#lucky number for vehicle

[exhaslo]

Hiii！I love your stories!!But can you write about Miguel × hybridbunny！reader？that Miguel was a rich mafia or ceo and he bought reader from a black market or an auction.（ps：make reader sit on Miguel���s desk while he works and he ended up eating her out and fcking her hehehehehhehe）🐇🐇🐇🐇

Hehehehehehehehehehe

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie

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There were many pros and cons that came with being the CEO. Unfortunally, claiming ownership of Alchemax carried far more cons than the alternative. It did not help that Miguel took over the company from his corrupt father.

There were a lot of problems that needed to be fixed. Many were within the company itself; the associates to say the least. Miguel had to fire and clean up a lot of the corrupted associates' messes. This included having Miguel silently attend a black auction market.

Turned out, one of his former coworkers who worked in genetic splicing decided to test various animals on different people. While Miguel was so focused on Spiders that created Spiderman, his stupid coworker created hybrids and sold them on the black market.

Miguel just hoped that he could save as many people as he could. The work of tracking the others down was going to be a lot harder for him.

As Miguel sat in his VIP seat with a hood on, he watched the scum below him cheer with anticipation. None of these people cared. They just wanted new trophies. Miguel was going to buy as many hybrids were auctions and try to revert them back to regular humans.

-------

Miguel was about to lose faith. The auction was at the last bid and there had not been a single hybrid. Miguel did check and this was the only black market auction in the city. It was too dangerous for there to be anymore.

"Now! What you've all been waiting for, the most popular item during our shows! A hybrid!!" The announcer cheered.

Miguel nearly gasped, leaning forward as he watched the curtains unveil, revealing you.

"We got ourselves an adorable hybrid bunny!!! You know what they say about rabbits."

Miguel ignored the sea of laughter. You were standing on stand, shaking like a leaf. Before the announcer could even start the bid, Miguel yelled out an insane number. There were gasps in the crowd and barely anyone had the guts to go higher.

And just like that, you were bought by Miguel.

--------

You were hesitant as you followed your new 'owner' to his vehicle. The chain and collar still tight around your neck. Once you were seated in the back seat, you flinched as your tail got caught in the belt. You had to lower your ears, not wanting to hit the roof of the car.

"My apologizes, I'll get a bigger car." Miguel apologized as he entered the vehicle. You gave him a slight glare, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Just fuck me," You whispered.

"No," Miguel sighed as he took the collar off once the car started moving, "I'm trying to right the wrongs that the former CEO of my company did."

You touched your neck, watching Miguel very carefully. You had an inkling of where this conversation was going, and it started to make your heart and body shake.

"My name is Miguel. I have no intention of using you for any purpose, but to try and undo what Alchemax did to you, if you would let me."

"Hah, so am I the lucky test subject?"

"No. I want to find all those who were experimented on. You were the first one I saved." Miguel noticed your hesitation and offered you a bottled water, "I have a room set up for you. Anything you want or need, just let me know and I'll get it for you."

"I suppose freedom isn't an option?"

"You and I both know what will happen if I let you go."

"Yeah, I know. Just wanted to hear your answer." You scoffed and leaned forward slightly, "I actually worked at Alchemax as an assistant. I don't think it will be easy to undo my DNA now that its been changed."

"I can try."

---------

It had been a few months since you were bought by Miguel. It came as a surprise, but he did mean what he said. You were living comfortably and Miguel was trying his absolute best to cure you. As you guessed, nothing worked.

That didn't stop you from wanting to help Miguel with his endeavor. Miguel had even rescued a few more hybrids during your stay with him. You couldn't help but feel a little jealous that you weren't his only one now. There was a simple reason as to why you felt like that.

You fell in love with Miguel.

You wanted to believe that Miguel liked you too, but you weren't sure what was holding him back. Perhaps guilt? Needing to see him, you started to hurry to his office. Thanks to your rabbit DNA, you were a fast runner.

"Miguel? Can I come in?" You asked with a knock at his office door.

"Of course, (Y/N)." He said with a smile, opening the door for you.

Before entering, your nose caught whiff of something delicious. Sniffing around, you ended up next to Miguel. You gently gripped his jacket, sniffing against his collar.

"(Y-Y/N), are you alright? Do I smell?" Miguel cleared his throat, careful to hold you back.

"Hm? O-Oh, sorry. You just smelled really good." You laughed nervously, wondering what was coming over you.

Miguel patted your head, assuring you that it was okay. You could only feel embarrassed again. This wasn't the first time your rabbit DNA caused you to do something silly or embarrassing. You were still having a hard time getting over making a 'secret room' in the building when winter was coming.

"Want to help me with something?" Miguel offered, motioning towards his desk.

You hurried over, taking a seat on his desk as Miguel pulled out some paperwork. Since it was hard for you to sit in regular chairs due to your tail, Miguel allowed you to have a spot on his personal desk. It felt like you were a trophy for him. One you didn't mind.

"So, what are you working on?" You asked. Miguel chuckled towards you as he leaned back in his seat,

"Company business."

"So how can I help?"

"You already are," Miguel chuckled again and leaned closer towards you, "I feel better having you next to me. I'm not as stressed."

Your cheeks started to burn up at his confession. Your heart was racing and you could feel yourself getting hot. This was bad. Lately, whenever you thought about Miguel you would get into a small frenzy, needing to relieve yourself. It had to be because of your rabbit DNA.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" Miguel asked, his hand against your forehead.

"Mhm," You winced slightly, shaking from his touch alone, "M-Miguel, I should...g-go," You stuttered, finding it hard to keep yourself together.

Miguel furrowed his brows as he gave you a quick check up. He checked your eyes, noticing the glossy lustful look, then your heart rate. Miguel inhaled deeply once he finally noticed you rub your legs together and your nipples perk.

"You're in heat?" Miguel muttered lowly, glancing at your once more, "Let me take-"

"N-No, let me stay," You whined, holding onto Miguel, nibbling against his shoulder, "I-I'm only...like this because of...of you,"

"Oh," Miguel resisted a groan, gently pushing you back, "Then, I suppose I need to take responsibility for you, huh?"

Oh, how those words turned you on even more. You whimpered and moaned against his touch as Miguel took off your pants. Your panties were soaked. You swore Miguel mumbled something under his breathe, but you were so zoned out that you couldn't hear him.

Next thing you knew, Miguel had taken your panties off and laid you back against his desk. He brought your legs around his head, making sure your tail wasn't crushed under you. His head directly in front of your vagina,

"My, my (Y/N), you should have told me sooner about your little problem. I could have helped you happily,"

"B-But-Ah~ M-Miguel~" You cried out as his tongue started to swirl against your folds.

Your eyes widen and your body arched as Miguel feasted. His tongue touching you in ways that your fingers could not. His aggressive licks and swirls against your clit causing that knot inside you to grow tighter.

"Ah~ R-Right...t-there~" You moaned, crying out your orgasm.

Miguel cleaned up your mess, his tongue now threatening to enter your drenched hole. Your whimpers and moans were delicious. He wanted to hear more, but he also didn't want to take advantage of your state. Licking your insides, Miguel hummed at your sweet taste. Your legs wrapping around his head.

'Miguel~" You whined, grinding your hips slightly.

"Now, now my little bunny, if you don't behave I won't be able to control myself," He hummed, sucking against your clit.

"P-Please...f-fuck me...I need you~" You whimpered.

Miguel felt his restraints snap. He flipped you on your stomach and inserted a finger inside your cunt. Your body shock as you moaned louder than before. Miguel groaned at how your cunt sucked his fingers in.

"Does my little bunny want to be fucked that bad? Even using your tail to seduce me." Miguel huffed, using his free hand to play with your tail.

Unable to take the pleasure, you cried out another orgasm the moment Miguel touched your tail. It was so sensitive. Pressing your face against his desk, you whimpered, begging for Miguel to fuck you. You needed him. You wanted him to make you feel good.

"Alright, I'll give my bunny what she wants."

"Mhm~ Y-Yesh," You babbled.

A sharp gasp escaped your throat as you felt Miguel's dick push through your folds. His cock stretched you out and filling you so perfectly. Your body felt so hot as his tip threaten to push your cervix. You could feel his shape every time your pussy clenched around him.

"A perfect fit. My little horny bunny likes this right?" Miguel chuckled as he started to thrust his hips into you at a rough pace, "My little horny bunny going into heat because of me."

"Ah~ Mhm~ M-Miguel~"

You swore you started to lose your common sense. Miguel was pounding the life out of your cunt and the air out of your lungs. Your vision kept blurring as you just focused on the feeling of him filling you.

You gasped as Miguel lifted your hips ever so slightly. His dick hitting your g-spot with each thrust while his free hand was playing with your tail. You were losing count how many times this man was making you cum.

"Does my little bunny want me to fill her up?" Miguel leaned over you, whispering your ear,

"Mphm~"

"I can't hear you, are you too fucked out to answer?" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

You pressed your ass up, "Inside~" You begged.

Miguel complied as proceeded to fill you with his cum. He moaned lowly, giving you a few more pumps before coming to a stop. Miguel started to pull out, but heard you whine in protest. A chuckle escaped his throat as he continued to slap his hips into you.

Miguel continued to fuck you until your heat finally died out. By the end of what seemed like endless fucking, both you and Miguel were out of breathe. Miguel had you seated against his lap, resting your body against his.

You whimpered tiredly, cum pouring out of your cunt. Miguel rubbed your back, his hand nudging against your tail slightly.

"Mhm,"

"Shh, it was an accident, baby." Miguel whispered, rubbing your upper back, "You should have told me when these heats started. I can make some medicine to help you."

"You're fine," You whispered lowly. Miguel chuckled, kissing your head,

"If that's the case, then it would be easier for you to stay at my place. I have been looking for a wife,"

"Mhm...I'll gladly...take that role," You muttered tiredly.

Miguel resisted a chuckle. He waited for you to fall asleep before dressing the two of you. He had one of his assistants bring your stuff to his place as Miguel took you home. He was going to make you as comfortable as possible.

But first, you both needed a shower.

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Hope you enjoyed!!!!

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

[jakedustry]

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌 - 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

bsf!Heeseung x fem!reader

in which your best friend invites you to his basketball match because he wants his closest friend present, but things take a turn different way when he wins and you're the first person he runs to

wc 2.2k

warnings reader is implied to be shorter than Jake

↪ izzy adds... I love love writing Heeseung as a basketball player. I really believe after being an idol it's what fits him the most

You stood outside your apartment, gazing out across the street while patiently waiting for your best friend to pick you up. He was late. Again. But you could hardly nag him about it because he was also late to his match, and you knew that alone was enough punishment for him. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you took out your phone to glance at the clock, taking the opportunity to fix your hair in the reflection on your phone. 9:40. You stared at the numbers, thinking about just turning around and returning to your apartment. You didn’t even know if he was coming anymore. After all, it would be wise if he went to the match instead of picking you up so he could still warm up. 

But he wasn’t smart about it. It wouldn’t be at all like him to not come running for you, even though he should be somewhere completely different at the moment. 

You chuckled, watching your best friend park his car right before you, telling you to get in quickly. “The guys are going to kill me,” he whined, starting the vehicle again. “You can’t blame me for that, though. I wasn’t late, Hee,” you reminded him. “I know, I know,” Heeseung sighed. “I’m sorry. Were you waiting for long?” 

You sat in silence during the ride. Heeseung was panicking. It was clear to anyone who as much as glanced at him, and you knew better than to stress him out even more by talking. You can update him on your life after his match.

“I am so sorry. I’ll catch you again later,” your best friend blurted out quickly, too busy to even look your way before he took his bag and ran off to what you assumed was his team’s dressing room. “Don’t worry about it!” You assured him, chuckling when he almost tripped over nothing. You shook your head at him, leaving to find yourself a place in the crowd of fans. 

You expected to see more people in the audience since it was one of the last - and most important - matches of the season, but what no one could prepare you for were fans with banners and team flags. You tilted your head, trying to wrap your head around why they were taking it so seriously. 

You scanned the audience, searching for an open slot, but everything by the front seemed full. You sighed. This is what you get for coming late. 

Actually, no. This is what you get when you arrive on time. The match hasn’t even started yet and won’t for another ten minutes. You weren’t late. Everyone was just too early. 

Though deep down, you knew that wasn’t right. Still, you would rather blame others for not having a good spot. 

“Shorty!” You turned around upon hearing the familiar voice, rolling your eyes when you noticed Heeseung’s other best friend, Jake Sim. He caught a place at the front. You smiled before joining him after exchanging a small wave. 

“How many times do I need to tell you not to call me that?” You muttered, taking a seat next to him. “I don’t know what annoys you so much. If you’re short, I’m going to call you short,” he stated, holding back his laugh as you rolled your eyes at him. “I am not even that short,” you huffed. In fact, he wasn’t much taller than you. Yet, he always found a way to tease you. 

“Hey there now, I saved you a place. You can’t be mad at me,” Jake protested. “You’re lucky I like you,” you warned him, scoffing when you saw him give in and laugh at you. “Is Riki not here too? I can’t stand being here alone with you.” 

“Come on, you know you love me,” he teased you, the grin on his face only making you more annoyed. Jake chuckled at your behavior, shaking his head. “He went to the toilet. He should be here any minute,” he explained, straightening his back so you could see the younger boy’s hoodie thrown over the seat on his other side. “Right. I saw it from behind but didn’t realize it was Riki’s,” you commented, redirecting your attention towards the court as you heard fans screaming, realizing that was your cue the match was about to start. 

