you tried not to let out any more sounds of pleasure. 

“You hate me huh? Then what’s this?” His fingers pumped in faster inside of you making you arch your back, a cry of shame leaving your mouth. 

Toji grabbed onto your thighs to push them up to your chest, throwing your legs over his shoulders and biting at the tender skin he found. A loud moan left you as you felt him line up with your entrance, the tip already making you feel the stretch of his huge girth. 

You opened your eyes, only to be met with the same chipped ceiling once again. Tears welled up in your eyes, making your vision blurry as you felt a sob bubbling in your chest, pitying your own resolve for breaking so soon. 

But then you felt something rub against your cheek. A calloused thumb brushing away the tears as a forehead came down to press against yours, and you found your orbs locked onto the malicious ones of the man you had wrecked your sanity for. 

“You are…” he sighs out, and you grunt as he slides deeper into you, “...the only thought that plagues my mind.”

His lips meld with yours once more as he finishes his sentence, both of your moans being muffled against each other’s mouth. 

“...all-the-damn-fucking-time” he thrusts into you in between words. It's the closest he’s come to being gentle as his strokes, though slow, still hit deep inside of your dripping cunt. His hips jut into you more intensely as you bite his lip, hands moving up to entangle themselves into his dark locks.

You were crying and moaning and screaming all at the same time as his cock hit all the right spots, the pain of his huge member still being evident even after it had fucked out your pussy countless times. But it was drowned out by the pleasure as his fingers found your clit once more, hastily rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves as he picked up his pace. You found your face contorting in pleasure soon enough, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts as you felt your climax coming. 

“C’mon, go ahead, cream all around my cock like the good girl you are.” He grunted, voice deep and dripping in honey.

The coil in the pit of your stomach snapped as his tongue licked its way up from your neck to your jaw. Toji continued fucking into you as you rode out your orgasm, your body spasming from the overstimulation as you felt your insides being filled with thick spurts of cum. Toji groaned, pulling back to look at the sight of your cum-filled cunt, collecting the slickness that had dripped out of your hole with his thumb, only to push it back inside.

You were too tired to move a muscle, too tired to cry or curse him as he got up, walking out the bedroom door. The hollow feeling once again flooded your chest as you shut your eyes, hoping to wake up from this endless nightmare. 

Your body jerked awake as you felt something cool slide against your thigh. You snapped your eyes open, lifting your head, only to find the man you had just cussed out a thousand different ways sitting on the edge of the bed, a wet cloth in his hand. You were too stunned to say anything, staring at him as he inched forward, continuing his task of cleaning up the mess. 

You let your head fall back against the mattress, sighing as the conflicting thoughts in your mind continued to race on. You found yourself being lifted, a blanket being put over you before your head was pulled into a warm chest, arms wrapping around you as a hand cradled the back of your head. Your thoughts all disappeared away, the familiarity of his body becoming almost cozy as sleep took over your senses. You thought you heard him mutter something, but then again, you might as well have dreamt it.

----------

Toji found his hand lingering over the door handle as he glanced at your slumbering figure. Sighing, he walked back over to cover you with the blanket that you had kicked off. 

He found his own mind flooded with conflicting feelings as he walked out of your building. He had never stayed the night before. Moreover, he was trying to find a justification for the three cursed words he had muttered last night.

He decided to blame it on the nicotine that was clogging his system. Even though he had felt his high clearing as soon as he had seen you sobbing and moving away from him, your face filled with disgust. He never wanted to see you feel that way about him again. 

He looked down at the golden band clutched tightly in his palm. The metal was starting to rust. He was surprised your curious little mind didn’t notice, didn't ask him why - because real gold didn’t rust. He found his mind flashing back to the first time you had asked him,

“Are you...seeing someone?” 

He hadn’t known you for too long then, but the tug in his chest each time you were around made him want to disappear out of existence. 

You made him want to lose all restraint, and what would the man be if he lost his sense of identity, the only armour he harboured; his rigid demeanour. 

The lie had rolled off his tongue easily enough, switching over the band on his index finger to his ring finger under the table. Lifting it up for you to see, he had felt his heart clench at the flicker of sadness in your eyes. But that seemed to work as even more proof for why he had to draw a boundary around himself.

You burned like a thousand fires, your brightness blinding, your warmth creeping up to thaw the ice around his heart.

It terrified him.

How he always ended up coming back for more, how he ended up breaking a little more each time his name slipped past your sweet lips, how he’d vowed to destroy anything that dared cause you agony. Even if it meant destroying himself. 

Toji Fushiguro finally knew the answer to his question. 

He too, would go down with a smile if it was you lighting the match to his pyre, if it was you ripping the wings off his back.

After all you were the only light in his life, his precious sun.

How does it matter if he burns himself out trying to get closer to you?

© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.

[kmorales1]

Office Affairs

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: Explicit (Anyone under 18, go away, thanks.)

Warnings: Uh, unprotected sex(this is fiction please wrap it before you tap it), i'm bad at this. One(1) mention of spit(whoops).

A note: Hey, so I wrote this in an hour and (maybe) a half. This entire thing is purely based off my intense yearning for Javi the past few days(more like weeks). Also he's incredibly hard to write for so I hope I was able to capture his character. This is also my first time writing smut, let alone posting it. Be gentle with your critics lmao. It might not be entirely cohesive but I tried really hard but anyway this is what my brain popped out.

Javier Peña is the type of guy to take you home for a quick fuck, cuddle you like he’s in love with you, and then leave an hour later without barely a glance in your direction. You know this, you’d heard the whispers about him in the embassy when you were making your way to the filing room, or to the break room for your afternoon lunch.

And you believed them.

The first night Javier took you home you were 99% sure that you’d get the best fuck of your life out of him and then he’d be gone before you could even ask him to stay the night. And let’s be honest you wanted him to stay the night. To feel him pressed against you, his broad chest against your back, his breath fanning over the back of your neck. God, you yearned for that man. Or maybe just a man, it’d been a while.

You weren’t entirely wrong though, you did get the best fuck of your life out of him, but you also found the Javier that was sprawled in your bed, a lit cigarette between his lips, wasn’t the same man he was in the daylight of the office.

He was quieter, soft spoken, almost open.

The first few times he had stayed for a bit after to lay pressed beside you talking about work and you had even managed to pull a few details about his life back home. A few. But those few details only left you craving more, and who could blame you. He was intoxicating. You hadn’t been expecting it and now that you saw it, you wanted more.

“You know, you’re different like this.”

You had practically whispered the words to him, a little scared you might somehow push him back into the person he was in the light of day. But he only offered you something almost like a smile and leaned forward to press his lips to yours.

“I think, maybe i’m just different with you.”

He didn’t elaborate or say anything more, and you didn’t say anything in response. Cause what could you say? He’d pressed you open into the mattress a few minutes later his head between your thighs. Taking you apart slowly whispering filthy things as he brought you over the edge.

Your heart clenched as he laid his head on your thigh afterwards, his hair an unruly mess.

You wanted him like this all the time.

You weren’t naïve,though. So you didn’t think much of the way he laid beside you, or the things he said to you. He could feed any pretty woman words to make them feel special, and no matter how much you wanted to be different, something told you weren’t.

That became apparent when you started seeing less of Javier and hearing more about his informants and the other women he would bring home some nights. You weren’t mad, nor jealous, but you weren’t exactly fine either.

Coming home from a late night at work you had passed him and who you assumed was one of those said people that were whispered about. She was laughing at something, his arm locked tight around her waist guiding her down the hall. His face didn’t match hers but he certainly didn’t look unhappy, and when you crossed their path trying hurriedly to get into your apartment before seeing something you didn’t want to, he barely spared you a side glance.

Fine.

You stopped giving him the attention he silently would ask for in the daytime. His gaze burning hot on your body as you silently sipped your tea in the corner of the break room. Or the way he would brush your shoulder as he passed your desk. It’s almost laughable how he could seemingly seek your attention out one minute and then act like you didn’t exist the next. You didn’t play into it and things were fine.

Until they weren’t.

“You’re ignoring me, princesa.”

He’s got you cornered in the filing room his broad form practically towering over you. This is the closest you’ve been to him since you’d seen him that night, or the occasional time he would purposeful bump into you in the office.

“Hello Javi,” You barely managed to hold onto the papers in your hands. His close proximity to you slightly knocking you off center. You weren’t entirely lying when you said things were fine, but him being so close and the smell of him nearly overpowering was reminding you of the parts that were exactly not fine.

“I’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

That’s a lie. You know it’s a lie, he knows it’s a lie. Things had been incredibly slow the past couple of weeks. Pablo in hiding from a recent raid that hit a little too close to home.

“I think we both know that’s a lie,”

And oh, is his voice a little breathier.

You curse yourself quietly, because you’re supposed to be putting this behind you. This man only sought you out when he felt like it when he was bored. But the way he’s pressed so close to you, if you just leaned forward a tiny bit. His eyes are skimming over your face, like he’s taking in the changes he’s missed in the past few weeks he hasn’t seen you.

There’s a tilt of his head and a small push forward and his lips are a near inch away from yours.

“Don’t you miss me, baby?”

Your knees nearly buckle.

He called you that exactly one time before. A rough raid with Carrillo had him stumbling into your apartment at nearly 1 am, luckily you had just gotten home from work and were still awake. His shirt was damp with sweat, the color of it slightly darker than the original pink, a stray mark of blood on his face- you later found out wasn’t his. He’d been needy, the way he had pressed you into the counter in your kitchen, fucked you within an inch of your life it felt like. Growling filthy things into your ear, praising you, before pulling you roughly to the floor(his back didn’t forgive him for days after that) and sliding you onto him. You’d rode him hard and fast nearly sobbing your release. He’d came up to cradle you to him. Whispering baby and your name reverently into your hair. You didn’t talk about it, what had made him so frantic. You had to practically peel yourself away from him and when you did it had broken the spell. He was up, fixing his jeans, kissing your forehead and then he was gone out the door before you could even get words out.

Javier whispering your name brings you back to the present, his eyes are locked on your lips and fuck-

Your fingers are dropping the papers and urgently sliding up his back to curl in his hair, pulling him the last bit of distance to bring his mouth to yours.

You’ll tell him later that you don’t forgive him for that debacle with the woman he brought home with him and you’ll also tell him the other things that have been pent up for the past almost month. And if he doesn’t like it oh well, but god right now all you want is to be fucked by this infuriating man.

“Javi-“

Your plea is broken as his tongue swipes the inside of your mouth his hands holding firmly to your hips.

“Javi please”

He shushes you, his leg coming to press between your thighs, right against where you want him the most and you nearly keen at the relief it gives. His thigh flexes and applies just the pressure to send your hips sliding forward.

“Quiet, princesa you don’t want anyone to hear,”

Oh fuck. You’re at work right now. You’re at work fuck. You’re at work. You remind yourself again.

One more time you’re at work-

But no one really comes back here. (that’s a lie)

His hands are guiding your hips roughly, and you’re practically riding his thigh. The feeling is too much and not enough all at once.

“Anything, Javi please.”

You’re breathless whimper has him growling under his breath as he pushes you deeper into the cabinets. His hands tear your skirt out of the way, pushing your panties aside before dipping his fingers into your center.

“Baby, fuck you’re so wet,”

His fingers leave you momentarily to slide into his mouth. The hum that leaves him is enough to push a wave of slick out of you, and you eagerly grip any part of him you can reach.

“Is this for me? You have missed me,”

The smug look on his face makes you want to roll your eyes, and you would if he wasn’t currently sliding his fingers back into you and curling them just like that-

“Fuck! Javi,”

The hand that is grasping your hips leaves to hurriedly slap a hand over your mouth. His eyes are burning into yours his teeth bared slightly.

“I said quiet, do you want our coworkers seeing how much a slut you are for me?”

He licks a line up the side of your neck before coming to suckle and bite lightly on your ear.

“Youd like it wouldn’t you?”

You’re practically dripping at his words, the squelching noise from his fingers fucking into you roughly is nearly obscene. You’re so close you could cry, if he could just give a little more.

“More,”

It’s a desperate plea for anything and it’s slightly muffled by his hand but he gets the message. His hand drops and you’re caught off guard by him roughly undoing his belt and pushing his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

You nearly moan at the sight, long and thick with precum gathering at the tip. Fuck it’s been so long you want to taste. But he’s got you shoved back up against the nearest filing cabinet, his hand back over your mouth as he nudges his cock against your clit.

You keen at the slight pressure it gives before you jerk at the feeling of him sliding into you fully his hips flush to yours.

“Fuck, hermosa,” his teeth are clenched tight the cords of his neck strained as he whispers praises into your ear.

"Baby you’re so tight, missed you.”

You don’t even have time to process the last part before he’s almost urgently pulling out to slam back in. You want to worry about the noises that are being made but just as the thought comes in it’s gone. He’s fucking into you hard, his hand still covering your mouth tightly, trying hard to mask the moans that are escaping you. The slight jingle of his belt buckle as he roughly pounds into you shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. His head is pressed to your shoulder and you can feel the air from his mouth as he pants.

You’re so close you can practically feel yourself dripping down your thighs. One of your hands is curled tightly in his hair and the other snakes down your body to rub between your clit. Your breath is coming out harsh from your nose meeting the warm skin of his hand and god the thought of his hand over your mouth as he fucks you is so much you think you might come now.

But then his hand slips away and he’s sliding it in your hair to tilt your head back. Baring his teeth he gives one particularly hard thrust before demanding.

“Open.”

Immediately your mouth snaps open and he spits.

"Fucking swallow it."

You do, quickly before you lift eagerly to meet his mouth, teeth clinking harshly.

“Javi i’m gonna come-“

He’s pulling back, whispering urgently in your ear .

"Do it baby, do it now. Cum for me."

You’re pushing to meet his thrusts hurriedly chasing the orgasm you feel tightening in your stomach.

“I said now,” The harshness in his voice sends you reeling. You keen, a little too loudly to be in your office building, the thread snapping as you tumble over the edge. Your cunt clenching hard around him. Somewhere through the haze you feel Javier bite roughly into your shoulder and his cock jerk inside of you as he cums.

His hands are sliding around you to pull you into him his face meeting your neck as he pants, his cock softening inside of you. There’s a pleasant sounding hum from him as you card your fingers through his hair your nails scratching lazily at his scalp. The room is humid and sticky you suddenly come back to yourself, sinking down from your post orgasm high.

“Javier,”

The change in your voice has him pulling back to look at you before his eyes widen in understanding.

Yes, basking in the after sex glow isn’t the best idea at the moment.

“We can talk after work okay?”

There’s a nod from him before he’s sliding out of you with a hiss and tucking himself back into his jeans. And there’s a lot to talk about, he isn’t off the hook, and you’ve got to think it over because you know you have technically no right to even be upset.

You’re adjusting your skirt when you feel him cup your cheek.

“I really did miss you.”

Its said quietly, almost like it’s a secret.

And momentarily, you forget everything you need to be confused about with him.

"I missed you too."

[forever-rogue]

Ooh a request?! Delightful. List 1-45 & 79, Javier Peña. Fem!reader with curves if possible? :) thx for an amazing blog! A friend of mine got me HOOKED on your stories. ❤️❤️❤️

45. "Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy."

