#three times daniel's mom called and one time he picked up the phone

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 1, 1973

Daniel’s phone rings at six in the morning. It only half wakes him; he hears it in his dream first.

What fully wakes him is the girl in his bed, and the humid, sticky fusion of their skin where she’s lying against him, her breasts pressing to his ribs and breath warm on his shoulder. She mumbles a noise that reverberates against his collar bone, and the pain sets in when his eyes open.

The headache, but that’s normal for Saturday mornings. His arm, though, bent out of place, because he was too drunk to notice when he fell asleep. The girl’s head pinning his bicep to the mattress. His fingertips tingle.

“...phone,” she mumbles against him.

He rubs his eyes with his free hand. Pale light outside glowing through the blinds. The window is cracked open so that fresh air flows in. Too cold, but it smells like sex and cigarettes in here. He considers closing the window before he considers getting up for the phone. Can’t reach it from here. 

The ringing stops. He shifts, frees his arm. Curls onto his side, away from his guest, and falls back asleep.

~~

Then at nine. 

It wakes him instantly this time, but the sun is in his face. He groans and turns away from the window in time to see the girl blinking awake.

The memory comes on slowly. He looks past her, to the table by the door, and sees his bag of tapes. Her name is Darla. She’s got burn scars on her forearms, and spent hours last night telling him about her life and how she survived a bowling alley fire. 

“Your phone is ringing,” she says. More awake than Daniel. She stares for a moment, in the quiet space between rings, then seems to remember where she is. She looks around for the edge of the bed sheet and pulls it over herself. Looks away.

“I bet it’s a wrong number,” Daniel says. “No one calls me this early.”

He sits up, stretches. Looks around the edge of the bed for his pants, his underwear, anything, but doesn’t see them. The phone is so loud he loses all sense of dignity, unable to listen anymore, unworried about getting out of bed and exposing his ass to her.

Too late, though, when he finally picks up. Just a dial tone. 

He shrugs, drops the receiver back onto the cradle, and goes back to bed.

~~

And at 10:15, but this time the girl is gone. The sheets beside him are still warm and he hears the water running in the bathroom.

Something could be wrong, maybe. At home. Maybe it’s his parents.

The last phone call with them didn’t go so well, though.

He reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand, watching the phone as he lights one. Waiting. Whoever is calling keeps hanging up before his answering machine even comes on, so it must not be that important.

The machine beeps, this time, and the tape clicks, the red light comes on. “This is Molloy, leave a message,” his voice says from the recording.

There’s a pause. A man’s voice mumbling in the background. The sound of a door closing, and he can just imagine it, the way his mother would stretch the phone cord all the way out and close herself into the pantry for privacy. 

“Daniel,” she says. Just Daniel, and his stomach hurts. She sighs a moment later. “I forgot about the time difference, I’m sorry. Please pick up the phone, you’re going to kill me with the long distance charges.”

Her voice is garbled between the connection and the speaker. Full of static. He wonders if it’s why she sounds so exhausted.

“Okay, I don’t know, maybe you don’t come home on the weekends, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing anymore.”

Darla opens the bathroom door and Daniel glances at her over his shoulder. She leans in the doorway, listening along.

“Well look, I need to know if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. Your father and I were really hoping you enrolled in classes again this semester, so if you keep the visit short that’s okay. We can pay for the flights. We just–”

His father is yelling something from the other room, and his mother shushes him.

“Please call me back, I haven’t heard from you in months. Your father misses you.”

Then it’s over.

Daniel scratches his belly. He reaches for his cigarettes to offer one to Darla.

She takes one, and lets Daniel light it, but then steps away. Nervous now that it’s daylight, fidgeting and twisting a strand of her hair.

“I guess I’ll head out,” she says. She takes a step back, grabs her bag from the dresser. Daniel takes a drag of his cigarette and stares at the answering machine. “I had fun.”

“Yeah,” he says.

~~

He’s listening to Darla’s tapes and taking notes when she tries again.

It’s 1:13pm, which means it’s 4:13 in Connecticut. He can picture it again, sees her in the kitchen. She’ll be starting dinner now, twisting back and forth across the kitchen with the phone cord as she works.

His stomach hurts again. He hits pause on Darla’s tapes. Reaches for the phone with one hand and his cigarettes with the other.

“Hello?” he mumbles around an unlit cigarette. 

“Daniel! Hi!” surprised that he answered. And not even angry, which hurts worse. Excited to speak to him. 

He lights the cigarette. “Hi, Mom.”

“Did you get my message?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he tries to think of a lie, an excuse. It takes too long, the silence gets awkward.

“I’d really like you to come home.”

“I know.”

“If this is about your father–”

“It’s not.”

“--he does want to see you. You know he was just… frustrated.”

“I think he used the words fucking ashamed.”

“Daniel…”

“What do you get out of this, anyway? Going to bat for him all the time. Aren’t you sick of it?”

Something clacks in the background. He imagines her setting her wooden spoon on the counter. Imagines the way she wiggles her fingers when she’s upset, how she sets her jaw, how she chews the inside of her cheek. 

“We would like you to come home for Thanksgiving. And I hope you enrolled in classes, but if you didn’t, we can talk about that later. If you can come a couple weeks earlier you can make it to your cousin’s wedding. She sent you the invite?”

“Yeah. It’s… somewhere.”

“You should really send the RSVP back, even if you’re family. It’s rude not to.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you enrolled?”

He sucks at his cigarette. Looks down at his typewriter. 

She sighs. He can feel it, through the phone, from three thousand miles away, the way she caves. He can see it on her face, even from here.

“Please come home.”

“Okay.”