♡⸝⸝ 

“I can’t believe they started when I wasn’t here,” Riki complained, trying to figure out how both teams managed to score already. Honestly, he didn’t miss out on much, in your opinion. The first basket was simple luck, and the second wasn’t any different. Both teams had good defense, not letting their opponent through. They were just lucky the other teams made a mistake at the best time possible, allowing them to score. 

“At least Heeseung waited for you,” Jake joked, glancing at his best friend on the team bench, waiting for the coach to let him in with the rest of his team. The other team was also lucky he wasn’t playing, you thought. 

Heeseung was on the court at all times. It didn’t matter if he was sick the night before or out of energy after a tiring day. He always played in the starting five, pushing his limits so that he could play. But he wasn’t in the starting five this match, and you could feel his frustration all the way to your seat. 

You knew he was more mad at himself than his teammates or his coach though. Had he been here on time, he would be playing now. The coach made sure he got that clear when he told him he wouldn’t be starting this time. A part of you felt sorry for him. You knew how much playing meant to him, and hadn’t he come to pick you up, maybe he wouldn’t be as late. 

You snapped out of your thoughts upon hearing the cheers. They were so loud you were sure even the people outside the stadium would hear them. It didn’t take you long to figure out what - or more, who - the screams were about. All that echoed through the closed space was the name of your best friend. Lee Heeseung. 

“Heeseung, go kick their asses!” This wasn’t a fight. 

“Heeseung, show them how to score! Let’s get a goal!” They weren’t at a football match. There weren’t any goals. 

“Heeseung, you can do it on your own!” Basketball is a team sport. 

You weren’t sure why, but you felt annoyed. Everyone around you except for your two friends seemed to know nothing about basketball, and you hated the fact they were present just because they found your best friend hot. 

“You know, your face has no filter,” Jake nudged your shoulder, making you blink a few times before you turned towards him. “What?” He chuckled, shaking his head at you. “The frown on your face. You’re making it look as if you were jealous,” he teased you, catching Riki’s attention. Great. All you needed was his tall ass making fun of you for feeling jealous when that wasn’t even the case. 

“I am not jealous,” you protested for the third time already. “Right, and I am–” Before Jake could finish his sentence, the buzzer interrupted him, letting you know a team requested a time-out. You glanced at the scoreboard, your eyes widening when you noticed you almost missed the whole first quarter. Heeseung’s team was now winning 18:13, and you missed all that just because of a stupid argument. You sighed, looking at Heeseung on his team’s bench. He was gulping on his water, carefully listening to what the coach had to say about the play so far, wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

Somehow, a part of you found it attractive. 

“Yeah, definitely not head over heels for him,” Riki laughed when he noticed who you’ve been staring at. “Guys, I am not–” you started, swallowing the rest of what you wanted to say when you saw Heeseung look your way, giving you a quick, excited wave before he set his water bottle aside. “You were saying?” Jake scoffed, but you didn’t care enough to argue with him. You didn’t need to prove anything to him. 

♡⸝⸝ 

As the buzzer announced the start of the fourth quarter, you had decided to come down to the court so you could be there once the match was over. The score was neck to neck now, and you knew Heeseung needed a bit more support to do well. 

That was how you found yourself standing on the side of the court, just a few feet away from the door leading to the dressing rooms. Jake and Riki stayed in their seats, claiming they didn't want to give up such good seats just to stand near the smelly dressing rooms, but you didn’t mind. You had a good view from your place, and your cheers could reach your best friend easier. The smell was something you could bear for him. 

“Just two more points! You’re almost there, Hee!” You cheered, catching Heeseung’s attention immediately as his eyes shifted from the ball to your figure for a second. He smiled, quickly coming back to his senses as he sped up, catching up on his opponent and blocking him from making the shot. Heeseung’s teammate quickly caught the ball, and the game was theirs again. 

The game was moving too fast to your liking. When your team managed to score, their opponents followed up shortly after, making the last few minutes extremely tiring. You could see it on all of them. The way they were sweating and panting as they tried to stop the other team from scoring and failed miserably each time was a clear sign of exhaustion. You glanced up at the scoreboard, watching the 82:83 written right under the time they had left. 2 minutes. 

A lot could happen in 2 minutes. Within the blink of your eye, each team gained another 6 points in under a minute, and it stressed you out. They were running too much. You knew Heeseung would collapse in your arms as soon as the match ended. You could see that he was pushing his limits once again. 

You almost yelled at him to sit down and let someone else finish it, but you knew you couldn’t do that to him. This was important to him, and you were there to support him, not scold him. 

As the buzzer filled the stadium one last time, your eyes shot up to the basket in front of you, watching the ball fall to the ground as the score changed one last time. Your eyes lit up, an uncontrollable smile spreading across your face when you saw your team win. They did it. They won the finals. And it was all thanks to Heeseung’s buzzer beater. 

You could see the joy in his eyes as he looked around the court, searching for something, someone. He didn’t care about his teammates running to him to embrace him in a hug. All he could think about was you and the fact he needed to be in your arms. 

When his eyes finally met yours, he quickly apologized to his team, not wasting any more time before he ran to you. He didn’t care that everyone was watching him, cheering for him, or calling his name so he would take a picture with his team. 

Heeseung wrapped his arms around your shoulders, almost knocking you to the ground as he hugged you, squeezing you tightly. You laughed, patting his back to assure him you were there with him. “I did it! I did it!” He cheered, backing up so he could look you in the eyes. But soon after, you had him close again. Expect this time, it wasn’t just a hug you found yourself in. 

His lips pressed against yours, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head, pulling you closer, while his other hand rested on your waist. Your eyes widened. Unable to do anything, you watched his sweaty forehead. His eyes were closed, and his lips were soft against yours. Still, you knew the kiss must have felt bad when you didn’t kiss him back. You couldn’t. Your heart was beating too fast, and your mind was an even bigger mess. 

A huffed “Sorry” escaped his lips as he pulled away from you, his forehead pressing against yours as he breathed heavily, still trying to catch his breath after the match. You closed your eyes, rethinking everything before you cupped his cheek, making him look you in the eyes. 

It was your hand that rested at the back of his head now, pulling him closer just like he did seconds ago with you as you kissed him. “You did it,” you nodded slightly, whispering against his lips. “I fucking did it,” he smiled, his hand wrapping around your hips to keep you close. “I finally gathered up the courage to kiss you,” he proclaimed, chuckling as if he didn’t believe what was happening. 

Your cheeks heated up, becoming redder the more you looked at him. He was unbelievable. “You wanted to kiss me?” You asked, your question coming out a lot quieter than you intended. “For so long,” he nodded. “Ever since you became my lucky charm.” 

✧˖°. izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222

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[bullet-prooflove]

Ford Mustang: Tyler Owens x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hunterthecharmer @heylookwhoitis @Nameuknownthings @shakespeareanwannabe

Companion piece to:

The Mechanic - Tyler faces a problem when Boone brings his mechanic ex girlfriend back into the fold.

Rigs -Tyler reflects on history with you.

The men before Tyler have only ever seen you as a one night or a wife. They’ve never understood your tenacity, your wicked humour, or fierce intelligence. They haven’t stayed up all night arguing the semantics of classic cars, or spent entire weekends helping you restore the 67 Ford Musang someone had abandoned after it had totalled by a tornado. They don’t pick up that special orange blossom honey hand cream you use to keep your skin from cracking underneath the harshness of the cleaners you use to rid your hands of car oil.

You think about this when you turn up to your garage that morning to find a small pot of it resting on the doorstep along with a note that has Tyler’s name and phone number etched in tidy block capitals. He’d had to change it a couple of years ago, Boone had told you. One of his ‘fans’ had gotten hold of it, she wouldn’t stop calling.

You open the small jar and inhale the sweet, soothing scent before dipping your fingers into it and rubbing the balm over your hands. Today’s a paperwork day and you’re going to spend it tucked away in your office, dealing with the admin you’ve been putting off because you’d rather be underneath a car than filing paperwork.

You pin the phone number to the corkboard on the wall behind your desk, your fingertips lingering on the picture stuck beside it. It’s one of you and the first incarnation of the Wranglers, Tyler, Boone and Dani. Tyler’s arm is draped around your shoulders, his lips brushing over your temple as you smile at the camera. That had been before the tornado had disfigured you, before you’d needed thirty stitches to hold the left side of your face together.

You sit down in your ergonomic chair and stare at the jar of hand cream that now resides upon your desk. You know it’s an olive branch, Tyler’s way of reaching out after dismissing you the other day. This stuff doesn’t come cheap and it can only be picked up in one place in Oklahoma. The fact he’s made the four hour trek round trip speaks volumes.  

Acts of service, it’s always been his love language.

When Boone had first called you, you’d been adamant about not returning. You’d learned the hard way what happened when you went up against a force of nature.

“We just need help with the vehicles.” He had assured you. “You don’t have to come chasing with us.”

“Have you spoken to Tyler?” You’d asked him and you could hear his hesitation down the line.

“Not yet. I thought it was best if I got you on board first.” He’d said and you could imagine him playing with that fidget spinner he used to have as he talks to you.

“You know I would do anything to keep you guys safe.” You’d said quietly. “Just because I’m not around doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I know.” Boone had said. “And just because we’ve not been around doesn’t mean we don’t care. It’s hard for him…”

“It’s hard for me too.” You remind Boone because every time you walk down the street someone does a double take when they look at you.

You used to be such a pretty girl, an ex had told you after he’d given you a pity fuck last year, now you’re just damaged.

You’d used your keys to scratch a line along the entire side panel on his brand new SUV after he kicked you out of bed.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use acetone.” You’d told him when you’d picked up the phone to him screaming. “Keep on calling and I will.”

He’d gotten the message after that and you had kept yourself to yourself because you’d rather be alone than with someone who views you as charity case.

Your gaze strays back to Tyler’s phone number and you’re flung back into a memory, the one from after the hospital when you looked into the mirror for the first time

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on.” He’d whispered against your mouth as he’d cradled your face between his palms, his thumb chasing over the black thread that lined your jaw. “This isn’t anything to be ashamed of, it’s just another part of your story.”

You’d believed him at the time because Tyler, he doesn’t lie, especially not to you. You’d taken solace in his words, held you head up high when you went out on the street, ignored the stares and things were good until they weren’t. There was another tornado outbreak out in Louisiana and Tyler, he just had to do the thing he loved even if it wasn’t with the person he loved.

You give up on the paperwork, you’re too distracted for that level of organisation. You set yourself to work on the Mustang instead, cranking up Zach Bryan on the sound system, singing along under you breath as you continue your restoration. You’re in the fight of your life with a rusty bolt when you hear a light rapping on open garage door behind you.

“I’m not done with you.” You threaten the bolt before you set the wrench down on the work bench and pick up a rag to clean your hands.

When you look up that your breath catches in your chest because it’s Tyler standing there, in those worn Levi’s he’s owned since his rodeo days and that orange flannel shirt you used to wear to bed at night.

“Sophie.” He says softly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans in the doorway. “Can we talk?”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dashofmonsters]

Dreamers & Delusions- Pt. 2

Merman x Female Reader

"I'll have to go into hibernation if it gets too cold or if I can't find something to do. The acclimation program already knows about my kind and our issues with the cold so they have accommodations for winter," he explains.

"Well I hope it doesn't get too cold then, would be a bummer if I couldn't come see you," you smile at him.

Tao's eyes go wide for a second before he clears his throat, "Yes well it would indeed be a bummer... Especially since we have just decided to be friends."

"Right?" you beam.

You and Tao talk and talk almost to the point where it's just about silly things or what he's struggling with during his acclimation. You find out he's a very literal person who has issues the most with slang, metaphors, and emotes. He lives in a rental that's about a couple miles away from the beach and he usually walks to work or the local grocery store since he can't fit into normal vehicles.

After a little bit of work though you find out an even more endearing side to him, he likes to try his hand at cooking ever so often. Though he prefers his meat raw, he likes the idea of charring the outside and adding bits of flavor. He was a little embarrassed to admit it but you found out it's because his father was supposed to show him how to create a feast to impress a mate per tradition.

You didn't press as to why his father didn't teach him seeing he was already uncomfortable enough to admit it. So you decided to share a bit of something uncomfortable about yourself.

"My mom never taught me how to do a lot of basics that most parents are supposed to teach their kids. I had to watch a lot of how to videos and make myself look like an idiot if I messed up or didn't know something. A lot of people assumed I was stupid or had no common sense. I just didn't have a point of reference and I hated being ignorant but I was judged for my short comings and no one ever helped," you admit.

Tao nods and gives you his first, though very small, smile.

"Is that why you are forgetting things constantly?" he asks with the slightest smirk.

"Yeah...sure," you feel a bit embarrassed by his question, but you'll never confess that you 'forgot' those things just as an excuse to talk to him.

"I see, I will take that into account that due to your upbringing that you just don't think about these things and I will stop being annoyed by it," he nods.

"You were annoyed," now you feel a little hurt.

"Of course I was, but no more than I usually am," he shrugs.

"That doesn't sound fun," you grimace. "You can't just be annoyed all the time."

"I'm not annoyed when I'm at home," he says.

"Lucky," you laugh.

"Why? Are you unable to be at peace at home too?" he gives you a look of genuine concern then.

His number one thing seems to be peace. He's a no nonsense guy who just wants to go about his day with no hiccups. His life honestly seems perfect compared to your at times.

"Only when I'm sleeping or about to leave for work. Peace... that doesn't come easy to someone like me," you frown.

Tao studies you then as he drops to your eye level. You should feel super uncomfortable but for some reason you don't mind. He stares hard at your face and scans it until he nods.

