#might take my car in tomorrow to see what the price of fixing it would be

[dragonbleps]

I wrote........ two sentences in my wip. and they weren't even full sentences. they were filler, come-back-to-later bits in brackets to give myself permission to move on to parts i DID know how to write, and then didn't write them kjsjhdfg

but there's always tomorrow

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker���s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.��

[mosswillow]

Come back (Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Dark! 18+, stalking, cults, kidnapping, blood, drugging, bondage.

Summary: Your father's death brings you back to your childhood home and the cult you grew up in. You just need a few days to pack things up before selling the place and leaving forever.

A/N This is for @tansypoisoning​ spooky challenge. I picked the words nostalgia and ritual as a prompt. It’s supposed to have a horror element. I was going for more of a suspenseful/creepy vibe.

It’s been eight years since you left. You walked away and never looked back, at least not until you got the call that your father had passed away in his sleep. His only possession, the small cabin you grew up in, was willed to you. So now you stand outside the cabin, suitcase in hand, taking deep breaths before opening the door and walking in. You look around the one room cabin, taking it all in. you’re surprised to feel nostalgia creep into your bones. A blanket on the couch reminds you of forts you used to build. The smell of the forest brings back memories of climbing trees and picking wild fruit. You notice a knife sitting on the kitchen counter and imagine your father whittling figures out of wood. You look back on your childhood with mixed emotions. It was a cult, plain and simple. Leaving was the hardest thing you ever did but it was necessary. You feel happy and free now. You’ve made new friends and family. You’ve gotten an education, a job. You’ve fallen in and out of love multiple times. You’ve lived life to the fullest. So looking around now and feeling loss is both unexpected and unwelcome.

“Y/N?”

A voice brings you out of your head. You look over to see a mountain of a man standing in the doorway. The last time you saw him was right before you left. The cult had told you that you and him were chosen to marry. It’s not that you hadn’t liked Steve or anything, you just couldn’t do it. You had made friends in the city who had helped you get out. They introduced you to the internet and taught you that there’s more to the world than the little community in the woods. You were to marry him as soon as you turned eighteen but instead you left without a word.

Steve stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. His eyes travel down your body, stopping at your breasts for a few seconds. You cover them by crossing your arms and force yourself not to step back. You don’t owe him anything and shouldn’t feel intimidated by his presence.

“You look good Steve.”

“So do you.”

The two of you stand in silence for several moments longer than is comfortable.

“What are you doing here Steve?”

“Come back Y/N.”

Steve cuts in without interlude, his voice strong and commanding. You close your eyes and brace yourself. He’s always been like this, all of the men you grew up with had the same attitude, Stubborn and assertive. You had hoped you wouldn’t see Steve because you knew exactly what his reaction would be, that he would aggressively try to make you stay.

People in the cult can’t remarry. They have the belief that soulmates exist and once yours is picked that’s it. When you left you were condemning Steve to a lifetime alone. The price of your freedom was Steve's. He would not be allowed to rise in the cult without being married, would never have children or have what the cult deems is a fulfilled life. You remind yourself again that you don’t owe Steve anything. He can leave just like you did.  

“No.”

you make your voice sound as strong as you can. you were taught from childhood that women are supposed to be submissive and docile. It comes back now in full force, pushing you down like an invisible hand. You’re a boss now, having worked hard to create the life you have. You’re strong and confident but here, under the watch of Steve's cold blue eyes you feel like a child.

A look of apathy moves across Steve's face before his expression lands in a controlled smile.  Your body language wavers and you take a step back. Steve smirks at you, leaning against the doorframe.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just a few days, I’m just going through some stuff before I sell the place.”

Steve nods and places his hand on his chin, scratching the stubble that surrounds his jaw.

“Stay safe Y/N”

With that he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him. You walk to the window and look out to see a group of cult members dressed in white cloaks surrounding the cabin, half hidden in the woods. They just stand there, unmoving like zombies. You shudder and close the blinds, locking the door quickly. You need to get out of this place as soon as possible.

---

That evening you hear a knock on your door. You walk to the window and peak out. Nobody is there. You open your door and find a dead rat. A steak knife punctures through the eyeball into its head. You gasp and close the door quickly, locking it and stepping back. You check every window to make sure they’re all locked and look out at the woods only to see darkness.

After the sun rises you open your door and run to your car. It won’t start. You curse, returning to the cabin and grabbing your cell phone. There’s no reception and you curse again. You had reception yesterday. A knock makes you jump and you see Steve in the doorway, eyebrows knitted in concern. You could have sworn you had locked the door when you came back in.

“You ok doll?”

You always hated when he called you that.

“My car won’t start and my phone doesn’t have reception.”

“You want a ride to town?”

You eye Steve wearily.

“Do you think I’m going to kidnap you or something? I could do that right now if that’s what I wanted to do.”

He looks at you like he might pounce at any second. You can tell that’s exactly what he wants to do and the thought of him kidnapping you makes you want to lock yourself away. You’re in a tight spot though and don’t know what else to do.

“Ok, thanks Steve.”

You get in Steve’s truck and he drives you to a mechanic. He puts his right arm on the back of your seat casually, brushing his hand over your hair. the action is purposeful and you both know it.

“Did the cult, uh, leave a dead rat on my doorstep?”

Steve scrunches his face in disgust.

“Um, no we didn’t.”

You look out the window, not totally convinced Steve is telling the truth but also not sure that he’s lying. You never experienced any of the cults rituals as only married adults were allowed to do them. You have no idea if the dead rat is a cult thing or not but can’t really think of any other reason for the events of the evening prior.

You park at the mechanics and get out. It looks the same as when you were a kid. you remember running around playing hide and seek with other children in the woods nearby, coming over for a soda after an afternoon of playing.

“Y/N, long time no see.”

You smile sweetly at the mechanic, Mr. Stark.

“My car isn’t starting and I need to leave tonight.”

“Soonest I can come look at it is tomorrow sweetheart.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet but nod. One more night won’t hurt. Steve drives you back to your cabin and walks you to the door. He leans over, placing his shoulder beside the door and looking at you. You refuse to make eye contact and unlock the door, opening it and walking in.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, shutting the door and locking it.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve yells through the door. You hear him whistling as he walks to his truck and you watch though the window as he drives away.

---

That evening you sit at the kitchen table, hugging your knees and biting your nails. As soon as you hear any noise you stand up and open the front door confidently.

“Go away!” You yell to the empty yard.

You slam the door and lock it, moving to the window to look out. Shadows move through the woods but you can’t make out any defined shapes.

You find a baseball bat in the closet and check all of the doors and windows once more before getting in bed. You fall asleep cuddling the bat.

Half way through the night you hear whispering outside your window. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like chanting. You clutch onto the bat and sit up in bed waiting. There’s rustling outside and then suddenly banging on all sides of the cabin. You cry, holding onto the bat for dear life like it can save you. The banging stops as suddenly as it started and the cabin becomes eerily quiet. You run to the window and pull the curtain back but nothing’s there. The rest of the night is spent awake and shaking. You’re not sure if they’re just trying to scare you or do something more nefarious. You’re not going to wait to find out. Tomorrow you’re leaving and never coming back, if you stay here any longer you may never leave again.

---

Mr. Stark drives up around noon and you meet him outside. He takes a look at your car and you sit on the porch watching.

“I need to order a special part.” He yells and you walk to him.

“I can’t stay here any longer.”

“It’ll be in tomorrow and I’ll come as soon as I can.”

You’re stuck. Panic starts rising in you but you push it down. One more night. As soon as your car is fixed you’re getting in and leaving. You don’t care anymore about finishing work on the cabin. You’ll sell it as it, heck give it away. You’re sure the cult will take it.

Mr. Stark gets in his truck and drives away. You spend the rest of the evening working in the cabin, sorting and boxing things. You’re just trying to pass time by at this point and not actually trying to finish everything you originally wanted to.

You check all of the windows and doors obsessively. They’re always locked but that voice in your head tells you to check again and again. As the sun sets, your anxiety rises, finally falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.

“Y/N”

You jolt awake to find Steve standing over your bed.

“What the fuck are you doing here Steve?”

“I won’t tolerate that language once we’re married.”

“Get out!”

“It’s our wedding night Doll.”

Steve reaches out to grab your arm and you pull away, falling out of the bed and scrambling up. Steve looks like a monster in the dark. His tall frame blocks the light coming from the window, blurring most of his features. The only thing you see aside from his outline are his eyes. They glow in the dark, ethereal and terrifying. You run past him and out the door. The woods are familiar, having played in them all growing up and you take a well worn path. You hear Steve calling after you.

“You can’t fight this. We’re soulmates.”

You keep running and crouch down behind a fallen tree. You peak your head over to look back toward the house and see a white figure walking towards you. You stand again and run only to see another ghost like person. Every time you turn in another direction someone is there, walking slowly towards you. You’re surrounded and soon you’re standing in the middle of a circle of people, dressed in white cloaks. You kneel down, tears streaming down your face. Steve breaks the circle and walks toward you, needle in his hand. He sticks it into you and your eye’s flutter before closing.

---

When you wake up you’re strapped to a large stone slab. Memories come back of being told over and over never to touch it, never come near it. It feels wrong to be strapped onto it now and you wiggle trying to get away.  you look down and see that you’re wearing matching clothing to everyone else. How long have you been out? It’s dark outside so you assume it’s the same night. Everything is fuzzy and you look around at the people’s unintelligible faces.

“Steve, do you promise to love, to care for, and to control Y/N” You recognize the voice as an elder of the cult.

“I do.” Steve speaks clearly and you perceive a hint of pride in his speech, like he knows he’s won.

The elder brings a knife to your hand, making a small cut, doing the same to Steve. Your head becomes more and more clear and you pull on the restraints.

“You may kiss your bride.”

“No!” You yell before Steve’s lips cover yours.

When he finally pulls away you yell at him again.

“Leave me the fuck alone Steve, you have no right.”

Steve ignores your cries, undoing your restraints. You try to fight against him but he leans over and whispers in your ear.

“It’s done Y/N, your mine. Do you really want me to punish you now in front of all these people? You know I will.”

You still long enough for him to carry you to his cabin. You’ve never been here before, have never wanted to be here.  He sets you on the bed and you back into the headboard.

“Let me go Steve.”

“It’s done now Doll, you can’t leave ever. I own you.”

“You don’t own me Steve, none of it is real. It’s a cult. I’ll run away the first moment I can.”

Steve's eyes darken and he stalks toward you. You roll off the bed and try to run making it out the door but  fall as soon as you hit the treeline. It feels like something is stabbing your chest and you cry out in pain. Steve slowly walks toward you, letting out a displeased sigh before picking you up. The pain disappears as soon as you’re in his arms.

“It’s ok doll, You’ve just gotten false teachings in your head but you’ve been brought back to me like it’s always meant to be. I’m here to help you learn your place. Soon you won’t even be thinking about leaving.”

“This can’t be happening.”

Steve gives you a look of pure joy.

“Oh, trust me it is.”

[nephilim-problems]

Rossi's Daughter

I sat sipping expensive wine in the middle of a crowded expensive, posh, Italian restaurant waiting for my old family friend. The only member of my family who knew what I'm doing for work. Italians are weird about family, the family name must always be protected, family is better than anything. You get the picture. Rossi was an extension of my family and he always treated me as such even promised my mama that he'd protect me in America. Then I saw him, dark black hair with small amounts of white peppered through. His beard was worse, he looked skinnier or maybe he was just taller I couldn't tell.

"Ah Rossi," I smiled standing up to meet him. "Che piacere vederti! Da quanto tempo."

Rossi grabbed both my arms and smiled "Che piacere vederti, cara."

We kissed cheeks and Rossi pulled my chair out for me and sat me down.

"You don't have to do that for me," I smiled warmly and grabbed the glass of red wine.

"But I want to," Rossi smiled and seated himself down and took a look at the wine bottle. "Contrada R? Are you trying to sweeten me up?"

"You're the one who called me here, remember?” I smiled and swirled the glass in my hand. “Come stai, Rossi?”

“Still sweeting me up my dear (Y/N/N)?” He smiled and held the glass in his hand. “But I am doing well just got back from a case.”

“Did you catch the guy?” I asked, crossing my legs and setting the wine down.

“Yes, but I would rather not talk about my work here,” Rossi replied, smiling warmly to me. “Come stai, (Y/N).”

“Va benissimo! Business is amazing, making great money. I have more new clients than I have ever had,” I smiled at him. “But I doubt we came here to talk business.”

“As a matter of fact we did,” Rossi paused and took a bite of his food when he noticed both our glasses of wine were empty. He called the waiter over before saying, “Mi porti dell’altro vino per favore.”

“Oh,” I smiled and took a bite of my food. “So you didn’t call me down here to banter like old friends,no?”

“Lets just say it’s a little bit of both,” Rossi let out a small chuckle while continuing to shove food in his face.

“Well then please elaborate,” I said, taking a sip of wine and laying back against the chair.

“I have a friend, he lost his wife last year but he hasn’t,” Rossi wiped his mouth and bearded then looked down, almost like he was nervous. “He hasn’t gotten back out there. It’s affecting him at work and he just really needs to get laid.”

“I see,” I said, leaning forward and tapping the silverware. “So you want me to seduce your friend, is that right?”

I made sure to put emphasis on the “friend” portion since I didn’t believe that this man was really his friend, perhaps a coworker; but not a friend.

“Well not exactly,”He paused again, done with his plate and handed it to the waiter. “Aaron is different. Stoic, a hardass, jobroni. He’s overly professional, he doesn’t want a girlfriend, he needs a companion.”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep with him, in your words he needs to get laid, no? So what is it, am I sleeping with him or just being another friend?” I was intrigued by this, maybe even a bit excited. I hadn’t had an overly professional in my bed or my wallet before. “I don’t think this friend is really a friend, coworker maybe? You know I won’t judge.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t sleep with him, I said he needs a companion. You can still sleep with him and be his companion,” Rossi laughed and leaned over the table.

“So what’s the price hm? You’re paying me, he’s paying me, i’m doing this pro bono,” I said, crossing my legs and leaning forward.

“Oh so you're interested?" Rossi asked smiling.

"I made that obvious, no?" I replied.

"I didn't want to assume," Rossi laughed and waved the waiter over. "Il conto, per favore."

The waiter noded and quickly ran off.

"Leaving so soon?" I questioned. "We aren't done talking business."

Soon the check was placed on the table. Rossi quickly pulled his card out and handing it to the waiter. The waiter quickly came back muttering a thank you in italian.

"I just thought the next bit of business was best left to be done while I drove you home," Rossi said pulling my jacket from the back of my chair. That was my cue to stand up.

"Grazie Mille," I said as he placed my jacket on my shoulders. I slipped my arms through and fixed it so I felt more comfortable then I looped my arm through Rossi's as he led me out.

"I'll do it pro bono if you'd like. A favor for a good friend free of charge," I smiled as we walked out the front door.

Rossi handed the valet his ticket and pressed a hand over mine.

"What about a favor for a favor?" He asked. Soon the valet was back with Rossi's car and Rossi opened the door then helped me inside.

"A favor for a favor? What did you have in mind?" I asked as Rossi slid in the driver side.

"I think you need a companion too," Rossi smirked.

Suddenly my smile fell slightly. He was right aside from him, my family, and my 2 best friends. I didn't talk to anyone. It's a lonely life as an escort. Woe men take their money and leave. I am always the companion.

"Okay ill do it, just send me his number and I can-" I started talking swiftly to get this over with.

"I need your help with one more thing," he interrupted as he pulled up in front of my house. "This one's for me."

"I'm always willing to help you, Babbo," I smiled warmly as his nickname slipped from my lips.

"Your father would be very upset if he heard you call me that," Rossi teased as he let both himself and myself out of the car and began walking me up the driveway to my home.

"My father would be very upset to see you as a Nerc," I smiled back and Rossi laughed.

"That is very true," he laughed. Soon we were standing in front of my front door having to say goodbye. "About why I asked for you, I have a case tomorrow, we're flying to Hawaii. I need your consult."

"I see. As I said anything for you," I smiled. "So I just need to be close to my phone, yes?"

"Actually id like it if you came with me. We might need you in real time, just in case," Rossi smiled.

"What time do I need to be ready?" I asked.

"I will pick you up at 7 A.M have a bag packed and ready," Rossi said before kissing both my cheeks. "Ciao mio caro, Ci vediamo domani."

I smiled and pulled him into a large hug, "Ci vediamo domani. Ti voglio bene Babbo."

"Ti voglio bene anch’io," Rossi replied and kissed the top of my head before heading down back to his car. "Stay safe tesoro."

"Wait, what's my new client's name?" I yelled standing from the door.

"My unit chief Aaron Hotchner. You'll see him tomorrow."

"Thank you."

I watched him take off then quickly put my key in the door and walked in. The house was dark and quiet as always. I had such a large house and lived alone. I made my way up the stairs and patted a hello pat to my pit bull Thor. He barked happily at me and followed me to my bedroom. I packed a bag for at least a week and got ready for bed. I have an early morning tomorrow.

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

Hi thank you so much for reading my first Hotch fic I've published I hope yall like it. I'm thinking of making it a series if anyone likes it.

[pbandjesse]

I'm not feeling my best right now. I feel exhausted in a scary way. I don't know what it is. But I have a feeling of dread and I don't like it. I am hoping to fall asleep early and be fixed tomorrow. Because this sure isn't fun.

It was not a bad day. But it wasn't great either. I had a little trouble falling asleep last night. And staying asleep. I just couldn't calm down my mind.

James left for work and I would let myself sleep until 9. But I didn't feel great when I woke up. I thought maybe I just needed to lay here longer. But it wasn't making me feel better. I was feeling worse.

So I got up. I washed my face. And started feeling pretty good. I felt cute. I liked my outfit and things were good. I decided to go for a drive.