[next day]

~~~~

(JUST A QUICK NOTE but I'm basing my Vamptembers this year on what Daniel was up to in September 1973 and using @cup-of-lixx's Devil's Minion timeline for reference, some of which is canon and some is armandblr hivemind headcanon. For example it wasn't canon that it took place in September but I thought it would be really fun to do this so now it's decided !!!!!!!! K enjoy. Don't hold me to this I have ADHD I might be very excited for 48 hours and never touch it again, peace!)

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Now that Bradley had the ring, he didn't want to wait. He kept thinking about what it would mean to move in with you and Everett and be a family. He wanted all of it. So he got Everett to help him out one last time. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

You locked your office door and sank down into your seat. You were too nervous to eat the lunch you packed for yourself as you got your phone out to call your lawyer. It had taken you a few days, but you decided what you wanted to do about Danny. It wasn't ideal, but you'd do it. 

As you sat and listened to the hold music playing in your ear, you poked at your sad looking salad. Danny was going to blow up at you after this. And it would be months and months before you saw a cent, but you supposed it was the best you could get since you couldn't get Danny stripped of parental rights. Tears pricked at your eyes, because you just wanted him gone. Good and truly gone with no ability to come back and hurt Everett again.

When your lawyer returned to the line, you told him that you wanted to move forward with serving papers to Danny to petition for child support. If you couldn't get rid of Danny, at least you could pad Ev's college account or help him buy a car someday. 

"You do understand that Daniel can take four months to contest the petition? And that's on top of the time it may take to serve him the papers?"

You rested your forehead on your desk and took a deep breath. At least you would be the one dealing all of this shit behind the scenes so Ev wouldn't have to know about it. But Bradley was always imploring you to be more open with him about this, so you'd have to figure out how to tell him that Danny was here to stay. Unless you and Bradley ever got married. Unless Bradley ever wanted to petition to adopt Everett. 

"Yes," you said, your voice only a harsh whisper. "I understand. We can proceed." 

As your melancholy settled in, you decided to text Molly about what you did. It didn't take long for your sister to respond. She must not have been working right now. You never could manage to keep track of her schedule, so you had no idea how Bob was so efficient with it. 

Danny is a little baby cocksucker bitch! Bleed him dry! Do it for Ev! I'll help you take over the world after I have a nap.

You snorted, pleased that not a moment had passed since your parents died when Molly was not one hundred percent on your team. And now you had Bradley. And you supposed you had Bob, too. 

A sharp knock on your office door had you jumping in your seat. "Coming," you called, scrambling to go unlock the door only to find Bradley standing there in his khaki uniform with a bunch of tulips and a wrapped sandwich. His aviators were perched on the tip of his nose, and he looked like a fantasy. You could see three of the receptionists leaning out of their cubicles to get a better look at him.

"Kitten," he whispered with a grin before kissing your cheek. When you silently pushed your door open wider, he brushed past you, and you closed it behind him. 

"What are you doing here?" you asked breathlessly. He set the food and the flowers down on your desk, and you rushed into his arms.

"I just missed you," he whispered in your ear. "And it's Tuesday. Technically the slowest day of the week. I needed a pick-me-up." And with that, he scooped you up into his arms while you gasped, and he deposited you on the edge of your desk.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," you told him, reaching out to pull him closer. He tossed his sunglasses onto your desk, and then you couldn't even remember what you wanted to tell him. Something about your lawyer? His hands were on your bare knees, sliding up under your black skirt.

"You know I love this," he whispered, pushing your skirt up your bare thighs. "I like to daydream about this skirt. On your bedroom floor. Or all bunched up around your waist."

You coaxed his lips down to yours with your finger under his chin and kissed him softly. "I have some free time right now."

Instantly, he was lifting your butt up off of your desk and yanking your skirt up over your hips and around your waist. You squealed with delight as he set you back down and smiled as he knelt in front of you. "Really?" he asked, nudging your inner thigh with his nose and kissing you there. 

"Yes," you giggled as he looked up at you. When you spread your legs wide for him, he kissed your core through your underwear, and you gasped, "Go lock my door, Coach."

He dipped his long index finger inside the lace fabric and nudged your clit with his knuckle. "Where's the fun in that?"

You moaned, and then you were shimmying your underwear down your legs. Bradley tucked them into pocket, and you couldn't believe you were letting him do this with the door unlocked. But the prickle of his mustache along your slit had you grabbing at the back of his head and spreading open further for him. 

He licked a long stripe from your opening up to nibble on your clit, and you dug your fingers into his hair. "That's a good Kitten," he rasped, kissing along your pussy and thighs as he slipped his index finger inside you. Just a few strokes and you were whining for him, your thighs clamping around his head. But he pushed them apart again and kept them in place with his other, huge hand.

"Bradley," you gasped, and he pulled you a little closer to the edge as he sucked on your clit. "Oh god." 

He released you and licked a circle that had you tugging on his hair. "Wanna make sure you think about me when you're at work, Baby," he grunted before rubbing his mustache through your wetness until you were getting a little loud. 

"Bradley!" you whined. He was good. You leaned back on one hand as he made your legs shake. And when he looked up at you as he circled your clit lazily with his tongue, you knew you were getting close. "Keep going," you told him, rocking against his face a little bit. 

The sight of him buried between your legs with your fingers messing up his hair took you all the way. Because when he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time, you came for him. Loud and needy. And then you slowly sat fully upright again while your ears buzzed. He was still placing soft kisses on you everywhere that used to be covered by your underwear. 

"I love you, Kitten," he whispered as he squeezed your thighs and stood up to kiss you. His mustache was wet, and you licked him while you moaned softly. His whole face tasted like you as you licked and kissed him. It was intoxicating, and you pulled him closer so the front of his uniform pants rubbed against your pussy. He was rock hard.

"You wanna?" you asked him as he stroked his fingers along your cheek. 

"Fuck, you know I do," he promised, rubbing his mustache down your neck. "But I need to get back to work."

You bit your lip and watched him reluctantly pull away from you and adjust himself. There was a little wet spot on his pants that absolutely thrilled you as you asked, "Where's my underwear?"

His smile was smug. "In my pocket. I'm gonna hang them in my locker at work like a little souvenir."

You gasped, your pussy still bare for him with your skirt hiked up. An embarrassingly needy little sound escaped you as he patted his right pocket. 

"I hope you don't mind if the guys see them."

You pressed your lips together. You actually really liked that underwear. They were a stretchy white lace thong that you found comfortable. But if Bradley wanted to put them in his locker and think of you every time he hit the shower, then you were more than happy to let him have them.

"I don't mind," you whispered. "But you know you're going to make Bob blush, right?"

Bradley kissed your forehead and said, "Molly has broken him in, I think. He doesn't blush as much as he used to. Now, don't forget, we have plans for the Fourth of July. And I'll see you at your house later tonight after my practice."

You nodded and watched him leave as you stood up and pulled your skirt down. "Love you, Kitten," he called from your open door with his erection still visible in his pants before he strolled away.

You looked at the sandwich he left for you as your stomach growled. Your appetite was back again since talking to your lawyer, so you sat and ate it while you smiled at the spot on your desk where you just had an orgasm. 

As soon as you pulled up the spreadsheet you had been working on, your phone vibrated on your desk next to the tulips he left for you. He sent you a photo of your white lace thong hanging up in his locker. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I wasn't joking. I'm looking forward to getting lots of compliments on my new decoration.

You squeezed your thighs together and squealed. 

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

Bradley had to rush back to base. When he stopped by the locker room to drop off his keys and wallet, he pulled your underwear out of his pocket. They were a little damp, and when he pressed them to his nose, your scent overwhelmed him. He should have fucking stayed long enough to bury his cock and his cum inside you. What was he thinking? A reprimand from one of the admirals would have been worth it. 

With a deep sigh, he hung his pretty souvenir on one of the hooks and snapped a photo. He sent it to you as he literally ran outside and across the tarmac to the meeting room for his afternoon session. He had your underwear in his locker and your engagement ring in his kitchen drawer. 

He had big plans for that ring. There were just a few things he needed to prepare, and he couldn't stop smiling as he thought about what he and Everett were planning. He could talk that kid into anything over some McDonald's chicken nuggets. 

But he had to keep his thoughts from wandering too much to you and Ev while Mav was lecturing. Because every time he thought about marrying you, he thought about being Ev's dad. And he really needed to not get too far ahead of himself, because he had no idea if you'd support that idea or not. Bradley got the impression that you wanted sole guardianship and legal rights to your son. And honestly, Bradley could also get behind that. One hundred percent. 

When the lecture ended, Bob was waving his hand in front of Bradley's face. "You ready to head to practice?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, jumping out of his seat. Today was the first practice for the rec league team, and Everett had bugged nonstop to come and watch. But Bradley wanted to get one good practice in with nobody there, just in case he ended up being terrible. 

He walked with Bob back to the locker room to change into the navy blue hat and jersey with the number 1 on the back, deciding to skip the shower until later tonight. When he was changing his socks, he saw Bob's eyes wander to his locker, and then he quickly looked away. 

"Nice panties," Jake said as he strolled past on his way to the showers. 

"Thanks," Bradley replied, smirking, because he just knew this was going to get you all flustered when he told you later tonight. 

He drove to practice, and thought about his plan for the Fourth of July. It would be perfect, and somehow, he wasn't even nervous. Because being with you felt right. 

And then he pitched so well, both coaches pulled him aside after practice to tell him he's the best they had ever seen on a recreational team. And Bradley just had to laugh, because he was pretty sure he was still better at playing shortstop. 

"Damn," Bob said in between gulps of his Gatorade. "Your arm is a cannon. I barely managed to hit that single."

"Thanks," Bradley said, rapidly throwing everything into his bag, just wanting to get to your house. And then he paused and really looked at Bob. "Holy shit," he mumbled as Bob adjusted his glasses and checked his phone with a smile. Molly must have texted him. Bob was deeply in love with Molly. Bob might perhaps be Bradley's brother-in-law one day. 

"See you tomorrow," Bob told him with a nod as he hoisted his gear bag up onto his shoulder. And as he walked to the Bronco, Bradley hoped that Everett would be lucky enough to have Bob as his uncle. 

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

It was late when Bradley got to your house. Everett was already in bed, and you were cleaning up the kitchen and starting to pack lunches for the morning. One more day of work this week, and then you and Everett were both off for Independence Day. And Bradley had invited you to Maverick's hangar for a party and fireworks. 

Of course Everett couldn't wait. But that child idolized Bradley. 

You heard his key in your front door, and your heart skipped around in your chest. "Hi, Kitten," Bradley whispered, dropping his stuff off next to the stairs. "Is Ev sleeping?" he asked, kissing you softly. 

"Probably. I got him in bed about twenty minutes ago."

"I'm gonna go up and check on him," Bradley replied, quietly taking the stairs two at a time. God, you couldn't handle it. Tears filled your eyes. He loved you both, and you wanted him to move in with you in the worst way. But you were just going to have to wait. It would be worth waiting. 

You could hear him come back downstairs a moment later with a little frown. "He was already asleep."

You threw your arms around his waist and squeezed him. "You can make him pancakes and drop him off at summer camp tomorrow. If you want to."

"Of course I want to," Bradley murmured against your hair. "I love your son."

You rubbed your cheek against his soft undershirt and melted into his embrace. "He loves you, too. And if you don't let him come watch you pitch next time, he might cry."

"Fuck. No," he groaned. "You know I can't stand the sight of him in tears. Almost rips my fucking heart out."

You laughed softly. "Guess we'll just have to come to your first game. Now, do you want a bedtime snack while you tell me about practice?"

"I sure do," he mumbled, backing you up against the kitchen island. "Let me finish you off? I had you for lunch, and now you can be my snack."

"Okay," you told him, pushing him away a few inches. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. "Usually I don't allow food in my bed, but if I'm the snack then I suppose it's fine."

Bradley's eyes narrowed as he scooped you up and carried you upstairs. You had to stifle your laughter so you didn't wake Everett up. When Bradley dropped you onto your bed and climbed on top of you, he took your hands in his and kissed along your neck. 

"Can we talk about the holiday for a minute?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes a little bit. He'd been asking incessantly about taking you to Maverick's and making sure you didn't have anything else planned for the day. 

"Yes, Bradley. But I already told you, Ev and I are free the whole day."

"I wanna take you to the park in the morning," he whispered, his mustache tickling your ear as you enjoyed his delicious body weight. "I want you to see how good Ev is when I pitch to him."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips. "Sounds perfect."

"And then we can head to the party at the hangar. Maverick is setting up a splash pad for the kids," he said, pressing his lips to yours with a grin. 

"Are you going in it?" you asked. "You're an overgrown kid."

"Only if you do," he said as you rolled your hips against his. "You should wear that leopard print bathing suit you have."

You gasped and giggled. "The one I wore to the tee ball pool party? At the beginning of the season? When we had our first real kiss?"

"Hell yes," he hissed. "Couldn't stay away from you, Kitten. I was already in love with you."

You kissed him and held him tight. You couldn't pinpoint the moment you fell in love with him, but you knew you'd never be able to stop now.

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

Wednesday ended up being a rainy day, and everyone in the entire city seemed confused by it. Even Everett was out of sorts when you picked him up from summer camp. 

"Is Bradley going to come over and play with us tonight?" he asked, staring out the car window as you drove him through the storm. "I wanted him to take me to the park."

He kept pouting as you told him, "He needed to get some stuff done at his apartment tonight." You wished he could wrap up whatever he needed to do early and come watch a movie instead. But he told you it was important. 

"Well can we go over to his apartment?" Ev whined.

It struck you that you'd never once been there. And now you wondered if it looked the way you imagined it. Bradley told you a million times how much cozier your house was than his place, and you just shook your head. Because he could have moved in if he wanted to.

"Not tonight, Ev."

He was silent for the rest of the ride home, plainly annoyed with you for keeping him from Bradley. And then he was pretty quiet as you watched Finding Nemo together for the millionth time. But when you reminded him that tomorrow, if the weather was nice, all three of you were going to the park and then Maverick's party, he perked up.

"Bradley is really excited about the park tomorrow!" Everett said as he climbed into bed. "He's excited to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tucking him in while the soft rain hit his window. "What does he want to show me?"

Everett laughed and rolled onto his side. "I can't tell you."

You sighed and kissed his cheek. It was probably something silly or something baseball related. "Well I guess I'll just have to wait then." But he was already starting to doze off, holding onto the stuffed Phanatic.

You were a true San Diegan. All the rain was making you tired. You thrived on sunny days and warm weather. When you went to plug your phone in before bed, you saw a text from Bradley. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I can't wait to pick you up in the morning. Give Ev an extra bedtime kiss for me?

You had to laugh, because he seemed to have no concept of what a consistent bedtime for Everett was. You could already tell that if Bradley ever moved in, he and Ev would be outside playing until well after dark all the time, and you'd be the one reeling them in. 

When you fell asleep, you slept hard. And you woke up to Everett in your room, climbing up into bed with you. "Mommy, I'm hungry." 

It was pretty late, and Bradley was coming over to pick you up for the park, but at least the sun was shining today. 

You stretched and pulled your son into a tight hug. "Cereal or eggs?" you asked as he snuggled up with you. 

"Cereal," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blankets. "Are you going to get up and put on makeup and a dress and stuff?"

You laughed and said, "We're just going to the park and then a splash pad party in the desert, Ev. I wasn't planning on getting too dressed up today. Why?"

"You should," he said, wiggling out of bed and running out of your room. 

"Okay," you muttered to nobody. And a little while later, you were sipping coffee and eating cereal in your kitchen, still not dressed for the day when Bradley arrived. 

"Why do you look so nice?" you asked when he let himself inside. He was wearing a snug fitting red and white golf shirt and chino shorts. 

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself as he went right to Ev and kissed his forehead. And you didn't even mind that you always got greeted second. Because when you got your kiss, it was on the lips and had your knees going weak.

"Hi," he whispered as you threaded your fingers through his hair. "I missed you last night."

How on earth did he make you this silly? Your heart was beating faster and your skin felt extra sensitive as he ran his big hand down your arm. 

"I missed you, too."

Then he pulled away and looked you up and down. "Why aren't you dressed yet? We have a busy day, Kitten." And you finally went back upstairs to get changed as both of them pushed you out of the kitchen. You could hear them talking softly and laughing as you climbed the stairs. 

When you came back down in some denim shorts with a white tank and a sheer white blouse, Bradley smiled at you before leading both of you out to the Bronco. Everett had his gear bag, and when Bradley opened the back tailgate, you saw all of his stuff there too.

"You brought a whole bucket of balls?" you asked, pointing to the bucket tucked behind his bag. "Are you going to make me play catcher for you guys again?"

"Yep," they replied in unison, making you laugh. 

"Okay, but you know I'm not very good."

"You're stellar, Kitten. Aces, Baby," Bradley promised as he scooped Everett up and carried him around to his booster seat.

You tended to disagree, but if the two of them really wanted to play ball in the park all day, then you would just chase balls around and cheer them on. The ride to the park was filled with Everett asking Bradley questions, something your son never seemed to tire of. And as always, Bradley answered every single one of them the best he could without getting irritated at all. 

At a red light, you reached for his hand and said, "I love you." He responded by stroking your fingers with his thumb as he hummed along to the radio. And soon you were at the park and unloading everything. You watched as the boys both put on their matching Phillies hats and took sips out of a bottle of Gatorade. They had a little routine now, and it melted your heart. 

"Ready?" Bradley asked Everett and then you. 

"Ready," you replied, carrying the bucket of baseballs for them. You followed them to the same shady area where you had played catcher before. The sun was strong today, but at least it wasn't too hot yet. Being in the shade would help with that.

"Ev, start stretching while I get your mom all set up," Bradley said, reaching into his bag and pulling out his catcher's mask and mitt. 

"Hey," you said with a smile. "I remembered it's a mitt and not a glove!" you said, and Bradley pulled you tight to him for a kiss.

He hummed against your lips as he ran his empty hand down your back to squeeze your butt. "It's going to be important that you know these things, because Ev and I are going to be on this baseball shit forever now. We're about to get annoying as hell, Kitten."

"I don't mind," you said, looking up into his brown eyes that were always so sincere. "Please, annoy the shit out of me forever."

The smile that took over his face had you giggling while Everett ran around you in circles doing his own definition of warming up. Then Bradley mumbled, "Gotta keep this pretty face safe," while he fitted the catcher's mask around the back of your head. He slipped the too large mitt on your hand and kissed your neck. "All set now."

"Can we do it yet?" Ev asked, slowing his run down and picking up his bat. "Please?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Bradley replied, turning both of their hats backwards. "We can do it."

You eased yourself down into the uncomfortable position to catch the baseballs for them. But Everett was hitting most of them, which made your job kind of pointless. Bradley was telling Ev what each pitch was going to be before he threw it.

"Here comes a slider," he called out, and you watched your boyfriend's muscles tense up deliciously before he threw a pitch right to Everett. Your son hit it up in the air and Bradley caught it. "Pretty good! Let's try another slider." Then he threw the same pitch again, and Everett hit it over Bradley's head.

"I can't believe you're this good, Ev," you praised, because truly you could not. It was impressive the way he hit Bradley's fastball and curveball as well. You knew Bradley wasn't pitching hard or fast, but he was still pitching to Everett. And your seven year old son was hitting almost all of them. 

"Okay, kiddo," Bradley called out. "This one is the special pitch I've been working on. Are you ready for it?"

"Ready, Coach!" Everett called out in excitement. He turned and looked at you with a smile before he returned to his batting stance, and you made sure you were all set, too. 

You weren't sure what kind of pitch was a special pitch, and Bradley was really taking his time getting ready to throw it. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked a little nervous, but you didn't know why. It wasn't like you and Ev were going to tell him he did a bad job of throwing a new pitch he was working on. Honestly, you were excited to see it. 

When he finally took a deep breath, he met your eyes before winding up to throw it. The ball sailed right to your mitt, and you caught it cleanly. Everett didn't swing at it, and now he was looking at you with his bat hanging down at his side. When you looked up at Bradley, he was staring at you. Then you noticed that the ball was more red than white as you dumped it out of the mitt and into your empty hand. 

"What is this?" you mumbled, turning it around in your hand. It was covered in little red hearts that looked like they had been drawn on with a sharpie, and there was something written in Bradley's handwriting.

Will you marry me?

You gasped and looked up at Bradley, but now he was down on one knee with his glove on the grass next to him. Everett was bouncing around next to you as you read the ball again. "Mommy?" he asked quietly, and you looked up at his eager face. 

Heart racing, you stood up and shook the mitt off your hand as you looked toward Bradley. You yanked the mask off your head as you ran toward him shouting, "Are you serious?"

His smile looked a little unsure as you tackled him onto the grass and straddled his waist. His Phillies cap rolled away as you looked down into his perfect face. 

"Well? Will you marry me, Kitten?" He held up a diamond ring as you kissed him and started crying.

"Yes. I'll marry you." Your voice was shaky and filled with tears, but you were so happy as you cried and kissed him. 

"She said yes, kiddo!" Bradley shouted to Everett when you buried your face against his neck. And you realized they had both been planning this together which just made you cry more. 

"Yes! It worked!" Everett screamed, and a few seconds later, Bradley was holding both of you on top of him in the grass, alternating between kissing your lips and Everett's forehead.

You were still clutching the baseball in your right hand as Bradley put the ring on your left finger. It was a little big, but it was beautiful. "It looks like a baseball," you said as he grinned.

"That's why we picked that one!" Everett informed you, looking happier than you'd ever seen him.

And then Bradley kissed your finger and whispered, "I'm going to love both of you forever."

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

He did it! He asked her! Love how happy Ev is! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 26

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[faeriekit]

Ghosts of Those We Once Knew

a phic phight fill for @silverwing013

Warnings for: implied child abuse, accidental death, dead parents

**💚**

“Oh yeah?! And what are you going to do about it?!” Aunt Alicia snapped into the phone. 

There was a sound on the other end of the line, but Danny couldn’t make it out all the way. There was another solution, but it was…risky; it would require going into his aunt’s bedroom— a well known, forbidden domain— to pick up the only other phone hooked up to the landline. 

…There was no other time to find out what Aunt Alicia was putting off. It had to be worth the risk. Danny crept up the worn carpeting of the stairs, hoping that his sneakiness would hold up to Alicia’s discerning eyes and ears. 

Her bedroom was dark. Carpeted. …Pink. 

Whatever. Danny took a deep breath, lifted the phone off the hook, and tried not to breathe too loudly into the mouthpiece.

“You have no right to keep Daniel in your dismal, miserable, isolated hovel,” someone shouted on the other end. Danny had never heard this voice before. He sounded like someone around Dad’s age, maybe? Maybe a little…smoother, despite the blistering anger coming through the line. “You live with no human contact for nine months out of the year. You speak to no one. Do you— is Daniel even enrolled in a school? Did you get any sort of educational provisions for him whatsoever?” 

“What, so he can get cocky and blow himself up in the garage like his parents?” Alicia snapped. Danny had to clap a hand to his mouth to hide his gasp of dismay. 

“You know full well that punishing your sister’s son by restricting his access to an education and basic human companionship is not a solution to your grief for your sister. You are out of your mind.”

Aunt Alicia’s voice got low. Aunt Alicia’s voice got mean. She sounded like how she looked when Danny had fumbled the water pail from the well or stepped two steps too close to the rhubarb patch out back. “Vladmir Masters, you listen here,” Aunt Alicia muttered. “That boy is everything left of my sister in the whole damn world. He is not going anywhere. Do you understand? Not for you to fill his head with her stupid husband’s supernatural hoo-ha, and not for you to snatch up and teach himself how to kill other people the way those two killed each other. Danny stays here. If you ring me up one more time, I’m going to do more than just mail dog crap to the front step of your stupid castle in Wisconsin.”

The phone cut off. It would be an innocuous end to a phone call, except Danny can hear the clatter of plastic cracking on plastic in the downstairs kitchen.

There was a moment of silence.

“Daniel Jackson Fenton, you get your butt in here right now!”

Danny jolted, heart pounding. He—he went downstairs.

Aunt’s Alicia’s lips were pursed, her eyes tight. “What did I tell you about missing all the sticks in the yard? It looks like a wreck!”

Danny felt his breath stick in his throat.

“Well?”

“Yes, Aunt Alicia,” Danny mumbled. He looked down and away. He wasn’t caught out eavesdropping, but…was this any better?

“If those sticks aren’t piled up beside the woodshed for kindling in half an hour, you can kiss your dinner goodbye.”

Danny hadn’t had dinner in three nights. He was very lucky he didn’t need to eat as much as living kids. “…Yes, Aunt Alicia.”

“So?”

…Danny went outside to collect sticks. It took until nightfall to get all the refuse from yesterday’s storm off the ground.

Aunt Alicia ate canned corn and carrots and butchered rabbit with hot sauce for dinner. Danny ate nothing.

Danny went to bed thinking about somewhere else he could go. Mom and Dad were dead—smithereens in the blast that had killed him and brought him back to life simultaneously. Jazz was in the hospital. He had no grandparents. He had no other aunts or uncles other than Aunt Alicia.

…Who was Vladmir Masters?

*

It took two days for Danny to decide to run away.

Or. Well. Fly.

He’d figured that if he wanted to find out who Vladmir Masters was, he’d need an internet connection. His cell had been on the Fenton Fone Plan™ and had been disconnected from the Fenton Family Patented Ghost-free Satellite™ for almost three months now. But, you know…what was a public library for, if not getting information?

The two-day waiting period was mostly just Danny getting his stuff together, making sure he didn’t leave anything behind, finding anything worth stealing…

…There was a picture of Mom with her big hair at graduation, a black robe thrown over her Hazmat suit. Her hair had been so big. Lots of people were beside her, including Dad, and someone with a matching hair stripe. They looked happy.

It didn’t matter that it had been Aunt Alicia’s photo. The picture had gone into his backpack next to Bearbert Einstein and a filched pocket knife.

Mom was Aunt Alicia’s sister, but Madeline Fenton had been his mom.

…Was still his mom.

Would…would always be his mom.

Danny wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Still, the flying and everything was still new to him. It took almost ten minutes to get himself off the ground without floating off willy nilly.

It took another half an hour to remember how to go through walls.

By the time Danny fell (as in actually, literally, leaned up against the wall and then realized he’d not made contact the way he’d expected to) through the house wall, it was almost eight at night. Aunt Alicia was still listening to Prairie Home Companion downstairs on the radio.

Whatever. He was out of there. He was sure he looked crazy—his hair was white, which was almost impossible to hide—but all he had to do was get out of there fast enough that no one connected one teenage runaway with a backpack to Danny Fenton.

It was fine.

It was all going to be fine.

…And if there wasn’t someone who’d help him. Well. Being homeless didn’t sound…so bad…?

…Or maybe he’d just squat in the burnt out ruins of Fentonworks. That sounded fine too.

*

Morning broke. Danny ended up in a tiny town somewhere in Mississippi.

A nice guy at the coffee shop gave him a cup of water and told him where the local library was. A librarian plugged her login details for him on a public computer, and Danny was able to look up one “Vladmir Masters”…

…CEO and owner of DALVco, millionaire, and Green Bay Packers megafan.

Holy crap.

Like… There were hospital wings with his name on them. Charities operating out of his company. Every picture of the man was perfectly taken in perfect lighting with perfect suits and precise smirks and bright-white magazine article paper.

Danny went back up to the librarian. “Do you have any articles on…uh…Vlad Masters?”

The librarian smiled warmly. “Ah, school project?”

“Sure,” Danny lied, milk on his tongue.

Vlad Masters was a self-made millionaire. He lived in a castle in Wisconsin that used to be owned by a dairy empire kingpin. He went to—

Danny read the line again

—He went to the same college as Mom and Dad. The year looked right, too. They might have even graduated in the exact same year. If only Danny could still check Dad’s college ring in the bottom of their junk drawer.

Wisconsin. Vlad Masters lived in Wisconsin.

…Danny was really lucky he was never all that hungry anymore.

Danny got another cup of water at the coffee shop, washed his face in the bathroom, and got ready to fly another night.

He was no sextant, but he could probably figure out how to get to Wisconsin after a couple of hours of flying, and a little time to gauge the sky.

It would be easy.

…Danny’s white-topped, pale face stared back at him from the restroom mirror.

It had to be. It would have to be easy.

*

So, a cheese castle looked a lot like a regular castle.

Danny squinted up at the stonework. Nah, that looked like…a castle. That being said, it looked more specifically like the castle he was looking for—the one that had been featured in Vlad Masters’s house tour in Architecture Daily magazine two years ago.  

Same…roof bits. Same big door. Danny swallowed. Same…tower? Were there better words for these? There were definitely better words for all the tricky stone bits in the castle.

Whatever. Danny was praying that the man was actually home today, as opposed to flying across the country on some kind of business trip. Rich people did business trips, right?

Danny floated up to the front door. There was no doorbell.

…Danny bit his lip. Okay. So there was no doorbell. There was a very large, brass door knocker. It looked kind of like a big monster face, with a ring held in its teeth.

The knocker was just high enough off the ground that Danny had to float to get there. Lifting it was a struggle.

When it knocked, the whole door buzzed with sound.

Danny waited.

…He waited.

And…Danny waited.

No one came.

Danny picked at the skin of his lip. What if he just…went in?

Like. It was a big house. Maybe Vlad Masters just hadn’t heard him at all? Maybe he was just…in the basement or something…?

Danny paced midair. On one hand. He’d come all this way. He had to follow through. He had to see if there was…something. Anything. Anything at all—anything that could possibly connect Masters to his family.

Any connection that wasn’t Aunt Alicia would be worth breaking and entering.

On the other hand. Home invasion was and would remain illegal.

Danny grimaced.

He…stuck his head through the door. 

There was a hallway on the other side. A little end table. A guest book. 

…Okay. Danny slipped through the door. He was breaking and entering now— or at least…entering. 

Inside was dark. Gloomy. Comfortable, sure— lots of soft furnishings, curtains, couches, pillow, lounging things— but very…opaque in atmosphere. 

He was glowing, he noticed. That probably was pretty bad on the “trying not to get caught” scale. 

There was no one upstairs. Danny drifted through room after empty room and up into floor after empty floor. There was a kitchen, and the food therein were largely preserved items. There was nothing in the fridge. 

Danny’s stomach cramped. There was no one here. 

…Maybe he should look downstairs? 

The castle got colder the further down he went. The windows that at least allowed the minimal light that escaped through the tree cover in the castle vanished. The only light left was Danny. 

Danny floated down deeper. 

There were doors made of metal in a long, stone hallway. Each had different numbers on them. Danny followed the rows of doors.

There were wires on the floor. They were organized by color and bound by little ties, until they weren’t, and Danny eventually ran out of tangled webs of red and blue plastic to follow. 

They ended at a closed door. 

Danny hesitated. He poked his head through. 

On the other side was a ghost. 

Danny jerked back. He’d— he clapped his hand over his mouth. That was—! And sure, Danny was something like that now, but he’d never seen—!

He should leave. Danny should leave. 

Danny barely made it three doors down. 

Going somewhere? something asked him. Danny shivered. 

The ghost appeared on his left in ethereal white, black hair pulled behind him in some sort of half-halo. Unlike Danny, who was in something like half-hazmat, half-hoodie, the ghost wore a long, glowing labcoat, appropriate PPE beneath. 

Danny’s breath fogged up in his mouth. He flinched. “Sorr—” he tried. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be here.”

The ghost looked at him with bright red eyes. Danny floated a few steps back. Spying, are you?

Danny shook his head. “No!! No, I just— I was looking for— I wasn’t spying! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you li— died here! I’ll leave!” 

The ghost’s head tilted. For a second, Danny thought that he was going to throw a punch. And then—

You’re already here, the ghost pointed out, and opened a door. Beyond it was…something similar to a doctor’s office. An examination table with the paper on it. One of those blood pressure cuffs, attached to a printer for the readout. A sink. Sundry tongue depressors. You may as well consent to be helped. 

“...Helped with what?” Danny asked nervously, fingers flexing. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The ghost hummed— not in the way voices hummed, but in the way high voltage sang in distant powerlines. You are newly formed, aren’t you? Most can tell a ghost’s nature from its presence alone.

Danny looked away. “Um. You know. You might be the first ghost I’ve ever met.” 

The ghost’s feet almost touched the ground. It stared down at him. It was taller than he was, and when it stared, it made Danny want to run away. 

…Truly, the ghost asked(?), and it took Danny a second to realize it was a question. 

“Maybe I died a little recently…” Danny tried, trailing off into a mumble. Was there a right answer to this? 

…I see. That would make this check-up more urgent, then. Might I encourage you to come this way? 

Danny followed him into the room. 

It felt… It looked and felt exactly like any other doctor’s appointment, excepting that the doctor involved in the process had blue skin and fangs and a hairstyle that defied gravity. The ghost still wore gloves and didn’t poke him or prod him too hard, though, so that was a bonus.

Danny got his pulse taken. (None.) Danny got his lungs checked. (Not breathing.) Danny got his resonance? looked at? Whatever that was? It was a big scanny thing that looked like an X ray and took pictures of his chest. 

The readings were real pretty, whatever they were; the whole film print was taken up with splotches of white and clear blue. It kind of shimmered when Danny tilted his head. 

You’re quite powerful for a newly formed ghost, the ghost offered, overlooking papers Danny couldn’t quite see on his clipboard. It flipped through once. Twice. You’re clearly not attached to your place of death, so that’s not why… Are you aware of any compulsions to follow an Obsession yet…?

A ghostly obsession? Danny knew what that was— it was one of his parents’ theories on why ghosts persisted after death! Was it was true? 

“Um,” Danny said, unsure. He hadn’t…had he? “Not that I know of?”

The ghost paused. It clicked its pen. It marked something down on Danny’s chart. Interesting.

Ominous. 

May I quickly test something? the ghost asked, looking up at Danny. It would only take a moment. If it does not work, there will be no other side effects other than mild discomfort and an activated flight response. 

Danny shifted. The paper crackled underneath him. “...Does it hurt?” 

No.

The ghost added nothing more. 

Danny’s…head jerked up and down. It was fine. It would be fine. 

The ghost’s hand circled his wrist. Its touch burned like fire. 

And then light, like how Danny burned away one form for another—

—Danny was left on the table, no longer weightless, no longer breathless. He was flesh. He was human again.

Vlad Masters stared back at him. 

…Huh. 

Mr. Masters— Vlad?— licked dry lips, staring at Danny, whose wrist he still held. Danny…didn’t know if he could move. Danny didn’t know if he knew how to move. 

“...Daniel?” Mr. Masters’s voice cracked. His eyes moved up and down Danny’s body, from his raggedy hair to his dirt-stained clothes to his beat-up shoes. “Daniel Fenton?”

Danny winced. “It’s just Danny,” he offered hoarsely. His throat bobbed. “You…know me?” 

Mr. Masters moved his grip to Danny’s hand, apparently moved to tears. Without the red in his eyes, he just looked…human enough. “Daniel— Danny, how did you— Are you dead? What happened?” 

Danny felt the weight of everything push down on him again, as if it had ever let up on him since the portal incident. Mom and Dad’s funerals. Jazz in the emergency room. Being resuscitated by the EMTs. Getting shipped out to Aunt Alicia’s house without warning. 

“House blew up.”

That was succinct enough, right?

The man’s face turned devastated. “I heard— I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry, Danny.”

…It was more concern than anyone had shown in a long time. His eyes were wet before he knew it. When he wiped his face with his sleeve, the dampness was enough to leave little streaks of mud on his face— and, ugh, he felt filthy. 

“It’s okay,” Danny lied, because it wasn’t. He pressed his sleeve to his eyes. “It’s…you know my parents?”

Mr. Masters took a deep, surprised breath. “Yes. We…weren’t in contact after we graduated from school together, but Jack always… He asked me by email to be your godfather, right before you were born. I said yes, but I have no idea if he ever filed the paperwork.” 

Oh. 

…Oh. 

There were clearly more secrets here. Mr. Masters was a ghost, and so was Danny. He lived in a giant castle that was clearly haunted, which was made obvious by the owner. He was Danny’s godfather, and Danny had never once met him. 

And he wasn’t Aunt Alicia. 

Danny sucked the spit off of his teeth with his tongue. “Can I stay here?” 

Mr. Masters made a wounded, desperate expression. “I would rather you did.” 

“Can you teach me how to be a ghost?”

The man persevered through what were clearly heavy feelings. “...If I must.” 

“Can I have dinner?” was Danny’s final question. “Like. On the regular?” 

There was a second where Mr. Masters’s eyes went red. The castle suddenly felt taut with anticipation. Fury crawled on Danny’s skin. He could feel the pressure digging in search of some way to burrow into his flesh.

And then it was gone. 

“Of course you can. You are a growing boy.”

Danny smiled shyly, barely showing his teeth. When he smiled for real in the mirror, he had fangs. It was better not to. “Cool.”

Mr. Masters nodded. And when Danny looked down at the floor, he changed his grip so that Danny could hold his hand and hop down like normal. 

“It will be alright,” Mr. Masters promised quietly. It seemed to be just as much for him as it was for Danny. “Or…I’ll take care of it. Whatever happens. You’re not alone, Danny.” 

Danny had been alone for almost half a year. It had felt like forever. “Thanks.” He sniffed. 

They walked upstairs from the basement laboratory together, in a way Mom and Dad never would again. 

[nataliawrites]

TikTok on the Clock // Daniel Ricciardo

One of the best things to come out of the pandemic lockdown was finally giving in to the urge to download TikTok. You had quickly grown addicted to scrolling through the mix of eclectic videos that popped up on your “for you page” and soon enough decided to start posting some yourself.

It did not take long for Formula 1 fans to make the connection between your account and who your boyfriend is — Daniel Ricciardo was many things but subtle was not one of them and he had a tendency to “accidentally” interrupt you while you filmed.

You kept the account going long after restrictions eased and hopped on many of the trends that made their rounds on the app. This year, you were feeling slightly evil. You have been putting together a compilation of hilarious (if you did say so yourself) pranks that you pulled on your boyfriend since the season began and were just about to hit upload as the countdown began.

You put down your phone and turn to give Daniel your full attention.

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

Six

Five

Four

Three

Two

One

His lips taste like champagne.

Happy New Year!

“Hey Dan?”

“Mmh.”

“Maybe stay off TikTok for a bit.”

“What did you do?”

One

You loved the Australian Grand Prix. Your boyfriend’s home race was a spectacle on the track and a great opportunity to spend time with his family off the track.

As usual, you flew out to Perth a bit early before switching coasts for the race. You were busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner as you prepared to host everyone that evening. When everything was mostly done, you started recording on your phone and leaned it against the wall inconspicuously before calling for your boyfriend.

“Hey, babe?” You pour a heaping pile of salt on a spoon.

“Yeah?” You can hear Daniel from across the house.

“Can you come taste my sauce?” You dunk the spoon in a pot of your tomato sauce and pick up just enough to hide the salt.

He basically runs to the kitchen, “test taster reporting for duty.”

You bring the spoon to his mouth, “I used your nonna’s recipe.”

His eyes screw shut and his mouth puckers, “my-my nonna’s recipe?”

“Your mom shared it with me. Isn’t it delicious?”

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. “Delicious.”

You look at his face again and fight a losing battle not to laugh as he desperately tries not to offend you and his grandma.

You reach towards your phone as giggles escape you.

Daniel finally realizes he’s been tricked, “are you serious?”

You point the camera towards your boyfriend, “you should’ve seen your face.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouts.

Two

“Babe?” You questioned coming through the front door. You had spent the day loading up on groceries and stopping by a few boutiques that caught your eye. This was the perfect opportunity to finally pull one over on your boyfriend.

“I’m in here,” you drop your bags in the foyer and follow Daniel’s voice to where he’s lying on the living room sectional.

Your phone is stuck in your bra, the camera just peaking over your shirt. “My car told me I needed windshield wiper fluid while I was out.”

He lowers his phone but keeps his focus on it.

“So I pulled into a gas station and the guy working there gave me a really good deal. He told me I got it for 50 percent off and it was only $150 for me because of how sweet I was.”

Daniel’s head snaps up as he drops his phone.

“$150?”

“Yeah.”

“You paid $150?”

“Yeah …”

“For windshield wiper fluid?”

“Yeah? He told me it was a good deal!”

“Love,” you can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, “I could’ve done that for free. He ripped you off.”

“But it was 50 percent off?”

“It costs less than $5 to buy and then you just pour it in!” He gestures wildly, “this is my fault. How do I race for a living and literally collect cars without teaching my girlfriend how to change her own windshield wiper fluid?”

By this point you’re silently laughing which Daniel finally notices.

“Really? Really?” He turns around to face the back of the couch, “don’t talk to me.”

“Awww, baby. Don’t be mad at me,” you coo. “I think it’s cute how protective you got.”

“Still mad at you.” It’s hard to take him seriously with his face shoved into the leather couch, muffling his voice.

Three

You walk into the gym, your phone hidden in the pocket of your leggings, and take in the view of you shirtless boyfriend.

The fans will appreciate this one.

“Dan?”

He pauses his juggling on the stationary bike.

“My back’s really been bothering since I came back from my run. Do you think you can help me stretch it or something?”

He gets off the bike and walks toward you, “do you want me to call Michael? He won’t mind coming over to help with your back.”

“Don’t bother him. It’s nothing major,” you turn away from your boyfriend and quickly stick two pieces of pasta between your molars while he can’t see, “just need to loosen it up a bit.”

“Okay …” he spreads his palms across your back and applies some careful pressure. You bite down on the pasta, timing the crack with his movements.

“Oh my god.” You let your body go limp.

“Love? Are you okay?” He tries to hold you up but you collapse on the padded floor of the gym.

“Is it your back? What did I do? I knew we should’ve just called Michael. Oh my god.”

You take pity on your boyfriend, not wanting him to think that he actually broke your back for longer than a few seconds, “it was just pasta.”

“What?”

“The sound. It was just me biting pasta. It’s a prank trend.”

He lets go of your body and you fully drop to the floor.

“Are.” He pelts you with one of the balls he was juggling.

“You.” And another.

“Kidding.” And another.

“Me?” And another.

You run out of the gym laughing as he continues to chase you through the house, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“I thought I broke your back!”

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 2

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: Mature Word Count: 20.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, flirting, Jack can dance and I will die on this hill.  Summary: Your introduction to the world of Statesman comes with a flirtation, a job interview, a pool game, and an unexpected turn to the night after an unexpected day. Notes: I’m not even mad about how long this chapter is. I *loved* introducing this reader to Statesman and I hope you guys do, too!

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

Three hours later to the minute, you're standing on the tarmac at Portsmouth International Airport with a backpack slung over one shoulder as you follow a flight attendant in a crisp Statesman uniform up to the stairs to board the jet bearing the company's logo in giant letters splashed across the side. It's really real. It's actually, really real. A discreet picture on your phone will be very quickly texted to your mom before the plane takes off, but for now you're listening to the attendant tell you that the flight will last two and a half hours and that anything you need will be provided on board. There's a man in a Stetson standing just inside the door of the plane as you walk up, and you have to hand it to these folks. They have truly committed to the cowboy aesthetic.

“Howdy ma’am.” Champ didn’t tell him who he was picking up when he called Tequila to his office and told him that he was being sent with the jet to pick someone up. He didn’t rightly think it was his business; but he has to admit that you’re cute. He smirks slightly as he tips his hat with two fingers and motions you towards the captain's chairs. “Want a drink before takeoff?”

"Just a bottle of water would be great." As much as a finger or two of whiskey would calm the hell out of your nerves right now, you don't know if drinking during what is technically one long-ass job interview would be considered very professional. You look around as the flight attendant whisks your backpack away, setting it on the end of a small sofa that serves as seating on the jet. "This plane is absolutely amazing..."

“Aw, come on now.” Tequila steps behind the bar and grabs the bottle of water to set on the shiny surface. “You can’t tell me you don’t drink? You’ll break my heart.”

You laugh, appreciating the man's jovial attitude and willing to admit to yourself that he's very attractive. Not your usual type, but there's nothing wrong with being leading-man attractive. You just normally go for more unique looking men - and older. "Experience tells me that drinking during a job interview is bad manners," you admit, taking a step further into the room. This plane has rooms. "But I've never interviewed for a distillery before, so maybe the rules are actually the opposite now."

“Drinking’s a job requirement.” He flirts, sending you a small wink and reaching for the bottle of ‘82 Special Selection. “Champ’ll have you with a glass in your hand by the time you get done shakin’.”

"Just a little, then." It doesn't matter that your tolerance is hellishly high, you're not aiming to get drunk at all during this trip. "So your boss...Champ? He, uh...he doesn't do things by half, does he?" You're curious about the man after finding next to nothing about him online. Even finding a photograph was like pulling teeth.

“No one at Statesman does.” Tequila grins proudly as he picks up the bottle and uncorks it to start pouring into the awaiting glasses. “So why are you coming to Kentucky?” He’s curious and as an intelligence agent, he’s never one to not ask questions.

“It’s…an interview?” You look up at the man in confusion and laugh, purely out of nerves. “Did your boss not tell you who you were picking up, or why?”

“Champ says go, you go.” You don’t scream ‘new agent’, but he’s been wrong before. “What’ll you be doin’, if I can ask?”

“I’m a pastry chef.” One hand curls itself around the glass he has poured for you, feeling the steadiness of the weight of cut crystal in your hand. “Mr. Rogers wants to expand the food that the distillery is able to offer to guests who take tours and come to events. So…he called me.” Which still seems sort of batshit insane, but you are good at what you do, and you love it. You’re even a good savory chef - but pastry really has been your passion.

"Pastry....like cakes and pies?" Tequila asks, tilting his head as he thinks about it. You nod, giving him a vaguely amused smile that he notices a lot on people around him and he purses his lips, nodding in agreement. "I like it. Although you're gonna be haunted by the ones with sugar addictions." He warns, thinking about Jack's hidden sweet tooth. Man likes to claim that his ever so softening belly is the result of his bad back, but the drawer in his desk that is devoted to candy would prove that is a lie.

“Well, I hope so.” It earns him a bright, genuine laugh with a smile. “Otherwise there would be no point in hiring an executive pastry chef for the distillery at all.” Feeling slightly more relaxed, you take a small sip of whiskey and hum at the gentle burn. The notes of vanilla and smoke in this particular vintage would make an amazing boozy caramel for that chocolate tart you’ve been doing at the restaurant. “Everyone has a favourite sweet. Something tied to good memories or a favorite person. Sometimes it’s a thing you had once and maybe never again, but you’ll just love it forever from that one taste. Sweets are kind of magical like that.”

"I guess." Tequila gives a small shrug, shooting you a grin. "I'm more of a red hots kind of guy myself. I like the heat." He's not overly fond of sweets, but he can enjoy a dessert every now and again. It's more like he would haunt your kitchens for you rather than your cakes.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had Mexican hot chocolate or a spicy sweet candied anything?” When the cowboy looks at you in wonder and shakes his head, you laugh again. Not to laugh at him, just because getting people to try new things is one of the best parts of what you do. “I tell you what. If I get this job, I’ll road-test a batch of my guajillo and cinnamon fudge brownies for the menu. They’ll knock your socks off.”

"If you say so." Tequila looks skeptical but gives a shrug. He's always willing to try anything once. "So you are willing to move to Kentucky to make cakes at a distillery?" He asks, trying to get a feel for you. He's cocky as an agent, but when he doesn't know the woman's background, he can be a bit shy.

“What’s life without adventure, right?” You shrug and take another sip of the drink you’ve been poured. Statesman really is quality liquor, you have to admit that. “It’s a great position and comes with a lot of freedom. Not everybody gets to develop their own menu and recipes at a facility like yours.”

Tequila chuckles, lifting his own glass up and silently toasting you before he takes a sip. "Thank God for freedom, right?" He is meaning his freedoms on a mission, but you don't know that. He wonders if you will be clued in on the real function of Statesman, or if you will just be another front for the intelligence agency.

“Absolutely.” It hits bittersweet, though, this time. Freedom in a general sense is great. But three days ago you were in the walk-in at work and dropped every single thing in your arms when a searing, unintelligible pain took over your entire body. Thinking it was a weird muscle spasm or an allergic reaction to the new body wash you were trying out, you ignored it until the end of the day. Of course, at the end of the day, you stood in your bedroom mirror and realized there was no rash. No reaction. The mountain range tattoo over your heart had disappeared along with the chef’s knife that had adorned the inside of your forearm, and all the scars from cuts and burns that had told you your soulmate had to be a chef were gone. Your brother had tried to be comforting. Told you that you were free now to love whoever you wanted. But that wasn’t the kind of freedom you had ever wanted.

He wonders about the sudden look of melancholy that washes over your face but he doesn't want to pry. You aren't a target and he wants to make sure that you are comfortable around him if you take this job. Something tells him that you will, but he's been wrong before. Hell, he thought Jack would have crawled out of a bottle by now, but when he had left, the man was still drunk from the night before.

The captain’s voice comes over the intercom, asking all passengers and crew to take their seats for take off, and the overly tall cowboy nods in response before leading you to your seat. “So what do you do at Statesman?” You ask, once you’re buckled in and he is sitting beside you. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Security.” He sits down and untucks his jacket from around his back with a small wink towards you. It’s the go-to cover position within the distillery workforce. At least where the civilians are concerned.

“And is this your uniform?” He makes it work, you’ll give him that. But you kind of want to prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to walk into. If you’re going to be wearing a cowgirl hat instead of a toque, you want to know ahead of time.

"Uniform?" He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "No ma'am, we dress for comfort at Statesman." He tells you, although everyone had their own sense of business style, Tequila was still more comfortable in ranch hand attire than anything. Jack was on the one to wear fancy threads.

“Just curious,” you tell him honestly, adding a nonchalant shrug because you’re a little awkward about everything. “It seems like Statesman has its own culture about it, and I like that. Places I’ve worked before haven’t felt like a community at all.”

"You won't feel like that here." Tequila promises. "We're proud of what we do and it shows." Of course, there is a lot to that statement that you don't know how true it is but even the front of the distillery was worked with pride. He honestly felt like it was the best damn bourbon mash in all of Kentucky.

“We’ll see how the interview goes.” There’s no way you’re going to count your chicken before they hatch, but this job just sounds like an absolute dream.

Tequila snorts and listens to the engines power up before the large jet starts to roll down the runway. "Everyone who's ever worked for Statesman has probably said some version of that statement." He tells you, lifting a brow playfully. "And never left."

******

The flight seems short with such good company, and the man who cringes at his own name - Tex - brings you from the airstrip to the main building to actually meet Champ when you land. It’s been a mere six hours since that phone call this morning, but it feels days away. The Statesman campus is stunning. Everywhere you look are excited tourists and seemingly happy employees. Most wear some kind of western-influenced style but not everyone, although you do notice that everyone who does wear the cowboy look has beautiful quality boots and Stetsons. If what they’re offering to pay you is any indication, everybody here can definitely afford high quality pieces. There is a decent-sized cafeteria buzzing with eager patrons eating classic Southern favourites, and then there is the brand-new empty restaurant space where Tex introduces you to an older man in worn but well-cared-for western wear of his own, and you’re instantly certain that this is Champ.

Champ gives you an affable grin as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. "Richard 'Champagne' Rogers." He tells you by way of introduction. "But call me Champ." He looks away from you and towards Tequila. "I see that Tex has gotten you here without any emergencies." He nods towards the agent and then looks back you. "How was the flight?"

“Very comfortable, thank you.” He has a patriarchal vibe that leans more toward grandfather than anything else, and you feel yourself relax a little. Your own grandfather would probably fit right in here. Right alongside Champ Rogers. “The campus here is gorgeous. I’m excited to see the facilities you talked about this morning.”

"It's in the back here." Champ gestures towards an area that has been cordoned off and still has the air of being in the final stages of being remodeled. "We were going to do some kinda fancy steakhouse, but folks don't want another one of those." He explains.

“So you’re leaning in the direction of Southern tea house instead?” Following him into the kitchen, it’s easy to see the makings of a world-class set up here. Glistening appliances and brand-new surfaces wink in the bright light and the door to the walk-in is so new it still has film on the window. It’s just the dining room that has no personality yet.

"I want a place where people can come in and relax." Champ tells you. "Indulge and pair new things with old whiskey."

“New twists on old classics?” It’s something that is gaining a lot of traction these days, and you nod your head in agreement. “My style is a combination of things. French technique and American classics, with some British influence to polish it all off. And I can do savory as well as pastry.” If this whole place is going to be a functioning tea room of sorts, you don’t want him to make any mistake about your abilities. “Are you planning on hiring an executive savory chef as well?”

Champ frowns for a moment and shakes his head. "Naw...what's that sayin'? 'Two women in a kitchen's bad business'. You can head the whole thing."

If you had been holding anything, it would have gone clattering to the ground. Your own restaurant. This company is offering you your own goddamn restaurant. The second you start to process it you feel giddy and anxious - like you could actually fly from the butterflies in your belly. “Then I hope you like what I do,” you tell him with what you hope is a carefree laugh. “One more question, if I could? Before I get to work, I mean.”

Champ raises a brow at you and chuckles. "Shoot, girl, straight from the hip." He tells you. He likes the look of you and he can see why you would be Jack's new soulmate.

“I suppose it’s sort of a multi-part question,” you admit, hoping that doesn’t make you sound inexperienced or unprepared. “I’m wondering if this restaurant will be just for tourists and guests, or if it will also be a facility for your employees? And also what kind of events you anticipate being able to host here with the event space having access to a specialized restaurant.” Frankly, to you, it screams parties and weddings - but who knows what they’re expecting to be able to do?

"Isn't that up to you?" Champ asks, looping his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looking around the place again. He shoulda known Jack Daniels soulmate had a keen business sense and a good head on her shoulders. He woulda said the same about Jack until recently. "I mean, it'd be your rodeo, wouldn't you call the shots?"

It’s simultaneously terrifying, inspiring, and nerve-wracking to get that kind of answer, but you end up stifling a grin when Tex flashes you two thumbs up behind his boss’s back for encouragement. “You’d make a hell of a profit from weddings,” you tell Champ honestly, although that’s not why you like the idea of doing them. “Weddings, private events, corporate parties, live music events. From large scale down to small scale, they all run on the same principle. A restaurant staff can handle the catering demands, and we can work with other vendors and event planners to make sure the details are right. I’ve done it at my last two jobs with excellent results.” It’s a goddamn dream come true, that’s what Statesman is. You just have to work your ass off to make sure Champ likes your food.

Champ purses his lips and looks around like he's contemplating it. It all actuality, it would be whatever would make you stay here. As a senior agent, Jack's worth the investment of a business that might actually expand the Statesman brand. And if it keeps his soulmate on the grounds and protected, well that was just fine. "If you want to take that on, I don't see why we couldn't do it. Have the boys in bottling provide a special bottle for the occasions." He offers, knowing that an etched bottle of whiskey would be a perfect wedding thing. "If you don't, you could just have the little dining room."

“Provided you like my food, I would say the most pragmatic path would be to open the restaurant and start with small events first. Expand to weddings afterward.” It’s a big, demanding industry, but you already know you make a killer wedding cake and can manage the menus. It’s pretty literally your dream being laid out on the table here for you to prove that you deserve. “The menu I put together for the tasting can be done in just a few hours. I only need you to tell me how many I’m expected to feed and then I’ll get started.”

Reaching up, Champ rubs his jaw with his hand and hides a small smirk. "Oh I think enough for five or six should be enough." He tells you. "Yourself included."

“Very doable.” That’s just one batch of everything, and you can definitely pull that off without a problem. “Give me two hours, and come back hungry.”

"I'll send someone by in case you need something." Champ decides that he's going to give you space. He needs to fish your soulmate out of his bottle and sober him up a little before he meets you for the first time.

“Fantastic.” Two hours will be a hustle, but you know you can do it. There’s too much at stake here and too much potential on the horizon not to. Whoever this head hunter was that passed your resume on to Champ? You could kiss that person.

******

"Jack." Grunting, Jack tries to ignore the sound of his name being called. He hasn't slept, hasn't done much but drink and for the first time since that awful day Champ desked him, his eyes are closed on their own.

“Jack.” Champ growls his name on the fourth try, and when the best he gets from the noncommittal agent sprawled out on his own living room couch after living at the bottom of a bottle for two solid days is nothing - he holds up the pitcher of water he poured in the kitchen and unceremoniously dumps it directly on Jack’s head and chest.

"SHIT!" Jack sputters, coming up off the sofa in a shock of cold water like he's been hit with a defibrillator. Reaching for guns in holsters that aren't there. "What the — what the fuck?" He demands when he realizes that it's Champ and he slumps back against the now soaked sofa. "Go away."

“Get up.” Tossing him a towel from his other hand, Champ ignores Jack’s order completely. “You got someplace to be in…” he checks his watch. “An hour and thirty-one minutes.”

“Imma off d-desk duty already?” Jack asks, bewildered and he throws his hand over his eyes and groans in pain.

“No.” It would be funny if it weren’t troubling, and Champ shakes his head. “You’re gonna eat something. You, me, Tequila, Ginger, and Diana.” It’s as good a crew to taste test food as any, not to mention they’re generally Champ’s favourite people. His own soulmate is working just the same as any other afternoon, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind being stolen away for a surprise dinner. Diana Rogers is always a fan of surprises, so Champ makes sure to keep them locked and loaded for her at all times.

Disappointment rolls through Jack along with a wave of nausea. He’s not as young as he used to be and he’s gone through a least three bottles. “Not hungry.” He huffs, turning away from Champ and making to lay back down. “Another time.”

“That’s not an option, friend.” Producing a cup of coffee seemingly out of nowhere, Champ holds it out to Jack and hooks the thumb of his free hand into his belt. “I need you showered and lookin’ presentable. And reasonably sober if fuckin possible, so I’ll have Ginger bring you something to help with that if you can’t manage it yourself.”

“Shit.” It feels like a million little hammers from Satan’s army is pounding away inside his head, but Jack sits up slowly and belches. Groaning when the sloshing in his stomach feels like he’s at sea in a dingy during a hurricane. “Yeah.”

“Fine.” The older man nods and offers the coffee again, glad when Jack finally takes it and at least sniffs the brew. “You got clean clothes, or did you ransack your own house along with your desk?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jack grunts at him, not quite making sense. “Why are you in my house?”

“You never shoulda given me a key,” Champ jokes, allowing himself to find a little humor in the moment.

“Remind me to get it back.” Jack scowls and takes a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burns his tongue.

“Now is that any way to talk to a man who’s feeding you dinner?” It doesn’t really have much to do with him and he knows it, but Champ is still going to tease his friend now that Jack is on the other side of the bottle.