"You do look very tired," he says.

You can't help but to laugh at his observation, "Tao, I'm going to let you in on a secret: I'm always tired."

"That is unhealthy," he scowls.

"Yup and there's nothing I can do about it," you shrug.

"Yes there is, you could go home and sleep," he says, almost ordering you to do so.

That's when you can't help but to crack up. It's horrible that this is how you cope, but it is.

"If I went home to sleep right now, my grandmother would give me an earful about being lazy," you laugh.

Tao doesn't laugh, he doesn't smile, doesn't do anything except stand up slowly and prowl over to you.

You shut up real quick thinking something is wrong until he picks you up. You yelp, being carried in one arm at his hip like a sack of rice.

"What are you doing?!" you squawk as you sway when he shifts to carry you princess style.

He doesn't say anything until he sets you down onto your tie dye towel.

"Rest, I'll make sure no one bothers you while you're here," he says.

You can't help but feel a mix of emotions then. Your eyes water a little but you swipe away any moisture before a tear falls.

"Thank you, that's probably the sweetest thing anyone has said to me in a long while," you smile at him.

And Tao in all his Taoness, just nods.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tao really meant it when he said no one would bother you while you were on the beach.

The day after he said that, you had what was possibly the best beach nap you've ever had thanks to Tao brining you a beach chair with your name on it. Literally.

At first it felt weird that he'd go that far just for you to get a beach nap but you guessed it might be some cultural thing and as far as Tao said, you're his only friend. You thanked him and didn't think much of it until the day after that.

A group of teenagers were playing volleyball a little too roughly and one of the guys fumbled and the ball got you right on the head even though you did your best to dodge it. The boys tried to apologize but Tao gave them an earful about respect and being more spatially aware.

That too was normal for Tao though he was a bit harsher than usual. Unfortunately it got worse.

Yesterday was a blessed off day. No work, your grandmother was out thrifting to her heart's content, and all your bills had been paid. You were excited to head to the beach but that excitement was short lived.

The first thing you noticed was that your chair was pulled a little closer to the guard tower. Next was that Tao wasn't in the tower but leaning against the ladder like he was expecting some shit to hit the fan any second. And finally, the group of muscle hunks posing as they flexed for the cameras.

Apparently some magazine decided this spot was the perfect location for some weird gym rat protein powder ad photo shoot and to make matters worse, they tried to rope Tao into it.

Before you sat down though, Tao made a bit of a scene by scooting your chair even closer to the tower while making eye contact with one of the big buff dudes.

You told him he was being a bit extra to which he said he was only being cautious as they had been eyeing you since you started walking down the beach. You rolled your eyes, ready to tell him that there's no way they'd be interested in you until he thrusted a binder in your direction.

It was a detailed list of ingredients, dishes, and recipes commonly enjoyed by all saltwater merfolk with a few dishes his kind liked the most. You had almost forgot that he said he'd make this list for you so when he gave it to you, you almost cried.

You thanked him and started fanning through the pages and noticed his hand writing was especially nice on dishes that his people particularly enjoyed. You gave him a quick side eye and smiled.

These are probably his personal favorites, you think.

As you started to skim through the recipes with the neatest hand writing a shadow fell over you.

It was one of the buff guys.

He gave you the most generic social media fake ass grins ever and you couldn't help the eye roll. He started to introduce himself but was hardcore interrupted when Tao drove him into the ground like a fucking bull.

Tao and the buff guy started hashing it out until his bros came and peeled him away from the fight. It was the first time you really really saw Tao's teeth. Sharp and pointy like a shark's and then there was the spike like fins on his lower arms and legs. He looked like a mad dog ready to rip someone in half.

You heard one of the photographers comment on how territorial some of the fair folk can be with places or people they claim as their own.

If that was the case, then you guessed it might have to do with your friendship with Tao. If it wasn't, then he's about the get a stern talking to.

~~~~~~

"He was bothering you, I don't see why you're upset with me," Tao says after you lectured him about yesterday.

"I'm upset you dingbat because shit like that can get you sent back to your home realm! Do you think I want my friend to get deported over shit like that," you poke his arm, but it ends up being a jab.

Tao opens his mouth then closes it. He looks around a bit then let's out a long sigh "I'm sorry. I really don't know what's come over me. After I moved here, I didn't have my shoal. My sponsor checks on me maybe once every three months since he's been busy working with another merman who's been trying to get his pass here. I guess the loneliness drove me a bit crazy."

Now you feel bad for making him feel bad but you hope your gift will more than make up for it. You worked all morning long on it, double checking to make sure the meat was ready and perfect right before you left the house and that the sea greens were cooked and seasoned just right.

"Well moving past that, I brought you something," you take out the lunch box and show it to Tao.

He looks down right shocked as he goes to reach for it. He carefully removes the lid and his eyes stare hard at the contents.

"You made this... for me," his voice is soft and quiet and you can hear the pain behind it. He hesitates for a moment then takes a slice of the thin cut beef and pops it in his mouth. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back and swallows. He's quiet for a minute and you're afraid you messed up and he's too nice to tell you other wise.

"Tao if it's bad you can just tell me, I can take the criticism," you tell him, ready for the critical blow.

Instead he tilts his head back down and opens his eyes. The whites are now all black which makes his yellow irises pop even more so.

"My friend, if this was bad I would have spat it out," he grabs two more slices and then a few more practically stuffing his face like a kid who was caught with a bag of candy.

You watch as he eats everything, savoring every bite like he hasn't had a decent meal in ages. His harsh features soften as he takes the last bite and licks his fingers clean. For some reason you focus on him as he rolls the sauce off of his fingers and onto his tongue.

Bad lonely thoughts, Tao is our friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

"So was it good?" you ask, though you can probably guess the answer by the clean plate.

"If I was mermaid being offered a feast, I'd allow you the honor to continue courting me," he jokes.

"Oh what an honor," you laugh.

For the first time since you've met him he laughs back. You can't help but stare at him and feel a smile build up that hurts your cheeks.

"Thank you, really. I have tried and tried to create something that tastes like home but it was never quite right. It was either too salty or I over cooked the meat or the greens were under cooked somehow. This is pretty close to the flavors of my shoal. I didn't realize how much I missed this," he looks down at the empty lunch box with a mix of emotions.

Something in you feels for him. You haven't had a taste of home in forever but your problem is that you're pretty sure that it would make you physically sick instead of homesick. Home never felt like home, here didn't feel like home until you met Jessica and Tao.

Jessica made you her to die for pie for you birthday which you almost threw up from over drinking when she took you bar hopping for your birthday. Tao gave you an amazingly detailed binder of saltwater mer foods and recipes.

You can't think of anything better than food that brings all sorts of peoples together, human or the fair folk.

"Well, I can't do it all the time but I can at least make you a boxed lunch once a week, how does that sound," you smile at him.

"If it weren't for the fact that you're human and my friend I'd think you were trying to court me," he laughs. "But yes, that sounds good."

You play slap him and he laughs again.

~~~~~~~~~

"For the last time Jes, there's nothing romantic going on between Tao and I," you roll your eyes as Jessica gives you her biggest grin.

"Uh huh, sure girl. Maybe you don't see it that way, but guys don't risk getting deported for just friends and not just once. This is what, the second offence? He's lucky that he's, oh what did you say? A combination of a bookish mafia boss, the inspiration for the statues of deities and all around hotty mchot hot hot," she wriggles her brows at you before popping another slice of gum in her mouth.

You snort laugh, "I did not say that last one Jes."

"No, but you were thinking it," she raises a brow and twirls around till she's behind the counter.

"Listen, I can find him physically attractive and still not want more than a friendship. Plus he hasn't come onto me so I'm pretty sure he's not into me like that," you sigh and continue cleaning the table you just cleared.

Jessica hums something and clicks her tongue, "Girl you do know he's not human right? That he might have been coming onto you from the get go without you realizing it? Shoot for that matter he might not even realize it himself."

That has you curious now.

"What do you mean by that," you look over you shoulder to see Jes twirling a red curl.

"Oh you know, that the fair folk believe in fated mates and things like that," she gives you a cheesy grin and blushes a little.

You do know about the fated mates thing, it's one of the reasons a lot of fair folk, especially the guys, flocked to this realm in droves once the rift border opened up. With the fae it was pretty easy to tell once the bond clicked which wasn't always immediately. Their calm and calculated appearance would become wild and untamed. They would get quickly territorial and easily violent towards anyone who came close to their mate. A mark would usually show above the heart and a matching one would appear on their mate once their bond was consummated.

As for merman, no one had any idea what to look for since they just started coming this side as of a few years ago.

"Yes, I'm well aware about that. So what does that have to do with him not know if he's coming onto me," you ask.

"They know it deep down and act on it sometimes. They don't even realize they're courting you half the time or that they have this desire to want to be with you. It's hardcore ingrained into their DNA or something, I don't know. But it sounds to me that he is indeed into you. You're both just too oblivious to see it. Unlike Artek," Jes grins at the mention of her wild fae lover's name and sighs.

And suddenly her weird school girl crush behavior makes sense.

"Jes, did you and Artek.... Wait a sec, are you and-"

Jessica folds down her top just enough for you to see part of a swirling mark above her heart. She shakes in place with the goofiest smile you've ever seen on her.

"Just found out last night. Oh and he did not want to let me go," she places a hand on her forehead and feigns being scandalized. "But I have to go to work. He threatened to come in and tear Mikey a new one if he so much as thinks he can schedule me during my bond week," she give a vicious grin then.

The fae took about a week to celebrate their mate bond here, which was a much shorter version of their actual month long festivity of it. Mates were so rare on their side for some reason but here it was becoming as normal as two humans getting married. It just happened, but it was equally special if not more so.

Regardless, you were happy for Jes. Mikey tried to take everything from her in their divorce but got next to nothing after a detective brought in proof of his multiple affairs. That's why he's such an ass to her here.

"So, when's your bride feast huh? Gonna go all out," you turn to her and cross your arms.

Jessica goes into great detail about what she wants to do for the rest of the shift. That Artek has invited his large ass family this side to celebrate and that he's already started sourcing materials for their marriage bed. It was more than obvious that she's over the moon and can't get over the fact that she's found the one after years of dealing with a heartache.

Mikey tried to shut her down but several of the fair folk patrons snapped at him saying that it's a blessing that her and Artek found one another and he shouldn't discourage her happiness. His flustered face was priceless.

~~~~~

"Hey grandmama, I'm home," you shout as you slide your shoes off at the door.

Your grandmother's house is unusually quiet for this time of day when she's usually scrolling through her phone while listening to her soap operas. You look around and the livingroom is empty and so is the kitchen. You're about to call her when you see a note on the fridge saying Gayle has whisked her away for margaritas with the girls.

"Fuck me sideways and call me bob," you rake your fingers over your face in frustration. As much as you can't stand her normal antics you loath her when she's drunk. If you're lucky, Gayle will have her spend the night at her house until their hangovers wear off. If you weren't, there's a nice beach with your name on it.

Typically you'd go there after work but you're tired and you have the house to yourself right now. So you stretch and crack open the fridge and start preparing for a blissful night of snacking and binge watching some of your favorite shows.

~~~~

Hours pass and you get a text from Gayle that she's taking your grandmother home with her since she's had one too many and sends you a pic of your grandmother trying to put a dollar bill in a male strippers strap.

"Thanks for the mental scarring Gayle, just what I needed," you text back to her knowing she'll get the joke.

Gayle was a close family friend and was more like a grandmother to you than your biological one was at times. She was sweet and caring with a crazy sense of humor and infectious laughter. You sometimes wish you lived with her but she travels too much and she likes her alone time just as much as she like partying.

You squirm in your grandmother's recliner and grab a bag of chips getting ready for the next show until you hear a frantic knock at your door.

The bag flies out of your hand due to your shock reflex and you place a hand over your heart.

The knocking continues as you rush to the door to check through the peephole. You can't see nothing.

"Who is it?" you ask.

"It's me, are you ok," you hear Tao's voice.

You pause, not remembering if you ever told him where you live aside from the general direction. You slowly open the door and look up at him. He looks worried out of his mind.

"Tao, are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost buddy," you ask him.

His hair is all messed up and he's breathing fast and hard, trying to catch his breath and his tan skin looks like he worried himself sick.

"You didn't come to the beach today. You've been coming everyday except when it rains. I thought something happened," he frowns.

"Oh uh well, no I'm fine. My grandmother is out tonight so I thought I'd enjoy a night in since this rarely happens," you explain.

"I see, ok... That's good then. As long as you're alright," he nods and sighs as he leans against the top of the door frame.

A crack of thunder peels off in the distance causing Tao to flinch. He looks even more worried then.

"Sounds like rain," you comment.

"Yes, I... I should get going then, I don't want to accidentally transform back to my other form while walking home. It'd be very inconv-"

Before he finishes that thought lightning bursts through the sky and the little misting sprinkle turns into a torrential downpour.

Tao groans and looks resigned as he's about to turn to leave but you quickly stop him.

"Hey you can stay here for tonight if you want to wait out the rain," you tell him.

He looks to you like that's possibly the dumbest thing you could say.

"That sounds inappropriate," he glares at you. "Inviting an unmated male into your house is never wise."

"Tao we're friends and adults. I'm pretty sure I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself unless you've had ulterior motives from the get go," you cross your arms and stare up at him.

"It is still unwise," he nods, being firm.

"Oh so then you do have ulterior motives," you raise a brow.

"I never said that," he grimaces.

"Then there's no problem if you don't. Come on, get your ass in here," you open the door all the way and beckon him inside.