I was excited about the modifications I had made to my backpack and it made it much easier on my shoulders. I have a new strap coming for it too and so I should be able to fix it for good.

I drove out to value village. I was there just a little after they opened. There was a very cool couple around my age there and some families. I was feeling very uninspired. I did find a bag of tiny stained glass pieces I was excited about. But not much else. The dressed were all between $12 and $20 which was insane. I found a stained white corset for $30? Thrift stores are losing their minds. I did find a black nightgown that I loved for $6 so I did get that. But nothing was really worth it beyond that and the stained glass.

I was all in my feelings though. I felt sad. And my brain was spiraling upsetting thoughts and so I was texting James but I just feel bad that I keep having the same upset feelings without being able to resolve them. Being tired doesn't help. It probably contributed to all of the feelings in the first place.

I decided to go to Target. I made a stop at taco bell and got a crunch wrap with potatoes instead of meat or beans and it was so good. An excellent choice. I ate in the parking lot before heading to Target.

I didn't actually need anything. I just enjoyed walking around. I found a new metal water bottle that is so pretty. And I was so excited to find the fake quilt chore coat on clearance. And then when I checked out it was half off of the clearance price! Felt like a reward for waiting. I have had my eye on this coat for months I swear.

I was really tired after this. Someone approached me in the parking lot asking for money and I tried to be nice but I was a little uncomfortable. Like she was nice but I felt very vulnerable with my car door open. It was weird. I hope she is okay.

I headed home and it was a nice drive. I got a good parking spot and came up here and was feeling alright. I put things away. Packed my camp bags. And played Stardew while I cuddled with Sweetp.

Eventually I would work in my studio on some of the bear pins I started. I love the three I have made so far. And I will keep making more. I used the new fabric got glue I got which seems great but it is white so it's more visible so that's something to consider. I still am excited about them.

I laid in bed and watched tiktoks for a while. I was tired again. But was feeling alright. Happy.

And when James got home I was even happier. They told me how pretty I was. And we talked about wedding stuff. We need to go over the speeches for Matt asap. But we should be able to send out the invites this week. James is going to take charge on that. Love them for that.

We ordered dinner. James got a burger and I got a falafel. It felt like to much though. My tummy felt weird. I was having weird hot and cold flashes. I went to take a bath and that seemed to help.

I washed my hair really good with anti residue shampoo and used so much conditioner. And now I am in bed with Sweetp considering just letting myself sleep now even though it snot even 8.

Tomorrow James is coming to camp with me. And we might go try and use our new inflatable kayak. We will see. I am looking forward to having them with me, maybe I won't feel so lonely and sad. I have missed them a lot and it's really hard not having time together.

I hope you all have a good night tonight. Take care of yourselves. Wash your hands.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (4/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You moved in with Ada Thorne when an unexpected visitor arrives as well as unwelcomed nightmares

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (not romantic...yet)

A/n: This took really long to write. But worth it. I hope whoever reads enjoys and has a fantastic day :)

Ada Thorne was the sweetest soul you had ever met. It didn’t take too long for the two of you to become friends. The house she lived in was big enough for a small family yet it was only her and her son who resided within it. When the two of you met for the first time, she appreciated that you didn’t pry into why that was. Of course she would tell you about her husband Freddie Thorne, the love of her life as she’d call him. You trusted her enough to tell her certain aspects of your life whenever you two would talk. You noticed the same from her. You knew it wasn’t a matter of not trusting each other but rather wanting to leave things in the past. You were ready to start moving forward. And you were glad Ada was helping you to do so.

Today, you and Ada sat on separate chairs in the living room. Bare walks and boxes surrounding you as you read the newspaper looking for job openings and Ada looks over paint swatches. You both look up alarmed when you hear the front door open. Only the two of you had keys to this places. Ada gets up and opens her purse immediate, grabbing a little handgun. She looks embarrassed as she holds it up to the closed door waiting for the intruder. You don’t make any comment on it.

“Go upstairs and check on Karl.” She says

 “Ada…” You hesitate hearing the footsteps get closer.

 “Please, just make sure hes alright.”

 You nod and leave out the back door, running silent up the stairs. You  open the room of the child and find him sleeping peacefully. You close the open window beside his bed and check his closet. You can never be to safe. You can hear voices coming from downstairs. You close the quietly and run back down the stairs.

‘That’s a good sign’ you think as you get closer hearing the voices speak calmly and civilized to each other

 “…there are always men watching the house.” You hear Ada say.

 It was true first night of you staying here you noticed it. Ada brushed you off saying it was creeps, you feared it was Sabini wanting to know your whereabouts. You’re realizing that it might have something to deal with her. An idea you never really considered or maybe didn’t want to.

 “yea. Gangsters of the worst kind.” A mans voice says as you slowly turn the nob of the door.

 “Ada?” You call out, entering the room and locking eyes with icy blue eyes.

 Thomas Frekin Shelby. Alarms ring off in your head. Why was he here? How does he know Ada?

 Ada clears her throat. “(Y/N), this is my brother-“

 “We already know each other.” Thomas interrupts.

 “Barely.” You add.

 Ada looks between the two of you. A mix of emotions appearing on her face.

 “Tommy, I think you should head out now,” She gives you a look, “we can talk later.”

 She leaves the room leaving you and Thomas alone. He doesn’t waste a minute.

 “You still work for Sabini?”

 “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

 “It is if you’re living with my sister,” He says danger flicking off his tongue, “I’m sure you haven’t told her about your work experience amongst other things.”

 “I didn’t know you were siblings.” You mumbled under your breath crossing your hands across your chest.

 “Sabini tried to hurt Ada. And if I find out your part of a plan to hurt her-“

 You cut him off, “He fired me, personally. Okay? And I wouldn’t put Ada in danger, she’s my friend.”

 An awkward silence ensues. You avoid his eyes and fiddle with the end if your fingers.

 “I didn’t know he tried to hurt Ada.” You quietly say feeling guilty for something out of your control.

 “Men like that have no limits.” He states.

 He stops staring at you to grab a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. You take a moment to observe him. You notice the fading bruise around his eye and busted lip that was healing. You wonder if that was courtesy of Sabini of himself.

 He catches you staring as he lights up. “you want one?”

 “No thank you Mr. Shelby.”

 “Call me Tommy.”

“I’m afraid that’s a bit too familiar for me.” You say.

 He shrugs. “Do you like horses, (y/n)?”

 Your eyebrows furrow at the sudden change in topic. “I- I do…”

 “I’m thinking of buying myself a racehorse,” He says nonchalantly, “Entering em in Epsom.”

 You pause as the pieces come together for you. “Why are you telling me this?”

 “Because I think you know what I’m trying to say.”

 Sabini was big in the racecourse. He was king around there and all his men had the licenses to gamble on the fixed races. You knew it one of his largest sources of income. Thomas entering a horse in the race would just make Sabini angry and territorial. If that’s Thomas plan than he would succeed but you don’t think that that’s all.

 “I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

 “Walk me to my car.” He answers.

 And you do walking slightly behind him, as he leads the way to where he parked his vehicle. In the sunlight you notice that his eyes aren’t as icy as you first thought. They reminded you of the sky on a cloudless day. You smile to yourself liking the new comparison.

 “I’m going to find a horse tomorrow. I would like it if you would accompany me.”

 “I don’t know much about picking horses.”

 “I already know which horse I’m picking.”

 “then why-“ He cuts you off

 “Its cause your smart and observant. Its good to have people like that around. And you will be compensated for your time.”

 You thought about it. There were no jobs in hiring, that newspaper you were reading showed you shit. And you didn’t want to rely on Ada your whole time staying here. You thought how Sabini might think those men were correct in their gossip if he saw you with Mr.Shelby. He would deem you a traitor and put a price on your head. But you were already in the hole. Might as well dig further.

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

 You wake up covered in sweat. Nightmares starring your father were becoming more and more frequent. You used to get them a lot at Blue Hills. Dreams of him coming for you, killing you like he did your mother. The threats he made ring in your head as you take a deep breath. Trying to place yourself back in reality. Last night you and Ada had a long talk. She wanted to know exactly how you knew her brother and why. You were honest with what you told her not leaving out a single detail. It was probably what triggered the nightmare in the first place.

 “Its not my fault, I didn’t tell you. I didn’t even know you knew him let alone were related to him.” You say at the end reminding her that she changed her last name to Thorne.

 She didn’t stay to upset for long both of you ended up having a good laugh even having a drink. You don’t tell her about you going to check out Horses with Thomas. You can tell how she feels about her family. She loves them but rather keep em at a distance.

 You stare outside the window waiting for Thomas’s car to appear, not wanting him to ring the doorbell and disturb Ada or Karl. He told you to dress nice but not too nice (Whatever that meant). You went with a simple yellow dress and lovely coat on top seeing as it is cold out. The nightmare still plagues your thoughts. It dawns on you that you’ve never got a confirmation if he ever killed your father. You wonder if there’s ever an appropriate time to ask.

 You see a large car rumble down the street with two men in the front seat. One of them being Thomas.

 You run down the stairs and open the door talking long confident strides to the car. He and the other man get out of their seats. You recognize the man from the Eden Club.

“John, go sit in the back with the others.” He says

 The man who you now knew was named John smirks at you before walking to the back, you can hear other men hollering as he get in.

 “you brought a small army with you?” You question

“Can never have too much backup.” He says opening the passenger door for you.

 You nod a thanks and step in. He wordlessly get back to his side and starts the car. At first not a word was said between the two of you as the ride began. And there were times when you loved and valued silence but here in this small space in the car; it was deafening.

 “What does your horse look like?” you ask breaking the silence with an out of the blue question. You felt like a bundle of nerves as you tried to gain the courage of asking the question you really wanted to know. You weren't scared of asking him just what his answer would be. 

 “What?” He says not expecting you to ask that

 “um the horse your buying…whats it look like?”  

 He clears his throat, “Curly says she’s gray... I’m sure he can tell you more when we get there.”

 You lean back a bit in the seat, “I used to ride when I was a kid,” You stare at window watching as London fades around you into trees and greenery, “I haven’t ridden in so long.” You say.

  He doesn’t say anything. You think back to the nightmare. You were riding horses with your father. It started off like a memory. He was the one who taught you of course. And then right in the middle of you riding the horse at top speed. He shot it. And you flew from your horse tasting dirt in your mouth. You can hear him yelling at you and pistol being put at your temple. You felt like a child, helpless. You saw your mother in the dirt beside the horse. That was the worst part. 

 You can hear the muffed loud conversations the men in the back are having. You can’t comprehend any of it. Thomas’s voice bring you back to reality. 

“Are you okay, (y/n)?” He asks.

 You knew if you said nothing it woud just keep gnawing at you. You would have a hard time trying to tell yourself that the dream was nothing when it honeslty felt like a warning.

 “Mr.Shelby,” You say your words slowly not wanting a single syllable to tremble, your eyes trained on the scenary passing you by, “ is my father dead?”

 He glances at you bewildered, definitely not expecting you to ask that.

Read pt.5

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@captivatedbycillianmurphy

[watchtower-feed]

Waynesitter’s Runaway Bats

✧ Sometimes your job requires you to go on little excursions to drag back some family runaways. And when Alfred says little, it means Bruce intends for you to borrow the Batmobile.

✧ “Uhh… Thanks. But I’ll just use Tim’s Prius.”

✧ “Y/N, I insist.”

✧ “Mr. Wayne. I’d rather be bringing home your son and not another Arkham escapee.”

✧ Sometimes the others tag along with you when they’re awake, still alive, or generally just bored.

✧ “Oh my god, Tim. You have the worst songs.”

✧ “Apart from being dead weight in my car, Jason, what else are you good for?”

✧ “Tch. Y/N, Jason brought a gun again.”

✧ “Jason, I swear to god if you fire that gun you better shoot me first.”

✧ Whenever Dick runs away, he always goes to Amusement Mile, Gotham’s entertainment district, where Haley’s Circus used to be. When something really bad happens, Dick would actually leave town to follow the Circus’ tour. But for now, you pull over by the boardwalk.

✧ “Stay in the car.”

✧ “What if there’s trouble?”

✧ “I’ll light up a bat signal.”

✧ “Harhar, Y/N.”

✧ You quickly find Dick inside the large tent just sitting in the middle of the ring. He always greets you with a sheepish smile and pursed lips.

✧ “Time to go back already?”

✧ “I have two volatile children and Tim stuck in a Prius so…”

✧ Dick laughs and slowly gets up. “Okay.” When he reaches you, he stops and rests his head on your shoulder. You hear him sigh and quietly say, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N. I’m no leader.”

✧ It’s one of those days. One when all the responsibility is on Dick’s shoulders and he feels like no one taught him how to be an adult. Not his parents. Not Bruce or Alfred. He still feels like a child. Most of the time you think he’s more a child than Damian. But the innocent kind. Not the murder you in your sleep kind. Or the annoying brat kind in general.

✧ “Y/N.”

✧ “Oh, sorry. I spaced out.”

✧ “Y/N!” he chuckles, “this is supposed to be the part where you say something that’ll motivate me to do the right thing.”

✧ “The right thing? I don’t even know the difference between laundry detergent and fabric conditioner. They both just clean clothes, right?” 

✧ He laughs. “Right.”

✧ “But Dick… No one’s ever going to say the exact thing you need to hear because only you know what that is. You just have to be patient with yourself and continue to listen to your gut. The fact that you’re here means you feel like you did something wrong. So it’s time to go and fix it.”

✧ As far as your speeches go, persuading Dick to go home is the easiest. But when it comes to Tim, you need to be a bit more creative. Or diabolical.

✧ “Uh, Robin. Your babysitter’s here to see you.”

✧ “Don’t let--”

✧ “Thanks, Beast Boy. Next time you’re in Gotham I’ll give you a tour of the cave. Oh hey, Tim. Fancy seeing you here.”

✧ “You’re in San Francisco. You’re at the Titans Tower. You know I would be here.”

✧ “Really? But why would you be all the way here when they need you in Gotham? BB just told me--”

✧ “BB??”

✧ “-- that the other Titans are home for the summer. Like you should be. Suspicious.”

✧ “Why are you here, Y/N?”

✧ You smile and take out a small folder from your bag. “I need help with Chemistry--”

✧ “Chemistry? You’re a lit maj-- Wait a minute… These are the compounds for Scarecrow’s fear toxin.”

✧ “Nope. Look at the bonding element.”

✧ “... It’s... It’s a mutation of Joker’s laughing gas!”

✧ Of course, once you get back, you’ll tell Tim you just fudged elements together and you’re surprised and proud of yourself for making up a whole new deadly chemical. By then, Damian or Jason is ready to apologize to Tim just like you practiced.

✧ On the other side of the spectrum, the least bat you have to worry about is Cass. Whenever she goes missing it’s the only time you volunteer to bring a Wayne back. Only because you always find her sitting on your couch hugging a bowl of popcorn.

✧ “What series are we binging tonight, Y/N?”

✧ “Legends of Tomorrow? It’s about a group of misfit superheroes who fixes history. You might recognize a few costumes.”

✧ Cass recognizes all of them. Sometimes you forget that Cass isn’t a civilian and she’s even more of a vigilante than the boys. That this is what most her life has been and she has no inclination to quit it.

✧ “Can I live with you?”

✧ “You can’t, Cass. You’ll know all my bad habits and then you won’t want to be my friend.”

✧ “You’re more than a friend, Y/N. You’re family.”

✧ “Oh god. I mean no offense, Cass. I love you, but the only reason you’re always trying to kill each other is because you’re family. I don’t want to be in your Lord of the Flies.”

✧ Cass doesn’t really get it. “They know every bad thing about me… but they still want me.”

✧ “Oh.”

✧ Cass is the most observant person you know. She knows exactly how the family feels about her and they would move Earths for her. But having never experienced any kind of love growing up and then jumping into their unconditional love, it shocks you and leaves you anxious about the day when the dream is over.

✧ “You can live with me one day but you gotta pay rent. I’m not letting you mooch off of me.”

✧ Cass smiles at you. You turn back to the TV and she curls up beside you all night before you take her home in the morning.

✧ Jason’s another one that’s easy to find. He always holes up in his own apartment because no one in his family would dare bother him there when he’s in a mood. This is one of those moments when you’re glad you’re not family.

✧ “Open up, Zombie boy!”

✧ “When are you going to stop calling me that?”

✧ “When you go to a derma and finally get rid of those autopsy scars. Seriously, Jason, they’re unsettling.”

✧ Jason touches his chest and then stays quiet the whole time you settle yourself in his apartment. With Jason, there are no words or tricks to play. Whenever he’s seen too much of the family he just needs time and distance. You’re only there to shorten that time and make sure the distance stays within city limits.

✧ “Can you sing it again?”

✧ But Jason makes you pay the highest price. Ever since he heard you whistle and sing The Dancing and the Dreaming from How to Train Your Dragon 2, he always asks you to sing it when he’s not particularly feeling high on his horse. So how could you refuse?

✧ “Sure. But could we not do a duet this time? It makes me feel like we’re having a Viking wedding.”

✧ “Damian would love that.”

✧ It’s bad. If Jason doesn’t fight you for that duet and just wants to close his eyes and listen, then something really bad happened. So you sing while you watch Jason relax in his chair. You maintain a slow tempo throughout the whole song.

✧ When Jason finally opens his eyes, tears slip through. He’s staring at you with wide eyes and he touches his cheeks, wondering why they’re wet. Your lips quiver and you bite them before you approach Jason and wipe his cheeks.

✧ “Was my singing that bad?”

✧ Jason blows on your face and laughs even though he’s still crying.

✧ You didn’t really know what to do when Alfred told you Damian ran back home. Isn’t this his home? But when you’re strapped in the batplane with the Batman, especially since he’s also your boss, you can’t really opt out anymore.

✧ “Mr. W-- Er Batman? Is it really smart to bring civilian me to the base of one of your mortal enemies?”