“It is when you’re dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go to eat food I don’t think I can stomach.” Jack grouses, throwing Champ a halfhearted glare.

“You’ll manage.” He hadn’t wanted to use this as leverage, but it seems he’s going to have to. “She’s here, Jack.”

Jack blinks for a moment, the alcohol in his blood making him a little slower than normal and then he huffs. “Fuck, Champ, is that why you want me to have some dinner?” He demands.

“Yeah, that’s why.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Jack, studiously ignoring the indignant tone in his friend’s voice. “She’s cookin’ it, so you’re eatin’.”

There is a staring contest that last for about a minute before Jack sighs. “Shit.” He sets the coffee down and manages to stand, swaying slightly. “Let me shower.”

“She doesn’t know.” Champ tells him, putting out a hand to steady Jack a little before he heads to the stairs. “And it ain’t my place to tell her.”

“Well that’s something.” Jack mumbles, suddenly even less inclined to attend than before. “And nobody else better run their damned mouths.”

“Only you, me, and Diana know.” He has taken his concern for Jack home to his wife, knowing that the younger man wouldn’t judge him or be upset over it. “She’s here to interview for a job.”

“Jesus, Champ.” Jack jerks to a stop and even though he regrets it, his head whips back to look at him. “An interview? Whadya gonna do? Make her an agent?”

Champ huffs, hot air escaping his nostrils and making him feel like a goddamn bull on the charge. “Make yourself presentable,” he rumbles. “I’ll send Ginger to pick you up.” Without another word, Champ rocks back on his heel, pulls Jack’s spare house key out of his pocket, and drops it on his coffee table on his way out the door. If he’s gonna be an ass, he can be one on his own.

Jack blows out a sigh, feeling like an asshole now that the door slams behind Champ. He was out of line and regrets the look of disappointment that he saw in his friend’s eyes. Shuffling to the bathroom, Jack strips and looks in the mirror, disgusted with the reflection he sees.

******

Given what you set out to do, it's a testament to hard work and a small miracle that you have everything done in time. The very last thing to come out of the oven will be the soufflés, and those are scheduled to be done as the first course as soon as Champ returns with his four person entourage in less than two minutes. If there is any mercy in the world they might even come early and be witness to the tray coming out of the oven, because that would be an incredible flex. Everything has been carefully plated and arranged, and you've probably sweated out three pounds of water weight from all the running around you've done in this kitchen, but every single piece of equipment here is pristine and glorious. If you don't get this job you'll be more disappointed than you've ever been to miss out on anything, but at least you'll have gotten to cook in this amazing kitchen once.

Jack is as nervous as a foaling mare around people. He has shaven his cheeks bare and slapped aftershave on until it stung. Combed his hair and put on clothes that are clean and fresh. He feels like he should be confident, but he’s not. His stomach is rolling and it’s not from the alcohol. He had thrown that up in the shower. He’s nervous to meet this woman, this soulmate.

"Look who's up and about." Tequila gives Jack his most encouraging smile as he spots his friend walking up the path with Ginger at his side. "Champ invite y'all to join us for this thing?"

“More like ordered.” Jack mutters under his breath, but he gives a halfhearted shrug. “Guess he figured I needed some fresh air.”

"And he cleaned up all nice for us." Ginger jokes, trying to lighten the mood as best she can. She knows Jack has been inside his own shell for a few days, and why, but she knows that getting him out of the house is the best thing that Champ could have done.

He’s still slightly queasy, but it’s because of who he’s about to meet since Ginger had given him one of her magic hangover pills. “Yeah, yeah.”

"Good." Champ's voice booms over the distillery courtyard from the other direction as he skirts a tour group with his arm around his wife. "Everybody made it on time. Let's get in there and find out what we're eating, huh?" Satisfied to see Jack dressed and upright, Champ heads straight for the side door to the building that will let them directly into the remodeled kitchen.

Jack frowns and wonders why the hell they are eating in the kitchen but he follows suit, dropping back to walk beside Tequila. “How’d you get roped into this?” He asks the younger man.

"Volunteered." Tequila tells him cheerfully. The truth is that he would have begged to come to this thing after hearing you talk about your food on the jet, but Champ had obliged him easily. "Never gonna turn down a good meal, you know me."

Jack huffs at that truth. “You do think with your stomach.” He jokes, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder. “Have you met her?” He asks.

"Picked her up this morning." There's a flash of something like being pleased on his face but he shrugs it off. He's made sure that he's cleaned up and even better looking - in his opinion - than he had been this morning. Just in case those flashes of smiles and laughter he'd gotten on the flight were for the same reason his were.

Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the tone and stature of the man beside him. There’s something in his voice that has him on edge but he can’t put his finger on it. “From where?”

"New Hampshire." Tequila's strides are just a tad longer than Jack's or Ginger's and he has to keep himself walking slower to be in step with Jack as Champ pulls open the door. "Flew her down on the jet. Champ's orders." The younger man still didn't really understand why a chef needed a security detail, but he was glad to oblige anyway.

It registers that Tequila doesn’t know. Champ had told him that he hadn’t said anything to you, but he had thought the agent had been brought into the loop. Jack relaxes slightly, his shoulders pulling down and he wonders if it’s a mistake. If you were meant to be Tequila’s soulmate and it would all be cleared up by the universe or fate or whoever was in fucking charge of all of this.

"Well damn," Champ chuckles jovially as the party files into the kitchen just in time to see you taking one last pan out of the oven on the wall. "Smells incredible in here. Looks like we made perfect time, didn't we darlin'?" You whirl around at the sound of the now-familiar drawl, prepared to answer the old-fashioned term until you realize that Champ has a woman on his arm when he walks into the room. She's about his age, bright-eyed and beaming up at him as she smiles, and your heart wrenches a little. No doubt this is Mrs. Rogers - most likely his soulmate - and the pang of knowing you no longer have a soulmate of your own sticks in your gut harder than you would ever admit. "Welcome back." You force yourself to smile and focus on the matter at hand, wondering who else the elder cowboy has wrangled for your little audition tonight.

Jack hangs back for a moment, almost unwilling to look towards the voice that sends a shiver down his spine. His mouth is dry and he rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s afraid.

“I’m set and ready to go, if everyone would like to take a seat?” You had taken the liberty of pulling six stools up to the end of one counter and setting out glasses of water right before you took the soufflés out of the oven, creating a small tasting table for everyone to sit at. “The first course is best served hot.”

There’s a moment where Jack just stands there. Unsure of himself and what exactly to do. His eyes looking from the table to the chairs and everywhere else until he finally looks up and sees you.

The small stack of plates in your hands hits the steel counter a little harder than you mean for them to when you glance up and meet the eyes of the last person to come through the door. He’s broad and lean, clean shaven except for an immaculate mustache and looking at you from under the brim of his crisp Stetson and your mouth runs dry almost instantly. As quickly as your eyes meet his you look away again, feeling your cheeks heat and the last thing you need is to be flustered while you’re trying to get through this thing. Just focus, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the plates to put each course on.

He feels like he’s been hit by a truck when his eyes meet yours. He hates it. Hates how his heart speeds up and his cheeks flush. Unable to shake it off as if it didn’t matter. The knowledge that you are his soulmate is weighing on him. He sees Champ shuffle, catching his eye and it makes him realize he had been staring. “What’s for dinner, darlin’?” He drawls out, as he would if it were any pretty woman.

"First course is a sweet potato soufflé with a blue cheese cream sauce." Carefully spooning the sauce over each soufflé and setting them down at the six places that you've set, you look around at the group and try very hard not to stare at this man you haven't met yet. "The play of natural sweetness with rich and complex cheese sauce makes for a dish that stands alone or compliments almost any protein."

Jack isn’t a fan of blue cheese and almost opens his mouth to say so, but there is something tantalizing about the smell. “Well shiiiiiiit.” Tequila speaks up before Jack can say anything. “That sounds disgusting but it smells like heaven.”

"I know blue cheese can be an acquired taste." More comfortable with the youngest of the men purely from having spent the most time with him, you shrug a little and chuckle softly. "But bold flavours are memorable flavours, and I believe in food being an important part of building positive memories." This meal is your sales pitch - selling yourself and your abilities to this company - and goddamnit a soufflé is just about one of the most technically difficult things to do perfectly. Which is exactly why you did it.

“Well I’m gonna dig in.” Tequila promises with a wink as he pulls a chair out to sit down. “Come on, Jack. You need to eat too.”

Jack. You do your best not to react with anything but pleasantness, and feel your shoulders relax as multiple sounds of enjoyment break out when people take their first bites. What starts out with hesitation from almost everyone turns into surprise and delight, and you have to admit that - if your portion is any indication - this is probably one of the best soufflés that you've made in an extremely long time.

There is something magical about the texture of this thing that he is eating. It’s creamy and sweet and savory. All of the flavors should clash but somehow they compliment one another and bring out the sharpness of the cheese and the sweetness of the yam. Jack groans after the first bite - surprised that it is not making his stomach do anything but demand more - and quickly goes in for a second bite.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ from everybody, darlin’,” Champ chuckles, glad to see Jack acting like a human instead of a man-shaped bottle of liquor like earlier. Even if he’s not thrilled with his friend at the moment, it’s still good to see.

“It’s incredible,” his wife sighs, and she offers you a beaming smile. “I’d eat one of these every day for the rest of my life in whatever flavour you felt like.”

“Well, thank you very much, ma’am.” Even if she introduced herself as Diana on the way in, she’s still the spouse of the man making the decision about hiring you, so you’re going to be polite as hell. “They’re a particular favourite of mine, as well. I’m so glad you like it.”

Jack hates that he files that piece of information away, like he is memorizing your likes and dislikes. What does it matter? Your marks might be on his body but you aren’t his soulmate. His soulmate was Abigail Monique Daniels. Born April 24th 1976 and died August 12th, 1998. Instead of saying anything, he concentrates on his food, eating it faster than he anticipated, and slumps slightly when he’s done with the incredible soufflé.

When everyone has had what they like of the small first course, you collect the plates and deposit them in the sink before retrieving a set of six square plates from the fridge. Each has two petite sandwiches on them, and you set them in front of your panel of judges - for lack of a better term - with as much confidence as you can muster. “Our second course is dilled crawfish tea sandwiches. A distinctly Southern twist on a classic.”

“God, crawfish.” Jack groans, rolling his eyes and nearly drooling. It’s been awhile since he’s had the little mud bugs and he’s always enjoyed dishes with them in it. “This is— fuck—” He bites into the sandwich and his eyes widen in pleasure before they drift shut as he chews.

"I hate to agree with Jack," Ginger jokes, making everyone else at the table laugh. "But these really are excellent." Murmurs run through the group, but the buzz running through you is from Jack's very verbal reaction. Watching cowboys fluster and groan over little tea sandwiches is some kind of pleasure you never really expected, but it's gratifying in a very entertaining way. It's not, you tell yourself, that you find Jack incredibly attractive. Of course not. It's that this tasting is going so well. Yup. That's all it is.

“You’re gonna hafta make more of those.” Jack predicts, speaking to you for the first time. “Two ain’t gonna cut it once they taste ‘em.”

"They'll go straight on the menu, then." You may have been pushing the confidence a little bit until now, but this has you smiling immediately. This is going to work, you tell yourself, and ignore the little extra boost you get from someone you're attracted to liking your food.

“Damn.” Jack sits back when the sandwiches are gone, disappointed when everyone else is eating theirs, “I’d make a meal off of them.”

"Maybe sometime soon, you'll be able to." It's a hope, not anything cocky or pointed, and you don't even hear how it could be considered flirting as you take the second sandwich off of your own plate and place it on his when you get up to plate the next course.

He shouldn’t accept it, it’s part of your dinner, but he picks it up and nods towards you before he pops the sandwich in his mouth with a groan. The soufflé was good, but sandwiches like those are his weakness. Champ chuckles, leaning back on his hair with his arm around Diana. “Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, ain’t it Jack?” He teases, making Jack glare at him.

"Sure is to mine." Tequila pipes up, oblivious to any underlying meaning in Champ's comment. "What's next on the menu, darlin'?"

"The last two courses are sweet." The plating for this has to be done right before serving because of the various textures at play, and you bring the completed plates over two at a time to take away the sandwich plates as you set down the next. "Buttermilk biscuits with strawberries macerated in honey, balsamic vinegar, and cracked black peppercorn. Topped with bourbon vanilla whipped cream." There was no way you were going to do this tasting and not make biscuits. As a staple of Southern cuisine, the quality of a restaurant's biscuits can make or break their entire menu.

“Bourbon whipped cream.” Champ grunts, looking impressed at the mention of a boozy addition to the meal. “It sounds good. Real good. Mighty glad we found you. We wouldn’t be eatin’ so well tonight.” He tells you lightly, looking over at where Jack is sitting.

“This is amazing.” The woman who introduced herself as Astrid hums in delight. "I never would have thought all these flavours could go together, but it's heaven." She grins at Champ before flashing you the same expression. "I might want this instead of birthday cake this year."

“Probably have something even better for birthdays.” Champ nods towards you. “She’s a baker. All things sweet.” That gets Jack’s attention, his love of sweets making him really interested in that.

"So far I haven't met a cake that got the best of me." It's not bragging, you decide, but selling yourself. This is still a job interview and a taste test, and these people need to know that you can rise to any occasion that might land in your lap. "What do each of you usually like to celebrate with?"

“Oh, red velvet.” Diana moans happily, leaning into Champ’s side. “It was our wedding cake, even though it was scandalous at the time.”

Champ chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always give my girl what she wants.” He jokes, winking at Ginger.

"Chocolate." Tequila's grin is impetuous, like the little boy who continuously got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Carrot cake, usually." Ginger smiles happily as she polishes off the last bite of her biscuit and its fruit sauce. "But I was dead serious about wanting this instead. That might be the best biscuit I've ever had."

"Well geez." You clear your throat, flustered at that level of compliment, while you file away the different kinds of cakes these folks might like to see pop up on a restaurant menu. "Th-thank you. Very much. That's an amazing compliment."

Jack squirms slightly in his chair. He doesn’t celebrate his birthday. It’s too painful. It’s a day he wants to forget exists. He hopes you don’t ask him about it.

“What about you two?” It’s like a horrific moment from some farcical comedy when you turn your bright smile on him and Champ. “No birthday favourites?”

Champ throws Jack a look and clears his throat. “I normally have red velvet, for the missus.” He tells you with a grin. “And Jack isn’t one for birthdays.”

“No?” This plate is a little larger, so there is more time to linger and talk. “That’s a shame.” But it also smacks of bad memories, so you just lend the man a sympathetic smile and try to ignore the twist in your gut that wonders if he lost his soulmate, too. “Well, I hope they start to be fun for you again sometime soon.”

Jack can’t offer more than a half hearted smile, doubting that very seriously but it’s nice that you care. Or at least make the appropriate noises. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Tequila huffs awkwardly, giving a nervous chuckle.

Sensing the topic might be better left alone, you shut your mouth tight and stand from the table to collect empty plates. The last course is your ringer — your family’s favourite cake that gets made several times a year depending on who requests it for what occasion. Each small, star-shaped plate bears one large cupcake, decorated simply and beautifully. “The last course is coconut cupcakes with whiskey cream cheese frosting, using Statesman ‘82 Special Selection,” you explain as the last plate goes down. “I hadn’t tried it before, but Tex poured it for us on the flight here and the smoky vanilla notes are perfect for this application. Please, enjoy.”

Jack isn’t a coconut person. Never really cared for it, but his eyes close as he has a religious experience with a fucking cupcake. Groaning as he lets the flavors burst on his tongue and slowly chews.

Champ smirks, eyes crinkled in amused approval as he watches Jack fall in love with a goddamn cupcake. It’s damn good. He won’t deny that. But seeing Jack react this way when he knows his friend’s general aversion to the fruit is proof enough for him that even if you weren’t his soulmate, you’d still be the right person to hire for this job.

“I don’t even like coconut and I’d eat a hundred of ‘em.” Jack groans as he finishes up his cupcake and looks around the table at everyone else to get their input.

"How many times have you gotten men to propose marriage with this cake, honey?" Diana jokes, swiping up a missed blob of frosting with her finger so nothing is wasted. You laugh, an actual real, deep belly laugh, and shrug innocently. "Family legend says that it's how my Grandma Jane got her beau to propose," you admit. "My grandfather always said he was going to ask anyway, but we all think it was the cake." The family recipe is one of great important and great popularity, and clearly with good reason.

Jack shuffles in his seat, another damn fact to learn around you and he knows he won’t forget it. Damn mind is trained to remember facts and his brain seems to think that learning about you is a good thing.

"Your granddaddy'd be off his rocker not to ask after a taste of that." Tequila declares, leaving a completely clean plate in front of him. He's got a warmth in his chest and a pride in his smirk at having influenced something you made tonight, even if it's only by accident, and he swears to God that if Champ doesn't offer you whatever this job is, he'll hop back on that jet to New Hampshire himself to hear that laugh of yours again. "Dontcha think, Champ?"

Champ raises a brow at the obviously smitten cowboy and sneaks a glance at Jack who is studiously ignoring the entire conversation and drinking water like a dying fish. “Have to agree.” He chuckles, amused by the development and wonders how this little love triangle will play out.

"Well," you sit back on your stool, looking between the smiling, seemingly satisfied faces and feel your heart stick in your throat. You've done all you can do. If they like your food this much to your face but decide not to give you the job, then at least you put your best foot forward. "Thank you for your consideration. I'll clean up here and find my way to the address I was given to stay at tonight while you make your decision." The staffer, in her polo shirt and khakis, that had come by an hour into your cooking time had dropped off an address allegedly on the Statesman campus that would be yours for the night, but you didn't know yet if it was the same one that Champ had said on the phone would belong to the person who received the executive chef position. And right now you're far too afraid to ask.

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” Champ leans back in his chair and rubs his belly. “We’ve got some talkin’ to do, but thank you for a fine meal.” He turns towards the others, about to tell Jack that he should walk you to the accommodations you’re staying in, he should recognize there. But before he can, Tequila leaps out of his chair.

“I’ll walk you!” He blurts out, cringing a little at how loud he had gotten and gives a small shrug. “I mean, I’ll help you clean up and show you where to go, give you an unofficial tour.”

"That's very nice of you." He's sweet, this towering cowboy with the bright smile, and while Jack is far more your type, there's no denying Tex is attractive. "I'd appreciate the extra hand to figure out where I'm going. This place is kind of huge." If you've only got the one night here, it won't hurt to pass it in good company. As attractive as you find Jack, and as much as he seemed to like your food, you don't get the feeling that he likes you very much.

Tequila lights up and it takes everything in Champ not to snort at his eagerness. Jack looks like something’s stuck in his craw, his slight frown making the older man smirk as he watches the two of you gather dishes and carry them beyond the barrier into the belly of the kitchen. “You coulda offered, ya know.” Champ tells Jack, making the other man huff.

“I’m going back to my place,” He sulks, standing up and glancing towards the doors again, seemingly torn.

"At least say good night," Diana urges, seeing the hesitation on Jack's face. "She worked hard tonight and you liked what she made, so just...stick your head in? Say good night? There's no harm in being polite."

“Damn fool.” Champ hisses, making Diana turn and shush him. “Can’t see that it’s a damn blight on her memory to be actin’ this way.”

"Everybody mourns differently, Rick." Diana murmurs, shooting her husband a fierce look as they both watch Jack shuffle his feet at the turn of the long kitchen, debating whether or not to go in.

Jack has never had fucking sweaty palms, never. Not even when he was standing at the altar waiting for his sweet Abigail. Now, it feels like his hands are coated in baby oil. He can’t keep them dry, rubbing them on his jeans for the fourteenth time since he’s stood. “Damn Ginger and her hangover shit.” He mutters to himself, rolling his eyes over how juvenile he is being. Rolling his shoulders back, Jack assumes the bravado and cockiness that he is known for and pushes through the barrier to stride into the kitchen.

You practically jump when the door opens again, not having expected anyone to come in. Tex is beside you at the sink, loading the dishwasher after you rinse off plates, but when you spin around you're surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway with a charming grin painted on his face. "Jack." You swallow your surprise at seeing him along with the laugh that had been bubbling out of you when you heard him approach. "Can I help you with something?"

“I’ve got to get goin’ miss.” He murmurs, suddenly a lot less eager to escape, but it’s for the best. “Just wanting to thank you for the fine meal.” He reaches up and tips his hat towards you. “Have a good night.”

"Thank you very much. But hang on one second." Quickly running over to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, you rummage for a few seconds before coming out with a container bearing the rest of the crawfish salad you had used in the sandwiches, and another bearing two more of the coconut cupcakes that he had ended up loving. "Take these with you," you insist, holding them out once you're in front of him again. "In case...in case I don't get the job, ya know? You seemed to really like these."

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he silently takes the containers. Touched that you would give away the extras because he had liked them. It’s only when they are against his chest does he remember that the entire point of him coming into the kitchen was to be polite. “Thanks, sugar.” He drawls quietly, looking down at the food. “I—I appreciate that.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Jack.” He seems slightly odd, or maybe just taken off guard, or maybe he’s sad. You can’t tell, but he was very nice about your food and you’ve always been the sort of person to return kindness with kindness.

Jack stares at you for a moment, conflicting emotions waging a war inside him as he does. Finally, he reminds himself that you don’t know who he is and he’s free to leave. He nods again and looks past you towards Tequila. “Behave.” Jack tells his younger friend, knowing that he can get rowdy when he wants.

“They call us Southern gentlemen, don’t they?” Tequila shoots Jack back a wink that you don’t catch and grins. “Y’all get home safe. I’m just gonna show our new friend here around the place.”

Jack frowns as he turns around and walks out of the kitchen, bitterness swelling in his gut and he hates it. He reminds himself that this isn’t his place. He killed your soulmate.

“He seems nice,” you observe, trying to shake off the odd feeling that washes over you when he looks sad again before walking out. Like you want to rush after him and give him a hug or something.

“Jack?” Tequila looks up from the pan he is washing and gives a shrug. “He’s a damn good man. Going through a rough time.” It’s not his place to mention it, especially to someone who’s not aware they are all agents. So he leaves it at that. “But he was right, those were some damn fine desserts.”

“Thank you.” The way that makes your cheeks burn is professional pride, you tell yourself unconvincingly. “I’m very hopeful. This…this job would be a dream, and everybody has been so nice. It would be…a real adventure, ya know? A big, fresh start.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. “Workin’ for Statesman is never dull. Always havin’ an adventure or ten since coming on.”

Taking the last pan from him, you load it into the industrial dishwasher and shut the machine, pressing the button on the side before you wipe your hands. “What’s the most fun you’ve had working here?” You ask, wanting to see if you can get a feel for this place and these people and what their adventures might be.

“Well–” Any and all stories would have to be tamed down for your ears. Plus you don’t have a security clearance. “There was the time we had someone try to break into the facility to steal a barrel of the ‘65. It was personal then.” Tequila huffs. “Best damn batch we have.”

You’re about to ask how that could possibly be fun until you remember he’s security and you end up shaking your head and laughing. “Do you get that a lot? People trying to break in, or theft?”

“More than you’d think.” He snorts, knowing how it might seem crazy to a civilian. “It’s why our security system is so advanced. If you run across some hardware you don’t recognize, best to stay away.”

“Really? Wow. I wouldn’t have thought it would be that bad.” Leaning back against the sink, you stretch your arms and feel a little bit of satisfied soreness coming through your muscles after a job well done. “You must have a big team, then? Champ made it sound like a lot of employees live on the premises, but that would make this place absolutely huge.”

“Yeah.” Tequila hooks his thumbs through his jeans belt loops and grins at you. “Lotta technical stuff they do, don’t understand it, but the big brain was here. Astrid? She’s over our R&D.”

“Damn,” you murmur, impressed. “Well…are you up for that tour? I’d love to see the whole place.” Just in case it’s the only chance you get.

Winking at you, Tequila straightens and walks over to you to offer his arm. “Nothing like a nice night and a pretty girl to walk with.” He flirts.

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not the first girl you’ve ever said that to?” Not that you care, though. You’re not one of those uptight people who thinks people should only ever be with their soulmates. And even if you were? Well…you don’t have one anymore, so it’s kind of a moot point. Instead of lingering on it, you grab your bag from under the counter and take the arm you’re being offered with a smile. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

“Who knows, might be the last time.” Tequila murmurs, aiming another grin at you as the two of you make your way out of the kitchen and through the empty dining room. “This is going to be our newest venture.” He teases. “Some kinda tea room? With Whiskey? I don’t know but the food’s amazing.”

“Oh god, don’t curse it,” you groan playfully, wiping one hand down your face.

“Naaaaahhhhh.” He chuckles and opens the door for the two of you to walk out into the late evening twilight. “I can tell you’re gonna get it.”

“Either way, I’m glad I came.” Sure it’s different from New Hampshire. Drastically, in some ways. But you’ve lived your whole life on the sea coast and Louisville is a big city. It would be, just like this interview, a big adventure.

“You’ll be enjoyin’ the country and mountains in no time.” Tequila predicts, bringing you around to see the distillery up close.

The facilities are actually beautiful. Equally rustic and hyper modern depending on the building, with aesthetically gorgeous gardens lining all the walkways as far as the eye can see. The main building is full of offices, Tex explains, and even those are as beautifully kept as the rest of the grounds. It’s impressive, you have to admit it. You were absolutely right to think this place would make an amazing wedding venue. It will - for you or for whatever chef gets hired.

The path for housing is off the main distillery, secluded enough that people don’t feel like they are living at work. Trees and shrubbery separating the spaces so that it feels like a little relaxing oasis. The path way is lit, Diana insisting that it makes the entire area look romantic and of course Champ wasn’t going to deny her. “This is our housing.” He tells you. “We decided to go with the theme and model them after mountain ‘shine cabins. With modern conveniences, of course.”

There’s big houses and little houses, and what looks like a small apartment complex to one side of the neighborhood built on Statesman grounds. On the other side, beyond what you can only describe as a small park and grove of trees, are three much larger houses that smack of importance or seniority. “Who lives in those?” You ask, pointing toward the trio.

“Those belong to our senior staff.” He points at the largest. “That’s Champ’s in the middle and Jack and Ginger on either side of him.”

"Ginger?" Tilting your head at him slightly, you ask the quest with your brow slightly furrowed. "What does she do?"

Tequila winces, catching his mistake. “Astrid.” He corrects. “We just all call her Ginger. Nickname of sorts.” He can’t tell you that it’s her code name Ginger Ale.

"Got it." You nod, remembering that he had said Astrid ran the research and development department at Statesman - whatever that meant when it came to whiskey. "I'm guessing that one is hers?" The house on the right of Champ's is hyper modern with clean lines and very little of the mountain-aesthetic charm of the other houses around. It looks like it was made just for her with all the bells and whistles. Conversely, Jack's house to the left of Champ's looks like an almost Victorian-style ranch house with a wrap-around porch and a paint job as pristine as his mustache. It's much more your style than Champ's mountain cabin or Astrid's smart house, but since it doesn't matter at all you don't say anything about it. "Which one is yours?" The question is out of your mouth before you realize how exactly it sounds, and your eyes go wide with embarrassment just a split second later.

Tequila grins at you, sending you a small wink. “Come on, darlin’.” He drawls playfully. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds, but he can’t resist teasing you. He moseys down the path and points to one of the small cabins. “That one there is mine.” He tells you proudly,

"It looks comfy." True to bachelor form, which you expected, the curtains hung in the windows are dark and 'masculine' in a deep shade of green, and a glimpse through into the garage reveals a large, shiny pick up truck that is probably his pride and joy.

“It’s where I hang my hat.” Tequila looks at the cabin fondly. It was probably the most secure he’s ever been in his life and he risks his neck on every mission. “And there’s where you’re stayin’.” He points at a newly built one off to the left, nearer to Jack’s. “It’ll be yours if you get the job. It’s furnished.” He rushes out. “So you won’t be sleeping on the floor or nothing.”

"We'd be neighbors," you laugh, as if everybody here doesn't live in the same neighborhood. It's a company town without feeling creepy or oppressive. This is the end of the road, both literally and figuratively, and you offer the man beside you a smile. "Thank you for the tour. And for being so friendly today. I've been nerve wracked since 9am, but whether you knew it or not, you helped calm me down. I appreciate it."

“No problem at all.” Tequila senses that you aren’t going to invite him in and while he’s disappointed, he’s not going to complain. Some women need to be wooed and you seem like the type to like the effort. “There’s a fresh bottle of the ‘93 in there, made sure of it. Lighter, but it’ll put you to sleep just like a baby.”

“Thank you.” There’s a hesitation, and though you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s there, you listen to your gut and squeeze his arm gently before slipping your hand out of it. You’ve never been one to fall into bed on a first date - and nothing about this very odd but fun day was ever a date to begin with. And hell, if you actually do get hired here, that could be a hell of an awkward situation. “Hopefully,” you shrug, feeling like if you don’t at least say something you’ll regret it later on. “I’ll see you again. Fingers crossed, and all that.” It’s so stupid when it comes out of your mouth that you almost wince. “I’m gonna retreat,” you announce, huffing at your own awkwardness and pointing a thumb toward the door of the little house you’re meant to stay in. “Before I embarrass myself or say something dumbass. Good night, Tex.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” He sends you a wink and steps back from the cabin steps that you two had managed to drift towards. “Let me know if you need anything but I’m sure they put everything by you need in there.”

“I’ll come knock on your door if I need a cup of sugar,” you joke, reaching for the doorknob. Dumbass. You waited too long and said something dumbass. Chuckling instead of wincing, you say another good night and go inside. Time to call your family and tell them everything that happened today.

******

Jack tells himself that he is just making sure that you are safe. You are technically his responsibility now. At least until someone in the universe realizes they fucked up. Guilt is another reason why he’s standing in the shadow of the large oak tree, watching you walk into the cabin and close the door behind you. Tequila turns and strides towards his own cabin, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath and Jack sighs in relief when he doesn’t spot him.

The house is gorgeous. It’s simply decorated but welcoming, clean and crisp and clearly unlived in. The kitchen has a spectacular range and a huge fridge, which currently stands empty but has a map of the Statesman campus stuck to it with a Stetson-shaped magnet and there is a bottle of ‘93 on the counter as promised. Deciding to call home after you have a drink, you pour two fingers of single malt into a glass from the cupboard and continue to wander around the ground floor.

“You could always go talk to her.” Jack doesn’t react when Champ steps up next to him beside the tree. His own gaze fixed on the newly built cabin. “Can’t be more than thirty steps to her door.”

Jack purses his lips, unhappy that his friend is in his mind. “Champ…” He warns, not wanting to be pushed right now.

“Well,” the older man shrugs, a small smile on his face as always. Champ perpetually looks as if he’s up to no good - mostly because he is. “Somebody should tell her she’s got the job. Don’t see why she should be twistin’ til tomorrow morning.”

“You’re really going to do this? Open up some tea time type thing?” He huffs, unable to believe such a thing would go over well in the whiskey distillery. Even if you are an amazing baker. “Just to keep her here?”

“It’s a restaurant.” Champ reasons, hooking his thumbs in his belt as he watches you appear in an upstairs window. You’re on the phone now. “I wanted a steakhouse for the place, but Diana said it was boring.” He laughs, knowing his wife was probably right. “She’ll make a good run of the place, and she’s got a mind for expanding it to do weddings.” He glances down at Jack but doesn’t push the point. “Good head for business is what she’s got. We’d be lucky to snag her even if she weren’t who she is.” Or what you are to Jack.

Jack sighs, resigned to the fact that you will be here. He’s not opposed to the idea, he likes anything that makes money. But he knows this was catered to you so you would stay. “She’s gonna hate me.” Jack predicts, guilt hanging around his shoulders again.

“Maybe.” Though Champ chuckles affectionately. “Hell, you’re my best friend and even I hate you sometimes. But…she might surprise ya, Jack. Can’t know unless you try.”

“She’s not Abigail, Champ.” Jack whispers the words softly, almost shamed by them but he can’t help his feelings. He never expected to have another soulmate…ever.

“Of course not.” He answers immediately, brow furrowed over the very idea. “Nor should she be. You’re not the same man you were back then.”

“I– I don’t know how to be a soulmate anymore.” That’s his biggest fear. That he would be horrible at it, or God forbid, lose someone again. Jack is scared of nothing, but this has his heart hammering in his chest.

Champ sighs, softly and hopefully not enough for Jack to hear. “How about just bein’ her friend?” He suggests, wondering how in the hell this thing with Tequila was going to play out alongside Jack’s fears. You might end up being trouble for Statesman, he can’t know yet. “For all you know, this second soulmate of yours could be platonic and you’re worryin’ over nothing.”

Jack chuckles and it’s a harsh sound. “Have you ever known anything about me and another woman as pretty as her to be platonic? Few exceptions of course.”

“Only gorgeous woman you’ve ever been strictly friends with is Ginger.” Champ admits, snorting in amusement. “But I’d like to watch her wife whoop you for tryin’.”

This time, Jack’s laugh is lighter, more genuine. It was true that while Gabriella looks innocent, the woman could - and would - knock a grown man on his ass. He’s witnessed it at the bar more than once. “One if she crushes me with her thighs.” He jokes.

“I’m sure she’d oblige if you asked.” The two men laugh, feeling the tension dissipate a little, and Champ claps his hands on Jack’s shoulder in that brotherly way he’s become accustomed to do. “Tonight or tomorrow,” he tells Jack. “Tell her when you’re ready. But she’s goin’ home on the jet tomorrow to pack, not to leave for good.”

Sighing, Jack turns and watches Champ wander back towards his own house, Diana no doubt waiting for him. He should tell you tonight. Not let you wallow in misery and suspense. After you get off the phone, he’ll go knock on the door.

******

“I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out, but…I kind of love the people I’ve met so far,” you admit to your mother, sinking down in the window seat that faces the backyard of the little cabin that someone will soon be living in. The guest room has a beautiful reading chair and end table in it, but the master bedroom has a window seat so plush and comfortable that you could just sleep right here. “It’s beautiful here, too. It really is.”

“You said they loved it, that has to mean you are going to get the position.” As disappointed as she will be to have you move away, she knows that it would be fantastic for your career. “Your own restaurant! Just imagine what you could do without having to pander to someone else’s ego.”

“Dad will be thrilled to know the house has a guest room,” you joke, feeling hope flutter in your chest and staring out into the backyard with the now-empty glass still in your other hand. “And the yard could have room for a garden if I wanted.” You sigh, leaning back against the wall and wishing you didn’t have to wait until morning to find out. “If I don’t get it, we should bring him down here for his next birthday. Celebrate sixty-five with a distillery tour and a trip to Dollywood. It’s only a couple of hours from here.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” She promises, smiling at the wistful hope in your voice. You want this position, that much is obvious. “Tell me – how did the coconut cupcakes go over?”

“Like gangbusters.” And your giggle is nearly triumphant. “The owner’s wife joked that it’s good enough to get a proposal so I told the story about grandma and grandpa, and…” you grin to yourself thinking of Jack’s ecstatic reaction. “There was one guy at the tasting who doesn’t even like coconut who was completely in love with them. I think I may have converted him.”

“You know…your grandpa didn’t like coconut either.” Your mother practically cackles. “Said she won him over. Only coconut thing he would ever eat.”

“Seriously?” That makes you laugh a little harder, and you wish you had just one more sip of whiskey in the bottom of that glass. “I don’t want to jinx it,” you tell her finally. “But I have a really good feeling about this place.”

“Good feelings inspire good outcomes.” She hums, hoping that you will call her with good news tomorrow. “I can’t see them not hiring you after sending a private jet.”

“I hope so.” You really, truly hope so with everything you’ve got. “Either way, I’ll be home tomorrow. Either to pack or to wallow in disappointment.”

“Either way, we are going to celebrate.” If there was one thing that was taught in the household you grew up in, it is that even losses are celebrated. Because it meant you tried, and it would make you try again.

“Okay.” Nodding against your phone, you sigh softly again and roll your shoulders back against the wall. “I’m going to pour myself another drink and watch a movie until I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Your mother murmurs softly. “See if they have a soaker tub to lay in. You managed to work on your day off too.” She tells you that she loves you and ends the call.

She’s right, but you decide that whiskey and a movie sounds better than a bath and you wander downstairs again. The bugs sound different here. Kentucky air smells different from New Hampshire air. But still, somehow, it could very easily become home.

Jack sighs when he sees you walk back into the living room, phone not pinned to your ear. He should go talk to you. The first step seems to take forever - the length of time it takes you to pour a drink - before he starts slowly walking towards your house.

The knock is unexpected, and part of you wonders who you hope is on the other side of that door - Champ with his decision or Tex offering company. Or even Jack, handsome and slightly sad Jack, though you can’t figure out why he would visit you. “Coming!” You call out, leaving your drink on the kitchen counter and hustling through the living room. A split second before pulling open the door you decide you’re hoping it’s Champ more than anymore, but when you see Jack standing on the front step instead, your heart jumps a little. “Jack!” It makes your voice jump, too, and you groan inwardly about being awkward around him yet again. “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone. What do you…” Be polite, dammit. “Would you like to come in?”

Swallowing, Jack gives a small nod as he curses himself for being a fool. It’s talking to a lady, something he had no problems with. It didn’t matter that he is wearin’ your ink. “It’s not too late, I hope? I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all. I was just going to have a drink and relax.” There’s no reason on earth he should make you so nervous, but he does, and you bite the inside of your lip. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down some whiskey, even though they should have left you a ‘82. Better year in his opinion.

You pace back to the kitchen, pour a second glass, and bring it back to Jack with a thick swallow. “To what do I owe the visit?” If it were actually your house, or even a hotel room, you would feel so much more comfortable and be more at ease as you motion for him to sit. As it is, you just feel like you’re trespassing in somebody else’s home.

“Wanted to see if you liked the place.” Small talk is a good place to start, he guesses. Taking the glass with a nod of appreciation, he looks around. “Not just the cabin but Statesman itself. The whole shebang.”

"Honestly?" Sitting on the edge of the sofa isn't exactly relaxed, but you perch there with your glass in your hands. "I kind of love it. I mean I'm trying not to get too attached until I know what's going to happen with the job, but...I really like it. Everyone's been so nice and the whole place is so welcoming." It's silly to feel that way, you know that. But even after only a few hours, you can't deny it. "I have kind of an instinct about places, most of the time. And I have a really good feeling about this one."

“That’s good, sugar.” The endearment slips out, not the first time, but he realizes it this time. “Would you accept, if you’re offered it?” He’s curious to know what you are leaving behind, what you might balk at. Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates and have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

This isn't the time to get all emotional over manners. Southern men using pet names is normal, not something to get you all flustered. Even though it does - as evidenced by the stack of cowboy themed romance novels on your bookshelf at home. "I think I would," you nod, letting yourself take a steadying sip of your drink. "It's...pretty literally my dream job, if I'm honest."

Jack nods, swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He’s hesitating and it annoys him. “Then I guess that it’s a good thing you’ll get to live out your dreams, sugar.” He tells you with a whimsical smile. “The job is yours for the takin’.”

"Wait." Your eyes dart up to his, going from staring down into your cup to blown wide and hopeful in less than a second. "A–are you serious? Is that why you came?" It would be entirely inappropriate to start crying in front of a complete stranger, but you're instantly so excited you could burst.

“Champ’ll want you to sign papers in the morning, but I’m serious.” He nods and gives a small shrug. “Figured I’d bring you the good news so you didn’t have to worry all night. I always sleep like shit if I’m ponderin’ something.”

"Oh my god." Your heart is pounding and you feel like the blood pounding in your ears is so loud that he can hear it too, but frankly you're just glad that you manage to put your glass down on the side table without spilling it all over yourself. "Oh– oh my god." The way you practically squeak with glee makes you clamp both hands over your mouth in embarrassment despite the excitement glistening in your eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... really? Champ said yes?"

The genuine excitement and happiness that fills your face and eyes has Jack grinning despite himself. Your little squeak was full of joy and he can feel you vibrate with energy from where he’s sitting. “Champ said yes.” He confirms. “Hell, I think he’d be a fool not to say yes.” Maybe a bit of an embellishment on his part, but that’s because he knows you would be offered a chance to stay regardless of your skills. However, you truly are talented and Champ wants to make this tea room a reality.

“That’s so kind of you.” Your hands slip down, resting over your heart as you try to contain your excitement. If this wasn’t a complete stranger in front of you, you would be literally dancing with joy right now. “That’s so unbelievably kind of you Jack and I—” Breathe. Don’t get so breathless that you embarrass yourself. “I swear I won’t let any of you down.”

His heart clenches, knowing you will be saying something far different if you knew what he had done. There wouldn’t be a sort of hero worship he sees in your eyes even though he just delivered the good news. “Sugar, you make sweets.” He jokes. “There’s no way you could let us down. Unless the cake don’t rise.”

You laugh, charmed slightly at the term of endearment that is in almost every one of your cowboy novels but somehow seems even more appropriate now that it’s be used pointedly with you as a baker. “I would never let that happen,” you promise him, crossing one finger over your heart like a solemn oath. “My Grandma Jane would sense it somehow, rise up, and come down from New Hampshire to see me straight.”

Of course you would be from New Hampshire. Jack manages to not react and instead he gives a small chuckle like he was supposed to. “Now you should be able to sleep like a baby.” He considers it for a second and shrugs. “Or not sleep at all because you’re excited. This will be your house by the way. So imagine how you’re going to move things around.”

“I might not sleep because I’ll be rearranging things.” You’re brimming over, practically giggling and tearing up as your heart pounds with excitement. “This is…it’s…” The breath you blow out comes with another barely contained squeak. “I feel like I want to celebrate but I have no idea where to go around here.”

Jack lifts a brow, surprised you don’t want to get back on the phone but he chuckles. “Well, there’s Shootouts, about five miles down the road.” He tilts his head. “It’s a rowdy place most nights. But it’s fun.”

“Rowdy sounds fun.” Most of the time, the dive bar you frequented at home was full of locals having shouting matches and screaming at the hockey game on tv or bitching at each other over a shot at the pool table. Working in kitchens, rowdy is par for the course. Most people just don’t expect that of you when they find out you make dainty little cakes for a living. “Do you…” you tilt your head at him slightly, wondering why your chest clenches at the thought. “Would you want to come with? Or do you have someone to get back to?” That big house of his must be lonely if he lives there all alone.

He shouldn’t but he also can’t leave you on your own at Shootouts. He could see that being a disaster in the making. “Warning.” He cautions. “They sell beer and whiskey, no mixers or cocktails.”

“You say that like you think I’m going to fan myself or be scandalized.” Which is what most people who don’t know you assume, so you can’t blame him. “But whiskey’s always been my favourite flavor.”

Jack smirks, automatically coming up with a dirty come back but he doesn’t say it. Flirting would be wrong, even if you are beautiful. Instead he tilts his head towards the door. “Get your jacket then, sugar.” He tells you. “We’ll take my Bronco.”

Glasses abandoned to side tables, you grab your leather jacket off the rack by the door and pat the pockets to make sure your cash and cards are inside before following him out the door. His house is a mere five minute walk from the – from your house – and you marvel excitedly at the neighborhood around you when you step outside again. This is it. Your new home.

“Don’t eat the bar nuts.” Jack chuckles as he motions you towards the Bronco. “Think they’ve been there since the 40s. Let me grab the keys and we’ll go.”

“Got it.” You chuckle as he heads into his house. It gives you a moment to quickly pull out your phone, tapping out a text to the family text thread to let everyone know you’re going out celebrating your brand new job.

Jack changes from his sports jacket into a black leather one that would be better suited for the bar. Unconsciously matching you slightly with your own leather jacket. He grabs his keys and heads out the door and jogs over the Bronco, showing off by hopping in rather than opening the door.

“So is Shootouts where you usually go to hang out?” Tucking your phone away, you slide into the Bronco’s soft leather seats and buckle up. Now that you know you’re staying here, you want to know absolutely everything.

“It’s been known to be taken over by Statesman personnel.” Jack grins. “The locals can be a bit much but they are half drunk most of the time.”

“I’ve spent years hanging out with line cooks,” you tell him honestly, settling back in the comfortable seat as he pulls out of his driveway. “So that sounds pretty relaxing to me.”

“From what I know about kitchens, that checks out.” Jack laughs as he starts driving down the road to lead out of the Statesman property.

The ride is cordial, and fairly short. You mostly listen to the radio together, comparing notes on mutual favourite classic rock bands and talking about Kentucky in general. Finding out that Jack isn’t actually from here surprises you initially, but it’s a fond reassurance that this is a place that people grow to love and feel at home in. Something that you’re already starting to do after just a few hours.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, Jack throws the Bronco into park and turns towards you. “If it ain’t your style, lemme know and we’ll get outta here.” The jukebox is cranking out a country rock song and the noise from the bar reaches all the way past the shine of the neon light.

“Don’t worry about me.” You assure him. Jack is funny and sweet, you’ve discovered, when he doesn’t have resting sad face. You lend him a grin and point your thumb at the bar. “I like a good country tune and a little line dancing now and then.” It’s an understatement, considering how much you love to dance, but you’re trying not to be overeager or infodump.

“Oh you’re gonna be like a tornado in a trailer park, ain’t cha?” Jack huffs and he hops out of the Bronco and walks around to help you out.

“Maybe.” You grin, tip of your tongue between your teeth and nose wrinkled on a grin when he comes around to the other side of the truck. “Very gentlemanly of you.” It’s simple, and polite, but when you put your hand in Jack’s to accept his help in climbing out of the Bronco you nearly shiver at the contact.

Jack’s mouth is suddenly dry and he needs a drink. The tingling of your skin against his is subtle, so much that he swears he’s imagining it. “Right,” he clears his throat and closes the door behind you. “Let’s celebrate.”

It’s loud inside, raucous patrons and well-placed speakers blasting country rock as a few people dance and some play pool; but most are gathered in booths and around tables talking and laughing and having a good time. “I like it,” you declare unequivocally, sensing immediately that this place is full of the best kind of fun.

Jack smirks, appreciating that you can enjoy the lack of fussiness. It’s a rustic place and some, especially the women who came here from big cities, didn’t care for its appeal. “Then let’s get a drink.”

You’re not an unrealistic person, and no matter how often Jack or the crew from Statesman might come here, almost nothing gets a bartender’s attention faster than being flirted with, so you pull on the front of your blouse just enough to deepen the vee of the neck and sidle up to the bar. The man behind the bar makes the expected beeline for the unknown pretty woman batting her eyelashes at him. “Statesman Red Label for me, and a glass of whatever my friend wants,” you tell him, motioning to Jack just beside you.

Snorting in amusement at how fast the bartender’s eyes drop down to your cleavage before even giving him a second look, Jack raises his brow. “Just gimme a beer.” He tells him, knowing that he should pace himself, especially given how rowdy the place will work itself up to as the night goes on.

“What kind of beer do you drink down here?” Even as you all the question, you’re checking out the tap handles to see if there’s any you don’t recognize. After all, local beers change region to region. You’re not exactly betting they’ll have Sam Adam’s Summer Ale here when the weather gets warmer.

“They have all the domestic.” Jack tells you as he nods towards the draft handles. “But they also keep the Kentucky Bourbon Ale on draft.” He chuckles, knowing that it’s a bit of a cliche. “Best damn beer you’ll ever have.”

"That will have to be drink number two," you tell him, taking the recommendation seriously considering he - and you now - work for a distillery. You'll pace yourself, of course, but you're celebrating and can drink most line cooks you've known under the table. Two drinks is nothing. "The Red Label is always my celebratory drink. Well...normally it's a Red Label Manhattan, but you said they don't mix drinks here."

“We’ll have to make sure you have a bottle of Red Label then.” Jack leans against the bar and decides that it’s only polite to ask a question. “So Statesman isn’t a new whiskey to you, huh? Do you drink it often?”

"It's my dad's favourite. And became mine, too." He smells clean and woodsy and there's something musky like surprisingly high end cologne coming from him that makes you want to just curl into him and sigh in comfort - but that's a goddamn weird thing to think, so you just enjoy the sort of halo around him. "Today is definitely not the first day I've used Statesman in my baking. I just never knew much about the company before." You shrug slightly, trying to seem relaxed instead of like a damn cavewoman with goosebumps from being so close to him. "I guess that's going to change pretty quickly."

“Considering you can go into the distillery and draw some straight from the barrel to put into your cakes and pies, I’d say so.” Jack groans as he imagines it. “If you make bourbon soaked peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon cream, I’d sit up and beg.”

"That sounds like a hell of a twist to my peach cobbler. Bourbon soaked grilled peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon ice cream that also uses Bourbon vanilla." You hum a little, digging for your credit card when the bartender reappears with your drinks.

“Now you really expect to pay?” Jack might have his moments, but he’s a gentleman. “Put that away. Drinks are on me.” He tells you, turning to the bartender. “Put them on my tab.”

"As long as you let me pay next time we go out." You shouldn't get a little thrill at the idea, but Jack is the spitting image of every single cowboy love interest in every one of your books - or at least the way you picture them. Even if he's just a friendly face you see from time to time, you're damn well going to enjoy it.

He frowns but doesn’t say no. It’s hard to let someone else pay, especially when it was a woman. Not because he was sexist or some shit, but because his daddy would roll out of his grave and whoop his ass for letting a woman pay while she was out with him. Instead of making it a thing, he picks up his beer. “To new jobs and delicious sweets.” He toasts. “Cheers, sugar.”

"Cheers." The rim of your glass taps the neck of his beer bottle and you smile before taking your first sip, loving the familiar burn and cherry-caramel tones of this particular bourbon. There's a reason it's your favourite. "So tell me about Statesman," you ask, turning and leaning against the bar to face Jack. "How long have you worked there?"

Jack hums, thinking about it. “Since ‘99.” Champ had come around the year after Abigail had…. “So you can say I’ve been there awhile.” He interrupts his sad train of thought and quickly takes another swallow of his beer. “It’s turned from a two bit operation into what it is now.”

Since ‘99? You blanch a little thinking about how young you were then but decide not to say anything since it hardly matters anymore. Grown ass adults are grown ass adults. "Tex said you used to work security?"

He can't answer that. Or, doesn't want to so he merely grunts and gives a quasi nod. Delving into his background would reveal too much that he doesn't want you to see. Champ still hasn't told him what kind of security clearance you will have, if any, and it wouldn't be right to start unfolding how Jack had been recruited to the agency.

Okay…maybe not talking about work, then? He seems reticent and you don’t want to accidentally upset the man you came out with - for various reasons. Not the least of which is that you do not like being the reason people are upset. “He, uh– Tex speaks very highly of you,” you try again, steering it in a slightly different direction.

Snorting, Jack sends you a look of amusement and lifts his beer up before taking another sip. "He should, I got him the job." He tells you, remember the skirmish that he had gotten into and been surprised when the rodeo clown had been very cool under pressure.

“Yeah?” That would definitely account for some of the way Tex talked about his older coworker, and you have to wonder if more people at Statesman have close working relationships or if these two men are outliers. “That must be a good story.”

"Not much of one." Jack hums, giving another slight shrug. "Way he tells it is that I was having my ass handed to me and he had to come save the day. But I was holding my own. It was eight to one." He smirks and sends you a small, cocky wink.

It is extremely cavewoman of you to find that so sexy, you tell yourself, burying the way you have to bite your lip behind your glass to keep from saying something suggestive, and taking a sip. “What did you do piss off eight guys?” You ask instead, trying to look only mildly curious instead of on the edge of your seat.

He can't tell you that he was running down a human trafficking ring so he just sends you a small smirk. "They were pissed off that I hit on one of their girlfriends." He boasts, figuring it was as good of a story as any. The real story was that he had managed to get one of the women out and they hadn't been happy when they stumbled upon them leaving.

“Scoundrel.” It’s just teasing, and you don’t hear how much like flirting it really sounds as you shake your head at him in amusement. “I hope she was worth fighting over.” It occurs to you for the first time that he might have somebody waiting for him in that house on the edge of Statesman grounds and your stomach twists unpleasantly.

"Comes with the territory." He looks around for a moment, trying to ignore how your lopsided grin makes his pulse tick up. "You bringin' someone special with you?" He asks, telling himself he's just asking so he can assuage this guilt over killing your soulmate.

“Oh, sure.” You know what he means, but it isn’t the case. There hasn’t been much time for dating lately and with the disappearance of your soulmate’s marks, you’ve been processing the disappointment in knowing that true love is officially off the table - which might make you feel dumb sometimes but at least you’re honest with yourself about being disappointed to have to live without it. “I think my goldfish is really going to like the new house.”

Not sure if he’s relieved or even more guilty, Jack nods. “Sure think Goldy would like the eastern window, huh?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you take a sip of your drink. You’re easy to get along with and if it weren’t for who you are, he can’t even deny he’d be doing his damndest to take you back to his bed tonight.

“Yes, the Doormouse will love the eastern window,” you over-exaggerate, laughing as you think of walking your little fish tank around the house presenting the goldfish with multiple options for a view. “He’ll insist on a stroll around the garden each day, I’m sure.”

“You should build him an outdoor swimming hole.” He chuckles, leaning into the idea. “Maybe a stream so he can pretend he’s free.”

“I think the backyard of the house is too small.” It’s not something that bothers you at all, since you hadn’t even thought of it yet, but you hum over the image and let yourself indulge in the fantasy. “A pond with a little stream and a garden of flowers and herbs. That’s what he’ll get to adventure through one day. But maybe not yet.”

“Hell, that sounds like a good little adventure to me.” Jack muses, an amused little smile on his face.

“Should I call you the Doormouse, too?” You tease, even though you have a feeling that grin of his makes him more like a troublesome Cheshire Cat.

He realizes that you are making a reference to Alice in Wonderland and for a brief second, his mark - your mark - seems to burn. “Like the movie or the book?” He asks casually.

“Well…the Doormouse is in pretty much any adaptation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Alice Through the Looking Glass.” The fact that he recognizes the character isn’t exactly niche, but it’s certainly not like you called him a Mad Hatter or something. “They’re…they’re my favorite stories. They have been since I was a kid.” As if to prove it, you pull up your right shirt sleeve and show him the tattoo on your arm. “I guess you can blame my obsession with tea parties on it, too, honestly.”

He learns a little bit about you, probably more than he would have if he guessed. “What’s the appeal?” He asks, curious as to why a child’s story has carried into adulthood.

“Haven’t you ever felt terribly ordinary?” To you, it seems like it must be a universal experience. Everyone, at some point in their life, has felt like the least extraordinary person in the world. “Maybe it’s juvenile, I don’t know. But the idea that Alice feels so entirely ordinary in her existence, and then falls into someplace entirely wonderful…even if it’s scary at first? It seems like that’s something everyone deserves. To find the place and the people that make them feel that life is extraordinary.”

“Have you found your wonderful place yet?” He can’t fault your logic, understanding now the ink that is in his own skin. “Or are you still looking?”

“I’m still looking.” Shifting your sleeve back into place, you shrug half-heartedly. You had thought that finding your soulmate would help you to that extraordinary life, but now that will never happen. If anything, you feel farther from it than ever. Although you’re not the sort to give up hope. “But who knows? Maybe it will be Statesman.”

“Statesman has a way of collecting a ragtag bunch of people.” Jack confides, knowing he is better because of his involvement with the organization. He would have been dead by now if Champ hadn’t come along. “And we have whiskey.” He adds, sending you a wink.

“And now you have crawfish sandwiches and coconut cake, too.” A little wink shouldn’t be anything to fluster over, but you can feel your cheeks heat instantly.

“For someone who said they are a baker, you make a mean crawfish salad.” Jack groans, wishing he had some right now.

“They’re even better when they’re on fresh baked bread.” You tell him, maybe a little smug even though you’re just being honest. “Champ said I get to design my own full menu, so I promise they’ll be on there.”

“I’ll be swinging by everyday for lunch if you’ll let employees eat.” Jack promises, lifting his beer to his lips again. “Have to start running again. Or beat the shit out of Tex in the boxing ring some more.”

That makes you snort - as inelegant a laugh as it is - and you’re just lucky you hadn’t taken another sip of whiskey yet. “What did the poor boy ever do to deserve a beating?” You plead his case for him since he isn’t here to do it himself. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were brothers with that kind of threat.”

For a split second, jealousy rears its ugly head before Jack tamps it down. The defense of the younger man has him puffing up his chest slightly and he exhales on a laugh. “Near as, I guess. But I’m the older, more handsome of the two.”

Well…he isn’t wrong, and you’re not going to contradict him. Instead, you down the last sip of whiskey in your glass with a tip of your head and hold out your hand. The jukebox is playing good music and you’re feeling bold. “C’mon, older and more handsome.” You put your hand out to him, praying you’re not making a mistake. “Can’t celebrate without dancing a little.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate, but he’s cautious. Sure that he’s going to fumble and reveal something. “Don’t complain if I stomp on your feet.” He teases with a grin.

“I might be a bull in a China shop ” you tease, thrilled that he didn’t turn you down as you step away from the bar together. “Only one way to find out.”

“Only one way.” Jack murmurs, remembering Champ's words about getting to know you as he turns around and walks backwards onto the floor holding your hand. Before he pulls you into his arms, he twirls you around to the beat of the music.

You practically squeal with glee at the surprise of being spun around, expecting that he would be able to dance but not necessarily expecting he could move. Stevie Ray Vaughan is blasting out of the jukebox and you’re suddenly glad that one boyfriend in culinary school had been into swing dancing, because Jack definitely knows what he’s doing on a dance floor. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room while you’re talking - which they also say about politicians and other charismatic characters - and it’s magnified when he dances. There’s something carefree about him like this, or maybe it’s that he makes you feel carefree. Either way, each time he spins you back into his arms or slides his hand around your back, you swear you hold on just a little bit tighter.

It’s been a long time since Jack has danced for the pure pleasure of it. For a mission, to seduce - he’s put himself out on the dance floor. But he’s not on a mission and he has no intention of seducing you so this is almost carefree. Making him grin when you give a throaty laugh as he swings you around again.