You hear him groan as he accepts his defeat while walking in. He struggles with the low ceiling, well low for him as he shuts the door.

"Is this your first time in a human house," you ask, leading him to the livingroom.

"Yes, it's very uh small and compact," he notes.

You get the compact part as your grandmother is a bit of a tidy hoarder, the small thing, that's probably due to his height.

"Well mi casa su casa. Well more like mi abuela's casa su casa, but still, make yourself at home," you say then try to offer him something warm to eat and drink.

Tao tries to deny any offers but you snap back saying it's rude to deny your hostess the honor of taking care of her guest. Tao eventually resigns and you bring him a warm cup of tea. As you go to the kitchen to make him something to eat he asks if he can watch you. You agree and start pulling ingredients left and right.

You get fully into the zone as you start preparing the food. You glance over at Tao ever so often just to see that he's fixated on your process. As you start cooking you notice the whites of his eyes turn black again. He sniffs the air and his pupils dilate.

"Want to try a bite," you offer him a piece and he takes it with no hesitation and scarfs it down. His nails which are sharp and pointed seem a bit longer and more pointier now. His expression looks more predatory than normal and some of his spikey fins have started protruding.

Guess that means he's really hungry.

"Give me just a few more minutes and dinner will be ready ok," you tell him as you continue on with his meal.

Tao just nods and stares daggers at pan. You feel like if you let him he'd lunge at it with reckless abandon and eat everything in record timing.

After a little bit you scoop the meat into a bowl and hand it to him. He looks at it and takes in a deep whiff before carefully grabbing a bite. He looks like he's holding back going ham on the food and you're wondering if he's trying not to scare you by going into some weird merman feeding frenzy.

"Hey if you need to eat however you want to eat, go ahead. I can just uh go into another room if you want some privacy or someth-"

Tao grabs a handful of the meat and stuffs his face with it. His pupils nearly engulf his irises making his eyes look pitch black. He tears into the strips of meat like a crazed hungry animal. The juices and sauce start dripping down his arms and you roll your eyes at the mess.

"I'm going to get you a towel, that stuff'll get sticky after a while," you say as you walk towards to laundry room.

Tao grunts and consumes some more meat.

As you get to the laundry room you smack yourself over the head for having another bout of terrible lonely girl thoughts.

Tao, smack.

Is, smack.

Just, smack.

A, smack.

Friend, smack.

You should not be even more attracted to him after that feeding frenzy trance thing he just went in and yet you can't stop thinking about it.

"God, does that mean I'm depraved," you question yourself. "Or does this just mean I'm weird and anything goes right now in my lonely haven't had sex in ages mind?"

Probably a bad mix of both...

You sigh and grab a towel and turn only to be met with a brick wall.

"Oh hey, are you done," you ask, praying that he didn't hear you questioning your sexual sanity.

He nods and cocks his head and points to the towel.

"Yeah, um here," you hand it to him and he slowly but carefully cleans himself off.

"So there's a guest bedroom in the back. Bed is probably a bit small for you even though it's a king size. It gets cold at night since my grandmother has the a/c on a schedule so I'll bring you some extra blankets," you tell him as you turn to go show him the room.

He quietly follows you and steps slowly into the room, smelling and inspecting it. You leave him be while you go grab a large comforter and a few throw blanket for him. When you come back he's already curled under the covers with his feet barely sticking out. As you go to lay another layer over him he snatches you and pulls you into the covers with him.

You flail about for a bit until you hear what you're pretty sure in a purr. You kick up the covers to see Tao asleep now and honest to gods purring. He pulls you in closer and just cuddles you. He's mentioned a few times that when someone gets cold that his shoal will form basically cuddle piles to stay warm. Maybe that's it and maybe he's also really homesick. He said he can never go back though...

"Just this once, jeeze. Not letting you go into a feeding frenzy next time I give you food," you snort laugh and try to relax against Mr. Brick wall.

Tao shifts a bit till he's holding you close enough that you can hear his heartbeat. He moves the covers and extra blankets back up and slowly drifts back to sleep.

You're a little jealous of how fast he can nod off but eventually you start dozing in and out.

He's probably going to flip the fuck out about this in the morning. Well, we'll deal with it then...

[pygmi-cygni]

Lucky Number Seven

what's that you say? I already have a series that I've been ignoring for one (1) month?

poppycock, I tell you.

a/n: I missed poe, so I figured I'd throw another bone. I'm aiming for three parts but it miiiight extend to four. if I exceed five something is def wrong.

cw: nothing right now, mostly just the intro chapter. later the series will contain themes of violence, torture and angst (with a happy ending!), but all fandom appropriate.

onward! pt. 2

It was always a possibility. As thin as a hair and stacks of odds against it, but still a possibility.

The intelligence division didn't wander out into the fight. That was the joke - they were the only ones 'intelligent' enough to leave well enough alone. But sometimes, they needed brains and capable hands. And you had two for two, so your sign-off was a go.

Not the dream position to be in, but you didn't have a choice.

That terrifying reality rattled in your brain with every rock and root the transport speeder went over. You clutched a blaster to your chest, staring blankly at the empty bench in front of you. The two officers on either side of you were mumbling prayers.

Seven in total. Lucky in every instance outside of this. The top intelligence officers the Resistance had to offer. For the first time in decades, reporting to the tiny group of actual soldiers and pilots hiding a few kilometers outside a very active Imp base.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the tattoo on your thumb. It wasn't much of a tattoo - just a pair of dots. It was meant to be three, but you could only take the pain of two.

Looking out the window, you swallowed nervously.

"D'you think we'll get medals?"

Turning, you saw the newest member of your team. Tonks, you called them. Short, scrawny, with moony grey eyes. Good with numbers and not much else.

"What?" Your brow furrowed.

They shifted closer, face curious. "Y'know, medals. For being brave and stuff."

You rubbed your neck. "Uh...not sure, kiddo. I don't think medals are gonna be the focus of this mission." The statement came out a bit crueler than you intended, and you winced.

Tonks swallowed, shrinking back into the corner. Oops.

The sweltering swamp air made you gag. It felt like being inside a sprinter's sock; damp, hot, and smelling of rot. Sticky pools were collecting under your arms and the heavy straps of your protective gear.

"Holy Maker," one of the officers groaned, shifting the massive bulk of a transcriber over his shoulder. You did not envy him.

The sun was high and beating down on your neck. Underbrush creaked and slopped under your boots as you trudged through the thick sludge. Tension was high, and the hairs on the back of your neck were straight up. Tonks stumbled behind you, mumbling all the while.

"Are...are you reciting code?" You swiveled to raise an eyebrow, nearly tripping into a pile of mud.

They sniffled, wiping sweat from their upper lip. "Regulation protocol. Rules calm me down."

Ah. My mistake.

Snorting, you hurried to catch up with the rest. Falling behind would do nobody any good; the suns were setting fast and the squelching mud was becoming a freezing, slick sludge. You'd skimmed the records of life on this planet, and you were not inclined to meet any of them.

Nal Hutta, named "Glorious Jewel" for reasons that escaped you, was a polluted swamp planet home to the slovenly species of Hutts. The Imps, likely enamored with its sewage and decrepit appearance, had decided to operate a communications base and a trading port. Allegedly they were allied with the smuggling captains and frequently used the back alleys to discuss trade operations.

This made it a seemingly easy target for the Rebel fighters, but you had quickly realized the Hutts were more equipped than you thought.

Hence the arrival of translators, cartographers, code breakers, and one (1) weapons specialist arriving in a cramped armored vehicle five hours away.

Logic.

Another wave of nausea threatened to overflow as the pockmarked ground belched a glob of slime. Your eyes were watering from the stench, and the sound of retching could be heard in front and behind you. For being a small planet, it was densely humid, and the temperatures fluctuated wildly. Your tongue was dry as Tattooine, but the mold beginning to grow around your water jug was not appetizing.

"The bacterial growth rate is astounding," one of the biologists murmured into a receiver, handing back swabs of growths to the research assistant. You made a face, dodging the slimy sticks of nastiness.

The craggy hill your group was mounting came to an abrupt peak, evidence of a fire burning ash down the side. You took the opportunity to shuck your pack, stretching out your tired muscles.

Tonks was vomiting off to the side, shaky hands bracing their scrawny knees. Sighing, you removed their glasses and wiped them on your pants, grimacing. They nodded a thanks, swallowing back bile.

The rest of the journey was equally as uncomfortable. You'd soaked through your clothes with sweat, salt and mud caked around your boots and pants. The soiled clothing chafed against your thighs, and you couldn't bear a step longer. One of the younger officers had lost his boot in a sticky puddle, and was now hobbling around with a crutch.

"Hey...hey, hey hey!"

Tonks' voice carried from a ditch, excited and bright. You stumbled behind the crowd, trying to see what Tonks had found.

A chimney with smoke trailing into the dark sky. Squinting, you peered around the ground and cried out triumphantly.

Canvas tents, well hidden by debris, tucked alongside the mountain ridge. It looked to be a few minutes walk.

"Oh fuck yeah," you breathed, starting off at a fast pace down the craggy side. The officers followed, groaning in relief. The ruckus of twenty officers rushing at the small camp alerted a few guards, who approached with blasters raised.

One of them, a stocky blonde, clearly recognized one of your crew, and broke into a grin. You watched, dazed, as they clapped each other on the back, other soldiers coming over to greet the group. Knowing you were safe, exhaustion had begun to set in hard. A bone-deep ache shuddered through your body, your boots tripping over each other. An unfamiliar pair of hands steadied you, and a woman said unintelligible words to you, eyes worried.

You mumbled something incoherently and sunk to the ground, eyes rolling back.

When you woke, it was still dark, but your clothes were clean and your hair was damp. You sat up and immediately regretted it. Stars swam in your vision, blurring the small light source next to you until it looked like Van Gogh.

"What the fff..." you smacked your lips, tongue like sandpaper. A rustling to your left made you jump.

Tonks peeked their head in, grey eyes bright. They gave a toothy grin and handed you a glass of liquid.

"Oh, hi! Don't worry, Marfa washed you off. Drink this, it's good." Their gaze was shiny and a little unfocused, and you took the drink with a bit of apprehension.

"Are we bunking together?" you croaked, wiping the foamy blue drink from your chin. It was good, mild and sweet, but definitely alcoholic. Subtly you set it aside, reaching for water instead.

Tonks nodded, hands fluttering excitedly. They launched into a recap of the last few hours, babbling about the base and the soldiers and a thousand other things you did not have the energy to keep up with.

When their energy and stream of words seemed to die down a bit, you mumbled about taking a piss and stumbled out of the tent, rolling the tension out of your shoulders. Your feet were steadier and a cold drink of water sounded great.

Despite it being the middle of the night, quite a few Rebels were still out, huddled around fires and under rooves. Some laughed and joked, dancing poorly to music, while others talked with hushed tones and pursed lips. You watched it all, amazed. It was far from the few bases you'd been on before - all grey, stoic, cold.

Smiling, you watched an animated game of cards between two pilots. One of their helmets was holding bets, stacked almost to the brim with credits and meal tickets.

Your smile wavered as you tilted your head to catch the insignia. Black.

Black Squadron was here?

The heat of the nearby fire sapped from your bones. Stumbling backwards, you ducked back into your tent and hissed, "Tonks! Who've we met at base?"

They blinked. "Wh-"

"The squadron. Who are we going to work with?"

"Black Squadron. Dameron's. Did you not read the debrief?" Snorting, they returned to their game of solitaire.

Your mouth felt like Tatooine's deserts as you shakily sat down. Tonks didn't notice your existential crisis, continuing to puzzle through another bad hand.

Poe had grown up with you, on Yavin. You weren't friends, not really. Just flowers that grew in the same garden and occasionally fluttered past each other on windy days. He was always too reckless, too fast. You preferred the late bloom to the hot summer flashes, unfurling your leaves in gentle spring. A strange dance had emerged as you orbited each other's circles, never going any farther than a hey or a good morning.

Well, you'd tried. Once.

And....failed.

But that debacle was successfully locked up in the box of 'do not fucking open this ever under any circumstances' and that was where it would stay.

Your thumbs ran worry lines over the rough lip of your canteen. That grudge had calcified among your bones, growing into your ribs alongside your heart. It might be wise to let it go, but the scar tissue had healed and it would hurt more to rip it out. It didn't bother you any more - the Resistance was so big you hardly saw him. You saw more than enough, all the posters and photoshoots polluting your media feed.

Until now.

You swallowed back another gritty mouthful of blue something and tossed your cup onto the sheets.

Well, it seemed you couldn't avoid him any longer. Three years you tried. A valiant effort.

Bring it on, flyboy.

You woke early the next morning. Morning dew clung to the tents, slicking up the encrusted slime into rivers of sludge. Nothing, not even sunrise, could make this planet appealing. It was frigid out. You wrapped elastic around the hems of your close to keep the heat contained. The end result was a striking resemblance to a Hutt. Futile anyway, for it would be boiling temperatures within the hour.

Standard protocol mandated an officer meeting by 0800 this morning. It was 0530, so you had time to kill. Usually you’d go for a run, but this terrain didn’t welcome any wandering off. You decided to take advantage of the quiet and explore the camp you missed yesterday.

It was smaller than you expected, but spread out. It looked like there were two cohorts of pilots that arrived; Red Squadron, whose camp was well-established, and Black Squadron, whose setup looked fairly new. Dameron must have landed within the last few weeks. It puzzled you why Red would even need any assistance – they had the highest ratio of trained fighters to licensed pilots. They were nicknamed ‘red’ for a reason. Their commander, Shayla Din, was the best staff fighter you’d ever met.