✧ “The League knows all of our identities--”

✧ “Yeah, but I think I’d feel a lot safer in a bullet-proof costume like yours. No offense.”

✧ “They use swords here, Y/N.”

✧ “Oh… kevlar can’t stop that?”

✧ When you arrive, the fortress is even more intimidating and terrifying than you imagined. You stick close to Batman, clutching his cape, and warily eye the assassins clad in all black, stationed at almost every corner.

✧ “It sort of feels like the cave. Maybe if you trained more bats, you can finally get some sleep or go to your 10 AM meetings.”

✧ Batman can’t suppress his grin. “Do you really want more of them to take care of?”

✧ “I would quit. Or make you quadruple my salary.”

✧ When you finally see Damian after several days of his disappearance, you forget yourself and run to him, only to be met with the hilt of a sword an inch away from your neck.

✧ Damian’s eyes widen when he realizes it’s you and drops his sword. He looks horrified. Quickly forgetting your own shock, you bend down and pick him up to hold him tight in your arms. You can feel him sobbing against your shoulder.

✧ “Beloved. I see you’ve started involving your servants in your crusade.”

✧ “Don’t be jealous, Talia. She’s only family.”

✧ “Damian,” you whisper. “Ready to go home? I might need your help in stopping Bruce from adopting me.”

✧ Damian sniffs. “That mustn’t happen if we’re going to be married in the future.”

✧ You don’t leave Damian’s side until you get back to the manor. You stay later just to lie beside him in his bed until he falls asleep. You’re brushing his hair when a thought comes to you. “You know, in the future, maybe run away to Paris. I hear they have an old cave network there. It might take me days or weeks to bring you home.”

✧ Damian scoffs and smiles. He turns to his other side, away from you. “Y/N, I’m trying to sleep.”

✧ “Yeah, but think about it okay? What are you doing tomorrow?”

Notes: Here’s that version of the song YN sings to Jason. Fair warning, it’s a Drarry animation.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[msotherworldly]

A Wizard’s Cure

Title: A Wizard’s Cure

Fiction Type: Original Fiction

Warnings: Drug mentions, minor swearing

Prompt: “I’ve waited for this.”

“I’ve waited for this.” I tore the wrapping aside. Shimmery paper piled around me. Beneath it all, there was a cardboard box. I shook it. The weight was right. I shook it again. The sound was right. Thinking of all the latest games I’d play, I ripped the box open. At first, I saw the PlayStation as expected. Then I saw the jade tablet, and frowned as I took it out. Was this a joke?

“Uh...thanks.” I turned the tablet over. Writing ran over it, but the letters weren’t any I recognized. “What is this?”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.

“You’re sixteen now,” Mom said. “Your powers should be acting up.”

I snorted. “Very funny.”

“I’ve waited for this,” Dad said. When he said it, he sounded as I had—like he was anticipating something.

“Seriously, what’s the joke?”

“It’s not a joke!” Mom’s eyes flashed. “You have been raised in an ordinary suburbia. But you are not ordinary. None of us are! We couldn’t tell you until you were ready.”

“What, I’m a wizard?”

“Something like that.” Dad’s moustache quivered. “Don’t get too excited. You’ll be lucky if you can light so much as a candle within a year.”

“So there’s no PlayStation?”

Dad reddened. “PlayStation? I��ve just told you you’re gifted, and you’re worried about a damn game console?”

“Rory.” Mom placed a hand on his arm. She met my gaze. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“I don’t think he-”

“But you must remember when your parents told you!” She laughed. Mom had always been “Bohemian Goth,” draped in long black hair, long black skirts, long black shawls, and long black necklaces. That didn’t make her a-

“You’re both magical? Oh, sure. Come on. If you were mages or whatever, I would have seen it! You can’t hide magic!”

“It was subtle magic.” Mom shrugged. “I’d pull out the candle lighter, and then snap my fingers when you weren’t looking. I’d renew the milk so it didn’t spoil. I’d make our garden bloom longer. Of course, you must have noticed how old Daisy is.”

“Lots of cats make it to twenty one.” I set the jade on the coffee table. “That’s not magic. She’s healthy!”

“She doesn’t have any grey hair!” Dad shook his head. “You really never suspected? By the time I was ten, I thought something was up!”

“Yeah.” I snickered. “But you’re a nerd. Your room is still papered over with Tolkien quotes.”

“Hm, well, sure. But that’s not the point!” Dad slumped forward. He studied his knees, drumming his fingers on them. He glanced up, and I grimaced. He exchanged a glance with Mom; she put a hand on his arm. He nodded. “Well, I guess we were pretty careful.”

I looked between them. “Show me.”

“I’ve been meaning to paint the wall.” Smiling, Mom circled the room. She held up her hands and sang. Golden light bloomed from her fingers. Like mist, it drifted over to the walls; expanding and glowing, it covered the green. When the light drew back, the walls were purple.

“Halloween colours.” Dad rolled his eyes. “You’ll remember when they were orange?”

“You changed them when I had that sleep over. I remember.” I frowned. “I did remember thinking it was strange, how fast you’d managed to paint them. And then, when there was no new paint smell...”

“That’s what we forgot!” Mom smacked a hand to her forehead. “Rory was insisting we’d forgotten a small detail, but neither of us could think what it was! Oh well. We can remember it now.”

Mom performed a second spell. When the light drew away from the walls, they left a scent in the air of new paint.

“What happens if a kid finds out early?”

“They get their memory wiped of course.” Dad grinned. “But we never had to do that with you. Never!”

“Most parents have to do it two or three times. But then, you were never like other kids. Not as nosy, or curious. When you said you were going to bed, you meant it.”

“You mean I was a nerd.” I chuckled. “Like Dad.”

“Nah, I was a nerd. But I was a troublemaker. My friends and I used to swap marijuana in the locker rooms after gym. Then we’d sneak out, and Lenny would snatch a bottle of vodka from his dad’s locker. Lenny’s dad was a drunk. Had dozens of bottles. And we took dozens. He never missed ‘em!”

Mom’s brows knitted together. “Don’t tell him that!”

“Then there was the incident with the mushrooms in the grocery store!”

“Rory, stop.” Mom blushed. “He has to prove himself, you see. He’s been dying to show you spells early, just so he could prove what a great wizard he is!”

“Me?” Dad’s voice was too innocent. “Nah, I just use it to fix the car. You might have noticed we never had to take it in for repairs! And it’s still got that new car smell. Drives your mother crazy, but I enjoy the smell of freshly upholstered leather.”

Mom sighed.

I chuckled. “You guys are weirdos. Even without the magic thing. Or are all mages...eccentric?”

“Most of ‘em are nut bars.” Dad ran a hand through his hair. “I could tell you about Mrs. Snider. She used to shave herself bald and dance under the moonlight naked.”

“That old lady who comes over with all the tattoos? She’s a witch too?”

“That’s the one. The Naked Dances are considered outdated now, but I walked in on her doing-”

“Rory.” Mom shook her head. “No.”

“Another time.” Dad winked. Mom muttered something under her breath. Dad pointed to my tablet. “It’s not a PlayStation. But it will act as a...circuit for your power.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘conduit,’ dear.”

“That’s what I said! It boosts magical abilities. Makes spells more powerful. And you can draw power from it too, so you don’t tire out so much.”

“What can magic do? Can we be immortal?”

“That’s very advanced magic.”

“You made Daisy stay young.”

“Daisy will still die someday. I just prolonged her life. Her lifespan is that of a human. But she will age. Very gradually.”

“But it’s possible.” I looked between them. My heart sped up. “And my illness-”

“Yes, it’s possible. You may even be able to slow the growth. But we’re not Masters. Very few wizards are. You’d need someone like Merlin to cure you.”

“Or I could become like Merlin.” I squared my shoulders. “I could cure myself.”

Mom and Dad bowed their heads. Mom opened her mouth, but Dad shook his head. She took his arm. When she leaned into him, her eyes closed. After a few minutes, she left. I heard the door to her bedroom close; that was never a good sign.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For your sake. I never wanted to give you false hope.”

“But I could be a great wizard someday!”

“You have as much hope of being a great wizard as the average person does of becoming an astronaut, a hockey player, or a famous actor! It’s not impossible, but the chance is so rare!”

“I have to try.”

“I suppose you do. But don’t let her know how hard. She was scared this would happen.”

“I don’t want to die, Dad. Not just...not now. But never. There’s too much I want to do.”

“I’ll be happy if I make it into my seventies.” Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Tomorrow, we’ll start your lessons.”

“I don’t have to go to a special school, do I?”

“Oh, no. That’s just a trope. You’ll be learning from us. And if you’re exceptional...well, there is a college which takes in the most skilled, but they only take five students a year. Students who graduate are Masters.”

“And none of them could heal me?”

“They will if you have two million dollars to offer them.”

“What?”

“Most don’t want to be doctors. They set high prices so people will leave them alone. Think about it. They would be barraged with orders. And then they’d never be able to use their abilities for anything else.”

“But maybe, if I was a Master too, they’d want to help out a colleague.”

“Forget tomorrow.” Dad smirked. “We’ll begin training today.”

[collecting-stories]

The Deal - ep. 02 - Georgia

Summary: When your car costs more than you expected you strike a deal with Daryl. 

A/N: I forgot how much I love writing these two. 

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The next time you saw Daryl it was Tuesday. He had called you on Sunday night to let you know that the problem was your fuel line and your exhaust. He’d used a lot of car terms that you didn’t necessarily understand before finally assuring you that he would have the car back in working condition as quickly as possible. Which would have been quicker if you had the money to pay him for the job. You might not have understood the car terms but you understood the dollar amount and it was more than you could afford on top of other expenses. Who knew letting Eugene fiddle with the car would cost so much?  

“We’ll work something out, come by the garage on Tuesday.” Daryl had offered when you admitted that the price was higher than you had expected.  

So on Tuesday, just after school, Tara dropped you off in front of the garage. It was raining something awful and colder than it had been all weekend; appropriate November weather according to Eugene. The hoodie and jeans you had on weren’t the best of your looks but it would have to do.

“Hey sweetheart!” Axel greeted you when you walked into the garage, acting like the two of you were the best of friends. Tiny waved from where he was inspecting a tire. “You come to check on the car?”

“I did. Is Daryl around?” You asked, fiddling with the strap of your backpack.  

“Ran to grab smokes, should be back soon,” Axel replied, “feel free to wait.” He gestured to an old backseat that had been converted into a couch.  

“Alright.” You sat down on the couch and pulled a book from your backpack, beginning to read as you waited.

Daryl wasn’t gone ten minutes more, coming in and shaking the rain off himself as he took his jacket and flannel off, hanging them by the door. You felt hyperaware of him when he was around which was probably why you looked up the minute he came in and kept your eyes on him as he moved further into the garage.  

“It’s shit out there.” He mentioned, still oblivious to you.

“Yer girl’s here.” Axel piped up, pointing a wrench in your direction.  

Daryl turned toward you, eyes widening a bit as he caught sight of you. He coughed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix it. “What’re ya doing ‘ere?” He asked.  

“You told me to come down to discuss my car.”  

“Did ya walk ‘ere?”

“Tara...my friend dropped me off.” You replied, standing up and following him as he walked over to the car.  

Daryl nodded and walked over to you, grabbing your arm to pull you away from Axel and Tiny. You were going to consider this his designated move if everytime you saw him he was dragging you around by the arm.  

“Ya shouldn’t come by when I'm not at here.”

“But you are here.” You pointed out, smiling.

“Anything coulda happened while I wasn’t.” He stated, looking back to the other two as if they weren’t to be trusted. And maybe they weren’t but they’d been perfectly welcoming to you.  

“I’m all in one piece, promise.” You assured. “But listen, you wanted to talk about payment plans or something?”  

Daryl sighed, “Yeah, listen, ain’t nothin’ I can do ‘ere but...if I work off the books, take more time, ya can pay in more installments. It’d be half what it is now.”

“Seriously? That would be amazing.”  

“Ain’t a big deal.” He shrugged, “I’ll move the car to my house tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You surprised him by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Daryl tensed on impact and you let go when you realized how stiff he was. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” He replied, immediately chewing at his thumb to calm himself down.  

“I really, really appreciate it. Honestly.” You repeated, “I have to go to work but let me know whatever the first payment is.”

“I’ll figure it out, let ya know.” He promised. “Ya walking?”

“What?” You asked. You had already started the short trip back to your bookbag. Patricia was expecting you at the diner by 4pm and it was nearing 3:50 now. Lori would grip about how many minutes you were cutting it.

“Ta work. Ya walking ta work?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, but it’s just at the diner.” In proximity to the autobody shop it was hardly a three minute walk. Patricia’s diner was a block over on the corner.

“It’s still rainin’, I could give ya a lift.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” You’d let him give you a lift to the stop sign right outside if he offered.

“Nah, I’ll grab my coat.”

-

You had taken up working part time at the local diner when you were fifteen. The minute you were allowed to get working papers from the school you had begged your mom for the opportunity, swearing that you would save your money and not waste it on clothes or makeup or whatever ‘frivolous things’ your mom would criticize. It had taken more convincing for your dad but since he wasn’t thrilled paying for your cellphone or the thought of paying for a car in the future he eventually caved.  

Patricia was a friend of the family and she promised you wouldn’t have to wait on anyone sketchy or work too many hours and never on Sunday. It started with four hour shifts four days a week but it had evolved from there. Sometimes you worked after school until midnight, on weekends you worked early morning shifts.  

“So I was wondering if there was anyway I could pick up a couple extra shifts?” You requested, following Patricia through the double doors as you tied your apron. “I don’t know if you know-”

“Dale told me your car is over at his shop.” She replied, indicating that she did, in fact, know.

“It is. So, ya know, I need some extra cash.” You explained.  

“You know, Otis’ cousin works at the place in Woodbury. I’m sure he could get you a good deal.” Patricia mentioned.

“I’m good, thanks. I just need a few extra hours.” You replied, grabbing some menus from under the register as a small group walked through the door.  

“We’ll see.” It was as good as no and you knew that. Especially when she offered Otis’ cousin to you three more times during your shirt.  

Her antagonizing was only interrupted by Dale’s arrival around 8pm for dinner. You were so relieved to see him that you almost thanked him for coming in. Dale came in every night for dinner and every morning for breakfast. Ever since his wife had died three years ago he had made the diner a regular spot for himself. Patricia wouldn’t say anything bad about his garage with him there.  

He sat at the counter like always, reading the sports section of the newspaper as he ate. Occasionally he’d call you over for a refill of his drink but otherwise he kept to himself for the evening, a little unusual but you were busier than normal and didn’t think about it. Until he called you over as he was getting ready to leave.  

“How was the burger?” You asked, pouring him a cup of coffee to go.  

“Good as always. I actually wanted to talk to you about Daryl.” Dale said, “heard you’ve been having trouble with the car?”

“News travels fast. But uh, yeah he’s gonna fix it for me.”

Dale nodded, “I just wanted to say, Daryl’s a good kid. His head just ain’t in the right place sometimes.”

“He’s just fixing my car Dale.”

“Keep it that way.” He admonished, getting up. He left behind a rather generous tip and you were quick to stuff it in your apron pocket. Lori was convinced that tips should be split evenly and she told anyone who would listen. She would flip if she saw the twenty that Dale had left you.

-

“So, how long have you been working on cars?” You asked, fiddling with a wrench that lay atop a toolkit. You were sitting on an old lawn chair under the carport of the Dixon’s house with the space heater turned toward you.  

“Long enough.” Daryl shrugged. Whatever he was fixing you couldn’t be sure but you had a nice view from your spot and took advantage of watching the way his muscles flexed as he worked.  

He had called you on Wednesday with a promise to work on your car Friday afternoon and, whether he intended it to happen or not, you showed up with your backpack. Claiming that you were off work and your mom was annoying you at home. He didn’t say anything against you being there, just turned the space heater toward you and went back to work.  

“Don’t ya got dinner or somethin’?” Daryl asked, not that he necessarily wanted to be rid of you, just that he didn’t really understand why you had decided to spend your Friday afternoon with him when you could be spending it anywhere else.  

You shrugged, “told my mom I was going to Maggie’s. She’s at work so she won’t check and Maggie told her parents that she’s with me cause she’s going out with Glenn tonight. It’s their three-month anniversary.”  

“Coulda just said no.” He replied.  

“Sorry, I talk a lot.” You apologized, “my ex always joked that I needed a muzzle cause I didn’t know when to shut up.”

“Didn’t say that.” Daryl explained, stopping what he was doing to look over at you, “doesn’t bother me. Talk as much as ya want.”

“Thanks.”

He hummed.

“Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?” You asked.

He turned back to look at you again, eyebrows raised in confusion before shaking his head. “Oh yeah, we’re havin’ the whole family over. Just gotta bail ‘em outta jail first.”  

You laughed, louder than you intended too, and the screen door on the side of the house banged open at the same time, startling you. Daryl stood up straighter as an older man came down the three steps into the car port. He didn’t seem to notice you, going straight to the beat-up old refrigerator in the corner and grabbing a six-pack of beer before heading back inside. Once the door clanged shut after him and he was back in the house Daryl let out a breath and you looked over at him.

“You can save some money...you don’t have to bail him out.”

Daryl laughed before turning back to work on the car again.  

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“I got a shift at the slaughterhouse over in Woodbury. Can’t work on the car again until Monday.” He replied.  

“That’s fine, whenever. I can pay you the first installment next Friday after I get paid. I have to go dress shopping tomorrow with Maggie for the winter formal.” You supplied, pulling Daryl’s flannel from last Friday tighter. The sun was officially down and the only light, besides the glow of the space heater, was the flickering overhead light in the carport.  

He hummed, “that’s fine.”

“I don’t wanna go to the formal but…it’s important to my mom. She’s on PTA and they’re organizing. She said it would look bad if I didn’t go.” You said, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Did you ever go to like, prom or something?”

“Nah.”

“I wish I wasn’t going.”

