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slightlyobsessedwitheverything · 27 days

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a breakdown of tommy kinard’s past appearances

so. like many of you, i’ve been getting a little bit tired of seeing the same “wait wasn’t tommy a racist/homophobe? why do we like him now?” posts for the last few weeks. so i wanted to do a small breakdown of every time he has previously appeared on screen, along with his action and inaction regarding the casual bigotry of the 118 under captain gerrard.

this is gunna be a long one boys so, strap in lol

season 3 episode 12: chim begins

i’m going to go in chronological order here rather than episodic order just for character development’s sake

tommy’s first appearance in this episode is about 11 minutes in, after the first commercial break. the current 118 are sitting down to dinner when chim arrives. tommy spots him and asks, “hey eli, you forget to tip the delivery guy?” i would say this could be a genuine question based on the fact that chim’s in his civvies, but he’s got his go bag that says “FIREFIGHTER” on his shoulder so. seems like he’s just being a smartass.

(*edit: it’s been pointed out to me that considering they had ordered chinese food, this could have been an instance of casual racism, and i am inclined to agree)

he’s not seen much during chim’s montage of just doin’ shit around the firehouse, until the point where the 118 come back covered in mud. tommy spots chim and asks him, “you still here?” again, just kind of general dickishness. not really anything to write home about.

a small kind of background tommy moment we get after chim’s montage is right as the team is returning from a call, and chim tries to tell them about the older couple who he helped earlier in the day.

tommy: what about that burger place?

gerrard: tommy, you know i hate that place

chim: hey guys, weirdest thing happened today… *he is ignored*

gerrard: hey, wasn’t your girlfriend supposed to come and cook us dinner?

tommy: uh, next tuesday.

gerrard: promise?

tommy: uh— uh, yes. yeah, i will promise…

now. i’m going to leave that up to interpretation, however i have opinions regarding that bit going forward. but! that’s ultimately not what this post is about, so perhaps another time.

the next scene is a pretty major one. chim is getting ready in the locker room, and tries to strike up a conversation with tommy when he walks in to gather some things (deodorant, toothbrush, soap it seems like, none of these details matter i just think they’re fun).

chim repeatedly tried to get tommy to open up to him about the things he likes, saying “tell me what your thing is and i’ll make it mine.” though, tommy just ignores him. we see a close up of him closing his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

chim asks, “…you just really don’t like me much, do you?” and tommy, for the first time, responds to chim’s questions with, “if i thought about you at all, honestly, i probably wouldn’t.” and he leaves.

later, after eli recruits chim to be a paramedic, they have a conversation regarding what he witnessed in the locker room between chim and tommy. eli tells him that it’s not personal, and that “in this job, friends die. funerals are held. they’re not going to just give you their friendship until you earn their respect. they’re not just protecting you, they’re protecting themselves.” and this ultimately makes sense with what we saw in tommy in that earlier scene. he didn’t really seem annoyed or upset at chim’s insistence to get to know him, just apprehensive mostly. he wasn’t cruel to him, and he hasn’t been. just… kind of a dick.

in the fire truck, on the way to the barn burner, tommy is sitting next to him and looks over at chim, as chim seems to be exhibiting signs of nervousness (this is his first real call as a firefighter after all)

(however, this is a moment where chim’s reality and his past start to bleed into each other so i am not sure how accurate this is to the moment.)

we don’t get much in the next scene aside from tommy’s presence at kevin’s funeral. when chim is ringing the bell, tommy is behind him and briefly looks toward chim, likely noticing how chim is attempting to hold himself together.

the next major scene is the call at the shopping mall, where there was some sort of structural collapse. based on the symptoms of the people that were in the mall, chim assumes there is a gas leak, which gerrard waves off. he calls for tommy over the radio, and receives no response.

chim has a realization that they’re dealing with a methane leak, and runs inside the mall to retrieve tommy.

just as the building explodes, chim runs out with tommy over his shoulder. though in this scene “tommy” is clearly a dummy prop and it is so fucking funny once you notice how floppy it is.

then we get probably the greatest scene in all of 911 where chim is in the waiting room waiting for news on tommy and reality starts to bleed into the flashback while “exit music (for a film)” by radiohead plays . it has pretty much nothing to do with this post i just wanted to say how much i LOVE this scene. anyway.

the penultimate scene of the episode starts off with chim in the locker room tucking in his shirt. tommy walks in and, with no preamble, says, “love actually, monster trucks, craft beer.”

chim realizes that this is a response to their last locker room interaction. he asks tommy how his head is feeling, tommy replies, “still fat, but clearer. you saved my life. thank you.” and shakes chimney’s hand, before pulling him into a hug. this is where their friendship begins.

in this episode, i didn’t notice anything that could really be construed as bigotry (see edit*), he was just kind of a dick at first and most of that can boil down to him being closed off and not wanting to open up before there’s a level of respect there.