79. "I can't get you out of my head."

Enjoy!

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language, smoking, drinking, mild smut (18+ only)

Javier Masterlist 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You must be Javier Peña,” you stuck your hand out and held confidently and waited for the man in question to shake it. Instead, he looked at it almost as if it offended him, placing his own hands on his hips as he cocked his head to the side in order to study you. When you realized that he wasn’t going to shake it, you pulled back and scoffed lightly, “or not.”

“Who are you?” his brows knitted together as he stool a quick glance over at Van Ness and Fiestl, who immediately looked away, pretending they hadn’t witnessed the interaction. Whatever this was, they knew exactly what this was going on and had neglected to keep him in the loop, “why are you here?”

“Why are you such an asshole?” you tilted your own head to the side and offered him a wickedly sweet smile. Javier’s expression flickered for just a moment before he just shook his head and pointed at the door.

“See yourself out, kid,” he huffed before turning back to his desk to settle in for the afternoon, “I’m too busy to waste time on things like this. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?” you refused to back down and be bossed around by a man that refused to even shake your hand. Javier huffed as he sat down and lit up a cigarette, frowning when he saw you take a seat opposite him. 

“Like catching bad guys,” he scowled, and despite the annoyed expression on his face, he still managed to be one of the most handsome men that you’d ever encountered. It wasn’t fair that he could be this much of an asshole, and be gorgeous on top of it, “doing actual work.”

“Huh,” you crossed your legs and leaned forwards, noting the way his dark eyes scanned your form, “that’s funny, because everyone here keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. It's all about perspective, right?”

"And what's your take on all of this?" he was playing it cool, putting his feet on his desk as he smoked and watched you with a searing intensity.

"That's yet to be fully determined," you confessed, leaning back and playing at being just as relaxed as him. Your heart was thumping wildly around your ribcage as you sized him up and he did the same. You weren't about to just give in to him, "I know you helped bring down Escobar, that you're determined to do the same with Calí, that you've fucked your way through half of Colombia, and you're an asshole in every sense of the word. You haven't proven me wrong so far."

"Does that attitude get you far?" he took a particularly sharp drag of his cigarette before slowly exhaling.

"Its gotten me this far," you cocked your head to side and made tutted lightly, "if we're doing to work together, I'd appreciate a little respect."

"What do you mean?" and he laughed. The bastard had the audacity to laugh at you, "in your dreams, kid. This is a real job, and what are you doing? Playing pretend?"

"First of all," you resorted to pulling out a card from your purse and tossing it at him, "I'm from DEA in LA, and I've been working in Mexico. I look young, sure, but if you think you're going to disrespect me because of that, then you've got another thing coming. I'm here to help you finish this once and for all. You can take my help or I can go back to LA and watch you crash and burn. Its your call, Peña."

He pursed his lips as he looked over your card, surprised by your stubborn determination and also pleased by it. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you watched him, trying to anticipate any move he could make.

"Fine," he held your card between his fingers before crumbling it and tossing it into his trash can, "welcome to the team, junior agent. One fuck up and you're on the first plane back to LA."

"Deal."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Fuck, fuck - Javi," his name was a rushed, reverent plea as your arms wrapped around his neck, "yes, right there!"

You could practically feel him smirking against your skin as he pressed kisses all over your neck and collarbones, making it a point to leave to nip at the delicate skin. He wanted to leave marks, wanted the world to know you were his. 

You were currently in his lap, on the couch in his apartment. You'd come over for dinner and a drink, telling him that you couldn't stay - shouldn't - but one thing had led to another and here you were. You were lost in him as he fucked the life out of you. 

Again. It was supposed to be a one time thing. Both of you had agreed. And...that had been months ago. One night had turned into two and then three and then...many more.

From reckless and clandestine affairs in his office or in the closets around the building, to an exclusive relationship, to...whatever this was. Neither of you had ever placed a real label on it, but it was something. Perhaps it didn't even need a label - you were just and he was yours. That was good enough for you.

"Feel so fucking good, Dulzura," he groaned as he reached down to rub gentle circles on your clit, causing you to mewl in his ear, "so perfect."

"Javier," you burrowed your face into his neck as your walls clenched around him, and he closed his eyes as he started to stutter in just thrusts, "so close. Please, baby…"

"Let go," his voice was low and dark in your arms as you felt the grip of your orgasm wash over you. His cock twitched as your walls hugged him and he soon followed as he slipped inside of you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, "fuck."

"Javi," you couldn't help but laugh lightly as you carded a hand through his dark locks. Pulling back, you beamed at him before gently kissing his swollen lips, "I really had only intended to come for dinner and a drink."

"What happened?" He smiled as he brushed a few stray locks out of your face before kissing you slowly, deeply. He might not have been the best with words, but he always seemed to be able to convey his feelings with his actions. You shrugged innocently before slowly moving out of his lap, already missing the feeling of him inside you.

"I don't know…" you grabbed a cigarette from his pack on the table and lit it up as you laid back and watched him, "there's a certain DEA agent that can be very convincing. And he's handsome and charming, even if he's an asshole sometimes. But I can't get him out of my mind."

"Very funny, Dulzura," he stood up and pulled on his boxers as he drank in the sight of you in your naked, post coital bliss. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading into the kitchen, "beer?"

"Ahh, that drink I was promised," you leaned your head back and watched as he opened the fridge with a smirk on his face as he shook his head, "at least you keep true to your word."

He laughed, warm hearty thing before coming back over and sitting down, lifting your legs up and placing them in his lap before handing you a bottle. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you quickly stubbed it out before taking a drink from the beer. It wasn't anything special, just the cheap local kind, but somehow, enjoying a cold one with your lover made it that much better. 

"What?" you'd caught Javier staring at you several times, his brows knitted in his concentration as he aimlessly traced over your skin. Nudging him gently with your leg, you tried to capture his attention, "hey, Javi. What's wrong? You're thinking too loudly."

"Why are you here, kid?" there was an odd look of self doubt in his features as his eyes bore into yours. You set your bottle down before leaning up and moving so you could reposition yourself in his lap.

"Are you having second thoughts?" you took his bottle and set it next to your before taking his face in your hands, "Javier, you know why I'm here. You don't have to say it and I won't say it if you don't want me to."

"Its for cheap beer, huh?" he asked before you broke into a fit of giggles and peppered gentle kisses all over his face. He liked this, he'd realized some time ago, how gentle and soft you were, how you took time to make him feel good - feel loved. It was almost entirely foreign and at first the odd mixture of feelings had hit him like a truck and caused him to panic; but it soon quickly dawned on him what it was. While he was terrified, he didn't want to fight it. Not now, not with you.

"Yes, Javier Peña, its for the cheap beer," you whispered against his lips, "I-I love cheap beer. I'm in love with it."

And just like his mind meant reeling, and he felt a flush of warmth was over his entire being. But he looked back at you, with a fierce determination, his eyes still managing to be soft as they crinkled in the corners just the way you liked.

"I...I'm in love with it too," he whispered after a moments of saccharine bliss as you had continued to kiss him, scratching at his scalp just the way he liked, "fuck - I'm in love with you."

"Javier," you beamed at him, fighting off every worry, every fear with the smile that seemed to light up his soul, "too far. I was literally just talking about the beer."

"Fuck off," he laughed before wrapping his arms around your waist and standing up, causing to you to laugh. He started walking down the hall, taking care not to drop you, eagerly heading for his bedroom, as you held onto him for dear life but continued to kiss him.

"What are you up to?" you whispered in his ear just before he gently tossed you onto his bed. You crawled up towards the headboard, grinning at him as he tugged off his boxers again. 

"I was going to make love to you," he had a calm air about him before he moved to loom over your body, "but now I'm thinking you're too much of a brat for that."

"Why not both?" you teased as you pulled him down to your lips, "both is good."

"You'll be in this bed all night."

"And then you better get started."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog  @sheridans-dynamos  @queenbbarnes  @persephonesnebula   @ah-callie  @blushingwueen  @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander  @rae-gar-targaryen    @hiscyarika  @readsalot73  @huliabitch  @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd  @beepbeepsephy   @scarlettwitcher  @nerdyknightwritersblog  @choicesarcade  @arrowswithwifi  @everythingaboutnothingstuff  @suckerfor-fanfics  @bestintheparsec @javihoney  @aeryntheofficial  @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial  @asgardianvamp21  @keithseabrook27  @karmezii  @dearspacepirates  @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou  @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian @phoenixhalliwell @lucifer @cosmoschick @kochamcie @linkpk88 @leaiorganas

[dinosaurtsukki]

-lipstick on your cigarette

pairing: chuuya nakahara x f!reader

word count: 1.4k words

contains: brainrot content, chuuya being a flirt

a/n: brainrot hours go brrrrrr also excuse this not being proofread i am drinking wine

usually, you enjoyed going to parties. usually, you enjoyed squeezing and melding with the bodies of dancing people, feeling the loud bass of the music over the stereos in your chest, and of course, drinking from the mystery punch that your friends always made.

but that was back then when your boyfriend was around to do all those things with you. dressing up for this party felt like a chore and every single thing you used to love about parties annoyed you to no end. you regretted being swayed by your friends to come when you clearly didn’t feel like it so after grabbing a beer from the kitchen, you retired to the balcony of the house on the third floor. for a while, you relished in being alone, feeling the beer warm you pleasantly against the cool, night air, until someone came in and ruined the quiet.

“mind if i join you?”

you turned around at the voice and found a man, with red bright red hair, a dark brown fedora, and wearing a leather jacket and black, skinny jeans, leaning against the doorway. in one hand, he carried a half-empty bottle of wine and a paper cup. you shrugged, as if to say ‘be my guest’ and took a swig out of the rest of your beer. the man walked up and leaned against the balcony railing next to you.

“so, you alone?” he asked. you let out a sigh, instantly pegging him as someone who was here to pick up girls.

“no, i came with my pet hamster,” you snorted. 

“hah, never heard that one before,” the man laughed. “sorry, just wanted to talk. not really here to flirt with you if that’s not what you want,” he said, backing off just a bit. “well, unless you want me to,” he smirked.

“charmed,” you smiled, feeling a bit better now that things had been cleared up. and now that you could see him up close, you didn’t really mind talking to such an attractive man at a party.

“i’m chuuya, by the way. chuuya nakahara,” he introduced himself, reaching a gloved hand out for you to shake.

“y/n. y/n l/n,” you shook it. 

“so, what’s got you so down?” he asked. “if you don’t mind me asking.” 

“just not really feeling this place is all,” you shrugged. “i mean, i like parties but, it’s not quite fun when your friend who brought you is getting to third base in the master bedroom and your ex is out there with some new girl beside him.”

“well, if it’s any comfort, the guy who’s with your friend is probably going to forget about her the next morning,” chuuya said.

“that makes me feel a teensy bit better,” you chuckled. 

“other than that, i’m afraid i only know alcohol as the one solution to all problems,” he grinned, pouring wine out into the paper cup he had and offering it to you. you weren’t really one to accept drinks from strangers but you didn’t really sense anything malicious from him.

“you know, i’m actually not that into wine,” you said after taking a sip. “it’s just... sour grape juice.” 

“sour grape juice that gets you drunk,” chuuya pointed out. 

“you get drunk from wine? pssh, lightweight,” you snorted.

“shut up, it’s 12.5% alcohol,” chuuya muttered sourly. seeing his expression made you laugh even harder. “glad to see you smile for once.” 

“you’ve only known me for a few minutes.” 

“yeah, but i already figured you looked prettier when you smiled,” he said, smirking at the apparent embarrassment on your face.

“are you always like this?”

“sometimes i show a magic trick or two,” chuuya shrugged.

“is that an innuendo or something?” you raised an eyebrow.

“pshh, no way,” he shook his head. “want me to show ya?”

“sure,” you shrugged, turning to face him. chuuya reached into his pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes, and took one out before handing it to you.

“put a mark on it. you could put a pen mark or anything to identify it,” he said. “i have a pen on hand if you want.”

“hmm,” you looked at the cigarette, turning it this way and that, before lifting it to your lips and placing a kiss on the side of the white paper, leaving a red lipstick mark. 

“no one’s ever did that before,” chuuya shook his head and chuckled, taking the cigarette from you. 

“and no one’s ever shown me a magic trick before,” you smirked. chuuya took out a one-dollar bill from his pocket and wrapped it tightly around the cigarette. then, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a lighter.

“watch closely, alright?” he said. he lit the very end of the cigarette and blew on the flame until it grew and burned through the whole thing, leaving only ash in his hands. chuuya closed his fist and blew the ash over the balcony. the entire time, you couldn’t help but admire the lines and contours of his face and how his red hair framed the sides of his cheeks. 

“and now....” chuuya smirked, reaching a hand behind your ear before pulling out a cigarette with a flick of his wrist. he rolled it to the side, revealing your red lipstick mark along its side.

“whoa.” you clapped your hands and chuuya bowed.

“that’s always a favorite,” he grinned, looking down at the cigarette before sliding it back into the packet. 

“keeping a souvenir?” you said, nodding your head at the cigarette.

“i usually smoke these right away but... i have a feeling this one’s worth keeping,” chuuya said. you bit your lip. even though it was your idea to mark the cigarette with your lipstick as a way to flirt with him, there was something thrilling about someone as attractive as chuuya keeping it.

except, you didn’t really feel that thrill for long when you spotted your ex out of the corner of your eye inside the house. your blood ran cold when you saw the other girl who he had his arm wrapped around.

“shit,” you cursed, turning away when you realized that he spotted you.

“what’s wrong?” chuuya frowned, looking over inside the house.

“well, it’s the very guy i was hoping to avoid,” you gritted your teeth.

“ah, the one who looks like he had his face slammed by a door?” 

“the very one.” you watched chuuya narrow his eyes in distate at the sight of your ex.

“is it weird that i already hate him?”

“hah, wish i had that instinct,” you laughed bitterly. chuuya took a step closer to you, leaning your head closer to yours. you felt your face flush at how close he was.

“let’s mess with him,” he smirked.

“h-how?” you asked, even though you already knew what he was thinking of.

“kiss me.” 

you didn’t even need to be told twice. you grabbed at his shirt collar and pulled chuuya close to you. his lips were surprisingly soft and they moved effortlessly against yours, deepening the kiss. he tasted just like the wine you just drank and smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke and men’s cologne. neither of you had the mind to pull away any time soon, even though you were certain your ex had already seen you and left. but how could you pull away when chuuya had his hands around your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin and daring you to even leave.

when you finally parted, you were both breathless and panting for air. the way chuuya looked at you with half-lidded eyes that hinted at something more brought a chill down your spine.

“you have... a little something there,” you cleared your throat, gesturing at chuuya’s lips which had your red lipstick smeared on it. 

“yeah? you do too,” he said. before you could even react, chuuya licked his thumb and wiped at the sides of your mouth.

“i think that did the trick too,” you grinned, turning to find that your ex was no longer around. you only wished you could see the look on his face with you in the arms of someone else. someone undoubtedly more attractive than him.