“Ya seem like the type.” He replied.

“What?”  

“Ya seem like the type ta go ta all that shit.” Daryl clarified.  

“Yeah.” You agreed. He was right, you knew that. You looked just like every sweet country girl in a movie or a song was supposed to look like. You did all the things you were supposed to do. You got straight A’s, went to church every Sunday, you were polite and friendly, you went to youth group and school dances and you were responsible and you didn’t curse or drink or smoke and you had lots of friends and you were a cheerleader and you played softball. All the things that your mom had always wanted for you.  

Daryl glanced over at you as he wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket. “I’m calling it a night. I got work in the morning.”  

“Okay,” you stood up and grabbed your bag, “I’ll see you later I guess.” You hadn’t been thinking about this evening coming to an end. In your mind it just stretched on for hours and hours and infinity until both of you lost track of time.  

“I’ll give ya a ride, don’t want ya walking when its dark out.”  

Before you could say anything your beeper went off. An S.O.S text from Lori. “Damn it.”

“What’s the matter?”  

“Uh,” you looked back at Daryl, “could I use your phone? My cellphone is dead and this girl I work with wants me to call her. Guarantee she’s going to call out.”

Daryl looked back at the door his dad had come out of minutes earlier. He never had people over his house, mostly because he didn’t get along with people but also because he didn’t want his dad seeing anyone around. Will Dixon was an easy person to be embarrassed by.  

“I can just walk there and see what she needs, it’s okay.” You promised.

“Nah, it’s fine. Come on.” He opened the door for you, letting you pass in front of him into the house. The kitchen was run down, peeling linoleum, old appliances, a mountain of dirty dishes, and bottles of alcohol cluttering the counter space. On the wall by the refrigerator there was a phone and Daryl guided you in that direction so that you could call Lori back. Somewhere off the kitchen a TV was blaring a football game.

“Thanks.” You whispered before picking up the phone and dialing the diner.  

Lori picked up immediately, “Patricia’s Diner.”

“Hey Lor, it’s me. I saw you paged.”

“Oh my god, are you working tomorrow night?” She asked.

“No, I’m off.”

“Can you? Please? I got a date!”  

“A date?”

“Yeah...Rick just came in and we were talking and he asked me out. I’m so excited! But I have work and I don’t want to ask Amy-”

“I can do it. I need the hours.”

“Heard about the car.” She replied. It really was national news.

“I got to go.” You hung the phone up before she could say goodbye and then Daryl was pushing you toward the door. You were just reaching for the doorknob when Daryl’s father came into the kitchen, looking at you for the first time.  

“Who the fuck is this?”  

“Go wait outside in my truck.” Daryl said, pushing you closer to the door so he could stand in front of you. “We were just leaving.”

“Don’t leave on my account.” He called after you. As the door closed you could just hear him asking Daryl if he’d “paid her well? Don’t be a shitty tipper, that’s wha’ got yer brother in trouble.”

You waited ten minutes in the truck for Daryl. When he finally came out he slammed the side door shut and then slammed the car door shut too. The ride home was silent, you wanted to apologize or tell him not to worry about his dad seeming like a dick or something but your tongue was stuck in your throat. So instead you just sat there staring out the window while he smoked. He drove you to the same spot he had last time, a few houses down from yours so that your parents wouldn’t see you in his truck. And just like last time you lingered in the passenger seat, resolved to say something.  

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t a big deal.” He replied, lighting another cigarette off the end of the one he’d just finished.  

“Not Just for fixing my car.” You explained, “it’s nice of you to put up with me.”  

He shrugged, “Don’t mind the company. Sorry ‘bout my old man.”  

“It’s okay.” You promised. “Tell him ya didn’t tip me on account of my less than spectacular appearance.”

Daryl shook his head, the faintest smile appearing at your words.

“I’ll see you later?” You asked, finally opening the door and exiting the car.

“Yeah.”

Just like last time Daryl sat, idling while you walked down to your house and went inside. Once the door was shut behind you he put the car back in drive and took off for his house.

-

Taglist: @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare  @mainokutan @qrangr  @twdeadfanfic @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon  @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano

[let-it-raines]

Prompt: this was supposed to be a low key first date, but now I’ve gone and injured myself (hiking?) so will you please take me to the hospital?

on ao3 | here |

word count: ~ 4800

-/-

When Emma agreed to go on a date with David’s friend from the office, she figured it would be to a mediocre restaurant where the lighting was a little too dim and the price a little too expensive for the food that was a little too small. That’s how the past few of her dates have gone, besides the one guy who took her to McDonalds. She didn’t know what to think of that. At first, she thought it was a little weird, but she didn’t really mind since sometimes she does want to clog her arteries with their fries. Then, though, she found out that he was testing to see if she was “uptight” and she ended that. Anyone who tests a woman on a date, no matter their reasons, is an asshole.

She is tired of dealing with assholes.

A part of her thinks Killian Jones may be one.

She’s met him a few times, but it’s never been anything significant. It’s been a “hello” at a barbecue, a “how are you” as they pass at a bar, a nod from across the street when they happen to be in downtown Boston at the same time. That’s not exactly a small place, but they frequent the same bars because she goes where David goes and David goes where the rest of the financial advisors in his office go. So, they do end up around each other, and she’s observed him from afar. He nearly always has a smile on his face as he charms a woman, usually a tall brunette that looks a hell of a lot like Ruby, and she’s gathered that he’s funny enough to make them all laugh. That, or they all fake it because he’s attractive and makes good money and they want to get into his pants. If she saw him at a bar and had never heard of him before, she’d probably want the same.

But she’s not at a bar or at that classic mediocre restaurant. She’s waiting in her car in the parking lot of World’s End, a park outside the city where you can do anything from horseback riding to skiing to kayaking to hiking. She’s in a pair of black running shorts, a tank top that’s knotted at the small of her back, and her worn-out running shoes that she doesn’t actually use to run. She’s already rubbed herself down with sunscreen, has her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s got her largest water bottle filled with ice water. She’s totally going to have to pee halfway through this hike, and that’s going to make a great impression.

Emma doesn’t really care about impressing Killian Jones, though. She only agreed to this date because David (mostly Mary Margaret who has bugged her about it at every training session and every dinner they’ve shared) has been trying to set them up for months now. It was getting to the point where Emma was pretty sure she was going to walk into her gym or her apartment and the man was going to be sitting there. To keep that creepy as hell thing from happening, she’s here now, getting ready to sweat her ass off on her day off from training and helping other people train. She always works Saturdays, and she can’t believe she’s using a free day for this.

An SUV pulls up next to her, so she flips her mirror down to make sure her makeup or hair isn’t out of place. It’s not, and when she flips her mirror up, she sees Killian Jones just outside her car window, smirk already stretched across his lips.

“Hello there, Swan,” he greets as she steps outside. “You look lovely.”

She glances him up and down, taking in the fitted gym shorts, gray t-shirt and similarly worn sneakers. He’s got a Sox cap on, but if she had to guess, he probably spent a long time fixing up his hair before this. “Same to you.”

Silence falls between them, and Emma shuffles her feet. She’s not exactly great at small talk, always feeling like it’s stupid to have to talk about the weather when there’s nothing else to talk about, but Killian quickly nods his head toward the trail entrance. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma bites her tongue at her stupid-ass answer, and iron fills her mouth.

She’s starting to wish she was at a mediocre restaurant instead. At least then she’d get food.

“So, David told me you’re a personal trainer, so I know you already spend a lot of time exercising. I figured you wouldn’t mind this, though. It’ll only be around five miles. I didn’t plan on it being so bloody hot, though.”

“Well, if all else fails, we can jump into the water to cool off.”

“You make a good point, love.”

Killian guides the small talk – thank God – as they work their way up the trail. He tells her that he got into being a financial advisor because he screwed up in university by getting a degree in finance despite hating it. He’s good with numbers, though, even better with people, and most of his job is about convincing people to trust him. It was the only job he was qualified to have after graduation that wouldn’t require more overpriced schooling, and since he wanted to stay in the country, he had to take whatever was given to him. Six years later, he doesn’t love his job, but he doesn’t hate it.

“So, you came to America to go to a big, fancy, stuck-up Ivy League school, picked a major that you hate, and now you con people into letting you handle their money?”

“It’s not a con.”

Emma pinches her brows together. “Sure.”

“Well, half of your job is convincing people they need help reaching their fitness goals when they could do it on their own.”

“I’m going to go ahead and guess you have never had a personal trainer if that’s all you think we do.”

His forehead wrinkles when his brows lift, and he holds his hands out. “Do I look like I need one?”

Cocky asshole.

Emma hums, pretends to study him, before gently reaching over and patting his stomach. It’s firm, but she doesn’t have to admit that. “I would say there’s definitely some room for improvement there.”

His head tilts back with laughter, his blue eyes closing, and he shakes his head and starts jogging ahead of her. “Hope you can keep up, Swan,” he jokes, his speed getting faster and faster, and Emma quickly runs after him. She’s not a runner. She hates it more than she hates black coffee – which is a hell of a lot – so she only does it if Ruby forces her to do it or if she has to do it with a client. She’s more of a Pilates, cycling, boxing, anything-other-than-running kind of girl. Killian is obviously a runner from the way he moves with ease, his stride nearly perfect, and she knows he’s going slow on purpose to allow her time to catch up.

“You’re an asshole,” she yells out, laughing despite herself, as she gets a little closer to him. The bastard starts full-out sprinting, and she’s left catching her breath as she runs after him. Yep, running is definitely still a bitch, and the other people on the trail are staring at the two of them as Emma chases after Killian. She nearly calls him a “fucking bastard” out loud before she remembers there are children around. That would have been extra shitty on her part, especially since she already called him an asshole.

“Catch me if you can,” he teases, glancing back to look at her, bright smile on his face, and yep, he is a full-out runner. He can speak without gasping for breath, and she’s struggling.

She still hasn’t caught up.

Emma sucks in a deep breath, clutches her water bottle in her hand, and sprints as fast as she can, adrenaline pumping through her veins and her heart pounding. She’s almost there, Killian just out of her range, and it happens before she can stop it.

A rock catches underneath her shoe, twisting her ankle into an unnatural position, and she starts falling to the side before she can stop herself. Emma tries to catch herself, sticking her arm out to keep her face from hitting the ground, and while she does manage that, she knows her arm is going to be a killer tomorrow.

Not as much as her ankle.

“Shit,” she hisses out, rocking backward and reaching for her ankle, but it stings and aches and any possible bad word out there, it does. “Shit, shit, shiiiiit.”

Tears fill her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. It has to be a sprain and only a sprain, but she’s not stupid or stubborn enough to try to get up on her own. Emma gently lays her foot down, not moving her ankle if she can help it, and shakes out her right arm as she looks up to see Killian slowly coming to a stop in front of her, squatting down until they’re almost eye level.

“Are you okay?” he gasps, scanning her face as if that’s what she hurt.

“Oh, I’m just dandy,” Emma mocks. She’d really like to punch him in the face, right across those pretty teeth. This is his fault. He shouldn’t have started running. He’s not even sweeting. She hates him. “This is the best I’ve ever been.”

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“Not your fault,” she says, even though two seconds ago she was blaming him. She still kind of is, but her ankle is throbbing so much that she can’t think straight. “I’m just…I’m not a runner, and I wasn’t looking where I was going. That rock jumped out at me.”

“Accidents happen to all of us.” He scratches behind his ear and then points to a slash on his cheek. “Fell flat on my face during a run. Ten stitches.”

“What that sounds like to me is that neither of us should be running.”

Killian chuckles, lines appearing around his eyes. “Possibly. Do you think you can stand?”

“I’m thinking I can get up but – ” She attempts to flex her ankle, but she might as well be setting herself on fire “ – I don’t know if I can put weight on it.”

Killian nods, reaching down to gently run his fingers over her already swelling ankle. She hisses, and he backs away before standing and leaning down to help her up. Begrudgingly, she takes his hand, and she does manage to get up. When she attempts putting weight down on it, she knows that’s not going to work. She’s going to have to go to the freaking hospital to make sure the damn thing isn’t broken.

“So, good news,” he says, wrapping his arm around her waist while she holds onto his shoulder, “you can stand…a bit. Bad news, we’re a solid two miles away from the cars because we ran a little further than I realized.”

“Can you leave me here and then drive your car through these tiny trails?”

“I’m thinking I’ll get fined for destroying the park.”

“It may be worth it.”

Killian chuckles and starts slowly moving. Emma basically has to hop with him, but she does it, the two of them gingerly moving forward. “I can see if we can get someone who works at the park to bring us a golf cart. Would you like that?”

“No,” she lies, and maybe she’s a little more stubborn than she thought.

“You sure? I know you’re fit, but I don’t think anyone should hop on one leg for two miles when we can get help. I’m guessing you won’t let me carry you on my back.”

Emma curses under her breath and encourages him to keep moving forward. She distracts herself by asking Killian if he’s been to a Sox game yet this season. He’s gone to several with some of his friends, David included, and that starts an entire conversation about David and his weird habits. Talking about a man who is like a brother definitely takes any possible romance out of the date, but then again, so does a trip to the hospital.

It’s a good thing she didn’t have any expectations for this.

Emma makes it a mile before it hurts too much to keep going, and they stop at a bench as Killian googles a number to call to ask if they can get a golf cart up here. They can, but it’ll be at least thirty minutes, so they stay sitting down, Emma’s leg elevated in Killian’s lap as they sit in silence while people walk by enjoying their hikes.

She used to be one of them.

“So, this will probably be the last time you take a woman hiking on a first date?” she jokes, adjusting her ponytail so she has something to do with her hands.

“What? Do you not want to do this again?”

Emma’s hands still. “You want to do this again? With me?”

“Possibly.” He shrugs, but quickly stills so as not to twist her leg. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this has been an absolutely minging date.”

“Thanks?”

“No, no,” Killian laughs, holding his hand up. “You’ve been wonderful, love. I’ve honestly enjoyed myself, but when you get a woman injured because you’re a bloody competitive arsehole, it doesn’t usually go down well. Dave is never going to let me live it down.”

“Oh, is that why it’s bad? Because David is going to take the piss out of you for it?”

“Definitely. It has nothing to do with you.”

Emma scoffs and leans back, the sun shining down on her face. It was boiling at the beginning of the date, but now she’s sweated so much the heat almost feels comfortable. She’s got to look great right now. She doesn’t even want to check to see if her mascara has run. “Good to know. Besides, you probably only agreed to go out with me to shut David up, right? You spend eight hours, five days a week with him. That’s a lot of time for him to talk.”

Brows pinch together as his eyes narrow. “What makes you think David had to convince me to do this?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you already have a roster of women lining up to date you? From what I’ve heard, there’s a line to your apartment door.”

Killian scoffs and tilts his head back, the sunshine hitting across his stubble and lightening it before it returns to a deep brown. His jaw clenches with a visible pulse, and Emma knows she’s fucked up.

She knows, she knows, she knows.

And she doesn’t know how to fix it. She knows she went into this with a shitty attitude about the date and about Killian, and even though she can be a prickly ass sometimes, she never wants to make someone else feel bad.

She was stupid to assume Killian had the same feelings about this date as she did.

Emma is not used to people actually wanting to be with her.

“I’m no stranger to women as I’m sure you aren’t to men, love, but that doesn’t mean I only asked you here to check off a mark on a list. I was the one who brought it up with David to see if you were interested, not the other way around.”

“Killian, I – ”

“It’s fine.” He waves her away, and she knows it’s not.

The seconds tick by but it feels like hours, and by the time the golf cart arrives to take them to their cars, Emma is convinced she can walk again out of the sheer determination to get away from this awkwardness. Killian talks to the man driving the cart, Graham she thinks, as he drives them off the trail. It’s the only conversation they have until they’re in the parking lot where Emma realizes she’s going to have to ride in his car with him to the hospital. She knew that, logically, but looking at her Bug and then Killian’s SUV, all she can think about is how much she wants to be alone right now.

This is the worst date she’s ever been on, and Neal used to count stealing food from convenience stores as dates.

(Okay, so maybe every date with Neal counts as the worst date she’s ever been on since he royally fucked up her life with them.)

Killian helps her into the backseat of his car so she can keep elevating her leg, and then he closes the door and gets in the front. He turns his radio on, some eighties classics playing through the speaker, and Emma pulls her phone out of her sports bra to text Ruby.

Emma Swan: Fell on my hike, on the way to the hospital to have my ankle checked out. I also insulted Killian, and I’m pretty sure he wanted to leave me on the hiking trail.

Ruby Lucas: What the hell?

Emma Swan: I’ll tell you about it when I get home.

Ruby Lucas: Do I need to meet you at the hospital? I’m going out with Mulan tonight, but since she has to be at work early, I’ll be home around midnight.

Emma Swan: I think the only thing that could make this worse is if he knows I’ve texted my roommate to come and save me.

Ruby Lucas: Well, if things getter better, just know it is possible to have sex with a messed-up ankle.

Emma snickers, and she catches Killian glancing in the review mirror. She bites her tongue and looks down, wondering when the hell this day is going to be over.

-/-

The wait in the emergency room is over an hour…if no one else comes in. That was the caveat the nurse told her, and she gets it. She’s not an emergency. She’s not having a heart attack. She’s just got a sprained (hopefully) ankle.

Looking back, they should have gone to an urgent care.

And she does mean “they” because Killian is still sitting next to her.

“So, what, are you a gentleman or something? Waiting for me like this.”

“I’m always a gentleman, love.”

Emma doesn’t believe that for a second, but she’s not going to argue with him. She’s already done a great job mucking things up, and she imagines David is going to have a field day with her.

She imagines Killian thinks she’s the worst.

“I’m sorry for being so awful,” Emma blurts out, and Killian’s shoulder brushes against hers as he turns to face her. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were some kind of man whore or whatever insulting term I implied. I just…I mean…I am obviously a great date, a great person, a great everything. I’m charming the pants off you.”