You shoved your hands deep in your pockets and crept along, tallying the tents as you passed. Forty. Two people per tent…eighty-ish. That was a small crew, but you could make it work.

A small hill approached. You muscled your way to the top, nearly stepping in a rat carcass. The ‘fog’ you’d assumed earlier appeared to be the gas from a nearby geyser, kept low in the atmosphere by the temperature. Well, that’s disgusting. No amount of soap and water could cleanse your body after that discovery.

Turning, you began your loop again.

And paused.

One of the tents was illuminated, and a very familiar head of curls sat outside buckling his boots.

A bucket of cold water crashed over your nervous system, sending your heartrate into the stratosphere. You wished, for the first time, to be absorbed into the grimy mess of the ground, sucked away into blissful death.

Anything was better than seeing his face.

You stood, frozen, watching as he dusted off his soles, stretched, and turned. And saw you. And saw you. And for a brief second, for the first time in three years, you felt like an anxious little greenhorn, shaking in the presence of a Commander. Poe’s gaze, even from here, was harder than Beskar. Clean and sharp like a blade, cleaving the strength from your bones and leaving you in a heap of quivering insecurity.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here,” he hissed, closing the space in three long strides.

Your mouth was glued shut. Ignore him. Just keep walking, don’t even look him in the eye.

His deep brown eyes met yours with seething confusion. Swallowing, you tilted your chin, deciding to stare at his ear instead.

“I’m one of the seven that came to help, Commander.” Your voice was smoother than you expected. His rank had the desired effect, his jaw twitching with irritation. Poe stood, a little too close, before grabbing your elbow and yanking you behind him.

“What the-“

“Follow me, and don’t talk to anybody,” he gritted out, “I’m calling headquarters.”

“What? Why?”

He stopped in front of the largest canvas tent, whirling to face you. “I’m sending you back.”

Any anger simmering under the surface boiled over in a massive collision between your fist and his cheek. The satisfying thud made your heart glow for a moment, until realizing you’d just punched a Commander’s lights out.

well, let's see where this goes I guess.

tags! comment to join (please specify if you want my main taglist or just this story xo)

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love

 @unear7hly

[lanormie]

blipped - mcu crossover au (pt. 2)

you're forced to navigate the aftermath of The Blip, where half of the population get thrown back into existence after disappearing for five years. pairing: pro-hero!Shouto x f!pro-hero!reader (ft. slight katsuki x reader) read on AO3 previous part - next part

As soon as you step outside, it becomes very apparent why the entire agency was mobilized. Absolute carnage has descended everywhere you turn. Vehicles are piled up in clusters on the streets, there are screaming and honking and smashing from all around you.

You quickly realize you’re not alone in your fate as you witness dozens and dozens of people materialize from thin air, one after the other. Some are lucky enough to turn up on the sidewalk, while some get unceremoniously dropped off into oncoming traffic, barely having time to process anything before they mercifully get scooped up by some speedster hero.

And by the time you stop someone mere feet from smashing into the ground on their way down from the sky, your commute home is thwarted as your hero instinct kicks into gear. You re-materialized in the same space you had disappeared from, so it’s not hard to deduce that some might have been on a plane when they got zapped away.

You take to the sky and find yourself dotted among dozens of airborne heroes, all flying in frantic patterns as more and more people are dropping from the sky in frightening velocity. You push as high up as you can go without your oxygen gears and take full advantage of your quirk. Where your telekinesis quirk lacks in strength, it makes up for it in range. You’re able to grab people within a large radius and set them atop tall buildings nearby without having to move an inch. 

Though as proficient as your quirk is, you have never been trained to deal with such a bizarre scenario where it’s literally raining men. So when you’re busy holding up two people and two more suddenly appear right on top of you, your footing slips. While you’ve managed to bring the latter two into your hold, you’re losing altitude quick and struggling to brake. The building below is approaching at such a speed that would guarantee you more than a few broken bones, but grant you enough momentum to push back and cushion the touchdown for the four of them. 

You’re clenching your jaw and bracing for impact when something red zips past your face. Then all of a sudden the weight of all four people gets lifted off of you as they get sent to a soft landing nearby by the collar of their shirt.

Finally able to change course, you dash back upwards to catch up to your savior, his strawberry blond hair dances in the wind as he cheerily grins down at you.

“Heya kid! You were about to eat it there!” He chirps, his crimson wings filling back out as a few feathers rejoin their formation.

“Thanks, Hawks.” You offer him a small nod in gratitude, feeling utterly inadequate in front of the Number Two hero. Wait, is he still Number Two?  

“What a day to be off-duty huh?” He tilts his stubbly chin at your gym clothes and severe lack of flight gears. Rawdogging the clouds , as Denki once called it.

You shrug. “Apparently I’ve been off-duty for a very long time now.” 

Hawks freezes at the insinuation, just as another person (re)materializes in the distance behind him. Before you could move a muscle though, a feather jets out and swiftly escorts them to the nearest surface. Damn Hawks and his super hearing.

“So you all–” He points at you then to the person he just saved, gears visibly turning behind his golden eyes. Something snaps him out of it as he takes a sharp inhale. “Sorry, I– I have to make a call.”

“Wait, Hawks!” You yelped. Questions are clawing at your throat now, vying for solution. “Just a second please! Can you tell me what happened?”

“Oh, uh,” He stumbles for the right words. “This may sound crazy, but half of the entire universe disappeared a while ago ‘cause of a villain named Thanos. He’s uh, he’s an alien– It’s a long story.”

Half of the universe . An alien . Neither concept is registering to you at any meaningful speed.

So you focus on the thing that’s been bothering you the most.

“How long has it been?”

“The five year memorial was a few weeks ago.” 

Hawks watches as his reply sends you into a stupor. The avian hero’s only ever known you in passing, a friend of a friend of a friend, and in this moment, he wants to help, to say something. But there’s no protocol for this, no guidelines on how to proceed when these things happen. It’s all uncharted territory.

So he sticks around, making quiet phone calls to his staff, urging them to check the Lawson near the agency where Touya had headed to before his disappearance, while keeping an eye and ear out to make sure no one meets concrete at lightning speed, including you. 

And you, despite still absentmindedly handling the wave of people blipping into existence, is struggling to quantify how long five years are.

Five years ago you were leaving Musutafu for another city and started high school in Ketsubutsu. That alone feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed during those years and it terrifies you how vastly different things could be now. After all, your boyfriend– as if he’s your boyfriend anymore, seemed to have moved on already.

No , file that thought away for god’s sake, people are literally falling from the sky and you can’t afford to let any of them slip through your fingers.

Cause maybe, just maybe, their loved ones haven’t abandoned them yet.

.

The resurgence didn’t last much longer than twenty minutes, but the chaos persists as you part ways with Hawks and head for the ground. Weaving your way through the clashing waves of people running and yelling into their phones, one step in front of another, you resort to muscle memory to take you towards your apartment, the calamity before your eyes doing absolutely nothing to help guide you there.

The street names are the same, but you don't recognize the shops. The paint and decors are all wrong . Even the trees are different. Even the–

Even the name of your apartment building is different.

A foreboding feeling looms over your head as you plug the front entrance code into the little key pad attached to the door handle. 0425.

It flashes red.

You try again. 0. 4. 2. 5.

It flashes red once more, this time with a warning beep.

The panic you’ve been repressing starts to unravel. It seeps into your blood, hitching a ride to every part of your body till it’s oversaturated, driving you to start banging on the door like a madwoman.

Thankfully, it’s a familiar face who answers it.

“Mrs. Hatanaka!” You almost cheer at the sight of the elderly receptionist. 

“Heavens almighty,” She adjusts her glasses with shaky hands and looks you all over. “Oh it’s really you!” She gasps and pulls you into your third bone crushing hug of the day. You suspect there will be many more. “Where have you been, dear?”

“I honestly have no idea.” You speak into her graying hair, all too quietly. “Mrs. Hatanaka,” You stand back as she pulls away. “I left work in a hurry and forgot my keys, would you mind lending me the spare from maintenance?”

For a moment, she just stares at you.

“Sweetheart,” She finally manages. “Your apartment got repossessed years ago.”

Something shatters in your brain and your vision goes blurry. 

“The building was turned over to a new owner when the previous one went missing with everyone else.” She continues. “They terminated all the leases from the reported blipped folks, even though someone was trying to pay your rent for a while– oh dear, do you need to sit down?”

“What– oh.” Your eyes manage to refocus enough to spot all the floating potted plants and small items swirling in the air around you. “I’m sorry.” Reeling your quirk back with slight difficulty, you set everything back down just as a mop of red and white appears in your peripherals.

Shouto jogs over, disheveled and huffing for air. 

“Things got out of hand on 7th Ave so I got delayed.” He rests his palm on a nearby column, trying to catch his breath. “But I figured you’d be here.”

“Not for long.” You run your hands back and forth over your scalp to chase away the tingling numbness. “I don’t have a home anymore, Sho.”

“I see.” He nods, straightening up. “Neither do I.”

* * * * *

The Todoroki family home looks almost identical to the last time you set foot in here. The furniture have stayed in their exact same spots, down to the light blue shawl draped over the back of the couch. The tatami mat under your feet is cold to the touch, yet the familiarity and the memories of running up and down these halls offer so much warmth. You used to call this place your second home, having spent a whole lot of time here growing up, your cousin-turned-guardian being too swept up in work to really be present more than necessary.

You breathe in this moment of respite along with the toasty aroma of the genmaicha Auntie Rei has made for you and Shouto, and let your shoulders drop for the first time today. You pick up bits of and pieces of Shouto’s recount of running by his apartment and seeing an office building instead as he’s talking to his mom and sister, but you mostly stare at the steaming tea cup. Their reunion was a teary one, at least on Rei and Fuyumi’s end, so it doesn’t feel right to intrude no matter how much you still have trouble wrapping your head around all of this.

To you, no time has passed. You were just here yesterday . Not here in Shouto’s family home but here on this Earth. Then in a blink of an eye, you lost your boyfriend, your home, and five years of your life. Where do you even go from here? Do you just wake up and go to work tomorrow like normal? No, the agency is the last place you’d want to find yourself in right now. And do you even work there anymore? 

“Mom, Nats just heard from Touya!” Fuyumi exclaims from behind the kitchen counter, phone in hand. “He said Kei will try to drag him over tomorrow. Said Toto’s super confused and cranky at the moment.”

“That sounds like him.” Shouto deadpans, completely overlooking the fact that Rei’s tearing up again. 

“Yeah.” Fuyumi starts sniffling too. “Yeah it does.”

You stare harder into your tea. You’ve been in so much shock that you haven’t shed a single tear the whole day, but now you’re approaching the end of the rope and the sight of them crying might hurl you over that threshold.

As if sensing your distress, Shouto attempts to change the subject and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“By the way Mom, where’s Dad?”

Nice going Shouto, nobody gets emotional around here about good ol’ Endeavor.

“Enji’s been in a coma for a couple months now.”

Oh.

* * * * *

There is no footage from the battle at the Avengers Complex, so the news turns to cover the sacrifice and death of Iron Man instead. A purportedly quirkless hero, though it’s highly speculated that he has some sort of intelligence quirk, considering all of his astonishing achievements.

Apparently he’s had a hand in bringing everyone back today. You have mad respect for the man, yet in this moment you can’t find it in yourself to be grateful.

You try changing the channel, but it’s a constant repeat of his story and images of the chaos during the resurgence, so you turn off the TV and flop down.

Fuyumi’s pajamas, though extremely soft and comfy, feel super strange on your body. So does the futon you’re sprawling out on in a corner of the Todoroki’s guest room. Even the air you’re breathing in is heavy with something foreign. Everything feels…wrong. It’s like you’re not supposed to be here. Like you’re not supposed to exist .

A knock on the door disrupts your thoughts. 

Sliding the shoji screen door open, you are greeted with Shouto, in PJs that he’s clearly grown out of, and two steaming mugs of something that smells invitingly sweet.

“I promised you hot cocoa before we ‘died’.” The quotation is implied as best as it can in his even voice. He hands you your mug. “Caramel and a pinch of sea salt.”

Your favorite way of jazzing up a hot choc. “Thanks, Sho.”

You and Shouto sit quietly across from each other at the kotatsu, sipping your respective warm drink. It’s comfortable like this, his long legs tangling with yours under the blanket as you let each other arrive at the conversation at your own pace.

Sometimes, the conversation never comes at all.

“Sorry about Katsuki–”

“Sorry about your dad–”

Today, the conversation comes at the same time. 

You bust out a laugh, the taut string in the back of your head snapping. Shouto follows with his own chuckle, you both falling into a manic sort of hysterics from the sheer ridiculousness of your reality. This is it, the dam has broken, you can’t hold back anymore, and your laughter promptly turns into tears.

Before you know it, Shouto has left his side of the table to crawl over to you. He holds you over his right side, he always does when you cry, to cool your eyes down so they don’t swell and sooth your skin as it inevitably becomes raw with salty tears.

He lets your sobs even out to a steady sniffle before reaching for your mug with his left hand and gently heating it back up. 

“Your shirt’s wet.” You frown.

“I’ve got plenty more.” He gives you the mug. 

You sit back, holding your drink and knees to your chest. “What do we even do now?”

“Right now, you need to sleep.” He points at you with his spoon, then moves to aimlessly fish for tiny pieces of marshmallow in his mug. “As for tomorrow, I don’t know.” He sets the mug down, seeing that the marshmallows would just all fall apart. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Cause if today tells me anything, it’s that you can’t get rid of me .”