The song changes but the tempo doesn’t, and you’re having so much fun that you barely notice the other couples that have gravitated to the dance floor with the magnetic energy you and Jack are giving off in waves. ’Sharp Dressed Man’ seems like an anthem for the men of Statesman from everything you’ve seen, and you laugh happily at the whooping and hollering from the other patrons of the bar. As long as you’re attached to Jack somehow, everything else in the world just drips away.

There’s a softness in your laugh, the way you toss your head back that makes Jack relax. Right now he’s not thinking about soulmates or his sins. Just the pure pleasure of dancing with you. There are no ulterior motives here, no games. Nothing but joy and exactly what you came here for - celebration. But when Jack spins you back into his body and your arms fall around his shoulders to hold him to you on the last beats of the song, you swear your heart has leapt to your throat.

There’s a two second change from the songs. Suddenly slowing things down and the laughter of the moment gives way as your features settle, making Jack clear his throat. “Um, uh, you want to play some pool?” He asks, knowing that it wouldn’t be a safe bet asking him to slow dance with you. He can’t get pulled into the moment and he feels like that would happen.

“I—um…sure.” Disappointment. That’s what the bitter taste in your mouth is, you realize once you process the complete hundred and eighty degree turn the moment just took. It could not be more loud and clear if he had said it in words: Jack has no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever. Well, fine. If that’s the way he feels about it then you’ll just compartmentalize for now and deal with it later, as your disappointment definitely is a sign that you were on your way to feeling something. You step back, not wanting to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, and nod awkwardly as you wipe your damp hands on your jeans. “Let me just…grab us another round?” You can still be friendly, after all. There’s no harm in that.

“You go pick a table sugar, I told you that you ain’t paying for drinks tonight.” Jack gives you a friendly grin, seeing the disappointment in your eyes. It echoes the same sentiment that is beating in his chest, although he knows you would feel different if you knew the truth. “You want a beer this time?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you nod, assuming he won’t have shitty taste in beer. Not if he works for a distillery.

“Be right back.” He can’t help himself, hand reaching out and squeezing your hip reassuringly before he turns to head towards the bar to get the beers. Maybe have a shot too.

Blowing out a gruff, annoyed-at-yourself breath, you turn in the opposite direction to find a pool table like Jack suggested. There’s a group of a half dozen or so men milling around with cues and drinks and you can’t quite tell which tables they’re occupying, so you figure it’s just easiest to ask. “Either of these tables free, fellas?” You ask, shoulders tipped back with your hands in your back pockets, figuring that tits subtly on display is just an easier way to cut into the conversation. It worked with the bartender, didn’t it?

The self appointed leader of the group, a tall, burly biker complete with leather riding vest and an American flag bandana on his head, looks you up and down and chuckles. “Do you want us to teach you, baby doll?” He asks, the thread of mocking obvious in his tone. Holding up his pool stick, he points to it. “You hit the balls with this. It’s a pool stick.” The other men laugh and snicker along with him.

“I’m sure you boys don’t wanna be bothered with some girl in the way, so I’ll just grab the other table for me and my friend.” It’s not worth explaining to these Neanderthals that you know how to play. That your first cooking job was in a bowling alley and pool hall that served the most amazing burgers and sandwiches of all time. The other line cooks and the chef had all been fans of the games and taught you all their tricks.

Chuckling again, he places his que on the floor and leans in. “How about you play with us, sweetheart?” He asks, grinning. “We’ll only bet small amounts.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. They’re assuming you can’t play and you’re absolutely certain you can hold your own — if not downright wipe the floor with them. But your pride is stinging a little from feeling like Jack rejected you, so you flick your eyes up to the leader of the group and shift your weight into one hip. “How small is small?”

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the group of men seem to crowd around you. The talkative one rubs his chin and pretends to consider for a moment. “We’ll say…hundred bucks a ball?” He offers, like is the deal of a lifetime.

It's too good. They're too cocky and too blinded by their own ridiculous posturing to see that you have given them absolutely no reason to think you can't play. But hey - you started the morning playing patty cake with your niece, punctuated it by flying on a private jet and being offered your dream job, and now you're about to end it by whooping these idiots' asses. What does it matter that one handsome brand-new acquaintance didn't want to slow dance with you? This isn't middle school. Shaking off the urge to smirk, you put out your hand with full confidence. "You got yourself a deal."

Jack whistles to himself when he comes over, two beers and two shots in hand to see that you are around a table with the Broncos Bike Club. Assholes when they get beat and sore winners when they don’t. “Well sugar, I see we are in for some fun tonight.” He drawls as he sets the beers down on the side of the table and hands you a shot. “You know what you’re doin’?” He asks quietly.

"I wouldn't get sucked in on a hundred bucks a ball if I didn't," you whisper back, tapping your shot glass against his before downing the liquor and sighing happily at the burn. That definitely wasn't Red Label, but it was good. You'll have to remember to ask Jack what it was later.

Jack grins and gives you a small chuckle. “Lemme guess, they think you don’t know what a pool cue is? Did they call it a stick?”

"A pool stick." Nodding solemnly to keep from giggling, you pick up the beer that Jack brought you and take a sip. The choice earns a happy hum from you, and you reach for a cue and chalk from the rack on the wall. "All I did was ask if one of the tables was free."

“Morons.” Jack huffs before he moves closer and leans down towards your ear. He knows what the outcome will be but he encourages you anyway. “Kick their asses, sugar.”

"Oh, I will." Playful instinct tells you to smack a kiss to his cheek but you don't, figuring that there's no use in anything affectionate like that if he has no interest. And though you might be playful or casually flirtatious with your friends most of the time, you don't yet know if he is - so it's better to just not. Instead you chalk up your cue and turn to face the table. At a hundred dollars a ball, this is going to be a hell of a game.

“Well boys.” Jack puts his hands on his hips and chuckles. “Rack ‘em up.”

They make a big show of it, condescendingly pointing out the order of the numbers on the balls and laughing amongst themselves, and you swear it just makes you wish you were wearing heels so you could grind them into the floor with the spikes. "Are you gonna keep running your mouth or do you actually want to play?" You ask, leaning against the pool table with your beer in one hand and the cue in the other. At this point they're bordering on pissing you off.

Buster, the leader of the group, sends you a condescending smile and motions to the table. “Lady’s first.” He chuckles and looks back at his buddies. “Bet she can’t even break properly.”

Jack huffs, watching as you take a large swallow of your beer and set it down on the edge. Leaning over the table as you line up your cue, he can’t help but glance at your ass. Lord have mercy, you have a nice one. You set up on the right of the Baulk line and look up at him right before you take your shot. “Stripes.” You call before the cue ball even strikes the group and Jack watches as the 9 and 11 balls drop into the corner pocket.

“Damn.” Jack whistles, grinning at the sour looks on the boy’s faces. “Lucky break.”

"Beginner's luck," grumbles one of the other men, leaning back on a nearby table with his beer in one hand and several empty glasses nearby.

"No givin' her pointers," demands another, pointing at Jack threateningly. He saw the dandy checking you out when you bent over to break and dancing together before that. And he ain't an idiot.

Jack holds his hands up and makes a face of compliance. He’s not going to try to sway the outcome of this game, although he knows how it’s going to end up. Luckily, the bartenders and bouncers are used to Statesman agents quelling bar fights, or starting them only to finish them, so they never interfered. “Lady’s game.” He promises, watching as you walk around the table, analyzing your next shot before deciding that you would bank the cue ball off the left corner of the table to drop it into the right pocket. Jack sips his beer as you do exactly that.

Buster shifts the way he's standing with affected laziness, seeming as though he is barely paying you any attention while he actually watches to make sure you're not cheating. "At least do us the favour of bendin' further over the table when you shoot, babydoll." He chuckles, not giving a single goddamn ounce of care for manners. He takes what he wants, and right now he wants a view. You roll your eyes subtly at Jack, letting him know that you're not bothered, and intentionally squat at the table instead of bending as you check out the angle for your next shot.

Jack huffs in amusement, a small smirk on his face when he watches you sink the next two striped balls without so much as brushing by the solids.

One after the next, the striped balls drop into the pockets on command, and the men around you grow more and more flustered with every shot. By the time only the 8 ball remains, there is practically steam pouring out of their ears and one of them has all but literally thrown his hat on the ground, but you remain placid. No gloating or teasing that will make their moods worse is due here. The satisfaction of proving them wrong by winning is all you're aiming for.

“Now, if I ain’t mistaken things….” Jack drawls, rubbing his chin and staring at the table. “She sinks this, she wins. Right? Or are you wantin’ her to clear the table?”

The deliberation happens in grunts and glances, as Buster's minions decide that the best way to teach you a lesson is to have you do more of what you have amply proven that you're good at. They only need you to fuck up once for them to run you off the table with insults and heckling. "Clear it." Buster insists, somehow managing to follow the string of unintelligible sounds that the men around him made.

The smirk Jack gives you is smug and he nods. “You heard ‘em sugar.” He chortles. “You gotta clear the board to win. 15 balls.” It’s obvious that the numbskulls didn’t think about the fact that they would have to pay you an additional $700 for that, but Jack did. He sends you a small wink and an encouraging nod.

If, one day many years in the future, you're ever a famous enough chef for there to be a film of your life, you're going to insist that this pool game be a part of it. Each ball is its own geometric problem to solve, but you do it carefully, and you do it well. The expressions of sheer and utter dismay on each man's face turn to ruddy anger as you call “Eight ball, corner pocket” and sink the very last ball with a tiny tap, sending it spinning into the corner pocket that it was sitting next to. "Well, boys," you lean against the table with a satisfied grin and rest one hand on your cue. "Looks to me like this empty table is going to end up emptying some wallets."

Jack finishes the rest of his beer with a sigh, draining the mug and setting it down on the high top table a few steps from the pool tables. He knows what’s about to happen and his lasso and whip are tucked away behind his jacket, ready to go.

“You tricked us, you bitch!” Buster growls, backed up by the agreeing ‘yeah’s from the motley crew behind him. “You said you couldn’t play pool.”

“Did I?” Sure you’ve hustled a few times in your life, but you definitely didn’t tonight. Your head ticks to one side and you lean against the table easily. “Or did you just assume, because I’m a girl?”

From the way his face blanks for a moment, buddy boy knows that’s the truth but when it passes, there’s a decidedly mean look on his face. “I’m not payin’ a fucking hustling whore a fucking dime unless she’s sucking my dick.” He growls, making Jack’s jaw instantly tighten.

“Now Buster,” Jack slowly drawls out, turning their attention from you to where he is standing with his hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?” He asks. “You owe the lady an apology and fifteen hundred dollars. Fair is fair.”

“She ain’t play fair!” The scrawniest of the group points at you like he’s about to accuse you of witchcraft. “Schemin’ cunt don’t deserve anythin’ but a lesson.”

There’s a lot of talk that Jack will let slide, especially in a rough and tumble place like this, but the boys don’t know they just fucked up. His eyes darken and go flat, the edge of a smirk on his lips has no humor in it. “You might want to take that back, Junior.” He spits, fingers itching to grab his whip. “No need for that or I’ll be teachin’ the lesson.”

“Jack…” Glancing back at the man you came here with, you can feel the change in the air here without hesitation. While it would not in any way be your first bar fight, you’re not sure that these are the kind of fellas you ever want to throw the first punch against. Not because you’re afraid of getting your ass handed to you, but because you don’t like the prospect of spending your first night in Louisville getting arrested.

“What the fuck are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” The scrawny one - the one Jack called Junior - drawls as he reaches into his pocket. Out comes his hand again a second later, now adorned with brass knuckles. “Only thing you oughtta even be considerin’ is gettin’ this dried up cunt bitch out of our sight before we make her regret lyin’ to us.”

His chuckle is low, rusty and his own hand reaches behind his back to pull out the butt of his retractable whip. “Manners maketh man, Junior.” Jack hums. “That’s the lesson today.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Scoffs another man in the group - the broadest of all of them - as he cracks his knuckles in your direction.

“It means a Kentucky ass-whooping.” Jack declares, right before Junior decides to launch himself at Jack. With the single press of a button, the whip spirals out from the handle of the whip and Jack wastes no time cracking it through the air to wrap around the man’s throat as he yanks back on it to send the burly biker careening past him and into the table right behind Jack.

It all happens in a split second, and you’re smart enough and quick enough to dive behind Jack right before it does. You can defend yourself. You absolutely can, and have on multiple occasions. But fuck if seeing Jack step in for your honor isn’t one of the goddamn sexiest things you’ve ever experienced. Two of the bikers throw themselves at him on command, with just a glance from Buster, as Junior’s face comes into collision with the flat of the table.

A fight is like a well coordinated dance. Timing and footwork are everything. Jack flicks his wrist and the whip unwinds from around Junior’s neck to slash around and strike one of the two across the cheek, slicing open the skin as neatly as any knife. Causing the man to howl in pain and stop in his tracks as he grabs his face. The other keeps coming, making Jack smirk as he pulls back the whip and tucks it away before pulling out his lasso. He might be showing off as he twirls the rope, but he doesn’t look over for your reaction as the man charges towards him.

A barfight it’s not supposed to be sexy, you lecture yourself sternly, finding that you’re too mesmerized to even hide. The men clearly don’t feel the need to fight you, only Jack, so you’re left standing with your back to the nearest wall in awe of how fucking agile he is. But where did he—? Is that a lasso? What in the hell…

When Jack ropes the man, he drags him towards him. His fist coming out as he strikes him directly in the nose with one, two, three rapid punches.

“Fuckin pretty boy city slicker and your hustlin’ whore!” Buster’s patience has worn thin, watching his minions drop around Jack like so many fruit flies. He charges at the two of you like a bull, and for a second you’re certain he’s aiming to ram his head right into your stomach against the wall.

Jack looks over, whirling his lasso over his head now that the other man has crumpled to the floor at his feet. Snagging the table, Jack rocks back on his heel and heaves, the momentum dragging the lightweight table up and hurling it through the air towards Buster.

Ducking to your right, you dive out of the way just a second before the table connects with Buster’s side. It sends him in the other direction, propelling him into the wall and crumpling in a heap on his side as he clutches his bleeding head and howls in pain - bandana’d skull connecting with the sturdy wooden walls instead of with your abdomen and compounded with the force of splintering wood on his back.

There are two more that had decided that the better part of valor was staying out of it and Jack raises a brow at them to ask if they wanted to try their hand at him.

The older of the two remaining men clears his throat and straightens his back, knowing he doesn’t have a dog in this fight to begin with. “Pay the lady,” he orders his friend, a little under his breath.

Jack watches warily, coiling his lasso up as the other one begrudgingly pulls out a stack of bills. “Lay the bills out on the table and then get your friends out of here. They’re done for the night.” He tells them sternly. He doesn’t trust them not to try to cheat you out of the full amount and it’s also a lesson in humility.

The younger man bristles at having to be the one to pay, but he begrudgingly does as he’s ordered. Fifteen hundred dollar bills all lined up on the felt would be a big enough adrenaline rush even without everything that had just happened, and you watch him count them out carefully. Once the total you’re owed is sitting in plain sight you reach for the bills, tucking them into the front pocket of your jeans. “Well?” You nod your head toward the crumpled, groaning masses of their friends. “Pick ‘em up.”

Only when they turn to their friends and the atmosphere of the bar has turned friendlier as other patrons return to their drinks or conversations does Jack grin at you. “Weeeewh.” He huffs, reaching up and readjusting his cowboy hat with a cocky jaunt. “Kinda feelin’ like a tornado in a trailer park.” He jokes before he cocks his head towards the bar. “Want another round?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed that.” One eyebrow ticks up at Jack as you look around at the mess you made. One broken chair and one smashed table, with other things out of place - it could be much worse. You can’t help the way his sheepish smirk makes you smile, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling the pulse of excitement and attraction. Even if he’s not into you, you absolutely can’t deny being into him after that Purebred Cowboy display. “Let’s get another round. And I can give some of that cash to the bartender to pay for what we broke.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “It’ll go on the bill to Statesman.” He promises. “This ain’t the first rodeo in this place.”

“Hell of a first impression to make on my new employers,” you grumble ruefully, although you’re still grinning. “Or was that some kind of rite of passage I didn’t know about?”

Jack considers it for a moment and chuckles. “I guess it could be.” He shakes his head and leans against the bar again, lifting his hand to the bartender.

“You causin’ trouble again, Jack?” The bartender eyes him suspiciously. “Or did they deserve it?” He knows damn well those bikers are always trouble, but they drink their body weight and always pay, so he usually doesn’t fuss.

“They wanted to call the lady four dollar words and didn’t want to pay when they got beat at their own game.” He tells him, giving him a small shrug. “So I taught them some manners.”

“Long as they deserved it.” The bartender brushes it off. “Another round?”

Jack looks over at you for confirmation and when you nod he does as well as he turns back to the bartender. "Let's do another round of shots and beers." He tells him. "She worked up a thirst beating their asses at pool and I worked one up beating their asses."

The feel of being very pleased with yourself rolls down your spine like a drop of sweat and you sit up just a little bit taller on your barstool. Jack’s smug expression says that he’s just as proud of himself as he is of you, and you raise your shot glass to him in salute when it’s set down in front of you. “I am definitely going to like it here.”

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[heavyhitterheaux]

Sisters No More

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: ARE WE READY!?

Synopsis: An anonymous source reveals that your big sister Danielle isn't exactly who you think she is

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

Thank you to @hoodharlow and @nattinatalia for helping 😘💖

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Did we seriously get all three of them to go to sleep and it’s only 7:30?” Jack asked as both of you collapsed on the couch, but you more so did a faceplant.

“Mm hmm. I was surprised Ivy actually let you go since she was clinging to you so tight.” You muttered before Jack picked you up and slid you onto his lap while kissing your forehead.

The two of you had gone out to brunch with Dani, Drama, Urban, and Curse earlier that day while Maggie and Brian watched the triplets which you were thankful for. It was the first time that the two of you had gone out without them and of course you and Jack were texting them every 20 minutes to check on them before Urban snatched both of your phones.

"Jack, did you forget that your parents also had to raise your dumbass and Clay? This isn't their first rodeo." Urban said while finally getting close enough to snatch his phone.

"It is their first rodeo for having three newborns at one time!"

"They're fine and you two need to stop worrying so much. If there was really a problem, we would know." Curse added while drinking her mimosa and you immediately got jealous.

"I miss drinking mimosas."

"It won't be too much longer until you get to have them again."

"Yes it will be if I plan on breastfeeding for 2 years at the most." 

"Damn in that time you might be pregnant again." Urban said while also drinking his.

"NO THE HELL I WILL NOT! FOUR UNDER 2? FUCK THAT!"

All Jack did was smirk and laugh at you.

"That isn't funny Jackman!"

"But at least you wouldn't be doing it by yourself."

"We're really proud of the two of you. Perfect parents." Dani said while smiling at both of you. 

"There's no such thing, but we'll always try our best to do right by them and they're going to know how much they're loved."

—

“Are you going anywhere tomorrow?” You inquired as you grabbed the remote and was flipping through different channels.

“Nope, I’m all yours. I moved a few meetings to Friday since I at least know Blanca, Jessica, and Victoria will be here with you. But I’ll still be here since they’re all zoom meetings. That way you’ll have help.”

“I actually thought it was going to be worse. We’re actually sleeping for the most part which is surprising. My mom couldn’t believe it.” 

“Hopefully it stays that way.”

The two of you fell asleep on the couch and Jack was woken up by his phone repeatedly going off while you were still laying on his chest in a comfortable slumber. 

He didn’t even bother looking to see who it was and answered.

“Hmm?”

“Jack, I’m sorry for calling this late, but um… did you hear?”

He immediately recognized Saweetie’s voice.

“Hear what? And what time is it?”

“2 in the morning for you, but it is literally everywhere.”

“What is everywhere?” Now that got his attention and he tried to sit up without disturbing you. 

“Just turn to E! News, they’ve been showing it on repeat for the past hour. Tell Y/N I’m sorry and I’ll call her later.” 

After Jack had hung up the phone, he reached for the remote in order to turn to E! News and one he did, his jaw dropped.

“We have gotten word from an anonymous source that Danielle Valentine who we all know and love to be Y/N Harlow’s older sister and a part of her management team is actually her birth mother who had her at the age of fifteen, but that’s not all. Her birth father is DJ Drama who is the owner of Generation Now, the record label that she as well as her husband Jack Harlow are signed under. Sources are saying that DJ Drama signed Y/N and Jack Harlow as a favor to Danielle. We’ll give more updates as soon as we learn more.”

Jack quickly shook you awake and you groaned.

“Baby, the house better be on fire or one of them is hungry and I don't mean you. I was sleeping so good.”

“I know, babe and I’m sorry, but please wake up and look at this.”

“What?” You picked your head up from his chest and turned towards the television as Jack rewinded the segment so that you could see it from the beginning and pressed play.

You sat there dead silent as you listened to it. When it was over all you did was look down at your hands in your lap.

“Baby girl… I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

Silence.

“Baby, please say something. I know it’s….”

“How could they lie to me like that? For almost 25 years?” You asked as you picked up your phone and saw the many texts from the two of them in a group chat with all four of you. You also saw multiple calls from anyone you could think of.

Dani- Baby girl, please let us explain

Drama- I promise it will make sense when we do

Dani- We were going to tell you, just wanted to do it at the right time

Dani- Y/N, please answer me

Dani- Everything I’ve done has been for you and Jack to be successful. Please, you have to understand that. I love you and I love Jack as if he was my own.

Drama- We wanted the both of you to succeed and this is how we had to go about it

“They have some fucking nerve to think that I want to hear them out. My mind is racing and I don’t even know what to think right now.” You muttered as both you and Jack looked at the text messages. 

“I know. I… shit… I don’t even know how to begin to make you feel better because I mean damn.”

“You being my husband and always supporting me even if I do dumb shit sometimes is enough for me. I just… therapy is really helping me because if this happened a year ago, I would have gone to her house right now and kicked her ass. I would have dragged her ass out of the bed, I don’t give a damn what time it is. Birth mother or not.”

“I’m proud of you for sticking with it. That just feels weird to hear you say… about her being your birth mother I mean.”

“It feels weird saying it. She was only fifteen and that means that he had to be seventeen.”

“Still a child herself.”

“I always wondered what my mom meant when she said she didn’t want me to go down the same path Dani did. She never explained what she meant by it. I would always ask but she always said to ask her about it but I never did. I do recall one time, I was maybe 6 at the time, but I distinctly remember her coming in the house high, but of course I had no idea what that was then. Apparently she went upstairs and took more of whatever she had because when I went to her room, I couldn’t wake her up and I yelled for my mom. She definitely overdosed. She cared more about drugs than she did her own child. I don’t even think she realizes that I remember.”

“They need to give you answers too. They’re just as guilty as she is. You don’t keep something like that from someone for more than twenty years.”

“People have big age gaps between their children all the time and I obviously didn’t think anything of it, because why would I? The only reasoning behind this that I can think of is that she felt guilty leaving her parents to raise a child that she made. I need a fucking drink.”

You looked over to see Jack typing away on his phone.

“Babe, who are you texting?”

“Dani and Drama and to tell them to leave us the fuck alone. We’re new parents and the last thing we need is added stress caused by the two of them. All because they decided to lie.”

Jack- The two of you have some fucking nerve. You not only lie to me, but more importantly to your FUCKING DAUGHTER. Do us a favor and leave us alone for now. Last thing I want is for my wife to be stressed out because she already has enough to deal with being a new mom. And I better not catch either of you on our doorstep either. Good fucking night. 

Drama- Wait, Jack just let us explain

Dani- We never meant to hurt either of you

Jack- Both of you can fuck off

“I don’t even know who this anonymous source would be because someone obviously had to know since I don’t think they were dumb enough to leak it themselves.” Jack said as you continued to scroll through your phone to see nothing on your timeline but you and your husband.

You clicked on one of the articles and the news was only getting worse.

Danielle had Y/N when she was only fifteen, and her parents decided that they would raise her as her sister. It was also discovered that she was heavily into drugs during her teen years and eventually went to rehab. Our same sources say that DJ Drama had only intended to sign First Lady and not Jack at all until he was convinced by Danielle. However since she was only mostly writing songs at the time for him as well as their best friends, The Homies, he decided to sign Jack first. 

All you did was sigh before you handed Jack your phone. That honestly broke your heart and you immediately knew that Jack was going to feel some type of way about it, just like you were now.

Both of you were talented, but it seemed as if Drama never wanted to be bothered with Jack in the first place.

After Jack had read it, all he did was hand it back to you.

“Look at me.” You whispered while looking over at Jack and he didn’t even budge.

“Jackman, look at me.” You said while grabbing his chin so that he could face you.

“I remember being so excited when you told me he wanted to sign you and that I knew he would see you were talented just like everyone else saw. Do not think or question how amazing you are for a second. You deserved to get signed just as much as anyone else in Gen Now. You understand?”

Jack simply nodded his head, but you knew his thoughts were running rampant by the look on his face and by how quiet he was being.

“I love you.” You said while pinching his cheek and you got a small smirk out of it.

“I love you too, more than life itself.”

“I just don’t understand why people continuously try to fuck with us. We went through enough last year. Oh, boo bear?”

“Yes, mamas?”

“What do we have to do to get out of our contract at Gen Now? We should have just kept the shit just how it was in the beginning. We don’t fucking need him or her for that matter. We have Private Garden Records for a reason. If they want to play checkers, then we’re going to play chess and they’re going to learn not to fuck with us.”

The next few days went by in a blur and you weren’t answering anyone’s text messages or calls except a handful of people.

All of Private Garden was now scattered across your living room since this is the first day that they had seen the both of you since the news broke.

“I always knew something was off with Drama and how he would interact with Y/N.” Urban said as he was playing with Little Urban.

“How so?” Jack asked and everyone was now looking at Urban for an explanation.

“It’s like, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like whenever she would suggest something or have an idea, he would always agree with her and sometimes he would be on some creepy shit and just be staring at her. I guess he did that because he felt guilty.”

“Ace! Don’t hold her like that! Support her head!” Jack exclaimed while looking over at him and he quickly adjusted his arm so that her head would have more support. 

“Oh shit, my bad! She has your big head in case you didn’t notice!”

“Ace! Like you’re one to talk! Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“But why did they feel the need to lie? Like this shit was obviously planned since we were in high school.”

“They both seem to have a side of them that we never knew existed.”

“Y/N?” You heard Urban call for you as you looked over at him.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet this entire time. How can we help? You know we always protect our own.”

“I know and I love you guys for that, but I just don’t know right now. Still trying to process everything. My phone has been going off nonstop and I just want to turn it off.”

“And to think you named one of your kids after her.” Quiiso said as Shloob passed him her namesake, Autumn Danielle.

“She had so many opportunities to come clean and just tell me but she didn’t. So why is she trying to explain now? Just because she got caught? I want to be done with my parents too for just letting her string this along for so long.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“No, and I don’t plan on it any time soon. It’s already so bad that whenever we decide to see Jack’s parents, they either have to come here or we’ll go and eat out somewhere. I don’t want to run the risk of seeing them. I get that they did an amazing job raising me because their daughter wasn’t shit, but I mean come on you lied to me just like she did. It seems like I can never catch a break.”

“So, are you two trying to get out of your contract? What’s going on with that?”

“We are, we’re trying to discuss it with our lawyer to see if we can, but who knows. That shit is hard to get out of. But if Drama knows what’s good for him, he’ll let it go.” Jack answered as he went over to pick up Ivy from Ace who was reaching for him. 

“He’s definitely going to put up a fight with how much money he’s made off the both of you.”

“We’ll see when the time comes. For now, all we’re doing is focusing on being parents to these three terrors.”

“Do not call our offspring terrors, Jackman. If anything they got it from you.”

“Are you serious Miss I always choose violence?”

“Take it back, Jackman! You just as violent as I am, you just hide yours better!”

“I… actually agree with that.” Shloob quietly said and you eyed him.

“Oh, so yall don’t want to get fed today is what yall are saying?” You responded.

“SHLOOB, TAKE IT BACK BEFORE WE STARVE!”

—

It was around six in the evening, when you heard a knock at your door. You were currently in the living room and had just finished feeding Autumn when you got up and decided to answer it while still holding her.

Once you did, you immediately regretted it. 

She was the last person that you wanted to see standing in front of you and you already knew if Jack saw her, how he would have no hesitations to cuss her out and give her a piece of his mind.

You had hoped for her sake that he didn’t.

"Please, Y/N, just let me explain." Dani said as she pleaded with you while you wanted to slam the door in her face.

"I thought Jack made himself clear in saying that we want you to stay far away from us. I haven't answered your calls or texts or HIS for a reason." You said as you held your youngest to your chest that of course was her namesake. Now it left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

"I have to explain myself, it will make sense when I do!"

"Make sense? Do you hear yourself right now? How the hell can you make sense of this? You lied to me for 24 years and would have probably kept lying to me if you two didn't get caught. Now as understanding of a person as I am, why did you feel the need to lie to me?"

"I... I don't know. I don't have an answer for that but everything I have done has been for you and Jack."

"No, it hasn't. it's been for you. You have literally been on your Kris Jenner shit and been pimping us out so to speak ever since we were younger."

"When I told you I would do anything for the both of you, I meant it! I wanted to see you both be successful!"

"But this was the wrong way to go about it and YOU KNOW IT. Jack feels as though he didn't get signed to Generation Now because he was talented, but because YOU had a hand in it. Oh, and apparently I also heard that he only got his role in White Men Can't Jump because of you. Otherwise, they were going to pick someone else."

"You two should be fucking thanking me for this."

"I'm not thanking you or THAT MAN for shit. Because we would have still been successful if your ass would have minded your own fucking business."

"YOU ARE MY BUSINESS!"

All you could do was shake your head and look at her in disbelief.

"You really don't see anything wrong in what you did? Do you?"

"I only regret lying to the two of you. But I don't regret doing what I had to do to get you two to this point."

Just then you felt Jack come up behind you, saw Dani and immediately stepped in front of you.

"Babe, go back inside before you both catch a cold." Jack said without taking his eyes off Dani and you went to sit back on the couch in the living room. 

"Jack, please just listen to me and hear me out."

"What, Danielle? What is there to hear out? Don't you think you've done enough? How would you feel if the roles were reversed and she was the one who lied to you?"

"I just... I had to do something to let her know that I loved her and cared about her."

"If you really loved and cared about her like you say you do, you wouldn't have had this go on for so long. No one deserves to get treated like this by their birth mother."

“They took her away from me! She’s MY daughter! Not theirs!” Dani exclaimed as she felt her eyes begin to water. 

“Because last time I checked, your ass was a fucking drug addict. She is their daughter. They took her away from you to keep her safe. Do you even think you deserved having the title of her mother since apparently you cared about getting high more than you did her! And she told me how she found you overdosed when she was six years old and she actually remembers!”

“The only way they would let me see her is if I went to rehab and I did! I relapsed a few times, but I never said I was perfect! I’ve been clean for the past six years.”

“You mean to tell me you only got your shit together ever since we were nineteen? So all that time you were still getting high? I heard cocaine was your drug of choice” Jack curiously asked while looking at her in disbelief.

“Because I needed my plan to work and no one is about to listen to a drug addict in the industry. Everything I fucking did, I did for the two of you. Ever since she told me when she was ten years old she wanted to be a rapper and then when she met you, it sealed the deal. I admit, I have paid off people to get both of you the opportunities I know that you deserve. When Drama told me he was creating his own label, I begged him to sign both of you. I admit he only wanted Y/N, but I pleaded with him to sign you too, because I knew we could mold you and you would be successful.  I have done questionable things, I admit but it’s because I care!”

“NO! IT’S BECAUSE YOU FEEL FUCKING GUILTY FOR LEAVING YOUR PARENTS TO RAISE A CHILD THAT YOU MADE! YOU’RE TRYING TO REDEEM YOURSELF! DO YOU HONESTLY THINK IN YOUR RIGHT MIND THAT MY WIFE IS GOING TO FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS? BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL DON’T. IF YOU THINK SHE IS FOR A SECOND, THEN THAT GOES TO SHOW YOU DON’T KNOW HER AT ALL.” 

“WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT OUT TO SEEM LIKE I’M A BAD PERSON?! LOOK THE FUCK AROUND ALL THIS SHIT YOU HAVE IS BECAUSE OF ME AND DRAMA!”

“STOP PLAYING THE FUCKING VICTIM AND GET THE FUCK OFF MY DOORSTEP, DANIELLE. ALL THIS SHIT WE HAVE IS BECAUSE WE WORKED FOR IT! AND IF YOU THINK FOR A GOT DAMN MINUTE THAT I AM LETTING YOU ANYWHERE NEAR MY WIFE AND CHILDREN, YOU GOT ANOTHER THING COMING. OH AND YOU CAN TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND, BABY DADDY, WHATEVER THE FUCK HE IS THE SAME THING.”

Without another word, Jack slammed the door in her face and turned around to see you standing there silently with tears streaming down your face.

“Baby…”

“Thank you for that. I… couldn’t have done that even as mad as I am at her. I just… I’m so hurt. She’s everything to me and I worshiped the ground she walked on. In my eyes she could do no wrong. I… I can’t even begin to process how I’m going to heal from this.”

“One step at a time and I’m going to be with you the entire time. Nothing can break us. You already know this.” Jack said as he embraced you and you quickly hugged him back.

“Drama called while you were talking to her.” You quietly said and Jack looked down at you.

“Did you answer it?”

“No. He should know better by now. We don’t want anything to do with either of them. I’ll talk to my parents eventually because they’ve been calling me too but for right now, I just can’t do it.”

“And that’s fine. It’s important to set boundaries, baby.”

“I know, but for now the only thing I want to do is spend time with my husband and babies who right now are all asleep except you.”

“I can think of a few things we could do and it definitely doesn’t involve clothes if you’re up for it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?

—

Jack was annoyed and so were you.

Apparently Drama sent a message on instagram to the both of you about the Gen Now charity event that neither of you could miss since it was required for all artists who are signed under the label to make an appearance. 

The two of you were in Atlanta, and the triplets were now six months old. Jessica and Blanca were on babysitting duties for the entire weekend that you two would be there and then you were flying back on Monday.

“Baby…” You said as Jack was aggressively tying his tie and you simply went over to him to do it yourself.

“He better not say a damn thing to me or you for that matter.”

“Just play nice so we can get this over with and then we can get back to our babies. They’re what’s important.” You said while sniffling as you finished.

“Babe! We’re only going to be gone the weekend and then we’ll be back home! Don’t cry!”

“BUT I MISS THEM!”

“The weekend will be over before you know it and then we’ll get back to being spit up on and shitted on.”

“You didn’t have to add that last part.” You responded while rolling your eyes and slipping on your heels.

“Damn, the way you look right now, we can make baby number four, five, and six.” Jack looked you up and down while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off, Harlow.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re not giving in.”

You simply sighed before walking over to him and kissing him.

“Make this quick and DON’T sweat out my hair.”

When the two of you pulled up to where the event was supposed to be held, you were looking around confused since there weren’t a lot of people or cars outside.

“Uh babe? Are we late?” 

“We can’t be that late, we only had sex twice. I would have gone another round if you didn’t demand that we had to leave! I was perfectly content staying at our house and fucking my wife’s brains out.”

“But we do, so quit it! We have more time for that later!” You responded as the both of you got out of the car, Jack grabbed your hand and began to make your way inside.

“Baby, why is it so quiet? Since when are any events that we do for Gen Now this quiet? This is how horror movies start.” You said as you held his hand tighter and Jack simply laughed at you.

“Just know if you do that damn white girl fall, I am NOT coming back for your ass!”

“YES YOU WOULD! You would not leave me!”

“Shit, that’s what you think.”

The both of you went around the corner to be faced with Dani and Drama and Jack immediately looked around and clenched his jaw.

“There is no fucking event. They lied and did this in an attempt to talk to us.” Jack muttered while looking down at you.

“Baby, play nice. We don’t know that, yet.” You whispered back to him and he simply shook his head.

“Too late and yes we do because that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Please don’t be mad, but we had to do this to get you two to talk to us. It has literally been four months. Y/N, we used to talk every day!” Dani said while looking at the two of you.

“Don’t talk to her. And I thought that I made myself fucking crystal clear that I didn’t want either of you near my wife.”

“How long are we going to keep this up for?” Drama asked and you knew that your husband was about to hit the roof. 

“You kept this shit up for almost 25 years so I can keep it going until you’re in your fucking grave. Doesn’t matter to me.” Jack answered and you stifled a laugh. 

“Y/N, just please let us talk this out.”

“No. Because I don’t want to talk to either of you and I probably won’t want to for the rest of my life. Both of you can fuck off. Be happy Danielle that your ass is not tasting concrete right now and I credit myself with going to therapy for that. Because if it was a year ago, you best believe I would have knocked all your fucking teeth out and you know I’m telling the truth.” 

All she did was cross her arms and look at you.

“Didn’t you teach me how to defend myself when I was little? Didn’t think you were going to be on the receiving end of that one day, huh?” You asked and it was now Jack’s turn to stifle a laugh. 

“I did the two of you a favor, all I wanted to do was set my daughter up for the rest of her life. That’s it.”

“You truly got some nerve calling her your daughter when you didn’t even fucking raise her. Neither of you did. You didn’t do us a fucking favor just like I told Danielle, the two of you feel guilty and this is your way of redeeming yourselves and trying to get back in her good graces. Well fucking newsflash, it’s not happening and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you two that. Hurt me all you want, I could care less. But if you come for my wife or my children, I have no hesitation to teach you a lesson and let you know I don’t play that shit. Unlike the two of you, I took my vows seriously as well as my role as a father. Yeah I found out yall were married for a little bit before getting divorced. Didn’t think we knew that, did you?”

“Damn. Double homicide.” You quietly said, but Jack smirked because he heard you.

“What you need to do is to stop being disrespectful towards us. If it wasn’t for us, the two of you wouldn’t have nearly as much as you have.” Drama said and Jack simply scoffed while you muttered ‘oh fuck’ under your breath. 

“It takes giving it to get it in return. And on that note, we’re leaving.”

“Just wait a minute.” Drama said as he went to put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, but Jack quickly turned around and punched him.

“SHIT!” Drama exclaimed, but Jack kept going as you gasped.

“JACK, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Dani yelled and you soon started to pull Jack away.

“Baby, stop!”

“HE FUCKING DESERVES IT!”

“I know he does, but think of our children. Just, please stop. He’s not worth it.” You said while finally pulling his arm away that was an inch away from Drama’s face. 

Jack stood up as you looked to see Drama’s eye starting to swell and he was also sporting a busted lip. 

“I warned the both of you to stay away, but you two obviously don’t know how to listen. Like I said before we’re leaving and the two of you better not pull this shit again. If there actually is an event that we need to be at, tell Neelam and Brandi. We’re done here. Unlike the two of you we’re actually good parents and we need to get back to Louisville to take care of them. Bye now.”

The two of you were now back home and it was around four in the morning. You had just gone to check on the triplets and you were now laying back down next to Jack who was lightly snoring in your ear.

“Jack?”

Silence.

“Jackman?”

“Hmm?”

“I feel as though they aren’t going to stop unless I publicly call them out.”

Now that got his attention as he opened his eyes to look over at you.

“What do you mean, baby?”

“It looks like I’m coming back from my hiatus a little early.”

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, druski2funny, softtcurse, privategarden, theshaderoom, brysontiller, claybornharlow, and 5,093,873 others

y/ninsta: did yall miss me?

all I was trying to do is mind my business, but these bitches got me fucked up. I deserve everything that I muthafuckin have and I'll be damned if someone says something otherwise

PSA: TRUST NO BITCH

p.s. danivalentine and djdrama this shit is for yall. FUCK YOU AND FUCK GENERATION NOW! I DON'T OWE YALL SHIT!

disrespectfully yours,

YOUR FUCKING DAUGHTER

jackharlow: let them know Mrs. Harlow 😤

y/ninsta: jackharlow I'm at the corner of fuck around with the Harlows and find out 😤

druski2funny: YOU KILLED THIS SHIT MAMAS! HAPPY YOU'RE BACK!

y/ninsta: druski2funny thank you boo, definitely missed it. this is just the beginning

saweetie: GO BEST FRIEND GOOOOOOO!!!!!

y/ninsta: saweetie stepping on fucking necks. I'm done playing with these bitches

urbanwyatt: both my best friends got to this point because of how talented they both are and nothing else

jackharlow: urbanwyatt REAL ONES KNOW

softtcurse: I'll jump they asses. just say the word

y/ninsta: softtcurse thank you for always having my back

yungskylark: SHE'S BACKKKKKKK!!!!!

y/ninsta: yungskylark LIKE I NEVER LEFT!!!!!

shloob_: THE DROUGHT IS OVER! I REPEAT THE DROUGHT IS OVER!

y/ninsta: shloob_ they NOT ready

privategarden: OUR QUEEN HAS RETURNED!!!!!!

y/ninsta: privategarden villian era loading

quiiso: FUCK IT UPPPP!

y/ninsta: I need a milkshake after that!

blancaaahood: uh oh. they got my girl mad now. rest in peace in advance

claybornharlow: little baby approved!

y/ninsta: claybornharlow thank you for producing this. love you.

jessicakelce: you got another thing coming to even think you can fuck my girl over and get away with it smh

theestallion: they need to stop playing with my girl. we got your back baby!

lilnasx: one thing I am NEVER going to understand is why you gonna go and piss off the first lady. damn it's quadruple homicide at this point

y/ninsta: lilnasx and they asses learned the hard way

Taglist:

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[hecckyeah]

scars we cover up with paint

(or: Daisy just needs her mom May)

(Agents of SHIELD, post-canon, MayDaisy mother daughter bonding time)

.

.

The first warning sign she should have picked up on was the clenching, gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Melinda May had been out of field duty for so long, she just attributed it to indigestion.

There was a time, years ago, when every warning bell in her body would have picked up on that noticeable gut feeling. That feeling meant action. Danger. Act fast, or else. She had once been able to quickly sort through the causes of it, just by scanning her eyes around the room or noticing discrepancies in her surroundings that her subconscious had picked up on before she could register them.

She would have been checking in on her team when that happened, going through names on her phone and knocking on doors, one by one, until everyone was alive and accounted for. And then she would find out what her intuition was telling her. 

That was her past life. That was always being on the move, never predicting the next tragedy, never being able to keep her family safe. 

That was then.

This is now.  

There was no reason for it. Unless one of her Academy students was secretly harboring evil intentions, the feelings were simply natural and meant nothing.

But now, even with a stomach full from lunch and a good book in hand, the discomfort persisted. 

I’m going crazy . 

The warning bells continued. She shifted in the chair, hoping it really was just a rare bout of indigestion. Even stood up, stretched her arms up toward the ceiling, then down, folding herself in half until her arms hugged her knees. Stretched from side to side, twisted her torso.

It didn’t help.

Which meant it was probably time to panic.

.

.

.

.

The message came before she could pick up her phone to call Mack.

It really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Simply an update from Agent Payne, assistant head of the space exploration program, explaining as requested that the Zephyr Three just touched down and that the agents were currently being examined at the SHIELD medical facility in Charleston, South Carolina.

Melinda remembered, with a pang, that this was officially the end of the small team’s last mission. After five years flying missions for the space division and at least that many trips around the galaxy, the Zephyr Three and her crew were finally Earth-bound, permanently. 

“I’m ready to leave space travel to the younger kids,” Sousa had joked last year at their annual Framework meetup. “I’m like a hundred and ten – You guys think I deserve to retire yet?”

May had seen the emotion-filled look Daisy sent her husband, probably thinking she was being subtle but failing valiantly as usual.

If anyone deserved a nice life of low-stakes office work and training recruits, it was those two. Daniel and Daisy. 

She returned her attention to the phone screen and Payne’s message. Glanced over it one more time. 

In getting lost in her memories, she had missed the end of it.

Zephyr 3 just landed, the message read. The crew’s headed to the SCMSC for their workups. All healthy at first glance, just tired and ready to be on solid ground again. Don’t want to worry you.. but your girl is anxious to see you. Might be trip related, maybe not. But she asked for you a few times. Let me know if you want a ride down here.

May paused. 

Your girl.

She knew Payne was referring to Daisy. It was widely known in SHIELD that the small team had a special, unique, altogether unbreakable bond that rivaled that of even the tightest-knit family. It was forged in the years of insane trials they’d gone through – Events that would have destroyed any weaker souls. They’d lost the people closest to them. Almost lost themselves hundreds of times over. No one could go through all that and not come out changed.

Coulson had sometimes referred to Daisy as the daughter he never had. And although she rarely said it, May had always felt the same.

Your girl.

The girl she’d trained. Protected. Held up when the universe seemed determined to destroy her. 

Daisy had never needed May. But she’d always chosen her. 

Chosen her to be the mother figure she’d always dreamed of having. 

The next text message followed, with perfect timing. And even before she could see the sender’s name, she knew it was from Daisy.

Hey May. Payne said he’d update you, but I’m thinking he’ll downplay things. Need my S.O. right now. Please tell me you’re free. I’ll tell Payne to send the jet.

No emojis, no exclamation points, perfect punctuation, and she hadn't called May her Supervising Officer in years . Something was very wrong, and the thought sent a hot stone down to the depths of her chest. 

It only took her seven minutes to pack a small duffel, all while on the phone with Payne, arranging pickup. He also promised to personally call the Academy for her and arrange for a substitute for a few days. She thanked him profusely for that gesture. 

Finally she locked the door behind her, stepped out onto her front porch, let out a deep breath, and set her jaw.

On my way, she texted Daisy. Hang in there. I got you.

.

.

read the rest on ao3

[weightofkiszka]

𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒶𝓌𝓃~𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉. 1

This will be a series :D not sure how long it will be yet

word count:1,221(so far)

Warnings: None for now, TBD

Being in high school in a small town was strange and difficult. Everyone knew who each other were, even if they didn't know each other personally. That was how it always was. You knew who everyone was, even if you didn't hang out with them. Sammy was your best friend though. And you were his, aside from the curly haired boy he'd known since the first grade. You two were almost inseparable, some would even say that you both had a crush on each other. But that was no where near how it was. You and Sam were like siblings and had been since you met in kindergarten. When he started hanging out with Daniel too, you didn't mind although you rarely spoke to Daniel. Up until a week before graduation at least. The two of you had been at Sam's house, as that was the usual hangout and even sometimes the woods on the edge of town. You didn't know Daniel would be there as he had told Sam that he wasn't sure he could due to work. Yet when Daniel walked through the front door, you saw how gorgeous he was. You weren't sure how you hadn't noticed over all those years spent with him. His curls pulled back into a low bun and his sun-kissed skin made your heart race. You often found yourself staring at him after that moment, whenever you were around him and even after that at graduation. The three of you spent the summer together before leaving for college since you had been accepted into Harvard Law, your dream college and when they heard you had been accepted they made sure to have the best summer before you left. Sam and Daniel stayed behind, going to a community college since they both wanted to stay in Frankenmuth. You grew so busy in school you had almost forgotten about them.

FIVE YEARS LATER

"We'll pick you up from the airport, okay? You can stay with us honey, your room hasn't been touched since you left.", your mother told you over the phone. "Okay mama, thank you. I'll call you when we land." You hung up the call and put your phone on airplane mode. This trip will be your first time home since being a freshman in college. Actually you wouldn't be returning to Harvard law, but your family didn't know that yet. You had grown to realize it wasn't what you wanted to do so you would find work in your hometown until you knew exactly what you wanted to do. Your flight was short, only about two hours. You decided to fly instead of drive, only because you didn't have a car but also because it was cheaper than renting a car.

🕊️🕊️

After landing in Detroit and being picked up by your parents, they drove you back home. You found you had fallen asleep when you felt your phone vibrate. Checking it, you saw you had an instagram message.

samfkiszka: hey :) your mom said you would be in town today and i was wondering if you wanted to hang out and catch up?

morningbird: yes ofc omg i would love to. Tonight at 8?

samfkiszka: see you then :)

You liked the message, letting him know that you had seen it. You hadn't talked to Sam or Danny since your last day before leaving for school. It felt good knowing at least one of them was still in town and even if you hadn't heard from Danny you made a mental note to ask Sam about him. You wanted to know what they both had been up to since you hadn't been home since you were 19. You were now 24 and were due to graduate next semester. An entire year early, yet it became to stressful for you. You had been top of your class for four years, but a messy breakup sent you into a depression and cause your grades to slip below the average A+ you usually had, which hadn't been a big deal until the only class you needed to pass this semester had been failed. So you thought it was best to move back home and figure it out from there.

Once you made it back to your parents house and got all of your belongings to your room, you set up your computer to look for work around town. Finding one in particular that piqued your interest you immediately looked at the website.

New Moon Apothecary. Specializing in all your spiritual needs.

After looking over the website, you applied and hoped for the best. You had never worked in an apothecary before but was well educated in tarot, maybe hoping to give readings at the apothecary. Hearing a knock at your bedroom door, you jumped. You forgot what it was like living with other people.

"Hey Y/N. I couldn't wait any longer to see my best friend so I thought I'd stop by." You heard the familiar voice say before looking back at him. "Sammy! Oh my gosh how are you?" You jumped up and ran to Sam giving him one of the biggest hugs you'd ever given someone. "I've been good! I missed you so much Y/N. Daniel is still in town too so we'll all have to meet up this week. I never thought you'd come back if I'm being honest."

You pulled back and looked at him "Never come back? Sam I always had plans on coming back even if it was just to see you." You smiled at him and stepped away. "Let me just get dressed and we can go where ever you want, okay?" He smiled and left the room to give you privacy. "I'll be out by my car waiting."

Sam treated you to burgers and fries, a meal you both got whenever you had the chance. You both giggled at everything, almost like no time had passed at all. He filled you in on everything that had happened in his life over the years. Becoming a producer and producing his brother Jake's music for three years until Jake was signed to a label out in Nashville. Sam stayed behind and watched his brothers dream come true while finding work with smaller bands around town. After filling you in on everything he had done the last five years, he asked how school had been and when you'd be going back.

"I'm actually staying here for a while. I didn't finish school..." You looked at him nervously biting your lip, afraid he'd be disappointed. "Well thats alright, you'll find something here to do and eventually find what works for you." Relieved he wasn't disappointed, you smiled.

The both of you walked around town for a while after that. Spotting New Moon in the distance you drug him along faster, explaining you had applied there and wanted to check it out before your interview. He giggled at how excited you seemed, and opened the door for you. The both of you looking around, and pointing out different crystals to each other. You were looking at a deck of bird themed tarot cards when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Birdie?", you turned to see who spoke before your heart stopped and you froze completely seeing them behind the counter.

"Daniel?"

taglist:

@profitofthedune @sunflwerfangirl @gvf23

[aleksa-sims]

RL Sims-Story (18+)

CW: addiction, drugs

My memories still didn’t come back and I still had no idea what had happened in those 2 crazy days. I just knew, I was with my parents (and Philip), totally high and....who knows what else? 🤦‍♀️ That’s why I met my mom the next day, to settle this with her. 😥

My mom begged me on the phone to change my hair. She said I look a bit messy and next week, I will start working again. But not just that! I had to be transferred and come to a new office. 😩 I had to change every 9 months, to go through each area once. But my mom was right! As I looked at the moment, I would certainly not make a good first impression. I got these bruises/blue marks again. They were everywhere! My body was full! 😨 But back to my mom & me! Why was I with my parents, two days ago?? After all, my dad kicked me out. 

My mom asked me to come over, to talk. She said my dad wasn’t home, but he was there! Also my grandparents and even Philip was there!! They tried to persuade me to leave Daniel & come back home. 😢  A week ago I went to my parents and picked up the rest of my stuff! My mom noticed how Daniel changed and that he wasn’t feeling well, and that’s exactly what scared her!

Mom: Please, come home with me when we’re done here! You look even worse than a few days ago! Are you in pain? 😞

Me: No! I’m just annoyed! 😩 😔 I don’t want to sit here for 3 hours to dye my hair. I never wanted to come back here after your great.... hairstylist Tom 🤨, cut my hair so short without really asking me!!

Mom: He said, he’ll make it up to you today. Ok?...And I wanted to do you a favor! I know you’re afraid they won’t like you in the new office. But if you see how pretty you are, you’ll feel more confident. And I’m sure you’ll make new friends there too, just please stay clean when you go to work! 😟

Me: Yeah....What happened on Saturday? Why did you involve Philip in this? He has his own problems!

Mom: I just called Philip to ask, if he saw you. When I told him that I wanted to persuade you to come back home, he wanted to help. He’s worried about you too! Why did you leave on Saturday? You promised us all, you would stay! But after a while, you were just gone! Your grandpa spent three hours looking for you, A.! 😞 But Philip called and said you were with him.....Still, you went with Daniel, why? 😦 🤷‍♀️

Me: I-...Idk exactly what happened? 😔 P. just told me, everything was fine? 😕 But he’ll come to me tomorrow to sort this out. But I can’t be with him! I just don’t trust him anymore. 😞

Mom: But you trust Daniel?... Look! 😟 Daniel isn’t longer the boy or actually... man, he was a few weeks ago! When I saw him with you last time, I almost blacked out. He scares me so much, A.! He will hurt you or force you, to do.... things for him, just because he needs his drugs. You gotta get away from him! 😧

Me: He would never do this to me! He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met! And he needs me! I have to help him! He has no one else, but me! You know..., his mom’s not like you! She doesn’t care about him! 😟 She’s just interested in her fucking..... mumbo-jumbo shit. 😒 🤦‍♀️

Mom: But it’s not your job to help him. Help yourself and come home to your family!!

Me: I wish I could! Really! But I can’t!...Something about him... just won’t let me go! 😳 😢 

Mom: That’s just because you’re constantly high with him! You can’t let go of the feeling of being high!! It’s not Daniel! It’s that damn drug, A.! 😨

Me: No, it’s him! And without him, I will not come back! I want to stay with him forever and we will get well again, I know that!

Mom: You’re imagining something that’s not real. But I’m sorry, A.! It won’t last and the pain you will have afterwards, will be much worse than the one you had before. 😟

Me: That’s why it MUST work! And it will!...This is not imagination! My feelings for him are REAL! 

Mom: I see I’m talking against a wall! Still, I’m not giving up on you! Never! Which is why I’ll make you a suggestion later, when you’re done with your hair, but now go! Tom is waiting for you.

Tom: Aleksa my pretty! Come on, let’s make you even more beautiful.

Me: Yeah. 🤨

Tom: I have a little surprise for you! As compensation for this very drastic change, half a year ago.😬 🤷‍♂️

Me: Hm! 🤨 🤔 ....Ok mom, see you later! And thanks for all....this! Love you!

My mom was right! I liked my new hair! I thanked & hugged her. After that we spent some time together and went shopping. Yeah, she’s a shopaholic!! 🤷‍♀️ No wonder my dad was always freaking out..... My mom wanted me to go home with her, but she realized, I would never do this without him. So she promised me, that she will also help Daniel! He and I together on withdrawal at our home. 😟

When I said goodbye to my mom, I felt like the last piece of shit on this planet. She cried and it hurt me so much to leave her there at that bus stop alone. But I told her, I would come back home, if I could take Daniel with me. I couldn’t just abandon him!! And I won’t! 

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[shortystoriesbybri]

Part 2...

At the time we were texting because she was not home, so I replied in all caps THAT’S NOT RIGHT AND YOU KNOW IT! If there are three adults in the house , the bills need to be split down into three parts. It’s mind boggling  that I even had to say this because she had a roommate a few years back and this is the agreement she had with her and Daniel back in the day. I truly was being fucked over and Chey and Jason were laughing at me about it. I did what anybody else I knew would do. I MOVED BACK in with my mom. Not fully I still had all my stuff there but as far as clothes and necessities went was covered. A couple months had passed by and I got a notice from the rental office who I had been harassing at this point to get my name off the lease. He said it didn’t matter anymore because nobody was paying bills. There was now an open eviction being served and court dates to attend. NOT ONE DOLLAR was paid to them after I moved out. I spoke with my mom after court, of course she came with me and said I needed to take someone with me and pack my things up and make sure they are ready on the last day before the complex locked all the doors and I lost everything. That’s exactly what I did, I took Free with me Michaels other Baby mother with me and she helped me pack up. It took us about an hour to get it all prepared to be moved. I never even had a chance to decorate my room or buy furniture because I was only there for a month not even. Chey had been selling sex toys for about a year at that point and she wouldn’t give me back my timbs I left in her car. On the way out of the apartment I took a toy. My intentions were to hold it until I received my almost $200.00 shoes back but I never got them back, so she never got her shit back. The last day comes for us to be out of the apartment, I go in my room with my dad so that we can get all my belongings out of the apartment but the first thing I notice is that my mom’s tv that she had just gave me was gone. Chey with her shiesty ass stole my moms tv out my room. I was livid because first you steal my timbs, I hold your shit hostage and instead of giving me my stuff back and trade Chey continued to steal from me. I was livid , I picked up the phone and called her on my dad’s phone and her man answered the phone. I started yelling , she grabbed the phone and hung up…….Five years go by with me being the one who ended the friendship.  Just the thought of Chey being in my life 8 years. I was a freshman in high school and doing me this dirty over a man that was addicted to perks and couldn’t provide for his self I was hurt.  She was being taken advantage of and I got the shittiest end of the stick. Five years go by, there was no beef and I had seen her a couple times at Michael’s house for a party or two however, there was never any interaction because she knew to tread lightly around me. We got older I was 26 when I reached back out to her off the picture I seen her mom post of her pregnancy. I congratulated her and she wondered how tf I even found out. I told her that I seen it on her mom’s page because we were still friends online. We started speaking Everyday again, I got her kid a bunch of shit for his arrival. The first thing she said to me after being cool again was “I never spoke bad on you, and I never said I would never speak to you again because you are a good friend.” Everything was cool for about two years not knowing in the month of November when she was telling me that She took Michael to see his son being born back in the day but it struck me that I had never heard that version, I was always told that Pam had taken Michael for this birth of his child. At that moment I had a million and five questions but I knew she would just lie and cover her ass, so I waited for the right time to ask Michael. Now this is 10 years later, so I know when Michael is about to lie.  While on the phone asking Michael about other things that he has put me through in the past he told me yes or no. Then I hit him with the question about Chey and he smirked ..............

To be continued....

[vidalinav]

Stu(died)- Chapter 5

Summary: Cassian invites Nesta to spend Thanksgiving with his family. 

Nessian Modern AU-university setting.

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