Killian scoffs and leans back, his arms going over his head before falling to his lap. She catches a glance at angry red scars on his left hand and forearm that she never noticed before. She wonders why he didn’t share the story behind those when he was talking about the scar on his face. It can’t have been from the same accident. No running accident is that bad. “This is not the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“How is that possible?”

“Three years ago, I’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship. I was gutted, and I basically had to be dragged out. I was set up with this girl, we went to dinner at Yvonne’s, and there, sitting one table over, was my ex and her husband, who I had just found out about. I didn’t want to tell my new date this, so I tried to pay attention to her. I obviously did a shit job of it because she got so frustrated with me, she poured her soup on my lap and left.”

“Was the soup still hot?”

“No,” he laughs, winking at her. “It was cold, so I’m all still functional down there if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Shut up.” Emma sinks down a little lower in her seat, trying not to laugh or blush, but she knows she fails at both. “So, even after I’ve injured myself and insulted you, I still don’t get the number one spot?”

“I’m afraid you don’t, but you can feel free to give it another go.”

Emma pushes herself back up and twists to look at him, narrowing her eyes to try to figure him out. “Like, right now or on another date? Is that still up for grabs? Because no offense, but if you’re still willing to go on another date with me, I think you might have also fallen and hit your head.”

Killian shrugs. “Or I’m just as much as a wanker as you are and am willing to give you another chance.”

He cannot be serious. That seems ridiculous and ill-advised, but she sees no lie in his eyes. Has she found the craziest man in all of Boston?

There are a lot of them, and she didn’t expect it to be him. A wolf in sheep’s clothing or something else like that.

She also didn’t expect herself to want to give this another shot. Maybe it’s for her ego, but Emma’s going to try not to think about that now.

“I’m pretty sure you’re messing with me because I don’t know how we’re ever going to get past this, but if we were to go on another date, I get to pick the venue.”

“Please tell me it’s not going to be Yvonne’s.”

“Damn, you’ve ruined my plan.” He huffs and Emma nudges him with her elbow. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to walk properly again, but what do you say? You want to go to a Sox game? If we end up hating each other, we can be distracted by the game. Or we can flat out move to empty seats to avoid each other.”

“I like this plan.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think we should get seats at the top and have you walk there.”

Emma groans and elbows him again, a little harder than necessary. “Okay, so I’m buying the tickets then.”

“That was my plan all along.”

“Emma Swan,” the nurse at reception calls out, “we can take you back now.”

-/-

It’s just a sprain. A bad one but a sprain.

She’s supposed to ice it, elevate it, and rest for a few weeks. She curses at that because it means she’s going to have to be sitting during her job, which she hates, and she’s also going to have to do rehab on it. Plus, she was about to hit a record with her cycling classes, and that’s going to be delayed.

But it’s not broken, and she’s been given crutches to help her out for the first few days. She walks out on them – no one ever tells you how much they hurt your armpits – to see Killian standing, waiting for her, soft smile on his lips.

“How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” she lies.

“David and Mary Margaret have gone and gotten your car,” Killian explains, not missing a beat, and steps to walk next to her, “and have returned it to your apartment. Mary Margaret wanted to rush here, but they’re going to that show tonight.”

“I’m sure David had to restrain her.”

“Oh, he did. I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine it from the way they talked.”

“I don’t even need to hear their argument to imagine it. Thanks for getting that taken care of.”

“No problem.”

Slowly but surely, they get to Killian’s car. She insisted he didn’t need to pull it around – he probably did – but by the time they get there, she’s having a hard time not sweating. The heat is still miserable. The air-conditioning in his car is amazing, though, and Emma nods off as he drives her to her apartment.

“I was worried the entire way here you wouldn’t have an elevator in the building.”

“I’ve got one. Don’t worry. Ruby and I moved about six months ago because we were tired of living in an old building that had a slight egg smell that never went away, so if this had happened six months ago, I’d be out of luck.”

“Small blessings, I guess.” He presses the button to turn off his engine. “Do you need help getting inside or…”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t, but do you want to come in and get delivery? I feel like it’s the least I can do for you.”

“As long as it’s not soup, I’d love that.”

-/-

Emma manages not to insult Killian for the rest of the night. There are times when she thinks she takes it too far, her natural sarcasm coming out, but Killian gives as good as he gets. He never misses a beat, is constantly challenging her, and he puts away half a large pizza with as much ease as she does.

She can never tell her clients this is how she eats.

Really, sitting on her couch, her ankle wrapped in ice and set, she has a better time than she has on any of the dates she’s gone on in the past year. Killian’s never seen The Umbrella Academy, so she puts it on and they watch it, a bowl of popcorn with all the fixings between them.

She really can’t tell her clients this is how she eats.

At some point, the sun now set and the outside world darkened, her eyes get heavy and she drifts off, hushed conversation and laughter in the background. She recognizes those voices, and opens her eyes to see Ruby and Killian talking, but then she’s nodding off to sleep again, the world’s edges blurring. She still feels soft lips and harsh stubble brush against her forehead before everything bleeds into darkness.

-/-

“I cannot believe you screwed that one up.”

“What?” Emma asks, blinking her eyes open. Her neck is killing her, but that’s only momentary distraction from the way her ankle is throbbing.

“I can’t believe you screwed your date up,” Ruby says, and now Emma recognizes that it’s Ruby talking to her. “I mean, he was hot, Emma. So, so hot. Like, I would sleep with him even if he was the biggest asshole in the world.”

“Can you get me some more ice?” Emma groans, groggy.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ruby gets up and walks into the kitchen, and Emma tries sitting up and opening up her eyes a little more. She doesn’t know what time it is, so she fumbles around for her phone, the bright screen opening up to tell her it’s seven in the morning. She’s also got a slew of texts from David and Mary Margaret, her boss at the gym, Elsa, and one Killian Jones.

The first text is a link. It’s two tickets to a Red Sox game two weeks from now, and the seats aren’t in the upper deck.

Killian Jones: Can I count on seeing you there? You know, to redeem yourself.

Emma Swan: I thought I said I’d buy the tickets.

The bubbles pop up immediately despite Killian having sent his message at two in the morning.

Killian Jones: Didn’t want to chance that you’d run away.

Emma Swan: Is that supposed to be funny?

Killian Jones: Absolutely.

Emma laughs and the corners of her lips tug up. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t anywhere near the worst date she’d ever been on even if it did leave her sore in all the wrong places.

Emma Swan: I’ll be there.

“What are you smiling about?” Ruby asks as she comes in with a newly filled ice pack.

“I didn’t screw the date up as badly as I thought, I guess.” Emma shrugs and lifts her ankle as Ruby wraps it up. “I think it goes down as one of the most interesting first dates in existence, though.”

“And you didn’t even sleep with him, so that’s saying something.”

Emma tosses a pillow at Ruby and sinks into the couch, her heartbeat going a little faster than normal.

Killian Jones: If you get hit by a fly ball, I think that may be it for us. I can’t have you be injured on two dates in a row.

-/-

She doesn’t get hit by a fly ball.

She doesn’t get injured at all.

And in all of the other dates they go on, no one sprains an ankle or gets it by a fly ball or breaks an arm. They’ve got a pretty good track record of good dates, but as Killian likes to say, you never forget your first.

[sunflowers-n-rocknroll]

Tell Him

Pairing: Sam x reader, Dean

Summary: After Sam gets injured in a hunt your feelings for him become obvious to Dean. He tries to convince you to tell his younger brother about your feelings for him, but Dean is part of the reason why you haven't said anything.

Warnings: hurt!Sam, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1,483

A/N: This is my first Sam x reader so hope you guys like it! Again I actually finished writing this, so tell me what you think! ;) Beautiful divider made by @firefly-graphics.

You heard the gunshots even before you were out of the car. Time seemed to slow as your mind raced to the worst possible scenarios. 

You were too late. He was dead.

“Y/N come on!” Dean’s voice broke you out of your daze as you quickly kicked the door open and ran to the warehouse. 

Your hands were shaking as you held your gun. Dean motioned for you to follow him as he entered the warehouse. It was nighttime and the windows in the ceiling provided little to no light from the moon. 

The case that you and the Winchesters had been working for three days had turned out to be more difficult than expected. Too late did you realize the werewolf was the one hunting you. And Sam had paid the price. 

The breath was knocked out of you as you laid eyes on Sam’s unmoving form. Throwing all cautiousness out the window you ran towards him, dropping on your knees and checking his pulse. 

You almost sobbed. He was alive. 

“Sam? Sam, come on open your eyes,” your hands traveled over him checking for any life threatening injuries. “Dean…”

Movement from your right side caught your attention and a figure stepped out of the shadows. Before he could take another step, you grabbed your gun and shot him in the abdomen. 

“Argh. You bitch,” his face contorted in pain and before he could do anything you marched over and dug the end of your pistol into his bullet wound. You watched as he howled in pain

His laugh made your blood boil. You didn’t have time for this. Two more bullets made way into his chest before he could say anything else. 

You ignored Dean’s look as you walked over to Sam. Between the both of you, you managed to carry Sam over to the Impala laying him in the backseat. You cradled his head as you tried to focus your attention on him. He was going to be okay. He had to. You couldn’t lose him.  

~

“Y/N, you need to go eat something,” said Dean as he held out a cup of coffee for you. You gave him a small smile, shaking your head. It was late at night and not many people were in the waiting room. Just the occasional doctor or nurse, but they were still keeping Sam in observation.

“I’m not hungry,” you heard him heave a sigh before he took a seat next to you.

“You heard the doctors. He’s going to make it.”

“Yeah, but,” you shook your head. “I can’t get that image of him laying there. Hurt.” 

“You care about him.” 

It wasn’t a question more like a statement, but the way he said it made you look up at him. 

“I-I care about both of you.”

“No, I meant you care care about him,” you could feel him looking at you, but you couldn’t look at him. He would know and he would be able to hear it in your voice. “You love him.”

“I’m going to uhh go get something to eat,” you were out of the waiting room before he could say anything else. But even as you made your way to the cafeteria his words kept playing inside your head. You love him. Since you had met the Winchester brothers they had become part of your family. With Dean you had a more friendly relationship. He would tease you and you would give it right back. You would spend time with him at bars and share his love for cheeseburgers. But Sam was different. His caring, loyal and kind attitude had drawn you in. You would look for any excuse to spend time with him. He made you feel safe. But he never showed any indication of having feelings for you and you didn’t want to ruin what you had with the brothers. So you ignored your feelings, pushed them aside, but Dean’s words seemed to have broken through that wall.

Stepping back into the waiting area with some snacks from the vending machine you saw Dean speaking with one of the nurses. 

“Hey! They said we can go in and see Sam already.”

~

Your chest felt tight as you saw Sam in the hospital bed. Even though you knew that he would be okay it hurt seeing him not up and energetic. 

Dean’s hand on your shoulder broke you out of your trance and you realized you were still standing in the doorway. Making your way over to one side of the hospital bed you sat on a chair and took one of Sam’s hands in yours. 

“Y/N, you should tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you love him.”

“Dean-”

He held up his hand. Taking a seat on Sam’s other side. “No listen. You guys deserve to be happy okay? You deserve all those couple things. Going out, holding hands, being disgustingly cute.” 

You looked at him. 

“Ok, ok. Point is if you don’t tell him you’ll regret it your whole life.”

“Dean, he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Are you kidding me Y/N? Have you not seen the way he looks at you? How he always sits next to you at the library or the bar, how he always goes by your room to say goodnight, or how he knows all the foods you like and hate or how he gives you some as your favorite books as presents. Or how-”

“I get it.”

“He’s crazy about you? What’s holding you back?”

“You- would you be ok with this?” you dared asked.

“What?” he asked frowning. 

“I see how protective you are of him and I just- I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with you guys.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t confessed your love to him because you’re worried about what I might think?”

You shrugged looking down at Sam’s hand. “I didn’t want you to hate me and I didn’t think I’m good enough.”

“Hey,” you looked up at him and saw the soft expression on his face. His smile making you relax. “You are more than enough. Never forget that. And I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”

You nodded, not daring to say anything in fear you might start bawling. Sometime during the night you laid your head on the bed, telling yourself you were just going to rest your eyes. You slowly blinked your eyes open, hearing soft murmurs. Your brain slowly registered the two different voices and you sat up realizing Sam was awake. 

“Oh thank god. You’re awake,” 

“What are guys doing here? I thought you would go back to the motel.”

“Nah, this one,” Dean pointed at you. “Would’ve bitten my head off.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring Dean’s pointed look. 

“Well I’ll leave you two kids to talk. I’m going to go find the doctor,” he stood up and left but not before shooting you a wink. 

“What was that about?” questioned Sam.

“Oh uh nothing your brother is just a weirdo.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah I got that.”

“How are you feeling?” you realized his hand was still in yours. Would it be weird to pull away? Or would it be even weirder to keep holding it.

“Here let me help,” you stood up and leaned over to fix his pillow.

“Y/N,” you turned and stopped when you realized how close you two were. Dean’s words from last night came back to you. If you don’t tell him you’ll regret it your whole life.  

Without thinking about it you leaned the rest of the way forward and kissed him. At first it was slow and unsure, but once you felt Sam respond you kissed him harder. You put all your fears and your love into that one kiss. And you felt Sam give it back. 

You pulled away, with your eyes still close. “Sam I-”

“I love you,” your eyes shot open. Had he really said that?

“What?”

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sam.”

“You two crazy kids finally admitted it,” Dean stood in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest with a smug smile on his face.

“Yes. Now you can shut up.”

“What I-”

“So when are we getting me out of here?”

“Good news the doctor said day after tomorrow.” 

“Good,” you said. “Then I can take you home,” You kissed Sam again and smiled at Dean’s groaning in the background. 

“Guys I’m right here!”

“You approved of this now you gotta live with it,” he rolled his eyes and walked away, but not before you saw the smile on his face. 

You turned to face Sam again and you couldn't help the growing smile on your face.  Maybe telling him had been the best choice.

[pbandjesse]

Today was a good day. I am feeling a little burnt out. Or at least on the edge of it. But today was still a good day. I just wish I had tomorrow off. Working at the nursery is fun but I didn't expect to be there every week so it's a little tough not having any other time to do the stuff that I need to do at home. Just a little frustrated.

But it was a good day! Not complaining about that. I slept pretty well I woke up with a little bit of a sore throat from it being very dry in here. But I felt good. I got dressed and felt cute even if my hair felt a little dirty.

I got myself together and said goodbye to James. They had a full day of errands and chores. Including taking my boots to the cobbler. I'm excited to have those repaired. And the price is about what I had researched so that's good. They are good boots and so this is very worth it to me. I had a pair of boots I wore all through highschool and college I got resoled and it was a great decision then and this is a great decision now. Plus it feels like, a sustainability thing. Fixing rather then replacing.

I headed to work and had a good drive. I got my breakfast and ate in the car. And when I got inside basically everyone was already there.

It was a homeschool day today and I knew I had two programs I haven't done in a long long time. Like since 2018. But they are preschool programs and are pretty easy to fall back into. Me and Mike were going to run them but if the numbers were low I would just do one group. And that's what ended up happening. Fine by me.

They were a very sweet group. It is really hard to make those programs last the full hour but it was all okay. I had fun talking about hats and jobs with them. Letting them talk about different hats people wear. Trying them on because I couldn't think of a reason not too. And then they colored in their own hats.

I checked my phone and had a missed call and a few mixed texts, including from my mom, and I absolutely panicked. Like I was convinced she was going to tell me dad died. Which is my biggest fear right now. And I texted quick to see if it was important. Asking without asking. I was fully prepared to tell the parents in my group I had to go get Jessica and Mike and figuring out what I would do and was basically shaking while stapling the kids work.

Thankfully mom texted me back quick that it was just the gift she sent me getting delivered and everything was okay. But I was very scared for a moment there. I didn't realize how much I am expecting that. Dad will be okay, I truly believe that. But I think my brain is like. Everything else has gone bad, that might as well happen. And that's probably just been in the back of my mind. Eating at me. Sucks.

But I was able to refocus and enjoy my time with the little kids. We decorated cans and it read a story and it was calm and good.

I cleaned everything up and went to hang out in the break room. I am glad Jessica checked on with me because I thought I was done at 1 today but I actually had a second group I didn't know about. I had just missed it on the schedule. Not a big deal. And it ended up being great.

I finished the supplies I needed to do. Had my little lunch. And soon I was at the front desk waiting for my group.

They were medical students who want to work in occupational medicine. And it was really a blast. I ended up giving an extended tour and got applause multiple times. Excellent questions. Laughs at my jokes. I really knocked it out of the park. I even learned a few little pieces of info from people in the group and that was really awesome.

At the end of the tour the woman in charge asked if she could tip me and so she paypaled me $30?? So nice of her. Didn't need to do that but I appreciate being appreciated.

I was happy to go home though. My throat now hurt from all the talking.

I got back here and found James outside. They had locked themselves out. Oops. We came inside and I got to open the gift from my mom. Its my very own printing press. And I am just so excited. I tried it with a cut out block and a full block and they came out so solid and black and even and I'm so thrilled. I can't wait to do more.

Me and James went though a bunch of the fabric and decided why will go to camp and what will go in my boxes. We did that for an hour or so. I was a little cold and sitting in the hammock. It was nice just being with my favorite person.

I would okay Pokemon while James made baked potato soup for dinner. And then we just chilled together. I took a bath and washed my hair. And now James is fast asleep. I am painting my toes. And really am just ready for sleep.

I'm at the nursery the next two days. I'm not thrilled. But it's mostly just because I'm tired and would like to be home alone. It will be okay. It's March! I'm excited for a new month. Even if it's very busy.

Sleep well everyone. Take care of each other. Wash your hands.