“glad i could be of assistance,” chuuya bowed again. “now, i do believe you owe me for that kiss. and the magic trick.” 

“oh yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. “and what would that be?”

“your company for the rest of the night,” chuuya smirked. 

“only if it’s someplace better than this party,” you said. 

“well, i have a motorcycle and an appropriate amount of alcohol in my system,” chuuya said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “just say the word and i’ll take us there.” 

***********************************************

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @atsumu-brainrot​ @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo  @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings​

[jawritter]

Unlikely Places

Request: Hi! I love your work! Can you do a ABO? One where the reader is Beta, and Dean Alpha, and she’s his true mate/soulmate, but they don’t know it, and he gets possessive and goes into almost a feral rut where he tries to claim, and it almost kills her but Sam and Rowena save her and give Dean his Omega back? You come up with the plot because you’re amazing at that!! Please! I’d be forever in your debt!

A/N: This is the first time i have ever written ABO in the context. So please take it easy of me if some of the information isn’t isn’t normal ABO dynamic, or isn’t necessarily something seen in specific AU’s before! This is not a series, just a one shot! As always feedback is golden. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little nervous about posting this one. It’s the most “Non-Con” I have ever written, and it took me weeks to get this written out in a way that I thought might be acceptable. I hope you all enjoy this one!

This one was Beta’d by @squirrelnotsam! Thanks so much hun! <3

Please heed the warnings on this Fic!! Warnings: (((TRIGGER WARNING!! This fic contains Non-Con, borderline rape implications! Please take caution when reading this if something like this affects you! ))) 

Other Warnings: Smut, almost non-con, angst, possessive Alpha, ABO Dynamics, knotting, forced claiming, forced knotting rut, almost feral Alpha, true mates, soul mates, knotting, mentions of first heat, language, scenting, non consensual scenting, disturbing Alpha behavior. Aggression, Pain, scared reader, Dean can be pretty scary in this one. Massive age gap! 19 year old reader x 41 year old Dean! Mention of parental death of reader’s parents. Language I’m sure because it’s me. 

Word count: 5244

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

“That will be $8.97,” you tell the woman standing in front of you. She pays you for her purchase, and you hand her bag to her as the door opens and closes with a dinging chime. 

Your eyes train to the large Alpha male that just walked into the filling station you were working at in Lebanon, Kansas. The Omega you were just checking out wasted no time in straightening her blouse by pulling it down lower, and making quite the show of herself as the Alpha grabbed a basket near the door, and lumbered his way over to the beer cooler, not even giving her a second look.

You had to suppress the snort as the Omega harshly grabbed the bag from the counter where she’d laid it when the Alpha had walked in the door, and made her way quickly towards the exit, leaving you alone with the Alpha as he made his way around the store, filling his little basket with things he usually buys every time he came in. 

Pie, beer, jerkies of different types, sometimes toilet paper, the odd Playboy as well as the next copy of Busty Asian Beauty, lube.

You weren’t worried about being left alone in the small store with the rather large and very attractive Alpha. It’s not like it was the first time he’d ever been there, and it wasn’t like he would have any interest in you, a beta. 

By law, you weren’t even allowed to speak to him unless he spoke to you first. Betas were considered even lower than Omegas and weren’t allowed to address an Alpha directly. You had to choose your words wisely when it comes to Omegas too, but they weren’t nearly as hard about that law as they were with the Alphas. 

You watched quietly from behind the counter as the Alpha picked up the newest porn magazine from the rack and placed it in his basket after thumbing through a few pages. 

You wondered if the Alpha lived alone. He carried himself like a bachelor, you never saw him with an Omega, nor had he expressed any interest in any Omega that was in the store the same time he was, male or female. Maybe something was wrong with him physically that prevented him from having those hormone-driven urges that seemed to rule the Alpha and Omega community? 

Whatever the reason, the Alpha seemed to be almost done with his shopping, so he made his way over the counter with his basket, setting it down before finally looking up at you, giving you a tight smile before grabbing a few candy bars and adding them to his pile of stuff. 

You returned his smile with a little more enthusiasm than what was probably necessary, but you couldn’t help it. Alpha or not, the man was sex on two bowed legs, and you weren’t dead. 

Instead of speaking, when you had his total, you turned the screen to him so that he could read his total. This was your usual routine with the Alphas that came in the store; it was just safer.  

His piercing green eyes seemed to burn a little as he tilted his head to the side and looked at you, or as much of you as he could see through the counter. Something in his stare made you want to blush; even though Alphas and Betas were not compatible physically, you felt like he was sizing you up. You had no scent strong enough that he would be attracted to, and you weren’t anatomically able to take his knot, which from what you understand was necessary to fulfill his needs. 

You were 19 years old. If you were going to be anything other than a Beta by now you were positive you would have presented. You still had not, so the Alpha staring at you made you literally take a step back away from the counter, your heart rate spiking as hungry eyes watched you curiously, like he was noticing you for the first time even though you’d rang up his items a thousand times before. 

“What’s your name?” he grunts, and his baritone voice sends a shiver down your spine, landing somewhere deep in your stomach, making it do a flip of sorts. 

“Y/N,” you answer shortly, utterly unaccustomed to talking to Alphas. There was no one Alpha that you could recall that had ever spoken to you, and you had been working at this filling station since you were 16.

Your parents were killed by a demon when you were very small, and you were delivered to an Omega compound when you were only 12 by the man that saved your life. It was assumed you would present as an Omega because you came from what they all called a “pure” bloodline.  

Much to the community leaders disappointment you never presented. So they kicked you out on your ass to fend for yourself, and you were lucky to have landed this job, and the Omega owner let you sleep in the back part of the storehouse. 

Finding a place to live on your own as a beta, and at such a young one was virtually impossible, and you would have been dead by now if it wasn’t for her. You never told her about your past, and you never intended to, after all, who else in this twisted world would believe in demons.

The green-eyed Alpha leaned forward slightly, breathing in deeply, his nostrils flaring as he attempted to scent you from a distance, and you put your finger on the panic button just under the cigarette counter you were leaning against, ready to push it if he tried to cross the counter. Sure, you would probably be dead before the cops got there, but at least they would be able to find the security footage and maybe track him down. 

You didn’t know what triggered this behavior from him, he’d never done anything like this before, and you wondered if he had just scented the Omega that was previously here, and just thought it was you.

The Alpha placed a large hand on the counter, about to start making his way around it when the door dinged again, and a skinny Beta man you thought you’d never see again entered the store. 

“Dean! There you are? What’s taking so long buddy? Sam’s ready to get back to his Omega?” he said as he approached the green-eyed Alpha you now knew was named “Dean”, smiling as he noticed you standing behind the counter.

“Y/N? Little Y/N Y/L/N is that you?” he asked as he shoved the large Alpha aside, and leaned against the counter to talk to you. Earning himself a very disgruntled look from the Alpha and the Beta’s boldness. 

“Hey Garth, it’s been a while,” you said, smiling at him warmly. You had met Garth years ago when he showed up to the Omega community you were living at not long after you’d been dumped there, taking a few Omegas there for safety after he wrapped up a hunt in Salt Lake City. 

“No kidding! Look at you all grown up. What are you doing here?” he asked, totally ignoring Dean as his eyes narrowed, looking swiftly between yourself and Garth as if he was annoyed that he was missing something.

“Well, I never presented, so they marked me down as Beta when I was sixteen, I’ve been living and working here ever since. What are you doing here? There’s not another Demon around is there?” you asked, and before Garth could answer, Dean spoke up directly to Garth, who, for some reason, seemed completely unfazed by the large, and brooding Alpha leering at him.

“Wait a minute, what’s going on here? She knows about the life?” Dean said, pointing at you as if you were a piece of furniture, and you weren’t standing there at all. Typical Alpha male behavior, but you knew better than to call him out on it. 

“Yeah! A group of hunters saved her from a particularly nasty Demon when she wasn't but twelve, and dropped her off at the hunting Omega compound. Looks like that didn’t work out though.” Garth said, giving you an apologetic look. 

Dean turned his gaze to you, that same hungry look burning just below the surface as he took you in from head to toe. A deep growl low in his chest that made Garth burst into laughter, and you look at Garth as if he had finally lost his damn mind. 

“Just ignore Dean, he’s an old Alpha who’s on the edge of a rut for the first time in too long. His brother and his Omega just moved into their bunker up the road here, and it’s triggered his hormones again.” Garth said with an eye roll, totally ignoring Dean as his eyes widened, and he looked at Garth like he could rip his throat out with his teeth for divulging that little bit of information. 

“Come on Dean; we need to go, Sam’s gonna kill you if you wait any longer,” Garth said, grabbing the card from Dean’s pocket and throwing it on the counter for you to ring up his stuff. You quickly bagged his items, handed them to the Alpha along with his credit card as Garth blubbered on about something you weren’t even really listening to, doing all you could to ignore the burning, tingling feeling that the Alpha’s skin left on yours as your hand touched his. 

The rest of the day progressed much as every day would. You could have sworn you saw that black Impala he was driving when you closed up that night, but you thought you must be imagining things, and locked the door before making your way to your makeshift bedroom in the back of the warehouse. Falling into an uneasy sleep, that seemed to be haunted by green eyes. 

The next morning you trudged your way over to the front door to open up for the day, still rubbing your eyes and yawning widely. You didn’t see Dean until he pushed the door open almost on top of you before you could step back as if he was waiting on the door to open. You stumbled back out of his way in surprise, fully awake now. Dean said nothing, just came very close to you, scenting the air around you before tilting his head to look at you curiously. 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t move, hell you were too afraid to do anything but stand there holding on the counter next to the coffee pots. 

Leaning over your shoulder, Dean brushes his body against your own as he reaches behind you, and grabs a coffee cup, filling it with black coffee all while keeping you virtually pinned to the counter. His body moving over your much smaller frame made an involuntary shiver roll through your body as he pulled away from you, and made his way over to one of the small booth seats next to the window before making himself comfortable there. His green eyes followed your every move as you quickly made your way to hide behind the counter. 

Your entire body was shaking as you tried to get a grip on yourself, as well as your imagination that was running wild in your head. It was effectively putting all kinds of thoughts that shouldn’t be there, thoughts that were not only so far fetched they were laughable, but thoughts of Dean’s hands on your skin, thoughts of Dean’s powerful body moving above yours in a way that made you almost whimper. 

Shaking yourself,  you continue about your day, choosing to ignore the large Alpha once you have calmed down enough to move from behind the counter. Dean never left his booth except to go to the bathroom. He stayed there literally all day long, just watching your every move. Never speaking to you, never getting close to you again, just watching. When you closed that night, you had to finally speak directly to him, to get him out of there, even though you knew you weren’t supposed to address him without being addressed first. 

“Dean, I’m closing, you have to leave,” you tell him in a voice you hope sounded more confident than you felt. Dean said nothing, his green eyes racking over your body before he stands and leaves without so much as a word, and you lock the door quickly behind him.

The next week went on much of the same. Dean would be there as soon as the door unlocked. Thankfully you had learned to move when you opened the door. He’d take his seat in the booth after scenting you, then would stay there until you made him leave, just watching you. 

You knew Alphas could become possessive of Betas, it was rare, but it did happen. You also knew that possessive Alpha’s could be dangerous, and had the tendency to be violent towards the Betas they have become possessive over, or they could become brutal to people around them in general. 

Dean was an older Alpha. If you had to guess, he was in his early 40’s and unmated. Things like this happened when Alphas went unmated for too long. 

You tried to text Garth, but he didn’t answer, he was probably on a case somewhere. You knew Garth said that he was about to go into rut, and with Dean’s behavior as of late, you hoped that Garth was just joking. Cause a rut could mean he’d try and hurt you. 

The next day you didn’t see Dean all day long. You thought maybe he found something else to be focused on or obsessed with. That or Garth got your text, and alerted this Sam they were talking about to Dean’s strange behavior. Part of you was relieved, and part of you was disappointed. Sure, you knew you and Dean could never be a thing, and staring aside, he did make you feel a little safer when he was around, and he definitely made you blush every time he looked at you like he wanted to touch you. 

Three more days passed without Dean making an appearance, and you had all but gave up on ever seeing Dean again. You check to make sure everything is off before trudging your way towards the little bedroom you had made for yourself. Your mind on Dean, and not really on your surroundings, you almost miss the large man standing in your room when you turned your light off, almost, a possessive growl let you know you weren’t alone pretty quickly. 

The hair stood up on the back of your neck as you turned slowly to find Dean, standing in the middle of your room with nothing but a low hanging pair of sweats that were doing very little to hide his thick length that was straining against the fabric. 

Your core clenched around nothing, and a shiver ran through your body as you took in the Alpha, his broad shoulders and strong chest on full display as it rose and fell rapidly with each quickened breath, sweat prickling his skin as he stood in the dim light. His tattoo shines boldly on his chest,  you knew of as an anti possession tattoo from your time at the compound. You backed up and he took a step towards you, a deep purring coming from him as his lust blown eyes scanned your body. 

“Dean, you need to leave,” you tell him, knowing full well that wasn’t going to happen. He was in rut, and you were the object he’d chosen to fixate on, and now you were pretty sure he was going to kill you.

Dean, back you slowly towards your bed, growling low in his throat as his body came down over yours as you fell onto your bed. He was nuzzling his face deep in your neck, scenting you and purring as his teeth ran over your throat. 

“Dean, you need to stop, I’m not an Omega. We can’t do this, you will hurt me,” you beg him even though your body was screaming for the Alpha hovering over you, now nipping at the skin of your hroat.  

“Not an Omega, still mine. You want me, I can smell it,” he said as he ripped your shirt from your body as if the materially wasn’t made of anything at all. The cold air hitting your skin made you gasp, large hands roaming all the free skin as his mouth claimed yours dominating you easily. His tongue sliding over yours as his huge hands pulled your shorts and underwear from your body. He threw them to the floor before he discarded his own sweats. 

“Dean, think about this, I can’t take your knot, this isn’t going to do anything but frustrate you further,” you attempt to make him see reason, even though your body was arching into him as if he couldn’t get close enough, his thick cock sliding through your dripping folds, gathering as much of your slick as he could. Purring and licking at your throat as he did so.

Dean was huge, you had heard that Alphas were large, but Dean was so big that you weren’t sure he’d get in all the way. You’d only ever been with Betas before, and you were convinced that he was twice the size of any of them without his knot.

“Mine,” Dean growled against your skin as he pushed into you, fully seating himself inside of you in one thrust, surprising you. The stretching was almost painful: you had never felt so full in all of your life. Dean’s mouth fell open in an inhuman growl as his lips latched around your nipple, sucking and biting as his hips began to snap into yours. He pulled himself almost all the way out before fully penetrating you again. Each powerful thrust on the edge of pure bliss and too much. 

You were almost sure that you could practically scent him as he continued to pound himself into your body, over and over again hitting that stop deep down inside of you that no one had ever been able to reach before. Purrs and growls falling from his lips as teeth repeatedly grazed the same spot on your neck. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach with each powerful thrust, and before long, you were coming undone around him. Dean continued to fuck you through it. Groaning and sucking a mark onto your shoulder as spots appeared before your vision. 