~~~~

Cassian sets down the pie tin, the glass clinking on the counter tops. “I’m giving you all warning now, but I’m bringing someone to Thanksgiving.”   

“And who’s that, baby?” His mom calls. She moves through the kitchen, reaching for a cup in the cupboard. Cassian doesn’t bother waiting for her to ask for help as short as she is or watch her climb on top of the counter. He grabs one for her and his mom gives him a sleepy pat on the cheek.   

“She’s a friend,” Cassian explains. That’s all the information he really wants to give. But it’s the way he says it… it gives too much away.

His sister coughs as she tries to swallow a bite of cereal, and his mom whips towards him with those laser beam eyes. “A friend?”   

“Yes, a friend,” Cassian confirms with a small sigh.   

They both gape up at him, but luckily, his dad saves the day, yet again. He blinks blearily at the three of them huddled in the kitchen, hair a tousled mess. He’s probably wondering why all of them are so awake this early, but Cassian doesn’t bother mentioning it’s already close to nine. He’ll take the distraction. Any reprieve. They watch as his dad looks to Azriel, flipping through channels in the living room. He simply nods a confused good morning.   

“Daniel,” His mom beams, slapping her hand to his father’s arm. “Cassian’s bringing a friend home for Thanksgiving!”   

“Who?”   

“Nesta… you met her at the game.” Cassian rubs the back of his neck. A nervous habit that he supposes is better than yelling at all of them to leave him alone. 

“Ah,” his dad sings, nodding in recognition. “The beautiful one.” He wags a finger as he huffs a laugh, reaching for the coffee pot. “My son sure knows how to pick ‘em.”   

Cassian scowls at that. “She’s more than beautiful. She’s…”   

Funny, grumpy, secretively soft.   

“She’s smart,” Cassian says instead.   

Ama lifts the spoon from her lips, waving it around with a mouth full of coco puffs. “What’s she doing with you, then?”  

“Ha. Ha.” Cassian remarks, though he can’t hold back the irritation. He’s been asking himself that same question... 

But she’s not really with him. He’s just better than being alone on a holiday.  

Cassian takes a deep breath, looking to his family. They’re going to embarrass him, he already knows. “She’s important to me, so I’m telling you early so you can get rid of any baby pictures where I’m naked in the bath… and don’t go pointing to places where I peed on the wall when I was six.”   

His father snorts, smirking to his mom. “That’s it, Franny, we’re going to have to move. Get rid of anything Cassian’s touched.”   

But his mom’s hums in judgement, glaring up at him in the way that has him straightening. “I think you forgot about that time when you were fifteen. After that party you boys snuck out ot.”   

“Men are disgusting,” Ama says, her mouth pursing as if she’s tasting something sour. “Anyways, what does she look like? I doubt you’re bagging Instagram models.”   

His dad gestures towards him, confused. “Cassian’s good-looking! What do you mean?” 

“Thank you!” Cassian says, pointedly glaring at Ama.   

But his sister only waves a hand, gesturing for Cassian to cough up the goods. Even his mom looks like she wants to know, her eyes big and pleading.   

Cassian sighs, pulling out his phone to the only photo he has of Nesta. Just seeing her has him smiling and he tries to tamper it down, hide it in a cough.  

She looks bored with her chin in her palm, irritated that he won’t put the phone down and study. Nesta’s surrounded by books and a mess of paper, and it seems so her, he wants to squeeze his phone. What he wouldn’t give to hold her tight when she’s grumpy and sneering, to bury his face in her hair until she laughs.   

It’s his favorite photo to date, and if he’s honest, he’s looked at it a million times. Cassian can still feel the panic of that one time he almost deletes it—a slip of his large thumb—so he won’t let them touch the screen as he holds his phone out.   

“You look with your eyes, not your hands,” he grumbles, “It’s the only picture I have." 

“She’s so beautiful!” Ama gasps, holding a hand to her chest dramatically. “Way too pretty for you. But can I date her?”   

“You’re fourteen!”   

“And?” She drawls, “Is age the only thing standing in my way? No hope for you then.”   

Cassian opens his mouth to respond, but his mom sighs at the two of them. She distracts him from whatever he’s about to say. Cassian watches as his mom takes his dad’s coffee from his hand, sipping at it while she cozies under his arm. His dad snuggles close, laying his head on hers. Perfectly content.   

Cassian wants that…  

So many times, he’s imagined it. Nesta and him in a great big house or a small, cozy home. Whatever she wants. Whatever makes her happy. As long as she’s in his arms. But Cassian shakes away the thought. She’s not even his. He’s not hers. They’re not dating. She’s only… a friend?   

He doesn’t even know.   

Rhys distracts him from his pity party, if only because he enters the kitchen with that ruffled expression he always seems to have on his lips. His brother leans on the counter, grabbing at an apple, and frowning at the picture still displayed bright on the screen.   

“She’s mean,” he notes, wrinkling his nose.   

Cassian snatches the apple away before he can take even one bite. “She’s not mean. She’s grumpy.”   

“Maybe that’s what he sees in women,” Azriel calls out from the living room, still staring at the tv screen.   

“Yeah,” Cassian says, pointing at Rhys. “Wait–no! She’s just Nesta. That’s just how Nesta is. She’s not mean. She’s… tough.”   

“Like a steak that’s well done?” Ama questions.   

Cassian thinks better on answering that. The subject of meat and Nesta should not belong in the same conversation… unless it’s steak houses and cooking… eating? Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can we stop talking about Nesta now?” 

His mom simply gestures to the photo. “How long have you known her?”   

Cassian sighs. He closes his eyes, knowing exactly what they’re going to say. “Two years.”   

They all begin to shout, and he wonders if he should mention how early it is. 

Only nine…   

“What and she doesn’t want to date you?” His dad gestures to him as if he were a piece of meat. “Is she blind?”  

“Or stupid,” Rhys mumbles.   

“She’s smart,” Azriel mocks, joining the procession. He smiles and Cassian knows he’s only teasing, but he sneers at his brother anyway, waving at the others in a how could you?   

Ama shrugs a shoulder, “Dodging a bullet then.”   

Cassian watches as Azriel and Ama fist bump at that. The look of betrayal Cassian gives his little sister is enough for her to roll her eyes. When did he stop being the favorite brother, he thinks. He took her to the science museum every spring since she was nine!  

At least, he knows where she’s getting the teenage angst.   

Cassian decidedly grabs the spatula. Enough is enough. “She’s coming for Thanksgiving,” He shouts, “and I swear if any of you make her uncomfortable, I’ll…”  

His mom raises a brow, that motherly cautionary tone in her voice. “You’re going to what?”   

Cassian sputters, “I’m… I’m going to burn all the food! Nothing you eat will be edible.”   

“You wouldn’t dare!” Ama shrieks.   

Azriel crosses his arms, insulted at the low blow of Cassian going directly for the food first. “Even the rolls?” 

Rhys only rolls his eyes. “Then Nesta will see you can’t cook and will probably dump your ass right then. I like this plan.”   

Cassian lowers the spatula. He didn’t think of that one. 

“What do you see in her anyways?”   

It’s a genuine question, Cassian knows. One that he feels like he must defend on principle.   

“I shouldn’t have to explain why I like someone, Little Rhysie.” Rhys sneers at the name. “And Nesta doesn’t have to like me, let’s be clear! But you just… you don’t know her like I do. Yes, she’s grumpy and she looks as if she’s always bored, and she acts, at first, dismissive and arrogant, but she’s loving and so funny and attentive, and she has to be comfortable for you to really see the extent of who she is.”   

“So, she’s a human version of Hamilton,” Ama says.   

At his name, the cat meows loudly. He jumps off the couch, raising a big furry tail. They all watch him move to his bowl, meowing in a fit of anger that it hasn’t already been filled.   

“Oh!” they all sound, looking to each other and nodding.   

Cassian shakes his head and sighs. “I’m getting a new family.” 

~ 

Cassian drums his fingers on the steering wheel the entire time Nesta’s in his car. She’s quiet and solemn and she grips the side of the door like she might open it at any moment. He imagines her escape. Jumping and rolling out onto the tarmac because she’d rather eat dirt than suffer this holiday with him.  

Cassian feels oddly self-conscious with her here, in his car with her backpack stuck in the back. It’s too casual—too normal for this be anything but a dream. Cassian finds himself sniffing the air every time he breaths, to catch that whiff of vanilla of his sister’s perfume. He sprays it right before she enters, and he has the vague inclination to keep spraying it while she’s near. He’s cleaned it so there’s no odd smell or mess, but it’s Nesta...  

She can scent fear.  

Worse, Cassian’s a nervous rambler and the silence is driving him insane. He thinks to turn on the radio, but his hands lay firmly on the steering wheel as if he’ll veer off if he lets go.  

The only thing he can think of to drum up a conversation is asking her about her paper. The one she spends two weeks on in a great state of despair. Half jumbled and half-screeching, she complains to anyone who listens about the critique she’s received and how she’ll have to spend extra time on the next assignment to make up for this grade. 