(though, keep in mind i am white so there is a definite possibility that i could have missed something more racially motivated, however i didn't see anything glaring)

season 3 episode 9: hen begins

tommy’s first appearance (ever) is about 13 and a half minutes into the episode when captain gerrard introduces the team to their new “diversity hire” (after greeting her himself with a few blatantly misogynistic comments)

when tommy first sees hen, he smiles and asks “who’s this?”

when gerrard calls her a “diversity hire,” the smile leaves tommy’s face and he looks back at gerrard with somewhat of a blank expression, contrasted with sal deluca’s disbelieving smirk and comment of “for real?”

chimney then defends hen, gerrard walks away after saying they’re screwed. tommy once again looks between hen and gerrard before ultimately following him away from the railing.

it is not clear what exactly his reaction to hen joining the team actually is at that moment, whether he wanted to speak up like chim or express disdain like sal, as he remained silent.

at dinner, tommy asks sal what he and his girlfriend did the night previous, where the movie “twilight” comes up. sal makes a comment about kristen stewart being hot, and hen joins in thinking she found something in common with these guys to talk about, but sal ignores her and she walks away. (i think the writers may have genuinely forgotten kstew was only 17 in that movie but that’s neither here nor there)

tommy chimes in saying he “doesn’t get that” and that she’s “too brooding” for him, to which sal responds, “maybe you’re more of a team jacob kind of guy.”

tommy says he has no idea what that means, and chim clarifies that sal is insinuating that he’s gay.

sal laughs at this and at tommy’s reaction, and tommy jokingly blows him a kiss, smiles, and goes back to his food.

(here is a gifset of the scene)

chim then invites hen into the conversation by asking where she’s from. when he tells her he assumed she was an east coaster and that it was a compliment, tommy replies with “new york bitchiness is a compliment?” (score 1 for the misogyny bucket)

chim calls him out, and he just kind of huffs and looks at gerrard, but ultimately moves on.

tommy doesn’t really say or do much else in this scene besides sit silently while gerrard is sexist towards hen and hen stands her ground. in the end, sal looks toward tommy and nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. they both get up and leave the table.

nothing of note happens in the mudslide scene with tommy, most of the conflict is between hen and gerrard. the scene where gerrard makes her man behind as well. tommy is in the background and sees this happen, but says nothing. though, i also need to add that in these moments, chim does not say anything either.

the next scene tommy is in is when hen makes her announcement to the team about how she is not going anywhere.

i once again want to point out the difference in tommy vs sal in this scene. sal has his hands on his hips and his lips tight in a somewhat annoyed looking fashion, and he looks to the side where tommy is to gauge his reaction.

whereas tommy, has his arms folded and is looking down at the floor at first, before looking up towards hen. and while gerrard and chim have their arms crossed as well, i want to point out that tommy is holding one arm while the other sits around his waist. he looks a bit sheepish if i’m being honest, like he knows they’re about to be scolded.

when hen says for them to “see me as i see you, as a proud member of this department,” tommy turns to look behind him and makes eye contact with chim.

now, there’s not a whole lot i can glean from this interaction as is, but as we know from “chim begins,” tommy trusts chim so it’s possible he wants to get chim’s opinion. he seems to do this a lot i’ve noticed, looking between the people around him to gauge their reactions to what is going on.

nothing much of note for the car accident scene, HOWEVER. in the scene immediately after, sal and tommy address hen directly for the first time to give her some praise for her call on that scene. sal tells her “nice work yesterday,” and tommy tells her that they would have found the other car eventually, but eventually would have been too late.

hen states she “just got lucky,” to which sal responds, “screw that. you’re good,” and both he and tommy shake hen’s hand. tommy even gives her a light smack on the shoulder as he walks away and hen absolutely BEAMS.

then of course, hen is told that gerrard was removed from his position because his conduct was reported and “more than a few of your fellow firefighters have your back.” we know chim is absolutely one of them, and i can infer that based on tommy and sal’s reactions to hen’s speech and their interaction with her just before this scene, it is very likely they are as well.

in this episode, there were definitely some more moments of blatant bigotry in this episode, but other than the “new york bitchiness” line, tommy doesn’t really directly contribute to any of it. he seems to be more of a follower, constantly gauging how others feel and just playing along. complicity is still an issue of it’s own, do not get me wrong, but considering i keep seeing people say he made racist/homophobic comments, i feel like its a reasonable thing to point out.

season 3 episode 16: bobby begins again

tommy’s final on screen appearance begins with hen taking bets on how long the new captain will last. tommy asks hen to put him down for 4 weeks on credit, and they (hen, tommy, sal, and chim) banter a little. they all seem to have a pretty good relationship with each other at this point.

bobby pops out of the firetruck and places his own bet on himself, and tommy just kind of looks sheepish since they got called out.

to be real, tommy doesn’t do a whole lot in this episode either. most of the conflict is between bobby and sal. most of what we see is him in the background silently judging bobby’s lack of LA knowledge along with hen and chim. he does have some silly little moments during the chicken chase though.

(here's a great gifset of that scene)

bobby calls out to sal to talk to him after the restaurant fire, and sal keeps walking but tommy stops and waits, looking between bobby and sal.

sal says, “you’re a piece of work. you come in here with your nose in the air and your eyes looking down–” tommy interrupts sal and tells him to stop.

sal keeps digging into bobby, and tommy in the background, looks to chim and hen and shakes his head, seemingly telling them not to get in the middle of it.

sal says he has the skill to lead the 118, bobby retorts with, “but not the temperament.” sal then drops his bag and stomps toward bobby so he can get in his face. tommy moves to go after him, but chim gets between sal and bobby before anything can happen.

bobby fires sal, and tommy is just standing there with the rest of his team wondering what the hell happened.

we then have the bar scene! chim, hen, and tommy hanging out at the bar before bobby ends up joining them.

they have a good time and show off their scars to each other. tommy quotes fight club, chim laughs, bobby leaves to solve the arson.

(again, here's another gifset)

at the end we see a bit more of the team together, bobby starting to cook for them, and finally the scene of chim and hen popping out of the ambulance with balloons and a cake for tommy as he transfers to the 217. they all seem to be fairly close at this point.