He finishes his sentence with a light boop on your nose, causing you to genuinely smile for the first time in what feels like five actual goddamned years .

You hold out your hand.

“Friends even in death?”

He grabs it and gives it a firm shake. “Even in death.”

[unicyclehippo]

Bishova: alcohol

just a little shorty im writing instead of sleeping bc i don’t! like! storms! i don’t think I’ve quite got yelena’s vibe but it was fun to write. set in the same stories as the others

//

(21:48) jpg. attachment

(21:48) jpg. attachment

(21:49) jpg. attachment

when her phone buzzed fourteen times in one minute, that was when yelena knew she had made a mistake.

‘kate bishop, you are pushing my patience,’ she said to no one and the empty safe house.

snatching up the phone, she considered crushing it—they could part ways like that, easy, and she would not ever have to think about clint barton or kate bishop again—but it was the only burner phone she had and kate bishop was not the only message she was waiting for. plus, she liked the dog.

the first eight messages were all photos of said dog. it had snowed since they arrived at the barton farm and lucky wore booties on his paws. from the photos of his bizarre walk and tail tucked between his legs, yelena guessed the pizza dog didn’t like them.

the other six messages were not photos and they were not short. yelena groaned at the first wall of text but she had four hours until extraction and nothing else to provide diversion.

‘you are the lucky one, kate bishop,’ yelena told her, which would have sounded menacing if the girl were here but, since she was not, was just kind of sad.

(21:50) hey sorry about sending a dozen photos, i didnt really think about it first because lucky was just so cute but you feel like the kind of person who would get irritated by that sort of thing so i’ll keep it to a totally normal & very chill number of messages from now on! promise!!!! anyway i just wanted to say merry christmas, i don’t know if you celebrate because you said an awful lot about american christmas like it wasn’t super familiar and idk if russian (?) christmas is different but either way, i hope you have a rly nice day

(21:50) this is kate

(21:50) bishop

(21:50) fyi

(21:50) in case you didnt realise or save my number

(21:50) ok im done now i promise good night

yelena had to laugh. she swiped her thumb up the tiny dim screen of the flip phone, pressed it to the many exclamation points.

kate bishop.

what a surprise she had been.

what a surprise she remained.

yelena was not surprised at herself, for being intrigued by the girl. she was not much younger but she was so different and it was the itch, wasn’t it? the need to scratch at the persistent question. what would she have been like if the red room had not been?

yelena did not think she would be much like kate bishop. even as a little girl, she did not talk as much, share as much. kate bishop walked through the world without any shields, all soft eyes and soft skin. it made yelena’s skin crawl to be around it, still not sure the softness would not infect.

and yet. she went back. she had her answer but she went back to her. with alcohol, for the proper drowning of sorrows.

yelena cut her eyes across the horizon. the hills were silver under the moonlight and she would be able to see any vehicles or bodies long before they reached the house. she was sat on the empty table in the centre of the living room; it was the only piece of furniture and from her place she had a sightline out in every direction.

she had not expected such a night they spent drinking together. when the fourth shot hit kate’s system, she was very chatty. yelena learned much that she asked and more that she had not.

kate bishop was hiding something.

she learned that very quickly, and enjoyed trying to pluck it from the girl. to no avail. if she had more time, maybe, but kate did not handle alcohol well.

she would not have handled the red room well.

it hurt to think it, which was foolish. yelena was not there and she would never go back. it was gone, the men who ran it were dead.

it hurt to think it because the red room still sat in her head, still was tangled in everything she was, still soaked her hands, her history, her name. when she walked, she thought of it. when she talked, she thought of it. when she sat beside this girl, listing from griefs weight on her shoulders and drunkenness, yelena thought first that killing her would take no effort at all. kate bishop had a long, pretty neck and she could put a blade, a piece of glass, against her carotid and—red. she had done it before. to girls less soft.

taking her money was easy and more practical.

leaving her number was…not.

and now this.

yelena tapped a button to light up the screen. it did not get good quality photos, this phone, but the pizza dog was funny anyway.

(21:54) i will dispose of this phone tomorrow.

(22:00) yelena! hi! okay?? because i sent too many messages or??

(22:00) you are funny, kate bishop. and you talk so much.

(22:01) i know. sorry

(22:01) i am glad you were never assassin. it would be a shame to kill you. return safely to nyc.

(22:02) thanks. you too

(22:03) or wherever you’re headed

(22:03) which is……..?

yelena huffed a laugh. a brick of a car shouldered over the hillside and rattled down the long long road toward the house. she dropped the burner to the floor and hopped down from the table, crushing it beneath her boot.

[mariacallous]

One of the bleakest places on Earth today is the central processing facility for the remains of dead soldiers in the Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, the logistical hub of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Designed to process hundreds of corpses at a time, this sprawling mega-morgue has been hopelessly overwhelmed for many months. Footage from the inside, posted by witnesses on social media, shows hundreds of bodies in various stages of decomposition and limbs strewn across the corridor floors. In wooden boxes lining the walls from floor to ceiling, row after row after row, are the lucky ones: those whose bodies were recovered from the battlefield, identified, sealed in zinc-lined caskets, and prepared for dispatch to their grieving relatives in the farthest corners of Russia. Many more corpses have been abandoned to rot in Ukrainian fields because evacuating them is impractical under the constant barrage of the defenders’ artillery and drones.

To be sure: These soldiers’ deaths are the necessary consequence of Ukraine’s right to defend itself against an illegal war of conquest. What’s more, many of these ordinary Russian soldiers likely committed despicable brutality and war crimes against Ukrainians, including defenseless civilians. But the horrific rate at which Russians are getting killed at the front—much higher than corresponding Ukrainian losses, although exact numbers are kept secret by both sides—points to two disturbing truths about the Russian way of waging war. First, a cruel disregard for human life extends to Russia’s own forces, which the Kremlin systematically deploys in so-called meat grinder and human-wave attacks. Second, mass death among Russian troops has become part of an increasingly explicit eugenics policy, by which the Kremlin seeks to rid Russia of undesirable elements and reconfigure the Russian population. The eugenics aspect of Russia’s war has long been an open secret, widely discussed on Russian talk shows and social media. Now, a high-ranking Russian politician has made it plain for the first time.

The numbers boggle the mind. With an estimated rate of 1,500 casualties per day, October was the bloodiest month of the war for Russia as President Vladimir Putin throws everything he has into battle. Estimates for total Russian war deaths range from 115,000 to 160,000, more than 10 times Soviet combat deaths in Afghanistan. Total Russian casualties—killed and wounded—are estimated at around 800,000. According to Anastasia Kashevarova, a rabidly pro-war Russian journalist, the average Russian infantry soldier lasts less than one month at the front before being killed. With casualties exceeding Russia’s ability to recruit fresh soldiers, few of the troops receive any serious training before they’re sent to assault the Ukrainian lines.

It’s not just lives that Russia is losing in astonishing numbers—equipment, too, is being lost at a rate far beyond what’s possible to replenish from weapons production or dwindling stocks. According to WarSpotting, an open-source intelligence project that uses video confirmation to track Russian equipment losses, Russia lost more than 500 pieces of heavy equipment in October—including tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, and aircraft—twice as many as during the Battle of Grozny from 1994 to 1995, whose catastrophic losses in men and equipment demoralized Russian forces and society at the time. Today, some of the largest Russian military storage bases have almost been stripped clear of equipment, with even old Soviet-era tanks and armored vehicles dragged to the front.

Russian politicians, pundits, and ordinary citizens, who fantasize publicly about mass murdering Ukrainians, make no secret of the view that their own soldiers’ lives are worth hardly more. The shift to World War II-style meat grinder tactics has been widely and passionately discussed on pro-war Telegram channels since the battle for Bakhmut, which began in the summer of 2022 and lasted almost an entire year. The battle marked a doctrinal shift from the failed concept of battalion tactical groups—composed of some of the most elite and efficient Russian units, such as paratrooper and special forces regiments—to Soviet-style mass frontal assaults.

In Bakhmut, Wagner Group commander Yevgeny Prigozhin introduced what is now the standard Russian tactic of sending human wave after human wave of disposable infantry into the assault until the Ukrainian defenders’ guns jam or run out of bullets. In Wagner’s case, these were mainly convicts recruited from prisons with promises of freedom and mercenaries lured by exorbitant pay. Russia finally won the yearlong fight over the city’s smoldering ruins at the cost of at least 20,000 Wagner mercenaries alone. Later, the meat grinder policy was adopted for the entire Russian army, with each major unit setting up assault groups for that purpose.

It has been a terrifyingly effective tactic, but Russian casualties incurred by it are beyond comparison in recent military history. The battle for the Ukrainian town of Avdiivka alone may have cost around 16,000 Russian lives—and that appears to be a very conservative estimate circulated by Russian pro-war bloggers, who generally have an incentive to downplay their own side’s losses.

But Russian disregard for life is not just a question of battlefield tactics. What stands out is the deliberate cruelty. The Russian military has stunned the world with its wanton brutality toward Ukrainian civilians—including widespread rape, torture, killings, and abductions—and prisoners of war. (The latter are now routinely executed, another in a long list of Russian war crimes.) But the cruelty dispensed by officers on their own subordinates is also shocking. Russian Telegram channels are full of accounts of soldiers tortured for refusing or questioning orders, of seriously wounded troops sent to a certain death in an assault, and of Soviet-style barrier troops behind the front line, whose sole job is to shoot shirkers and deserters—also known as nullification. Suicidal human-wave attacks are both a means and an end: Commanders have reportedly assigned soldiers to these expendable units as a punishment for various disagreements or for the failure to pay a bribe.

Under these circumstances, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that many Russian soldiers choose to end their lives. By now, there are hundreds of videos online showing Russian soldiers shooting themselves through the mouth to spare themselves an even grislier death, knowing that there is little hope for medical evacuation on the Russian side.

An even more sinister aspect of Russia’s disregard of the value of life is the increasingly open framing of the war as a national eugenics project. “Spare people” with low “social value” is how Russian parliamentarian Aleksandr Borodai described his compatriots sent as cannon fodder to Ukraine in a leaked tape, the authenticity of which he later confirmed. Expendable manpower, he explained, can be thrown at Ukraine’s “bravest [and] boldest,” and “exhaust the enemy to the maximum.” Borodai isn’t just anybody: He’s a political consultant from Moscow who declared himself prime minister of the so-called Donetsk People’s Republic in Ukraine in 2014, and he’s now a member of the Russian parliament for the ruling United Russia party. Coming from someone this prominent, it is essentially a confirmation of how Russia is running the war.

That the war has changed the composition of the Russian population has long been clear from the incomparably higher rates at which non-Russian ethnic minorities—Buryats, Tatars, Tuvans—are dying in the war. But these are not the only disfavored parts of the Russian population while the Russian leadership shields the politically important populations of Moscow and St. Petersburg, where unrest could endanger the regime and where much of the Russian elite resides. Prisons have been virtually emptied as inmates are sent to the bloodiest sections of the front. And the protection of the major urban populations in European Russia means that the more remote, poorer, and less ethnically Russian regions are bleeding out.

To compensate for the deliberate loss of “expendables” at the front, a crucial part of Moscow’s eugenics program is played by Ukrainians. Several million Ukrainians have been removed from the occupied territories and resettled in Russia, a disproportionate share of them women and children. In their place, Russian settlers are moving in. Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of these abducted children are now being Russified to strip them of any Ukrainian identity, a clear echo of the Nazi eugenics policy of shipping blond Polish children back to the Reich to be adopted and turned into Germans. Some of the Ukrainian boys are now old enough to be forcibly conscripted into the Russian army—yet another war crime on an already long list.

Russia still has numerical superiority, but its resources are not infinite. The suicidal Russian strategy of waging war, while effective, is not sustainable in the long term, especially with the Russian economy already showing signs of immense strain.

The fate of Russia’s invasion now effectively hinges on Western willingness to commit to Ukraine’s push for independence from Russia’s neo-imperialist aspirations. U.S. President Joe Biden’s final weeks in office may yet prove to be critical: His decision to grant Ukraine permission to strike key military targets inside parts of Russia with U.S.- and British-supplied weapons has already elicited an angry response from Moscow, even if there is nothing new about Ukraine using Western arms to strike vital targets in what Russia considers its lands, including illegally annexed Crimea. It’s up to the West to help Ukraine make sure that Putin loses his gamble as he throws everything he has against Ukraine before his equipment and trained soldiers run out. Catastrophic human losses won’t deter him, as they are deeply ingrained in Russia’s cruel way of waging war.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - March 13, 2023

🐝 - Did you hear about the honeybee vaccine? It's creating quite the buzz! But seriously, it's a major breakthrough in the fight against American foulbrood and could save billions of bees.

1. Transgender health care is now protected in Minnesota

Minnesota Governor Tim Walz signed an executive order protecting and supporting access to gender-affirming health care for LGBTQ people in the state, amidst Republican-backed efforts across the country to limit transgender health care. The order upholds the essential values of One Minnesota where all people, including members of the LGBTQIA+ community, are safe, celebrated, and able to live lives full of dignity and joy.

Numerous medical organizations have said that access to gender-affirming care is essential to the health and wellness of gender diverse people, while states like Tennessee, Arizona, Utah, Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi, South Dakota, and Florida have passed policies or laws restricting transgender health care.

2. First vaccine for honeybees could save billions

The US government has approved the world's first honeybee vaccine to fight against American foulbrood, a bacterial disease that destroys bee colonies vital for crop pollination.

