#well not /nothing/ but only a half job that got rid of some of the infected stuff at the top basically

[giannaln4]

For you? Anything.

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Even during the worst week of you life, and no matter how tired he is, Lando would do anything to make you feel better.  (2.6k words)

warnings: fluff, established relationship, language.

a/n: And we are back to our regular schedule! Kinktober is officially over (kinda, more context here) so it's time to post regular fics. So, I wrote this sometime last week before the shit show of yesterday's race so that's why there are no mentions of it, but I do have some planned about that so we'll see when I can work on them. Anyway, this is for me and all the girlies who have been feeling stressed about work, let me know what you think!

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What a week it has been for you. You had done nothing but work on a stupid project your boss put you in charge of. It was very short notice, and the due date was creeping up on you faster than you would’ve liked. 

The good thing is Lando had been away for weeks due to his job; not that you didn’t want to see him or that he was a distraction, nothing like that, but you always preferred to be with him instead of working, which isn’t something you would be able to do this time due to the amount of things you had to go over, but with the house all to yourself, you had the chance to get tons of work done.

It was finally the day of the presentation; you were supposed to pitch the finished project to management and honestly, you weren’t 100% confident in the job you had done. Usually, you were never too harsh on yourself, but with so little time to work on it, you knew there were some parts here and there that could’ve used a little more of your attention, but it was either use what you already have or show up with an unfinished project, so that would have to do. It wasn’t terrible; you were sure of that, but these people always found something to complain about.

You were there for only a few minutes before you were dismissed. What a fucking joke, you thought.

You didn’t even get half the presentation done, and the old dudes sitting across from you were already attacking you with questions, questions that didn’t even make sense or barely fit the theme of what you were trying to talk about. 

Your boss was the one to send you out, saying something like “You have another week; we hope you’ll be more prepared next time,” before standing up and leaving the cold conference room, followed by the rest of the men that were surrounding him.

Only minutes after going back to your office you saw him come in, giving you notes on the things he thought you should work on. As the polite girl that you are, you just nodded and wrote down whatever he was saying, apologising for not turning it up on time, but as soon as he left, you couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your face, ruining your make-up in the process. You still had half of your day ahead of you, so you calmed down, washed your face, and went back to work like nothing happened.

At the end of the day, however, that’s a different story. You went back home completely devastated. All those sleepless nights you spent with your nose buried in your laptop felt like a total waste. 

As you drove back home, you tried your best to hold the tears, but it was getting harder by the second, especially with each step you took down the hall that led to the door of your apartment, and when you made it there, you started crying as soon as you closed the door behind you.

You instantly got rid of your uncomfortable clothes and got into one of Lando’s shirts, curling up in your bed and letting all that consuming and irrational feeling of failure sink in. You knew you weren’t a failure; you were well aware of your worth, but you couldn’t help but feel like that after miserably failing the presentation you worked so hard on.

Suddenly, the front door opening pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out a loud sigh as you left the bed. You knew it was Lando coming back from his last race, and any other day you would’ve been happy to see him, running to the door to greet him with a hug like he deserved, but right now, you didn't want him to have to see you in that pathetic state.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, sighing again when you realised how obvious it was that you had been crying, so you’d just have to avoid eye contact.

“Hi baby,” Lando greeted you with his usual pretty smile as he entered your room.

"Hey,” you replied, immediately turning around and walking towards your desk, sitting facing away from Lando as you opened your laptop.

“Did you sleep okay last night? How did your presentation go?” He walked closer to you and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, kissing your temple.

“It was okay.” He stopped when he noticed your heavy mood. 

"You alright, love? You seem down." His brows were slightly furrowed as he tried to make eye contact.

​​"Yeah, fine. I think I’m just gonna work on it a little more; there were some things missing that I need to include," you replied, clearly lacking energy.

“Hey now, let’s not do that." Lando turned the chair over to make you face him. He looked down and noticed your glossy eyes, a worried feeling growing inside him. “Talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”

You just shook her head briefly, a lip-tight smile covering your face. “Everything’s fine.”

“Y/N…” The slip of your name past his lips made you want to cry again. Of course you wanted to be comforted by your boyfriend, but you didn’t like the thought of him having to pick up the pieces anytime you messed up. As a tear rolled down your face, you realised that you didn't have the energy or even the desire to push him away “Oh baby, come here.”

Lando took your hand as he sat on the floor next to you, pulling you onto his lap. Your face was now buried in his black hoodie, the tears wetting it instantly as he brushed a hand softly up and down your back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you." He would understand if you didn’t want to talk about it but would still like to know what was happening. If there was anything he could do to help, he would gladly do it. “Do you wanna talk?”

“I just-” A sob cut you off, “I- I couldn’t do it, even after everything I did, it wasn’t enough.”

“Is this about your presentation?” He asked, his voice softer than ever, and you simply nodded. “It’s alright-”

“No, Lando, it’s not alright. I worked hard to get it together, to get it ready for days and nights and I still failed, I’m so stupid-”

“Hey, baby, look at me," he interrupted you, pulling back a bit and gently lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “You know that’s not true; you’re so smart, and I've always admired your beautiful mind. You gave it your best, like you said, you worked really hard, and even if you didn’t get the reaction you deserved, you know I’m right here.” You simply nodded at his words as the back of your hand wiped some of the tears. “Why didn’t you wanna tell me?”

"Because I don't want you to be disappointed in me like I am right now." You looked down to your lap as more tears fell from your tired eyes.

“You should know that I could never be disappointed in you, Y/N. You are so intelligent and kind; I’ve never met anyone with such a beautiful soul, so I don't ever want you to feel down about yourself because you are perfect." You felt both of Lando’s large hands caress either side of your face, bringing it up so he could look into your eyes again as he swiped at the tears that had managed to escape from your eyes.

The slight smile that had formed on your tear-stained face told Lando that his words meant something to you, and they did. “You’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”

“No, I’m your boyfriend for all those reasons." You giggled slightly. “And I’m sure that no one would disagree with me.”

“My boss would.”

“What does he know?” That made you laugh again, making Lando smile, a smile so sincere that told you he believed everything he just said.

"Thank you, baby, even though you’re being a little biased." You sniffled as you gently stroked the hand that was still on your cheek, keeping your eyes locked with his “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead. You took a deep breath, feeling a lot calmer than you did five minutes ago as you looked at your laptop briefly. 

“I should probably get back to work, though; I have to basically remake the whole thing and meet with them again next week.”

“What? Right now?”

“Yes, right now. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to bed? You look pretty tired. We can cuddle, I know we both need it.”

“I would love to,” your gaze fell on your bed momentarily; it looked so comfortable, and it was literally calling your name, “but I really need to get this done, and I have to do it right this time. I don’t wanna be embarrassed again in front of a bunch of old dudes.”

You stood up from his lap and sat back on your desk, focusing on the screen in front of you as you began to analyse what you should take out and what you needed to add. 

Lando just sighed. He knew there was no way he would get you to stop working if you already set your mind to it, but honestly, he thought he would get to spend every second with you once he got back home, so needless to say, he was a little disappointed that wasn’t the case.

He got it though; your job was important for you, and you would never settle for anything unless it was perfect. What made his blood boil was the fact that your boss had the nerve to make you feel like you weren't worth it. 

“Did you eat something already?” He asked you, getting up from the floor and wrapping his arms around you once again.

“Uh- I’m not really hungry.”

“Why don’t I cook something for us? What do you say?”

“It’s okay, baby, you should go to bed.” You tilted your head to look at him and give him a quick kiss. “I know you are tired, the triple header couldn’t have been easy.”

You started collecting your things so you could take over a different part of the apartment. He had been travelling for weeks; it wouldn’t be fair to keep him up just because you needed to get work done.

“Where are you going?”

“To your office, if that’s okay. I really don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not-”

“Lan, I’ll be okay, I promise. Just go to bed, don’t worry about me.” Taking a few steps closer to him, you gave him a loving hug, “I love you.”

You left the room, holding everything in your hands as Lando just stood in the same spot. There was no way he would go to bed without you, not when you were feeling so down and it was clear you just needed to take a break.

Taking a deep breath, he started to make a plan in his head. He took the quickest shower of his life and got into something comfy, praying there was food, or more specifically, ingredients to cook you something that he wouldn’t mess up and that you would enjoy.

Everything seemed to be on his side when he found everything he needed to make some Alfredo. Everything was pretty much premade, so he knew he wouldn’t ruin it. He happily got to work, setting up a nice dinner as he hummed one of the songs that had been stuck in his head for who knows how long. 

In the office, you were nearly breaking your head as you read the information you had over and over again. You kind of knew what it needed to be since your boss gave you a few specific notes, but then again, you weren’t feeling completely confident in your own ideas. 

You didn’t realise you had been locked away for over an hour, your eyes getting insanely tired as you typed away. A break was needed and well deserved, and you were aware of this, but somehow it didn’t feel like you were making any progress, even though you had been working non-stop and you had already readjusted about half of the project.

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you abruptly closed your laptop, your face falling to your hands as your eyes felt wet yet again. That was it; there was no way you could keep going. You needed to grab a quick snack and head straight to bed. You did have an early morning the next day after all. 

Just as you were gathering all your strength to get up, you heard the door open, making you jump a bit.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” You laughed as your hand fell on your heart.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggled, walking towards you.

“What are you doing still awake? I thought you went to bed.” 

“I couldn’t sleep without you. Are you almost done here?” He looked at your closed laptop, celebrating internally as he assumed you were done working for the night. 

“Yeah, I guess. My brain stopped working, so I thought my future self can worry about the rest tomorrow.”

“Good. Come here.” He extended his hand out to you, which you happily took. “Please stop overworking yourself, you know this isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” you let out a sigh as you accepted his embrace. “I’m seriously thinking about quitting. Who knows, maybe I’ll find something that doesn’t make me feel this stressed all the time.”

His hand was caressing your back softly as he pulled away to look down at you. “You know you can, right? And I really think you should. I make enough to support the both of us and even a family in the future... Baby, you don’t have to keep working there if you don’t want to.”

His words made a smile appear on your face. Not because he was offering to basically support you for the rest of your life, but because he brought having a family with you. “You know I’d never let you do that-”

“But if you do want to quit and just take a break, you can do that too,” he interrupted you. You nodded, seriously considering it, but that was something you would have to think about and have a serious conversation in the future if you ever did decide to do it.

“We’ll see. Right now, I just need something to eat and some sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Speaking about dinner, I made something for you.”

He took your hand and guided you to the dining room, a big smile on his face as he proudly showed off the beautiful set-up and the (hopefully) delicious dinner he managed to cook. He looked back at you expectantly, but his happiness quickly turned into a worried look when he noticed tears falling from your eyes again. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, a hand softly falling on your cheek as he leaned down. 

You were out of words; you truly didn’t know what to say. This is just what you needed, and the fact that he went out of his way to do it for you meant a lot more than he could ever imagine.

“I- Lando, this is-” you cut yourself off when you couldn’t find the right thing to say, so you just jumped in his arms and gave him the tightest hug ever. “Thank you for everything. And I mean everything.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugging you back as he buried his head on the crook of your neck. “For you, my love, I’d do anything.”

[little-paper-man]

눈_눈 pain and suffering - bad luck streak did not, in fact, end.

went to get my root canals done this morning at the free dental clinic (an hour drive to which already sucks but fine) and because of my stupid combo of small mouth+big teeth they couldn't get good enough x-rays in order to safely do them so they did a pulpotomy on them instead and referred me to a root canal specialist at a different dental place with better equipment.... that's NOT free and will cost $750 per root canal and I need 3 done T~T

Everything Sucks~! Eveeerythinnng Suuucks~!

(If you're wondering how bad the small mouth+big teeth combo is, even my body said 'yeah you got no room for wisdom teeth so you don't get any')

[11rosebunny]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 (𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍 + 𝐉𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄)

content: f!reader, possessiveness, a hint of gaslighting and manipulation

Haruka Sakura

He tends to push everyone else including you and won't properly communicate his feelings if he feels it's too complicated for others to understand.

It gets extremely frustrating if you're trying to tell him what's wrong, he'll lie and say nothing, shift the topic somewhere else, and worst part is if you keep on trying to ask, he'll somehow make it your fault for worrying even though he's on the brink of falling a part. He still struggles with opening up to others but he can't continue to push away others that deeply care for him.

Hajime Umemiya

Sometimes, he forgets he can not treat everyone the same way, this goes for how he treats women especially. At first he didn't understand how friendly he acted towards girls while dating you was a bad thing, it took him a few days to understand your perspective and put himself in your shoes.

Eventually, he ended up getting a taste of his own medicine when he saw you being friendly towards Hiragi, since that moment, he understood boundaries with other people.

Toma Hiragi

His caring gratitude becomes a little too much to the point where you don't have to lift a finger.

If you simply ask him anything, a drink, to go to a place, to be picked up, or if he just decides to clean up after you, make sure you're okay, and practically do everything for you, he's on it right away.

The only downside is he expects you to stay obedient. If you don't want to do something with him (aside from sexual cases) he starts to tell you about all the different things he's done for you. It's a very well trick that he's not even aware of to make you comply to whatever he says. You can't even argue with him either because he is right about doing so much for you without you having to ask half of the time.

Taiga Tsugeura

He tries to be friends with everyone. At first it isn't a bad thing to keep up a good reputation but it's come to a point where if a person did something weird and rude in the past, he will continue to try to get on their good side.

You had to talk him out of it that a friend to everyone is a friend to nobody.

He still struggles to get rid of that habit of his and is currently doing a good job at it. So good for carrot head!

Mitsuki Kiryu

Everyone knows he's popular with the ladies, and most would think that would be his toxic trait, but in reality, it's his lack of communication. It's not like Sakura, where he'll push everyone away but Kiryu tends to have a hard time keeping up in the social life.

On some days, he's the driest person you'll ever meet but inside he doesn't see anything wrong with it because no matter what he still loves you.

He got confused when you accused him of not loving you, he was baffled because he didn't understand because he was sure as hell he did in fact love you. He's slowly starting to improve, and tried to text and talk more to make you feel happy.

Hayato Suo

He doesn't understand why you'd want to hang out with anyone other than him, this was a back then problem so thankfully, he grew out of it.

Before, since you two grew up together from a very young age, when you started to talk to other people he started to grow bitter, and didn't understand why you'd speak to them and not him. It was a small anger management but he soon grew out of it when he got older thankfully.

Jo Togame

His brave behaviour sometimes turn into the most possessive person on earth. He won't like it if you even go somewhere by yourself, he'll try to keep you in his sight at all times and would even forbid you to do some things, regardless if you really wanted to do it, he does not care and will shut it down with an argument if he has to.

Because of that, his jealousy issues are also quite high, to the point where if he has to make you cry, then so be it.

[bowsnstrings]

🎀Love At First Sight🎀

Warning! Contains: Drinking, Alcohol, Swearing, and Original Character

Overnight fame was one hell of a thing. One year ago, Ony was selling his beats to low budget rappers, charging forty an hour for a session, and working a second job just so he could make rent for his studio. Hustling between construction and music to make his dream happen, and he just had to make it happen. He’d been in love with music since his mom got him a toy microphone as a toddler, walking around in diapers rhyming in the kitchen for her any chance he got.

It wasn’t until last year, that his song he released blew up quite literally over a single night, and he gained over 700 thousand monthly listeners. From there things only got better with the addition of money, chains, diamonds, private planes, bigger houses, and more music. Now he’s got millions of people who follow him and stream his songs all over the world, tons of people hounding him to collab, and girls trying to get at him wherever he goes.

He brought his friends up with him. Both Connie, an up and coming music agent, and Eren, a fellow rapper became famous with him. Eren’s music is being streamed all over for his ability to rap in English and Japanese with swag, and Connie now has a rolodex of clients with Ony and Eren at the top of that list.