(another gifset for good measure)

and other than chim calling on him for a water drop in 2x14, that’s about it until he returns in season 7.

in conclusion

to me, it seems like tommy is a bit of a follower and tends to just go along with what the people around him are doing, ESPECIALLY under gerrard. captain gerrard fostered a really toxic work environment and its no wonder others like sal were never really called out on their shit. and tommy mostly seemed to follow sal’s lead or stay quiet.

“chimney begins” takes place around 2006-ish, “hen begins” around 2008, and “bobby begins again” takes place around 2017 i believe. and between 2006 and 2024, based on what we see, its easy to see that tommy has indeed grown and changed many of his attitudes, especially when in a healthier work environment. now can we please stop acting like he’s this irredeemable piece of shit and see him for what he really is: a flawed person who grows and learns from others, like every other character on this show.

#this is not a tommy hater post this is just me going through everything he has said and done on screen so far #tommy kinard #911 #911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 #character analysis

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wardenparker · 1 year

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Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 4

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, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Making out, a bit of groping, heavy flirting. Nothing extreme here. Summary: The day after your outing with Jack things take an unexpected turn, including a visit from Champ’s wife and a change in plans for your cousin’s wedding. Notes: That pesky love triangle is rearing its head defiantly in this chapter, gang!

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

Jack opens the door to the dining room, a bit nervous as he comes into what he’s come to consider ‘your space’. He knows that he’s blown kind of hot and cold with you, but he wants to see you. Needs to see you, if he’s honest with himself. After a restless night, he’s here. A crate of the new whiskey and a crate of apples from a nearby farm he knows as an offering to your culinary expertise, rolled in behind him on a delivery dolly.

You’ve been in your own little world - singing along to the music playing through Bluetooth speakers situated on the steel counters and dancing around - while you whip up two batches of icing to go with the red velvet cake that you baked. Cream cheese frosting and whipped chocolate ganache are the contenders for topping off the classic sweet, and you’re going to give Diana a call to come do a taste test as soon as they’re ready. Or you were, until you turned around to put a bowl of chocolate frosting on the main counter and saw Jack in the doorway. “H—hey.” You flash him a grin, feeling your cheeks heat at the sight of him all decked out in his suit jacket and tie with his Stetson.

“Hey, sugar.” He hates interrupting your little dance party in the kitchen. Smirking slightly as he had watched your hips sway in time to the beat. “Not interrupting anything time sensitive, am I?”

“Not at all.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. He had been friendly but distant for the rest of the night last night, helping you bring things in the house when he dropped you off but politely declining the cup of coffee you had offered. The man was a menace, leaking into your dreams and permeating every thought afterward. “You’re just in time for the first cakes to be frosted, but I…I actually made something else this morning. You’re the first to try them, if you don’t mind being a Guinea pig.”

“Always willing to be your test subject, sugar.” Jack assures you, inhaling deeply and groaning at the sugary sweetness of the air. He’s starting to think it’s your scent. “Whatcha got for me?” He asks, shuffling closer and smirking as he peers into your bowls.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” With a cheeky grin in his direction, you nod to the hand truck he carried in behind him.

Jack turns around and grins when he looks back at you. “This here are gifts.” He declares, picking up the crate of apples and setting it down on a clear surface of the prep tables. “Man down the road was sellin’ apples. Figured you could use ‘em somehow. Wanted to help him out and they looked good.”

“They look gorgeous.” The crate of orchard fresh fruit is basically crying out to be loved and used, and you pick one up to bite into the flesh immediately. “And they’re perfectly ripe,” you groan happily at the juicy sweetness. “You have to try one of these.” It’s still in your hand when you dash over to the far counter to retrieve the tray of cookies that you made this morning. “And one of these, too.”

"What are all these?" He asks, not caring - he will eat anything you offer him - he purely wants to know so he can tell what you are putting on the menu. "They smell good."

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday...about how you only like shortbread that has jam or in a sandwich cookie." The little Linzer-inspired cookies on the tray have beautifully fluted edges and perfect stars cut out of the top cookie with a layer of powdered sugar decorating the top, but the little purple flecks in the cookies are still visible. "These are lemon lavender shortbread with lemon curd to sandwich them together."

"Sounds fancy." He hums, looking over the tray and choosing a cookie that looks to have the most powdered sugar on top. He inspects it and admires the craftsmanship you put into a simple cookie that is anything but. "Looks delicious."

"I know they're a little unusual, but I made them for my sister's baby shower a couple of years ago and I never would have thought to use lemon curd between the layers if you hadn't mentioned sandwich cookies yesterday." In truth, they're one of your favourite things in the world, but you don't know how lavender cookies will go over with cowboys. If the flavours aren't going to be popular, you'll just make them in your own kitchen at home and be very happy with enjoying it in private. "If you don't like it, that's okay. I just always need you to be honest when you taste something."

Jack nods seriously and takes a bite of his cookie, closing his eyes and chewing silently. Contemplating the flavors as seriously as he would testing a batch of whiskey. "Hmmm." He nods to himself, taking another bite and munching on it again. "I— the lavender is a little heavy for my taste, but I can see this going with a spiked sweet tea." He opens his eyes and looks down at it. "Bourbon sweet tea."

"Pull back on the lavender? I can do that." Somehow you knew - or maybe hoped - that you could trust his palate, and you dash to the refrigerator to pull out the pitcher of sweet tea you have stashed there and the open bottle of bourbon on the counter to mix some drinks and see if he's right.