Your head lulled back as you came down from your high. Dean’s body continued to slam into your own. 

That’s when you felt it, the stinging pain that was the beginnings of his knot. You knew he was about to split you open, and you did everything you could to get him off of you, scratching, and biting seemed to only push him on. Possessive growls left his lips with each thrust into your abused heat.

“Dean, please stop, I can’t,” you begged him as you felt his knot start to swell further, and pain began to radiate through your body. Dean was too far gone, an animalistic look on his face as he quickened his pace. 

You screamed as his knot popped, locking the two of you together as he came, his teeth sank deep into the skin of your throat as your mouth fell open in a scream that never came out. Your vision goes black as indescribable pain radiated through your body. The last thing you remember was Dean purring above you as everything faded to black.

Time seemed to be moving at a strange pace after that. You would get flashes of what you only assumed could be reality because of the blinding pain radiating through our body. You could have sworn you heard Dean apologizing to you between whining noises as he carried you somewhere. Then there was the sound of the Impala starting, after that, you didn't know much. Except for pain, you knew pain because it felt like it was burning through every fiber of your being. 

When you woke up again, the pain was gone, but the first thing you saw was fiery red hair, making you jump, which caused pain to shoot through your body again.

“Easy there, dear, you’ve been through a lot; let’s not move around too quickly,” her thick accent and motherly voice seemed soothing to you, and you slowly tried to calm your breathing.

“Where am I? Who are you?” you asked, eyes shooting around the room that looked like an old infirmary. 

“You’re in the Men of Letters Bunker. Poor Dean brought you here after he almost killed you.” 

Your heart rate spiked up at the thought of Dean. You didn’t know if you were afraid of him, or more anxious to see him again. The whining sound he was making as he carried you to his car was still so clear in your ears, and even though he did this to you, something in you told you that he didn’t mean to do it. That he wasn’t in control, he would have never hurt you of his own free will. If so, he wouldn’t have brought you here, but instead left you there to die. 

“Where is Dean?” you asked her as she fussed over your neck bandages where Dean had bitten you. 

“He’s locked in his room until he is out of his rut, not by choice mind you, he’s not happy about being kept away from you. He should be out of it by the end of the day. Last I checked on him, and he will be happy to hear you're awake, the name’s Rowena by the way, “ she said as she walked over to the old book sitting at a table in the corner of the room. 

You watched as the older Omega woman flipped through the old book's pages in front of her, adding ingredients to the bowl sitting on the table next to her.

“Why did he do this to me?” you asked her just as the door opened and closed with Garth, and another very large Alpha entered the room with long brown hair.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Rowena here is the best witch in the business, and if there’s a way to solve this, she can.” Garth said as he flopped down at the foot of your bed. “This is Sam, by the way, Dean’s little brother.” 

Sam nodded politely at you before making his way over to Rowena. 

“What we don’t understand is why my brother tried to claim and knot a beta. He doesn’t understand it either. All we can get out of him is that you're his mate and that he needs to see you. I'm sure you don’t want that to happen, especially after what he did to you, so we’ve locked him in his room.” Sam said, his eyes barely leaving the book.

“I’ve heard of a lot of strange things, but I’ve never heard of an Alpha trying to claim and knot a beta as if she was an Omega, and then calling her his mate,” Garth said. 

“He’s been following me around for days now, and then he just showed up and…”

You were cut off by a banging on the door, followed by a loud whining, you recognized as Dean. Rowena’s eyes flashed a purple color, and she turned to smile at everyone in the room as the incessant whining and banging continued. 

“Don’t worry, he’s not getting through that door, you should rest Dear,” she told you as the room started to get fuzzy, you were sure she was the cause of your sudden drowsiness in attempt to keep you from further agitating Dean, but you didn’t have time to respond to her before you fell back into a deep sleep. 

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

The next thing you remember is feeling warm, very warm, as if a body was pressed against yours. That’s what made your eyes snap open to see Dean’s worried gaze as he lay in the bed next to you, your body scooped up and pressed tight against his own, holding onto you as if he could protect you from all danger. 

Deep whines mixed with purrs filled the room as he nuzzled himself into you gently, scenting you deeply as if he could scent you.

“This is a Bad Idea,” Sam’s voice came from the other side of the room. He was clearly keeping his distance from the Alpha that was holding you. 

“He’s not going to hurt her, Sam,” Rowena said. Shifting very close to you, setting a bowl down next to you with strange ingredients inside. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I swear I would have never done that if I could have stopped, I would have, I never wanted to hurt you,” Dean mumbled, kissing your forehead gently as if you were some fragile thing. His large body all but covering your protectively as you fought against your groggy state. 

“We think we know what the problem is,” Garth said from somewhere behind Dean. “See all those years ago, that Demon must have done something to you, sort of like what Azazel did to Sam. You were an experiment. One that intended to turn Omega’s into Beta’s before they even presented. There are traces of the Omega gene in your blood. Crowley mentioned something about it a long time ago, but we didn’t know he was successful. The only explanation is that you were Dean’s true mate, and he can somehow still sense it, which is why he went almost feral and tried to claim you.” 

You could almost feel the anxiety rolling off of Dean’s body, and you instinctively nuzzled his hold, earning purrs of approval from the Alpha above you. 

“See that, she senses he’s nervous, and she’s trying to comfort him. She’s his Omega, I just got to get the spell right to fix this,” Rowena said, shuffling around in her bowl.

“So what are you all gonna do to me?” you asked as Dean tightened the covers around the both of you, pulling you deeper into him.

“We’re going to turn you into an Omega,” Sam says, handing Rowena a strange vile of something to add to her bowl. 

You look up at Dean nervously, and he places his lips softly on yours in a chaste kiss. 

“It’s gonna be okay; I wouldn’t let them do this if it was going to hurt you. They’re just gonna fix what that sick asshole did to you all those years ago.” Dean said, his deep baritone voice was comforting to you, and you could swear that you could almost feel the bond between the two of you, and you were still technically a beta. 

“Okay, dear, we’re ready,” Rowena said as she placed the bowl on the bed next to you, and you buried your face in Dean’s throat. 

You could hear her making incantations, and things first. Then a strange tingling started to stretch through your body. Scents became stronger; you could smell Dean first. His own mouth-watering musk, mixed with evergreen and gunpowder, then Sam, and Rowena.

Your skin started to heat up as Dean’s body tense above your own, purring as Rowena ended her spell. Pressing his nose to your neck he scented you deeply. 

Your body felt new, refreshed even. The soreness that was there from what Dean had done was gone, and you could feel everything Dean felt. Every emotion, every fear. It was all so overwhelming. Reaching up, you pulled the bandage away from your neck, revealing the mark Dean had left there. His claim still shines against your skin, as even though you knew he thought it would be gone.

Rowena clapped her hands behind you as Dean ran his tongue along the claiming mark on your neck, and slick started to gather at your thighs in response to your Alpha. “Well, my job here is done. Call me if you all need me, oh and enjoy, dear,” she said, patting Dean on the shoulder as she made her way to the door. Dean picked you up bridal style, making his way towards his room that would now be your room.

Not stopping until he had you laid down on his bed, lying down close to you before pulling you into him, purring as he nipped at the skin of your throat. 

“My Omega,” he purred against you, an overwhelming feeling of peace washing over you with each touch of his large, warm hand against your small frame.

“My Alpha,” you tell him, nuzzling closer to him, letting his scent wash over you in waves. 

“I thought you didn’t exist, I thought I was doomed to die alone. Then when I found you, I thought I had lost my mind. Then when I came to myself in your room… I’m so sorry, Omega, I will never hurt you again,” Dean said, his voice cracking as he pulled his clothes from his body, throwing them to the floor as you did the same. Desperate to feel your Alpha’s skin on yours. Heat roars through your veins as his body wrapped around yours, his half-hard cock resting on your thighs as he settles himself to lay between your legs. 

You place your small hand on his chest as his lips claim yours in an intoxicating kiss before rolling himself on top of you. Grinding his hips against yours, rutting his hardening length against your clit as the first wave of cramps rolls through your stomach of your first heat. Slick gushing over him as he pressed himself against your entrance, knowing what your body needed, and ready to give it to you. The foreplay could come later; right now, he just needed to be as close to you as possible.

“It’s okay Alpha. In a lot of ways, I’m so glad you found me. I was sleeping in a storage closet for fucks sakes.”

Dean growled as he entered you slowly in one smooth thrust. The amount of slick your body was creating made a smooth entrance, and he held himself still inside of you as his lips claimed yours. Your walls fluttering around his throbbing length as your body welcomed him like a missing piece that finally was in place after being lost for so long. Both of you groaned in relief as he filled you.

“Gonna take care of you Omega, no more sleeping in storage rooms. I can’t give you much, but I can give you all that I have, and I can protect you with everything in me.” 

Dean hips snap into you in a rough thrust as his instincts begin to take over, and your heat starts to take the forefront of his attention.

“I’m all yours Alpha. Always will be.”

There was a lot you still had to learn about being an Omega, and you still didn't even know your Alpha really, but you knew one thing, you were so glad he found you. Pain and all, it was worth it.

Fate always finds a way, even with everything against you. In the most unlikely places, even after you gave up hope. That’s one lesson you will never forget. 

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

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @demazikeen @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6

Unlikely Places Tags:

@massivelycreepypineapple @woodworthti666​ @babylorielei @chubby-dumplin​ @gublergirls​

[sodalitefully]

what about some vulnerable axl? (slaxl)

(Thank you for being patient, anon!  I got this ask a while ago and decided I wanted to respond to it as a soulmate AU, so I held off on posting until it was time to kick off my soulmate-themed request event.  Expect a post with more info on that very soon!)

----

The shitty rehearsal space the band rented for 15 bucks an hour was so suffocatingly hot and stuffy that Axl could feel his breath clinging to his throat.  He felt damp, lightheaded, and uncomfortably tight in the chest...

But maybe it wasn't the rehearsal space at all.  Maybe it was the expectant gaze his guitarist was leveling at him from across the room.  

Slash was sprawled out on the ratty, threadbare couch, his guitar safely within arm's reach as always.  To Axl, he was the very picture of contented lethargy with his legs spread and outstretched, one of his arms laid out on the back of the seat while the other dragged a cigarette butt through the ashtray beside him.  He was wearing a pair of brutally shredded jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders; nothing special – but then, with Slash, it didn't have to be.

As usual, his soulmarks were shamelessly on display. Thorny stems climbed the blue veins of his wrists, each crowned with a lush, jewel-toned rose creating a wide cuff of blossoms around each of his forearms.  Tucked inside a well-loved pair of cowboy boots, Axl knew that both of his ankles bore matching bouquets.  

Slash didn't give a shit about who saw his marks; never had as long as Axl had known him.  Everyone on the damn Strip had seen his soulmarks, and sometimes Axl thought that if his mark was as beautiful, he'd show it off too.  But the truth was, he'd never showed his to anyone, ever.  Not his mother, not his girlfriends, not even Izzy.  

At least, not yet.  

"So..." Slash drawled, eyeing him as he lit a fresh cigarette.  "...You wanted to talk about something?"

"Right," Axl said, reminding himself more than Slash.  He wanted to do this, to be open and honest with Slash – even if doing so felt like handing Slash the keys to drive a truck over his heart.  "I want..."  He took a deep breath.  "I want to show you my soulmark."

"...Okay," Slash responded after a pause, carefully measured and even. He leaned forward, attentive but still as outwardly calm as ever.  

Axl almost resented him for it, how the fuck was Slash always so composed?  No matter what he was feeling, Slash knew how to maintain a front of impenetrable coolness.  He wanted Slash to be shocked or angry or even disgusted, to ask why the fuck he'd ever wanna see his mark and freak out so that Axl could freak out in return, buying him time to work up his nerve and justifying the panic he was struggling to suppress. 

Instead, the only noise in a room oozing with tension was the sound of Axl's breath, unnaturally heavy and rasping in his own ears as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans and pushed the waistband down over his right hip.  

"It's on my leg," he warned, so Slash wouldn't think he was about to flash his dick at him.  He turned a little to the side and, there – on the outside of his thigh, just below his hipbone, was a musical staff.

Five parallel lines, a treble clef, and eight notes that Axl knew by heart.

He might as well have shown Slash his dick, he felt equally exposed.  He waited a few seconds, resisting the urge to squirm while Slash got his eyeful, then decided enough was enough and pulled his jeans back into place.  He was more comfortable with his mark concealed, but his breath still caught when he finally looked up to meet Slash's gaze.

Slash was silent, his hair pushed out of his eyes and his lip caught nervously between his teeth.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" 

"Axl, I can't read music."  

...Oh.  

"Right."

That was why he was doing this in the rehearsal room, after all.  In addition to the grimy couch, the room also provided an ancient, beaten-down upright piano that was almost-but-not-quite in tune. Axl's heart was pounding as he turned around and walked over to the piano shoved against the opposite wall, his blood rushing louder than it ever had at his piano recitals as a child.  

When he sat down, he heard Slash rise and pad across the room to stand closer to him, but he couldn't turn to face him.  Instead, he took a deep breath and held his trembling fingers over the keys.

He'd played these notes a thousand times before, and he lied to himself that this time wasn't any different.  Muscle memory took over as his hands came to rest on the keys, and a familiar tune filled the studio, a tune they’d recently come to know as the introduction to Sweet Child O Mine.

When he finished, Axl continued to stare down at the piano for a long silent moment.  The keys were stained with age and worn down by oily fingertips, leaving rough gray patches and hairline cracks where a decade ago there was nothing but slippery ivory.  Why wouldn't Slash say anything?  The smell of cigarettes burned his nostrils as Slash exhaled a lazy plume of white smoke.  Axl heard a soft laugh, and his heart dropped.  

He was wrong.  He was an idiot to have faith in something as irrational as a soulmark, finding your soulmate just didn't happen for people like him.  He was wrong, or else... he just wasn't good enough for –

He flinched when Slash's arms wrapped gently around his shoulders, startling him out of his thoughts.  "Play it again," the guitarist requested.

"What?"  Axl twisted in Slash's embrace, finally facing his – his soulmate?  Slash was smiling at him, practically glowing.

"You're happy?"

"Why wouldn't I be?  I finally know what your soulmark is," he giggled.  "So that's why you got so excited about that little riff..."

"So I really am your –"

"Soulmate?  Of course you are, Rosie."  Slash unfolded his hands, baring the marks on his wrists as if to say, Who else could they be for?  

"You knew?" Axl accused.  In his eyes, it wasn't so simple: Rose could be a woman's name, or someone's favorite flower, or a symbol of how the two soulmates would meet – there was no real way to tell what a soulmark would mean until you felt it.  And even when he finally did, when heard Slash play those familiar notes as a warmup exercise of all things... Axl was too afraid to trust himself.

"Well, when we first met, I felt so certain it had to be you!  But then you saw my marks and you didn't say anything for so long that I was starting to worry..."  Slash's eyes darted downward and his smile turned a little sadder.  "I'm really relieved that your mark matches," he confessed.  

"I –"  It was finally starting to sink in.  Slash wanted to be his soulmate.  Slash wanted him.  "I'm relieved too," he said, and it was true – he'd never felt so fucking relieved in his entire life.