Now suddenly, he’s sitting in his own after party after winning his first music award, the cold trophy sitting heavy in his hand as he watches everyone party around him. He felt like he was staring off into space again, the shock from winning still lingering on his mind, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

Nothing else could pique his attention when he was like this, especially since Ony usually sits by himself at these types of parties. His low taper fade with waves was fresh for the night, and his suit felt too tight before he got rid of the tie and unbuttoned it a bit at the top. He doesn’t even show off the gold grillz that sits on his teeth; instead, he keeps his mouth shut and limits his reactions to nods and shrugs.

Things like this bored him, industry parties where he had to play nice, acting like he even liked half the people in the room. However, if he wanted to sell his beats and keep making music, he had to act at least a little interested. This is what Connie, who’s now his manager, reminded him of as he spoke to him, telling Ony to, “Fix your fucking face, you’re scaring everyone away.” Then, he went to mingle with some artist's agent to get them on a song. Connie always knew Ony would blow up, always booking him in small night clubs and now arranging him for the big league gigs.

Ony only smacked his lips in response, wondering just who Connie was talking to before turning to look at Eren as he flirted with some girl at the party. That nigga was dead wrong, especially since Ony saw another chick leaving his apartment this morning. That didn’t stop him from trying to take this next girl to his place for the night, Eren always had to play up into his Playboy persona.

Ony shook his head as he turned to check out the bar, he might as well get drunk, everybody else at this party is. He stood up, adjusting his clothes as he made his way over, some people turning and interrupting his path to congratulate him, and girls asking when he’s free to produce one on one with them. Ony mostly ignored everyone though, tuning them out by trying to think of new song lyrics, his trophy still in hand as he looked for a place he could safely put it.

The blue strobe lights were distracting, making his head pound slightly as he made it to the bar. He leaned over, asking for a double shot of Don Julio 1942 as both Connie and Eren made their way to him. Eren pat him on the shoulder, smiling as he saw Ony finally get a drink, he’d been in his head this entire time, not saying much since he won. “Finally gonna party man? All of this is for you anyways.”

“Yeah man,” Connie chimed in, leaning back against the countertop, “Gotta stop moping around, you won. This is only the beginning.” They were right, but for some reason it just didn’t feel real yet, like he didn’t actually win anything. He felt a bit hollow inside, trying to fill it with alcohol at the moment. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he took the glass the bartender set in front of him and downed it quickly.

As he picked up his head to finally acknowledge his friends, someone caught his eye from the corner of the room, turning instead to look and see. Across the way sat a girl, all alone on one of the couches, looking around and tapping her nails against her thighs nervously. Ony perked up suddenly, lifting his head higher to see her better, staring over Connie’s head as he and Eren turned to see just what Ony was looking at.

They both looked confused when Ony was caught staring dead at a girl. That was really unlike him, he usually made a considerable amount of effort to dodge girls who were interested in him, not wanting someone who likes him because of the sudden status he found himself in, but clearly something about her was a bit different.

“Aye Con, who’s shawty over there?” Ony finally asked, dropping his attention back down to his friend.

“Oh, her? Her name’s Princess, she's one of Sasha’s artists.” He shrugged casually, he and Eren were trying but failing to contain their smirks as Ony silently mulled over everything. Princess, cute lil name, felt light on his tongue as he said it.

“Why? You feeling her or something?” Eren leaned in close to Ony, jabbing him in the ribs suggestively.

“Can’t be interested in a girl now?” Ony said, never taking his eyes off the way she slung her hair over her shoulder as she looked up and spoke to someone passing by, even from far away he could tell she was a shy lil’ thing. He smiled a little as he leaned back over the bar to ask for a entire bottle of Dom Perignon.

“What you need a bottle for?” Eren chuckled lightly, Connie masking his laughter with a cough as Ony gave them both death glares.

“I’m just gonna talk to her right quick.” He put simply, holding the ice cold bottle in one hand, and his award in the other, leaving his friends to make his way over to Princess.

She was busy in her own world, looking at herself in a small compact mirror, touching up her lip gloss. Princess looked stunning, wearing a white floor-length satin gown that she must’ve had on during the award ceremony. Beaded and shining under the lights, the white looked heavenly on her, and as he got closer he saw her nails matched the same white as well.

But as he trailed down… as he trailed down all he could think about was how gorgeous she looked. Dressed or not. Her breasts accentuated and pushed up in the gown, though on the smaller side looked so tempting. Her waist cinched in before rounding out around her stomach and hips. Her hands trying to cover up her midsection as the satin stretched around her thicker than average ass that he could see while she was sitting. Damn, anyone from across the room could see her ass.

Ony swiftly slid into the seat next to her, watching as she looked up at him, turning to see him sit. Their eyes locked momentarily, before she quickly turned away back to her mirror. He licked over his lips with a smile, leaning over to drop the bottle on the edge of the table with a thud. It caused her eyes to flicker over again, but stay longer this time, fully turning her attention to him.

He watched as Princess looked him over, taking in his suit, then trailing up his chest to where his heavy chain sat. Her eyes raised to his face last, raking over his goatee and confident smirk, to Ony’s dark brown eyes and the small scar in his left brow.

“Hey,” He nodded towards her, snapping her out of her gaze. She blushed and tried looking at the sea of people for a moment as he continued. “Want to have a drink with me?”

She scrunched her nose at his request, and he had to hold back the laugh that filled his belly. He couldn’t help it, she just looked so unexpectedly cute, and it made him wonder what other reactions he could pull from her. “A drink?” She asked, looking at the bottle of expensive champagne.

Their eyes met for a second time, Princess blinking wide eyed and shy while telling him, “I don’t drink.”

“You don’t?” Shocked at how sincerely she said it, like she couldn’t help but tell the truth. That threw him off a bit, he had to drop his well rehearsed flirting since his first tactic wasn’t an option anymore.

“No, I’m sorry.” She mumbled out, closing her compact and sliding it back into her clutch. “Congrats on your win though.” She was obviously about to get up and leave, meaning Ony had to act fast to get her to stay.

“You a fan of my music?” He slid a bit closer, nothing drastic, but enough that would catch her attention, genuinely wondering if she even knew that this party was for him, or if it was just another industry thing to come and be social at random penthouses.

“I’ve heard one song, New Money, but that’s it. Sasha and Mikasa invited me.” Ony didn’t know Sasha, but he knew Mikasa well enough, he stored that bit of information away for later.

“That’s cool, I don’t think I’ve heard your music either, did you do anything I know?” He shifted closer again, ducking his head down to hear her clearly when she spoke, making her face heat up.

“Uhm, I used to sing gospel only, and I just made the switch to R&B. I’m just breaking in the door, you know?” She said, twirling her hands nervously.

“That still ain’t a song name Ma, I like gospel.” The pet name rolled off his tongue so casually she almost didn’t hear it.

“Oh,” That was surprising. From the music she heard it didn’t seem like Ony was the gospel type. “It’s my time, Up and Rise, He is Righteous.” She listed off a few, one particularly catching his attention.

“Hey, I know Up and Rise. I didn’t know you sung that though.” He took the bottle from the table, dropping his award down on the sofa next to her as he began unscrewing the cap. Nodding his head as he remembered how it went.

“Yeah, that was me.” Princess felt a small burst of pride at the fact that her song was liked by someone in music outside of the genre, not many people knew her music other than the gospel community.

“I love that song, the melody is fye.” He mumbled as he gripped the cork with the side of his teeth, pulling for a quick second before watching it pop and the champagne fizzle out the bottle onto his hand for an unexpected drizzle. He didn’t comment on the way it dripped onto the floor, just turned to her again and asked, “Where you from?” Effortlessly bringing her back in, sounding softer than he would normally, she could hear the way he was actively trying to be nice.

“Oh, Marietta, Cobb county.” She said, watching him take a swig of his drink straight from the neck of the bottle. Though his actions and voice were a little rough, it was undeniable how hot he looked. She noted that he looked especially hot as he drank.

“So you’re the Princess of Cobb county, huh?” She finally saw a flash of something shiny in his mouth when he smiled at her, full and playful. Both rows of his teeth covered in diamonds from his grill, shining as the light hit it, making him look beautiful.

“I wouldn’t say all that.” Princess shyly mumbled, turning away to try and see where Sasha and Mikasa were. She hoped they weren’t coming back so soon, she wanted a bit more time to talk.

“Shit, I would.” The tension was becoming thicker and thicker, making Princess shift uncomfortably on the sofa, looking forward for a moment to cool herself down.

“Where are you from?” She politely asked back, looking at him again to convey her interest.

“Adamsville.” His tone sour as he said it, taking a swig from the champagne to mask what he was feeling. Usually, when people hear where he was born and raised, they start to treat him differently. Like he was some scrapyard dog, feral and rabid, a thug.

“Really? I have some cousins who live out there.” She smiled, unforced and natural. “I used to have fun in the housing units with them.” The way Ony’s head popped up in curiosity didn’t go ignored by her, and she watched as he perked up in a happier mood.

“Yeah? You ever lived there before?”

“No, the most my grandparents would let me do was spend a night. By the time we were twelve they moved out, but I had fun memories there.” Princess reminisced, as she spotted Mikasa drunkenly trailing behind Sasha who was storming her way up to her. “It was nice meeting you, but my friends want to leave.”

“Wait, how can I get in touch with you?” He stood up with her as she smoothed down her dress, inwardly swearing when he saw how she looked standing. She was fucking beautiful.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Princess rushed out, starting to walk away before stopping to say, “Maybe we can talk about it if we see each other again.” A hopeful tone, and shimmer in her eyes.

“Come on girl, I love your voice. I want you on a song with me.” Just as she opened her mouth to answer, Princess was forced to look away when someone who Ony assumed to be Sasha grabbed her arm, pulling her forward.

“Princess, we got to go. It’s so late and your photoshoot is at 10 am.” Before Ony could get another word in, she was dragged off, her head whipping to glance back at him as she left. He sighed heavily, feeling like he lost his chance for a moment. Eren and Connie approaching him as he stood, bottle in hand, trying to think of a solution.

“Damn, you get her number or what?” Eren asked, checking out Princess as she walked away until he saw the glare Ony was giving him.

“Nah, but that’s alright. I got an idea.”

Hope you guys enjoyed my little fic and OC! It means a lot to me that people liked my headcannons so I thought I’d try writing a little something! - Bow 🎀✨💐

[hotluncheddie]

Day 1: Accidental subspace

"Open Wide"

Ao3

wc: 1.5k | rated: M | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, pre relationship, oblivious Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson, non-sexual subspace, aftercare

written for @subeddieweek <3

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

‘So I guess I’ll say something like.. Hi! I’m Steve, I’m just assisting the dentist to check that you’re flossing correctly, nothing to worry about.’ Steve says from above Eddie, putting on a customer service smile. 

Steve’s facing down at him, floss in hand. ‘Totally routine procedure?’ He asks, pursing his lips. Then he looks directly at Eddie, face smoothing out into something fond. ‘But just relax for me okay?’ He says softly, moving some hair from Eddie’s cheek. 

‘Okay.’ Eddie rasps, clearing his throat. He's still not used to being this close to Steve, even after being roommates for months. Still not used to having Steve’s full attention on him, even after being proper friends for a whole year. 

And now Eddie’s here, and Steve has his gloved fingers in Eddie’s mouth. Eddie never realised how intimate the dentist could be. Not until he’s laying here on Steve’s bed, head on one of Steve’s pillows, bracketed by Steve’s thighs so he can lean over Eddie. Lean over and put his gloved fingers in Eddie’s mouth. 

(28 hours earlier.) 

‘Eddie please.’ Steve whines, sliding his torso across the table between them. Brandishing his clasped hands and burying his head in his elbows. 

It’s too early for this. Eddie hasn’t even gotten half way through his coffee and Steve is sitting here asking him things. 

Asking him things when it’s so early Steve hasn’t even changed out of his glasses yet. 

How is Eddie supposed to think in these conditions? 

‘Huh?’ Eddie asks, because, what? 

‘I have to practice and the only reason they agreed to interview me for this is job is because I have experience with kids. I’lI need to show them my bedside manner is good dude.’ Steve explains, rapid, like he’s said it before. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing, he.. huh? ‘What’s that got to do with me Stevie?’ He asks, still totally lost and he can see down the front of Steve’s old sleep shirt.The chest hair is not helping him process. 

Steve huffs, strands of hair on his forehead jumping. ‘I need to pretend you're a patent, floss your teeth and stuff. Just to get a feel for what they might get me to do when I go in.’ 

‘… Okay.’ Eddie says, still not fully sure what’s going on but, if it’ll help Steve, well, he honestly thinks he’d do pretty much anything. 

‘Thank you thank you thank you thank you!’ Steve cheers, clapping Eddie on both shoulders and squeezing. Still leaning across the table. Eddie can see the freckles on Steve’s nose. ‘I’m buying you dinner! First dental assistant check I get, I’m taking. You. Out. Munson!’ Steve says, smile sunny and blinding and Eddie has no idea what his face is doing right now. But, if Steve keeps looking at him like that Eddie thinks he could cry. It’s early, and Steve is too pretty for his fragile constitution. 

‘Good, that’s good. Now I’m going to get the teeth at the back okay?’ Steve asks, waiting for Eddie’s small nod. ‘Feel how I’m flossing both sides of the gum too? That’s how you need to do it at home, get rid of all the germs.’ And Eddie does, sort of, he feels something happening in the back of his mouth. Steve’s knuckle against his teeth, forcing them that little bit wider. Eddie’s not sure at what point his eyes slip closed but it’s not until Steve’s retracted his hand and is lightly dabbing Eddie’s chin with a tissue, that he opens them again.They feel so much heavier than before. 

‘Sleepy?’ Steve murmurs, smiling down at him. 

Eddie swallows and blinks slowly, brain not really processing what Steve just asked. He clears his throat. Is he tired? He slept pretty well last night so, not really. He does feel relaxed though. 

Eddie blinks again, looking up at Steve. His bed backs onto the rooms little window and Steve refuses to get proper curtains for them. Instead keeping the light white lacy ones that were left from the elderly couple who lived here before. They let so much light through it would send Eddie insane, but the soft sort of shimmer that glows across Steve’s cheek and shoulders now, it’s pretty. 

Steve really is so pretty. Eddie sighs, shifts deeper into the beds soft sheets. A really pretty guy, person. 

Eddie knows this already, obviously. But, it feels different. Eddie thinks he’d crawl on all fours for Steve right now without even batting an eye. 

Its kind of always been like that for him and pretty people though, ever willing to do anything for a bit of attention. But it’s never felt like this, never felt quite this intense. 

Steve ask Eddie to open wide again, getting the other side of his teeth with the floss. Then he gently probes at each tooth’s gum with his finger. Eddie watches the curve of Steve’s eyebrow as he focuses. Eyelids so slow to blink and brain a soupy sort of fog, no thoughts up there. Just the nice feeling of his mouth being played with, Steve doing as he pleases. 

The soupy floaty feeling travels down to his fingers a toes, stirs in his gut. Eddie feels like he’s getting his whole body massaged just through his teeth. Almost like he’s in a bath, or like there’s a mouth on his cock. 

He makes a noise in his throat, it could honestly be a moan, but Steve’s fingers are in the way. That makes Eddie squirm. Steve’s fingers are in his mouth. 

‘Almost done, you’re doing so well.’ Steve says gently. 

Eddie really likes being here with Steve, letting him touch. 

‘Close.’ Steve instructs finally, fingers pressed lightly into the hinge of Eddie’s jaw. ‘Good. You have nice teeth Ed.’ He murmurs. 

Eddie hums happily, a little giggle bubbling out of him. He grins, showing Steve his teeth again, watching his eyebrows lift slightly. But his fingertips keep tracing Eddies jaw, following the curve of it, making goosebumps appear on Eddie’s arms. 

‘M’gonna go get you some water okay? And a snack. You okay waiting here for me, for just a sec?’ Steve asks softly, now tracing the shape of Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie thinks it’s okay, Steve’s bed has always been the most comfortable. He has the nicest sheets. Eddie nods. 

Steve slides his legs out from under the pillow, padding out of the room, taking off his gloves and Eddie hears the fridge open. 

Its colder without Steve here. Weird. He misses Steve. Wants him to come back. Maybe Eddie does feel kinda of strange actually, he wants Steve back touching his jaw. He feels so cold, like his chest is caving in.