"Just a smidge, for me." Jack tells you. "But I'm sure others will like it just like it is." Jack watches as you pour out the drinks, one for him and one for you. He takes it and immediately takes a sip before taking another bite of the cookie. "Yep, holy hell in a handbasket." Jack whistles, looking at the cookie and the drink with fresh eyes. "You gotta try that combo, sugar."

A bite of a cookie and a sip of your drink have you grinning almost immediately, doing a little happy dance in place as you realize that the subtle floral notes in the bourbon are amplified by the cookie and the tartness of the curd tempers the sweetness in the tea. It's an absolutely perfect combination and you're on the verge of giggles because of it. "Holy shit," you look up at him again with bright, excited eyes. "That's incredible."

"Now, with that sweet tea, you don't have to do anything to the cookie." Jack tells you. "It's balanced just like that - at least it is to me."

"I'll have to put a note on the menu that they're recommended as a pairing with the spiked sweet tea." You had already been planning on putting that particular drink on the menu, but now it's mandatory. The combination is too good to pass up. "And it's one hundred percent thanks to you."

“Nothing to it sugar.” Jack winks. “I know my whiskey and I know my sweets.”

"Do you have time to hang out?" If he's just dropped by for a few minutes you'll understand, but the jittery eagerness in you that just doesn't seem to be satiable hopes that's not the case. You'll take every single moment of time with Jack that you can get.

“Now, sugar, I haven’t even gotten to my other gift.” He pouts, secretly pleased that you want him to stay. “What kind of man would I be if I deprived such a gorgeous lady of my company when she’s wantin’ it?”

"You brought me something else?" Only the crate of apples had been visible over the side of the counter that he was standing behind, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "Besides the gift of your generous company, I mean?"

Chuckling, Jack bends down and picks up the crate of whiskey he had pinched from the warehouse. “I brought you some of the new whiskey line we were talking about. So you can see how you like it.”

“Oooo!” Practically squealing when he puts it down on the counter, you slip around the other side to steal a tight hug of gratitude. “Thank you, thank you for this. I’m going to have to make a study of this one to get the tasting notes right.” Something in the back of your mind is saying to try pairing it with the apples he brought, but you’re far too distracted being pressed momentarily against his body for that thought to continue.

Electricity practically crackles in the air when your eyes meet his and Jack grunts a small, nearly unheard curse. It’s wrong, it should not be happening, but the voice of reason that is normally screaming in Jack’s mind is disturbingly silent as he leans in. Pressing you in to the counter and reaching up to adjust his hat so he can kiss you.

That tightness in your chest was so individual - you had thought. The butterflies in your belly and lump in your throat, a problem you would have to deal with on your own. You were convinced they were isolated feelings until his eyes met yours. Instead you see nothing but desire reflected back at you and the delicate flutter of his long lashes before you both shut your eyes. His kiss is so much of his own personality - brash and insistent yet somehow also gentle and coaxing; and his hands mirror the feeling with one gripping your hip tightly and the other softly cradling your opposite cheek. It’s the most achingly sweet and intoxicating kiss you’ve ever had in your life and you just…surrender. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t completely in his thrall, so you just wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and soak up every second of affection he’s willing to give you. You can analyze it later. For now, you’re just going to luxuriate in how startlingly right it feels.

Once his lips touch yours, it's like a fuse has been lit. Or a countdown started. Inevitably working down to the moment that Jack is going to lose control with you. The moment building between you like an organic thing, taking on a life of its own as he presses into you more, his tongue becoming slightly more insistent as he swallows your moans down.

You open up for him instantly, never intending to be coy or mask how much you want to be on the receiving end of his affection. Maybe other people might turn their noses down at you for it or call you easy, but you’ve never believed in playing games. Especially not right now. Not like this. Not with your hips shoved up against the steel counter and your fingers clawing at his clothes to drag him impossibly closer to you while your tongue dances with his to a beat all their own.

With a willing partner, and you are obviously willing, Jack takes control. His real job as an agent is good for making sure that Jack as the ability to throw a grown man twice his size so manhandling you up onto your pristine counter is no mean feat and he does it with a small grunt and grin against your lips.

It’s the first time you disconnect from him since he started kissing you, and it only happens for a moment, but you yelp in surprise when he picks you up and giggle gleefully when you land right on the counter where he has determined you belong. Shaky hands remove his hat from his head, leaving it on the counter beside you and letting you dive back in for more of that fervent press of his lips to yours. Every pleased sound you absorb from him seems to roll down your spine and make you that much needier, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He's never been a shy man and he doesn't start now. His hands roaming over your body in a way that if you weren't amenable to his affections, he would be getting slapped. Squeezing your ass and pulling you against him as he breaks away from your tantalizing lips and starts to kiss down along your jaw.

“Shit, Jack…” His name is barely a gasp, pushed out of you all at once when he tips his head to the side and finds out exactly how sensitive the tender skin on your neck is. Your fingers might as well be claws now, digging into his back while your knees bracket his hips and squeeze. Whatever the fuck caused this absolute snap in his composure, you want to pinpoint it exactly so you can repeat it as often as humanly possible.

His mind is filled with you, unable to think of anything else other than you and touching you. He groans and his teeth nip at your skin. Chuckling when you shiver and gasp, his mouth working its way south.

“Would’ve worn a f—fucking dress if I’d known you’d come by horny,” you pant, nipping at his earlobe before he continues to move down your shoulders, pushing your sweater off your shoulders with ease.