His eyes stung.  He tried to duck away to hide the drops welling in the corners of his eyes, but Slash sat down beside him on the bench and pulled Axl into an even tighter embrace.  

With his nose pressed into the crook of Slash’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of smoke and shampoo that clung to his curls, Axl choked on a sob. It was just too much to hold in, years of doubt and uncertainty finally spilled over in the form of salty tears as he shook in Slash’s arms and clung to his chest. It fucking figured that the first thing he did after finding his soulmate was to have a breakdown, but Axl was beyond caring. The more he cried, the more his fear was replaced by relief, hope, and comfort that he hadn’t felt in years. 

"Shh. Hey," Slash murmured soothingly in his ear.  He stroked Axl’s  back and his hair, undeterred by his soulmate’s emotional display or by the tears soaking into his shirt. 

"It's okay.  I’m here."

----

[keijikunn]

Memories ─ part i

── A @celestialarchiveshq collab “Connected by fate”

Pairing: Semi Eita x fem!reader Tags: college!au, kinda angst i guess, fluff, SLOW BURN, maybe strangers to lovers!au Summary: On the last day of the year, you dream of your soulmate’s most impactant memory that happened within the year. Each memory will be different each year. Word count: ~3.6k

Author’s note: I’m late and I’m so so sorry! I said I’d comeback by the end of January, but here we are in March lol. I can explain why I took so long in another post, if you want, but anyways. Here’s my piece from the soulmate!au collab from @celestialarchiveshq ! I decided to break it into pieces, because so far I have 9k words and you don’t deserve this. Anyways, hope you enjoy and stay tunned for the next part!

WARNINGS: insecurity, mention of injury (it’s a broken arm), self-esteem issues, let me know if I forgot anything 

MEMORIES’ MASTERLIST

You didn’t know who your soulmate was, the little information you had about them was that you only knew they were a boy and had a huge passion for volleyball and music. But one thing that you knew for sure about him was that he desperately needed a hug. Not because he’s supposedly your partner for life, your one true love, your missing piece. No. Your soulmate mark taught you things are more than that, that there’s more colours than just black and white, more than just simple and exact definitions. 

Being able to access his most important memory of the year through a dream was both a blessing and a curse. The first one is quite obvious, it meant your soulmate had overall a good year, no bad day overshadowed the good ones. However, when the second case occurred, it pained you to know that he went through a lot, and you couldn’t do anything. 

It was hard to predict how much a couple of consecutive bad memories could have changed your soulmate. Knowing only an hour or so piece of the 8760 hours of the last year, let you little to no room to guess how he coped with it. You couldn’t help but think what did he do to deserve all the insecurities and self-doubt he’s been receiving. What happened to the sweet boy that still believed hard work was worthy?

2004 (age of 10)

Your soulmate was running towards his front door, ignoring his young sister’s whines to slow down, but he didn’t pay attention. He was eager to see what was the surprise his father told him before he left for school. What could it be? Your soulmate’s voice, a pitch higher due to his age, resonated inside his head. 

“Mom, dad, I’m home!” He exclaimed, kicking out his shoes to quickly enter the living room; only to receive a stern look from his mother, pointing with her fingers his shoes, indicating he had to organize it. “Okay, I’m doing it.”

“Mom! Nii-chan didn’t wait for me when I asked!” His sister, Aime, complained, closing the door behind her. 

The older woman scolded the young boy, who scratched the back of his neck, apologizing to his sister next. The feeling of excitement filled his body once again when his father, still wearing the shirt and pants from his suit, appeared in his vision, holding a large package. 

“Welcome back, kids.” He grinned, placing the mysterious box on the floor to spread his arms so Aime could jump into his embrace. Your soulmate did not waste time to approach his father, who messed up with his hair. “Son, are you ready for your surprise?”

“It’s not fair that nii-chan’s getting a present! It’s not even his birthday.” Aime whined, both parents exchanged a brief smile, before the mother held onto her shoulders, guiding her to sit on the sofa next to her brother. He was almost jumping on his seat, bouncing his legs as if that motion would stop him from throwing himself at the box to open it. 

“The reason why me and mama decided to gift nii-chan is because he listened very well to us,” the older man started to explain. “Do you remember what he asked us a few months ago, Aime?”

“I asked if I could get my own guitar!” Your soulmate piped in, almost bursting into happiness as he connected the dots. 

“And we talked to you two about it, right?” Their mother continued, instigating her children to remember the topic of that conversation. 

“Mama and papa said that if we dedicate ourselves to something we really want, they could get us what we asked.” The young girl replied obediently. 

“Nii-chan has been dedicating himself to his guitar lessons, so we thought about rewarding his hard work.” Their dad finally announced what your soulmate had guessed all along, a smile spreading on his face. After receiving a light nod from them, the boy immediately put his hands on the wrap, tearing it apart to reveal a beautiful guitar. “We’re expecting extra hard work from now on, buddy.”

“I will!” He exclaimed, hugging both parents tightly, cheeks hurting from his large grin. “Thank you so much!!”

September, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

The memories were blurred in your mind, though all feelings and sensations burned in your heart whenever you remembered it. You always saw them in your soulmate’s perspective, being privileged enough to have a piece of his happiness - or cursed to feel the sadness that washed over in other years. 

It was perhaps his fault that you got so hooked on music and learned how to truly appreciate it, you somehow felt connected with him, as if it was a language only you two knew. It didn’t really matter the genre of the music, you could listen to an indie band from your college or a worldwide superstar; your heart knew how to stay tuned to different frequencies, absorbing the perfect high notes to the bass riff that made your bones shake.

That was how you met this eccentric lead vocal and guitarist from a rock-ish band in your college department, a guy with ash blonde hair, narrowed eyes and a voice filled with unsaid emotions. Semi Eita appeared to be angry at anyone at any time of the day, quick to offer snarky replies with his sharp tongue. It could be just a persona he created as his band progressively became well-known around college, or could be just himself and his lack of interest in people in general. 

You got to know him through your friend - and the band’s drummer - Akihiko, after one of their performances on a local live-house most college students go on a Friday night. Semi sat far from his bandmates, who were talking excitedly with each other and a couple of friends, with the same scowl you’ve seen in a picture Akihiko once showed you. 

“Guys, this is my friend Y/n,” he introduced you as soon as you two entered the small backstage room reserved for the performers. “She’s really into music, so I decided to invite her to one of our presentations.”

“It’s nice to meet you all!” You exchanged greetings, while you noticed the lead vocal just rolled his eyes and busied himself with his phone. “I enjoyed it a lot today! I could feel every instrument resonating through my body. Please invite me for your next performance!”

Throughout the whole night you hang out with the band, Semi stayed quiet on his own, enjoying a bottle of beer too lost inside his head. His bandmates reassured you he was fine, the guy wasn’t a fan of gathering with friends or any sort of social contact - which was ironic to say the least, after all, he spends his free time entertaining people. 

Despite the singer’s wish to avoid contact, many girls - and guys - approached him perhaps to initiate a small talk, or maybe to end up on a secluded corner of the live-house with their mouths on his. His quite mysterious façade was intriguing, you even admitted it to yourself, as a possible explanation to his “fame” around people, and maybe that was the reason he attracted many people. 

You only got the chance to have a proper conversation with him on the next band rehearsal, which Aikihiko invited you per the other’s request. Inside the soundproof studio, you sat on a chair across Semi, who was too busy tuning his guitar to care about your gaze on him. He still sported the same scowl in his face, however, this time you could notice a hint of excitement - maybe even a silent love towards his instrument and what he was able to do with it. 

“Are you done staring at me?” Semi asked angrily, lifting his head from the tuning keys he had just finished adjusting. “Why are you here? Aren’t you Akihiko’s hookup or something?”

“First of all, ew!” You exclaimed, face contorting in a grimace at the thought. “I know him too well to feel attracted! Besides, he permanently smells like cigarettes, it’s awful.”

“Just wait until he arrives, the studio will be infested by this shit.” He replied with a huff, rubbing his hand against his face. “For real, though, why are you here?”

“The other guys invited me to watch you practice,” you said, then leaning down to grab a notebook from your bag by your foot on the floor. “They think watching you play will help me with an activity I have to turn in before the winter break.”

“What is it?” Semi seemed interested, you noticed, putting his guitar on its support, crossing his left leg. Although you two were talking for a couple of minutes, you still felt a cold barrier between you two. It was quite noticeable as how the lead singer guided the conversation, questioning you and your reasons to be there.

“I attend the music course as an extracurricular activity, and I have to produce a song by the end of the semester.” The room fell in silence, but you could almost hear the gears in Semi’s head turning. “And I’m also here to convince you to sing for my project.”

“No.”

“Expected.” You laughed amused as Semi’s eyebrow twitched at your response. “Do you like barbecue? I can take you to an expensive restaurant as a payment.”

“You’re not gonna bribe me.” He stated, narrowing his eyes to send you sharp looks. In response, you smirked at his reaction. Just like Akihiko told me he would react.

“You’re right, I’m not gonna bribe you,” you mirrored his posture: left leg over the right one, arms crossed on the chest. But, contrary to him, you opened a smile, though your eyes screamed at the challenge in front of you. “I’m going to make you agree with me.” 

October, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

A month has passed since your very first talk with Semi Eita, and although you didn’t make any progress regarding your project, you’re getting to know a bit more about the real Semi - not just the cold façace he shows. He is indeed quick with comebacks, hot tempered - especially when he’s talking about music, the boy stands still for his beliefs in what would be better for the band - but, Semi seems to have a huge wall separating his deepest sides from his friends. As if something holds him back from being true to his feelings. 

“C’mon, Semi, we’re having a movie night,” Akihiko whined once again. “Stop watching this volleyball game and let me start choosing the movie!”

“He won’t budge Akihiko, it’s his friends playing.” The bassist, Takeshi, laughed at the rather unilateral discussion: the lead singer’s eyes were still trained on the screen, watching carefully every movement; while the drummer tried to snatch the remote control from the other’s grip. “You should know by now that he analyses carefully every Ushiwaka’s movements to scold him later.”

“I don’t do that!” Semi spoke up, diverting his gaze from the TV, proceeding to push Akihiko away from him. “Ushijima doesn’t need my comments. He never did, anyways.”

“So, the famous Semi Eita is also a sportist?” You teased him, nudging his left left leg with your foot, since you were half laying on the couch. “And has his phone number? Impressive.”

“Our lead singer had the honour to play on the same team as Ushijima Wakatoshi.” Akihiko threw his arm forcefully around the ash blond haired boy, earning a groan in protest. “And played against the Adlers’ setter, right? And you lost, right?”

“You don’t have to remember me, Akihiko-san, thank you very much.” He removed his bandmate over himself to look at you. “And I’m not a sportist.”

“How come not, Semi?” Takeshi retorted rhetorically, the smile on his face gave away his enjoyment in teasing him. “You had a sport scholarship in Shiratorizawa, you have to be at least great in volleyball!”

“Yeah…” Semi muttered lowly, lowering his gaze to the wooden floor of Akihiko’s apartment, clearly bothered by the turn the conversation took. “Choose the movie, I’ll make the popcorn.”

As he left the room, the other two guys exchanged looks, and you kind of deduced they went too far in this topic. To say you were curious about why him attending such a powerhouse school was delicate was an understatement, the urge to get up and follow him to the kitchen and shoot him questions was undeniable high - but you weren’t a senseless person.

Another part of Semi Eita’s personality presented itself to you, holding as many secrets as the façade he shows to everyone else does. You couldn’t help but think about how many experiences he went through to close himself like that, but more than that, you tried to imagine what kind of story Semi could tell through a song. That was the reason why you wanted so bad his participation in your project. 

Semi Eita could tell a great story if he wanted to. And you would try your best to make it happen. 

2008 (age of 14)

Your soulmate slowly dragged himself back home from school, body sore and longing for a long hot shower to relieve the stress of his muscles. Finals were taking a toll on him, especially when he was about to graduate middle school and needed to pave his way to good high schools. The sidewalk was slightly slippery due to the recent melted snow, droplets of water occasionally hitting his uniform’s pants near his ankles. 

Soon enough, he found himself opening the front door, being welcomed by a warmer environment. The young boy removed his shoes and heavy coat, greeting tiredly his mother and sister, who were both in the kitchen making dinner. Your soulmate headed to his bedroom ready to throw himself on his bed, wishing the mattress could swallow him. However, as soon as he turned the lights on, a white envelope with a familiar purple logo on the table caught his attention.

His hands worked quickly in tearing the material apart, removing a single sheet from the inside. The euphoria already dominated his senses, eyes barely proceeding to read the name of the institution at the top of the paper - but he knew which one was. His eyes scanned the words, eagerly searching for what he was wishing to himself for the past few weeks. 

“Mom!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, running out of his room to find her. “I made it! With a sports scholarship!”

“Oh my gosh, congratulations!” The woman cheered, drying her hands on her apron to involve her son in a tight embrace. His cheeks hurt from how wide he was smiling, but the bursting sensation of pride in his chest made up for that.

I am good at something, after all. I made it to a huge school through my volleyball abilities. 

I’m not replaceable. 

Mid October, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

“What the heck happened to you?” The words left your mouth before you could even think after you entered the usual studio the band usually rehearses. Akihiko was seated behind his set of drums, scrolling aimlessly through his phone; and Takeshi finished setting up his bass on the amplifiers. But what surprised you the most was the cast on Semi’s left arm, holding it in a position he couldn’t stretch it. 

“Hi, Y/n,” Semi waved cynically with his right hand, “I am fine, thank you for worrying about my well being.”

“We need your help.” Both Akihiko and Takeshi said. 

“Why do I feel it’s related to the fact Semi broke his arm?” You questioned, glaring at the lead vocal suspiciously. 

“The band has a presentation in a week and Semi can’t play the guitar for obvious reasons,” the bassist started approaching you, offering you a bright yellow pick - which you accepted, still not sure about the end of the conversation. “We’re lacking a guitarist, but Akihiko said you’re pretty good, right?”

“Uh… maybe?” 

“What Takeshi is trying to say is,” Semi cut his bandmate, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “We need you to play the guitar as support for our next concert.”

It was unexpected, you thought with yourself, by the little you knew about Semi and his relation to music, you imagined he would ask any close friend of his that he trusted. Perhaps Akihiko mentioned you know how to play, he could have even shown him a few recordings you did in the college studio. Either way, hearing Semi inviting you was a surprise. 

“Sure, I guess?” Your answer sounded more like a question, evidencing your state of confusion and unsureness. “Wouldn’t you guys want someone else, though?”

“No.” The ash blonde hair boy answered without hesitation, once again surprising you. “You’ll do it just fine.”

You quickly exchanged looks with Akihiko, in hopes to discover that it was a huge prank or even a childish comeback from Semi regarding your stubbornness of having his vocals on your project. However, the drummer nodded his head; his facial expression didn’t give any sign of mischievousness like it usually does.

Semi stopped in front of you, handing you his own guitar. The instrument felt foreigner in your grasp, as if a simple guitar held secrets and hidden feelings of its owner - and it might do. You felt oddly connected to the guy in front of you, the same one who denied every invite of yours to sing for a couple of minutes for an extracurricular project. 