‘Steve?’ He calls trying to sit up but his body isn’t cooperating. His mind not able to think through the fuzz. His hands trembling a little. 

Steve comes back in, holding water and a granola bar. ‘Hey, hey Eddie I’m here. You’re okay.’ And sits down close, wrapping Eddie up in his arms. 

‘Feel weird.’ Eddie mumbles, gripped Steve’s shoulders tight and fisting his soft t-shirt. 

‘S’okay, let’s go sit on the couch yeah? Watch a movie.’ Steve says gently, rocking Eddie a little. He should maybe be embarrassed but it feels so much better to have Steve close that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want Steve to go far again. 

Eddie nods and stands up, making sure to keep hold of Steve’s arm, hugging it close as he leads them into the living room and onto their worn sofa. 

Steve lays down first and pulls Eddie by their still linked fingers to settle between his thighs, Eddie’s face in Steve’s neck until he’s ready to come out. Making him take sips of water every few minutes, sharing bites of granola bar and stroking Eddie’s hair. 

Eddie drifts, almost to sleep, he’s so comfortable and calm, wrapped up in Steve. The sound of baseball coming softly from the tv. 

-

‘Hey! I’m home!’ Robin shouts from the front door, dropping her stuff and shuffling through. She stops dead once she sees them cuddles up on the couch. Eddie between Steve and the sofa, head now resting on his chest so he can see the tv too. Steve is channel hopping but stops to look at her. Eddie’s not really sure what to do, he definitely doesn’t want to move but, she’s looking at them really weird. 

But Robin is focused on Steve, eyebrows moving, not talking. Eddie edges around to see Steve doing the same thing. 

‘Happy for you.’ She finally huffs, stomping off to the kitchen. But Eddie hears her mumbling under her breath. 

‘Only Steve fucking Harrington could get a guy with a dentist shtick, Jesus christ.’ 

‘Huh?’ Eddie asks Steve, really not sure what’s going on. 

‘Nothin’ we’ll talk about it tomorrow, when you’re less foggy.’ Steve says softly, kissing Eddie on the forehead and pulling him back into his chest. 

Tomorrow. Yeah, that sounds good, Eddie really doesn’t want to move. 

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 12

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about it, Holly?” Steve’s voice brings you back from your trance.

You only realise then that you’ve zoned out. You look down at your plate, your burger half-eaten and the salad mostly gone. As your mom babbled on, you’d lost yourself staring out at the lawn. It didn’t really matter, she barely acknowledged you since you came out with dinner.

You glance between her and Steve, lost in the conversation already underway.

“I’d love that, it will be nice,” your mom answers, beaming across the table; the shade of the umbrella gathering in the lines of her face.

“How about you, kiddo? Grab you pajamas and join the party,” Steve looks at you.

“Huh?” You and your mom utter in unison.

“Both of us?” She asks in a brittle quaver.

“Yeah, sure, it’ll be a nice way to connect. Holly, I know you’re a mother first, it’s a package deal.”

“Mm, yeah, I just... I misinterpreted,” she puts her hand against her neck. “A sleepover, that’s fun.”

“I felt bad about last time. Don’t want anyone left out of movie night. I got popcorn, mph,” he turns to you again, “do you like cream soda? I got some cane stuff in the glass bottles--”

“That’s a lot of sugar,” your mother murmurs.

“It’s one night,” he shrugs, “it won’t hurt. Lots to go around.”

“I guess...” she forces a smile.

“Well, we can always hold off. I did promise ice cream,” he sits back and claps his thighs. “You all done?”

You stare at the table then look up in the silence. You don’t realise he’s talking to you. You nod. Your stomach won’t settle. It’s been off all day; you wonder if maybe the maple syrup was a bit too much yesterday.

“I’ll wrap it up for you, you can have it later if you want,” he stands and takes your plate, then your mother’s and his own. Where you nibbled through barely half, they had nothing left.

You sit back and cross your arms as Steve goes inside. Your mother sighs and glares past you. She’s annoyed even if you hadn’t made the decision yourself. You didn’t even accept the invitation.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “you just can’t help but get in the way.”

She leans forward. When she’s angry, her tremors worsen. She’s barely able to keep her head still.

“I didn’t...”

“Oh, be quiet. He only feels bad for you because he knows I can’t get rid of you,” she sneers. “He knows you have nothing go for you. No job, no friends, no hobbies.” She sits back and huffs, “I tried to raise you better. I really did. I don’t know what happened.”

You lower your head. Maybe you can come up with a lie. If you can find an excuse to leave, she won’t be able to hate you.

“I could say I’m not feeling well--”

“Just stay out of the way,” she snarls.

You sniff and turn away, hiding the gloss of tears in your eyes. Sometimes, you don’t do anything at all and she’s mad. You hear Steve coming back out and you wipe your nose, keeping your face down as you shrink.

You can be invisible. You’re good at that.

���

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you accept a bowl of ice cream and finish it. Strawberry. It's delicious but you just can't enjoy it. You're uneasy, unsure.

You go to grab some pajamas, your mother issuing another warning before you return to Steve's. You wear a pair of polka dot bottoms and a jersey shirt. You'll just be watching tv, and hopefully, if you can settle down, sleeping.

Your mother sits on the couch. You can see the fatigue quivering in her lip and drooping in her eyelids. She never did as much before your new neighbour. You only ever stayed inside and wilted in the sunlight.

"Holly, you need anything?" Steve asks as he pushes up the ottoman, "how about you put your feet up. I just wanted to show her something."

"What's that?" Your mom asks.

"Oh, yeah, well, I know she likes art so I wanted to show her my studio. Or office, whatever you wanna call it."

"Mm, right. Upstairs, huh?" She grumbles.

"Right," he confirms, "we won't be too long. You can find a movie." He hands her the remote, "I had some extra pencils and stuff I found on the move. Figured she could take em off my hands."

"Sure, sure," she yawns and leans her head in her hands. You can't tell if she's witholding herself out of exhaustion or for Steve's benefit.

"Come on. We'll just pop up for minute," Steve nudges your arm.

You hug one arm across your stomach and push your shoulder up. You take his direction as he points you actoss the room. You go to the stairs and climb one by one.

Further down, he takes you into another room, just across from an open bedroom. You shuffle inside and can't help marvel at the interior. The walls are hung with still lifes in pencil, charcoal, and ink, and an easel stands by the window, a large drafting table at the center of the room.

"You do these?" You ask bluntly.

"Ha, yeah, I... when I saw your sketchbook, I admit, I got a bit excited. A fellow artist."

"You're an artist? You make money off of this?"

"Sure do," he smiles proudly. "Did some time in the army then had to get out, find some peace. Always found painting calms me."

"Oh."

"I wanted to say something sooner but I wanted to show you," he enters and brushes by you, hand dragging across your back. "Let me find those pencils."

You nod and pace cautiously around the table. There's an open sketchbook. A woman's naked back greets you, a piece of fabric draped around her hips as her refined profile is etched perfectly.

He's good. Better than you. You back away as he sorts through the shelf.

'Ah, here," he turns to you again, "pencils, sketchbook, oh and maybe you'll want these watercolours. I was sent two by accident."

"Oh, uh, thanks, but... you don't have to."

"You're talented. You'll make good use of them, I know it."

"Mm, I... try."

"There's this place I know. Great view. Maybe you can come one day. Good fodder," he offers. "Trees, water, and the sunset..."

"Maybe," you agree half-heartedly.

"Then maybe you can bring it to my next art show."

"Art show?" You mutter, eyes rounding.

"Sure. It'll be good for you. I know you take care of your mom and that's sweet but you gotta make your way. Eventually."

"I know," you slump and take the sketchbooks and flat tins from him. "Thank you. I..." you look at the brand names. You know they're expensive from the catalogues you look at but never buy from. "No one... these are so nice. I appreciate it."

"No problem, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything else. Hell, if you want a quiet place to work..." he stops behind you and looks around, "even just an escape..."

“That's okay,” you say as you go back into the hall.

You head back downstairs, the pencils clattering just a little in your hands. As you enter the living room, you hear a snort. Your mom's head lolls back against the couch as she snores. Steve walks into you from behind as he stops too late.

“Oop,” he frames your hips for just a moment as he presses again your back then parts. “Sleepyhead,” he chuckles and sidles past you, a waft of his cologne filling your lungs. He didn't smell so strongly before. “Well, guess it's your choice, sweetie,” he takes the remote and holds it out to you.

“Oh, uh, you choose,” you try to wave him off but he pushes the remote into your hand.

“You can put your stuff on the table,” he points to the sketchbook clutches against your chest, “better get cozy while I get the popcorn going.”

Before you can argue, he's gone. You turn to look at your mom. Why did she have to fall asleep? She could've said no to all of this, that she's too tired. Now it's you and Steve. Hopefully, the movie keeps the chatter to a minimum.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

*

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

[dreadsuitsamus]

May I request sfw prompt #39 and nsfw prompt #53 for Gohan where he falls in love with the reader after they have a one night stand but she's initially cold to him because she had been hurt in the past?

#39- "why are you scared of loving?"

#53- "you're more than just a one night stand"

author's note: this has been in my inbox since january of 2023 💀 but i have finally found my inspiration to get it done! there's no explicit smut but there are some nsfw mentions. this is also written as a prequel to my story protect!

pairing: gohan x fem!reader

warnings: talks of a past abusive relationship, mentions of reader's ptsd, nsfw mentions

A sigh quells the silence in your room as you dress after a shower. While not at the lowest point in your life, you're still not far from rock bottom. Living with your mother again, only a year and a half removed from that day your ex beat you to a pulp and left with all your money and all of the problems of his absence are still keeping you from flourishing. Ruined credit score from a broken apartment lease, incalculable debt from the hospital bills that your insurance refused to cover, and frequent nightmares of him coming back to finish destroying you into nothing give you constant anxiety and each day is a new struggle.

Safe to say, you haven't really been okay.

You glance at your phone with shame, nervous for when the inevitable text comes from a man that's far too sweet and far too good for you to deserve you skipping out on him in the middle of the night following the mistake of a one night stand. You met Gohan through a friend, and he offered to guide you through ridding yourself of the medical debts and this is what you've done to repay him. Hook up with him and then run for the hills the second he was asleep.

You close your eyes to calm yourself, centering again before the bad feelings of anxiety and depression can come creeping up your spine. Gohan knows about your past, and he's a grown man. Surely one as attractive as him has a few notches on his bedpost and would understand your absence.

But the way he looked at you last night, like you were heaven-sent and perfect has you doubting such an idea. Son Gohan could be a man like that if he wanted, but your heart and your mind alike know that's not who he is. He's a pure, old fashioned good boy. He wouldn't have slept with you if he didn't romantically like you to some extent…

And you certainly wouldn't have slept with him if you didn't want to reciprocate so badly it makes your chest ache with all of the want you harbor. To have a man love you, truly, and treat you as you deserve has been on your mind for years, well before your former boyfriend finally left you. But you had that kind of hope in Tyler, at first. He was kind, he was sweet and attentive… Though it only took moving in together for his true colors to show. Lying, cheating, stealing—  That's who your ex was after all.

Your heart can't take that chance again.

You hang your towel on the back of your door, gazing at nothing in particular as you settle onto your bed. For the last few years it's as if you've had so much to plague your mind that you can't think of a single thing. It's strange to feel so empty, just entirely devoid of direction or purpose. You've got yet another set of paperwork to fill out for your medical debt, and then a few job applications as well that hopefully will last longer than a handful of months— all of these places only hiring you on as a temp is a god awful look on your résumé.

Your old laptop awaits, but you can do little more than flop back against your pillows and close your eyes. The war in your mind is something you're used to, but the usual stress on your body is gone.

You bite down on your lip as you remember the way Gohan touched you. The way he lit you up with his lips on yours, how gentle he was with your body and feelings, offering to stop or slow down— even when you were on the cusp of orgasm! He's a perfect sexual partner, and if it wasn't for how damn sweet he is you may have even thought to make it a routine thing.

You drift off to a blissful sleep that's heavy enough for you to miss that dreaded text.

I hope you made it home safely.

Gohan absentmindedly worries his lip between his perfect teeth, typing in a frenzy as he shoots back an email to the hospital that wracked you up with an inhumane amount of debt. He's got plenty to get done today, mostly for his actual job, but he just won't allow himself a moment to make any progress until these firmly-worded emails get the message across: you will not be paying them hundreds of thousands of dollars for fighting for your life!!

The huff he lets out after sending his email doesn't ease the anxiety that's been bubbling in his chest all morning. When you came over last night to work on a résumé, Gohan had absolutely no intention of sleeping with you. You're a woman in a bind and he's here to help, that's all! Disgust crawls over his skin anyway, shame buzzing his insides as he remembers everything that led to your passionate hookup.

You smelled so nice and looked just so damn pretty… He just wanted to sit a little bit closer, that's all. But then you looked up at him (and he'll die on the hill that you batted your lashes at him!) and he was nothing but a fool for you then. He doesn't know who leaned in first or who started what, but he certainly only had the mind to end it after it was too late to stop and he was balls deep.

A shudder wracks Gohan's body as he remembers the feeling of slipping inside of you. Even with a condom on, he could feel the heat and the wetness of your silky walls as they gripped his lonely shaft and sucked him in for as many inches as he had to give. And thank goodness he even had a condom on hand, all thanks to the people fundraising outside of the grocery store that included them in their donation goodie bag!

You were so sweet beneath him, so pliable and warm and perfect. He feels his cock stir in his pants, jumpy at the memory and unfortunately eager to experience such a lovely time again. Alas, you've been through quite a lot, and he shouldn't get his hopes up for anything like that.

You walking out on him last night already dashed his hopes anyway.

It wasn't exactly surprising to wake up alone, though it did sting all the same. You're just so amazing and kind and beautiful… Gohan would have to be a real piece of work not to see how special you are. Only a waste of space like your ex could be blind to everything that you are.

Gohan checks his phone for what feels like the thousandth time, no text message back from you. He's starting to worry now, which isn't good for his nails that he habitually bites when stressed. It'd probably do him well to go for a training session, but he also feels so frazzled as his blood races through his veins that training may not yield any productive results.

He pulls his glasses off and runs his large hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he starts seeing stars. Blinking until the room clears, Gohan glances at his phone once again before standing with an indignant huff.

He's fine, all of this is fine. And fretting over nonsense won't make you text him back any faster. You need your space, and he's going to give it to you. No fussing required.

He does go make use of Vegeta's gravity room, though when the Saiyan himself shows up and he's left in the face of a full-blooded, battle-hungry Saiyan, he can't help but think that perhaps he should've stayed home.

At least he's not stuck with Vegeta in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber like Trunks was.

Gohan's text message remains unanswered, haunting you as you cook yourself dinner. You'll have to face him eventually, and soon, but what do you say? 'Thanks for the sex, it was great!'? No! Do you ignore it??

Do you have a choice?

Hooking up again isn't an option. Pursuing something more with him, something romantic and fulfilling, definitely isn't either. He's been a wonderful help to you and for absolutely nothing at all in return; you don't have any extra money to pay him anyway. The kindness of Gohan's heart isn't even something you can repay, not after what you've done to him. A sour feeling crosses your mouth, your appetite fading as your mind races.

He's a good man. Too good for where you're at in life, and there's always some kind of catch with nice guys. It's too risky, all of it. Will he demand more sex for more of his help, now that he's already gotten it once? You need his assistance to whittle down the medical bills— his stubborn insistence with insurance and the hospital itself is astounding, and runs deeper than anyone else you know. Left to your own devices, you'd have given up a long time ago.

He's not like that. The reminder scolds your terrible line of thinking. Gohan would never leverage your quality of life at all, let alone with the ultimatum of sex. He's not your ex, he's not a bad person in the slightest.

But you didn't know your ex was your ex at first either.

Your plate of eggs and toast nearly run cold by the time you've found it in you to send a response. Typing and erasing it several times over, you finally end up with a passable response message over twelve hours since his text to you in the first place.