[pinkyhim]

Saved pt.1

 Cat!Jimin x Brat Bunny!Jungkook x Human!Reader

part 2      part 3      part 4      part 5      part 6     part 7

Warnings- Swearing

Fluff

Y/N= Your name L/N= Your last name F/N= Your first name

Authors note- This is my first time writing so I apologize if there are any grammar errors and if the story totally sucks - also I suck at using technology, sorry that my tumblr page is complete trash

Summary ~  Y/N comes home one day to find that her apartment has been robbed, scared of it ever happening again she decides to adopt hybrids Jimin and Jungkook 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What the fuck?!?!” 

I walk in to find my apartment completely trashed, broken dishes everywhere, and my books and papers scattered on the ground, it looked like a hurricane had just hit.

Just my luck I thought as I went inside my room to find my belongings everywhere and my bed a complete mess

I knew exactly why this had happened, it was because I had nothing to protect my apartment, it was actually quite common for people who didn’t own any hybrids to be robbed.

Hybrids... they were considered to be pets and if you didn’t have a owner and you were too old you were killed. I had actually been against owning a hybrid, mostly because I could barely take care of myself much less a hybrid. But this wasn’t the first time I was robbed, so I decided to put my foot down.

I had spent my weekend fixing up my home and on monday at work I decided to ask one of my coworkers about owning a hybrid

I worked at a pretty well known company so I wasn’t exactly broke to say the least, but I spent most of my free days either working at home or lazing away.

“You? L/N F/N, actually want to adopt a hybrid?!” My coworker Kim Seokjin said as he pretended to be super surprised 

“Yes?” I said rolling my eyes as he pretended to wipe a fake tear

“And I thought you would know about that stuff considering you own three hybrids” I say 

“Well, you’re right but, why are you all aboard the adopting hybrid train now? When I asked you about it before you totally blew me off” 

“I was robbed Jin” I said as he gasped

“Seriously?! Are you okay?” Seokjin asks concerned

“Yeah”  

“Oh, I see so you want to adopt a hybrid to protect you” Seokjin says

“Gee, I wonder where you got that conclusion from” I say sarcastically 

Seokjin rolls his eyes “Well there are shops where you can buy a hybrid like I did, but they are pretty expensive” He says “How expensive?” I ask

“The cheapest you can get one is about... 500,000″  I nearly choked on my iced tea “500,000 dollars?!” I say and Seokjin nods “But of course there are shelters that you can go to and I heard that they are a lot cheaper.” I nod and thank Seokjin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On my way home I decide to go to the shelter 500,000? Are the hybrids made of gold or something? I grip the steering wheel as I pull into the parking lot for a shelter called Hope For Paws, it was a pretty old place as the color from the sign has faded, I consider going to the shop that Seokjin told me about but I mentally hit myself as I remember the price

I step inside the doors and instantly I am hit with a foul smell, I almost choked but I didn’t want to be rude, so I walked up to the lady at the counter 

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked not looking away from her computer 

“U-um I don’t” I say as she glanced at me

“Are you planning to adopt?” She asks and I nod

“Take a seat” She said and I sat down 

I looked around the room it was painted with a dark blue and there were pictures on the wall of happy people with hybrids

This might not be so bad.. I was broken from my train of thoughts when a lady told me to follow her 

“You’re planning to adopt?” She asked smiling brightly 

“Uh, Yes” I say quietly as she nods “Do you have any preferences?” She asks

“No” I say as she nods again opening the door to a room “Please take a seat” She said as I sit down, she leaves the room only to appear a couple minutes later with two hybrids with her

One of them was a cat hybrid with fluffy blond hair and a the other was a bunny hybrid with dark brown hair

“Y/N this is Jungkook” She says and she points at the bunny hybrid 

“And this is Jimin” She says pointing to the cat and she hands me a clipboard with all their information on it I skim over all of the information “I’ll leave you guys alone for a couple of minutes” The lady says as she leaves the room

The second she leaves the room the cat hybrid, Jimin runs up to me and hugs me rubbing his head on my neck

“Are you going to adopt us?” Jimin asks

I don’t say anything yet as Jimin drags the bunny hybrid Jungkook over to me “This is Jungkook, He’s a bit shy” Jimin says ruffling the other boys hair as Jungkook was sending me glares tf? he already doesn’t like me 

A couple minutes later the lady pulls me out of the room 

“Have you decided yet?” She asks as I nod

“I’ll adopt them” I say rubbing the back of my neck

“Awesome!” She says as I follow her back to the waiting room

“Just fill out these papers and i’ll bring them out in a few” She said disappearing behind the doors

I finish the papers as the lady comes out with Jimin and Jungkook, Jimin smiles brightly when he saw me and runs over to me 

“Are you our new owner?” Jimin asks smiling at me as I nod

We leave the shelter as the car ride home was silent

I unlock my apartment door and walk in as Jimin and Jungkook follow closely when they walk in they were blasted by your sweet scent 

"You guys might have to share a bed for now” I say shyly as the boys nod I show them their room. 

“U-um so tomorrow we can go to the mall to buy you guys things after work” I say to them

“Work?” Jimin asks and i nod

“I leave for work at nine and come back at three” I say to Jimin as I hear Jungkook growl since when did bunnies growl? 

“Well, you guys should go to bed” I say as I awkwardly leave

I plop down on my bed and sigh What a day I decided to take a nice warm shower and change into some loose shorts and a big t-shirt I layed down on my bed as my eyes fluttered shut

I woke up at about 12 AM as I smacked my lips together I need some water I dragged my feet to my fridge and I got a bottle of water when I turned around I saw Jimin 

“Can I sleep with you tonight? Jungkook keeps kicking me”

[outrebanx]

Dragonfly - Chapter 2

JJ x female!reader fic

Summary: Your first day working at the wreck is cut short when there’s a hurricane, causing issues later on.

Word count: 2.3k (slightly longer than I planned whoops)

Warnings: swearing, absolutely awful writing

Catch up: Chapter 1

A/N: Rip to actually writing well, but I was stuck on how to do this chapter for a while because I want to get to the others which I’ve kinda planned - still not sure how many chapters this will be tho as I need to decide on how I want to end it. Feedback is appreciated like normal :)

When you woke up that morning, all your muscles ached, hours of surfing generally did that to you, but you were always happy to pay the price as it was always worth it. You stayed in bed, completely zoned out for a while before you realised you should probably get up and have a shower so you were presentable for your first shift at the Wreck, hopefully giving a good first impression.

After getting in the shower, you got dressed into some jeans and a plain black top, put on some mascara and made your way to the kitchen to have a coffee before you got going.

Your dad was at the table eating some toast when you walked in, you said a quick hello before heading over to the kettle, putting it on, and searching for a travel mug.

You had found one just as your dad spoke up from the table, “you have work today right?”

“Yeh but only a short shift, why?”

“Oh on the radio this morning it said there’s gonna be a hurricane tonight, and I want you home, not only so you’re safe but so you can help me keep this place together.”

You smiled at him, “Don’t worry, I’ll be home before then and honestly I’m not sure that even with both of us this house will survive it, but I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Yes, I guess we will.” He laughed, he got up from the table, giving you a quick wave as he headed to whatever room he was trying to fix today.

After making your coffee, you grabbed your keys and headed out to your car, your car was a second hand jeep (possibly older, you had no idea) and so wasn’t always the most reliable, but it held a special place in your heart, and until it caught on fire or died completely you refused to get rid of it - no matter how much your dad asked you to.

The drive to the Wreck wasn’t awful, the road you were on showed some nice views of the island, although, the wind was beginning to pick up ahead of the hurricane that according to your dad was a common thing around here - something else you didn’t like about living on this side of the country. But you were going to try and make it work here and look on the bright side as even if you didn’t like it, this was now your home.

You got to the Wreck and were greeted by the owner Mr Carrera, who gave you a name tag and was about to show you around when he got a call, leaving you standing there looking like you were lost. The girl who you saw yesterday, Kiara you think her name is, came over to you to see if you were alright, and once you’d explained that her dad got a call, she decided to show you around instead.

“Okay,” she glanced at your name tag, “Y/N, obviously this isn’t the largest restaurant ever but we get quite a lot of people in here, especially at weekends and whenever there are loads of tourons around.”

“I’m guessing tourons are tourists?” You asked.

“Yes they are, sorry I keep forgetting you’re new around here, you’ll soon find there are names for everything around here - but if you’re ever confused you can always come and ask me.”

This girl was really nice, and pretty, and you kind of wanted to be friends with her, but before you could ask her anything, the first few customers came into the restaurant and she headed over to them, turning back to you with a smile.

Whilst she was busy with that group, a group of boys, who looked to be around your age, came in so you took it upon yourself to serve them, although the looks they gave you put you a little on edge. After giving them a few minutes to decide on what they want to eat, you approached them again, they all looked at you as you began speaking.

“Do you want any drinks?”

“No, but you could give us your name.” One of them said, he was probably the leader of this group, attractive yes, but anyone who doesn’t have good manners automatically is ruined for you.

“It’s Y/N,” you say pointing at your name tag, trying to be nice.

“Well, Y/N, we haven’t seen you before, and I have to admit you’re pretty hot for someone who I assume is a pogue, but that doesn’t mean much”

His other friends laughed at this comment, you didn’t even know what a pogue was so you were unsure of how to react, but the way he said it made it sound like an insult, so you just ignored him.

“Well if you don’t want any drinks, what food can I get for you guys?”

“Just leave us alone to decide” you nodded and just as you began to walk away you heard him mutter under his breath, “pogue bitch.”

What the fuck, you thought, who raises their children to speak like that to others? It had been a while since you’d been involved in customer service and you’d forgotten how shitty people can be. Ignoring the anger you felt, you headed over to Kiara, who had been looking over at you trying to serve them.

“Hey Kiara, what’s a pogue?” You asked.

“Call me Kie, and it’s the name for people who live in the Cut, the guys who you were just talking to are Kooks, they live in Figure 8 which is the ‘rich side’ of the island which means they kind of just look down on anyone who doesn’t have as much money as them.”

“Wow, a proper class divide, how fun.”

She laughed, “Yeah its not great, but some aren’t as bad as them, the main guy there is Rafe Cameron, his family is one of the richest on the island, they pretty much only come here when they really need to get away from their families or if they want to start a fight.”

“Okay, does that mean they’re not here often?”

“More or less, like I said earlier, it’s mainly tourons and pogues who come here.”

You nodded, and then you both headed back to serve people again.

The rest of your shift went by quite quickly, and all without any problems, and soon Mr Carrera said you could go home, he was closing up early anyway because of the hurricane.

Just as you were leaving, Kie caught up with you, stopping you from getting into your car.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” She asked

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Usually days after a hurricane me and my friends go out fishing and I think you’d like them, and them you - you don’t have to obviously, I just thought I’d offer.”

“No, I’d love too, thanks.” You smiled at her

“Okay you can meet me here, at like 11?”

“Sounds good.”

You quickly exchanged numbers so you could contact each other if there were any issues, and then you got into your car, beginning the drive home, happy that you were starting to make friends.

It was evening now, and the weather had definitely taken a turn for worse, you weren’t used to weather like this and it made you a little nervous.

Just as you were thinking this, your car made some sputtering noises and slowed to a stop.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You tried turning the key a few times but it still wouldn’t start - you were too far away to walk home, not that you wanted to leave your car behind anyway in case something happened to it, which left one option. This option was to find someone who might be able to fix it so you could get home.

You picked up your phone, ready to call your dad and tell him what had happened but apparently the weather had already knocked out cell service, so you couldn’t contact anyone, not even a tow.

“Unbelievable.” You muttered, getting out the car and deciding to go to a house nearby instead and ask for their help.

It was only a short walk until you came across a small road going towards a house, you took a breath and made your way towards it, hoping whoever lived here would help you.

The house seemed quiet but there was a beat up VW van outside so you assumed there was someone home, you stepped over some empty beer cans and knocked on the door.

It had been about a minute and just as you began moving, about to head back and try and find another house, you heard the door open behind you.

You turned around only to be met with the attractive face of one of the boys you had met last night, John B if you remembered correctly.

“Y/N right?” You nodded, “um do you need help with something?”

“Yeh my car just broke down and apparently your house is the closest, would you be able to help me?”

“Sure, just let me grab JJ quickly, then you can take us to your car.”

As he walked back into the house, you muttered to yourself, “Oh great, he’s here too.”

You had stood there waiting for a little bit when John B reemerged, JJ next to him, an annoying smirk on his face.

“Hi again.” He said

“Hi - follow me I guess.”

As you began walking back up the dirt path, you heard JJ catch up with you, looking towards him, you saw he was looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” You say, beginning to get uncomfortable under his stare and the silence.

“Nothing - just wondering why you can’t fix your car yourself.”

“Not everyone knows how to fix cars and my dad did once try to teach me but my excuse for getting out of it was because if I ever broke down I’d be able to call him or at least someone for help. But you know the first time it happens is when there’s a fucking hurricane so I have no cell service - and now my dad will never let me live this down so that’s great.”

You heard John B chuckle from behind you, and just as JJ was about to say something in return, your jeep was in sight, and with the wind starting to feel stronger, you picked up the pace.

JJ let out a whistle beside you, you looked at him saying, “that better be an appreciative whistle, my jeep may be old but it is a thing of beauty.”

He held his hands up in defence, “oh absolutely, I would never insult it, but I am a little shocked its never broken down before.”

“I’m going to ignore that.” You gave him a small smile, which he quickly returned before turning back to lift up the cars bonnet.

“I obviously don’t know much about cars but I think the battery could be dead?” You say to the boys, John b looked to you and nodded,

“If that’s the case we’ll just have to jumpstart it, I’ll be right back.” He turned and ran off back towards his house, leaving you and JJ in silence.

You were tapping the side of your car to fill the silence when JJ started talking again, “do you live here with your dad then?”

“Yeh, my mum died recently and he wanted a change of scenery, so it’s just us.”

“Oh I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, “Thanks, but it’s alright, life doesn’t always go the way you want it to, and hey, I think I’m actually starting to like this place so it’s not all bad.”

“Oh yeah, when there’s not a hurricane involved, this place has its good moments.”

You laughed, and before you could say anything else, John B appeared on the road in his beat up van, jumping out when he got near with some jumper cables.

“This is safe right?” You asked

“Absolutely.” For some reason that answer didn’t comfort you, or it might’ve just been the way the two boys looked at each other before attaching the cables and going to the van.

Once the boys gave you a thumbs up, you turned your key in the ignition again, this time the car actually starting this time, you could hear the boys cheer from where they were standing.

As it was getting later and the wind was getting stronger, you quickly ran over the boys to say your thanks and hugged them, surprising both them and you. Ignoring your out of character show of thanks, you got in your car, waving at them again as you passed and drove home.

The rain had started by the time you got home, and as soon as you pulled into your drive, your dad was out the door, asking where you had been.

“I broke down, but some guys I met the other day helped me, and I still got home so there's no need to worry.”

He kissed your forehead, “Okay lets just get inside, I’ve made some pasta if you want any.”

“Like I would ever turn down pasta,” you laughed, heading to the kitchen, “how was your day?”

“Alright, but right now I’m more interested in the guys who helped you, are they your age?”

“Yeh I think so.”

“Do you think they’re good looking?”

“Ugh dad, I barely know them, and I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”

He just laughed, “that means they are then.”

“Omg, I’m taking my pasta and escaping before this conversation gets worse.”

Your dad was still laughing when you left the kitchen to head to your room, but you had to admit you wouldn’t mind getting to know those guys a little more, especially JJ, but that could be done another day, right now you just wanted to try and sleep through the hurricane and see Kie tomorrow.

Tag list: @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @tangledinsparkles​ @k-k0129​ @sofiluvschu​ @outerbankslove​ @obx-beach​

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Sixty-Six

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut…there’s, um, some more butt stuff…

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

Friday after work you meet Harry at the first of three locations he wanted to look at. He really trusted your eye and vision for things. You didn’t like the first location.

“Not enough foot traffic. You’ll want people to be able to walk in and make appointments.”

He agreed with you. Harry’s main thing was to make sure there were two offices in the back. He needed a private space for himself, and for Mariah if she decided to join him.

“You should also see if you can sell frames and other products to help add to your profit. You could offer special deals for those booklets you make.”

“Good idea. That’ll give Isaac somethin’ to do too if he comes along.”

You liked the second location the best out of the three. It was closer to home, and near a park. There were other businesses and a ton of foot traffic. There were two offices, one in the back, and one upstairs. Harry liked the idea of it being two stories. There was also a large storage closet.

“With some paint and some new furniture, this could be a really great place.”

“Yeah, and the price is right in my budget.” Harry says looking over his paperwork. “Are there many offers on this space yet?”

“Not yet, but it’ll move fast. Take the weekend to think things over and let me know Monday, yeah?”

“Alright, sounds good.”

You and Harry were having Mariah and Isaac over for lunch Saturday, so that would give everyone time to think a lot of things over.

“You have the money in your budget for renovations and stuff like that?” You ask him as you get into the car.

“Yup, I think I’ve thought of just about everything. I’d need to put my two weeks in at work quick though because I’d need to spend my free time fixin’ the place up.”

“Which means you’d need to file for insurance soon…”

“Yeah, and I’d need to get my LLC insured too. This is all happening so fast.” He says excitedly. “When can we start working on the website?”

“How about tomorrow night? Once we know if Mariah’s on board we can add her info to it.”

“Thanks again for helpin’ with all this, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He gives your hand a squeeze.

“I’d do anything for you, Harry.” You smile at him and he nearly starts to cry.

//

“So…what exactly are we doing here, other than to have lunch?” Mariah asks as you set a plate of sandwiches in front of everyone.

“Well, I’m finally jumpin’ into my own business, and to be up front, I want you both to come with me.”

“Me?” Isaac asks in shock.