As your fingers strummed the strings, you noticed how perfectly tuned the guitar was and you were quickly to mentally facepalm yourself. It’s obvious Semi Eita would take such a good care of his guitar, the boy loved music after all. After adjusting the strap over your shoulder to fit your much smaller stature than the owner’s, you played a couple of chords to make the final adjustments on the amplifiers. 

“So, tell me the setlist I need to work on.” The three men smiled gratefully at you - though Semi’s looked more like a grimace, but you understood. They proceeded to fill you up with plenty of songs and minor details you should be aware of about their style, rearragended chords.

The hours flew by while you were in the studio with the band, the four of you fell in a good synchronization - if an outsider saw the rehearsal, they would never guess you weren’t the main guitarist. Playing with them felt familiar, all your frequencies merged into one smoothly, even easily. You adapted yourself to Akihiko’s excitement and Takeshi’s quirks during his solos, but the easiest one to work with was Semi. 

His style of singing fitted perfectly with your own strumming habits, even the occasional exchange of looks was easily understood between you two. He seems to be too arrogant on stage, pretending as if he was the best amaetur performer in college - but in a sense, Semi could think like this. The way he easily went with the flow with a new element in the studio, someone he has never seen playing before. 

“Great job, guys!” Akihiko exclaimed, clapping his hands a couple of times. You put the yellow pick on the top of the amplifier and cracked your knuckles, feeling your fingers a little stiff from the almost two hours rehearsal. And you did well, Y/n, you even remembered all the chords!”

“Akihiko!” Your whine made both the drummer and the bassist laugh. “I can remember things, okay?”

“Then tell me why can’t you remember your soulmate’s memories?” He wiggled his eyebrows, daring you to answer him. When you didn’t reply, he snorted. “You can’t even defend yourself on that! Anyway, we rented the studio for another hour, but I have some business to solve at home. Feel free to stay until the end, okay? Thank you for the practice!”

“Thank you.” You smiled, sending off the drummer. While you quietly went through the songs you weren’t familiar in the setlist, Takeshi bid farewell to you and Semi - leaving you two alone. “If you wanna leave, just let me know and I’ll stop, okay?”

“You are good,” Semi complimented you, not answering your statement. “Akihiko-san wasn’t lying after all, you are indeed good.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” The studio was filled with rhythmical strums, following your favourite song of the list while you quietly hummed the lyrics. “I suppose Akihiko showed you a few things I did for the course.”

“Actually, he didn’t,” His response caught you off guard, your right hand stopping its motion in the middle of the song’s bridge. “And I suggested your name as support. I kind of wanted to see what’s up with you and music.”

“And what do you think, Semi?”

“Why do you want me to sing your song for the project?” He asked, ignoring your question completely. You arch your eyebrows in surprise, earning the same gesture - as if he was inciting you to answer him. 

“I strongly believe that music has an unique power to deliver messages. It could be the lyrics, the instrumental or just the performance… everything has a meaning.” You stated, adjusting the guitar in your lap properly; eyes fixed on the man in front of you. “From my point of view, after watching you perform and how you interact with music, I imagined you have some deep feelings buried inside of you that could be delivered through a song. Somebody could relate to you and feel grateful for you expressing something they might couldn’t.”

“I’ll do it.” Semi said after a few seconds in silence, surprising you. When you looked at his face, a small smile adorned his features. You mirrored his expression, though yours were much larger in order to convey your happiness. 

COLLAB MASTERLIST!

SEARCH FOR A BOOK!

General taglist

Bold users couldn’t be tagged!

@whootwhoot​ @nikkiandherrandomshits​

Wanna be tagged? Click here!

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Collateral (Smoke and Mirrors)

(A/N: A post-Feinster conversation between Brom and Arya. The whole end of Brisingr has so many implications for reawakening trauma for everyone, especially these two. 