I'm alright, thank you. Would you mind sending the copy of my résumé? I forgot to download it onto my laptop.

You are such a dick.

But the job applications are just sitting pretty without it right now, and you can't afford not to include the carefully-crafted résumé Gohan spent so much time on. He made it for you, it's literally yours, and the shitty little paycheck you got just a few days ago is already about gone. You're cold, and it'll surely throw him for a loop at minimum, but it's the best way to protect yourself.

"Chase a check, never chase a bitch." You murmur the cold lyric to yourself and bite into your dinner, waiting for Gohan's timely response. He's a busy man with a career of his own, but he always messages you back in mere minutes. He's a great multitasker like that, and you certainly aspire to be as efficient as he is.

Though you begin to doubt things when hours pass and there's no response. Ice slowly frosts your veins with every further minute that Gohan doesn't respond with your résumé; surely there's a good reason? He wouldn't have thrown it out or be the type to withhold it— your friend would never associate themselves with Gohan if he was like that, much less connect the two of you if he were the sort of man to manipulate things in such a way.

But the cold, paranoid dread doesn't let up even in the morning. Your phone has no notifications at all, and you even check the chat to make sure the message is sent. It has, and he's seen it.

Anger bubbling beneath the surface of your chest is overshadowed by the trembling of your bottom lip. How foolish could you be?? If there was ever going to be a hookup, you could've at least waited for your shit to be in order! Now it's all lost and you're on your own again, left to navigate debt that's threatening to swallow you whole and job-hunt in a market that doesn't want you.

Your mother's gone for work already as you begin your routine; your scheduled shift at work is a short one and not for several more hours, but to sit around and do nothing in the meantime will only spell certain doom. If you're given too much time to think, lord only knows what sort of outburst or meltdown you'll have. You're fresh out of the shower and part way through brushing your teeth when the doorbell rings, confusion etched to your features. You're not expecting anyone, though perhaps your mother has a package that needs signing for? Dropping your head, you quickly spit and rinse with mouthwash before jogging to open the door.

On the other side stands a damp man with crooked glasses, a dazed look in his eye and all the anger in you fizzles out. He's here. And the look on your face must scare him with the way his lip nearly trembles when he speaks.

“I am— I— Sorry!” Gohan stumbles over his words and you sigh softly as the trickle of relief siphons through the rest of your body. Gesturing him further in, Gohan slips off his shoes and hands over a folder.

“I got busy with my uncle,” Busy being a bit of an understatement; the moment Vegeta caught Gohan with his phone as he was reading your message and forced him right back into the gravity room for another training binge. “And I went as fast as I could to get this to you. I am so sorry about this.”

Your eyes soften and you carefully wipe a few suds from his hair. “I appreciate it… But you could've finished your shower first.”

Gazing up as if he can see the soap in his hair, Gohan’s cheeks redden as he laughs nervously. “Uh… S-Sorry.”

Reluctantly dropping your hand once you've fixed his glasses, you open the folder to find a physical copy of your résumé alongside a flash drive that presumably has another copy downloaded onto it. “Thank you.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Gohan bites his lip. “Um… Can we talk for a second?”

“A-About what?”

Oh no.

“I… Think you have an idea.” Gohan says softly. He can't leave it behind or anything unsaid; one night stands aren't his thing. “Listen… What happened between us was…”

“Sex. It was just sex.” You murmur, setting the folder down on the coffee table. “People have sex all the time… It happens.”

Hurt penetrates Gohan's chest. He knew you were jaded, knows exactly why and he does understand… It doesn't mean it can't hurt him. He likes you, appreciates your mind and admires your strength in a way that may have a bit to do with his Saiyan heritage. “Sure… Other people do that. But I don't. And… And for me, I…”

Tears start to well in your eyes. This man, this wonderful, caring, smart and lovely man is about to cross that line, isn't he? The one that can't be crossed again, the one that's going to end this friendship on a burned bridge and broken hearts. “Gohan, don't—”

“You're more than just a one night stand.” He says it anyway, taking your hands and holding them so warmly, protectively and securely. “To me, you are… Inspiring, and beautiful, and… And someone I really, really like. And that night was so great, and I was on top of the world until I woke up and you were gone.”

“I'm sorry.” You whisper, screwing your eyes shut tightly and ducking your head. You just can't stop messing up, can you? “It's not you, Gohan. You're a great man and there's a woman out there that will make you happy and take care of you.”

“The woman I want is right in front of me.” His hand comes to rest on your cheek, brushing away the salty tears that fall when you meet his gaze.

“Gohan… You don't want this. Do you know why I left that night?”

Gohan’s other hand comes to the other side of your face, cradling you like the daintiest china. “You had your reasons.”

Your hands come to his wrists, not tugging his touch away as you feel his warmth bloom within you, lighting you up in unfamiliar but pleasant ways, encouraging the leap of faith that your hopeful heart cries out for. “Because I get nightmares. Nightmares so bad that my momma has to come and wake me up almost every night and hold me to stop the panic attacks. I'm broken in so many ways Gohan…” Your lip trembles, and Gohan gently swipes his thumb just below the curve of it, mesmerized by every inch of you.

“If you only knew just how much I understand being broken…” Gohan whispers, his “eventful” childhood flashing through his mind from his kidnapping and all the way to his father's most recent death. “Then you would understand me more than anyone, and I’d get to understand you.”

“You don't want this.” You whisper again, and Gohan leans in for the softest, warmest kiss to your forehead. It clears the rain, just a bit, and you lean into it.

“Why are you so scared of loving me?” Gohan murmurs against your skin. “You've never said you don't want it… Me. Just that I won't want you, like you're a used car or something.”

You come to hide your face in his chest and he wraps you up tightly, his strong body anchoring you from your fears. “I'm afraid to get hurt again. When you didn't answer my message, I thought the worst of you! That you were some asshole that was only gonna help me if I kept sleeping with you! All because you didn't text me back. That's just the tip of the iceberg, Gohan!”

“Honey…” Gohan whispers, swaying gently as he holds you, one arm wrapped tightly around your middle while his other hand rests at the back of your head. “You’d know my heart if you knew your place. So come find yourself… I'll wait for you.”

The fog breaks, and your smile is brighter than a thousand suns and Gohan has never seen anything more breathtaking.

[manygeese]

THOUGHT!

Because of his fire powers, Leo kinda hates the water. Buckle UP buttercups ❤️

~*~

Leo didn’t like the beach. He thought it was the fire powers. Maybe that was why he never learned how to swim.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true- his mom had tried to teach him, and he had been doing well for a while, but he never got rid of the instinctual fear he felt around large bodies of water. Combined with the fact that he stopped practicing after his mom died, he kind of just. Forgot.

Which is why he was being dragged into the ocean by Piper on group beach day. “This isn’t a good idea,” he protested while they were on their way there. “Shouldn’t we at least do this in a pool or something?”

Percy had scoffed from the driver’s seat. “Pools are domesticated water, if domesticated water turned out like a pug: sad and pitiful.”

Leo had given him a glare from his seat in the back of Sally’s SUV. “At least pugs don’t try to drown you.”

Now that they were there, his sentiment had yet to change. He stared down at the ocean balefully and thought in the back of his mind that Percy was right. The ocean was most definitely not a pug. It was more like a rabid Great Dane.

Piper squeezed his hand from where she was standing next to him. “It’s just some water. It’s nothing to be scared of!”

Leo looked at her incredulously. “Bitch, there are things in that water. I don’t do things.”

“All the fish are gathering around Percy and he’s all the way over there-“ she pointed towards the horizon- “so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She stepped into the water, still holding his hand. She stepped a little deeper and Leo felt a pang of fear.

“Piper,” he whined like a toddler, “I don’t wanna…”

Hazel surfaced a few feet farther out, wearing her hair in braids so it wouldn’t get as damaged. She had a huge smile on her face. “Come on in, Leo! The water’s fine!”

“You’re both trying to drown me!” Leo accused, pointing at Hazel and waving his arm around dramatically while Piper held on to his hand.

“Incorrect. I’m teaching you to swim,” Piper claimed.

“Teaching, drowning, same difference.”

“So Kindergarten teachers are just drowning kids all day?”

“That’s how it felt!”

Piper sighed. “Please, Leo?” She said, fixing him with her puppy dog eyes.

Leo sighed in turn. “Fine.”

Piper’s smile was a thousand watts, but Leo wasn’t paying attention, as he was busy trying not to visibly cringe at the feel of water around his knees. It felt suffocating, like all the pressure of the abyssal zone was right there at the shore.

He vaguely recalled how he whined at his mother when she took him to the lake. She had just pinched his cheek and told him he could never learn if he didn’t try- that it might take time, but she wanted him to do his best.

He took a deep breath and another step. It surrounded him up to his waist.

“Great job, Leo,” he heard Hazel say from deeper in the water. He barely caught it since the beating of his heart was loud in his ears.

He groaned. “Oh my god, I hate this so much, it feels so bad, I wanna go home, oh my god,” he squealed in one breath. He screwed his eyes shut and fanned himself frantically, worried that he might catch fire and burn Piper.

He felt as though every creature of the ocean, every unknown lurking under the depths, was gunning for him. Like the sea floor would give way underneath him and he’d be stuck in darkness, unable to do anything about it. Like the ocean itself was trying to snuff him out. He had a hunch that if he let the water reach his chest, the water would crush his heart to bits.

He felt this way around every body of water- at the lake at Camp Half Blood, he always thought a nereid would jump out and drag him under. When Piper had taken him and the others to her pool, he knew from the chlorine smell alone that the water would rush into his lungs the first chance it got. When he had plummeted towards the Grand Canyon floor, all the way back before the war, his only thought had been about how the water would try to choke him when he got close enough.

A small wave crashed against the sand and Leo jumped, ripping his hand from Piper’s. He swayed backwards on the unstable sand. She cooed at him, saying that it was gonna be alright, that the waves weren’t that big, that she’d be right there with him, but he didn’t hear. He felt a wet hand on his shoulder and Hazel’s voice speaking to him. He didn’t listen.

All he could feel were the waves lapping hungrily at his legs, dragging him under a little bit at a time, so nobody would notice when it consumed him entirely. He would kick and he would scream, but nobody would hear him. The water would stifle his pleas for help and suck his breath out and hold him under till his lifeless body bobbed back up to the surface.

All he could hear was the desperate breaths he was taking, trying to keep a loose grip on consciousness. His heart thumping loudly in a panicked pattern. The hiss of the water evaporating as he burst into flame.

The hand on his shoulder fluttered backwards.

Piper replaced it when he finally flickered out. “Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” she soothed, rubbing his back. He just sat down miserably on the wet sand, some of which had turned clear, and buried his face in his hands.

“M’sorry,” he sobbed when Piper took one of his hands off of his head. “I wanna learn. Y’know, for y’all. Shoulda tried harder.”

Piper shook her head. “No, no. You did good. It takes time, right? And you don’t have to do it all right now.”

He laughed wetly. “That’s what Mama always said.”

She smiled and the sun made her teeth look bright white.

Hazel hugged him from the side. “How about you just stay with Jason on the shore? Oh! And maybe we can play volleyball later!” She exclaimed.

Leo laughed. “Hell yeah, Haze. Me and Piper are gonna beat y’all’s asses.”

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Four: Glance

Beep. Beep. Beep.

For such a small phone the volume is very powerful. You jolted awake and looked at the time: 6:15AM. You wanted to give yourself more than enough time to get ready for your first day.

As you yawn and stretch your limbs, you spot a tea mug at your nightstand again. Chamomile. 

Why does Levi keep sneaking in your room, and why do you not wake up when he enters? 

You shake your head, trying to get rid of the questions in your head. You take a sip of the tea, immediately feeling the calming relief of the flavor.

Your morning shower was just as glorious as it was yesterday. The warm water hitting your skin helps your body wake up as your thoughts wander to what your first day will be like.

Will your coworkers like you?

Will Levi be harsh on you? 

You picked out one of the outfits Levi bought you yesterday - black pixie pants with the patent black pointed-toe heels, paired with a flattering white blouse. 

You kept your makeup and hair simple: half up, half down for your hair and light makeup. 

Vanilla, your favorite scent, floods your nostrils as you spray your favorite perfume on your skin. 

In the mirror, you stare at yourself. You’re proud of how far you’ve come, how you took a leap of faith and accepted this job.

You look down at your phone for the time: 7:15AM.

With your tote bag over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs with your tea.

Levi is dressed in a freshly pressed black suit with a slate grey necktie that matches his eyes. He peers up through his hair to look at you before sitting up. 

You were half expecting him to say something about your outfit, but that’s wishful thinking. 

“Good morning.” You offer a smile. “Thank you again for the tea.”

Levi nodded as he stood up slowly, grabbing your cup from your hand. “We’re gonna stop for coffee on the way in. I promised Hange’s blind ass I would get them some.” 

“Hange…?” You tilt your head.

“She’s the VP for Ackerman Inc. You can’t miss her, she’s tall with a voice that only a mother could love.”

“Got it.” You nod. “I’m ready when you are.” 

You browsed the menu of the coffee shop quickly, picking out an iced latte you wanted to try. 

You pull out your card to pay, when that familiar hand grabs your wrist again. 

“Why is your wallet out?” Levi handed the cashier his card. 

“It’s the least I could do -“

“Listen to me.” Levi pulled you aside, his voice in a deeper tone. “When you’re with me, I better not see that damn card in your hands. Do you understand?”

“It’s just a coffee, I don’t see why-“

“You pay for nothing when you’re with me.” Levi’s eyes are staring into yours, and for the first time you feel like he’s looking into your soul. 

You don’t want to be his charity case. He’s already letting you live at his home, he bought you new outfits, and he provides food. The last thing you want is him thinking you need him to survive.

“I don’t like having to owe anyone anything.”

“When did I say you owe me?” Levi looks at you again. “That’s a question.”

“You didn’t, but-“

“Okay then.” Levi clears his throat. “So you understand, correct?” 

You nod, too lost in his concrete eyes to argue. 

Stop it. He’s your boss.

_____________________________________

At 8 AM on the dot, Levi pulls into the parking garage for valet. You see other people, assuringly his associates, walking in as well. They all look so put together - not a hair out of place. 

You spot Petra, the receptionist from the other day.

“Good morning!” She sings your name, jogging up to you. “First day right?”

“Yeah.” You nod, grabbing the tray of coffees. You weren’t gonna let Levi hold these. This is the CEO we’re talking about.

“You’ll do great.” She puts her hand on your shoulder. “Good morning Mr. Ackerman!” 

“Morning.” Levi says flatly as he catches up to you. 

“Are you excited about the investors coming today?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘excited’.” Levi sips his tea. 

“Short stuffffffffff!” You hear someone yell from the other side of the parking garage. “Do you have my coffee?!”

“It’s right here, four eyes.” This man has a way with nicknames. 

“Oh you got a cute assistant!” Hange offered their hand. “My name is Hange Zoe, VP of Ackerman Inc. Nice to meet you! I hope this runt doesn’t run you out of here.” 

“Hange.” Levi stared at their face. “I don’t run any assistants out.”

“Sureeeeee.” Hange winked, grabbing the coffee from the tray. “Thanks for the coffee! See you at the investors meeting!”

______________________

Levi brings you to the 4th floor where his office as well as your desk will be. You pass some friendly faces, some not so much. 

“This is your desk. My office is right there.” He points to the left of your desk. You nod as you set your bag and coffee down, careful not to let any of the liquid spill on the desk.

“Your company laptop is in the drawer,” Levi added. “I already had it set up for you, you should have access to everything.”

“Okay.” You nod as you slide the drawer open and spot the brand new MacBook. 

“Don’t say anything, I didn’t pick the brand.” Levi started walking to his office. You watched his back muscles move underneath his suit. His broad shoulders are almost begging for your touch.

No. 

Absolutely not.

_______________________

The investors meeting is as boring as anything, but it’s interesting watching Levi in a business atmosphere. He’s cold to them, not very much of a schmoozer. That’s more of Hange’s job. 