Cassian’s all too happy listening to Nesta now complain how she still hasn’t gotten her grade back for the more recent assignment when it’s been nearly a month, which just proves how the professor’s too incompetent to give good feedback.   

The conversation buys him some time at least. Time for what? He doesn’t know. But his stomach hurts just thinking about it.   

Inevitably though, Cassian begins pulling into streets of trimmed bushes and fountains in front of the lawns. His house is at the end of the long road, down a long driveway where him and his brothers used to race on their bikes until Rhys broke his arm, and they could no longer venture without a watchful eye. The inflatable balloon decorations are already sprouting from the ground. Tacky? Yes, but his parents had never cared about having the best lawn in the neighborhood.  

Besides, the tackiness doesn’t concern him. It’s the sheer size of his house. Cassian’s never noticed how large it is before… All houses on this block are. Vaguely he can remember the conversation he overhears between her and Gwyn... something about overconsumption and the rich. He squints at her hard as Nesta takes in the view. What is she thinking?  

Probably something along the lines of Death to the Proletariats! 

“So, this is your house,” she says. Nesta doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, he half wonders if she’s mumbling it to herself. “Looks exactly like I expected.”   

Cassian doesn’t know exactly what that means, so he merely shoves open his door, rushing to the other side. He thinks to open it for her, ease her into this whole ordeal, maybe body block her view, but by the time he reaches the other side, Nesta’s already hopping from his jeep.  

So, Cassian goes to get her bag. It’s heavy as he lifts it, and he has pretty good idea about the contents. Books and notebooks and textbooks... Nesta’s brain never takes a vacation. 

“I can carry my own bag,” she complains.   

Cassian rolls his eyes, throwing it over his shoulder and trying not to wince when it hits his back. “I can, too. See?”   

The glare Nesta gives him is just enough to give him chills.  

Until he remembers that it’s nearly the end of November and the temperature is dropping steadfast. It has yet to snow, but Cassian thinks it smells like it. The air is crisp and wet and fresh. It’s perfect weather for snowfall. 

It’s not perfect weather for someone with only a cardigan. What is it with Nesta and tiny sweaters? Cassian refrains from telling her that though or lecturing her on the fact that she was just sick a few weeks ago. She’ll only argue and spend more time in the cold, so he hurries her to the front door.

Nesta wavers at the inflatable snowman, sizing it up, and eyeing it as if she might fight the thing for being too tall. Cassian doesn’t let her look for too long.    

“Even your tree is large,” Nesta notes as they step through the doorway and into the hall. The key is stuck in the lock and Cassian wrestles with it, until her gaze lands on him and then he acts as if the key was always meant to be there in the first place.

Nesta raises a brow, and Cassian only tilts his head in question, innocence appearing on his face. She juts her chin towards the bare tree. Sturdy and proud.

The tree is only twelve feet. Not even the largest they’ve had, but the pickings are slim this year. Cassian won’t tell her this, of course. Not when every look means she’s analyzing his whole life like it’s trapped in a slide and she’s peering through a microscope.  

Instead, he shrugs, “it’s a fir.” 

Nesta wrinkles her nose slightly. “It’s real?”   

Thankfully he doesn’t have to answer that judgmental tone. He can already hear his dad’s spirited voice calling out for him. “Cassian! Is that you?”  

Nesta shirks back at the voice, and she looks like she might run, but she doesn’t. She stands there and straightens, her chin raising in habit as if she’ll scare that thing that wishes to trample her and stand in her way. Because Nesta has never shied from anything. Cassian can’t help the fondness blooming in his chest. That’s his Nesta.  

Not his Nesta, of course.

In steps in the most un-threatening man, Cassian has ever known.

He smiles behind those big glasses, raking them up to his nose. It’s as much of a nervous habit as Nesta’s straight spine. Two of the most harmless humans to exist staring at each other for not even the first time. He’s a large man, and without his school regalia, he’s more studious and domineering. Plenty of his friends when he was young, hated coming to their house for this reason. Afraid of being caught with some principle like figure. But Cassian knows how his father is… he’s a dork, just like Nesta.

Nesta smiles right away. It’s only a small turn of her lips and her eyes are too bright to mean she’s comfortable, but still… Cassian wonders if that pink tilt is from pure politeness or if she recognizes the man from their tailgating and doesn’t mind being around him. It is just a quick meet and goodbye, but she doesn’t wrinkle her nose at least or scoff haughtily at his outstretched hand, so Cassian takes that as a good sign. 

His dad answers back with a warm smile of his own and for a moment Cassian thinks this might not be so bad. How threatening can a middle-aged man with an argyle sweater seem to someone? She’ll relax.

But Cassian asks cautiously, “where are the others?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re somewhere around here,” His dad chatters, waving him off and gesturing for them to follow, to look and get comfortable. Look at the pictures hanging on the wall, the house in all its glory, the halls like he’s showing her an apartment she wishes to rent. “You know, it’s very nice to meet you again Nesta. When Cassian told us you were coming, I almost didn’t believe it. Cassian never brings anyone home, and I encourage him often. I almost thought he didn’t have any friends.”

Nesta doesn’t look at him while his father rambles on, she’s too quiet as she takes it all in. There’s not much he wants to hide from her, his whole house is welcome to her… but boy, does he want to hide her and maybe himself. Both of them running back to campus, before something deeply embarrasing can happen. His dad gestures to the kitchen, as polite as any concierge. He smiles at him with a great big grin as Nesta moves first, giving Cassian a thumbs up when she’s ahead.

“We got a whole buffet of food that my son’s so graciously made for all of us.” 

“You cook?” Nesta asks, her voice making him stand with attention. But she shakes her head as if chastising herself. In a low voice and perhaps for her own ears, she says, “of course you cook. I saw you grill.”  

Before Cassian can answer that or pause in his pursuit of memorizing every little quirk that Nesta Archeron possesses, his dad’s already luring them both towards the stove. They watch him smile gleefully, putting on large oven mitts and throwing an apron over his head. It has a cartoon dinosaur dressed in Christmas lights on it. Tree Rex...   

Dear god.   

His dad raises his finger in excitement, as if to say wait and Cassian smiles nervously at Nesta, though she only looks ahead, careful not to look at him for too long.

Carefully, his dad takes out the pie from the oven. Warm and golden brown, he holds it up like it’s Cassian’s first grade art project. “Look at this! He’s a wonderful cook. Best in town! Look at that lace on the border. You can’t get that kind of detail just anywhere.”   

Cassian laughs anxiously, giving his dad a look, hoping it conveys the right message. Tone it down!  

“I’m not that good,” he dismisses, sheepishly.   

“Don’t be modest!”   

His cheeks heat up from the praise or... Is he embarrassed? Cassian has no idea. It’s hard to tell. As soon as Nesta sees the house, he figures the queasiness in his stomach will go away once that part is over, but it seems to be becoming a permanent state of affair.  

“Yeah. Don’t be modest Cassian.” Azriel grins wide as they all turn to see his brother and his little sister in the doorway.  

Azriel gives a nod to Nesta, and promptly heads for the rolls. Cassian smiles in a way that hurts his cheeks. “Why are you still in pajamas?” He mumbles under his breath when Azriel reaches beside him.  

Azriel scoffs, “it's my house. What should I be wearing?” 

“It’s Thanksgiving,” he says as if it’s obvious.  

“And I’m wearing Sunday’s best.” His hair isn’t even combed, and his shirt has a baby vomiting on the front.  

"Hamilton’s dressed nice at least,” Ama says, holding the fat cat in her arms. Indeed, he has a little bow tie on, and the cat doesn’t look happy about it either. Not that Hamilton ever looks happy...  

“And you?” Cassian gestures to her dress, noticing the pins in her hair, the way it’s curled. It’s the nicest he’s ever seen her outside of band concerts and science fairs. Cassian can just imagine what she’s going to say. Something all the lines of on my way to steal your girl.  

His mom, however, appears from the living room, her arms already crossed in that mad mom way. Cassian was supposed to text when they were close... whoops.  

Probably would have been a good idea, knowing his family. The way they liked to embellish and dramatize. A house full of actors and clowns, he once says. What did that make him then in this circus?

"Where’s Rhys?” Cassian asks, looking around to see one of them is missing. 

Azriel shrugs, “probably still washing his hair. I filled his shampoo with mayonnaise.”   

What? “Why?”  

“I told him he’d regret it if he ate my last donut. It’s not my fault he has no self-preservation skills.”  

His mom only rolls her eyes, “We’ll talk about that later.”  

She shoves her way past them, warning them with a stern look. Be polite. 

Yes, Cassian wants to plead. Please be nice and warm and comforting. 

“You must be Nesta!” His mom announces. Cassian grimaces at the brightness of his mom’s voice. “I’m Francesca. Cassian’s mom, of course. You can call me mom, too, if you’d like.” At Cassian’s bewildered look, his mom waves a hand. “What? Everyone calls me mom. I’m the mom of the neighborhood.” 

“Or...” His dad interrupts. His saving grace. “You can call her Franny.”  

His mom smiles a little sheepishly when she notices Nesta’s lips raise in what looks more like a grimace. But before she can say anything that might appease, as his mother likes to do, Cassian watches as she zeroes in on to the backpack left on the floor, where Nesta leaves it tucked out of the way.   

Nesta follows that gaze, looking too apologetic for a place that’s usually messy. But his mom doesn’t let her get a word out before she’s holding up her hand. “Did my son not get you settled in? Cassian did you show her around the house—the bathrooms at least?” Nesta's eyes widen as his mom zeros in. “Did he offer you a drink, sweet pea?”  

“We just got here,” he whines in explanation.

His mother ignores that. “Lemonade? Iced tea? Cassian get her an iced tea.” 

“Ma, she can talk,” Ama says.   

“Also, she has arms,” Azriel adds, lightly. She gives them both a stern look and whips a glare to Cassian.   

Cassian takes a deep breath and decides that he’ll just settle the matter with as little fuss as possible. He shrugs. “Do you want something? I can show you what we have.”   

Nesta merely nods, but to say she looks overwhelmed is an understatement. At least she seems to be at ease with his dad. He gives her a friendly smile as he nods to the refrigerator and it’s something about the softness that has Cassian relieved.

His dad holds Ama with that look. His little sister wrapped in a white blanket, as he announces come meet your baby sister. It’s the same look he gives when Cassian breaks his leg in the second grade, and he carries him to the car. The same look as when Azriel—perfect Azriel—forgets to do his fifth-grade project and he cries. His dad rallies them together and they stay up the entire night making an ecosystem in a cardboard box.  

To Nesta it might have been a friendly face in a crowded room, but to Cassian... Cassian is never more grateful to have a father like him.   

It puts him at ease.   

So, Cassian, in a fit of courage, blurts, “You now know my mom.”   

He speaks to Nesta only—pauses so she can look to him and not the others who are probably watching and jotting every way they can make fun of him later. “She likes to boss me around most days, but she’s the most wonderful person alive.” He sets a hand on his mom’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This is Ama, my little sister and of course, you already know Azriel. This fat cat is Hamilton.”   

He turns to look at them after he’s sure Nesta doesn’t look too overwhelmed. “Guys, this is Nesta.”  

Ama rolls her eyes, “Obviously. Mom just said that.” 

“Thank you, Ama. I just love the tone of your voice. So sweet to me.” 

But his little sister raises a hand, and raises Hamilton’s too, in a wave of hello.  

Cassian watches as a sweet small grin lights Nesta’s face, her cheeks warming to a shy pink. She waves a small hand, and it requires all his effort not to tuck in his own—see how small it is compared to his. “Nice to meet you all.”   

Cassian grins and when he turns back to his family, he gives them the most serious expression he can muster. His most threatening look. “There, you’ve all met her now and unless you want the rest of the food burnt, would you please remove yourselves from the kitchen. I’m supposed to be cooking here!”   

His mom looks like she wants to add something, but Cassian beats her to it. He looks at Nesta with what he hopes is an apologetic expression…. It probably looks more like he’s exasperated. “I have those Arizona green teas you like.”  

Nesta nods slowly, her lips set into a pretty, pink pout. Her eyes blink wide at him. She seems surprised that he knows her favorite drink…

At the look, Cassian wants to hang his head back and sigh. 

Gods help him, she’s never going to get the hint.   

~ 

Settling Nesta in goes as well as he expects, but the hard part is over, Cassian tells himself. It can’t be any more embarrassing than this.  

Cassian knocks on the wood of the cutting board, just in case.   

He blocks off the kitchen to the rest of his busybody family and he pulls out a stool for Nesta to sit at the counter and things are... well enough. She pulls out a book and he wonders if it’s to avoid him, but hey, at least she doesn’t pull out earphones.  

They settle into a companionable silence and occasionally, Cassian asks her questions. Is she hungry? Does she want to try something? Does she want more tea? How about that test on Tuesday?  

Nesta mostly says no, looking back to her book and Cassian bites at his lips as if to reign in the questions. They sit on his tongue and so many things appear in his head that he has to hold himself back from blurting them out.  

Snow? No, that’s about the weather.  

The book? No, he asked her about that already.  

Strangely, Cassian wants his family to come back. He's never noticed just how much studying offers him reprieve—an excuse. Cassian doesn’t have to be entertaining, because he should be studying. He doesn’t have to be cool, because he should be studying. There’s no lame-o excuse he has to come up with to see Nesta again. The excuse is that he’s studying.  

Now what does he talk about that’s not studying?  

Thankfully—albeit a little too late in his opinion—his mom peaks her head in and offers the tour Cassian so graciously does not. Nesta accepts without a look back to Cassian and when she’s gone, he almost feels guilty at the relief.  

Then… he just feels bad.  

He tries to focus on the last bit of cooking. The turkey, the rolls, the pie all done. The sweet potatoes are in the oven with a smattering of pecans and brown sugar. The marshmallows will be toasted to perfection. He seasons the mashed potatoes. All the while, Cassian comes up with topics like his brain is playing Jeopardy!  

He knows Nesta. It can’t be that hard.  

But it’s hard!  

As much as he thinks he knows, Nesta just... surprises him. He knows her expressions, her mannerisms, her terrible need to be right. He knows what her pout means, her glares, her tired blinks. He knows her lies and how to read them. I’m not hungry. I’m not tired. Cassian then complains for an hour about how she’s running him ragged, and he’ll never learn without some food. Let’s take a break, he keeps whining, and then he suggests getting tacos or sandwiches or coffee and that’s the only way she’ll agree. He knows what books she reads and what restaurants she likes. He knows her routines.  

What he doesn’t know are her interests, but god, does he want to! 

Cassian just can’t think of anything to say.  

“Who’s winning?” Cassian looks up to his dad who tilts his head, offering a small, tentative smile. “You look like you’re having a real deep conversation and I’ll be honest; you seem to be losing the argument.”  

Cassian sighs, “I can’t think of anything to say.”  

“To whom?” 

“To Nesta!” Cassian doesn’t mean to yell, and the raised brow his dad gives him only makes him feel worse. “Sorry,” he offers quietly.  

“It’s okay.” His dad shrugs a shoulder, and Cassian vaguely remembers starting school again for the first time, holding onto his leg because he doesn’t want him to leave. “This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home, so I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” 

Cassian tilts his head back, his eyes shifting past cream. “What if she doesn’t like me?”  

He feels like a kid saying that. What is he in junior high? But it's the question that keeps replaying in his mind, and he’s spent an hour trying to convince himself it’s not possible. That he can make himself convincing enough.   

Cassian turns his gaze back to his dad, but he only smiles sadly.  

“She might not,” he says, shrugging, and those are not the words Cassian wants to hear. “But she's here... I think that might have to be enough for today.”   

Cassian groans at the answer and at the same time he feels guilty for groaning. He’d wait a million years for Nesta, it’s true, and he’s not lying when he says she doesn’t owe him anything, but...  

What if she still doesn’t like him at the end?  

Cassian doesn’t want to think about that, so he grabs a roll, stuffing it in his mouth.  

“How does she seem?” Cassian asks in between bites.  

“Your mom is currently trying to wring words out of her and trying not to wring Rhys’s neck.”  

He supposes that should make him laugh. There’s nothing any of them like more than to see Rhys chastised for being dramatic. Cassian can’t muster the mirth, though. One, because he keeps stuffing down rolls and if he laughs, he’s for sure going to choke and two... Well, he feels tired suddenly.  

His dad smiles at him, a bigger grin this time. Cassian wonders if he’s now become the dramatic one and his dad is laughing at him beneath that smirk. Everyone's laughing at his expense today.  

“Cas, she came to Thanksgiving with you. To a family holiday. She at least prefers you to wherever she could have been today. So, you are the better option. Now I don’t know if that means she wants to date you, but it means something—means you made a safe enough place that she’d endure this god-awful, awkward family gathering. She knew about us before she came too, that's got to say something.”  

Maybe...  

“Not maybe. I know and honestly, if she comes back after today, well she deserves all your time because hell no would I come back.”  

Cassian gives him a bland look, “You live here.”  

“Only because I can’t escape.” His dad throws up his hands, gesturing to the window where the expansive front long beams in front. “I’ve tried! I can’t make it past the hedges.” 

That at least makes him huff. Not exactly a laugh, but... he’s getting there. Cassian shakes his head, “Nesta’s just…”  

“Nesta’s just what?” the person in question asks, as she resumes her spot on the counter. She opens her book to its marked page, and Cassian watches as Nesta merely waits for his response.  

“I thought you were touring the house.” Cassian looks awkwardly at his dad and back to her.   

“Your house isn’t so large it would take me all day to see it.” Nesta raises a brow and Cassian quickly holds up the basket of bread.   

“Try a roll,” he says in distraction. Cassian hums as he watches her grab at one. She inspects it like it’s laced with drugs, poking at the bread with a finger. Cassian decides he won’t look at her for too long, so he looks at his father instead, but he only mouths talk to her as he raises a hand in goodbye.  

He’s leaving him alone with her! 

“You made this?”  

Cassian smiles as warmly as he can muster. His cheeks hurt from the grin. He hums to himself—another nervous habit—but he hopes the sound might sooth him. “I make all the food for Thanksgiving. Except the green bean casserole... Rhys won’t let anyone touch that.”  

At the mention of the name, Nesta wrinkles her nose.  

“Your brother doesn’t like me.” Nesta squishes the bread in her hands and Cassian watches the movement in awe. It seems strange having her in this kitchen. He feels nervous, somehow. Interviews, come to his mind. Interviews and fifth-grade performances when he falls off the stage.  

“What?” Cassian says, his voice rising in pitch. “What makes you think that?”  

“He just told me he doesn’t like me.”  

That prick.  

“Although, your little sister offered me his room. I can move in next week.” Nesta snorts softly, looking to the living room. “We’re giving him time to move all his things.” 

She looks almost fond staring at the rambunctious bunch fighting over which movie to watch. Azriel has the remote and Cassian knows no one’s going to grab it from him, which means they’ll all be stuck watching something on TLC. 90-Day Fiancé or something or other.  

“I’m sure Azriel can help with that.”  

Nesta nods, gesturing to all the bowls. He can’t stop staring at her. Here in his kitchen with her hair swept down her back. This is too normal, too odd, too much, and the very image of her has his mouth opening wide, ready to reveal all his secrets.  

But Cassian can’t tell the good ones yet... not when she could dismiss him so easily, so Cassian slips on the oven mitts. “The foods almost done,” he says. 

"I’m still surprised you cooked this all by yourself.”  

Somewhere between the wariness, he thinks he hears Nesta impressed. Maybe that’s what gives him the courage—the impulse—to pick out a clean spoon, dipping it in the mashed potatoes. “You’ll be even more surprised when you taste it. Here, try a bit.”   

It takes everything in him not to raise that spoon to her lips, not to feed her like he wants. Nesta gives him a look before she takes it from his hand. For the life of him, he can’t read it and Cassian wants to know what she’s thinking. If that look might mean, he means more to her than homework.  

Nesta moans at the bite of food, doing that thing she does with her head. A small little dance, a back-and-forth movement. Cassian doubts that she notices the tell-tale sign, but he knows... she likes his food. Cassian tries not to let the heat go to his face—the pride.   

This has to be a bad idea, he thinks, but what a good idea?   

Cassian catches Nesta’s gaze, and her eyes are a tepid blue. Parts of her hair are swept up and out of her face, but a few wisps escape the pinks. He holds out a hand, ready to tuck them back for her.

How soft is her cheek, he wonders.   

“That’s not fair,” Rhys muses and the sound of his voice has them both jumping back. “You slapped me with that spoon the last time I tried to sneak a bite.” 

That prick.   

Cassian tries not to glare at his brother, but the smile he gives him is edged with enough malice that even Nesta looks shocked. “I’ll slap you again if you don’t stay out of the kitchen.”   

“Playing favorites, too. I see.” 

Soon enough, Azriel is making his way into the kitchen, too. He heads straight to one of the bowls. “You were never anyone’s favorite, Rhys.” 

When Cassian looks back to Nesta, she’s fiddling with the bowls. Her eyes flicker to the dining table. “I’ll just--”  

“Oh dear, that’s not necessary,” his mom calls, popping seemingly out of nowhere... Were they all waiting in the hall? “You’re our guest. You relax.”  

“When is the food done?” Ama whines.  

“Whenever it gets done,” Cassian retorts, but he looks to Nesta and gives her a sheepish grin. He doesn’t know if she’s eaten all day and he regrets not asking earlier. He’s only seen her eat a roll and that’s not nearly enough for how much she snacks. “About thirty minutes.”  

“You never talk to me that softly,” Ama huffs.  

“That’s because you don't deserve this tone.”  

“And I do?” The frankness in Nesta’s voice has his cheeks warming to a fault. Cassian zeros in on her gaze. Those bright blue-grey eyes. That cheeky way in which she hides her smirk.  

“Course,” he offers with a casual shrug. Cassian refrains from speaking dramatics, but it’s hard to know what to say when she looks at him like that. Like she’s never seen him before.  

I’ve been sitting right in front of you this whole time.  

He hopes that look means she’ll understand that he’s not here to play with her feelings. He’ll give her the world if she wants and not because of how well she keeps up his grades, but because he can't imagine ever not seeing her roll her eyes or complain about how he’s not paying attention. He'll fail all his classes if he has to. 

Nesta would hate him if he did that.  

“In that case, is there anything I can do to help?”  

On a regular basis, Cassian might have insisted that he could do it himself. No need for her to lift a finger. But the way Nesta seems to stick by him, not wanting to leave, even as his family starts getting out drinks, Cassian decides he’ll take it. 

Has his family saved him? Have they been so unreasonable that Nesta actually prefers his presence over theirs? 

That thought makes his heart bleed in his chest. He knows she doesn’t know anyone in this home as well as she knows him, but it’s that familiarity, that certainty, that has him wanting to tuck her close.   

Cassian will keep her comfortable and happy. If that’s to be his job for the evening—for the rest of his life—then Nesta Archeron will be more comfortable and happier than anyone in this world.  

So, he offers her a spoon and a grin. “Can you stir the cheese in the macaroni?”  

~ 

Nesta sits by him at the dinner table, and he tries to hide his pleased expression at the thought of being so close to her even if it is just a coincidence.  

Did his family plan this? Who knows, but Cassian won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She’s here, and he won’t question that either.

“Cassian?” His dad gestures to the turkey with a knife, poking from the breast to the golden leg. It’s a tradition in their household that since he cooks all the food, he gets first dibs.  

Cassian only looks to Nesta, “white or dark meat?”  

“Dark,” Nesta answers. Cassian hears Rhys groan, probably mumbling something about how there won’t be any left now that there’s seven people. Cassian decides to ignore him, but he’s right... he might just have to make two turkeys next year.  

Cassian shakes his head at the naïve thought. Next year? Let’s see how next month goes.  

“You don’t want mashed potatoes?” Nesta asks and he notices the bowl she holds out his way.  

“Oh wait, no. I want some.”  

Cassian piles them onto his own plate, and when he notices Nesta’s only gotten a small spoonful—probably about politeness since he knows she can pack it away—he spoons more onto her plate. He watches her frown at the tall lump but before she can glare at him, Cassian is quick to turn away, handing the bowl to his mom.  

Nesta eats a little bit of everything and only takes a tiny bite of the carrots. Cassian wants to roll his eyes since he just knew she’d be judgmental about the healthy options.  

She likes the sweet potatoes the best with its marshmallows, its brown sugar topping mixed with pecans. She does that little dance with her head again, and though Nesta eats everything else, it’s the only thing she asks for seconds of. That seems to annoy Rhys since he practically hoards them away every year. But his mom just keeps offering her more and more with an amused look on her face towards his brother. That’s what you get.  

Cassian’s not all that surprised about Nesta’s enthusiasm since she loves sweets. 

“You cook well for someone terrible at science.”  

At the mention of his grades, Cassian grumbles, “Cooking isn’t a science. It’s an art.”  

“You certainly can cook for me all the time, if you’d like,” Nesta says happily, biting into the brown sugar spread. Cassian pauses at those words, those inviting, pleasing words that mean she might want him around.

Or maybe she’s just used to him. Again, it’s the familiarity. It has nothing to do with him or how well he can cook or how constant he’s there. She tutors him and perhaps the annoyance has grown in something else. Something fonder…

“I’ll bring you food when we study,” he says and his voice is entirely too soft as he says the words.

Nesta scoffs lightly, making a face. “You already do that and I’ve told you several times not to. Hope that you never spill anything on my notes.”  

That obnoxiously pretentious response is familiar, and Cassian smiles lightly at the words. Perhaps… a little too fondly.

“So,” his mom announces loudly. She leans a bit forward as they turn towards her. “You guys are…”  

Cassian glowers at the question, but he can see all of them move just a little closer, waiting for her answer.  

He hates them. He’s never coming back home again.  

“We’re friends,” Nesta says, calmly.  

Scratch that! He should have brought her home sooner. His heart feels like it’s pounding in his chest, his ears ring and ring, but still he asks. “Best friends?” 

He knows he’s pushing his luck, and any other day Nesta might have glared at the push. He feels apologetic as he waits. His hands grow clammy, and his face must be red. His ears feel warm to the touch.  

Nesta merely hums, pushing the potatoes around her plate with a fork. She’s not one to lie, he knows. She won’t spare him the embarrassment.  

“You’re the first friend I made.” She catches his gaze. Her face doesn’t turn a pretty shade of pink, her lips don't part, her eyes don’t gleam like the morning sun. For all intents, she could be telling him the weather, but Cassian can see every word she doesn’t say just by that frank look.  

You’re important to me. 

Cassian smiles down at his mashed potatoes. He can already feel the warmth reach his cheeks. He’s going to be red all day.

Rhys clears his throat, “So why aren’t you with your family?”  

Cassian gives him a glare.

“My sisters live far,” she only says.   

“You have sisters?” Ama grins at the thought and Cassian rolls his eyes. She’s always complaining that she could do with a few less brothers.

We can live Rhys at the mall, he thinks. One less.  

Nesta nods, “Two.”  

Cassian bristles in his seat. Two sisters? How does he not know this? Oh, that’s right, Nesta doesn’t tell him anything that doesn’t have to do with passing his classes. ��

“Are they in school like you?” His dad is the one who asks this, and he looks more curious than judgmental. Thankfully. His dad is the least judgmental person he knows, but still... Nesta has never been so forthcoming with information.  

“My youngest sister goes to an art school in New York and my other sister is a baker in Brackenridge.”  

A little more than five hours away. Interesting…  

"You’re the eldest?”  

Nesta nods and Azriel whistles as if understanding the plight. “Then you know how annoying little siblings are." He pointedly looks at Rhys who gives him a glare.  

“They live so far,” his dad tells her. “Do you miss them?”  

“We talk a lot on the phone, and I see them every couple of months when we can all get together.” Nesta shrugs and a side of her lips raise in a way that makes Cassian want to reach for her. Though he can’t do that like he wishes. 

He can’t imagine not being able to see these buffoons every weekend, even if they are more work than anything else, and the way Nesta is… he can’t imagine her not missing her sisters, even if her expression doesn’t note anything particularly wrong with this arrangement.

So, Cassian clenches his fist around the fork, trying not to grab a hold of her hand. To remind her that he’s always here. He’s always been here.

His dad smiles warmly at his friend. “Well, until those times come, you’re welcome with us anytime.”  

~ 

Cassian catches Nesta’s gaze and he juts his chin out to the door. She seems to sigh in relief at the action. He knows her well enough to know when she wants to leave, the socializing inevitably taking its toll.  

The keys jingle as he grabs them, and Nesta heads for the coat rack. He wants to remind her to put on a scarf, it’s something that a friend might say to another friend, but Cassian thinks better of it. No sense in pushing his luck.  

“Where are you two going?” his mom asks.  

“I’m taking Nesta home. Thanksgiving is over.”  

His mom sets her hands on her hips, giving him a reprimanding look. “Thanksgiving is not over.”  

She places a hand on Nesta’s arm, and surprisingly Nesta doesn’t shrug off the touch. “Oh, sweetie, please stay.”  

“Mom, she wants to go home.”    

“You’re practically a part of the family,” his mom pleads. She holds out a hand to the living room as if luring her to holiday cheer. “And thankfully, Cassian let us know you were coming early, so I picked up pajamas for you.”  

Cassian gapes, “pajamas!” 

His mom ignores him, but Nesta only remains thoughtful and quiet.  

“Stay the night. We have traditions in this household, and I’ve just decided you’re our honorary daughter.” She laughs brightly as Cassian glares. “So please... We’ve got hot coco and Christmas movies and we can decorate the tree together as a family.”  

His mom rambles on, gently moving Nesta forward.  

Cassian hums in contemplation. Is he like this?  

Then again, Nesta doesn’t pull away even with the not-so-subtle push. She holds up the pajama top, when it gets shoved into her hands, and he sees the snowman at the front, laying in a puddle. I’m having a meltdown, it reads.  

Cassian’s expecting her to scoff, to snide or sneer even if it’s exactly something he would’ve chosen for her too. But her lips raise just a tad, and he’s never seen someone so... beautiful. Cassian can’t explain it any other way, he doesn’t have another word. Beautiful isn’t exactly correct, he thinks, but his heart leaps in his chest at the same time he catches his breath as if he’s run out of air.  

Her look... he breathes it in, stores it away where all those facts live. That list of Nesta likes, and wants, and needs. Every quirk of her personality. All of it familiar.  

How is it possible, he thinks, to know comfort by just looking at someone.  

“I’ll stay,” she says to his mother. His mom squeals with delight, pointing out where the bathroom is, telling her how cute she’ll look in her pajamas.  

But Nesta pauses, looking to him first.  

“If that’s okay with you,” she adds.  

“Stay,” Cassian blurts. Because what else can he say? There are no other words that grace his lips well enough, that sound completely true and right or safe.

“Alright. I’ll stay.”  

Cassian swallows, grasping his throat to keep from saying anything else.  

“Stay forever,” his mom laughs brightly.  

~ 

Nesta waves a piece of tinsel around as Hamilton chases the sheen of paper. The fat cat seems to like Nesta just fine and he doesn’t ask her embarrassing questions like some of the other members in his family do.  

No wonder Hamilton’s his favorite.  

Hamilton reaches out a paw and Nesta pulls the tinsel away quickly until the little cat meows egregiously and she sets it back down. All the while, she talks to his dad. He holds a book out for her to see. Cassian recognizes it as an old history book about the trade of opium. Stellar reading choice.  

Cassian shakes his head. Of course, he’d ramble on about that book. He’s always trying to shove it down their throats. The perks of biological research, he says. Where scientific discovery meets history.  

Nesta at least doesn’t seem perturbed. She engages in the conversation with apt attention. In fact, he hands it to her, and Nesta grasps the spine in her hands like it’s worth its weight in gold.  

“Keep it,” his dad says. 

Really? Cassian wants to gasp. That’s his favorite book.  

“Maybe It’ll convince you into becoming a physician-scientist. Could use another one in the family.” His father winks at him as he says the words and Cassian holds up his hands in exasperation. 

He quickly sets his arms to his side when Nesta looks back at him. Cassian merely looks away, tapping his foot to the music playing softly through the living room. He’ll pretend he’s lost in thought.

Only thoughts of her, of course.  

Ama’s already in her pajamas, the words sleigh the patriarchy on the front. Cassian’s pajamas, conveniently, have snowmen on them. The same color and theme as Nesta’s and he makes note not to mention it, even as his mom winks at him by the buckets of bulbs.  

Ama opens box after box of decorations, gasping loudly when she finds the ears, holding them up like its treasure. “I found them!” 

The first person she gives it to is Nesta, and Cassian might have rolled his eyes, if she didn’t smile fondly at his little sister, amusing her whims and wiles. The reindeer ears comb the smaller, falling pieces out of her way like he wishes to do with his fingers. She’s adorable and all Cassian can do is stare like a creep.  

“First things first, we’ll have to decorate the tree!” his mom sings.  

“This is always my favorite part,” Ama says excitedly to Nesta.

As soon as dinners over, Ama uses the opportunity to stick as close as she can to her. The only other interesting person here, she says. “I helped pick out all the bulbs.”  

“Actually, I did that,” Cassian says with a roll of his eyes, shifting closer to Nesta as if he can keep his little sister from hogging their guest.  

“Please,” Ama says, raising a hand. “You wouldn’t know taste if it hit you in the--”  

“You know, I used to be your favorite brother.”  

Azriel snorts by the box of ribbons and wreaths, “not true. I was always the one she loved most.”  

Ama shrugs, “well, it certainly wasn’t Rhys if that helps.”   

Rhys gives them all a look, “I didn’t even say anything!”  

Nesta looks like she's holding back a smile, as if she can’t help the turn of her lips.  

“She laughs at my jokes,” Ama says, snootily.  

Cassian juts his chin out to Ama, gazing at Nesta like he’s exasperated and they share some joke between them. “The most entertaining person here. Can’t possibly be me.”

“Could be Rhys though,” Nesta remarks with a deliciously evil gleam in her eyes. “I’m certainly entertained by the grinch costume.”

“I’m wearing normal clothes.”

Nesta hums and glances at Cassian. “Exactly.”

Cassian snorts a laugh, and gestures for both of them to go to boxes where all the decorations lay.

The tree never looks fanciful, as Ama suggests. If anything, it looks as messy as the house usually is. There are handprints and artwork and pictures in popsicle frames that are older than even Ama. There is nothing on that tree that suggests they care about how things look. They joked one year and bought purple and green bulbs and a fake white tree, but his mom had hated it so much she’d called it Barney for the weeks leading up to Christmas.  

His dad had put it in the backyard a week before the holiday and had declared that the squirrels could have it and there would be no show and tell in their own home. The rest of them had agreed.  

It has only been the six of them for years, and now... it’s seven. It’s seven and Cassian can’t help but hope it stays seven.  

Nesta helps his mom and sister the most. They rope her into twisting the lights round and round, since she’s taller than both and can reach more. Cassian rolls his eyes and offers to do that for her, taking the lights from her hands. Even so, he still has to use the ladder for how tall it is.

When it’s perfect and his mom oohs and ahhs, Cassian stays near the tree if only to keep being close to Nesta and the way she seems to have settled in this space.

Nesta doesn’t seem to mind him, shifting from boxes to tree, and lifting an ornament and admiring the view of it all. The lights hit her just right. Perfect little dots of red and green along her face like a smattering of freckles.  

Nesta mouths the words of the Christmas song playing. He doesn’t even know which one. All he knows is she’s looking at the tree, swaying her head lightly to some sound. She’s wearing those little antlers in her hair, hanging up an ornament that he made when he was five and that soft smile… the clarity of her eyes…  

“I love you,” he gasps.   

Right as he says the words, the music stops playing, the song ending into soft bells. Cassian slaps a hand over his mouth.  

Fuck! 

His skin stings from how hard he slaps.  

Nesta turns to him, they all turn his way, but Cassian is only looking at her. He shakes his head. He can feel his heart sinking, his stomach twisting like he’s going to throw up.  

He’s going to throw up and his face hurts and Nesta’s expression looks… irritated? 

Azriel pokes out from behind the tree, raising a brow. “I love you, too. But you don’t have to get all sappy. It’s not even Christmas, yet.” 

“Cassian’s sappy every year though. I’m surprised he’s not crying from the Christmas lights.” Ama laughs, and Rhys opens his mouth to speak. 

Cassian gives him a glare before he can say a word.   

“Alright kids,” his mom says, clapping to try to distract them—to stop them from arguing. She smiles up at him, though, that special wink in her eyes, that all-knowing mom look. He loves Nesta, and his mom knows…

Their whole campus probably knows except Nesta.

 “Gather around the tree for pictures!”    

Nesta goes taut at the words, and Cassian watches as Azriel grabs his Santa hat, the one knitted with his name. Rhys throws his arms around Ama, who tells him he stinks still of mayonnaise. It’s all a routine, a family thing and Nesta steps away, shirking at the four of them. A little awkward in their close-knit family.   

“I can take it,” she says, gesturing to the camera his mom holds in his hand.   

“Oh no dear, go sit with the rest.” His mom juts her chin to where they scramble by the tree. Cassian settles on the floor, resisting the urge to pat the space beside him. “There's a timer. No worries!”   

“But I’m not--”   

“Nonsense,” his mom says, shaking her head. “Once you’re invited back to our house, you’re ours, baby girl.”   

Azriel’s the one who waves her over, dramatically. “Yeah, Nesta. You’re ours now. You’ll never escape us.”   

“Don’t make it sound creepy,” Ama sneers, hitting Azriel in the side with her elbow. “Nesta, I myself would be very happy to have another girl in the house. Even if it’s an in-law.” 

"We’re not married,” Cassian remarks, plainly.   

“Who says she’s marrying you?” 

"Well, she’s not marrying them!”   

“I’m not marrying anyone,” Nesta says, plopping down beside him.   

She’s so close and Cassian can smell vanilla and cinnamon as she bumps into him, adjusting where she sits. Or maybe that’s the smell of his house sticking to her clothes, her hair. Whatever it might be, she seems to belong here. Nesta fits so well between them.  