Jack chuckles, moving to your shirt and under it so he can unhook your bra. Wanting to duck his head under your shirt and pop your nipple in his mouth.

Something in your brain short circuits when his thumb swipes the underside of your breasts, a pitiful whimper dripping from your lips as your head drops back just for a second. There’s no way you can let this go by without watching him, though, and one of your hands threads into his hair to encourage him to explore as much of your skin as he wants.

He has your tit in his hand, his mouth diving down to suck on it, just to hear you cry out his name when a wrench is thrown into the mix. The door in the front of the building opens. “Hello?” Jack lurches back from you like he’s on fire and his eyes widen at what just almost happened. “I—” he backs up, nearly tripping over the hand cart and reaches over to grab his hat. “Get dressed. I’ll— I’ll stall.”

“Shit.” He pulls back from you with an unreadably wide-eyed expression and you aren’t much better, frantically pulling your shirt down and trying to get your bra back into place all in one graceless motion. The fact that you were in the process of having your clothes pulled off in the kitchen of your damn restaurant is either completely inappropriate or just a christening for coworker trysts yet to come, but either way you’re going to have extremely stern words for whoever is out there.

“Hey hun!” The bright and cheerful voice of Diana rings out through the space and Jack bites back a curse. She’s probably more eagle-eyed than her husband and she will notice kiss swollen lips and flustering bodies.

“Shit.” He hisses quietly, turning around and fleeing through the double doors to greet her and give you time to fix yourself.

“Well you’re not who I was expecting to see.” Diana smiles widely when Jack comes out of the kitchen, only raising an eyebrow when she notices he always-immaculate hair is mussed up right before his hat goes back on. “Visiting our new friend, Jack?”

"Just dropping off some of the new label for her to try along with some fresh apples." Jack tells her smoothly, bypassing any conversation about kissing or how he had to adjust so his jeans weren't tenting before coming through the doors.

“That’s very generous of you.” Nobody devours mystery novels and detective thrillers the way Diana Rogers does without developing a few observational skills, and the crumpled lapels of his jacket combined with the way he won’t meet her eyes, and she glances at his lips to be greeted with the exact sight she hoped to see. After all, she knows who and what you are to him. Diana chuckles quietly. “So the kiss was a thank you for the delivery?”

It's like the wind has been pushed out of his sails and Jack's shoulders slump at being caught. He looks back at the door with his hand rubbing the back of his hot neck as he blows out a breath. He had lost control. He had done the dumbest thing he could and touched you. The heat of your skin tingles against his fingers, as if your touch is already muscle memory. "I—" He swallows, closing his eyes. "Lapse in judgement." He murmurs quietly, the walls going back up and common sense taking control of his thoughts again. He can't do this with you. "Tell her— tell her I had to go, okay?"

“Jack—” Instantly regretting saying something, Diana watches him hustle out the front door with a frustrated sigh. That man is as dear to her as her own flesh and blood, but he can’t see past the end of his own nose sometimes. It was maddening to watch before, but now that there’s another person involved it’s worse. Even more so because she genuinely likes you. And who knows how you’ll feel about Jack running out the door without a word like a scared, spurned puppy.

Jack hits the side of his Bronco when he gets to it, frustrated at himself. "Shit!" He groans, knowing that he's fucked up royally. He can't do this with you, to you. So, frazzled, he opens the door and climbs inside. He needs to talk to Tequila and ask for a favor.

******

“Diana! What a nice surprise.” You’re all but glowing when she walks in the door, expecting Jack to stroll back in behind her with that cheeky look of self-satisfaction on his face that he would most certainly have earned. Your whole body is on fire - and if it weren’t your boss’s wife that just waltzed into the kitchen, you’d be shooing her out again immediately.

"Hey hun." Diana smiles brightly at you despite being annoyed at Jack. She's going to witness your face fall in disappointment and she hates it. "I came to see if you wanted some company and perhaps help?"

“That’s so sweet of you. I was actually going to call you later once the red velvet cakes were frosted.” And after Jack left, but that doesn’t need to be said out loud. He must be composing himself in the dining room. Not that you’re necessarily surprised - the insistent bulge in his jeans had been pressing against your thigh barely two minutes ago.

"Oh, you are just so sweet." Diana hates that your eyes shift behind her towards the door. Expecting Jack to come through them with the eager anticipation of a sweetheart waiting on her beau. "I know that it's disappointing, but perhaps you might want my company now, since Jack had to run off? Something about an emergency?"

Shit. You can feel your shoulders tense, lips pressing together in a firm line so you don’t frown and chest tight so you don’t sigh disappointedly or something equally melodramatic. It’s more of Jack’s hot-and-cold bullshit, apparently. Just when you thought it was obvious which way he was going to go. “O-of course.” You force yourself to nod, plastering a bright smile on your face so she doesn’t see you crumble. “Pull up a chair and I’ll pour you a glass of tea.”

She wants to wring his neck, or drag him back in here by his ear and demand that he fix the stricken look on your face. But she also knows that it will make Jack dig in his heels harder. "Maybe there is an emergency." She suggests softly, wanting you to believe that it's not you. Because it isn't. All of this is on Jack Daniels.

“Maybe.” You offer Diana a half smile before moving to the refrigerator. She’s observant enough to have obviously figured out that you have something to be embarrassed about, and that just makes you all the more embarrassed.

“Sometimes cowboys want to make you throw a lasso around them and knock ‘em upside the head.” She tells you as she moves towards the crates of apples and whiskey. It was a sweet gesture and one all done on his own. “I know that for a fact.”