“Yes.” Harry hands them his business plan. “It’s all right there. Y/N and I looked at some spaces yesterday and found one we think could suit all of us. My freelance work alone would be enough to sustain us, so imagine the few people you work with on top of that Mariah. And Isaac, there’s no one else I’d trust bookin’ shit f’me. I know I’m asking you to leave something comfortable, and it might seem rocky at first, but I think this could be great.”

“What would you call the business? Or is it just a space we’d use together?” She asks flipping through.

“Well, that’s somethin’ we could talk about. I mean I’d want us to have business cards that match. It could just be our last names or we could come up with somethin’.”

“I think we should just call it Styles Photography.” She suggests.

“But you’d be my partner, so where does your name go?”

“I’d be working for you, and it would go on my business card. Your name should be everywhere, this is your thing.” She smiles.

“Harry, I have to say, I’m really impressed with this. I mean the salary you’re suggesting for me is way more than I make now.” Isaac says.

“It’s what you deserve to be paid, you work really hard. And Y/N suggested we sell other little things to help offset other costs, which I think is brilliant.”

“Yeah, we could sell some of those techie frames where you digitally load the photos. People go nuts for those.” Mariah says. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

“Me too.”

“Are you both serious?! I wouldn’t be able to provide many benefits…that’s the only thing.”

“I’m still on my parent’s insurance for a couple more years.” Isasc says.

“So am I, actually.” Mariah says. “So we’d have time save up for all that.”

“My question is, when would we start?”

“Well, I’d be leaving Plant Geo far before either of you. I need to lease the space and fix it up. I’d say by June we could be up and running. Y/N’s going to help put a legitimate website together for us, and she’s going to do this social media campaign to help get the word out.”

“Harry, do you think you could have some legitimate contracts made up for us?” Isaac asks.

“Definitely. I could have them to you by the end of next week probably. So we’re doin’ this, I can go lease the space?”

“Yeah! Do you have any pictures?” Mariah asks. Harry hands her his phone. “I was thinkin’ of putting a wall up in the back and adding a small kitchen area. There’s an office in the back for you, and I would take the one upstairs. Huge storage closet for all our shit. I was thinkin’ of getting a custom desk made for you too Isaac.”

“Can you do all that yourself?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’m pretty handy. So are Lou and Niall, they could help when I need it.”

“My dad could help too…” You bite your bottom lip. You hadn’t really spoken to your dad in a while.

“We’ll see…” Harry smiles. “Anyways, I’m really excited you guys are on board.”

“Me too, I’ve been getting sick of all the drama there.” Mariah says.

“Chris is gonna flip losing her three best people.” Isaac says.

“You two need to keep quiet that you’re comin’ with me. I’m not even tellin’ her I’m getting my own studio, I’m just telling her I’m going to freelance full time.”

“Good idea.”

The three shake on it, and Harry tells them they’ll get proper contacts soon. After they leave he calls the realtor and tells him he’ll take the space and will have a check for him Monday.

“Once I get the blue prints of the place I can get the permits I need for renovations.” He tells you. “Do you really think your dad would help?”

“Sure, I mean it would be good to have him there in case you stumble into any electrical mishaps. Plus he has a ton of tools. He could borrow my brother’s truck and meet you out there. And he’s free labor. Well, mostly free, you’d need to buy him a beer or two.”

“What’s his number I’ll call him.”

“You wanna call my dad?”

“Why would I have you call him? So he can ask you a ton of questions and make you angry? No way, I’ll talk to him.”

You give Harry your dad’s number and he dials it on his phone. He picks up after a few rings. Harry puts the phone on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi Mr. Y/L/N, it’s Harry…”

“Oh! Um, hi. Is everything okay with Y/N?” You two smile at each other.

“Yeah, she’s fine, I asked her for your number actually.”

“Oh boy…you’re not calling for the reason I think you are?” Harry’s face goes beat red.

“Uh, no, no, no, not yet anyways.” He laughs nervously. “She actually told me to call you because I’m officially renting my own studio space and I’m going to be doing some renovations to it. Y/N said you could be a great help.”

“Oh! Well, that’s a much better reason to call.” You roll your eyes and Harry swats an arm at you. “What do you need help with?”

“Well, a lot actually.” Harry takes the phone off speaker and walks away so he can explain everything to your dad.

About an hour or so later Harry comes back to you and plops down on the couch. He takes a deep breath and looks at you.

“Your dad is a chatty guy.” He laughs.

“Yeah, no shit. Did he really think you were calling to ask if you could marry me?”

“Yes, and he talked my ear off about how even though he knows we love each other, we just need to slow down a bit and that it’s too soon for all that.”

“I’m sorry.” You can’t help but laugh.

“S’alright. Don’t really need his permission though do I.” It wasn’t a question.

“Nope.” You smile. “So what did he say about helping?”

“Oh, he’s all for it. Said it would give him somethin’ to do. He said your brother could probably help too. He said once I get all the right permits he’d be able to jump in wherever.”

“That’s great!”

“God, I can’t wait to give my two weeks to Chris on Monday. Been there for four years, feels way longer.”

“I’m so proud of you Harry, this is going to be great.”

//

Monday morning Harry walked into Christin’s office and handed her his two weeks notice.

“What’s this?” She asks looking up at him.

“I’m leavin’ Plant Geo. I’m goin’ to invest more into my own work. No hard feelings, I just can’t do this anymore. The work doesn’t make me happy like it used to.”

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay? You’re the best photographer we’ve got.”

“I’m sorry, Chris. It’s just not what I want anymore. I wanna be my own boss.”

“I understand.”

“I’d like to keep this quiet, I don’t want anyone makin’ a fuss.” She nods and he walks out of her office to go to his own.

//

Harry made a ton of phone calls all week to get the ball rolling on the permits he’d need to start making renovations to the studio. He also worked on the contracts he’d need to give Mariah and Isaac. He asked Rachel if she’d be able to help paint once it was all ready for that. Harry felt lucky to have so many friends that were willing to support him.

Every night you and Harry sat at the dining room table getting his website together. He loved watching you work. He was beyond grateful for you. You’d make sure everything looked the way he wanted. You both worked really well together.

“As you’re renovating we should post on Instagram to show everyone updates. You’ll need to give me the login to your professional insta.”

“Should we just make a brand new one for the LLC?”

“No, we can just update yours. Then we can post an announcement to Facebook, and let everyone know about the site. I can set it up so they book with you on the site too. Isaac would have the final approval on the reservation of course, that way you wouldn’t get overworked.”

“I’ve told a few people and they said they were really excited. A lot of people have more time during the week to get their pictures taken than I thought. Plus I can still freelance for other magazines if I want.”

“Did Christin tell you that?”

“Yeah, we spoke and she said if I ever needed the work she’d give it to me.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, I appreciated it.”

//

A couple of weeks later, your dad started helping Harry with the renovations. Your dad was actually impressed that Harry had a lot of the proper things he needed like masks and goggles. Harry made sure to take before and after pictures for you to post updates on social media. One night he came home in a pair of jeans, workboots, and a longsleeve shirt. It was starting to get warmer out, but the longsleeve helped keep dust and other scraps off his skin.

“I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I’m actually havin’ fun with your dad. He’s helpin’ me get the kitchen together this week.”

“That’s great.” You bite your bottom lip while he runs a hand through his hair.

“What?”

“Nothing…you just look…hot. Where’s your tool belt?”

“Left it in my trunk.” He smirks. He comes over to you and rests his hands on your hips. “Why?”

“Be nice if you brought it home some night.”

“You should come by one of the mornings your dad isn’t there.”

“I’m not fucking you in your studio.”

“C’mon, why not? Now that would be hot.”

“Harry.” You suck your teeth and pull his hands off you. He pulls you back closer to him.

“Okay, okay.” He presses his forehead to yours. “I have a wedding to shoot this weekend.”

“I know.”

“So we won’t have much time together again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna spend some time with Rachel.”

“Oh good.” He kisses your nose. “I needa shower, I must smell like a goat.”

“A very sexy goat.”

//

Rachel comes over Saturday while is off taking wedding photos. You’re enjoying catching up with her. She tells you how excited she is to help paint at the studio, and how excited Mariah is to work with Harry.

“I’m really glad she’s my girlfriend, she’s awesome.”

“I’m so happy for you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.” You take a sip your tea. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Always.”

“Well…you know about the things Sarah and I bought for the boys?”

“Oh yeah, she filled me in on all that.”

“Okay cool, so it’s been a while since Harry and I dove back into all that. He’s just been so busy with everything, I’ve sort of felt bad asking you know?”

“Sure.”

“So like…how do straps work?”

“Oh my god, you wanna peg him?”

“You have no idea how badly I wanna get into that ass.” You both laugh.

“Yes, oh my god, okay, well, I’ve never used one in someone’s butt before, but using the strap in general just makes it easier to like hold onto the person. It’s not like using a dildo where you have to keep your hand gripped on it.”

“But how do you know what you’re doing?”

“You just feel around, talk to your partner make sure they like what you’re doing. Does he know you wanna fuck him like that?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s cool with it?”

“He didn’t seem not cool with it. You should have seen how amazing he looked when I used the plug on him, Jesus, he was beautiful.”

“I never expected you to be into something like this, I love this for you.”

“I didn’t expect it either. I just don’t know how to bring it up. He hasn’t had a free second.”

“Have you had sex otherwise?”

“Oh sure. We always make time for it. We just haven’t had time for the things that take a little longer.”

“Do you think he’ll want to do it to you?”

“He’s not really a give to get kind of person. I don’t want it for myself and he knows that.”

“Oh that’s nice. Yeah, I don’t really like the strap used on me, I don’t need the dick.” You both laugh.

“So sex with Mariah is good then?”

“So good. I’ve never really connected with someone the way I’ve connected with her.”

“That’s great Rach.”

“Please don’t keep me in the dark about if/when you actually peg Harry. I’m gonna need all the details.” You both start laughing just as he’s walking in.

“Oi, what’s so funny.” He smirks at them, loosening his tie.

“Hi!” You say blushing. “Did you just walk in?”

“Mhm. Hi Rach.”

“Hey Harry.” She smiles at him then at you. “Well, I’ll get going, I have some projects I need to grade actually. God, summer cannot come fast enough.”

“I hear that.” You stand up to walk her out. “Thanks for coming over today.”

“Course! It was fun to catch up. Bye!” You turn back to look at Harry.

“She didn’t need to leave.”

“Oh she’s been here for hours it’s fine. You’re home earlier than I thought.”

“It was an early morning wedding, and they didn’t need me for the reception, just family shots, so I got outta there as soon as I could.” He slips hit suit jacket off and walks down the hall to your bedroom. You follow him. “What was so funny when I walked in?”

“Hm? Oh, I can’t even remember. Sometimes we just get into these laughing fits.” You sit on the bed and watch him undress. He hangs up his suit and looks at you. “You know Aunt Flow left yesterday.”

“Did she now?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that your way of tellin’ me you wanna bone?” You giggle and bite your bottom lip.

“Maybe.”

“Well, we gotta make it quick. I need to go to the studio and get some things done.” He stands between your legs and you can’t help but pout. “Whatsa matter, angel?”

“We’ve been making it quick a lot lately.” You say looking up at him. You put your hands on his hips.

“Aw, you want us to take our time baby?”

“Yes.”

“How about a quick shag now, and then tonight when I get back we can take our time, hm? We’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Sure.” He smiles. “Now take your pants off.” You grin and stand up to take your leggings off.

Harry fingered you until you came and then fucked you into the mattress before he left for the studio. You got caught up on some homework while he was gone and made dinner. He got home around seven, exhausted.

“Please take a day off from it tomorrow.”

“I will, I will. I just wanted to get some things done. Your dad is comin’ back to help Monday so I brought some lumbar over and some other things we’d need.”

You both eat quickly. He goes over to sit on the couch, but you put your hands on your hips and make a grunting noise.

“What?” He looks at you just as he was about to turn the TV on. You point to the bedroom. “Babe, I just need-“

“No, you said when you got home we could do whatever I wanted. Now get that ass up and into our bedroom.”

He couldn’t say no to that, so he stands walks with you into the bedroom. He sees that you’ve pulled out the special box and stops short.

“You…you wanna do this tonight?”

“Neither of us have anywhere to be tomorrow, and we haven’t done it since the first time.” You bite your inner cheek. “If you don’t want to we don’t have to.”

“S’not that I don’t want to…what’s the end goal here?”

“I want to be able to fuck you in the ass.” You say bluntly and he nods. “Are you okay with that?”

“I think I could be.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs. He looks up at you. “I’ve been reading into it a little.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, can’t say I’m not curious…but there’s gonna have to be things that you’ll have to do. I mean you’re legitimately going to need to finger me to stretch me out and stuff. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Maybe if you shower first.” You giggle.

“Alright, let me go shower.” He stands up and starts taking his clothes off. “I want you naked on this bed ready f’me when I get out. I’m still a little hungry, and I really only want one thing.”

You do as he says and excitedly get on the bed and wait for him while he showers. Harry makes sure he’s all clean and comes out to you. He gets on the bed and hovers over you. He kisses your lips and then makes his way down your chest. He takes your nipple between his teeth before sucking on your breast.

“Ah.” Your head rolls back while he sucks on one and kneads the other.

He makes his way to suck on the other, wanting to give equal attention. He kisses down your chest and belly. He kisses one of your hips and sucks on the skin harshly letting it go with a pop. He spreads your legs apart and dives in. He licks a flat tripe up from your center to your clit. He laps at your folds and sucks where he pleases. His tongue goes up inside you while his thumb works your clit. He was really taking his time, only make small, slow circles. Your chest was rising and falling rapids. When he wraps his mouth around your clit, your hands fly to his hair. His middle and forefinger plunge inside you, going in knuckle deep.

“Shit.” He looks up at you while your eyes are rolled back.

He took a great deal of satisfaction knowing that even though in a few minutes you’d totally be in charge, but no matter what he’d always be the one in control. If he really wanted to he could fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, let alone stand.

He curls his fingers up inside you while the tip of his tongue flicks back and forth against your swollen nub. You tug at his hair harder. He feels you start to clench around his fingers as he hits that spongy spot you love so much.

“Harry.” You moan. You moan his name over over until you’re coming. He takes his fingers out of you and slips his tongue back inside to suck on you. He wanted all you’d give him. “Fuck.” You were out of breath.

He sits up between your legs and wipes chin with the back of his hand.

“Go get the towel and the lube.” He says to you.

You practically squeal while you grab everything. You lay the towel down for him and he sits on top of it.

“Are you sure it won’t be easier on your stomach?”

“No, I want to be able to look at you while you do it. I’ll just hold my legs up like last time.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna blow you for a few minutes first.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You smile and lick up his shaft. You wrap your lips around his tip and slide down. His hips buck up slightly. He felt like he could explode at any second. Going down on you really got him going. Your tongue slides back forth on his slit, lapping up at his precome.

“Shit.” He groans. One of your hands cradles his balls and massages them lightly. “So good, babe.”

You come off him with a popping sound. You grab the lube and put some on your fingers. You warm it up as best you can. You look at him.

“All clean right?”

“Mhm, I sprayed the water right up in there.” You both giggle.

“Okay.”

You lean up and press your forehead against his while he hooks his arms under his knees to give you better access. Your finger tip lightly grazes around him. You start laughing and so does he.

“I’m sorry, I’m just nervous.” You look at him.

“I am too, it’s okay. We can laugh through it, we don’t need to be so serious. S’kinda funny anyways.”

“Yeah, like, my bare finger is gonna go into your ass.”

“Yup.” You both laugh again. “Hold on, before you push in, just like squirt some of th lube directly on me.”

“Won’t that be too cold?”

“It’s fine, I’ll adjust.”

You grab the bottle and put it directly on him. He clenches at how cool it is but he relaxes again. You kiss him as you lightly play with his hole, getting him to relax more and more. Eventually you start to push your middle finger inside of him. He winces at first.

“Nail’s a little long.”

“Shit, I should have clipped them.”

“S’okay, just be careful.”

You continue to kiss him and you feel him relax around you as your finger goes in deeper. There was so much trust between the two of you and you were so happy. You get it all the way in and you pause.

“What should I do now? Curl it up? Move it?”

“Bring it out all the way slowly, put more lube on, and then put it back in.”

You nod and do just that. Eventually you’re able to get a second finger in, and he seems to be enjoying it by the way his cock twitches.

“Doing okay, Harry?”

“Mhm.” Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. “Doesn’t feel too bad actually. DO you wanna get the plug now, think I’m stretched out enough.”

“Yeah!” You pull your fingers out of him. “I’m just gonna go wash my hands, one second.” You race into the bathroom and scrub your fingers quickly. You return with the plug in your hand. You get it lubed up and start to push it inside him.

He gasps but relaxes. You had done a pretty good job of stretching him out. Once you get it all the way in, you focus your attention on his cock. You wrap your mouth around his dripping tip and suckle on it.

“Did you…did you wanna try…” He was panting. You look up at him and you can’t help but smile at the beautiful blush covering his cheeks.

“What is it, Harry? Tell me what you want.” You coo as you pump his dick.

“The, uh, you know…the dildo.”

“Babe, it doesn’t have a base.”

“So tie somethin’ around the end of it.”

“Is that safe?”

“I just…I need somethin’ to go deeper.” Your mouth falls open and then you bite your bottom lip.

“Okay, don’t be mad, but I did buy something else.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t done this in a while and I didn’t want you to get freaked out.”

You get off the bed and go into the back of your closet. You grab a bag and your hands shake as you take the item in it out.

“Oh.”

“I…I’m a little nervous to put it on. Is this going to be weird for you?”

“I think we’ve crossed the point of weird, don’t you?” He chuckles.

“But it’s going to be me…with a penis.”

“Not really. Let’s just remember to laugh, okay?”

“Okay.”

You slip it on over yourself and you look at him.

“Straps around your ass look nice.”

“Stop” You laugh. “Should I put a condom on it?”

“Um, I think just the lube should be fine.”

“Okay.”

You take a deep breath and get on the bed. You carefully pull the plug out of him.