I want to make it abundantly clear, Brom and Arya never have and never will have any sort of romantic/couples thing between them! They’re more of father/daughter, mentor/student and traumatized war buddies. They’ve known each other so long that there’s a lot of trust and understanding between them concerning their traumas and the ways they cope. Anyway, cheers!)

~~~~~~~~~~    

“What the hell! Brom!” 

The elder Rider jerked, nearly inhaling the entire half smoked cigarette that he held to his lips. He whipped around to face his accuser as he choked on the ash he had sucked in, his first words of protest lost when he immediately had to double over in an attempt to clear his irritated lungs.

Arya scowled from where she had stopped not a yard behind her mentor, arms crossed as she waited for Brom to finish his coughing fit. The elf hadn’t exactly planned to seek him out after leaving Eragon and Saphira to rest at the house they now occupied as the Varden secured Feinster, instead looking for a place to sleep in the sacked city. But the steady trail of smoke from behind the corner of a half collapsed stone building had drawn her eye.

“The pipe? That’s fine! I could live with that! You sourced your own stock. But this shit?” Arya plucked the smoldering stick from his fingers as Brom began to raise his hands in defense. “For fucks sake, you know what’s in them! Enough’s enough!” She threw the cigarette to the sandy gutter beside the house and ground it out with her heel. 

Brom finally managed a handful of words edgewise. “I’m out of pipe weed. The whole city is out.” Grumbling to himself as stepped back to lean against the wall, he began fishing his hands in the pockets of his coat. Arya’s eyes narrowed when his hands reappeared holding a beaten, half empty pack of Talon Filtereds and a squashed box of matches. “Don’t start with me again, girl. I’m not in the mood.”

As usual, his former student ignored him. “You’re chain smoking again?” Her words were sharp, almost accusing, but beneath it all edged a hint of worry.

Brom snorted, pale smoke venting from his nostrils as the cigarette caught and held. He took a deep inhale, let the feeling circulate in his lungs, before releasing a stream of grief and anger with the acrid vapor. “Would you rather I drink?”

Arya growled quietly and fell back against the wall next to him. This wasn’t a battle she could win, and she knew it. That didn’t change the way she felt. “No, I want you to deal with your fucking emotions in a healthy way.”

At that the Rider let out harsh bark of laughter and a cloud of white. “Look who’s talking, girl! Wait, what’s that?” He held up a hand and sniffed the nicotine laden air theatrically. “Do you smell that? Suddenly it reeks of hypocrisy here!” 

The elf gave a wry grin, the pain behind her own bottled up grief and night terrors tugging at her lips. “...Touché.”

They stood together in silence for a handful of minutes, haloed by smoke and the dim glow of the lanterns that replaced shattered street lights. 

The previous battle was unique for them. It had reopened old wounds that had just started to scab over, gashed a fresh one right across their hearts. She had faced the horrors of her nightmares brought back to life. He had watched helpless as his son and the boy’s partner of heart and mind nearly died. Both had lost the man that practically raised them, the one person they assumed they would never need to expect would die. 

Brom broke the thick silence. He took a short pull of his cigarette and tilted his head to regard the woman beside him. “Are you holding up?” 

He hid his grimace by lifting the stick back to his face when Arya dropped her gaze and refused to look at him. That was never a good sign. And she had been doing so well before Feinster.

“I’m fine.” The elf flicked her eyes in Brom’s direction when he moved, and scoffed when she saw the pointed, rather familiar expression he now gave her. “Oh, what?” Brom didn’t answer, merely put the cigarette to his lips again and raised his eyebrows even further. “Everything right now is just…. It’s fucked up, Brom. There isn’t time for me to...I don't know, vent?” She scowled and pushed stray hair back from her forehead, trying to gather her thoughts. “Fall apart? Sort through it. You know that.” 

The elder Rider let out a grunt of acknowledgement around the dull orange of the tipping paper before gesturing to Arya’s neck. “Not enough time for healing that, then?”

Arya’s hand came up to touch her throat subconsciously, the dark marks under her jaw giving a light twinge at the contact. Eragon had healed the internal damage to her throat and muscles, but battlefield healing and exhaustion had let the surface injuries remain. 

“They’re just bruises.” Still, her fingers lingered there, testing the injured flesh. Trying to chase away the feeling of cold hands around her throat and the smell of blood and concrete, the face and triumphant, gleeful snarl of another man-shaped monster. 

Brom watched her out of the corner of his eye. When Arya abandoned the bruises to rub the back of her neck, that telltale tic that she had used for well over a year now, he ashed his cigarette and gently tapped her shoulder with the back of his free hand. “It wasn’t him. He’s dead and gone. Eragon saw to that.”

Arya let out a shaky stream of breath and dropped her hand from where she had been smoothing over the scars that slashed above the edge of her tank top. “Yeah, I know.” Sliding to the ground, the elf balanced on the balls of her feet and plucked a pebble from the earth before mumbling, “Doesn’t change how my brain sees it though.”

She looked up at her mentor, doing all she could to hide her desperation for a distraction as the old scenes loomed in her mind. “What about you, old man? Hanging in there?”

Brom’s lip twitched in a sudden snarl, the cigarette bobbing with the motion. “I’m going to kill that demon’s spawn.” 

The change in his voice sent a sudden chill down Arya’s spine, chasing away the lingering sparks that raced across her scars. This wasn’t the voice of the man who had lived the last seventeen years. This was the voice of the man Arya had met on the trails of Ellesméra, a walking embodiment of rage, betrayal and anguish that could burn all in his path. “You mean Murtagh?”

With a violent jab of his hand Brom stabbed out remnants of his first smoke on the wall behind him. He ignored the pinpricks of blood that welled up from his fingers as he yanked a fresh stick out of the box and clamped it in his teeth to light as he growled, “He doesn’t get a name anymore. He’s dead when I see him, dragon or no dragon. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.” The first match he struck snapped in half and fizzled out. Brom swore and threw the shattered bits away and broke his cardinal rule to light the soothing cigarette with a spark of magic at his fingers, angrily puffing as it took.

Arya regarded him steadily, hearing the pain that edged the fury like so many razors. It would do no good to remind the Rider that Galbatorix had been in control when he struck the final blow against Oromis and Glaedr, nor would he want to hear that the young man and the red dragon were not Morzan and his twisted mount. 

“...You really wanted them to be different, didn’t you?” The moment the words left her mouth Arya felt the folly of letting them loose. 

Brom’s brilliant blue eyes turned to her, nostrils flared in rage as they jetted twin streaks of smoke. His hand lifted slightly, hovering near head height where Arya crouched beside him. The elf tensed, ready to take the blow if he struck. 

He stopped. His fingers flexed, as though they could not make up their mind. At his lips the cigarette trembled, the trail of smog from its end wavering. For the briefest of moments, Arya saw a blazing flash of...failure...in his eyes. That was failure, failure and agony at the lives lost, though two still walked among the living. And then it was gone, replaced by an intense but controlled anger.

Brom lowered his trembling hand. “...Just let me smoke, dammit.”

“Fair enough.”

Another ten minutes passed, the only sounds being the Varden watch patrols calling out to each other in the sleeping city. Brom let his somewhat crumpled cigarette burn down to the mashed filter before grinding it out. His shaking had calmed, the enraged light in his eyes dimmed. 

He cleared his throat as he shook another snout from the dwindling box. “...You had a shift watching Eragon and Saphira earlier?” Arya nodded, rolling the pebble she had picked up in her palm and shifting her balance in accordance with its movements. “And how are they doing with all of this?”

Another wry grin tilted the corner of the elf’s lips, though she did not raise her gaze. “Exceptionally better than we are.” The two shared a short laugh before she spoke again, almost hesitant. “Eragon is...having trouble. With something that happened while he was helping clear out Feinster.”

“What happened?”

Arya rocked back onto her heels and recounted Eragon’s telling of the boy that had startled him inside one of Feinster’s homes. The sheer shock he felt when he saw the youth, his pang of recognition, and, later, the horror he felt when he realized just how close he had come to killing an innocent civilian. “It’s been eating him up inside. Saphira’s told him over and over that he didn’t actually kill the kid, that it all worked out, but he’s still thinking about it.” She sighed, and with a flick of her wrist threw the pebble down like a dart. It gouged a crater into the compacted, sandy soil, the quiet thud and depth of the impact betraying her unearthly strength. “I told him to stop and just forget about it when he asked me how I would handle it.”

Brom paused. “...That’s unlike you.”

The elf rubbed her temples and shifted back to the balls of her feet, agitated and indecisive. “Yeah, well...I shut down a bit when he mentioned it. He wanted to try and get me to open up again, seeing as it’s gone well the last few times.” She shook her head, braid swaying. “I couldn’t. Not to them. Not about that.”

Realization dawned on the older Rider, and he pinched his cigarette between his pointer and thumb as he drew a long, deep pull and gathered his thoughts. He exhaled slowly, a heavy sigh of memories that were only partly repressed by the nicotine’s taste in his mouth, before slipping a hand into his pocket and peering up at the half concealed stars above. “Right. Thornwell.” He flicked the ashes away. “...Now that’s something I’d rather forget.”

“Fuck off. The day we forget Thornwell we better be fuckin’ dead.” Arya’s tone was harsh, laced with the bitterness of failure and a vehement streak of self-hatred that the elf rarely let out into the open. “We’re the only ones left to remember it, and it was our fucking fault. Don’t you dare try to brush it off.”

“I’m not.” With a soft pat, Brom dropped his free hand onto Arya’s head. The touch was sudden, so much so that the elf nearly jerked away until she felt the tension in the man’s muscles, the miniscule tremors that the cigarettes couldn’t suppress. 

He knew. The memories still hurt plenty. He couldn’t let them go either. 

Arya sighed and ducked her head, breaking the contact. “Good.” Her voice wasn’t as sharp now. Just...tired. 

The taste of rich dirt, acrid smoke from a magic fueled fire and burning plastics rushed her senses with the memory of Thornwell’s resurgence. Uncaring if any of Eragon’s guards were in sight, she spat to the side, trying to rid herself of the shame laced flavor. Again she found herself resentful of her mind’s sensory recall, bitterly wishing elves memories could fade to washed out images and sounds as humans did.

“Here.” The combat liaison looked up to see Brom offering his still smoldering cigarette down to her. She stared at it for a long moment before gingerly accepting the roll between two fingers and shot a wary, questioning look to her mentor. “I don’t just smoke them for nicotine. It’s the only thing keeping the tastes out of my mouth.”

A moment later saw Arya coughing and gagging as she thrust the cigarette back. “That’s awful!” She spat again, choking on what felt like burning fumes. “Fuck!”

“But it worked, didn’t it?”

“I’ll tell you when I stop feeling like there’s acid in my throat!”

The old man was right, though. The acrid, vile taste had drowned out the pervading scents and flavors of that one day so many decades ago.

As the elf took a sip from the canteen off her belt, Brom turned his gaze back to the clouded stars. “...That was the day you broke my jaw, wasn’t it?”

Arya snorted into the neck of the canteen before muttering, “I cracked your cheekbone. I was…” She paused, screwing the cap back on and trying to choose the words that would cause the least pain for both of them. “We both were fucked up in that moment. You just wouldn’t realize it. I had to do something.” 

“...I was like that a lot back then.”

“Yeah.” Arya clipped the canteen back on her belt. Rubbed her hands together. 

She couldn’t bring herself to admit just how scared of him she had been that day, even before the accident. Brom carried within him a level of intensity at times that transcended rage. Thornwell was an incident where that blind fury led them both to ruin, at the cost of innocent lives. 

Brom cleared his throat, drawing the elf’s eye back to him. “You know...we should start easing Eragon and Saphira into the notion that...that there’s going to be collateral someday.” The words left his mouth with a grimace and puffs of smoke. “Prepare them for it. Eragon’s so empathetic, I’m worried that–”

“No!” The Rider jerked, startled by the sharp, nearly shouted dismissal. Soft flecks of ashes scattered down, drifting to land cool and harmless onto the fists Arya held clenched at her knees.

Her refusal shocked him. Arya, of all people, knew that the right preparation could help lessen the acute effects of war. Her upbringing, like Eragon’s, had done little to prepare her for taking lives, losing comrades, and the burning senses of shame, self-hatred and anguish that could all accompany a prolonged conflict. As naïve as she had been when she joined the Varden, with only the surface understanding of her eventual role, it all had left a lasting impact on the elf. 

Brom frowned. His former student’s body was ridgid, knuckles white. “Arya, you know it’s going to happen sooner or later–” 

Arya cut him off again, her voice softer yet edged with a firm, pained conviction. “Brom...we both know it’s already happened.” And she pointed out towards the city around them. “You can’t tell me there weren’t people here.”

Some of the buildings were collapsed inward on themselves. Shopfronts, family businesses with living quarters above, stood half charred or half destroyed. Behind them, towards the towering keep, the building that Saphira had torn apart tooth and claw was abandoned besides smears of gore. 

A nagging, grim understanding began creeping into Brom’s mind. 

“I know he’s your son, and I know you have more of a say in what you tell him.” Arya continued. “But I can’t let you put the idea in his head. He’s so...he feels so much, Brom. He feels for others as much as he feels for himself. Saphira tries to help him through it but through him, she feels it too.” Tiny tremors shook her fists, nails biting into her palms. “If you start trying to prepare him, they’re going to realize that it’s probably already happened. They’re going to start wondering when. Why they didn’t notice it before. How many. 

“That spiral doesn’t stop. It’s so hard to shut out, and….” She stopped, just short of her voice breaking. “I don’t want that to happen to them. Just...let them have this, Brom. Let me worry about it. Okay?”

Brom dragged the last trails of smoke from his cigarette and reached down. Placed his hand on the elf’s head and gently ran his thumb over her hair as he had always done with Eragon when the boy was frightened by his stories years ago. She tensed for a moment, before he felt the pent up stress ease. “Okay.” The older Rider tapped out the end of his smoke on the wall. “I see your point, kid.” With a gentle shift he pushed her to lean a shoulder against his leg in a comforting gesture of support and understanding. “But when it happens, you tell me. They’ll need both of us.”

“I will.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, supporting each other as the night’s words swirled through their minds. 

“...I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” Arya muttered suddenly. 

Brom let out a soft scoff. “Join the club.” 

It brought another grim smile to the elf’s face. “Walk with me? Patrolling tends to help.”

“Fine.” Brom reached into his coat as Arya stood and stretched. He swore quietly when he found that the box of Talons was empty. 

Realizing that Arya was watching him, Brom gave the box one last longing look before crumpling it in his fist and dropping it into his pocket. “Lead the way, kid.”

[yodawgiherd]

You Were Never Truly Gone ch2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Well, you guys asked for it, so enjoy a few chapters of my post-canon world. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments/kudos, I appreciate every single one of you <3 So for you all, I'm writing this - The end that I would want for Eren and Mikasa :)

It was a beautiful day today. Looking over the waves at the rapidly approaching Paradis shore, Armin couldn’t keep the excited smile away from his face. Soon, he would be seeing Historia again, and they would work together to achieve peace. But that was not all, he reminded himself, fist clenching over the feather in his hand.

Today he would see Mikasa and remember Eren with her.

It would mark three years since the end of the war and his sacrifice, and Armin couldn’t help it – he felt anxious. Mikasa was doing great usually, she was her own person and not a shadow in the past. But this day, when all of them gathered around the grave to thank the person that saved them, was always a trial by fire. He would be there for her, he and everyone else, they would help her push past and return to her normal self. That he swore, both to himself and his dead best friend.

“What are you thinking about?”, Annie’s voice from behind made him jump a bit in surprise.

“N-Nothing. Or well, the anniversary I guess…”

“I could say, anytime you are worried you get a wrinkle.”, Annie reached out, tapping the center of Armin’s forehead, “Rrrrrright here.”

With a smile he swiped her hand with his own, letting their fingers intertwine. The edge of Annie’s engagement ring felt cold against his skin, reminding Armin of the day when he finally gathered his courage and asked her the question. It still felt surreal sometimes, that he was engaged to her. Too good to be true.

“Can you two stop being so disgustingly in love?”, Pieck appeared on the deck, “I don’t want to throw up.”

She lit up a cigarette, watching the shore grow closer. Armin was tempted to let go of Annie’s hand because of Pieck’s request, but she tightened the hold and wouldn’t let him. Yea, Annie was never the one to let herself be pushed around.

“Are the guys ready?”, Armin asked instead, “We will be meeting the queen soon.”

“Jean keeps styling his hair and Connie is teasing Reiner because of the letter sniffing.”, she let out a large puff, watching the smoke curl in the salty sea air, “But other than that, we are good to go.”

Their work was important. Being a group from both the scouts and warriors they were the peacemakers, the ones that kept traveling between the nations to try and keep the fragile ceasefire brought upon by Eren’s actions. Armin’s mood turned sour. Eighty percent of the world was destroyed and still, the leaders were at each other’s throats. The sacrifice gave them chance, but it didn’t magically fix everything, there was still a lot of work to be done.

When the ship finally pulled into a harbor the rest of their group stepped out of the cabin. Jean, looking slick as ever, Reiner tailed by smirking Connie. Pieck threw the cigarette butt into the ocean, dusting herself off before meeting Armin’s eyes.

“Shall we?”

He nodded, throwing the feather into the ocean too. Over the gangway and down, Armin took a moment to help Annie jump down, help she didn’t need but appreciated nevertheless. The others noticed of course, and Jean was the one who spoke up.

“You get engaged and suddenly you are a gentleman, is that it?”, he grinned, “Whipped even before marriage, what a way to go.”

“Ah, as if you are the one to talk.”, Pieck pushed past him with a smile of her own, “I’m pretty sure you weren’t working so hard on your hair for the “history books”, were you?”

“It’s not like that…”

Ignoring whatever excuse he tried to voice, Pieck joined Armin and Annie on the shore, and soon they were gathered again. Then it was finally time to walk over to where Historia was standing in front of her honor guard, flanked by Kiyomi on her right.

“Ambassador Arlert,” rang the queen’s voice, loud and clear, “It is my pleasure to welcome you back to the Paradis island.”

“It is an honor, your majesty.”, bowing deep, Armin was mirrored on both sides by his friends, and when he straightened there was a spark of amusement in Historia’s eyes.

But protocol was protocol.

“I’m sure that you must be tired after your journey,”, the queen said, “Join me for some refreshment.”

Not waiting for an answer, as she was the queen, Historia turned and walked in the direction of the large tent, her guard splitting flawlessly to let her pass. It was a demonstration of military discipline and an effective one at that, making Armin frown. So much death, and it was not enough.

As soon as they were inside, away from the public eye, Historia changed immediately. Throwing herself onto him, she hugged Armin tight, grinning like a maniac.

“I missed you so much!”, she practically squealed, pulling back to look at the others, “All of you too!”

Catching up felt like regressing towards the old times. Armin was almost tempted to say careless, but that was never the truth with them. There was always something – first the titans, then the rumbling, and now whatever this fragile peace was. But there would be time to worry later, so Armin relaxed instead, letting Historia’s cheerfulness infect him. They talked about everything, about Armin and Annie’s engagement and Historia admired the ring on Annie’s finger, modeled after the one with a secret blade she used to wear. Jean recounted the events of their travels after, all the cities that they visited, and all the wonders that they saw since their last meeting.

But then the stories were told and it was time to get down to business.

“Historia,”, Armin said,” how is the situation here?”

Her happy smile soured immediately.

“Bad. The army holds a very important position in the government, and they are not giving it up. The Yeagerists and growing with every single month and I have no idea how to stop them.”, she frowned, “Every time I’m in the city I swear that I can hear them chanting that Fight, Fight.”

“Do you think that they planning to overthrow you?”, Reiner spoke up, but Historia shook her head.

“No, they have no reason to. I am not much more than a puppet queen at this point, they have most of the control, and keeping me as a figurehead lets them work in the background.”

“Can’t Kiyomi help you?”, Pieck asked, “Hizuru military is recovering well, from what I’ve heard.”

“She could, but she is not going to.”

“Why is that?”

“Kiyomi wants Mikasa, she wants her to come to Hizuru, marry and become shogun’s wife, continue the bloodline.”, Historia was annoyed, and it showed in her voice, “She expects me to tie Mikasa up, stuff her in a shipping crate and send her against her will. The hag.”

It made sense that the queen was extra against anything like that, her being in similar situation years back.

“And since I told her that she can go stuff it and I would never force Mikasa into that, Kiyomi grew sort of cold towards me.”

She sighed.

“But we can talk about that tomorrow when the formal meeting happens. Today you guys have other plans.”

“That’s true.”, Annie nodded, “We have to see Mikasa.”

“And Eren.”, Connie added.