“It’s my fault.” The logic doesn’t track, but you feel guilty, so it must be. You shrug a little, putting the glass of cold tea down in front of her. “Getting your hopes up after knowing a man for a week is schoolgirl stuff.”

The only reason she doesn’t reassure you that you have a reason to be drawn to Jack is because it’s not her place. “Seems like it’s not all unfounded.” She hums. “Just— Jack has a lot of past trauma. I have a feeling he’s wrestlin’ with it.”

“I’m not asking anything of him.” And you barely ever had on any front, which is why this whole thing was so frustrating. It makes your heart ache in a way that is completely new to you and makes you feel like he’s already burrowed into your insides before you could stop it. “I wouldn’t pressure him. He—he told me about his wife. It would be a shitty thing to do, to expect anything from someone who’s still in mourning.”

“Abigail Daniels has been dead for nearly twenty years.” Diana tells you bluntly. “Jack carries around his grief like an old dog with a mangy bone.”

“She was his soulmate.” And you’re not, you remind yourself harshly. Even if it’s a nice daydream to have. “Some people are only ever with their soulmate for their entire lives. It’s not fair to want him to jump into something just—” You blow out a breath, deciding to retrieve the layers of red velvet cake from the fridge and start icing. Maybe it will help calm you down. “Just because I have a crush…”

“He’s had his share of dalliances.” She admits, probably more than what were good for him. “He’s a red-blooded man with needs. But every woman he’s been with has known upfront what to expect and I’ve never seen him skedaddle off like his pants were on fire. You scare him.”

“Hell if I know why.” It’s not like you’re a scary person. Or at least no one else has been scared of you this same way. “It is what it is, I guess. I’m certainly not going to force a man to spend time with me.”

“Have some patience with him. He’s a man, bless his heart.” Diana knows that there will be more ups and downs before all of this plays out just because your soulmate is so damned hardheaded.

You smirk, stifling a laugh, and shake your head at the phrase. Enough time was spent with your grandmother throughout your life to know that ‘bless his heart’ is not a compliment. “I’ll call him later to apologize,” you decide. He’s supposed to be spending the weekend with you in Boston and the last thing you want is for that whole trip to be awkward.

“No, you won’t.” Diana tells you sternly. “You did nothing wrong.” She doesn’t even know what happened beyond the two of you kissing but she has a feeling that Jack couldn’t help himself. “That boy needs to apologize. And you should make him grovel a bit before you forgive him.”

“Did he say something?” The motions of icing a cake are soothing - getting out the cake stand and a cardboard pad, giving the giant bowl of chocolate icing a turn before putting a little on the pad to stick the first layer of cake to - it’s all a series of comfortable motions that your body has memorized.

“Just for me to tell you that he had to go.” She won’t bury the knife. You don’t need to hear about a ‘lapse of judgement’, especially when you don’t know why he is fighting this so hard.

There’s no need for a verbal response, not when the look on your face does all the talking for you. You just nod, focusing all of your attention on the task in front of you, and decide that when you call Jack later you’ll let him out of the commitment he made for this weekend. He’s obviously changed his mind about whatever spurred him on today, and you don’t want to spend time with a man who regrets you.

Diana moves over to help you, un-crating the bottles of whiskey and holds one up. “Do you want to try this now or wait until you are happier?”

“I’m fine, Diana. Honestly.” The fact that you feel heartbroken is just silly, you tell yourself, and put two glasses down on the counter in front of her. “Let’s try it. No reason not to.”

She studies you for a moment before she nods and starts to break the seal of the bottle so she can pour healthy measures into a glass. "I'm surprised that Jack brought you all this." She hums as she sets down the bottle and picks up the glass to smell the liquor. "It's under lock and key right now. Champ hasn't even brought home a bottle of it yet."

“I wanted to name the restaurant The Rabbit-Hole,” you explain, hating the ache of knowing Jack had done something so sweet and potentially broken rules to surprise you. “He thought since this is called Red Rabbit, I could use it in some recipes or pairings.” It downright makes you want to cry, if you’re honest with yourself, but you won’t do that in front of Diana.

“That boy.” Diana shakes her head and shoots you a grin. “I swear I don’t know if I need to pull his head out of his ass or shove my foot up it.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything.” The insistent and nagging need to defend him, to protect him, is right there on the surface even though you have no idea why. “We just hung out a few times. That’s all.”

Diana hides her smile behind her glass, happy to see that you are so sweet as to protect a man who obviously hurt your feelings. She wonders if you know that it must be your soulmate connection. “It smells delicious. What do you think?”

“It’s fruitier than I expected.” Of course, until right now, you hadn’t known anything about the line except that it was aged in applewood barrels. You had assumed that that was why Jack had decided to bring the apples with it. “It smells like the mature older sibling of the applejack we used to buy from the farmers in town growing up.” It’s such a small-town thing to do - to find the one employee working in the local apple and pumpkin farm every year who was willing to sell flasks of applejack whiskey to the underage high school kids. “And sweet. Like…maple?”

Diana tastes it and tilts her head as she swishes it around in her mouth. “Not maple.” She narrows her eyes and thinks. “More cane? Raw cane sugar?” She asks you, trying to confirm.

“Is that what that is?” She’s right, it’s not maple, but it has an earthier flavor than table sugar does without going all the way to molasses. “This would be amazing in caramel.” The thoughts are already forming, swirling around in your head while you figure out what flavours will work best with the unique liquor.