Developed by biotech company Dalan Animal Health, the vaccine integrates some of the foulbrood bacteria into royal jelly, which is then fed to the queen by the worker bees, resulting in the growing bee larvae developing immunity to foulbrood. The vaccine aims to limit the damage caused by the infectious disease, for which there is currently no cure, and promote the development of vaccines for other diseases affecting bees.

3. Teens rescued after days stranded in California snowstorm: "We were already convinced we were going to die"

The recent snowstorms in California have resulted in dangerous conditions for hikers and residents in mountain communities. Two teenage hikers were rescued by the San Bernardino County sheriff's department after getting lost in the mountains for 10 days.

The boys were well-prepared for the hike but were not prepared for the massive amounts of snow that followed. They were lucky to survive, suffering from hypothermia and having to huddle together for three nights to stay warm.

Yosemite National Park has had to be closed indefinitely due to the excessive snowfall.

4. La Niña, which worsens Atlantic hurricanes and Western droughts, is gone

The La Nina weather phenomenon, which increases Atlantic hurricane activity and worsens western drought, has ended after three years, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. That's usually good news for the United States and other parts of the world, including drought-stricken northeast Africa, scientists said.

The globe is now in what's considered a "neutral" condition.

5. Where there's gender equality, people tend to live longer

Both women and men are likely to live longer when a country makes strides towards gender equality, according to a new global study that authors believe to be the first of its kind.

The study was published in the journal PLOS Global Public Health this week. It adds to a growing body of research showing that advances in women's rights benefit everyone. "Globally, greater gender equality is associated with longer [life expectancy] for both women and men and a widening of the gender gap in [life expectancy]," they conclude.

6. New data shows 1 in 7 cars sold globally is an EV, and combustion engine car sales have decreased by 25% since 2017

Electric vehicles are the key technology to decarbonise road transport, a sector that accounts for 16% of global emissions. Compared with 2020, sales nearly doubled to 6.6 million (a sales share of nearly 9%), bringing the total number of electric cars on the road to 16.5 million.

Sales were highest in China, where they tripled relative to 2020 to 3.3 million after several years of relative stagnation, and in Europe, where they increased by two-thirds year-on-year to 2.3 million. Together, China and Europe accounted for more than 85% of global electric car sales in 2021

7. Lastly, watch this touching moment as rescued puppy gains trust in her new owners

By the way, this is my newly started YouTube channel. Subscribe for more wholesome videos :D

---

That's it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Let's carry the positivity into next week and keep spreading the good news!

[paris9]

Everybody knows that im a good girl officer!

Warnings: alcohol mention, drunk reader, a bit of stalker vanessa and i might continue the plot in another fic

Rated: E

Officer vanessa x reader

You had just left the bar. The time was around 12:15 am. You felt tipsy and sluggish, eyes glazed over from having a little bit too much to drink. You drove, trying to take it slow to make sure you didn't hit anyone. Your head rang as you heard a siren and flashing blue and red lights come up from behind you. ‘Great.’ You thought as you went to pull over, slowly coming to a stop on the side of the road. You rolled down your window.

A blonde haired woman with her hair pulled up in a tight ponytail walked up to your window from her cop car. “I just wanted to let you know that you were going ten miles over the speed limit.” the woman said sternly, examining you. You frowned, ‘was i?’ You thought. “I apologize, officer. I'm just tired.” You slurred a bit. “Tired or drunk?” She tilted her head and glared at you, “i'm going to need you to take a step out of the vehicle please.” You nod your head and slowly get out. She grabbed her breathalyzer from her pouch “breath into this please. I need to measure the alcohol toxicity in your blood.”

The officer said and you nodded your head, obediently and breathed into it. Vanessa read the results and sighed, “you should know better, you're lucky that it's me out here tonight and not some other officer who would most definitely have you in the back of their cop car already.” You kept your gaze downwards “I know officer..” you didn't know her name but before you could finish the sentence she interrupted “just call me Vanessa. Officer vanessa.” a light blush painted your cheeks as you looked over the woman. She was pretty. “I'm going to need your license and registration.” Vanessa said and you nod, opening your car door and pulling it out of your purse.

You hand it to her and she looks over it before going to her cop car and typing it in. You felt nervous and scared. Were you going to get arrested? She came back and sighed “I'm going to let you off with a warning but not before i follow you home to make sure you get back safely.” Vanessa's voice was softer than the stern attitude she kept up before. “Thank you officer vanessa.” You said relieved and she nodded her head. You didn't notice her glancing down at your chest.

You got back in your car and drove home with Vanessa's cop car right behind you. Soon you got to your small suburban house and parked in your driveway. Vanessa parked behind your car and got out. She held a piece of paper in her one of her hands and went to you, “here. Incase you need someone to make sure you get home safely.” She offered the piece of paper and you took it. It was her personal phone number. “Thank you officer. Ill make sure to give you a call sometime.” You said and gave her a soft smile. She nodded her head, “have a good night, y/n.” she got in her car and drove away. You were blushing, you really did just pull a hot cop after all.

[klausinamarink]

Oop let's try this again; for the birthday fics: “Because you’re a jinx!” angsty Steddie established relationship, chasing fame Eddie and some guy Steve who gets discovered while Eddie's band keeps being passed over? Platonic hellcheer and platonic Stobin.

I couldn’t find a way to put in the platonic ships but it’s still Steddie. Enjoy the angsty flavour electric boogaloo.

It was supposed to be Eddie’s lucky day.

This was supposed to be his time. The moment when the rich suits would look at Eddie and immediately offer him the contract that finally pushed his music to fame.

But it was just another fucking mediocre performance. Only a few people out of the dozens in the crowd cheered, but that was worse than getting no response at all. Nobody even went up to them for an autograph, their numbers, Instagram handles, music samples, anything that would’ve made the night worth it.

Eddie stayed silent and seething for the whole drive home. The rest of the band left on their own respective vehicles, though Jeff had lingered longer to say something that Eddie mentally filtered out. Probably some shitty encouragement or a call to quit. 

His hands tightened around the wheel. Eddie felt the pulsing headache crawl to the back of his eyes. Goddamnit, he needed to sleep.

Maybe in Steve’s arms, but for once, Eddie just wanted to be alone for tonight. 

After he parked the car and trudged the stairs back to his apartment, Eddie bit his lip until he tasted the sting of copper. 

He was so tired. Not just physically, but in very foul shape that took its claws into him. It was the apathetic crowds and uninterested advisors. How the rest of the band delayed practice more and more. The bland methodical act of cutting up another piece of his shrinking soul as a muse for his lyrics. 

But still. He was close to that single star of recognition. Eddie had to taste it.

Unlocking the door, Eddie kept himself from collapsing until he dropped his guitar case and landed face-first on the couch. 

In the bedroom, he could catch some muffled conversation, the floor creaking as Steve paced back and forth inside. 

Eddie frowned and checked his phone for any missed messages. Steve hadn’t texted him since five,  soon after Eddie had left for the worst night of his life. It was almost eleven now. So why was his boyfriend still up and talking to someone?

Before Eddie could try and get up, the door opened and Steve came out, his phone in hand. Steve glanced up and stopped in his tracks when he saw Eddie. He gave a bright smile.

“Hey, babe! You okay?” 

Eddie groaned. If he had the energy, he could scream into the pillows.

The floor creaked as Steve approached and gently laid a hand on his back. “Was the band okay?”

Eddie groaned again, unable to hold himself back from pressing against Steve’s hand. He could really use a fucking massage. Or some quick, stress-relief sex. “It’s fucking awful. It’s always fucking awful.”

Steve made a sympathetic noise, “I’m sorry to hear that, Eds.”

Eddie lifted his head up and peered at Steve. Despite his words, there was an odd light in Steve’s eyes and his lips were fighting desperately not to smile.

“What is it?” He asked.

Steve had the nerve to look spooked, “Uh, well, I don’t want to ruin your mood-”

“What is it?”

Steve stared at him for a moment before he sighed like it was the start of a serious discussion.

“You know that audition I did back in Chicago two weeks ago?” Steve bit his lip. It only revealed the cracks of excitement on his face and Eddie already knew what he was about to say. “Well, my agent called and said that I’m officially casted. I’m gonna be in a HBO show!”

Record scratch.

Eddie only stared at Steve as the news hit him with the speed of a truck. When he saw Steve’s smile in full glory, he only saw blank faces who spat at him with rejection and disappointment and ‘try better’s. 

How the fuck does Steve get so many gigs when Eddie could barely find an open venue in advance? And now he’s going to work for fucking HBO, Jesus Christ-

Steve was frowning at him, “You- are you not happy?”

“Of course, I am!” Eddie said quickly. It felt hard to speak when there was something now stuck and burning in his throat. He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He needed a drink. Maybe not alcohol, though tempting. But some actual water but he was too exhausted and sober for this shit. 

“I’m always here to support my wonderful and talented boyfriend who never misses an audition. Who always gets a spot in whatever he plays in, even if it’s a fucking diaper commercial or a glorified extra who gets five more cents than his less impressive boyfriend.” 

As he spoke, his words became more tinted with venom. Eddie took an empty glass and filled it under the tap. He almost choked from gulping it down in one go. It cooled his throat, but the burning simply expanded through his veins.

“Okay, you’re mad.” Steve said slowly, now behind him.

Eddie laughed bitterly, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. They taught you that in acting class or was it a trick from your last ex?”

“Jesus, okay, Eddie.” Steve put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders but Eddie shook him off with more force than necessary. “You’re obviously in a bad mood and my news isn’t making it better, but you did ask and-”

Eddie whirled around. He was seeing red at the corners of his vision. “And now it’s my fault?!”

Steve backed away, his hands up in a plea of surrender. His face pinched with concern and hurt. “Eddie, let’s, let’s just go to bed. Take a shower-”

“Stop treating me like I’m a child!” 

“Fuck, even a child would tell me what’s making them this upset!”

“You wanna know why I’m so upset? Huh?” Eddie smacked a hand against Steve’s chest, pushing his boyfriend away. “Take a guess with your ‘subtlety’ talents and maybe you can fucking figure it out.”

“No, I- Eds, baby-” Steve stopped to take a breath. He looked back at Eddie with more firmness, but he saw the way Steve’s ego was crumbling in his eyes. “Can you please just tell me why are you acting like this? Was it because I did something or-?”

Eddie’s anger flared. It touched the back of his mouth so he spat it all out like a dragon. “Oh, everything you do with your squeaky clean and easy career is the reason why I’m pissed at you. You get all of these stupid roles to play some stupid character Twitter would make discourse for while I have spent the last three years trying to find someone who’s willing to listen to my band play in a goddamn studio! But I keep missing these opportunities for some reason that I’m starting to think that we’re cursed or shit.”

“Eds, it can’t-”

“And don’t you say you know how it feels like because you never knew how to fucking fail, Stevie! Everything you do is just rich executives giving you silver platters. I bet they all want that Harrington blowjob.”

Steve gasped softly and shook his head. He now had his arms around himself like it would protect him. “That’s not true- Why are you even saying these things to me?!”

“Because you’re a jinx! Because you’re Steve Harrington and I hate your dumb luck!”

Eddie’s words echoed across the apartment as he breathed heavily. He wouldn’t be surprised if it went out the windows and into the streets. 

Steve held an unbelievably idiotic expression. Mouth half-open, a slack jaw, glossy eyes that just stared at Eddie without any more light shining in them.

Finally, he spoke so quietly that Eddie had to strain to hear, “Okay… I’m going to Robin’s.”

With that, Steve hurried out, having some decency to not slam the door.

And then it was just Eddie, alone in the kitchen with the nasty thoughts and words that would soon bite back at him.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 1097

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding, panic attacks, bondage, forced mating

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnmixedbingo -stalker

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Part VIII

John leans against his truck's door, wearily rubbing his face, unaware that the judge is watching from their darkened chamber, yellow eyes alight with amusement. They held a glass of bourbon in salute and said, “Here’s to you, Johnny boy.”

****

Sam kept glancing in the rearview mirror every five minutes.

To the casual observer, it looked like he was checking on his brother, who passed out in the backseat, curled around his newly claimed Omega. But Sam’s instincts, which sometimes scared him, knew they were, by whom or what, he wasn’t sure, watched. 

Sam pulls out his Nokia and finds his dad’s number. “What’s wrong?” John’s gruff voice is grating on his frayed nerves. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Think or know? Which is it, Sam?”

“Know.” He tells of a vehicle that has been staying a quarter mile behind him since they left Devils Lake, ND. “We’re going to gas up in Fargo. I’ll let you know where to go next.” Thirty minutes later, Sam parked the Impala on the other side of a dual fuel pump and got out, stuck the nozzle into the rear port while John, checking his truck's rear tire pressure, quietly asked which vehicle it was that pulled into the station behind Sam. 

“Late eighties Mercury with the shitty two-tone job.” John moved to hang up his gas nozzle, “Take US75 to Wahpeton, then cut over to I-29. If they're still following, I’ll circle back behind them. If something happens, you haul ass to Bobby’s, don’t stop for anything. Understand.” 

Sam hung up his nozzle with a subtle nod and went to pay. Standing in line, he continued playing ignorant of the two people standing by the coolers watching him.

Several hours later 

Sam eyes the gas gauge while guiding the car through the cloverleaf exchange onto I-90 West, peers in the mirror, and sees that the car is still following but lets up some on the pedal anyways, so they’ll make it to Bobby’s because, at the rate the Impala burns fuel, they’ll be lucky to coast in on fumes. The vinyl creaked, and Dean’s head appeared over the seat-back, asking in a slurred, gruff voice, “Why are you driving my car?”