“Make way for the real star,” Rhys announces. His little brother must be asking for a death wish as he pushes at Cassian’s head, lurching in the space between him and Nesta. “This is my spot.” 

His mom tuts. “Your head seems to be blocking the tree dear. It would be better if you moved down to the end.”  

She smiles so forcefully even Cassian stands up straighter at the look. Rhys merely rolls his eyes, sulking to the other end.  

“Hi,” Cassian says, peering at Nesta once more. The loveliest image. Much better than brothers, anyway. “You have glitter in your hair. May I?” 

He gestures towards her head and Nesta nods. A little quietly, a little sweetly.  

“May I?” Ama scoffs to Azriel. “Do you learn manners in college?” 

“Hush now,” His mother warns, “and smile please!”  

Cassian knows he should be looking at the camera, but he looks to Nesta instead. She grins sweetly. The apple of her cheek is the color of a fresh peach, and he has the overwhelming urge to kiss at it, bite it, pinch it like his grandmother used to... but that thought has him wrinkling his nose.  

His grandmother and kissing Nesta should never be in the same sentence.  

"Focus on the camera, Cassian.”  

His face warms as he turns back to it. He doesn’t check to see if Nesta’s noticed his embarrassment. This whole day has been embarrassing, Cassian should be used to it by now, but all he wants to do is hold her hand. She’s right there, a front row seat to it all, and Cassian... he wants to hold her hand for comfort. For hers… but more likely his own.

Would she let him if he just entwined his fingers in hers?  

His stomach feels queasy as he grins and the camera clicks.  

Rhys groans and Azriel complains when his mom tells them they’ll take another one. Just the boys this time. Just Ama. Just Hamilton. Just the parents.  

“Sweetie, can I get a picture of you, too?”  

His mom looks to Nesta where she sits on the floor, nibbling on a sugar cookie. Cassian’s about to intervene, but he pauses, telling himself to stay where he is.   

“Of me?” She says, pointing to herself.  

“Yes, if that’s okay with you,” his mom adds softly. 

Cassian follows Nesta’s silhouette as she goes to the tree again, asking where she wants her to sit or stand. She smiles shyly and Cassian smiles at her smile.  

“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” Azriel sings lowly. For his ears only.  

He can hear Rhys grumble. “His face is the least of his problems. She’s wearing my antlers.”   

“And eating your cookies.”  

“I made those cookies,” Cassian hushes.  

“You make them for me.” 

“I never pegged you for the jealous type,” Azriel muses.  

“You’d think with three siblings you’ve learned to share,” Ama chimes in, grabbing a cookie from his hand.   

“Rhys has been sharing his opinion all day long, so I’d be happy if he shared less.” Cassian scoffs, not forgetting his brother’s impromptu warning Nesta’s way.  

It’s Azriel who stops their argument dead in their tracks. “I think she’s good for you.” 

Cassian looks to his brother in disbelief, sure that he might have had some cruel words to say just as Rhys had. If only for that freshman year debacle where Nesta leaves him drunk on the lawn until the ambulance arrives, even after he reaches for her.

Azriel has been hearing about Nesta for two years now. Every bit of that coffee scent in her skin. That shy but un-shy way in which she goes about campus and classes. Everything is hers for the taking, including him… why does she not just take him?

Cassian can’t think of anything to say, but it doesn’t matter anyways, because his mom is waving him over impatiently.  

“One with both of you,” she explains, whipping her head towards him and to the tree where Nesta sits.  

Nesta peers at him curiously and he can’t read every unspoken word there, but he gives her a sheepish smile.  

He goes back to where he was, that spot still open for him and waiting. “Sorry about all this. My mom’s a photographer and she gets a little stir crazy about the holidays.”   

Nesta shrugs with a simple smile to the camera.  

“Its fine,” she says. But is it?  

Cassian can’t tell she doesn’t give him explanations or conversation and Cassian wants to know exactly what she thinks of all this.  

“Now put your arm around her. You two, look like you actually like each other.”  

She doesn’t like me, he wants to blurt, but he doesn’t know if that’s correct—doesn't want that to be correct. Maybe Nesta does like him a little bit, like his dad says, if she’s willing to put up with him and this family and these pictures. She hasn’t complained even once, and he knows she can and loudly.  

She’s his friend. That has to be enough.

It is enough.

So, Cassian doesn’t put his arm over her shoulder. That’s too… familiar. Too intimate. But he leans in a bit closer and sets him arm on the opposite side of her. That way she’ll be tucked close, but not touching.

Nesta smiles at the camera, and for a moment he really looks at her. Those antler ears and the slight red of her cheeks, and those bright blue-grey eyes, those long lashes and those pretty, pink lips. As perfect as perfect could be. So perfectly Nesta Archeron.  

He can hear a click, but he doesn’t stop trying to memorize Nesta’s features.  

“Cassian, you’re not even looking,” his mom chastises.  

Cassian whips towards that camera with a blush.

“Now you blinked.”  

Nesta snickers to the side of him, and he brushes his shoulder against hers in a playful bump. “Hey, at least you don’t have to deal with this every holiday.”  

“Earth day?” Nesta asks amused.  

“Even then,” he grumbles.  

But his mom gives them both a stern look to look at the camera, and Nesta smiles once more and so does he... right after he rolls his eyes for the eleventh time.  

“There,” his mom says sighing. “You two are finally free from me.”  

His dad takes that as his chance to usher them to the couch, where piles of blankets and pillows are splayed out on the floor. Cassian pulls Nesta to the couch before any of his dweeb siblings can claim it.

“Kids, what movie are we going to watch?”   

“I vote the Elf!” Ama yells, raising her hand excitedly.  

Rhys wrinkles his nose, “that movie’s annoying.”   

“You’re annoying.”   

His dad turns to him, giving him a look that can only mean he wants to roll his eyes. Every year…  

“How about you, Cass?”  

Azriel scoffs, grabbing at the remote. It must have a magnetic connection to his hand, Cassian thinks, because he swears, he hasn’t seen him carry it around this much. “Why do we even have to vote, we all know what Cassian is going to choose.” 

The Grinch. They all know that.  

It’s Cassian’s favorite since he was small. Even when it wasn’t Christmas, his mom would put it on for him every time he got sick. She let him lay in their big parent bed where he’d be swallowed by pillows and throws, and The Grinch would be on. All that color.  

Cassian can quote every line and he thinks he does a pretty good impression of Jim Carrey… not that anyone ever wants to hear it.  

His mom holds a hand out, and Azriel begrudgingly gives her the remote. “How about we have our guest choose the first movie?” 

Rhys throws up his hands, but Nesta sits back, a small frown on her face. He knows she doesn’t like the attention they keep giving her, but… he can’t do much about that. His family’s just like that. Annoying and endearing all at once.  

Overwhelming, he should say.   

“You just said she was a part of the family,” Rhys says, “she’s not a guest, so why does she get to decide?”   

Cassian watches as his mom gives Rhys a stern look, setting her hands on her hips.  

But Nesta grimaces, shaking her head. “I’m okay with whatever. Any one is fine.”   

His dad smiles sweetly at her. Kind and patient, in the way Cassian knows well. “Then let’s make it easy. The Elf, The Grinch, the Polar Express—a personal favorite. Home Alone or Christmas with the Kranks? All of our favorite movies, and none of us will argue with what you choose.”  

Azriel sits back crossing his arms, and Ama and Rhys open their mouths to argue. His dad, this time, is the one to silence them with stern looks.  

Nesta thinks about it, rolling her hands up her thighs as if her palms are sweaty. Cassian would comfort her if he could, if it didn’t sound alarms at the action. That their relationship is something more… even if it isn’t.  

“The Grinch,” Nesta says softly. She shrugs a shoulder. “It’s my favorite Christmas movie.”   

Rhys groans, but Cassian is sure it’s not from the movie choice. They all look to him and Cassian can’t help the grin. But then, Nesta’s turning to him and he can’t help the blush.  

“I’ll make popcorn,” Cassian says, to distract them from his pleased expression. From his reddened cheeks. “I’ll even throw in some green and red M&Ms. Nes, I bought the peanut ones, just how you like.”    

~ 

Cassian wakes up to the sound of a phone ringing and he thinks of the class he has at 8:00am… But it’s not 8:00am and he’s not scrambling in his underwear, groggy as he tries to search for his phone. The ringing seems to be coming from Nesta’s phone or that’s at least what he gathers as he watches Nesta push off him. Cassian grunts as elbows dig into his stomach.  

“Feyre?”  

Her hair is in tangles as she holds that phone up to her ear. The antlers hang off to one side. Cassian can only blink blankly. He doesn’t remember ever lying down and the warmth he feels across his chest, the smell of her shampoo has him scowling.  

She’d been laying on him and he missed it! 

Nesta ignores him as she heads for the front door, not even glancing his way. She speaks in low hushed whispers as if there are secrets, she keeps. Feyre? Cassian can’t recall the name, but he tries to as he pushes off the muddled blankets, searching for his phone.  

They must have fallen asleep together and no one wakes them up. Cassian doesn’t know whether he should sing praises or shake fists.  

He decides that he’ll make the decision when Nesta comes back, and he gouges her mood. If she kills him, they’ll be safe. If she scorns him… they’ll never make it out alive.  

Yes, Cassian nods to himself. He’ll decide when Nesta gets back.  

But Nesta takes her time with her call which is well and good since it takes him a while to find his phone. The lights of the tree are still on, little bobbles of red and green, touches of gold, so Cassian doesn’t bother with the lamp. Not the brightest idea when he can’t see a thing.  

He finds his phone at last on top one of the cabinets along the wall. There are several notifications listed on the bright screen and he scowls at the flash of light. 

It’s barely past twelve. They must have fallen asleep during the last movie… 

Cassian checks Snapchat first. The group name has been changed to Ya Filthy Animals and Azriel’s name is at the bottom. 

When did he get added?   

Cassian doesn’t bother asking though. Instead, he clicks on the picture that’s been sent to all of them. 

Of her… and him. 

Nesta is draped across his body, her cheek tucked to his chest. Cassian has his hand in her hair, and he’s holding her close. Just a little too desperately to be platonic. The blanket lies on them like a bank of snow. The lights dance along their skin.  

They look… in love. So damn cozy in his childhood home and Cassian saves the picture before he moves onto the replies. It will be the second photo he has of her now. 

The reply is from Emerie. Oh, my fucking god.   

Azriel types, never regret adding me to the group chat. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals! 

The next reply is from Gwyn and Cassian can almost see her blank expression. It’s not Christmas.  

Cassian shuts his phone off, but not before saving the photo. He checks his text messages, and he gets some from his mom. He’s in a group chat now with Nesta and his mom.  

It’s just pictures. He smiles at the one with Nesta so beautiful and then he looks at the photo of them together. And the whole family photo.  

When Nesta comes back, Cassian puts down the phone. “Is everything okay?”  

"Just my sister. She needed money for a cab.”  

“The one who lives in New York?”  

“Yep.” That’s the only thing Nesta says, and he wonders how much information she’d offer in other circumstances, and what those circumstances entail.  

They settle in uncomfortable silence, and Nesta looks to the tree and not at him. She doesn’t want to tell him more, and Cassian will respect that.  

“I brought you a present," Cassian says, as calmly as he can muster. His heart feels as if it's caught in his throat, thumping so loudly he can hear it ringing in his ears. Cassian grabs it from one of the cabinets where he tucks it away and sets it in her lap when she doesn’t move to take it from him.

His wrapping skills are messy at best, but the wrapping paper is chosen for her. There are books all over it. 

“It’s not even Christmas," she says, but there's no malice in her voice. Only something cautious and curious.  

“But it’s something you want.” 

Nesta looks at the present warily, but she takes it. She unwraps it like he thought she would. All care for the paper and none of the mess. She'll save it, he knows. Because Nesta saves everything. Every note. Every notebook.  

Cassian watches as her eyes get big and he restrains himself from grinning wide. Nesta holds up the book with a gasp. “This doesn’t come out 'til next Tuesday!” 

“I found it in a bookstore when we went to the tree farm," Cassian explains, plainly. There’s a picture of a half-naked man on the front and to say the clerk looked at him weird for buying two made him think that bookshop in Alexandra was a touch on the judge-y side. “I bought one for Emerie too, so you can both squeal about it, but you don't have to share.” 

Nesta stares at the book in awe, flipping to the back and running her fingers along the hardcover. Cassian waits patiently, running his hands down his pajama pants. They always seem so clammy when she's near. 

Suddenly Nesta looks concerned. Her mouth twists, her skin crinkles between the brows. She looks angry and Cassian takes a step back, holding up his hands. "Do you not like--" 

Her arms wrap around his neck and just when he thinks she just might choke him, Nesta kisses sweetly at his lips.

Cassian can't think, he can't pull away. He can’t remember his own name. 

Her lips are soft, and she smells like vanilla, and she presses against him so sweetly. His hands go to her rumbled hair, keeping her close as he nips at her bottom lip.

Nesta pulls back, and her lips are swollen as she says, “I didn’t mean to do that.”  

But she kisses him and that’s a fact that has him grinning, singing that she likes him. She likes him. She likes him after all.  

Nesta likes him more than a friend.

So, Cassian sets his hand on her cheek, his heart settling into a familiar roar, as he feels how soft her skin is there. Nesta holds a hand to her chest as if she could possibly stop the ferocious beat. Her eyes are glittering with the Christmas lights.

“I didn’t mean to do this,” he says, as he sets his lips on hers once more.  

 ~~~~

Stu(died) Tagged List: 

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @unhealthyfanobsession @simpingfornestaarcheron @talkfantasytome

~~~~

I am never writing this long of a chapter again. Mark my words. It’s never happening again. I have become desensitized to this chapter that I don’t know even know if it’s in character but it is what it is. 

Also, you’ll learn the reason why Cassian has never been in a library (which he says in the first chapter) in the next chapter. His mom is a wildlife photographer, so for a long time they did homeschool or would leave so that they could all be together, and that was like on and off issue. I just didn’t want to explain that in this chapter if I was already explaining what everyone else was doing. I only give a little bit of relevant info at a time. 

Also having so many characters in one scene is tough, don’t do that to yourself. 

[falcqns]

Issues

Hey, hey it’s your loyal fan! ❤ I thought of this, maybe you’ll like to write about it. Angry sex with Henry, because the girl and he hated each other because their families are close and practically they grew up together. 😄

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Actress!Reader

Warnings: Infinity War spoilers, Bratty!Henry, swearing, smut, fluff, angst.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I absolutely love this idea, I hope you enjoy! I also *definitely* did not base the smut part off of a recent hook up ;)

You were really dreading going to your neighbors cook out with your parents. When they had told you about it, you almost said no, knowing Henry would be there. You didn’t hate his family, you just hated him.

The two of you actually used to be the best of friends. Up until the age of 18, the two of you were inseparable. Then, he started acting, and never had time for you anymore. While you understood that he was busy, it still hurt. The moment your friendship ended didn’t come until you were 24, when he had a break in filming and came back to Jersey for Christmas, and treated you like you didn’t even exist. All he did for two weeks straight was talk about his experience acting, and brag about how hot his new girlfriend was. Not a word to you about anything, and you knew that was it. 

It was after that Christmas, that you decided if he could make it as an actor, you could as well. You auditioned for an agent the next week, and once you made it through that step, you started acting. 

One of your more notable roles was in the Marvel series, playing the character Mockingbird. It was one of your first acting gigs, and everyone was surprised you got such a huge role right away, but you had more than proved yourself to everyone after the first Avengers movie. You had always wondered what Henry thought, but you never asked. Although you had started acting to get back at Henry, you found that you absolutely loved acting.

It was only a week ago that you had finished filming Infinity War, and had 2 weeks off before you started filming Endgame, so when your mom asked if you wanted to come home and visit for a little, you had said yes. You didn’t know at the time that that would entail you going to the Cavill’s house for a cookout. You were going to say no, but your mom insisted, and you agreed.

As you looked yourself in the mirror in your bedroom, you knew you weren’t prepared to see him. You had seen him a few times over the years, at award shows and such, and he had never taken a second look at you. If he did, he would instantly roll his eyes.  You tried to ignore it, but it still stung a little. 

You took a deep breath, and looked at your outfit for the cookout. It wasn’t anything special, just a yellow sundress with white flowers on it. It accentuated your body in the best way possible, and you weren’t complaining. You paired it with a pair of white Vans, and you were ready.

As you walked down the stairs, you felt the dread swirling in your stomach, but you pushed it out of your mind. If you made it through at least 3 hours, you could say you were tired, and head home. You grabbed the fruit platter your mom had prepared, and followed your family out of the house and over to the Cavill’s. 

You instantly heard Henry laughing loudly, and had to mentally prepare yourself to face him. He was never verbally rude, it was only side glances and eye rolls, but it still took a toll on you. 

You walked in, and greeted Marianne and Colin, while Henry played football with his nephews further down the yard. You spared him a glance at his back, but turned to help your mom set up the three lawn chairs she had brought. 

As you got yourself a drink, you felt Henry’s eyes burning into your back, and moments later, his scent surrounded you. You rolled you eyes, before turning to face him. He rolled his eyes, and stepped to the side to allow you to get out of his way, which you gladly did. Your mom smirked at you as you rolled your eyes and walked away. 

“Still not getting along?” She asked as you sat next to her. You scoffed. “Nope. I don’t even know what I did for him to hate me so much.” You said, and your mom brushed a piece of hair out of your eyes. 

“I don’t know honey. Maybe you should ask him,” She suggested, and you almost scoffed again. 

A few minutes later, you made your way into the house to use the bathroom, and your mom took that opportunity to brag about you. As you exited the house, you almost laughed at Henry. He was glaring at the grass in front of him, in a way that almost made you believe he had laser vision, while your mom talked about your career. 

“She actually just booked a role in this new film coming out, called Knives Out! it had Chris Evans and Daniel Craig. It doesn’t start filming until next year, but it sounds exciting!” Your mom said, and everyone smiled, other than Henry. 

“How was filming for Infinity War, Y/N?” Marianne asked, as you sat down. 

“It was great. We filmed in Atlanta and Scotland, which was pretty cool. I can’t say a whole lot about it, but it was fun. Especially getting to work with every one again. A fair amount of the cast dies in this one, so I’m excited to see how Endgame is going to end,” You said, and everyone smiled. Henry scoffed quietly, but you chose to ignore it. 

You continued talking to the people at the cookout, mainly your mom, until Marianne asked if you and Henry could go to the store and pick up a few things that she was out of. You said yes, and Henry rolled his eyes again, before reluctantly agreeing.

You grabbed your car keys and waited for him at the gate to the backyard. You noticed he pulled his car keys out of his pocket, and scoffed. “We’re taking my car,” He said, unlocking his Aston Martin. 

You hit the start button of your Dodge Ram 1500, before turning to him. “No. We’re taking my truck. I refuse to be on of those ‘girls’ in your car that I see all over the news.” You said, and Henry sighed before locking his car and walking over to your truck. You got in the car and put your keys in the ignition. Your phone connected to the bluetooth, and just to annoy him even more, you decided to play ‘F-150′ by Robyn Ottolini. 

“I can drive by your street and not feel a thing Play all of those songs you used to play me Get drunk with my friends and not think to call Could think of you a little, but I don’t think of you at all I’ve been growing up, getting strong, moving on…”

Henry groaned as you pulled out of the driveway. “Really? Country music?” He said. You chuckled. 

“I thought you liked country music?” You asked, and he rolled his eyes once more. “Yeah, actual country music. Not whatever girly shit this is that you think it country music.” 

You felt your frustration growing but attempted to push it back down. “Well, it’s my truck, and I want to listen to this.” You spat at him as you turned the corner.

“I’m just saying I hate it. I thought you’d have better taste in music considering who your friends are.” He muttered, looking out the window. You furrowed your brows.

“Whats that supposed to mean?” You demanded, and Henry laughed sarcastically before turning to you. 

“It means that you can sit there all high and mighty thinking you’re better than everyone just because you’re a Marvel actor. You can brag about being friends with Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan all you want, but it doesn’t make you any better than me.” He grumbled, and you had had enough.

You slowed the car down at the red light before you spoke. “What the fuck did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much? We used to be best friends, and now you treat me like shit for no apparent reason. Why?” You demanded. Henry turned his body to face yours.

“You didn’t even congratulate me on my first acting job. You didn’t even pick up the phone, and at Christmas, you didn’t even talk to me. You shut me out for no reason, so I have a right to be mad about it,” He said, as the light turned green and the car began moving again. You scoffed. 

“I wasn’t the one who shut you out. You came home and all you talked about was filming, and how ‘hot’ your girlfriend at the time was. Of course I didn’t want to sit there and listen to you brag, when you walked right by me, and didn’t even say hi.” “You didn’t even come to the airport with Mum and Dad to pick me up! You were clearly mad and jealous, and I didn’t want to cause a blowout!” 

“I wasn’t at the airport because I had finals you dumb ass. If you’d have noticed, I arrived the same time you did. I waved at you, and you rolled your eyes at me, and started blabbering on and on about your life, without even asking me for an explanation. If you had asked, I would have explained and apologized.”

Henry turned to face you again, and the car turned down the road that would lead into town. “You didn’t even call me. You had my number.”

You pulled the car over abruptly on the dirt road. “NO YOU DIDN’T!” You screamed. “YOU SAID ‘CALL ME’ AND NEVER GAVE ME A NUMBER! AND WHEN YOUR MOM FOUND OUT AND GAVE IT TO ME, YOU NEVER PICKED UP! ALL I KEPT GETTING YOUR ASSISTANT, SO I STOPPED CALLING, AND SETTLED ON TALKING TO YOU AT CHRISTMAS!” You screamed again.

Henry jaw locked before opening his mouth again. “YOU COULD HAVE SAID THAT YOU DIDN’T HAVE IT! I WOULD HAVE GIVEN IT TO YOU! I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU TO BE MY DATE TO THE BAFTA’S AFTER YOU GOT NOMINATED FOR THE FIRST AVENGER’S MOVIE, BUT YOU DECIDED TO GO WITH SEBASTIAN, EVEN THOUGH HE WASN’T IN THE MOVIE! YOU WERE JUST TRYING TO MAKE ME JEALOUS!” 

Your brow furrowed. “We were already filming Captain America The Winter Soldier then, and I asked him because he is like a big brother to me, and I could call you because you hated my guts. Chris had a girlfriend, and everyone else was busy, so Seb came with me. And if you’re going to sit here and just ‘assume’ Seb and I are dating because we went to an awards show together, you’re fucking insane. He has a girlfriend, so don’t even go there. For the record, if you had asked me to go with you. I would have said yes.” You said. Henry laughed again, and you wanted to hit him.

“Yeah sure you would have. Why did you even get into acting in the first place? Because I did, and you were jealous?” He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

You looked out the windshield. “That was a part of it, but mainly I did it because I was head over heels in love with you, and you abandoned me. Do you even know how much it hurt me to hear you talking about your girlfriend that year at Christmas? Do -” You started to say, before you were cut off by Henry undoing your seat belt, and attempting to pull you over the middle console. 

It took a few tries, but he eventually got it, and you were straddling his waist. He looked at you angrily, before slamming his lips to yours. You yelped into the kiss, but melted into it seconds later. Henry ran his hands over your hips and under your dress. His fingers grazed over your covered mound, and moaned at the feeling of the soaked fabric. His hands traveled back up to your hips, and pressed you down onto his growing hard on. 

His lips traveled from your mouth and down your neck. He sucked a hickey into where your neck connects with your shoulder. You gripped the back of his head, and moaned at the feeling of his stubble ticking your skin. His right hand traveled in between your legs, and pushed your underwear to the side.

His fingers traveled through your wetness, before he pulled his hand away. You whimpered at the loss of contact, but you swallowed it as you glanced down and saw him undoing his pants. He pulled his hard cock out seconds later. You barely got a glance at it, before he was pushing inside of you, slowly. 

Once you were fully seated on his cock again, he tilted the seat all the way back before placing his hands behind your knees. You went to move, but squeaked when you felt a slap land on your right butt cheek.

 “Don’t you fucking move,” Henry growled, and all you could do was nod. Henry adjusted slightly, before he started pounding into you right off the bat. He let go of your left knee, and pulled your shoulder until your shoulder crashed into his. He took both of your hips into his hands, as he quickened his pace. You let out a moan, but that earned you another swat on the butt.

“Shut the fuck up,” He grunted out, his hands moving from your hips to take two full handfuls of your ass. “Been pissing me off for years, and it seems the only way you’ll shut the fuck up is when a dick is in your fucking pussy. If you make a fucking sound, I'm going to stop, and leave you all wet and dripping for the rest of the day.” He threatened, and all you could do again was nod.

He slapped your ass again, and grunted, his hips snapping against yours quicker. Henry trailed his right hand over your hip, and in between your open legs. He traced his fingers over the skin of his cock that was quickly disappearing and reappearing inside of you, before trailing up and over your soaked pussy, his thumb finding your clit instantly. he rubbed quick circles, and you felt the pressure of your orgasm quickly approaching. 

“You better fucking cum before I do or you’re not coming at all.” Henry spat, yet another slap landing on your butt cheek. You bit back a whimper, and nodded. He gripped your hips and pushed you up before his thumb returned to your clit. “I wanna see your face when you fucking cum. When you fall apart on my cock, ‘cuz I’m the only one who can fuck you this fucking good, right? Do Chris and Seb fuck you this good? Have you drunk off just my cock in less than 5 minutes? Bet they can't,” He grumbled, and your back arched and the pressure grew even more. You clawed at his chest to alert him about your orgasm, but that earned you a slap on the thigh.

“I’m about to cum, so you better hurry the fuck up and finish,” He growled, and you nodded pathetically. You felt your legs start to shake, you and you bit down on your lip as it washed over you, and you squeezed Henry’s cock in between your walls. He gripped your hips, and pulled you down on his cock as he came, and filled you with spurt after spurt of his cum. 

You collapsed onto him moments later, and teared up when you felt him brushing hair out of your eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. His thumb brushed away a stray tear that fell out of you eye, before tilting your chin up to look up at him. He gave you the sweet smile that you hadn't seen in over 10 years, before mending all the broken pieces of your heart with 4 words. 

“I love you too,” He whispered, a tear falling from his eye, as he pressed a sweet and soft kiss to your lips. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry that I made you think that I hated you. I was conflicted. I was so in love with you and I didn't know how to handle it, so I went out of my way to hurt you, which is pathetic. I promise you I will never hurt you again,” he said, and smiled when you rested your hand on his jaw.

“I know. I think our issue was that we were so horny for each other but we didn't know it. I’m just glad we sorted it out,” You whispered and pressed a kiss to his jaw and he tightened his arms around you and smiled. 

“Yeah, me too.”

[kythed]

“teenage wasteland.” kuroo tetsurou x reader

4:08pm.

“yo,” kuroo says, opening the door quickly after you ring the bell, “you finally made it.” 

“what do you mean, finally?” you complain, kicking off your shoes and slipping inside. the dry heat of his family home’s living room assaults your bare face, a sharp contrast to the december frigidity outside. “you texted me like ten minutes ago.”

“felt like longer,” kuroo says with a crooked grin. “you want something to drink?” 

“water?”

“I kinda meant something stronger, but sure, water,” kuroo says, filling a glass at the kitchen sink. you furrow your brows.

“something stronger? I’m sorry, but last time I checked we were still underage,” you say, and kuroo laughs breathily — it’s almost a giggle, actually. for the first time since arriving, you notice an odd flush in his cheeks. “oh my god. are you drunk?”

“drunk?” kuroo gasps. “no, no. tipsy, yes. drunk, no.” 

“tetsurou,” you scold, reluctantly letting him pull you towards the hallway. “all those big, bad college boys can’t have been a very good influence on you.”

“I’ve had a stash of jack daniels hidden beneath my bed since sophomore year,” kuroo whispers conspiratorially. “those ‘big, bad college boys’ have nothing to do with it. speaking of which — you want some?” 

you shake your head vehemently and dig your heels into the carpet, realizing he’s trying to drag you into his bedroom. despite being kuroo tetsurou’s official best friend of a decade, you’ve never been inside his room before. you’ve never been inside any boy’s room before, actually — you’ve never been much of a rule breaker. 

(you suppose that’s why you and kuroo get along. you’re forever the straight-laced goody goody, and he’s forever the secretly bad, outwardly good honor roll kid.)

“I don’t drink,” you insist, and kuroo loops his arms around your neck. you stiffen. “and stop being so touchy. it’s freaking me out.”

“what?” kuroo says, feigning offense. “you don’t like my hugs?” 

“no!” you say, and he shoots you an exaggerated eye roll. “you’re being weird. I can probably count the number of times you’ve voluntarily hugged me on one hand.” 

kuroo ignores you, choosing to instead pick you up and toss you over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. 

“kuroo tetsurou, you’d better quit it before I call your mother!” you pound on his back, a little taken aback to feel his shoulder muscles rippling under your palms as he staunchly marches you into his room. “I do not want to enter your disgusting cave of a room, you teenage garbage troll!”

“getting real creative with the insults there,” kuroo laughs, setting you down and backing up against the door to block you from running out. “come onnnnn. I thought we could play a game of monopoly or something. listen to the radio. finish the bottle before my mom comes home and whips my hide.”

you sigh and perch your hands on your hips. “so that’s why you invited me over.”

“no, no,” kuroo protests, crouching to pull a clear bottle of amber colored liquid out from beneath his bed. “I also just vastly enjoy your company.”

“why not just throw it out?” you ask, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. 

kuroo’s room is a lot neater than you imagined it would be — navy bedspread tightly tucked in at the corners, vinyl floor completely clear save for a small rug. his desk is probably the messiest part of the entire room, holding an old, chunky desktop that’s covered in post-its with smudged, scribbled notes, ranging from “email prof. miyazawa about missing grade” to “buy mom flowers to apologize for broken mug.” 

there are a couple posters on the wall, too, one for the japanese national volleyball team, and one for some punk-looking band dressed in an overabundance of leather, ripped denim, and hair feathers. 

“this shit was expensive,” kuroo says, gesturing to the bottle before screwing the cap off and taking a long draught. your eyes widen as he drinks down a quarter of the remaining liquid, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. “I can’t let it go to waste.”

“I think you’ve probably had enough of that,” you say, gently twisting it from his hands. kuroo smiles angelically before coming to tower over you. 

“if you’re not gonna drink it, I will,” he says, reaching out to grasp the bottle’s neck. you hold onto it stubbornly.

“you’re clearly wasted, tetsu,” you say. “just let me throw it away.” 

“I may have a small drinking problem,” kuroo says, “but I’m sober enough to know I’m not about to throw away the fifty bucks I spent on that. give it.” 

“no!” 

“yes.”

“nooooo!”

“yes!” 

kuroo tries to wrench the bottle from you, and you spend a solid thirty seconds wiggling in his grasp before finally pulling it away. in an impulsive attempt to keep kuroo from getting even drunker, you bring the rim of the bottle to your lips and chug the rest of the whiskey.

kuroo’s eyes widen, and he guffaws loudly. “that was a lot of alcohol just now.”

you nod, wincing at the acrid taste, unwilling to swallow — the liquid is still swishing in your cheeks. you move to go spit it out in kuroo’s sink, but he grabs your arm.

“do not spit that out,” he warns. “that’s over two hours’ worth of minimum wage salary. I don’t work twenty hours a week in the wendy’s drive-thru just for you to flush it down the drain.” 

“mmmm,” you protest, breathing through your nose. “hrghhhh mmm mm mhm.”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say,” kuroo says, obviously trying to stifle his laughter. 

you gesture wildly to your face, and then to the empty bottle, and then back to your face. 

for a moment, kuroo wrinkles his nose, and then slowly smoothes out his expression. a small smile stretches across his lips, and he steps close to you. you’re acutely aware of your personal bubble being popped, as well of the fact that he smells strongly of old spice and mango body wash. 

“I’ll do it then.”

“mm?” you squeak in confusion when he takes your chin in one hand and guides your face close to his. you’re not sure if you’re smelling the alcohol on his breath or tasting it on our own tongue. you’ve never been this physically close to your best friend in your life, and you can firmly say you’re absolutely petrified. you shake your head vehemently as he slowly leans down, tilting his head. 

“calm down,” he says quietly, and in spite of yourself, you do. “I’m just taking a drink.” 

then he presses his mouth to yours, and you freeze. oh, shit. 

kuroo wedges his tongue between your lips, forcing them open, and then he sucks the whiskey from your mouth, one hand keeping your jaw open while the other snakes around your waist. your eyes widen just as his close, almost as if he’s enjoying the kiss. slowly, you close yours too, letting yourself melt into him as he keeps kissing you even after swallowing the liquid. 

it lasts for a good ten seconds before you reluctantly pull away, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. he’s smiling, evidently very pleased with himself. 

“what the hell was that?” you say breathlessly, searching his face. 

“I was thirsty,” kuroo says nonchalantly. “and a little drunk. and you’re very pretty, as far as best friends go.” 

you feel like you should be offended, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to be. you’re definitely flustered, though, and a little embarrassed. (okay, a lot embarrassed.)

“I think, um, I think I should go,” you say, breaking eye contact. kuroo raises a hand to stop you, but you brush him off, bounding out of the room to grab your bag and keys from the kitchen counter. “we can talk about this later, okay? you need to go take a nap or something.”

“no, hey, wait —”

but you’re already out the door and in the car, jamming the key into ignition. you just kissed your best friend. or did you? does that count as a kiss? or was that just kuroo being stupid? your mind spins with useless speculations on the drive home, and as you sprawl out on your bed for an hour afterwards. it’s not until later that evening that you check your phone, greeted by a handful of social media notifications… and a text from kuroo.

with shaking hands, you swipe it open, face immediately splitting into a grin.

kuroo: sorry about that

kuroo: ok, not really

kuroo: I’m not that sorry

kuroo: cuz you’re a good kisser

kuroo: a really good kisser

you: you too

you wait for a moment as the three little dots on kuroo’s side pop up.

kuroo: thanks

kuroo: I was still kind of stupid tho

kuroo: my b

you: you regret it?

your fingers shake in suspense as you await his answer, feeling all the world like a lovestruck fifteen year old. you’re a little disgusted to find yourself suddenly crushing on kuroo tetsurou of all people, but what can you say? maybe falling for your best friend is a little cliche. maybe it’s a little overdone. maybe the fact that you kissed him with a mouthful of whiskey belongs in a cheesy teen movie, but you can’t help but find yourself delighted that it happened. 

kuroo: nope. not at all.

kuroo: not at all.

[cades-outsider]

Robby Keene X Reader

Warnings: Little Angst!

Not just a Secret

  Let's get one thing straight, keeping a secret from your boyfriend is not that easy. Especially when it's as big as your secret, you see from the time you were young you always admired karate. Other kids thought it was dumb and would rather play video games or whatever.

  You felt there was no hope for you seeing as, there were literally no karate dojo's available in your area. Only a car salesman by the name of Daniel LaRusso who won a karate battle with an illegal kick but you get the picture.

  It wasn't until someone by the name of Miguel helped spark Johnny your sensei to have his own dojo. You and Miguel were pretty close, you ran into him at the mini mart on your way home where you also met Johnny.

  He was sitting on a curve enjoying his pizza when a bunch of teens decided to get into some trouble with a boy smaller than them.

From most of your karate experience which detained of watching old karate moves on YouTube came into handy when they tried to start with you. You immediately caught Johnny's eye as you; someone 10 times younger than him knew about old time karate, though your stance wasn't completely stable.

Johnny decided to help you out seeing as there were more than just two or three kids you were going against and because they hit his car.

What you thought was cool was that You, Miguel, and Johnny all lived in the same apartment complex. You noticed Johnny a lot, but you knew from his personal actions that he didn't like associating with people.

After Miguel had convinced Johnny to open up his own dojo both Johnny and Miguel came straight to you. Well Both you and Miguel happened to run into Johnny who was looking for you both to tell you the good news.

You were eagerly ecstatic, having had wanted this dream to come true for a while. Johnny taught you a lot that you didn't know before, he was almost like a dad figure.

You see when you met Robby you hadn't know that Johnny was his dad and you didn't know the situation. It took a while for Robby to open up to you about his family issues in the relationship.

You guys were together for about 6 months before you knew about Johnny being his dad and how much he 'hated' him.

You knew Johnny for the first 3 months while learning a little bit of karate, and it wasn't until 3 months later you started fully going every day after school.

Yeah you could say whenever Robby told you who his dad was you immediately felt trapped. For the simple fact that is Robby hated his dad so much and knew how close you and his dad were he might not like that... he'd might even feel betrayed.

So you kept it a secret, which probably wasn't the best and definitely not the healthiest for your relationship but you wanted to keep Robby happy... but you knew if it got out he would not be the happiest about it.

Anyways, you were on your way to Cobra Kai... you guest it. As of right now Johnny had a good amount of students, including You, Miguel, Tory, Eli- also known as Hawk now, Chris, A**- Face as they call him, Bert, and a couple extras.

Practice was as normal as any other day, it consisted of sweat, pounding chest, and happiness. Karate brought joy to you, and you absolutely loved the way Johnny taught you karate.

You could tell from the beginning that Johnny was nervous and scared to teach more kids, you didn't quite know why but you thought it had something to do with his childhood maybe?

It was almost like he thought he was going to mess up, which so far he hasn't. Plus he has you and Miguel for reassurance which he didn't ask for but definitely didn't tell either of you to stop.

Johnny had let everyone take a 10 minute break while he worked on something in his office, a loud shout and bang was heard after less than a minute of him being in his office.

You and Miguel share a knowing look as everyone else's eyes stayed wide and scared, because when Johnny's mad he usually is shall I say more present with his actions.

Both you and Miguel get up from your sitting positions and walk into Johnny's office to see him with his head buried in his hands and the phone beat against the desk.

"Sensei?" Miguel questions worried.

"Yes Mr. Diaz? Do you need something?" Johnny asks, quite stressfully.