“And with that crate of apples.” Diana muses, looking towards the box. “He must have stopped by old Junior’s place and begged a box off him. Man is stingy with his ‘babies’ as he calls his trees.”

“He said somebody was just selling them by the side of the road…” He wouldn’t have done that for you, would he? Make such a lovely and sweet gesture and then take off like his ass was on fire?

Diana snorts and walks over to the crate and picks up an apple. “Nope.” She shakes her head and looks back at you. “These ambrosia apples are only available out of one farm in the area and Junior’s a son of a bitch about selling them.” She tells you with a grin. “Jack must have done some sweet talking or opened up his wallet to get these. The man wouldn’t sell me a bag to make fruit salad for my son’s birthday last year.”

“Oh.” When your shoulders finally slump, you pick up the apple you had taken a bite of earlier and have another nibble, letting the taste of the bourbon roll around it in your mouth. Whatever you do, it has to be this bottle and these apples. “I—I guess…I guess he must have changed his mind about me, then.” What the hell other explanation could there be?

“I think Jack is fighting what he wants.” Diana murmurs softly, setting the apple back in the crate and reaching out to stroke your shoulder. “He believes he doesn’t deserve it.” That is the truth, since his guilt over killing your original soulmate is hanging over his head like a shroud. It’s her opinion he needs to tell you and get it out in the open, but that was just her.

“There’s no reason to. It’s not like I have a soulmate that’s going to pop out of nowhere and try to complicate things, or anything like that.” No, that definitely would not happen. Not with all your marks gone and second soulmates being an impossible fairy tale that people told widows and widowers to try to comfort them. “I mean honestly, I came here with no intention of restarting that part of my life, only to have two different men flirt with me right from the get go and then within a week it all dies down and slips away. What was I even expecting? For some…magical change in appeal? Like I just needed a change of scenery and suddenly I could have my pick of men? That’s just…ridiculous.”

“Two?” Diana blinks for a second before she settles into a small smile. “Tex, of course.” She murmurs to herself, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about the interest not being there.”

“I should be focusing on the restaurant anyway.” Anything else is just a complication, and complications will just cloud your mind. At least, that’s what your dad would say if he were here.

She sighs softly, nodding at your comment even though she doesn’t agree with it. “Whatever you think is best for you.”

“I’m sorry you had to walk into the middle of this.” While you’ve been talking and sipping, your hands have been busy working. The first red velvet cake nearly has its crumb coat of chocolate frosting done. “It was never my intention to create any kind of workplace drama here.”

“I’m sorry that I interrupted.” Diana huffs at you. “Things might have been vastly different if you hadn’t had someone come in.”

“Maybe not for the better, though.” You can just imagine how it would have turned out now. Your clothes strewn all over the kitchen and your attraction satiated, only for Jack to turn away after he’d gotten what he came for. You’d only be even more miserable.

All she can do is hum, not sure how Jack would have reacted, although it was probably better than right now. The sound of the front door opens again and she can hear the sound of boots thumping on the hardwoods, heading towards the kitchen with a eager determinate stride.

Boot steps make your ears perk, but you swear you’re trying not to show any interest whatsoever until there’s a knock on the kitchen door and it swings open to admit Tex’s imposing frame. You honestly can’t be sure if you’re relieved or disappointed, but the natural smile that comes to your lips is a definite clue. “Looks like everybody’s looking for sweets today,” you observe, trying to get a little of your own teasing tone back again.

“Darlin’ I’m always down for some sweets.” Tex throws you a wink and hooks his fingers into his belt loop. “Was wonderin’ if I could talk to you?”

“Sure.” The second after you say it, you get the feeling that he’s asking for privacy more than anything else, and Diana seems to sense it as well.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she offers, smooth as silk. “You call me later if you want to talk some more, okay honey?”

“Um—yeah. I really appreciate it. Thanks, Diana.” Her hand on your arm is a hair’s breadth away from being the most maternal hug in the world, and you pack up a few of the lemon lavender shortbread cookies for her to take home to Champ and Bobby before she slips out the door as unceremoniously as she came.

Tequila nods towards Diana respectfully as she takes her leave, waiting until he hears the door open out in the front before he lets out a breath and turns towards you. "So, uh—" He blows out a breath and grins at you. He knows you might not be happy but he wants to make sure that you have a blast. "Want to talk to you about something...if you've got a minute."

“That sounds ominous.” He’s never delivered a single piece of bad news to you, though, and never been anything but smiles. You just hope that that isn’t about to change. “Is this a seat and some tea kind of talk, or are we contemplating something serious over a whiskey?”

"I'm hopin' it's more a of 'I made your day' kinda talk." He admits, ducking his head down slightly and looking at you underneath his lashes before he straightens slightly. "Jack just came to tell me that he can't attend the wedding this weekend with you." He explains. "Something about an emergency that is pulling him away - he looked really upset about missin' it - but I was hopin' you would let me fill in and escort you to the wedding?" He asks hopefully. "We can have some fun."

There is no way in hell that Jack looked upset after running out of here like a bat out of hell, you decide, and you wonder if the older man had told his friend the reason he was chickening out of his promise. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with Tex. Honestly, it’s kind of the opposite. He’s a sweet guy who likes to have a good time and is always admirable and ready for good conversation. He’d be a perfect choice if you weren’t upset about Jack tucking tail - so you tilt your head at him and remind yourself to smile. Tex is just being nice, and it would probably be an extremely bad idea for you to read more into it. “Well that all depends,” You tell him, leaning back against the counter. “Can you dance?”