“I wish I could go with you, but unfortunately I have a lot to do before we meet tomorrow.”, Historia walked over to Armin, hugging him again, “Give her my love, okay?”

She moved over to the exit, only stopping to add: “And him too.”

With the queen gone the group left the shore, ignoring the stares of the soldiers. Some called them traitors, Armin knew, the Yeagerist faction condemned their peace-making efforts as cowardness.

“Hey,”, Annie squeezed his hand, “Don’t mind them. They are fools.”

He smiled at his girlf-… fiancé. Damn.

“I know, but they are fools with power, and that’s dangerous.”

“I wonder if they would be this warmongering if they knew what Eren’s true goal was.”, Jean said, “All he wanted was peace.”

“It’s not like we can tell them, they would never believe us.”, Pieck had a new cigarette hanging from her lips, the burning tip moving when she spoke, “To them, Eren was a God of War that paved the way to Paradis supremacy.”

They didn’t speak more after that, passing the soldiers and heading out of the harbor. The island nation had grown considerably in the three years, and buildings with concrete replaced the once green fields. Yet that didn’t go on forever, and before too long they were walking in nature’s embrace again.

“Maybe we should have taken a car,” Connie huffed as they walked, “Or a horse.”

“The exercise will do you good.”, Annie called over her shoulder with the typical cold expression.

“We do have a horse,”, Reiner tapped Jean’s shoulder, “Right here.”

“Hah, that was a good one, maybe you could make those jokes more often if you didn’t spend so long on sniffing the queen’s letters.”, Jean shot back.

Back and forth they bickered while Pieck smoked with an enigmatic smile, Armin and Annie leading the group while holding hands. There it was, the familiar field with trees, a lone hill in the middle. Excited to see Mikasa again, Armin let go of Annie and broke into a run, leaving his friends behind. They all ran like this, years back, with Eren in front and Mikasa right behind him, letting him take the lead. Armin was always hopelessly last in those races, but he never did mind hat. Now, he was the only one running.

Up and up, over the green grass and to the tree where Eren’s final resting place was. With a smile, Armin finally got high enough to get a view of that place, but the greeting shout on his lips died when he saw what was happening. Yes, Mikasa was indeed there, but that was not all. Far from it.

Stunned by the scene in front of him, Armin stared, watching the stranger kiss his friend with fervor. Their kissing was passionate and Mikasa was more than into it, her hands roaming all over the stranger's back. If that was not proof enough, Armin knew that she has the ears of a huntress and could easily hear him coming, but she was too deep in the moment to notice. Blushing slightly, feeling like he was intruding, Armin silently walked down the hill where the group just arrived, everyone looking at him with a question on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”, Reiner was the first one to speak, “Is Mikasa not there?”

“She is… it’s just…. I…”, Armin scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but not at his friends.

How was he supposed to explain this? Yet when Annie stepped closer, taking a hold of his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze, her icy eyes speared right through and pinned him in place.

“Armin, what happened?”

Yeah, he could not hide the truth from her.

“Mikasa is there, but she’s not alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She is with… someone…”

Now everyone was speaking over one another.

“What?”

“Who?”

“What the…”

“Is she okay?”

“Is he…”

It would probably go on forever if Annie didn’t raise a hand, calming the mess. When they all fell silent, she fixed Armin with her famous stare, letting a single word fall from her lips.

“Talk.”

So, Armin took a deep breath. And talked.

“Mikasa is sitting near Eren’s grave but she’s not alone. She’s making out with someone, and from what I saw she’s enjoying it very much.”

A stunned silence followed, the cigarette falling from Pieck’s shocked mouth. Somewhere high overhead, a bird darted towards the endless horizon.

“Well, I… Uhm… Guess we should be happy that she’s finally moved on?”, the words were awkward, and Reiner knew that, but he pushed them out, “I’m glad that she.. you know... found someone?”

“I agree but does she have to do in front of Eren?”, Pieck said, her brows furled in a frown.

“That does not sound like her at all.”, Annie agreed.

“What, you guys think that he minds?”, Connie noted, “Like.. is he watching her or something?”

“It’s disrespectful, that’s what it is.”, Jean was staring at the tree, voice tense, “He doesn’t deserve that, having his girl kiss a stranger on his own grave.”

“Mikasa is not his girl,” Annie disagreed, “He doesn’t own her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that….”

“Regardless,” Pieck cut in, “I think that it would be best to let Mikasa speak for herself.”

Taking the lead, she took the first steps towards the tree.

“Let’s go.”, Annie agreed, following her friend.

Soon all of them were moving.

Mikasa was still there in the same position, Armin noticed, still in the arms of that stranger. His back was to them and her eyes were closed so she didn’t see them coming, immersed in the kissing, the whole situation made only worse by the small giggle that left her lips when the guy pulled back for a moment. Look, Armin loved seeing her happy, but watching it happen here felt… wrong.

The pair totally ignored them, lost in the kissing, neither of them noticing the group that was a few feet away from them. Finally fed up with it, Jean cleared his throat, loud enough for them to hear. Mikasa’s eyes shot open as she pulled back from the kiss, her cheeks reddening immediately. Her gaze shot between the stranger’s face and them, embarrassment evident.

Slowly, very slowly the guy untangled himself from her arms, standing up and pulling Mikasa to her feet too. Only then did he turn, and Armin’s mind went blank.

No.

There was a ghost in from of him. A blushing enemy of humanity with kiss-swollen lips that didn’t let go of Mikasa’s hand after helping her stand, keeping them linked. An island devil that looked at each and every member of their group with a fond smile. Next to that beast, Mikasa hid her face in the red scarf, eyes ticking between everyone. The grave was still there, Armin saw, the small headstone with those fond words on it, a few flowers lying on the patch of ground. And yet….

The dead man, the walking corpse, the impossible, he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Hey guys, long time no see.”

[justanotherfoolhere]

Hey! I wrote something for the Iruka Week 2021! @iruka-week

Day 1 - Scars.

Title: Tracing stories.

Pairing: Iruka/Kakashi

Wordcount: 1422

Tags: domestic fluff, really light angst, trans iruka (mentioned), scars.

Summary:  Scars are stories embedded on skin. On a too hot night, Kakashi finds himself tracing Iruka's stories.

Read on ao3 if you want to.

Every ninja had a scar. Multiple scars, really. It’s an occupational hazard, a reminder to be more careful in the future and a sign you survived to try again. Most ninjas displayed them with pride, exaggerating the stories and adding their own dramatic flair; some preferred to conceal them and were more discreet and reserved; others just ignored them and moved on with their lives. Rarely someone was ashamed of a scar, it was a victory mark, a reminder you’re alive rather then you’ve failed.

Kakashi thought about all of it while his fingers lazily traced Iruka’s back, caressing the scar tissue there. It was a huge one, left by Mizuki’s shuriken back when Naruto was just a kid. Iruka had told him this story, a mix of pain and grief for seeing his childhood friend so consumed by hatred, and pride for being able to protect the student he saw as his own, for standing up for Naruto when no one else would and seeing Naruto protect him in return.

Iruka wasn’t one to exaggerate stories, so when he said how impressive it was, eyes shining and a smile on his face, Kakashi believed him. If there was a kid stubborn enough to conjure a bunch of clones with barely no practice out of pure rage and protectiveness, it was Naruto.

“Can’t sleep?” Iruka asked, voice low, and stirred to face Kakashi on their bed.

“Too hot,” Kakashi mumbled. Iruka made an agreeing noise. They were both striped to their boxers and it was still too hot, “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I also can’t sleep,” he smiled. Kakashi’s hand, now that Iruka’s back was turned, decided to trace the scars on his chest instead, “something on your mind?” Iruka got his hand to place a small kiss on his knuckles before letting it resume the scar tracing.

“You.”

“Ow, that was so cheesy,” Iruka shoved him playfully, a grin betraying his true thoughts, “please tell me you didn’t get it from Icha Icha.”

“I’ll let you know Icha Icha is full of great lines!” He play-shoved Iruka back, “You’d know if you gave it a try, sensei.”

“Let’s agree to disagree then,” It wasn’t the first time they talked about it, and wouldn’t be the last. The outcome was always the same.

They fell on a comfortable silence.

Kakashi’s attention went back to Iruka’s scars, his fingers idly tracing them one by one.

The twin lines on his chest, under the pectorals, faded and neat, surgical. Top surgery. Iruka told him all about the pre-op nervousness and the how the first post-op week sucked. Then how good it was, to make his body more his own. Iruka also traced these scars from time to time.

His hand adventured a bit lower, tracing the faint scars on his ribs and soft belly. A couple shurikens he didn’t dodge in time, some accidents on kunai practice, faint marks of cuts that barely managed to scar. Kakashi cherished those small stories as much as he did the big ones.

Iruka chuckled when his finger fluttered over a particularly ticklish spot, but he didn’t say anything. Kakashi kept going down, sitting on the bed to have access to Iruka’s legs. He was mesmerized, like it wasn’t a hellishly hot night, like he wasn’t tired, like the only thing that mattered was keeping on tracing Iruka’s scars, Iruka’s stories.

“What are you doing?” Iruka’s voice was somewhat amused. He tilted his neck to get a better look at Kakashi, but didn’t move otherwise.

“I love you,” Kakashi said, barely above a whisper and so sincere.

There was a bigger scar on Iruka’s right thigh, one made by a deeper cut. A kunai. One of the many kunais Mizuki threw at Naruto. The one that hit Iruka when he pushed Naruto away and suffered the attack on his place.

Kakashi loathed how many marks Mizuki left on Iruka’s body.

“Love you too,” Iruka let his head drop back on the pillow, “but what are you doing?”

“Just… Thinking,” he shrugged, fingers going to Iruka’s ankle, “about how lucky I am to have you,” and for you telling me all these stories. Letting me know all of you.

He didn’t say the last part aloud, but it must have been written all over his face, if Iruka’s blushing cheeks are any evidence.

“Are you trying to make me beet-red at this unholy hour?”

“Maa, I’d never dream of it,” Kakashi joked. His finger found a small, circular scar on Iruka’s foot. This one was different from a stab wound. It was from burning.

A cigarette burning, to be exact.

He smiled. At least this one was a funny one. Iruka and Asuma were still on their teens and Asuma had just started smoking. Hidden from his father, of course. He and Iruka were messing around, talking about everything and nothing all at once, when Hiruzen snuck up on them. Asuma got so startled and desperate to hide the evidence that he let the cigarette fall on Iruka’s bare foot.

He was grounded for a long, long time. And Iruka got a mild scolding too for enabling him and helping him hide it from the Hokage.

“Asuma still gets flustered when I bring this one up,” Iruka mentioned, as if reading his mind. They looked at each other before laughing.

There they were, on a too hot night with Kakashi’s hand strolling over Iruka’s skin like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Kakashi lay back on the bed with a grunt, his body relishing on the softness, and leaned just enough to place a chaste kiss on Iruka’s lips.

The light, comfortable mood soured a little when Kakashi’s finger gently traced the characteristic scar on Iruka’s nose.

Iruka wasn’t one to flaunt scars and embellish stories. But he also didn’t try to hide them or brush them off. Kakashi always thought of him as someone who doesn’t particularly care about the scars, but shares the stories with people he’s close with (and always tells them exactly as they happened).

Then there’s the scar on his nose.

It’s probably his older one, since no one remembers him without it. The thing is, whenever someone asks, Iruka evades, dodges, change the subject or find an excuse to leave. It doesn’t matter if it’s a complete stranger or his best friend, he never answers this one.

Kakashi worries he’s ashamed of this one. Ashamed enough to hide it from everyone, even from him. He asked once, when their relationship was still new and fresh, then never again. It was a mix of respecting Iruka’s privacy and avoiding the stinging feeling of rejection.

“What’s the problem?” Iruka must have noticed the sudden dark mood, one of his hands caressed Kakashi’s while the other went to cup his cheek.

“Nothing, just…” he trailed off, staring the story-less scar. Understanding dawned on Iruka.

“Oh,” he said, “It’s the only one I never told you about, isn’t it?”

Kakashi nodded.

“You don’t have to,” he assured.

“No, it’s okay,” Iruka’s hand kept on caressing his cheek, “It’s just… I wish you hadn’t chosen the hottest night ever to bring this up,” he jested, managing to get a chuckle from Kakashi.

“So… about this one,” he traced the old scar over his nose, “I have no idea,” he grinned.

Kakashi spluttered. Talk about breaking the expectations….

“Yeah, well,” Iruka resumed, “I was too little when I got this one, and when I asked my parents they said they’d tell me later. Then there was the Nine-Tails and… There was no later.” His voice got quieter. Kakashi squeezed his hand.

“I see,” he said, because he felt he should say something.

“So that’s it,” Iruka shrugged, “Guess I’ll never know the story behind this one.”

“That’s okay, thanks for telling me,” Kakashi moved closer and tried to pass an arm over Iruka’s shoulders, but Iruka shoved him away less playfully this time, “What?”

“Too hot to cuddle,” Iruka grimaced, “I love you, but you’re like a furnace.”

“It’s never too hot to cuddle!” Kakashi protested, then he considered how they were both sweating already and recoiled at the idea of having another body’s warmth on top of his own, “But maybe it’s hot enough to warrant a nice nighttime bath? With really, really cold water,” he offered, “Join me?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Iruka sat on the bed and stretched, popping his joints with a pleased sigh, “Let’s go?”

“I’m right behind you.”

[slashhinginghasher]

You, 87 years ago: (I seriously have an entire childhood planned out for Jesse based on nothing but that 2-second flashback in L2R2, but that’s a beast for a different post.) Us, checking watch: Is it time for this post yet??

How To Raise A Serial Killer

Paul Cromeans was a mean son of a bitch. Anyone in town would attest to that. He was drunk more often than he was sober and liked to talk with his fists. Rumor had it he’d beaten his wife to death and hidden her body in the swamp. Other folks said that was stupid, that she’d just gotten tired of being a punching bag and high-tailed it out of there. Whatever the truth was, she’d vanished seemingly overnight, leaving Paul behind with their infant son. When little Jesse was old enough to ask about his mother, Paul - who would never accept the consequences of his actions - told the boy that she’d been a gold-digging whore who ran off with a richer man.

He blamed the specter of his wife for all the woes in his life. When the windows leaked during hurricane season, it was because she had never taken good care of the house. When it became clear that Jesse would never talk, it was because she smoked and drank while she was pregnant. When he turned his fists on his son, it was because she had left him a lonely and desolate man instead of supporting him the way a wife should.

***

Paul worked nights cleaning the county funeral home. The pay wasn’t much: it was enough for Paul’s drinks and his smokes and to keep the bank away from their doorstep, but not enough for childcare. When Jesse grew out of his infant cuteness and the neighborhood ladies would no longer watch him for free, Paul started bringing him to work with him. He’d sit the boy on a chair in the foyer with strict instructions not to move, and shake him awake hours later when it was time to go home.

Jesse listened, at first. The funeral home was scary in the dark, the proprietor looked old and mean, and there were probably ghosts. He’d huddle in whatever chair his father plunked him down in, refusing to even let his feet touch the floor. But as time passed, he got older, braver, and more bored, and started to explore the shadowy depths of the building. One night, venturing deeper than he’d dared before, he’d stumbled upon the proprietor working over one of the deceased. It was a young woman, grey-skinned and nude on the metal table. Jesse froze in the doorway.

It was the first dead human he’d seen, and the first naked woman. He was eight years old.

He must have made some sort of noise, because the proprietor looked up from his work and beckoned Jesse inside. The boy obeyed, more afraid of angering the old man than he was of the corpse.

“Go on, then,” the proprietor ordered in his smoker’s rasp. “Touch her.” Jesse didn’t move. The proprietor scoffed at the boy’s hesitation and grabbed his hand, forcing him to touch the dead woman’s foot. Jesse cringed, half-expecting the body to move, but it remained as cold and still as the dead animals he sometimes found on the side of the road.

“See?” the proprietor said. “Ain’t nothing to be afraid of. She’s just meat.”

Shortly after that, Paul started leaving Jesse home alone when he went to work. Jesse didn’t think it had anything to do with the body, but he was too scared to ask.

***

School was hard. Not because Jesse was stupid - he wasn’t - but because he was smart and no one else knew it. His classmates pushed him around and called him names because his clothes were shabby and his daddy had punched Mark’s daddy at the bar last weekend and he physically couldn’t tell them to stop. Teachers ignored him because he couldn’t talk. When he did well on tests, they accused him of cheating, so he stopped trying. He still listened to their lessons, because they were interesting, but he sat in the back of the classroom and doodled skulls and broken stick figures in the margins of his worksheets.

His only friend was the old, kindly school librarian who let him eat lunch among the shelves. She had managed to dig up a book about sign language, and sat with him patiently as he signed the alphabet over and over with clumsy fingers. But she died of a heart attack when Jesse was ten, and her replacement wasn’t anywhere as sympathetic, and he was forced to return to the cruel company of his peers. He stole the sign language book from the library out of spite and practiced signing in the dirty mirror at home.

***

Jesse’s relationship with his father was rocky. Paul was often too drunk to read the notes Jesse wrote, and he refused to waste his time learning how to wave his hands around like a “fuckin’ fairy.” This communicative gap made even the most basic interactions more difficult than they should have been.

Their only common ground was hunting, where Jesse proved to be a natural. When Paul was in a rare good mood, he’d brag to the other men at the bar about how his boy could sneak close enough to a deer to slap it on the rump if he had half a mind to. And if Jesse seemed to prefer gutting the carcasses over shooting, well. Every man should know how to butcher his own kill.

***

Jesse had his first major growth spurt when he was fourteen, and entered high school a lanky, gangling giant of a boy. The physical bullying stopped, his sheer size enough to deter most people, but the name-calling grew worse, more targeted. The teachers saw his size and his silence and assumed he was some kind of idiot. He started walking with a hunch, wishing he could shrink down and disappear into the crowd.

High school was also where Jesse first noticed Lindsey Forrester. She had hair like corn silk, a smile like a movie star’s, and the bluest eyes you ever did see. Compared to the dead woman from the funeral home and the crinkled pictures in Paul’s Playboys, Lindsey was like a ray of sunshine. Jesse was pretty sure that even if he could talk, he’d never be able to form a sentence around her. Even though he was pushing 6’4”, she made him feel three inches tall. She didn’t make fun of him, but she didn’t talk to him, either. She was the only one whose attention he would have welcomed, and she didn’t even notice him.

So it was something of a shock when she asked him out in 11th grade. He said yes, naturally, and was even able to make her laugh through the awkwardness after she asked for his phone number out of habit. (It was the only time his muteness ever came in handy; he would’ve been mortified to admit his house didn’t have a phone.) He skipped class on Friday to scrub his father’s dirty old car to spotlessness, and stole Paul’s only nice shirt from the closet after he passed out drunk.

Jesse waited outside the diner for three hours before he accepted that Lindsey wasn’t going to show up. Come Monday, everyone was sneaking glances at him and snickering behind their hands. On Tuesday, Lindsey announced that she and Mark were dating.

He started to understand why his father spoke so harshly about his mother.

***

Paul’s liver gave up the ghost the summer after Jesse graduated high school, dragging the rest of Paul along with it. The coroner didn’t even bother with an autopsy; everyone knew Paul Cromeans would drink himself to death one day. No one expected Jesse to mourn, and he didn’t. He chose the cheapest burial option, turned the ramshackle house over to the bank, and left town with nothing but his hunting knife and his father’s beat up car.

It was fortunate they hadn’t run a toxicology panel on Paul.

***

Jesse returned to town only once, the year he turned 21.

No one knew where he’d gotten the money from. Rumor had it he was running drugs for the cartel in Miami. Other folks said that was stupid, that he’d just gotten lucky or maybe found a job with one of the new tech companies that were popping up everywhere. Whatever the method, Jesse Cromeans rolled into town with a new car, new tattoos, and a pair of designer sunglasses, and bought his childhood home back from the bank. Cash.

He’d filled out, too, his muscles drawing admiring looks from the girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day at school. Including Lindsey Forrester.

“I never got to tell you how sorry I was about your dad,” she murmured as she straddled him in the backseat. “You left town so fast, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” She and Mark were set to be married the following spring. Her engagement ring was currently somewhere under Jesse’s passenger seat.

“I was such an idiot for standing you up in high school,” she sighed as they shared a cigarette afterwards. “It was a bet, but I totally would’ve shown up if I’d known this was how things would turn out.”

“How much did you win?” Jesse asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “It was just a stupid dare between stupid kids.”

“Now that’s a damn shame.”

“Why?” Lindsey giggled, trying and failing to blow a smoke ring.

“Because that means you died for nothing.”

***

The last thing Jesse did was burn his old house to the ground. He didn’t add Lindsey to the growing collection in his glove box. She wasn’t worth the tape.