"Uh- I was just wondering if you were okay?" He questions softly.

"I'm fine Diaz, just stressed that's all" Johnny nods his head as an okay, Miguel nods and walks to the mats, as you stay behind.

"Uh- Sensei you know you can talk to me- to us" You comment, daringly.

"I appreciate that Miss. L/n" He says as he pops open his famous coors beer, leaning back into his chair.

You take a seat in the chair in front of him "what's wrong?" You question.

He takes a swing of beer keeping eye contact as he sits the beer aggressively down on the table "nothing is going my way, you know? I try one good thing and it escalates into two bad things" Johnny states, running a hand through his hair messing it up a little.

"Uh- Sensei, I can see it on your face you're not that hard to read. I know it might sound crazy but I know what you're feeling all I can say is that it will get better you're doing an amazing job at what you do already... so who says you're not already doing that one thing" You say softly.

Johnny smiles a little, but this time a genuine smile "that's very kind of you Y/n" he says as you smile, feeling accomplished.

"Is something going on with you? You said you knew what I felt" Johnny questions.

"Oh uhm actually I'm kind of stuck on something right now- I'm kinda doing one thing that I know would hurt someone I love but only just found out they wouldn't like it when I'm doing it and it's hard because I know how he'll react" You say nervously, as technically you just told on yourself.

Johnny nods his head in understand-meant "is he a lover?" He asks to which you nod yes.

"Well then he should understand right? I mean you're a great kid he would understand" Johnny encourages.

You smile softly "thank you" you blush of embarrassment from the fact that you know you literally just told on yourself.

"No problem kid, now go get into your stance" He says getting up as you follow, walking out of his office and into your follow in stance.

The rest of practice ended with a happier and more relieved Johnny. At the end of class Johnny asked both of you and Miguel to stay behind saying that he needed to give you both something.

  He leads you both to the trunk of his red firebird, which holds two black Cobra Kai Gi's "I wanted to give both of you these first" He says handing one to both you and Miguel.

  "Sensei this is- incredible" Miguel comments excitedly.

  "They're amazing!" You say excitedly.

  "Well you guys deserved it, you both worked very hard" Johnny says proudly.

  Miguel hugs Johnny until his phone dings causing them to pull away from the hug "sorry sensei that's my mom! Thank you!" He says before running away, over to his bike.

  "Thank you sensei" You smile slightly.

  "You can call me Johnny, Y/n but only out side of the dojo" He says as you give him a hug.

  See this is where it gets complicated, Robby had decided he was going to give his dad a chance and so he thought that he would come to Cobra Kai and speak with his dad.

  As he was riding on his board he stopped and picked it up as he arrived at his destination and saw you with his dad.

  "Y/n?" Robby questions walking up to the scene.

  "Robby-" You gasp internally, slightly freezing. You knew this day would come but not so soon.

  "Robby? What are you doing here?" Johnny questions, confused.

  "Well I came to talk to you but seeing as my girlfriend made it first it seems I don't need to" Robby spits out bitterly.

  "Robby I-" He cuts you off.

  "What you can explain? Oh please do, after I just told you too." He walks closer to you.

  "I guess now I know I should've never tried with you" Robby says walking away.

  "Don't talk to her like that" Johnny stands his ground walking over to Robby as he stops in his tracks.

  "Oh like you talk to me?" He asks sarcastically.

  "You know what I've had it, I'm done. We're done Y/n" Robby says before continuing to walk away.

  You couldn't just let him walk away, so you ran after him once he turned the curve behind the dojo "Robby wait at least let me explain" You plead.

  He stops once again before turning back around "what? What do you need to explain" he sighs.

  "Look I didn't know that Johnny was your dad until yesterday when you told me! I had no way of knowing but I knew that I didn't want to quit karate" You state.

  "Oh so you couldn't have just quit when you knew or at least have told me?" He grits his teeth, walking closer to you.

  "Oh come on Robby, just give Johnny a chance he's really trying" You plead.

  "Oh so now you're on his side" He says defensively.

"I'm not saying that I just thought that if I kept it a secret that I wouldn't hurt you" You say guiltily.

"That is not just a secret Y/n!" He yells stepping closer causing you to flinch accidentally.

  This action didn't go unnoticed to Robby, he immediately goes soft "oh Y/n- I-I'm sorry" He says going to grab your hand but you pull it away.

  "Just. Don't. I think we need some time to collect ourselves" You state before walking away from Robby and back to Johnny.

  "I'm sorry Johnny- I should've told you earlier" You say guiltily as you didn't want Johnny to feel some type of way towards you now.

  He nods his head understandingly "look Y/n. It's okay there's nothing to be sorry for, i actually would spin you two together if he wasn't being such a d*ck" He comments.

  You laugh at his choice of words "you mean ship?" You question.

  "Oh so that's what they call it" He hums as you nod.

  Johnny offered you a ride home, since you both lived at the same apartment complex and of course you agreed.

  As you walked through your apartment door you felt bad, bad about keeping a secret from Robby that would hurt him, but also mad because he had just told you Johnny was his dad so you had no way of knowing beforehand.

  Robby on the other hand felt terrible, he made you flinch. Worst of all he yelled at you which he would never do if it were a different topic, his dad was always a hard topic for him.

  Robby had decided to take action and visit your apartment, he hated being away from you for more than a couple days.

  He bought some of your favorite flowers and made his way to your apartment on his skateboard. Moments later you heard a knock at your door, your parents weren't home and you knew they would be here later so that confused you.

  None the less you opened the door to reveal Robby awkwardly holding your favorite flowers, a look of regret and sadness written clearly on his face.

  "Robby-?" You question confused.

  "Y/n hear me out please..." He pleads.

  "Okay... come in" You say holding the door opened for him more.

  He walks in and sets the flowers down on your counter "look I'm sorry for yelling at you like that, it was wrong of me but I was just upset" He confesses, looking down.

  You sigh "Robby it's okay, I know you would never hurt me like that it was just an instinct. I'm sorry to for not telling you" You say guiltily.

  Robby walks closer to you and grabs both of your hands interwinding them with his "no it's okay Y/n, I know you didn't know I shouldn't have pushed you like that" Robby admits.

  "It's know, I just thought if I kept it a secret it wouldn't hurt you as much...." You mumble honestly.

  He smiles a little "I think it hurt more, but now it's okay because I love you to much to lose you" He shyly admits.

  You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders "I love you more" You respond.

"How about we get some food and cuddle?" You question happily.

"That sounds amazing" Robby reply’s.

Even though Robby was desperately hurt at your actions, he knew it wasn’t your fault he knew that you didn’t know I mean how would you have known if he never opened up to you. Anyways life went on and eventually Robby finally spoke and sorted things out with his dad, though that didn’t stop certain people but it did save Johnny’s.

_______________________________________________

This was requested from Wattpad!!!

[ally-writes-many-things]

Secret Voight Season 3 Part 3 (J. Halstead)

Summary: Its been a year and a few months since Olive showed up announcing that she was pregnant with Justin's kid. You were working on a case that involved Justin. Is Justin back doing the same old things or is it something else?

Words: 3.9k

Requested: Yes

Warnings or A/N: Guys, I appreciate the love and support yall are giving me again with this series but please dont keep asking me over and over again if I'm continuing it. I think there will be at least one more part in season 3 and there will be one more chapter for s3. There also maybe be one more chapter that will be special. Idk yet. Well see.

You were smiling at your nephew in his high chair while wearing a birthday hat. It was Daniel's first birthday. You, your dad, Olive and Justin were all singing happy birthday to him as Daniel was just looking around and babbling. "Happy birthday, kiddo. Come on, blow out that candle. Ready? One, two..."

Your dad had put the cake on the food tray as Justin walked closer to his son and they both helped Daniel blow out the candle. "Good job,"

You looked from Daniel and then to Olive. "I can't believe he's a year old already,"

Voight nodded and went to grabbed a present. "Ooh, wait. Time for presents. This one is from me,"

Justin reaches over the table and grabbed the bag and opened it up. He pulled out a toy horse that he seemed to recognize. "All these years you kept this?"

"Your mom did. She kept all your baby stuff upstairs in the attic, just, you know, hoping one day she could pass it along,"

Olive puts her hand Justin's back. "Hank, it's perfect,"

"Yeah. Thanks, Pop. I wish Mom was here too,"

You got up from your seat and walked around to where your brother was and placed your hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know Camille but from what I've been told of her. She would be so proud of you,"

----

It had been an hour or so after you were done with giving Daniel his gifts. Justin and Voight were in the living room catching up. You and Olive were still in the kitchen with Daniel cleaning up. "So when are you and Jay getting married?"

Justin and Olive got married about six months ago and ever since then everyone has been up yours and Jay's ass over it too. Or well besides Voight. Voight told you over and over 'to take it slow'. You chuckled as you had a secret but it wasn't an engagement. Jay didn't even know about this either. "Whenever he proposes, I guess,"

"I'm sure, it'll be soon,"

You shrugged. "I'm just going with the tides. In this line of work, its difficult to worry about things like that,"

She nodded. "You guys did move in together right?"

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago,"

"With two bedrooms right?"

You cocked an eye at her. "Yeah? Why?"

"Just asking. How's it going?"

"It's going good. It's a lot easy on the both of us since Jay would take me to work,"

Voight walked into the kitchen with Justin. "Sorry to break the girl chat up but we got a case. Team is already there,"

You walked over to where Daniel was and kissed him on the top of his head. "Goodnight my sweet boy,"

---

You and Voight drive to the scene separate but arrived at the same time. You saw Kevin and Antonio were waiting for us at the police line which they lifted up when we walked up to it. "Hey, Serge. We got one dead female found in the trunk,"

Antonio looked at his notepad. "A park district employee was closing the gates. He was about to have the car towed when he noticed blood on the rear of the car and called the police,"

You and the others walked up the car, Jay was already there at the car holding up the trunk. "Victim's hands and feet are tied with barbed wire. Throat's cut. Fingernails are gone, too. I'm guessing she fought back against the assailant. He knew there'd be DNA, so he yanked them off,"

"Cartel hit?"

"Or Russians. They've been known to use barbed wire too,"

You got a ping on your phone and looked at it. "Car's registered to the victim. Her name's Melissa Wilds. She's 26 years old. We got an address,"

"All right, call Ruzek and Olinsky. Tell them to go over there and do a knock-and-talk,"

It was the next day and you didn't have much to go on as of yet. Al and Ruzek knocked at the address but no one answered. Her neighbor came by and they found out she had a daughter. You were sitting at you desk while talking about the case. "Melissa Wilds. Her husband was an Army private killed in a training exercise last year at Fort Bragg, along with three others when their chopper went down,"

Antonio took it from there. "She had an associate’s from Roosevelt and worked as a paralegal for the law firm Sawyer & Sawyer,"

Antonio was still in the outs with you. Yeah, its been a year but you still didn't trust him enough to let him back into your life. Jay, on the other hand, just didn't care because no one was gonna tell him what he can or can't do. Ruzek swung around in his chair to look at Antonio. "Yeah, I've seen those commercials. They're just high-profile ambulance chasers,"

"Bigger than that. They do seven-figure class action lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies or schools with asbestos,"

Jay was looking into Melissa's background and to see if she got any priors. "Except for a few parking tickets, Melissa has zero priors. She's a working, widowed mom, so the more I'm digging here, I can't see any reason why she'd be associated with cartels or any Russians,"

Voight walk to where he was standing in front of everyone. "Well listen. This girl was tortured with barbed wire. That means the killer either wanted something from her, or it was personal. So I want to know where she was before we found her, who she was with- if she was seeing someone new,"

Your phone of your desk rang while Voight was saying what he was saying. "Voight,"

"Roger Simpson is down here. Says he is Melissa's father,"

You pulled the phone away from your mouth and looked up at Voight. "Hey,"

"Hm?"

"Roger Simpson, Melissa's father, is downstairs,"

Voight looked over at Al. "Al?"

"We should start drawing straws,"

It had been about an hour since Al met with Roger and he said that Melissa was acting strange the past few months and that she was asking him to watch Tigan more and more which was no problem but it was hard cause he lived two hours away. He had asked her if something was wrong but she wouldn't tell him. You were engrossed with your digging that you didn't hear Jay walking up to you until he tapped on your desk. You looked away from your computer and up at him. "Hey handsome,"

He slightly smiled before dropping it. That concerned you. "What's wrong?"

"We got Melissa's phone records,"

"And?"

"Follow me,"

Jay started to walk towards Voight's office and you got up from your desk and followed him. "Hey, we got, uh, Melissa Wild's phone records,"

Voight looked at you confused and you just shrugged as you walked into his office. "Okay?"

Jay closed the door and hand a copy to you and Voight. He kept one for himself as well. "She and Justin, um-- they knew each other. Looks like there's maybe 20 phone calls and twice as many texts between the two of them last month. The last phone call she made was a half hour before time of death,"

Voight picked up his personal phone from his desk and started dialing Justin. "He said he was in town to help a friend. Maybe it was her,"

You walked up to Voight's desk. "Where is Justin now?"

"He should be at home with Olive and Daniel,"

Jay looked from you to your dad. "Did he ever mention this girl to you, to either of you?"

"No,"

"Don't you think I would've mentioned it if he did? Straight to voicemail,"

-

You and Voight rush to his house and see that Olive is there with Daniel but no Justin and he looks worried. "Where's Justin?"

"He left over an hour ago,"

"Have you tried calling him?"

"He's not answering. I texted him too. Hank, I'm worried,"

"We'll find him,"

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialed Al. "I need you to track the GPS on Justin's car now,"

It took about ten minutes to find the location of Justin car which was parked on the side of the road. You and Voight both jumped out of the car and speed walked to the car. You looked into the car and didn't see anything. You walked around to the trunk where Voight was already opening it up. "Oh, my God,"

You find Justin the same way you found Melissa. Bound with barbed wire. "Justin. He's got a pulse!"

You pulled out your walkie. "Lincoln 5021, emergency. I repeat, emergency,"

Voight was trying to see if he had anymore injuries. "Oh, my God, he's been shot!"

You pushed the button on your walkie again. "I need an ambulance at my current location. We have a gunshot wound victim,"

--

You and Voight ran into Med with Justin and the paramedics when Maggie came into view. "We have incoming. You're with me. Talk to me,"

"It's my son!"

The paramedic started talking to Maggie. "GSW to the neck. GCS 3, tubed in the ambo. Pupils fixed and dilated. Sinus tachy on the monitor. He was bound in the trunk of a car,"

Maggie pointed into a room and started directing them. "Rotate. Get ready to transfer. Three, two, one--transfer,"

Sharon came up to Voight and started to pull Voight away. " Hank, let's step outside,"

"Is he breathing?"

"I need a CT head. Someone call neurosurgery!"

"Is he still breathing?"

"Checking right now, Hank,"

"Come on, let them do their job,"

Voight had called Antonio and told him what happened and the next thing you knew he had brought Olive and Daniel to the ER. Voight didn't look to pleased at Antonio.

Voight looked at you. "GET everyone back to 21,"

"Dad,"

"Now,"

-

You had texted everyone in the unit that if they were at 21st to get there. You couldn't call them because you knew if you called them you'd break down. You stood outside the door of 21st for a few minutes before walking into the precinct and then up the stairs to Intelligence. Jay saw you and walked up to you and pulled you into a hug and whispered into your ear. "It's going to be okay. He's going to be okay,"

You let him hold you for a few minutes before you pushed him away. Antonio looked at everyone in the unit before speaking. "Everybody needs to hold on real tight, and you all know what I mean. If at any point you're not comfortable with something, you come tell me,"

You were all looked at Antonio when Antonio stopped talking when he looked at something. You all turned around and saw Voight standing there with a duffel bag in hand. He throws in on Jay's desk and throw out money. "I want you to put word out to all your C.I.'s. That's 90,000 for any information on who did this to Melissa Wilds and my son,"

Kevin slowly got up and walked towards Voight. "Hey, we got this, Serge. Think you should go to the hospital?"

Voight nodded but didn't say anything for a good minute. "All right, let me be clear. I don't need condolences. I need commitment from each of you. I'm gonna do whatever it takes to find who did this. Anybody not comfortable with that should take the next couple of days off,"

You nodded and walked towards the detail board. While holding back tears, you looked at everyone. "So, turns out Justin went through basic training with Peter Wilds

at Fort Campbell before Peter got shipped to Fort Bragg. That's how they knew each other. They stayed close friends. Melissa started reaching out to Justin about four weeks ago.

"Still doesn't tell us how they were mutual targets,"

Jay who is now sitting on his desk, talked next. "Maybe there's a nexus with her job- the law firm,"

"Check it out,"

Voight had started to leave but you had grabbed him and stopped him. "Hey. You have a grandson now, okay? That is counting on you. Just remember that,"

Voight looked at you for a few seconds before nodding.

-

You were going out of your mind in the car when you and Jay were driving to the law firm. Jay placed a hand on your knee and squeezed it. "It's gonna be okay. Justin is going to wake up and everything will be fine,"

You looked at him and smiled. You appreciated the thought but that's not the biggest thing on your mind. You were worried about what your dad is doing.

Jay pulled up to the law firm and you put everything about your dad and Justin in the back of your mind and put all your focus on the case itself. You walked up to Melissa's boss' office. "Melissa used to be a great employee. Never complained about the hours

or working weekends. But there was definitely something off with her these past few weeks,"

You shifted on your other foot. "How do you mean?"

"Her demeanor. Melissa was always outgoing always had a smile on her face, even after losing her husband, Peter. But lately she'd become withdrawn..distant. To be honest, that's when I started to get suspicious,"

Jay didn't look away from her boss. "Suspicious of what, exactly?"

Her boss didn't answer for a minute thinking about what to say. She held up a finger to signal that she needed a minute. She got up from her desk, shut her office door and then sit back down. "We worked a class action suit last year. Several dozen plaintiffs were awarded mesothelioma cancer pay-outs, all over a million dollars each. three of the plaintiffs were robbed in home invasions, some of them badly injured,"

"Was Melissa the only one with access to this information?"

Her boss shook her head. "Well, no. But the way she was acting, and now what's happened to her, it can't be a coincidence,"

--

As you were leaving the office, Jay called the unit and told them what Melissa's boss, you got in his truck and he got in his truck after he finished the call. You were driving to the precinct when you got a call telling you to meet the team at a location they think Ginger is at and to suit up. Apparently while you were out, the team had learned the suspect's name. You were also texted a picture of him.

Jay parked a little ways down the street and you guys suited up and walked the rest of the way to meet up with the team. Voight saw you and as soon as you got next to him, he started talking. "This one we don't announce. We hit it and we hit it hard,"

You all nodded. Jay grabbed the battering ram and hit the door. Antonio was in first, Al and Ruzek was next, then you, Voight and Jay. You could hear a woman screaming. You saw three males trying to get up and run. You pointed a gun at one of them. "Don't move!"

Jay pointed the gun at the other. "Right there!"

Voight goes past you to point a gun at the three suspect.. "I'll blow your head off! Let me see your hands. Don't move,"

Antonio looked at the girl. "You, get your clothes. Get out of here,"

When everyone was under control you finally looked up at the three suspect and saw that it was Ginger. " You got a warrant?"

"Melissa Wilds,"

"Never heard of her,"

Voight didn't say anything for a minute then didn't take his eye of him but address the team. "The stove. Cover the door,"

Al and Antonio grabbed Ginger and pulled him over to the store as he turned on the store. "Wait a minute,"

"Justin Voight is my son. You shoot him and wrap him in barb wire?"

"No, man, that wasn't me. It was all Kevin!"

"Kevin who?"

"Kevin Bingham, a guy I work with sometimes. He...he used to bang

that girl Melissa when they were younger, started forcing her to give up info on who was getting big pay-outs from her law firm,"

"Yeah, and you did the home invasions.

"I just do the safes, man. He handles the people, then we split it down the middle,"

"Why did he kill her and shoot my son?"

"Melissa wanted out. But Kevin wouldn't let her, so she went to Justin for help. wanted me to meet him at that social club to broker a deal for her safety for five grand. I told him, leave it alone. He had no idea who he was messing with. Kevin knew Melissa was gonna rat him out, so he called Justin to meet to tie up loose ends!"

"Where's Kevin now?"

"I don't know. I swear! He only calls me when there's a job!"

Voight grabbed Ginger's head and forces it down on the hot burner so he could burn his cheek. Ginger screamed out in pain and you looked away in disgust.

Antonio came up to Voight and tried to pull him off of him. "Voight, we can do this at the district!"

Voight shrugged. "We're fine right here. Relax. Relax. Where's Kevin now?"

"Hiding cause he knows you're after him. I swear to God, that's all I know,"

-

It's been about two or so hours since you talked to Ginger. You had finally found some information on Bingham. You printed off a picture of Bingham and what you found on him. You also made copies for the team. "Kevin Bingham. He's been racking up felonies since he was 18, armed robbery, assault, battery, burglary. Five years ago he got popped for attempted murder. A guy spilled his drink at a bar, so Bingham stabbed him 16 time,"

Antonio looked up from the sheet. "Yeah, and he got out of jail three months ago,"

Al who was leaning up against the file cabinet talked next. "Melissa's father said she and Bingham dated six years ago back in high school and after her husband died, he started coming around again,"

Jay pointed at the photo that was sent over. "So these were sent over, all of these are from recent home invasions where the victims were tied up with barbed wire,"

Kevin looked at the phone. "That is definitely something he picked up in prison,"

Ruzek comes into the room with a paper in his hand. "So Bingham's parole officer said he stopped showing up-- violated him, but he's got no LKA. Yeah, so we've been running an extensive check on all his known associates, including those off his prison visiting list. All right, this is Dillon James. visited him all the way up until his parole, putting money into his canteen account. He's got priors for methamphetamine and a thing for stealing UPS trucks and selling the stolen goods,"

Voight turned and looked at him. "Where is he?"

"We got a possible house in Rogers Park,"

Voight nodded. "Let's roll out and suit up. Oh, Antonio. You stay here. Just call us if you get anything,"

-

You hit the house and found his brother but all his brother told you was that Bingham came by last night and took some cash and guns that he was holding for them. He only told him that he needed to get out of town until something blew over.

*Justin was moved to ICU and Sharon will call in an hour with an update*

Dillion: I ain't--I ain't seen him *point the gun at him* All right, he was here! He came by last night. He was picking up some cash I was holding for him and some guns. He also gets a call from Antonio saying Sharon called and told him that Justin came out of surgery and that

You were in the unit for an hour or so when Voight gets a call and goes into his office and he was in there for a few minutes before he comes back out. "I got an address on Bingham. I want everyone rolling there now. First two to arrive, breach. This guy's on the run could be leaving any minute. Let's go,"

You didn’t ride with Jay or anyone else. You rode by yourself so you could have some time by yourself just to think about everything that was happened. You heard your phone go off and you looked down and saw that it was Jay. "Hey, I'm two minutes out,"

"Bingham's not here. No one's here. Not for a while,"

"Is Voight there?"

"Not yet,"

That's when it hit you that Voight sent you to a bogus location and that whoever he was on the phone with, found Bingham and he was at the Silos.

You heard Jay on the line calling for you but you dropped your phone in the seat and as soon as you could turned around. You drove as fast of you could to get to the Silos before your dad could do anything stupid. You drove up and saw that Kevin was digging a hole. You got out of the car and Kevin started talking to you. "Oh, thank God. Thank God. This guy tried to kill me. I didn't do anything,"

You walked up closer to your dad. "Don't do this. Think of your grandson,"

"Get back in your car, Y/N,"

"Do not throw it all away over him,"

"Get back in your car,"

"Dad, please. Justin is still alive and he wouldn't want justice like this,"

"Get out of here,"

"Justin,"

You looked at your dad to Kevin and then back to your dad and knew you couldn't get your dad to think straight. You slowly backed up and got in your car and left. You were halfway down the road when you finally heard the gun go off.

--

You didn't even go the unit after, you went straight to the hospital and you saw Sharon coming out ready to go home. She saw you. "He is in room 12. Say that I allowed it. Talk to him, he can hear you,"

You nodded and said a silent thank you. She placed a hand on your shoulder for a second before removing it. You walked up to the room and no one bothered you. You took a deep breath before opening the door. You opened the door and saw your brother in the hospital unconscious and Olive sitting next to him. She looked at you. "I'll give you two some time together," You walked to the chair and sat down. You finally let go of all the emotion you've been holding on too since you found Justin. You reached out to grab your brother's hand. You sat there and cry until you couldn't let anything else out. When you were finally done crying, you sat there in quiet thinking of what to say. "I don't know if you can hear me, Sharon says that you can. Do you remember when we first met after dad transferred me into Intelligence. We didn't like each other at well. We hated each other at first. Bickered all the time. Yes, we always had bad times but we also had god times and I want...I need more good times with you. I need you to be in my life..."

You trailed off with what you were about to say because you haven’t said it out loud. "Your niece or nephew is gonna need their uncle,"

You put your head on the side of his bed and just sat in quiet once more. "I'm gonna make them my partner in crime,"

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 1. Moving Day

Phic Phight | Next | FFN | AO3

Submitted by @ecto-american: After Danny’s untimely death, his family and friends turn to Dani for comfort. She was so much like him in every single way. And she never felt more like a clone. A replacement for the “real” thing.

Summary: Maddie and Jack learn a lot of things about their son after his death: his powers, his secret life as the local hero, the truth behind his accident three years ago. And his clone who is so much like their boy. When Dani gets the offer to join their home, she thinks it's too good to be true. And she just might be right.

Word count: 2761

Two weeks after Danny dies, Danielle moves into his bedroom. It's a lacklustre affair. Dani has no belongings to bring with her, except the few trinkets stuffed in the pockets of her shorts. She only owns one pair of clothes, two of you want to be technically and count her ghost form. But that's tenuous at best when you consider the circumstances of her creation, and that her clothes were created withher, not given to her. She doesn't like to think about that too much, though.

Neither of Danny's parents are home for the occasion. Dani doesn't blame them. Her face time with Maddie and Jack Fenton over the past three years equals an hour at most—hour and a half if she really pushes it. And most of that time was with an ectogun between them. If she counts the times where she hasn't been staring down a glowing green barrel, then it's probably only five minutes, maybe less. And that only happened a few days ago.

Suffice to say, Dani and the Fentons don't have a good relationship, or a relationship of any kind. So she doesn't blame them for being out of the house when their dead son's clone, who they only recently found out about, takes over his bedroom. Although take over might be too strong of a phrase.

Dani floats next to Jazz, hovering in front of Danny's open bedroom door.

"Is it... okay?" Jazz asks.

Dani drifts inside, turning her head from side to side as she looks around. She likes the blue walls, and the open brick on the outer wall is kind of cool. The bed, covered in a purple bead spread, topped with a fluffy pillow, looks softer than anything she's ever slept on. The room is nice, if a bit messy with Danny's stuff still inside. Posters decorate the wall, some about space, others from some band called Dumpty Humpy. The shelves are stuffed full of books and model spaceships. His dirty clothes lie next to an open hamper in the corner of the room.

The sight surprises Dani more than anything.

"What are you gonna do with his stuff?" she asks. "Do people usually just," she gestures toward the room, "leave it like this?"

"What? No." Jazz shakes her head and quickly wipe her hand across her eyes. "When someone dies, their family or friends eventually pack their stuff away. Not always right away, though."

"Two weeks isn't long enough?"

Jazz's breath hitches. "Don't– don't say that. It's inconsiderate."

Dani's cheeks go hot at Jazz's admonishing tone. "Oh. Sorry." She floats further into the room, if only to escape the awkward air settling between them.

If Dani didn't know any better, she would guess that Danny had just stepped outside for a second and would be back any moment. Lowering herself to the floor, Dani settles on the carpet and walks toward the desk. A controller of some kind sits on the desk chair, its cord tangled with a headset. Dani picks the controller up and turns it over in her hand. She only vaguely recognizes the X logo in the middle of it; her travels over the past couple of years haven't exactly involved a lot of gaming. Or any.

There was a small handheld system she picked up at a garage sale once. She carried it for a few months but lost it somewhere along the way.

Dani tosses the controller onto the chair and turns back to Jazz. "So, now what?"

"Well, if you're not comfortable with Danny's things still being in here, we can get some boxes and start packing. I think we have some in the basement. If you want." Jazz tacks on the last three words with a soft voice.

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, course." It's just stuff, after all. Dani doesn't quite get it, which also means she doesn't care. If the Fentons don't want to move Danny's stuff yet, then it can stay. He was their son before he was Dani's cousin/DNA source.

"Okay. I guess I'll just... let you get settled, then. I have to work on some plans for the memorial, but Mom and Dad should be home in a couple hours. They said they wouldn't be gone long," Jazz says.

Dani nods. A few seconds of silence pass, and once it's obvious that neither of them is going to say anything more, Jazz turns and walks down the hall. Finally alone, Dani lets her ghost form fall away. The transformation rings prickle as their bright light ghosts over her skin, and when it fades, she's left in her typical shorts and hoodie. Dani rubs her arms until the prickling fades, then flops onto the bed.

Damn. It really is the softest thing she's ever lain on. And the blankets are warm. They smell like Danny, too. That's something Dani never thought she would think. She didn't even realize Danny had a smell, but it's hard to ignore now. It's not the most tangible smell. The best word Dani can find to describe it is crisp, like a cold day. She would bet her beanie that it was because of his ice powers, an ability they had never shared.

Dani shakes her head. Everything is weird enough right now. The last thing she needs to be contemplating is how Danny used to smell. It's also, like, a super creepy line of thought, yeah? Yeah.

As she stares up at the ceiling, a blur of movement catches her eye. Her gaze jumps toward it, in the corner of the bedroom closest to the door. A small brown lump clings to the ceiling. A bug, no doubt. Dani can't tell what kind, and she doesn’t care enough to find out. It's not too surprising, considering how messy Danny's room is. There's probably some old pizza hiding under his bed or something.

Dani rolls onto her side and closes her eyes. A little bug doesn't bother her, not after the places she's slept. And if the Fentons won't be home for a while, and Jazz is busy, she might as well take advantage of her new bed and the next few hours to get some shuteye. God knows she needs it.

—

Maddie feels sorry for Vlad's receptionist. She bears a striking resemblance to Maddie herself, with short auburn hair just a touch redder than Maddie's own, a curvy frame, and a sharp, pointed chin. She's even wearing blue, bless her heart. The girl is pretty, and young, and kind. Can't be too far out of high school, and hoping a job at the mayor's office will look good on her resume. Maddie hopes it pays off. The girl deserves it for putting up with Vlad daily. Working for him seems to be taking a toll on her, judging by the distressed look in her eyes when she looks up from Vlad's appointment book.

"I'm sorry, there's no appointment for you. I don't know if I can let you in," she says.

Maddie sighs. "Mr. Masters left me a message"—or several—"asking me to come in."

"I'm really sorry, but he didn't mention expecting you... oh no." The receptionist's eyes widen and she starts digging through papers on her desk. "Did I forget to write it down again? He got so upset last time."

Maddie reaches out and touches her shoulder, stopping the frantic search. "It's all right, dear. It's not your fault."

She suspected, when Vlad left numerous messages on her cellphone rather than calling the house, that something more was up. How Vlad even got her cellphone number she doesn't want to know. She will also be changing it very soon thanks to this incident.

"He's particular about his meetings," the receptionist says. "I really can't let you in."

"Just let him know I'm here, and I'll take care of the rest."

The receptionist nods. While she goes for the phone, Maddie steps away from the desk and turns back to the waiting area. It's empty besides her and the receptionist—not surprising this early on a Monday, and all the better for Maddie. She pulls her cellphone from her purse and checks the time; It's just after eight. Dani is due at Fenton Works soon, but Maddie and Jack won't be back until noon, at least. The reminder makes her wince.

Missing half of Dani's first day at home isn't ideal, but Maddie wants to get this meeting over with as fast as possible. They had other plans in the city, anyway, made before they invited Dani into their home. Better to get everything done at once.

Maddie eyes plush waiting room armchairs, wondering if there's any point in sitting down, when the receptionist calls out, "Mrs. Fenton?"

Maddie opens her mouth to answer, but her phone—still in her hand���buzzes at that moment. Jack's name stretches across the screen. "Excuse me." She steps toward the elevators on the far side of the room and turns her back to the receptionist, the closest semblance of privacy she can get, before answering her phone. "Hey, Jack. Is your meeting done already?"

"Not even close! How goes the shopping?"

"Fine so far. I forgot we didn't ask...." She tenses, feeling the receptionist's stare at her back. "We didn't ask what she might need, so I'm just grabbing the basics. Do you want me to pick something up for you? Are you waiting on the park board?"

"About that... I'm with them now, and—what day did we settle on for the memorial, again?"

Maddie shakes her head, but not out of annoyance. Jack forgetting the day hardly surprises her. He tends to forget the little details. If anything, it makes her feel grounded. The past two weeks have been a lot, to put it lightly. A lot of changes. A lot of revelations. But she can always rely on Jack to be his usual self.

"A month from today," she says.

"Thanks, baby! You're the best! See you later." The phone beeps as Jack hangs up. Maddie sighs while the corner of her lip twitches upwards. It's the closest she's come to smiling since Danny died. She holds like that for a moment, caught between the ache choking her heart and the desire for things to get better. They won't, not for a long time. She won't fool herself into thinking otherwise. But it's nice, for a moment, to pretend things might be okay.

"Leaving Jack alone with the DPR? I feel sorry for them." Vlad's slimy voice ruins the moment after the first syllable.

Maddie tenses, clutching her phone tighter, and turns to face him. "Vlad. It's bad business to ask for a meeting, then make your guest wait."

When Vlad smiles, his whitened teeth cut a bright slash across his cheeks. It's too wide, too sharp. Never reaches his eyes. Maddie remembers, long ago, when Vlad had a soft smile. He used it sparingly, doling it out to only the most deserved. She can't imagine him smiling like that now.

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptive, but when I phone a friend hoping for a visit, I expect them to stop by my house, not my work."

"Your mistake, then."

The receptionist's typing falters. Her have yet to stray from her screen, but Maddie already knows she's listening in. Vlad probably does, too.

"Natalie!" he snaps.

The receptionist jerks upright. "Yes, sir?"

Vlad rests a hand on Maddie's back and pushes her forward. She moves, if only to step out of his reach, and heads toward his office. Vlad reaches into his suit jacket as he walks. He pulls out his wallet and pinches a few random bills, tugging them out without looking. "Take a break. I'm sure you could use a coffee to perk you up."

He leans in front of Maddie to drop the bills on Natalie's desk. The contact makes Maddie grimace, and she hurries ahead into his office. When she turns, Vlad is already closing the door. The last thing Maddie sees of the waiting room is Natalie's frown as she glances at a paper cup sitting in plain view on her desk.

"Now, Maddie." Vlad turns. Rather than heading to his desk, he steps toward Maddie and touches her arm. "How are you doing?"

"You left me seven messages just so you could ask that?" Maddie brushes Vlad's hand off. In three long strides, she cuts across his office and takes one of the visitor's chairs. While the waiting room had plush armchairs, these are made of dark wood, armless, with firm leather cushions and straight backs. A deliberate choice, no doubt.

Vlad comes up beside her, his hand on the second chair. Before he can sit, Maddie swings her purse off her shoulder and drops it on the empty cushion. Vlad pauses, glances between her and the bag, but relents and takes his seat at the desk instead.

His chair sits considerably higher than Maddie's.

"I can imagine the pain you're going through right now," he says.

Maddie's fists clench. "Can you really?"

"Believe it or not, yes, I can." He pauses, giving her a chance to respond. But whatever question he wants her to ask, whatever game he wants to play, Maddie refuses to give in. She might have put up with him once, but after what he's done, he will be lucky if she willingly suffers his presence ever again after today.

She waits for Vlad to elaborate.

"I'm sure you've wondered, all this time, where Danny went whenever he disappeared for hours. Being our city's young hero explains a lot of it, yes, but to be honest, that wasn't everything." Vlad stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It's quite the performance. "To tell you the truth, he was often with me."

Bullshit! Maddie wants to shout, but she bites it back. Her jaw aches from how hard she clenches her teeth.

"I discovered his secret a long time ago and gave him a safe place away from home. You know, when conversation at the dinner table got to be too much." Vlad pauses again, letting his words sink in.

Maddie hates that she knows exactly what he means. All those times she and Jack discussed their inventions, their plans for when they finally captured the ghost boy. Most of what Vlad is saying might be a lie, but the truth within it cuts her deeply. "Really?"

Vlad might think himself a great actor, but he's apparently ignorant to Maddie's own deception. He nods at her questioning tone, eyes low and mouth pressed into a grim line. "I understand this is hard to hear. I did my best to make him feel safe, and we actually became close. Over the years, I came to think of him as something of a son. And his death has affected me deeply."

He stands, trailing his hand along his desk as he walks around toward Maddie. His shoulders droop, as if Danny's absence weighs on him. It really is a good performance. Peering closer, Maddie sees that he even looks pallid, and purple bags rest under his eyes. A look easily accomplished with some pale foundation and smudged eyeshadow.

"It's like a piece of me is missing without him. I'm sure you feel the same. We need each other, Maddie. To make us whole again."

Vlad reaches toward her, but she ducks away from him, slipping out of her chair. His hand falls through the empty air and he stumbles, nearly falling into the chair.

Now he's being ridiculous, Maddie thinks. She could have fallen for the makeup and the sob story if she didn't know better, but the off balance act? The distressed look in his eye when she pulls away? She's insulted that he thinks she would fall for it.

"You're right Vlad. I'm in pain. Danny is gone and it feels like he took a piece of me with him when he died. But I have my family to help me through it." She grabs her purse off the other chair and heads for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"Madeline, please—"

"Vladimir!" Her shout tears at her throat. She turns on him, blinking to fight back the burn in her eyes. He stands frozen where she left him, crumpled pathetically against her empty chair, one hand still outstretched. Maddie swallows the lump in her throat. "Enough."

She leaves without another word.

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