You also meet Levi’s right hand man, Erwin Smith. He’s tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, definitely a man that any woman would drool over. He compliments Levi so well, where Levi is abrasive, Erwin is soft. 

You’re typing notes as they speak, being careful not to miss anything Levi says. As you type, you feel a pair of eyes boring into you.

When you look up, it’s Levi that’s burning a hole in your skin. He looks away quickly once you catch him, a slight shade of red gracing his cheeks. 

Levi Ackerman? THE Levi Ackerman is blushing?

“I’m glad we could make a deal, gentlemen.” Erwin stands up, shaking the investors hands. 

“We believe in Ackerman Inc.” One of the men says. “You guys are a great team.”

You close your laptop gently, walking to Levi’s side. You’re not sure how to act since you caught him staring at you, but you must remain professional. 

“Send me those notes ASAP.” Levi didn’t look up from his phone. His eyebrow furrowed at the text on his screen.

You nod, pushing the door open to the hallway. For once, Levi doesn’t stop you and open the door for you. He stays in the conference room with his eyes glued to his phone.

At your desk, numerous associates come up to you.

“Welcome to hell!” A long haired man said.

“Eren, give her a break!” The blonde chimed in. “Hi, I’m Armin. This is Erin and Mikasa.” 

You turn to the other two, noticing Mikasa has similar attributes to Levi. They have similar eyes and hair, you take note.

“We heard you’re Mr. Ackerman’s new assistant.” Eren leans on your desk. “Good luck.”

“Eren.” Mikasa hits his arm lightly. “Levi isn’t that bad.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s your cousin.” Eren rolled his eyes.

Makes sense. 

“Get back to work.” Levi’s voice boomed in the office. Eren, Armin, and Mikasa dispersed to their desks. You press ‘send’ to email the notes to Levi.

You watch him walk right past your desk to his office, not even taking a glance at you. 

Why was he acting like this now? Does he think you’re doing a bad job? Does he regret hiring you?

You try to go on with your work day as best you can, trying to let the negative thoughts evaporate into the air.

[4thwallbreakerdraws]

IT IS TIME PEOPLE

Since Kat asked to show off Self-insert OCs for the Blank Script AU, I thought it would be the perfect time to introduce my own self-insert OC to you.

Meet Xaviar Bellon, businessman and employees at Innova Corp. who also works as correspondent between his and Black’s company.

Basic information:

Xaviar is 26 years old, male and goes by he/him. Neck, part of his face and back as well as his complete right arm are replaced through cybernetics. They cannot be removed as they are parts of his body. He’s your typical rich boy who often acts like a snob and putting his main focus on the profit.

Personality:

Like mentioned before Xaviar often comes of as a snob who likes to brag about his wealth. He’s also very cocky to those around him, not afraid to give a snappy comment. However, he’s also a massive coward, immediately losing his entire attitude when he feels like his life is threatened and becoming a nervous wreck. Xaviar does not believe in actions without benefit or rather doesn’t see the significance I’m actions if they don’t benefit him. So love for him is just people wanting to use him or his money, same goes for friendships.

Deep down Xaviar is deeply insecure about his looks and existence. Without money he thinks he’s worth nothing and weak. Ever since he got parts of his body replaced, he also questions if he’s even really human anymore, reacting especially aggressive when someone calls him a robot.

Backstory:

Xaviar grew up in a rich family with two younger brothers. Due to their successful and wealthy status it made them targets in the eyes of people who felt mistreated, gangs and other criminal groups. While his parents always warned him about leaving home without any sort of security, Xaviar ignored them until the day he was kidnapped and held for ransom.

Due to his family refusing to pay ransom, Xaviar was supposed to be killed, but managed to free himself and fight his kidnappers. However this quickly escalated and ended in an explosion that killed almost all of the kidnappers and injured Xaviar heavily.

But even in that condition, his family did not pay his treatment, leaving it to Xaviar to pay everything on his own and making realize then that without money you’re nothing and that it’s the only thing you can rely on.

Despite that however he never founded his own company, instead traveling from company to company who often searched for any way to get rid of him due to his cocky behavior.

His little travel eventually led him to Innova Corp. where every employee immediately started hating him in the span of a few days. However, the boss is too afraid to catch a bad reputation by firing him so this is where Xaviar resides for now. That doesn’t mean however that his boss doesn’t send him to a certain life threatening parable.

Xaviar and the parable:

Before we go into the specific people and how Xaviar thinks of them it should be of note that Xaviar does not like visiting the parable. It creeps him out, it makes him question his sanity and he would rather not think about half the things he witnesses there. Yet he still continues to work there for the money. His job is being the middleman between Innova Corp. and Black, informing the narrator over new business ideas, opportunities and offering some advice.

Black:

Xaviar doesn’t know what exactly it is about the Narrator that creeps him out more. The eyes? The height? The weird heavy feeling he gets whenever he’s around? Maybe all of it. Fact is that the Narrator has his whole respect and attention whenever he grazes Xaviar with his presence.

Stanley:

Now Stanley is another story. His introverted attitude and slightly malnourished look don’t exactly make Xaviar respect him in any way, if anything he’s below him. Still, Xaviar is aware of Blacks and Stanley’s relationship and therefore does his best to be as nice as possible to Stanley in the Narrators presence. That fake smile however immediately drops when they are alone.

The Children:

The stuff of Caviars nightmares. You would have to pay him very good money to get him anywhere near these monstrosities. Unfortunately he had a meeting with one right on his first day in the parable which left him a bit traumatized even though he didn’t even saw it’s face. If anything keeps Xaviar out of the lower levels, it’s them.

The Maiden:

While they are still creepy to Xaviar, he doesn’t fear them as much as any the Children. They are robots, they work on calculations and orders. He knows as long as he doesn’t accidentally get on Blacks bad side, he doesn’t need to fear them. They even protect him. So he’s a lot more relaxed with them. At least after he got used to them randomly showing up out of now where.

Mariella:

Much like Stanley, he doesn’t have an ounce of respect for her, but he stays away. There is something about this woman that makes him think that she wouldn’t hesitate to stab or beat him up right in the spot.

I don’t know Xaviar, maybe it’s because you have a very punchable personality

Other Blank Script AU Self Inserts and Xaviar:

Sies ( @corelex):

Since Sies gives him a similar vibe to Black, he is decent enough to know when to back off with the short jokes. Yet, he also doesn’t get as appalled from her as from the others, as he understands her to some degree or at least what it’s like to be judged based on rumors. He’s also trying to get to hire her as her bodyguard but fails miserably.

Steve ( @xandyprojects):

While the chef is by far one of the most neutral inhabitants of the parable, Xaviar can’t help but get slightly nervous whenever he takes a knife in his hand. Steve’s no food gets wasted rule and his spoiled mannerisms also slightly clash which often ends in him getting picked up like a wet cat.

To you others out there, I’m always happy to let our sillies interact more🫵

Other Fun Facts:

Xaviar loves to skateboard and is quite good at it

Despite his declaration that children are like the plague, he likes them (but would never admit it)

he goes to therapy

Xaviar gets freaked out by fire and loud noises

Xaviar can often be seen scratching or brushing over his prosthetic arm

he doesn’t like looking into mirrors

Despite trying to avoid his family, he still visits their parties to keep up his image

He would scam you

he’s the type of businessman who you immediately shut the door in the face

Xaviars cybernetic face parts can extend into a full face mask, but he rarely uses it as it makes him look even more inhuman

Other images:

Bonus:

X, my self insert Maiden who I’ve been neglecting lmao

WOW YOU HAVE REACHED THE END!! Can you tell who of these two OCs is my favorite? /silly

@blackkatdraws2

[mischas]

What do you think were the biggest missed opportunities when it came to the OC?

Lol my favorite topic (this is not at all exhaustive)

Not letting Marissa verbalize and process her trauma 1000% forever and ever amen. The show learns by the end of s1 that they can keep hurting her without much recompense. Oliver holds a gun to her head and bamboozles grown ass adults yet she shoulders all of the blame in the aftermath. Christ. Her father MOVES AWAY TO BE A BETTER PARENT BC HE CANT STOP SLEEPING WITH HIS EX? Please. How anyone came up with that and thought that was good writing I will never know. Marissa's SA'ed and nearly r**** by her boyfriend's brother and never says the words out loud or processes it because the shooting looms larger. Disgusting. Back in s1 Luke is more apologetic of his affair than Marissa's own mother is and HE'S the one who has to leave town? which leads me to

Getting rid of Luke made no sense. Instead of making Luke/Julie happen they should've had Luke/Marissa 2.0 happen. There was so much there to mine. Sometimes the show acts like they were a nothing relationship and other times like 109 we see they have deep-rooted love/fondness. Rushing RM (though they're my loves) after their 101-108 slow burn shot them in the foot since they were so uncreative later on. But then again TPTB were so reliant on the actors' mirrored personal lives that I'm convinced if they'd put RM off to s2 they would've butchered them thanks to the irl breakup. (This is still so insane)

Getting rid of Anna also made no sense. She was liked by the gen pop, she had good chemistry with everyone! What a damn waste

Seth/Marissa friendship!!!! It is so cute to think Seth is the one boy in Marissa's life that isn't falling all over her. They share the same music tastes, they have the same favorite book, they grew up privileged + depressed, they're neighbors, they're dating each other's besties, their families have a storied closeness, they've dated the same person, etc. It is SO insane how little they actually interact.

Not exploring the Jimmy/Kirsten dynamic more. I rewatched the pilot a few months ago and the hints to their history are so compelling. I remember thinking their tension was good enough to last several seasons. Cutting that out to uphold the sanctity of SK in s1 ended up being for nothing since s2 messed with SK even worse! So why!

Never utilizing Alan Dale well enough. Not only do they kill him for no reason, his death literally does nothing but give us an iconic coda and funeral scene. That's literally it. Having Caleb around while Kirsten goes to rehab is so much more compelling than having her go after he's died. And making us watch Caleb/Lindsay/Ryan for what seems like half a season is so unbelievably boring and ridiculous. Why are we supposed to care. This is taking away from Kirsten/Caleb material! which brings me to

Never giving Kelly Rowan much to do. What a goddamn waste. She absolutely kills her late s2 arc but then she leaves rehab two minutes into 301 and the Charlotte storyline mostly revolves around Julie. Jesus. People talk about the favoritism going on on that set with the younger actors (as they 1000% should and we should do it more), but there was some serious shit going on with elevating Melinda constantly and shafting Tate/Peter/Kelly forever. Especially Kelly. At least she was there and not essentially let go like Tate was (and Tate was a ~big name~ regular from the pilot!). But you can tell Kelly's got some feelings about how the show went for her and her screentime/importance.

Not cutting the Johnny storyline two minutes into filming 304. They had to know Mischa/Ryan D had no chemistry. We're supposed to believe Marissa's having some sort of emotional affair but there is absolutely nothing showing that to us. It's everyone telling Marissa she's got feelings for him, and Mischa doing her job well enough to convince us it's sketchy/complicated, but they have one (1) conversation in 306 that's mostly about Johnny's father or uncle that no one cares about. which brings me to

WE DONT CARE ABOUT GUEST STARS. stop spending so much valuable time on them. we just wanna see our s1 babes being cute and supporting one another that's literally it

[exhaustedpirate]

my mom is dating a vampire

another entry for the CS Spooky/Autumnal Bingo, this time the prompt was 'bats' - once again, i got a little carried away with it and this turned out more emotional than i expected (but also i'll never apologise for providing yall with some captaincobraswan) a million thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for betaing!

rated T | 9059 words

also on AO3

summary: Emma Swan is dating Killian Jones. Which Henry is completely fine with.

On a completely unrelated note, how does one get rid of a vampire?

Emma Swan is dating. Henry is sure of it.

There’s a significant increase of flowers in their home - significant because there hadn’t been any before. Anything from red roses to buttercups fills every available surface in improvised vases. They are running out of space.

“Who’s giving you all of these?” Henry asks as his mom fills an empty can of soup with water to put half a dozen forget-me-nots in. 

“Just a friend.” But there is a decidedly smitten smile on her face as she tries to push the other occupants of the kitchen windowsill aside to make space for their new friend.

“Maybe your friend should relax on the flowers before our apartment is filled with bees.” So maybe Henry is brooding. He’s 13, he’s allowed to brood; it’s part of the job requirement even.

“Don’t be a grump, kid.” Emma taps his nose with her index finger and stands next to him to look at the flowers surrounding their living space. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Henry only groans in response.

During her days off, Aunt Ruby babysits - it mostly involves eating snacks and watching movies or playing video games together - while Emma obsesses over her looks. She never did that before. Ruby has to give her a hushed pep talk to get her out of the house. 

Ruby knows. But he doesn’t. He learned long ago that his aunt is impossible to interrogate.

When she comes back, Ruby leaves after securing a promise to hear all about it the day after. Henry doesn’t get those promises, he only gets evasive answers. And when she kisses his forehead in greeting, she smells differently. A spicy scent that he knows is not hers. She’s been smiling into her phone and talking late into the night - either texting or calling. 

She looks…happy.

---

“The usual, Swans?” 

It was tradition. Every Sunday night, they would go to Granny’s for dinner and talk about the week before.

They had had a “monkey problem” three years ago - Walsh Ozman had appeared to be a great attentive guy, helping Henry with homework and playing video games. But only when his mom was watching. When she was gone, he was dismissive and rude, always making him feel like an obstacle in his mom’s life. In his gullibility, he had kept it from his mother until she caught him crying in his room. He told her everything.

While Walsh Ozman got berated in his place of work as well as a broken nose, Henry got closer to his mother. Emma had felt guilty for not having seen the signs before, especially considering he had also been cheating on her. And while Henry didn’t blame his mother for having been in love, he wasn’t complaining about getting more of her time - especially without monkeys around.

So Sunday nights became their time to talk - about nothing, about everything, about their week, about the upcoming week, or about Henry’s unrequited crush on Violet or when his crush became requited. It was their time for honesty.

But his mom is keeping a secret.

When she jumps at Ruby’s customary greeting, Henry frowns. Emma’s quick to pretend as if nothing happened. “Uhm, not yet, Ruby. We’re, uh,” she glances towards Henry, “we’re waiting for someone.”

They must share a sign that Henry wasn’t made aware of because Ruby seems to know who that someone is. His frown only deepens when his aunt Ruby leaves without further questions.

“We’re waiting for someone?”

“Well,” his mom wrings her hands nervously and takes a deep breath. “I met someone.” 

“A boyfriend?” He raises his eyebrow.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear and a blush crosses over her cheeks. “Yeah, a boyfriend.” There’s a quick smile on her lips at the label. “We started dating a month ago. I, uhm, thought it was time that you two met.”

There’s a hopeful expression on Emma’s face and Henry is finding it hard to breathe. His mother hasn’t dated since the monkey disaster, at least nothing serious enough to reach the “meet the son” stage. He should have expected this - considering the flowers, the dates, the smiles, all the evidence - yet all he can see is Walsh’s cruel smile and hear his hurtful words.

“Henry?”

Maybe it’s just the unexpectedness of it all. It’s sudden, right? Why is it so hot?

“Henry.” His mom takes hold of his hand and his wide eyes focus on hers. The hope is gone and there’s only nerves there. “Are you ok, kid?”

“I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom.” Henry jumps out of his seat.

“Henry, a-”

“I’m fine.”

He rushes through the arch at the back of the diner before he sees his mom’s concerned expression again, passing through the bathrooms towards the back door. The night air is cold but he takes a deep breath in and it releases the weight on his chest. He focuses on breathing, on feeling and loosens his fists when it doesn’t feel like he’s going to suffocate anymore.

The night sky is littered with stars and he’s happy to live in a small town instead of the city. A colony of bats flies through the sky and Henry frowns - he’s never seen bats before. They disappear over the next building - an ice cream shop - and he looks up at the sky again.

“You can see Cassiopeia from here.” Henry startles at the voice of a man crossing the alley behind “Any Given Sundae” towards the diner. “Apologies, lad, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, uh,” the strange accent has him blinking repeatedly. “You didn’t.”