“Dad was ready to leave, and you were in no condition to drive.” Dean scrambles into the front seat, bumping into his brother, sniffs him, and Sam, already tired, isn't going to take any more guff, snaps, you stink like sex! Dean snatched Sam's snacks, guzzled his Mr. Pibb, then stuffed his mouthful of Funyuns mumbled, “This area looks familiar. Where are we headed?” 

“Would you believe Bobby’s?” Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That was my reaction when Dad told me.” Peering out the windshield, he jabbed, “You must be driving like grandma on Sunday ‘cause I don’t see dad’s truck.” Sam simply said, “He’s about half a mile behind.“ That set off Dean's radar and started to turn, “Don’t look!” Sam hollers.

 “Why? What’s wrong?” Dean yelled in his alpha voice, and Sam let loose a wrawl Dean had never heard an alpha do and slam back against the door. “Shit! I’m sorry Dean!“ Sam's eyes were huge and appeared as panicky as Dean's wolf felt. “S’kay, Sammy,” Dean's voice shook, “Just pay attention before you drive us into the barrier.” Sam’s eyes snap back to the road, and he quickly corrects. “Now, tell me what's going on.”

Sam fills him in on their being followed since North Dakota. Dean glanced in the side mirror, “Fuck! How long have my eyes been like this?” Sam shrugged, “No clue. They were like that when I talk you out of the courthouse.” Dean appeared remorseful. “Dad didn’t tell me anything about what happened.” Dean scoffed, “You know what happened!” 

 “Dean, I was referring to whatever happened in court today. And you’re not really to blame for…” A rustling in the back seat interrupts them, and Dean peeks over before averting his gaze forward. “I’m not to blame? I killed an innocent! Now I’ve sentenced her to this crap show that’s our lives. And you know the odds of her surviving if, no, when, I die? Zero! So Sammy, use your great intellect and convince me this isn’t all my fault.” Sam does try, but whatever he’s saying falls on deaf ears when his phone rings. Dean simultaneously alerts him, “Sam, that car is speeding up.” 

Cursing, he presses on the accelerator as Dean answers the phone. “Dad, what's happening?” He intently listens, “Dad’s going to try slowing them down. Says you need holy shit! Sam!!” Dean braced himself as his brother took the off-ramp too fast and fishtails onto a county road, gunning it. “Damn it, going have to realign the suspension after this,” he quickly dials another number. “Bobby, we’re coming in hot!” Dean says, “One car with two possible fugglies. Uh-huh, got it,” and hangs up. “He’s heading for the gate, don’t slow down.”  

“Dean, we’re cutting it close on the gas, man.” Dean leans over, “Don’t worry, Baby’s not gonna let us down,” silently praying Baby, don’t let us down while dialing again. “Dad, we’re running on fumes, need to back off; otherwise, you’re gonna be driving over us.” Sam can hear him giving orders. “Okay, when we get to the turn, Dad’s going to ram them so,” he pointedly gazed at Sam, who, spotting the gavel driveway entrance, nodded in acknowledgment and gripped the wheel tighter; he heard John's GMC roaring towards them. Dean calls over his shoulder, “Hold on, sweetheart...Sam now!!”

Sam smashed the brake pedal and cut the wheel, causing the 3,500-pound car to slide; screeching tires pierced the night as they left curved skid marks, then metal crunching when the truck's steel grill crashed into the other vehicle's rear end. Sam hit the gas, and the Impala roared under the Singer Salvage Yard signage, forcing Bobby to dive out of the way when gravel flew.

Partway down the drive, the car sputters and dies, rolling to a stop a few yards from the house. Bobby got up, mumbled idijits straightened his trucker cap, and heard the Impala’s squeaky doors simultaneously open; then Dean's voice was carrying on the night air, “If you’ve screwed up my car, I’m going to kick your ass!” 

Bobby marches towards the car and spits, “Stop giving your brother a hard time.” His rebuff dissipates when the elder brother's scarlet irises lock on him. Dean moves in front of a female sitting in the backseat like a predator protecting its kill and menacingly growls at him. 

Part IX

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva   @lassie-bird  @nancymcl   @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch  @ilovetaquitosmmmm   @strawblueberrys  @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

[bullet-prooflove]

Rio: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

Terry’s warned you about the car. It’s a fire engine red 1967 Alfa Romero Spider, one that’s seen much better days. Cars like this in good condition cost ten grand, yours is not in good condition.

He understands the emotional connection to the car, your parents had picked it up for you after college as a graduation present. It’s the only tie you have to the both of them now that they’re gone.

When you’d got back to LA and brought it out of storage, Terry had known it was going to be trouble. It was in the stutter of the engine, the dilapidated roar. There’s a Duran Duran tape that’s been stuck in the stereo for over a decade and the passenger side intermittently unlocks. Everytime you climb inside the thing he gets heart palpitations.

When he gets the call in the middle of the night, it scares the hell out of him. You’re crying on the phone, there’s been an accident, you think the car is totalled.

“But are you ok?” He asks you, gripping the phone so tightly the plastic creaks.

“Yea,” You say shakily and he can tell you trying not to cry. “But the car…”

“Alright baby.” He says softly as he snatches up his keys. “I’m on the way.”

There’s already a tow truck on scene, along with the police when he arrives. He sees the red and blue lights flashing and his heart tightens in his chest.

The accident had taken place on a dirt road in El Sereno. You were driving home after dropping off one of the kids from the gallery when a drunk driver had hit your car, almost sending it careening over the edge of the hill. You were lucky it hadn’t been going any faster because that car, it has a soft top, he’s certain you wouldn’t have made it if it had rolled.

You put your thumb out to flag him down and he pulls up as close as he can. You’re a mess. There’s mascara streaked down your cheeks, blood running from your hairline down your features.

“Did you hit your head?” he asks worriedly, his fingers seeking out the source of the bleeding.

“No.” You say as he removes a handkerchief from his coat pocket and presses it to the wound. “It’s from the glass.”

When you glance over your shoulder the Romero is being loaded onto a flatbed. The passenger side where the other car hit you is obliterated, the metal contorted beyond repair. You take one look at it and burst into tears.

That night you’re inconsolable.

The loss of that car…

It’s like you’ve lost your parents all over again.

You cry yourself to asleep, your face buried in Terry’s chest as he holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

The next day you’re exhausted, banged up and emotionally wrung out. He tries to get you to take a sick day but you refuse because you need to be busy. He makes you take a couple of painkillers before he drops you off at the art gallery where you work.

When he gets to the lot where your car is being held, the damage is worse than he realised.

“You may as well sell it for scrap.” His mechanic tells him as he studies the vehicle. “The repairs will cost more than the car is worth.”

“Money isn’t a problem.” He sighs as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you think it can be fixed?”

“It’ll take some time. The crash did a number on it.” The mechanic says as he smooths his hand over the twisted metal. “I can get it done though.”

It’s almost a month later that you wake up and find a silver box with a red ribbon perched upon your nightstand. It’s resting upon the book you’re reading about your namesake Georgia O’Keefe.

When you open it you find a car key inside, one that you recognise. It’s kind of Terry to give you a keepsake, he knows how much that car means to you, the memories that were attached to it.

“Thank you.” You say softly as you linger in the doorway of the kitchen in your robe and hold up the key. “It means a lot that you could give me something to remember the car by.”

“Let’s step outside.” He says quietly, his palm coming to rest on your lower back as he guides you towards the driveway.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing. Sitting there is your car, not ruined or torn apart, but brand new in pristine condition. Your fingertips trail over the bonnet and your throat constricts because you remember the nights you spent with your dad working on the engine, your mother singing along to ‘Rio’ as she revved it at his request.

“He left the tape deck untouched.” Terry tells you, his lips brushing over your temple. “You can sing ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’ to your heart’s content.”

It’s that attention to detail that makes you realise just how much this man cares for you. You feel a surge of something inside of you, a rush of love, of gratitude. Terry has no idea of the gift he’d given you, not really.

“Why don’t you go get dressed?” He suggests, tilting his head back towards the house. “Then you can come back out and take her for a spin.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[exhaustedpirate]

call disconnected

my first entry for CS Autumn/Spooky Bingo created by the lovely @hollyethecurious - the prompt was "ghost stories", i got a little carried away and made it into a bit of a crime solving thing! all my love and devotion goes to @belovedcreation for betaing!

rated T | 7849 words

also on AO3

summary: Sheriff Emma Swan gets a call about an accident in the woods, a man begging her for help. An hour later, Killian Jones is on his way to the hospital. Funny thing is, the call for help doesn't match the voice of the victim.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

“Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Emma laughs. Maybe not all ghost stories have to have bad endings.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

As an American, I need this. Please.

Skipping the queue to do this for you, because yeah. That's a solid af reason.

1k for TWATYTK:

---

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that. Knowing what that’s like has informed so many of his parenting choices over the years. Eddie looks at his husband. He gets the religious, cultural side of it in a way Buck doesn’t. But Buck isn’t a stranger to a different genre of growing up without the necessary affection, either. More so than Eddie, maybe. 

Buck has a strange, contemplative look on his face. 

“And, uh, the open adoption part,” he says to Lourdes. “That’s so you know for sure?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, not quite following. But the way Lourdes’ face sinks, she does. She understands what Buck is saying. 

“Yeah,” Lourdes nods. “I can’t keep her. I know I can’t. But what kind of person would I be if I just… Didn’t make sure she was okay with people who love her properly?”

Eddie gets that, too. It’s the same thought process that led him to changing his will all those years ago. To changing what would have been the natural, assumed process of things in the case of his death. Chris would have been fine if Eddie died and he went to live with his parents. His physical needs would have been met. They wouldn’t have even been hard on him in the same ways they were hard on Eddie, for a number of reasons from different circumstances to ableism. But would they have loved him properly? Fought for him right? No. Eddie knows that wholeheartedly. No. 

Lourdes may not want or be able to parent this child. But she’s got that bone deep instinct that Eddie recognizes. The one where you’re desperate to make sure your child has it better and easier than you did. 

“She’s lucky,” Eddie says suddenly. Because maybe no one has told this girl that. Maybe she’s only been told that she’s fucked up. “The baby. She’s lucky.”

Lourdes blinks. Her face kind of goes blank.

“Not every kid has someone advocating for them like that,” Eddie explains. 

When Lourdes speaks again, her voice is a little shaky.

“Thank you.”

☆☆☆

They leave Pepa’s maybe an hour later. When Pepa and Maria arrived back from their walk, they did of course make Eddie and Buck tell Lourdes all about Chris. Even though Eddie is certain she’s already heard. It’s a bizarre matchmaking process that leaves Eddie with a poor taste in his mouth. Regardless, he’s glad they met Lourdes. Glad they talked to her. Even if he can be one person to make her feel like she’s not a screw up, whatever. He’ll take it. It was worth the rest of the discomfort. 

Buck is quiet as they leave. He’s got a very intense but distant look in his eyes. He’s thinking so hard Eddie worries steam is going to start coming out of his ears. Eddie feels guilty. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here. 

They don’t even make it down Pepa’s street before Buck pulls the vehicle over, puts it into park, and looks at Eddie. 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks. 

“I change my mind,” Buck says. 

“What?” 

“I change my mind. We should adopt her baby.”

Eddie can’t be hearing this correctly.

“Buck,” he sighs. “Come on. You don’t have to do this because you feel bad or pressured.”

Buck shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. I really want to do it.”

“Okay, well,” Eddie huffs, a little exasperated. “You were adamantly against this a few days ago, remember? So I’m sort of confused here.”

“I can’t have a change of heart?” He asks.

“Not without me worrying that you feel backed into a corner or-or guilty…”

“I don’t!” Buck practically snaps. “I’m just fucking terrified, okay?”

Eddie feels a bit stunned. That’s not what he expected to hear. In this whole lengthy discussion, spanning over a year, about becoming parents again, Buck has never expressed fear. That’s sort of Eddie’s thing. Buck has always been the one who plows full steam ahead. Confident. Optimistic. Easy-going. But, Eddie supposes, they’ve never been this close before.

“Okay,” Eddie says gently. “Explain that to me.”

Buck takes a deep breath. “I… I liked that we had everything under control before, right?”

“Right,” Eddie nods. 

“But I… I do like the idea of helping her. Of having a little girl in October? That’s, like, so soon. That’s amazing.”

Eddie smiles a little. “Yeah, that would be pretty cool.”

Well… October 19th is less than four months away. So that’s… Scary as shit, actually? But Eddie could handle that. Of course that’s the part Buck is excited about. But, overall, yes. A little girl, sooner than they expected, does sound pretty wonderful. Even if Eddie had been super sure their next kid would be a boy. That hardly matters. 

“But, Eddie… We would have no control,” Buck says. “She could… She could change her mind. She… She could change her mind before. She could change her mind at the birth. In California, she has thirty days to take her back.” 

“Oh,” Eddie exhales, understanding. 

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t handle that, Eddie. How could I handle that? It was hard enough handing over the baby when I knew he wasn’t mine to keep, I…” Buck gulps for breath. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods. “Okay, I understand. And yeah, that would… That would be awful. It would.”

Buck breathes, clearly trying to bring himself back down.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie says. “I don’t think she’d do that.”

“We don’t really know her,” Buck says. “I like her. She seems great. But we don’t know her.”

“No,” Eddie agrees. “We don’t. I just… I got a sense she’s really serious about setting that baby up to have a happier life than she’s had. Which is why she’d prefer two public servants to the wealthy church family.” 

“Right,” Buck mumbles. “Yeah, she did… She did seem that way.”

“But…” Eddie sighs. “I don’t think that’s the main factor here.”