“You’re about this, we don’t have to do this, Harry.”

“No, I want to.”

“Not just because I want to?”

“Y/N…” He cups your cheek with his hand. “If you’re too nervous, we don’t have to go this far tonight. I’m honestly okay.”

“Alright.”

You take the lube and squirt it into your hand. You rub it all over the dildo attached to the strap.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.” He keeps his legs held back for you as you slowly slip inside him. He lets out a deep breath and relaxes as much as he can.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“How does it…how does it feel?”

“Lotta pressure.” He says through gritted teeth. He looks up at you and smirks.

“What?” You start chuckling.

“You just look…sexy, I don’t know how to describe it.”

“It is pretty hot isn’t it?”

“Little bit, yeah.” He relaxes more and you’re able to fit the whole thing inside him. “Holy shit.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, opposite of hurt.”

“Oh! Maybe I hit your prostate.”

“Look at that, you’re a natural.” You both laugh.

You starts to pull out a little and you get some more lube on the dildo to add to his comfort. You thrust back in slowly and he lets out another breath. Eventually it actually starts to feel really good for him. You pump his cock while you go in and out of him. Keeping your eyes on his face the whole time to make sure he’s alright.

“You’re doing so well, Harry. How’s it feel, am I making you feel good?” The tip of the dildo keeps brushing against just where he needs it to, and your hand wrapped around hip, thumb working his tip, was pushing him over the edge.”

“I think I’m gonna come.” He gasps. “Oh my goooodd, please let me come on your tits.”

His moans were really getting to you. You angle his dick towards his chest, and with a couple final pumps and thrusts he was coming all over you.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He groans.

You both take a second to catch your breaths. You slowly slide out of him and take the strap off. His legs fall onto the bed. A lot of the lube comes out of him, but you try not to look. You straddle his hips and hover over him. You hug him close to you, neither of you really caring about how messy everything is.

“Are you okay? You did so good, sooo good Harry.” You give him gentle kisses on lips and cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, we don’t ever have to do it again if you didn’t like it.”

“Babe.” He says breathlessly. “I’m good.” He cups your cheeks in his hands and brings you down to kiss him. “We can do it again.”

“Really? It felt that good?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.” You smile at him. “And you looked…I mean…it was hot.” You kiss him again. “Not an all the time thing though…maybe for like…special occasions?”

“Sure! How ‘bout if you’re in the mood for it, you tell me.”

“That sounds like a good deal.”

“How are your legs, you had them up for a while?”

“They’re fine, just tired. I feel like I have a whole new respect for what I put your body through all the time.” You giggle and kiss him.

“Would you like me to draw us a bath? Get all clean and cozy?”

“Yeah, I think that would be nice.”

“Okay.”

You climb off him and he watches you go into the bathroom. His asshole was on fire, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care. He was exhausted. You throw a bath bomb into the water and the room fills with the smell of cinnamon and apples.

“Baby? Tub’s all filled.”

“Okay.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and you help him up.

“I’ll clean the bed up when we’re done.”

“Alright.”

He lets you get into the water first so he can sit in front of you. He leans his head back against your shoulder and closes his eyes. He just needed some time to come back. You massaged his scalp and peppered light kisses to his temple.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” You coo.

“Do you think you’ll ever want to try it?” He tilts his head to look at you. “M’just curious.”

“I…don’t know. Maybe. I could try the plug some time I suppose.”

“Only if you want.”

“We’ll see.” You smile and he nestles back down. “So…did it hurt at all?”

“Um, it’s not that it hurt, it was mostly like discomfort for a little bit. But then it sort of just started to feel good, I can’t explain it. You were really careful with me, I appreciate it.” He takes of your hands and kisses the back of it.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too.” He sighs happily.

“Wanna watch a movie tonight? We could get cozy on the sofa in our robes, and I could do your nails for you, and I could pop some popcorn.”

“I will never say no to you offering to do my nails, that all sounds great.”

Harry gets into his robe and meets you to the sofa after you’ve cleaned the bedroom. You come over with some popcorn and a couple of beers. You let him pick through your polish colors, and you let him pick the movie. Believe it or not he really wanted to watch To All The Boys I Loved Before.

“Read the book when I was younger.”

“Don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You take his old polish off and file his nails. You end up painting them a nice pastel blue and purple.

“How’s it look?”

“Perfect, thank you.” You lean in to kiss him.

“You’re more than welcome.”

“Now, come lay with me so I can spoon you. Time to may some attention to the other bum in this house.”

You giggle and lay down with him, one of his legs slipping between you. He holds onto you and you both enjoy the movie. When you think about what had happened only an hour or so prior, you feel like anyone on the outside looking in would think it was weird. Or that maybe Harry wasn’t as into women as he led on. But you knew none of that was the case. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought because it wasn’t weird for either of you. And if there was one thing Harry loved, it was a vagina. It wasn’t really about him needing or wanting something up his butt. It was about the two of you exploring something together, and seeing where the journey took you.

You roll onto your back and he looks down at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you too.” He says back, and gives you a tender kiss.

Even though he had just been freshly fucked, and he honestly still looked like it, he had caught a second wind. Before you knew it the two of you were giggling with your legs over his shoulders while he fucked you on the sofa. Yup, he still had complete control.

[desperationandgin]

The Beat My Heart Skips (Market Price One-Shot)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: Ao3

Summary: Jamie attempts to surprise his pregnant wife with the foods she craves.

A/N: From a prompt @smashing-teacups​ sent me like 8 months ago! This is also my dear BFF’s very BELATED birthday fic. ilu so much <3

I adjusted a little but I hope the spirit of the prompt lives on!

The Beat My Heart Skips

++

The texts from Claire had started at two in the afternoon while he was at Lallybroch, deep in planning the next few weekends’ worth of farmer’s market details.

Burgers for dinner? 😘

He’d replied he would pick them up from her newly-declared favorite place for burgers, and promised chips to go along with them. A half-hour later, the next message arrived.

thinking more about the pork rolls we had the other night.

He’d replied:

Instead of the burgers?

Think so. Sorry. Baby’s picky  🤷‍♀️

It made him smile, swiping to the home screen only to see the latest in his growing collection of photos featuring Claire’s belly. The bump was only clearly visible when she was unclothed, but it was there, a swelling proof of life, and he’d found he could stare, stroke, and murmur to that growing roundness for hours on end. He’d finally responded with a quick dinna fash and assumed that would be the end of it.

He was wrong. The next messages had come in rapid succession, mildly alarming until he could read them.

I think pizza would be better

Remember the burritos we had at Mazama?

Jamie, I don’t know what your child wants…

Kebabs??

Would you like to contribute an idea?

Thumb hovering over the phone, he’d tried to decide if he should pick one thing from her list, or offer something completely different. He’d decided, in the end, to go with a solid favorite.

Thai noodles, Sassenach?

The three telltale bubbles had appeared, then dropped, then appeared again before another text came through from his wife.

That sounds good too.

It was the ‘too’ that convinced him of what needed to be done.

You only need to be prepared with an appetite when I’m home. 5p. No later.

Now, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of his sister’s mini-van while Jenny drives.

“How many places is it, total?” she asks, glancing over.

Scrolling on his phone, he counts aloud. “Six. No, seven. I need more ice cream.”

“Alright, weel, we have to be strategic about it. Ice cream last, obviously. Then I’ll just drop ye back at yours and both of ye can come over tomorrow for Sunday supper. We’ll finish the plannin’ then, ye get your car, all done.”

Jamie looks over at his sister, impressed. “Thought it all out, have ye?”

“If you take a pregnant woman hot, fresh food that’s been left to steam in its containers only tae go soft and damp, she’ll throw it at yer heid. Trust me.”

He snorts. “Should I ask Ian?”

“He’ll no’ bring me soggy chips again, I’ll tell ye that much.” Jenny pats her own very round belly. “Learned wi’ the last bairn.”

Suitably impressed (and making mental notes he never knew he needed), they make a plan beginning with pizza and ending with a very quick stop inside a corner shop for two containers of Neapolitan. By 4:45, Jamie’s outside of his home, hands loaded with takeout bags. Leaning down into the open car window, he holds up his bounty.

“Thank ye, truly. I owe ye, Jen.”

She waves him off. “Ye’ll babysit soon enough.” Her face softens, though, and she meets his gaze. “Da would be proud. Mam, too.”

Lowering his head, Jamie swallows, but when he looks up again, there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I always hope, but hearing it from you, especially, is important.”

“Why me?” she asks as he steps back.

“On account of ye bein’ the wee ball-buster in the family,” he teases fondly, thanking her again before watching her drive safely away. Juggling bags and keys, Jamie lets himself into the house, calling out.

“Sassenach?”

“In here,” she calls from the living room, and he ducks into the kitchen.

“Stay there, I have a surprise for ye. And dinnae try to peek, ye’re no’ verra sneaky anyway,” he says in return. As he sets everything up along their counter, buffet style, he can hear her moving about.

“I assume this surprise is in regards to food,” she deducts.

“Always kent ye should ha’ been a detective,” Jamie smirks, able to hear her huff from the other room. “I’m almost done, ye can bide a second longer.”

“One,” she says pointedly. “Your child is starving.”

“I’ve noticed ye tend to refer to the bairn only as mine when ye cannae make your mind up about something.”

Her voice is closer when she speaks. “That’s because you’re stubborn,” Claire retorts, standing directly out of sight.

“Oh, am I the only one?” he asks as he finishes by propping the pizza open. “I always thought ye were a relatively patient woman, Sassenach, until I got ye wi’ child.”

“I am bloody patient! It’s the only reason I haven’t stepped foot into the kitchen to throttle you yet.”

He can’t help but laugh silently for a moment, drawing it out a few seconds longer before finally poking his head around the corner only to come face to face with her. “Alright, a nighean. Ye can come in.” Stepping aside, he watches as she enters, taking in the sight of her realizing what she’s seeing.

“I figured we could make a good go of it, and now we have plenty for tomorrow,” Jamie explains.

Claire stares at the bounty in front of her in stunned silence before looking up at her husband. “You went to all of these places?”

“Aye. Well, me and Jen. Ian was home and she was desperate to get out of the house for a bit anyway. So she drove me around, and now you and the bairn have whatever ye’d like. Including more ice cream.”

Too moved for a moment to say anything, she simply blinks at Jamie, afraid to open her mouth because she’s sure she’ll cry.

A good thing, then, that he knows to step forward, reaching out to rest his hands at her hips. “I wanted ye to have whatever you wanted, Sassenach.”

That does it: the flood gates open (because hell if she has any control over her hormones anymore) and she finds herself cradled to his chest. “I cannot believe you,” she mumbles into his shirt affectionately, arms looping around his waist.

“I do try to keep ye guessin’,” he murmurs into her hair, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“Do you also plan on helping me eat all of this?” She pulls back after placing a soft kiss to his chest before getting a plate and trying to decide what to attack first.

“Oh, aye, I’ll be eating plenty. I’ve been eying a burrito since we picked them up,” he promises, having no intention of letting his wife eat alone. Pointing out the different varieties as she picks and chooses, he loads a plate for himself and takes it to the living room, settling with her leaning against the arm of the sofa sideways, legs across his lap.

Bringing a forkful of noodles to her mouth, she pauses to look at him. “Thank you, Jamie. For indulging me.”

Balancing his plate with one hand, the other squeezes her calf. “I figured if ye’re going through all the trouble of making a person, Sassenach, the least I can do is feed ye what ye want.”

When she smiles, it’s as though his entire soul flares with warmth, and it’s difficult to take his eyes from her.

Which is why he sees it the instant all color drains from her face. What happens next requires zero communication as she sits up, he takes her plate, and her legs swing from his lap. Within thirty seconds, she’s in their bathroom bending over the toilet, vomiting. Wincing in sympathy, Jamie simply stares for a moment at the two plates full of uneaten supper in his hands.

Putting the dishes on the coffee table, he rises and makes his way to the bathroom to join her, reaching out to hold her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, a nighean.” Jamie’s always very aware that he’s the one who did this to her anytime she’s miserable, and it makes him regret being quite so boastful about it.

When her stomach finally calms, he stands with her and leans against the doorframe as she rinses with the mouthwash that is now a permanent fixture on the countertop instead of tucked away in the medicine cabinet.

And then he watches as she begins to cry, confusion making his forehead furrow, wondering what this new mood swing is and how to handle it. Reaching out for her, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her in an attempt to soothe as he rubs her back. “Dinna weep, lass,” he murmurs, more concerned as she clings to him tightly.

“Fuck, Jamie,” she manages, sniffling when she finally pulls back, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.

“Likely no’ right now,” he tries to tease gently as he lifts a hand to stroke her cheek.

She doesn’t even react, simply chooses to ignore him and move on even as tears brim on her lashline. “I can’t eat any of that food right now.”

“I realized it soon as ye got up from the couch,” he points out, kissing her forehead.

“But you went to...Christ, how many places was it?” she asks as new guilt washes over her in an irrational wave. “And Jenny was with you,” she laments.

He doesn’t know how to fix this, exactly, and so he simply guides her by the hand to their bedroom to avoid the smell of various foods in the front of the house.

“Mo nighean donn, why would Jenny be put out? She’s been pregnant a dozen times, she kens how it goes,” Jamie points out gently.

“It was so thoughtful of you. I wanted to be able to enjoy your effort,” Claire admits as his arms encircle her.

“Ye still can when ye feel like eating. All of it will still be there, Sassenach. Doesna matter if we eat it this evening or tomorrow.”

“You aren’t annoyed?” she asks, knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Only at yer hormones, but no’ at you,” he promises with a kiss to her knuckles, over her wedding ring.

“Well, I’m annoyed at my hormones too,” Claire exhales, recovered now from the bout of tears but not the nausea as she lies down on the bed properly. “When your aunt called, she said being sick all the time is the sign of a boy.”

“Should ask Jen, she might have some light to shed on it, havin’ had both,” Jamie suggests as he lays propped on his side and pushes his hand under her shirt to lightly stroke her stomach.

Closing her eyes, she concentrates on the feel of his touch rather than the vertigo. “Do you want to find out what we’re having, or let it be a surprise?”

His fingers still for a moment before continuing as he ponders her question. “I never considered it. Does it matter to ye, for decorating and buying things?”

“Not particularly. There aren’t very many things that can truly be left a surprise in life.” She can’t help smiling at the idea of it, of not knowing until their child is in their arms.

The look on her face makes it clear her mind is set, and Jamie drops a kiss to her abdomen. “We’ll leave it a mystery then, Sassenach.”

“We’ll have to pick a name for either scenario,” she points out, taking deep breaths in and exhaling slowly as she wills away her symptoms. When Jamie doesn’t respond right away, she cracks one eye open only to find him lost in thought. A hand lands in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. “Where’d you go?”

He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “I’m here,” he promises with another kiss. “I was only thinking...if it’d be alright wi’ ye...we could name the bairn after my da.” When he chances a glance up at her, his eyes are suspiciously damp.

If ever there is a key to getting her nausea to dissipate, it’s the sight of her husband’s vulnerability. Her hand shifts from his hair down his face to cradle his cheek. “Brian,” she murmurs, nodding her agreement. “And if it’s a girl?”

He’s quiet, ghosting his lips across her skin now, trying to will her hormones to settle for a while.

“Hmm. Weel, there’s always, simply, Brianna,” Jamie suggests.

Claire tries it on her tongue, adding a second name. “Brianna Ellen Fraser. Or Brian Henry Fraser. What do you think?”

Scooting up on the bed now, he pulls his wife close, needing to kiss her ring again, to say a silent prayer for the love of this woman. “That ye’d honor my parents that way, Claire-” It makes him more emotional than he would have ever imagined, the way his wife’s heart shows itself.

“I thought, since we’re having - what was it, ten by your last count? - since we’re having ten children, the second could be named after my parents,” she suggests, knowing it will happen now that she’s said it.

“It’ll no’ be ten if ye feel like this every time,” he says with equal parts concern and frustration that his wife simply can’t eat when she’d like.

“Jamie,” she murmurs, gliding her thumb across his jaw. “This amount of illness is normal. And it’s getting somewhat better. Today was unfortunate,” she allows, a hint of apology in her tone.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he assures her as he sits up, leaning down to drop a kiss to her forehead before finally standing. “Now we have plenty for breakfast and lunch. If ye dinna mind noodles before ten in the morning.”

She chuckles, the waves of nausea somewhat less turbulent. “If my stomach can manage, then so will I.” But she already knows the noodles will never make it to morning. She’ll be awake at three in the morning, eating when her hunger finally kicks in.

“I’ll go and put everything away, then we’ll see if ye’ll do wi’ a bit of light reading,” he offers. He’ll also quickly eat while he isn’t in front of her.

“Reading in bed?”

“Aye, I’ll no’ make ye move,” he promises, reaching out to cradle her cheek before stepping back.

“Then you’ll know where to find me when you return,” she says lightly with a small, fond smile.

“Which is exactly where I want ye to be, incidentally.”

She chuckles, waving playfully at him to go. “I’m looking forward to reading your next pick.”

Before he can make it out of the room, she calls him back.

“Aye?”

She takes a moment to look him over, still in his jeans and button-down from the day, curls askew and his scruff just past its normal length.

“I’m very madly in love with you, you know.”

When he smiles he ducks his head, and the way his ears turn bright red makes her want to laugh in sheer delight of him.

“That’s verra good, Sassenach. On account of I happen to be mad wi’ love for ye myself.”

“You’d better go, before you say something very Jamie Fraser and make me cry,” she warns with a more playful smile at the end.

He can’t help doubling back, this time to kiss the soft round apple of Claire’s cheek before nuzzling it with the tip of his nose.

“I’ll bring ye back a ginger ale.”

When he finally leaves her to rest, Jamie puts everything away in record time - except for the noodles. He places them in a separate container and sets it in the fridge with a sticky note on top.

For the bairn xx