As the man approaches him with a friendly smile, he picks up a familiar cologne. He seems to recognise Henry as he gets a closer look at his face.

“You’re Henry.”

Bats, a strange man, and a scent he recognises. It’s all too much for him. “You’re British.” The man has a nice laugh. Henry regains his focus. “You know me?”

“Well,” the man scratches the back of his neck in a nervous move, “I know of you.” Henry frowns. “Emma’s told me a lot about you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Mom’s new boyfriend. Of course.

“Henry!” His mom’s panicked voice echoes from the other side of the door and the man - her boyfriend - frowns, stretching an arm around him to open the door.

“Swan?”

Emma appears at the door and spares only a surprised look towards the stranger before crouching in front of him. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the bathroom.”

He notices, out the corner of his eye, how the man takes a step back, an attempt at privacy. He remembers Walsh’s overbearing presence everytime his mom tried to talk to him, or if they wanted a moment together. “I just needed some air.” He shrugs.

His mom glances towards her boyfriend again before she turns to him again with a serious look. “Do you want to go home? We can order in and watch a movie, just the two of us.”

He had seen the hope on her face when she had talked about the man now standing a couple of steps away, had seen that hope fall when he rushed out. Henry shakes his head.

She cups his face and looks into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I want Granny’s fries.” His smile is soft but genuine. He trusts his mom. 

And when she smiles brightly at him and kisses his forehead, he knows he made the right decision. She stands up straight and they turn towards the man who looks at them with a fond and patient expression, hands stuffed in his jacket.

“This isn’t exactly what I envisioned your meeting would be but,” Emma chuckles before gesturing for the man to approach them. “Henry, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is my son, Henry.”

He has a nice smile too, it reaches his eyes, makes his face softer and younger. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Henry.”

He takes his outstretched hand. It’s cold. “Same.”

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Emma claps her hands and the delighted smile on her face is infectious. “Let’s go back inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Right, it’s cold. Cold hands. 

Henry follows them back to their table and watches as Killian keeps a respectful distance from his mother. Ruby struts her way to their table with a wide grin on her face and his mom sighs in defeat.

“I guess you don’t need to see the menu, girl, you already have such a fine dish here.” Killian blushes up to his ears and Emma hides her face in her hands. “I’m Ruby Lucas, you?” 

“Uhm, Killian, Killian Jones.” He nods in greeting.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

His mother groans from her hideout and he smirks, he’s never seen his mother acting so childishly. “Didn’t Granny warn you about being professional once before?” Henry sasses towards his aunt.

Ruby leans towards him as she keeps her eyes on the bashful couple on the opposite side. “She makes an exception for you guys, especially when it makes your mother act like a teenager.”

“Alright, alright,” Emma gestures with her hands as she glares at the other woman whose grin only widens in response. “We’ll have the usual. Killian?”

“I’ll take whatever you recommend, lass,” he answers towards Ruby. “Just nothing with garlic.”

“Hope you like surprises,” Ruby sweeps up all the menus in a fluid move. “Be right back.”

“That was my best friend,” Emma explains. “I’m sorry, she can be a bit much.” 

Walsh hadn’t liked Ruby, and went so far as to manufacture an argument between the two in order to pull them apart, as they learned later. He remembered the string of muffled curses - that he had not meant to hear, of course - coming from the living room the day Emma told Ruby everything. He imagined that his aunt had wanted to rip Walsh apart limb from limb. But, just like with his mom, it brought them all closer.

“Nonsense,” Killian waves away Emma’s excuse with an amused smile. “She’s delightful.”

His mom’s shoulders deflate and he wonders if she had the same thought as him. The movement has Henry noticing the scars on Killian’s left hand. 

“Wow, what happened to your hand?” 

“Henry!” his mom scolds but Killian just keeps smiling.

“It’s alright, Swan.” She bites her lip and Killian’s smile softens. “It’s natural for the boy to be curious.” He turns to Henry, pulling up his sleeve so that Henry can see how the scars continue up to his forearm. “It was an accident in the navy.”

“You were in the navy?”

“Aye.” His grin is proud and Henry finds himself smiling back. “We were attacked and I got caught in an explosion.”

“Cool,” Henry breathes out and the man chuckles. “I mean, it’s not cool that you got into trouble but cool that you survived an explosion.”

There’s a shadow that crosses Killian’s face and Henry’s chest tightens at the thought of having put that expression on his face. “I didn’t lose my arm but,” he clenches his fist, a slow movement that has his hand shaking until it finally closes and Killian winces in pain, “it’s little consolation.” 

“Okay,” Emma takes hold of his mangled hand and Killian’s face clears as he looks at her. The pain seems to leave his body at her touch. Interesting. “I can’t believe we’re starting with tragic backstories.”

Henry and Killian share a laugh. He does have a nice laugh. “What? Did you plan the whole dinner, Mom? Did we go off script?”

Emma covers his face with her hand and pushes on it until his back hits the back of the chair and his laughter intensifies. “No,” she scoffs in faux indignation. “I just thought we’d start with the basics.”

“Apologies, Swan.” Huh, they have nicknames. “We’ll follow the rules.” He winks and she rolls her eyes and it looks like he’s used to it.

And that’s how, with some delicious food in front of them, he learns that Killian is 32 to his mother’s 30, has been in Storybrooke for a year after travelling the world all his life, loves the sea and has a boat. 

“Ship, my boy,” he corrects.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Henry mockingly salutes and Killian narrows his eyes at him even as he is fighting a smile. “Maybe we can go out on your ship together sometime?” He looks hopeful between his mom and Killian. “It’s your birthday soon, Mom, we could celebrate on Killian’s ship!”

Emma bites her lip and Killian smiles. 

“You’re always welcome aboard my ship, love.”

She nudges his shoulder with a smile. “It’s still two weeks away, we’ll see.”

“I’m counting that as a ‘yes’,” Henry grins victoriously. “What about your birthday, Killian?”

“Oh.” The man frowns and scratches behind his ear. “Well, I don’t know the exact day but it’s sometime in Summer. Late July?”

Henry frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He chuckles nervously. “I lost my birth certificate when my house burned up when I was young. The foster family I was with for years after that didn’t care much for birthdays so all I have to go with is a vague memory of a hot day, a picnic in a garden and a delicious strawberry cake.”

“Wow,” Henry breathes out. “That’s crazy. Why haven’t you tried to get another copy?”

“He says he forgot,” Emma answers instead. “Can you believe it?”

Killian shrugs, even as his cheeks turn crimson. “I kept putting it off and I haven’t needed it yet.” He puts on a charming smile that doesn’t affect his mom the way he intended.

“If someone comes along to arrest you over that, I’m not bailing you out.” She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow at him.

Killian winks surreptitiously at Henry before draping an arm over the back of the booth inching closer to Emma. “If my punishment is being parted from you, I shall fix it.”

His mom rolls her eyes but he can see how charmed she is by his words and the way he plays with a strand of her hair. Henry had never seen her act this way with anyone. “Yeah, yeah, you think you’re so charming with your blue eyes, your smile and your antiquated vocabulary.”

“I mean, it’s working.” Henry smirks and it grows into a grin when Killian turns to him with a conspiratorial smile. And there’s something to the fact that he’s not restricted from their moments, to how he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding.

They laugh together when Emma huffs. “If I knew the two of you would get along so well, I would have thought twice about introducing you.”

Killian raises his left hand to high-five Henry which he does gladly. And he gets some satisfaction from the fact that the man isn’t hiding his injury from him. Even more when Emma rolls her eyes once more.

“Any desserts, Swans?”

Ruby stands next to their table with a self-satisfied smile and he thinks she likes to see them together. Henry doesn’t hate it.

“What do you say, kid?”

“We could go for ice cream…” Henry puts his best puppy-dog eyes and isn’t distracted by the way Killian chuckles at it.

Emma fumbles. “It’s October…”

“And we could take a walk to the docks,” Killian supplies.

“It’s October.”

“You can always huddle for warmth,” Ruby smirks.

“Guess we’re eating ice cream and walking close to the cold sea air,” Emma sighs in defeat and Henry shares a grin with his partners in crime. “How much do we owe you, Rubes?”

“My treat, Swan.” Killian hands over his credit card to Ruby before she can reply. His aunt winks at Emma and struts back behind the counter.

“Killian, y-”

“No use arguing, Swan.” He leans back with a self-satisfied smirk. “This is a special occasion and I want to treat my girlfriend and her son to dinner.”

Emma blushes even if she tries to hide it, crossing her arms and looking into his eyes. “I’m paying for ice cream then.”

Killian shares a wink with Henry. “We’ll see.”

Emma huffs but there is a smile on her face.

Henry remembers when they went to the zoo 3 years ago. He had missed the class trip because of the flu and had cried for a whole day. His mom then planned a zoo trip for the weekend, just the two of them. Walsh had weaselled his way into coming with them, claiming that it was supposed to be their weekend together. So it became the three of them.

He had refused to pay for his ticket since it wasn’t his initial plan and Henry still remembered the way Walsh had accused him of ruining their weekend on purpose, of being spoiled, when his mom wasn’t around. Henry didn’t let his mother see him cry when they got home. He felt a little vindicated when, at the monkey exhibit, one of the monkeys threw their poop at the exhibit glass, aiming towards Walsh’s head - and caused a teenager to throw up in his shoes. 

And if he paid for anything, there was an expectation of retribution. 

Unlike Walsh, Killian looks genuine with his offer. No ulterior motives in sight.

It is in fact cold when they leave the diner. Emma tightens the scarf around his neck to protect him and digs into her coat for their gloves. She fusses over Killian’s unseasonal outfit choice - from the couple of buttons he left open on his shirt, to his flimsy leather jacket, to his exposed ears - over the few steps it takes to reach “Any Given Sundae”.

Killian’s smile is wide as she argues with him over his choices. He enjoys the way she expresses her care for him, her concern, and allows her to button his shirt and hold his hands in order to warm them with her own. And Henry knows that, for all that Emma has been happier and free with her feelings, she still hides it through her fussing. He thinks Killian knows too.

Emma abandons all concern when they reach the door to the ice cream shop. She all but locks the business’ door in both their faces to keep him from paying for them. It’s a good thing they know the owner and that his mom is the Sheriff.

“Get me some red berries ice cream?” Killian pouts as he speaks through the glass and laughs when his mother blows him a kiss from the other side. He chuckles when she turns to the counter. “She’s stubborn.”

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Henry chuckles.

“I’m just always amazed by your mother,” Killian shrugs with a smile as he leans against the wall. “And very thankful to have met her.”

“She looks happy.”

“She makes me happy too. And I’m very happy to have met you too.”

Henry blushes and can’t help but wonder if he’s just putting up a front for him, despite the fact that Killian hasn’t shown to be prone to that sort of behaviour. Then again, neither did Walsh. “I didn’t thank you for paying for dinner, you didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” Killian interrupts with a disarming smile. “I already said that I wanted to do it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” Killian smiles as he places a hand on Henry’s shoulder and it feels less heavy and more comforting than it felt before from a man who had claimed to want to join their family. “You deserve to be cared for, my boy, and I’ll aim to remind you of that. You and your mother.” 

The door to the ice cream shop opens and Henry is glad for the distraction. He feels tears prickling the corners of his eyes and he knows that these are happy tears. That his coat isn’t responsible for the warmth in his chest and that he doesn’t have to look into the face of a man who looks and feels too good to be true.

A bird flies overhead as Killian helps Emma balance the small cups. Henry is reminded of the bats. Of the cold hands. Of the unknown date of birth. 

“Here you go, kid, rocky road.” His mom hands him the small cup, distracting him.

They walk in a line, thankful that there aren’t many people around to be annoyed by them taking over the whole sidewalk. Henry walks between Killian and Emma as they all chat about their weeks. He learns Killian works as a bartender at the Rabbit Hole and that Sundays and Mondays are his nights off.

“That means you can join our weekly dinners.” Henry exclaims.

Emma whips her head towards him and her mouth is parted in surprise. Killian is suspiciously quiet on the other side. “A-are you sure, kid? I mean, these dinners-”

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Henry backtracks as he glances between the two adults before focusing on his half-eaten ice cream and shrugs. “I-I just thought that you might like to join our traditions or something.”

There’s his hand again. And when it goes from his shoulder to his back and back up in a revering and comforting move, Henry has to swallow through the lump in his throat before looking up at Killian, who waits until he does to nod. “I would be honoured, my boy.”

Is it too early to have a favourite word from a man you just met?

His mother sniffs from his other side and clears her throat. “That damn sea air,” she grumbles when they turn to look at her. 

The tension vanishes as they share a conspiratorial smirk before they change subjects. Henry tries not to mourn the loss of that damn hand on his shoulder as they return to their ice creams. 

He learns that Killian doesn’t have any family left alive, the fire taking his brother and mother from him, and they tell him that they only had each other for years until they moved to town 4 years ago. Henry thinks that maybe they can be a family together before quickly pushing down the thought. Too soon.

They walk slowly along the docks, the sea at their left dropping the temperature around them but Henry can barely feel the cold as he walks between the two adults. He tells Killian about how Star Wars is his favourite movie franchise and clutches his imaginary pearls when the man tells him he hasn’t watched any of the movies. Emma joins the teasing over him not having watched “Princess Bride” either - Henry guesses her lie detector doesn’t work on omissions because there’s a glint in Killian’s face that reveals the truth. But it’s not his secret to tell.

“It’s definitely time for a movie night.”

And if the adults share a hopeful look over his head, Henry is distracted by thoughts of a movie night where they share popcorn and hot cocoa in the warmth of their living room. Where the Swans share a part of themselves through the movies they love and hope to be accepted.

They stop at the end of the docks, the presence of the enormous ship looking straight out of a pirate movie effectively putting all thoughts and fantasies to the back of his mind. 

“Wow…” Henry breathes out, looking from one side to the other, inspecting every inch.

“Behold,” Killian holds out his arm in a grand gesture as he takes a couple of steps to stand in front of the gangplank. “The Jolly Roger.”

Henry looks back towards the man, mouth parted. “This is your ship?”

“Aye, since we were here, I thought you might like to see it.” Killian reaches up to scratch the back of his ear.

Emma leans towards Henry and pretends to whisper in his ear. “I think he is trying to win you over, kid.”

Despite it being dark, he can see the way Killian’s cheeks darken at being caught. The man stammers a response and Emma exchanges a conspiratorial look with Henry.

“Is that why you named your ship that?” Henry looks at him with a searching look, the one that Uncle David called his “detective look”. He watches as Killian fumbles before sending a mock glare towards Emma who is trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s a pirate ship,” Killian holds out his arms as if it made his point. “It should have a pirate name.”

“There it is,” Emma nudges his side and Henry presses his lips together to avoid laughing. “We found the reason for the old-timey speech, kid. Killian is actually a time travelling pirate.”

They both lose their battle against laughter when Killian huffs and crosses his arms at them. “I’m revoking your rights to board my ship, both of you. And I was even going to let you have a try at the wheel.” He raises his eyebrow and Henry sees it as a challenge. 

If Killian wants to be dramatic, so can he.

“Please, Killian,” Henry grabs onto his crossed arms and looks up with an exaggerated pout. “We were just kidding.” There’s an uptick at the corner of his lips and Henry is ready to admit victory. “Your ship is so cool and the name is so original and you should let us aboard.” He is really laying it on thick and both adults know it by the looks on their faces.

“Come on, how can you say no to that face?” Emma points out, her voice wobbly from laughter.

“Fine, fine,” Killian sighs and uncrosses his arms. “That is a dangerous face.” Henry is ready to whoop in excitement when Killian touches the tip of his nose. “Stay close to me.”

Henry shares a grin with his mother who holds his hand before he takes Killian’s left hand. There’s a stumbling pause in the man’s steps before he starts walking. They are ordered to wait at the centre of the deck while Killian’s boots echo across the deck while he lights up lanterns around them. The faint light makes the ship look even more out of this world and Henry feels like they are about to set sail on an adventure to fantastical realms.

Henry looks around with a parted mouth and when he finally finds his mother’s eyes, he sees her smile at him, a soft smile that he knows is a reflection of her love for him. “It is very cool, huh, kid?” 

He nods and her arm wraps around his shoulders as they watch the deck light up in the warm colour of the lanterns. “This would be a good spot to do some star gazing.” 

“With a picnic,” his mom supplies.

“I could teach you about the stars,” Killian finishes, standing to his mom’s side as they look around. Henry sighs. 

He can imagine cosy nights learning all about the position of the stars and their stories while they lie in comfy blankets and drink hot cocoa. And in the warm months, after a day of swimming, they could see how different the sky looks in summer. He realises he’s expecting Killian to stay until the coming year and it brings him out of his fantasies. 

Despite the man’s promises and assurances, Henry can’t help but feel like there’s something more. Something about Killian Jones that feels…wrong. That’s not the right word…

“Would you like a tour below deck?”

Killian’s offer startles him out of his spiralling thoughts. He pushes them away - let’s himself believe that he’s not as deeply screwed as he actually is. Henry nods quickly, what is he gonna say? No? It’s a pirate ship!

They follow Killian as he lights the way below deck. They see the galley - retrofitted to look modern and with a large table in the middle of the room - the storage room with shelves full of food and other non-perishables, and the officers’ and crew’s quarters.

“Or it would have been had I any crew or officers,” Killian chuckles, gesturing towards the doors. “Maybe you can choose one of them for yourself?” There was a hopeful look on his face and Henry felt his mother’s hand tighten its hold on his shoulder. 

The fast beating of his heart is dangerously fast and he wonders if she can feel it in her palm. 

So much for putting away those thoughts. 

“Maybe we can talk about that another time,” his mother suggests, sparing him an answer.

“Of course, of course,” Killian is quick to dismiss his idea. 

Henry is glad for it and even more glad when the adults act as if the question was never posed in the first place. They all ignore the hint of tension below the decks of the ship as Killian shows them where the pirates used to store their guns and where the crew would row the ship if the sails didn’t work. 

“And last but certainly, not least,” Killian’s bright grin is back and Henry tries to ignore the warmth in his chest at seeing it. “The Captain’s quarters.”

He opens the door to a large room, helping them down the few steps before hooking the lantern on an overhead hook. A large bed takes up the back wall, perfectly placed under the rectangular window. There are trinkets strewn about in a precise way in the window sill. A book shelf takes over the left side of the room while a table and a high-winged chair take over the right side. It’s all meticulously clean and tidy, so much like its Captain.

“Do you live here?”

“Aye,” Killian leans on his desk with a proud smile. ”A home fit for a pirate Captain.”

Emma chuckles before she crosses her arms to look at him. “Don’t know how well you’ll do when winter comes along, Captain.”

“Yeah, but at least he’ll be sleeping on a pirate ship,” Henry points out and beams when Killian smiles proudly at him as well as pointing a finger in his direction. He takes another look around. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Henry notes the drawn curtains just like he’d noticed it in the other rooms. Despite the bright full moon outside, none of its natural light made its way inside the ship. 

“Oh,” Killian immediately stands upright to open the curtains, letting the moonlight filter in.

“Our Captain is a bit of a nocturnal creature,” Emma teases and Killian scratches behind his ear.

“I sleep during the day,” he explains. “I can’t have that pesky sun ruin my plans.”

Henry chuckles with them even as a thought tries to worm its way into his mind. The moonlight reflects on a globe with a strange town inside it and he takes a closer look at it.

“Are these from all the places you’ve been?”

“Aye.” Killian stands at his side as he carefully straightens a ceramic bowl. “Some of my prized possessions.”

A small frame stands between a colourful seashell and a cross made of a soft light brown grass. There’s a young boy with curly hair next to what he thinks is a person. The being is blurry and burned, the only thing visible is an arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders.

“Who’s this?”

Killian clears his throat next to him and when he looks, a muscle is popping on his cheek due to the clenching of his jaw. “That was my brother, Liam.”  

“Oh.” Henry looks back at the picture, giving Killian some privacy with his emotions. Emma’s presence is silent behind them but, from the corner of his eye, he sees her place her hand on Killian’s shoulder. “You have the same eyes. Who’s next to him?”

“That’s me.” Henry frowns and leans forward to look at the picture better. Killian chuckles at the movement and the weight on Henry’s chest lightens at the sound. “Well, it was me. Water damage.”

“You don’t have any more pictures?”

“None that depict my devilishly handsome looks.” The smirk on his lips is softer than it had been before but it still brings a lightness to his bearing. 

“Not that this one does you much justice.” Emma grins and there’s a heat to Killian’s eyes when he looks back at her.

“I’ve never gotten complaints before.”

“You never forget your first.” She winks and Henry marvels at how light she looks. No matter how happy his mother has always looked when it’s just the two of them, this is a side of her he hasn’t seen before. It’s good.

They stay for another hour. They talk about music - he discovers Killian knows how to waltz and watches while his mother is being led around the cabin to the sounds of “A Thousand Years” from his phone - about sweets and how Killian has never tried a Pop-Tart much to Emma’s shock. Henry even secures some sword fighting lessons for himself, under the assurance that no actual blades will be used. 

“Not for now, at least,” Killian adds with a wink that is covered by a cough when he notices Emma’s narrowed eyes and hands on her hips. “No actual blades, Swan, deal.”

Henry giggles at his mother’s exasperated huff. “I made a big mistake,” she mumbles with no real heat behind it.

They say goodbye to Killian after they descend the gangplank. His mom shares a quick kiss with him - in a way that shows their affection but without making him feel like he wants to disappear. Killian ruffles his hair and promises that they’ll start their lessons soon. Before they leave, Emma invites him for dinner at their place the next day. The other two try to hide their surprise, Killian’s morphs into delight whereas Henry tries to simply express his approval.

His mother wraps an arm around his shoulders as they walk away from the ship, feeling Killian’s eyes on them as they do. She smiles down at him when he looks up at her.

“So, kid,” She starts, trying to hide the concern he can see in her green eyes. “What did you think of Killian?”

“He’s cool,” Henry shrugs even as he smiles at Emma’s beaming grin. “He’s good.” 

Too good.

---

Henry enters the bus to school after a kiss to his head from his mother and a wave. Just like every morning he has to go to school, Emma will head to the station for her shift while he goes to school and then takes himself home at the end of the day and waits for Emma to get back.

Despite the opinions of most 13-year-olds, Henry likes school. He likes learning, likes the friends he’s made since they’ve moved to town and he especially loves to have Violet around. 

But he is, for the lack of better word, distracted. 

His teachers call his attention more times than they ever had to - which is significant when they have never had to - and his notebooks are littered with nonsensical scribbles or doodles as opposed to his usual meticulous notes. Violet’s exasperated huff in the middle of her retelling of her weekend of horse riding with her father finally brings everything to a halt.

“I think my mom’s new boyfriend is a vampire.”

Henry tells Violet his Sunday activities - promising to listen to hers afterwards - and he begs for her to use her all-knowing vampire knowledge to prove him right or wrong. He doesn’t tell her that he hopes he’s wrong, he really wants to be wrong.

But Violet presses her lips together when he’s done and his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, like that alien from that movie he promised his mom he didn’t watch during a sleepover at Ava and Nicholas’ for their birthday - their dad is new at this but after Nicholas almost puked from fear, he got better at it. But that’s not the fear that’s making him almost puke all over the lunch table.

“What?”

“You need to be careful,” Violet bites her lip and he sucks in a breath. “Your mom must already be in his thrall, did you know vampires can hypnotise people? But you are not.”

“She needs my help.” Henry’s eyes are wide and panicked and Violet takes hold of his hands. “What do I do?”

“Take a deep breath, you can’t panic.” Henry does as she says and she rubs her thumbs over his knuckles. “If he hasn’t done anything until now, you’re probably in luck, he’s taking his time.” Violet’s shoulders set in determination and he sees the awesome girl that impressed him when they first met. “I have a plan.”

---

After school, safely at home, Henry is prepared and waiting.

He didn’t dare distract himself with video games or books, simply rehearsing what he wanted to tell his mother as soon as she arrived. There was probably a dip in the carpet due to his pacing route back and forth in the living room. 

The door opens and he startles despite the fact that it’s exactly the time his mom usually gets home. Come on, Henry, get your head in the game.

“Okay, I-Shit!” his mom huffs from the door as she stumbles. There are two thumps against the hall before the door closes from taking her boots off. “I got us food from Bella Notte for dinner, it’s too late to cook anything and you know how I love their-”

Emma startles when she sees him standing in the middle of the living room, hair probably a mess from how much he ran his fingers through it and pulled. His mouth is parted and his eyes are wide and he must look like he’s seen a ghost.

“H-hey,” she says carefully, putting the bags down on the kitchen counter without taking her eyes off him. “Are you okay?”

Henry takes a deep breath and she looks even more worried. “No.” He shakes his head when she tries to put her hands on his shoulders and points to the couch in front of him. “You need to sit down.”

She does so in a worried daze, putting her hands on her knees and he sees the panic in her eyes that he saw the day she caught him crying in his room. “Okay, I’m sitting. What’s going on?”

He takes another deep breath, letting it fill his chest before letting it out. “Killian is a vampire.”

That wasn’t what Emma was expecting, clearly, and she shakes her head with her brow pulled low in a frown. “What?”

“Killian is a vampire,” Henry repeats and resumes his pacing back and forth on the living room floor. “You probably don’t realise it because he has you in his thrall, probably because you kissed,” His nose scrunches up in displeasure now. “But he is dangerous and I need to keep you safe.”

“Henry,” Emma sighs and starts to stand from the couch. “Kid-”

“No.” Henry carefully pushes her back down to sitting, his eyes wider as they look into hers and she is taken aback by the resolve in his eyes. “I need you to come out of it, Mom.” He sighs and takes a step back putting his hands on his hips. “You’re a cop so you care about proof; I’m going to give you proof.”

“Henry-”

“First, he doesn’t eat garlic.” Henry ignores her and starts ticking off fingers. “Vampires don’t eat garlic either. Second, he doesn’t know his birthday. Yeah, he has an answer for it but it’s still suspicious.” Emma frowns and opens her mouth but he carries on. “Because now he can’t prove he’s not from, like, the 18th century! You even noticed the way he talks, he was clearly turned like centuries ago.

“Then we have the dark room. He didn’t even notice until I pointed it out because he’s so used to avoiding the sun!”

“He has a tan.”

Henry continues, not noticing her mumble, focusing only on her concerned eyes and parted mouth. “And then, and then his hands! They were cold when we shook them, and yeah, it was cold, but they were really, really cold. There was also the picture, Mom,” His voice grows desperate without him noticing, high pitched and he isn’t sure when he took a proper breath. “How is it possible that only his part of the picture got ruined? And he doesn’t have more? He clearly can’t be photographed, Mom!”

“Henry!” He sucks in a breath, effectively shutting up, when Emma stands in front of him, hands heavy on his shoulder and frightened eyes on his. “Do you hear what you’re saying, kid?”

“I’m right, Mom, I promise.” His voice is quiet, the desperation in his making his mother’s eyes grow more panicked. “There were bats!”

“What?”

“Before he showed up at Granny’s, I saw bats! They flew behind the ice cream shop and not a second later, Killian appeared!” Her hands cup his cheeks and he grabs her wrists tightly. “It’s true, you need to get out of his spell.”

Emma sighs and he clenches his fists over her wrists. “Henry-”

A knock on the door startles the two of them and they both look towards the door.

“That’s him, Mom,” Henry whisper-yells, tightening his grip when her hands slacken. “You didn’t invite him in already, right?”

“He’s been here before, kid.” She sighs and cups his cheeks again before turning to the door. “It’s open!” The door opens.

“No, no!” Careful shuffling at the entrance masks his quiet begging he feels for his back pocket.

“Shh, kid, it’s okay,” she soothes, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“I hope I’m not too early, I got-” Killian quiets himself as he finds the two of them in the living room. “Is everything alright?” His eyes go from Emma to Henry and his frown grows.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, glancing back at Killian before returning to Henry. “I just need to talk to my son. Think you can go to my room and-” 

But Henry doesn’t let her finish and pulls out the wooden stake Violet helped him make after school. He couldn’t let Killian get out of his sight. He ignores Emma’s calls of his name and focuses only on Killian’s wide eyes. He needs to stop this!

He takes a few steps towards the vampire before a crash and a curse behind him diverts both his and Killian’s attention to Emma. There are flowers on the floor and his mom’s hand is quickly pulled back from the broken glass of a tall cup she’d used as a vase - she ran into the table in her efforts to get to him. Emma is holding her wrist and he sees the red blood in her palm.

“Mom! A-Are you bleeding?” His eyes are wide in panic and he holds up the stake even higher when Killian takes a step towards them, eyes on her hand.

“Yeah, kid,” she sighs. “But it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Killian starts walking around Henry. “Swan, let me-” 

“No!” His frightened yell causes them both to stop and look at him. “You’re not getting close to my mom. If you hurt her, I’ll-I’ll stake you!” His hand shakes as it grips the wooden stake. 

“Henry, please.” Emma takes a couple of steps towards him and Henry sees how Killian can’t keep his eyes on him, looking instead at Emma’s wound. “Killian is not a vampire.” There’s a startled expression on the man’s face, looking between Emma and Henry now. “He is just trying to help me.”

“A-aye, lad, I have a first aid certification,” he explains in a dazed tone, surprised at being caught, he’s sure. “That’s all.” He raises his hands in defence.

“No.” His voice wobbles and his vision gets blurry. He feels a tear run down his cheek. “There’s something wrong with him, Mom, there has to be!”

Emma sucks in a breath and Killian’s eyes widen impossibly more. He can’t look away from the understanding in the eyes of the man in front of him, the way his shoulders tense in a different way and Henry feels something loosen inside him. As his mom moves in front of him, Killian takes a couple of steps back, almost like a coordinated move. She easily takes the stake from his trembling hand with her uninjured one and drops it to the ground.

“Henry,” she breathes out and that’s all it takes for him to bury his face in her chest, sobbing as his arms wrap around her waist.

They move to the couch between his loud hiccuping sobs and when they calm down into sniffles. Emma’s hand moves slowly, reassuringly, up and down his back and she speaks low in his ear, comforting, patient words. His arms tighten around her and he hides his face on her neck when his breathing calms but none of them move beside that.

“Henry,” Emma tries again, speaking calmly, and when he doesn’t interrupt, she pulls away so she can look into his eyes. “Do you think we can have a conversation now?”

He nods and feels his chest tighten in shame when he notices how Killian sits patiently in a chair parallel to the couch, his right hand slowly caressing through his short beard. He is giving them a sense of privacy, not reacting to Emma’s voice and not looking at them, lost in thought. He needs to apologise.

His mom’s hand on his cheek brings his attention back to her and he notices how there’s a bandage around her previously injured hand. He guesses Killian must have taken care of it during his tantrum and he feels the weight in his chest grow heavier. 

“Kid,” Emma’s voice is quiet as she urges him to look back at her, her eyes are understanding and calm despite the pain beneath them. “We could not have known that Walsh was such a horrible guy. You could not have known and it wasn’t your job to protect me.” Her words are final, without a chance for debate, and he can only nod. “He hurt us, he was a horrible guy but he is gone. Not everyone is going to hurt us like he did.” Henry nods again, he remembers his mother saying how she was going to be more careful with the people she brought around them.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispers and closes his eyes in shame.

“You’re forgiven, kid,” Her fingers rub against his cheek and he leans into it unconsciously. “I thought we could just leave all the shit he did to us in the past but I forgot to talk to you about it. To make sure you were ready.”

“I kept comparing them,” he confesses and his mother’s brow furrows in sorrow even as she nods. “I think I liked the time we spent together so much that I remembered when we first met him. How it was all too good to be true, how Killian was too good to be true.”

Emma glances towards the man in the chair and Henry feels his eyes on him but he can’t look back. Can’t bring himself to face how much he screwed up their relationship. 

“Actually, kid?” His mom lets out a small, ironic chuckle and Henry looks up at her in surprise. “I know exactly how you feel. I actually put my gun to Killian’s head when we first met.” There’s a soft chuckle from the couch and Emma’s cheeks turn pink. “That’s why it took me so long to introduce you two, because he was too good to be true. Even if I knew by, like, the third day, that I was in love with him.”

A sharp intake of breath comes from the couch this time and his mom’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red. But mother and son keep looking at each other. “You did? Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified,” Emma confesses, a soft smile on her face. “But sometimes we have to put fear behind us and let people in. We have to allow ourselves the chance to love and be loved.”

Henry’s nose scrunches up. “That sounds like something Aunt Mary Margaret would say.”

Emma laughs and his chest doesn’t feel as tight or heavy. “Yeah, I might have asked for her help on this.”

Henry sighs. “I’m really sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean-”

“I think you’ve apologised enough to me, kid.” She stops him gently with an encouraging smile before gesturing with her head towards the man still quietly sitting on the chair.

He takes a deep breath before turning on the couch, wringing his hands on his lap. Killian looks at him with a patient look on his face. “I’m sorry, Killian.” He is looking so kindly at him that he feels his eyes watering, how can he deserve this? His mom resumes her caresses on his back. “This didn’t have anything to do with you but I hurt you and that was wrong of me, I’m really sorry.”

Killian stands from the chair and crouches in front of him. His hands are holding each other with his elbows on his knees. “A long time ago,” Killian starts in a calm tone before chuckling and correcting. “20 years ago, not centuries.” Emma snorts next to him and Henry feels his cheeks burning. “My father abandoned both me and my brother in the middle of the night. There was a short circuit in the fuse and it caused our house to burn down.”

“I lost my brother and my father on the same day.” His tone is quiet, mournful and he can’t look away from the pain reflected in the blue of his eyes. “I had the chance to reunite with my father a few years ago and I let my hurt stop me from trying. I know how it is to sabotage your relationships because of your wounds.

“But,” Killian’s lips curve up in a small smile and he takes hold of Henry’s hands. His hands are so warm. That remaining weight on his chest vanishes. “I can promise you that it’s going to take a lot more to push me away.”

“I’m sorry that I tried,” Henry whispers and Killian nods. 

“You’re forgiven, my boy.” Henry feels his eyes water and his shoulders relax at his words. “I know what that man did to the two of you and, while I never thought to be compared to a vampire, I knew I had to take that into account when I met you.” Killian’s cheeks turn red and he scratches at the back of his ear. “I just think I got too ahead of myself yesterday. Truth is, I’ve always wanted a family,” he confesses, his eyes glancing between his and Emma’s. “Meeting you two made it all too real and I think I got too desperate so if I-”

Henry doesn’t let him finish what he thinks is going to be an apology to his own apology and lunges at him for a hug. Killian stumbles and ends up falling on his butt. But he doesn’t care, he simply tightens his arms around his neck and relaxes when he feels Killian’s arms just as tight around him. “I want you to be part of our family too,” he confesses and hears a sniffle from behind him. “Especially now that I know you’re not a vampire.”

His words make them all chuckle, like he hoped they would, even as there are tears gathering at their eyes. “It’s an honour to be a part of this family, my boy.” His hand running up and down his back feels just as good as his mother’s and he grins.

“Okay,” His mother’s voice is watery and they separate to watch as she wipes under her eyes with the back of her hand. “Now that it’s all solved, we should eat.”

“Aye, I’m starving,” Killian grins. “There’s not that many people in Storybrooke who let me drink their blood.”

Emma rolls her eyes with a smirk while Henry laughs embarrassedly. “I’m never leaving this down, am I?”

“Not likely, lad.” Killian ruffles his hair and even though he huffs and puffs, Henry thinks he might like the idea of being teased by the man, especially if it means he’ll stick around for a long time.

“Come on,” Emma helps them both up from the floor and while Henry lets go of her hand as soon as he’s standing, Killian doesn’t. “Let’s eat.”

“Actually,” Killian glances towards Henry asking for permission and for some reason, Henry thinks he just might know what he wants. He nods. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Emma frowns confused. “Huh?”

Before she can get an answer, Killian pulls her to him for a kiss. He keeps it soft but it’s clearly full of love and his mom lets out a hum. Henry thinks he should look away but he basks in the sight of their love.

“What was that for?” she mumbles when they separate.

“I love you too,” Killian confesses in a quiet tone, eyes on hers, and Henry feels that last piece of the puzzle slot into place.

Her smile is wide and she kisses him again, a press of lips due to how wide both of them smile. His phone buzzes on the table, no longer full of glass shards, and it catches all of their attention.

“Your phone keeps buzzing, kid, what’s that about?”

Henry frowns in confusion before a metaphorical lightbulb flashes above his head and his eyes widen. “Oh crap!” He dives for his phone and starts tapping at it frantically. 

“What is it?”

“That was Violet,” he answers, pressing his lips together to stop from saying more. His mother raises an eyebrow to incentivize him. “She was my second line of defence.” 

Killian seems to understand before his mother and he can see how he is seconds away from bursting into laughter. “What do you mean?” his mother asks. 

“Well, she was going to bring holy water…”

There’s a moment of silence before they all succumb to hysterical laughter. 

Maybe Killian is too good to be true. But as Henry laughs with his family, he thinks his aunt is right - he’ll put the fear behind him and allow himself to be loved.

[damazcuz]

I've only had this account for about 5 years now. But I've been on tumblr for 13 years, since I was 16 and just starting to learn who I was, what transgender meant, what the world looked like at the time for a group I was swiftly realizing included me.

And for 13 years I have consistently used this site and stayed on, occasionally blog hopping when things felt stale or if things got bad. And things got bad sometimes. You'd get people calling you nasty things in your ask or replies or reblogs or tagging your username to sic their followers on you. And tumblr has always treated targeted harassment as a "Sorry you feel that way. That's not against tos though! Was this answer helpful?" issue whenever it's reported. They've never cared against abuse on their website, IN THE EXCEPTION of cases in which radfems and nazis have maliciously mass reported users for MAYBE hitting their breaking points and MAYBE snapping and saying something stupid that could be used as an excuse. Could be something today or four years ago in your archive but at some point, you had a bad day and posted something that could make tumblr say finally, we can get rid of a pest! or you were just transgender and said as much. A little too loudly in front of the wrong mod.

And this sounds so silly to say. But when you live in a website for 13 years and it's where you have your primary interactions with so many people and where you've met so many of your friends! It starts to feel like your community. Like an apartment building we all live in and visit each other's apartments and talk and decorate and laugh and play. And it's a bit of a dump and we all laugh about the crumbling peeling wallpaper and the slumlord that runs the place. We know the landlord isn't our friend, they just want us to pay rent until we're no good for it anymore. Produce the posts that make this site anything more than a hate forum, make the memes and the art and the posts that end up everywhere from your little sister's pinterest to your mom's Facebook to your uncle's meme subreddit. Keep up the garden and don't pile trash on the curb or you're out. This is "the queerest place on the net" only because queer people live here and hung on with our fingernails to stay here because if you have to leave, what's your fallback? You like your neighbors. They can't all come with you. They won't. Even the kind of crumbly parts feel like home after a while.

Like I want to clarify that Tumblr's reputation as a funny place to chill and scroll and meet people and see new things is not from the transphobes working on staff. Their job is to turn a profit or at least keep it LOOKING profitable, so the site can sell to the next moron to buy it out. The fun and joy of Tumblr is us. WE made this place. When you tear down our decorations and rip out our furnishings and toss us out on the street and look at what's left to show the next prospective tenant, it's a fucking dump. There is nothing left but the shittiest people in our neighborhood who are allowed to stay and make hate posts about us. There's the framework for "someone could make pretty posts here! It's a fixer upper!" But it's shit. It sucks.

I've been spiraling since yesterday over a couple of things I'm not taking well. One is work. "They can't fire us all!" I always joke. And people laugh. Last night my boss and I spent an hour and a half in this miserable fucking meeting, talking about the pressure pushing down on our load bearing team. We fantasized over all 8 of us being able to say "that's enough. I'm better than this. We are all walking out today and we will not come back. Don't text." And we can't. None of us can lose the stability of a full time job that pays kind of okay even though it's killing you. None of us can face that uncerainty. I left with chest pain. It was my first day back after major surgery. I went home and sat in one spot for over six hours almost unmoving, crying and just in disbelief of how unfair it is. We can't leave. But something has to give before my team dissolves and one of us puts a gun in their mouth. And then we all still have to make our shift. Who else will do all that? Who's going to cover, huh? Clock in.

And I spent the rest of my day, which ran to 4 am before I was able to sleep, wishing I could quit and hating what's happening on tumblr just as much. On a fucking blogging platform. Because this has been my fun sandbox for over a decade and it's always kind of sucked, it's full of cat shit and people throw sand at you and you're getting sunburned but it's fun here. You find your people to play with. And then it's like you remember oh yeah, other people here want me dead. The owner of this place wants me to die. He wants everyone that makes this place cool and fun to die. And he'll turn around and say "yeeeah well you shouldn't have joked about being mean to me." And it's like why am I here! Why am I making posts for YOU?

I can't leave employment. I'm only a couple of weeks, maybe a couple months away from homelessness at any given time, with how tight finances are. "Shoestring budget" would be generous. We're making it through sheer force of will. But I can't quit my job, and neither can anyone else.

But I can leave this place that I've hated and loved for so, so long. The other massive drain on my life that wants to see me shrivel and die. I can get up and go. We could all just go. Mass exodus. And I know it won't happen. Give it a week, ten days. People move along. Yeah, that sucked. Well, here we all still are. Still posting. Still tumbling. Still complaining about the landlord. But most people won't leave. How can you walk on your friends and community, knowing they won't all follow? But how do you continue to stay here watching this happen? I'm already listening to people tell me "so? that doesn't affect me. it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. and of course this happened, duhhhh." It's like, feel stupid for getting comfortable here. You should feel stupid for settling in and making it a home and thinking it would be fun here. If you are transgender you are not safe and you are not wanted. Not in the queerest place on the web, either.

It's not about the funny hammer car explosion """threat.""" It was never about the hammer car explosion. That was a dogwhistle through a megaphone to transphobes. Tumblr's darlings. Don't worry. I'll take care of this one that thinks she can speak up against me. And against you. And now there's a defined "REASON" for the ban. Why, Matt hardly knew he was banning a trans woman. All he knew was fear! He had no choice! And you can ignore the ACLU and the claims of systemic transphobia, that's something else. We fixed that!

I want this place to die because it is already rotting. We are scraping at the bones at this point. Walls are crumbling and there's a hole in the floor to the room below and the windows have long been knocked out and the boiler hasn't worked in years. They aren't going to fix it. It has never been the intention to fix it. They want you to leave or die. Whichever. Don't matter. Just get lost. I will find another tenant. I will find another person who will give me more ad revenue. You are replaceable in that sense. Someone else will join tumblr tomorrow. And tumblr will make a buck off them instead.

But they cannot replace the ways in which you and I have made this site livable and bearable and fun. And I want us to leave so that the husk of this place can collapse and blow away in the wind. I want tumblr to take a major hit and I want the loss of ad revenue to HURT THEM. I want a mad scramble to figure out how to fix it all. They can't. They won't. The fix has always been there and it's always been refused. Terfs will never be turned away from tumblr. Neither will nazis. "Sorry you feel that way, but that's not against our tos. Was this answer helpful?"

You know how they say, "it there are ten people at a table and one is a nazi and no one stands up, you have ten nazis"? This feels like that to me. If 20,000 of us wait a week, shrug, and resume joking and playing and say, well, yeah, it's sad that another dozen trans fems were banned last night. But I like it here...

It feels like that. Why are my trans sisters' archives of 5, 10+ years of life and joy being wiped clean? I can't even tell you how many posts I've seen from an op whose url I recognize from last week, but whose username is grey and icon default, because she posted something less than a day ago to say "yo this sucks. Fuck this place and fuck this guy." They've never ever found the terfs and nazis to ban them because they DON'T CARE. Those are the ones they prefer. That they cater to. Post about the ceo being a dumbfuck and in 12 hours, risk losing your community and the ability to look back at your life online. Clean slate. As if you never lived there. Oh, but tumblr isn't a transphobic place. We fired the one and only naughty transphobe on staff who was taking bribes to send out bans. Pay to win moderation. That person's gone. So it's okay and you don't need to worry. It's okay, I promise. It's the queerest place on the web. Get comfortable.

I love my job and I love this place. One of them is going to push me to the edge. But I can choose to leave one. You can choose to leave with me. They can't fire us all.

[raidermomma]

Some of my favourite lines from my own fic, because I am a shameless exhibitionist.

*

Sephy was having a bad day in a week of bad days, which was rapidly becoming a month of bad weeks.

*

“How did you know that?” Rimmer sneered, in much the same tone as someone might ask, “why have you got two heads?” or “do you know your ear’s just fallen off.”

*

Of everyone though, her favourite person to level her complete lack of tact at was him. He had the emotional range of a tea bag, he was as enlightened as a black hole, he needed to remove the stick from up his arse. Sometimes it seemed wherever he turned there she was, like a five-foot nothing conscience attached to his hip.

*

She grinned and threw her popcorn at him. It sailed through his head and landed on the floor, where it crunched under Kryten’s foot as he came in.

*

“I was trying to get rid of him.”

“And you couldn’t think of a way to do that without starting a one-sided food fight?”

“Apparently not.”

*

“I didn’t recognise the genetic structure. Biologically speaking, they were a completely new life form.”

“She has a point there.” Sephy put in. “You are always saying his laundry basket could be classified as its own biome.”

*

Lister knew it had to end sometime. Rimmer and Sephy getting along was like the Earth suddenly spinning backwards on its axis, or a giraffe trying to get off with a gazelle. It was abnormal, it went against all known laws of physics and nature.

*

Lister was pretty sure they were both sufficiently sloshed to make the elephant in the room a little bit more manageable. It was still elephant shaped, but it had shrunk a bit. It was a baby elephant, or maybe a stunted elephant. Possibly a tapir.

*

“Sephy, please tell me you know the difference between kissing and sex. Because if I need to explain the birds and the bees to you we’re gonna need more whisky.”

*

“He’s such a dick.” Sephy said, apropos of nothing. Lister was forced to agree.

“No argument here.”

“A monumental dick.”

“Absolutely.”

“A colossal dick.”

“Oh, colossal.”

“Just an enormously stupid, lanky, clumsy, inconsiderate, stupid dick.” She forewent the glass completely this time and swigged straight from the bottle. “And I want him.”

She put her forehead on the table.

*

They weren’t supposed to keep drinking until the conversation veered right off the track, ran over the baby tapir or rhino or whatever the smeg it was, and went into the undergrowth.

*

"What were you thinking?”

“I was ordering a taxi.” Sephy rolled her eyes. “What do you think I was doing in the shower?”

*

“For once would it have killed you to listen to me?”

"It’s killing me having to listen to you now.”

*

“You are very lucky.” He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Very lucky that dingbat of a computer jettisoned the bomb without telling us, or our innards would now be our outers. Our guts would be a brand-new constellation.”

*

“Oh look.” She said, sounding mildly surprised. “My guts are still where I left them. Where did you leave yours Rimmer, in a jar under your bed?”

*

“I would prefer it,” he said pompously, “if you kept my arse out of it.”

“Rimmer, your arse is the last thing in the universe I want to think about.”

“Well so’s yours.”

“Fine. Then you won’t feel the need to watch me leave the room.”

*

She picked up an entire handful of mashed potato and smashed it full into his face.

*

“Four weeks!” He whined for the fifth time that afternoon. “Four weeks! You think they’d be over it by now!”

“Yeah.” Sephy was only half listening. “Mad how attached some people are to their bodies.”

*

“What? Oh no, that wasn’t a line.”

“Good job.” She dragged on her cigarette. “It was about as original as a cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.”

*

“There is a definite thirty-degree angle there. Honestly Lister, you couldn’t draw a straight line in a dot-to-dot.”

*

The tree said nothing, by dint of the fact it was a tree.