"Depends on what kind of dancin' you want." Tex admits with a wink. "I'm not good at the fancy ones. But slow dancin' or having fun? I'm better than Jack any day of the week." Jack hadn't really explained, just said that he couldn't make it to the wedding and asked him if he would step in and make sure that you had a good time. Knowing that he had a crush on you. At least he thinks Jack knows he likes you. He should.

“And meeting my family once wasn’t enough to warn you off ever spending time with them again?” When he flew back to New Hampshire with you to help you pack, he had gotten treated to a full family dinner at your favourite Tex Mex restaurant and your father had laughed mercilessly about ‘taking Tex for Tex Mex’. To his credit, the cowboy hadn’t seemed to mind and it had given everyone else a good giggle.

He gives a half shrug of his shoulders and grins at you again. “What can I say? I’m a masochist for a pretty girl.” He drawls.

It stings somehow, almost bittersweet, knowing that an hour ago there was someone else here who might have been prepared to say something similar until he decided to tuck tail and run. Still - Tex is a good guy and has never given you any reason to doubt his good intentions. “I’d love for you to come.” You’ll have fun with him. You know you will. And just maybe you won’t be run out on this time.

******

The reception is in full swing, Tex adjusting the velvet lapel of his tuxedo and holds the laughably delicate champagne glass in his hand and wishes that he had a crystal cut glass of whiskey. Being here with you is worth the commercial flight, the crowded plane, and he understood why you didn’t want to take the Statesman jet. Worried about the way it would look and misuse of company property. Since he knew you don’t know about the intelligence portion of the company, he had let you book a flight on Delta.

What he hadn't told you was that he had called the hotel, transferring your room for the night to his own credit card and upgrading the room to a suite for luxurious comfort and privacy.

You'd taken your time washing the plane smell off and carefully covering your tattoo like you always do for anything formal, then making sure your hair and makeup were as close to perfect as you could manage on your own before getting into that beautiful dress. The tie and kerchief that matched your dress went to Tex tonight instead of Jack, and honestly he has been an absolute dream of a wedding date. Friendly with every elderly relative and murmuring jokes in your ear when cousins get snooty, your hand is looped around his arm now as you sip champagne and watch far too many friends and family members jump up for the Chicken Dance. No power in the universe could force you out of your seat for this craziness. No thank you.

“Ten dollars says you catch the bouquet.” Tequila leans over and whispers in your ear, using any excuse he can to murmur against your skin. He hadn’t missed the way you shiver slightly when he does that.

"Who says I'm even getting in on that brawl?" You huff and roll your eyes at him for effect. Anything that makes him laugh is good in your book.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Darlin’ a brawl is always a good time. Especially when it’s against your cousins.”

"You just want to see if anybody throws an elbow." Knowing your cousins it very well might happen, and now you kind of want to see it for yourself if you're honest. "It'll really annoy Paris if she doesn't catch it," you laugh, subtly pointing out one particular cousin of yours in her bright fuchsia bridesmaid dress.

“Oh, you’ll win against her.” Tequila predicts, smirking slightly. “Guaranteed. Tell ya what? You join the ladies for the bouquet toss and I’ll join the men for the garter.”

"Alright, but using your hat is cheating." It's so nice that the night hasn't been awkward at all. Nothing feels forced or like you're trying too hard to tiptoe around uncomfortable topics. This is comfortable and flirty, and you grin up at Tex. "Is there a prize if either of us win?"

His matching grin is daring and he leans in. “A kiss?” He offers, knowing it might be too much, but he’s going to shoot his shot. You look gorgeous and he’s drawn to you more and more as the night goes on.

You swallow, knowing that the last time that you kissed someone it got very heated and ended very badly. It's not that you don't want to. Not at all that you don't want to. Tex is a great catch and ridiculously attractive. And if it's awkward, you blame it on the champagne and never speak of it again. "Alright." You nod after a second's hesitation. "You got yourself a deal, cowboy."

With a grin more powerful than the sun, Tex nods quickly. “It’s gonna happen.” He promises you, setting his champagne down and immediately scanning the reception area as he scopes out his competition for this garter catch. Doing recon as if it were a mission.

“Oh, so you’re going to be the one throwing elbows?” That makes you laugh, at least, and you finish your drink before setting the glass down on a passing waiter’s tray.

“Whatever it takes to win.” He admits with a sly grin. “‘Specially when the prize is so worth it.” He’s felt like you’ve warmed up to him. Your fingers lingering on his arm a little longer and your smile a bit brighter. He knows that you’ve got a little thing for Jack, but he’s here and Jack missed out.

“Well, don’t knock anybody over or anything. Nobody gets rewarded for bad sportsmanship.” Flustered by the whole thing, you bite your lip and turn back to watch the last few seconds of your family flapping around like idiots until the song comes to an end. Are you flattered? Absolutely. But also a little nervous.

Tex chuckles, watching you fluster and squirm slightly. He’s aware that you might not be as interested in him as he is in you, but that happens. He’ll kiss you when he catches that garter and then if you don’t want it to go any farther, it won’t. But he wants to see where this goes, hoping it might lead to something beautiful.

The DJ gleefully announces the bouquet toss a few seconds later, and you laugh softly when your cousins flock onto the dance floor like seagulls after one, lone French fry on the beach. “Here goes nothing.” You decide, out loud, and give his arm a squeeze before heading directly into the thick of the group. Your sister will tease you mercilessly for it later when she finds out about the bet, but that’s okay. Tonight has been fun - you’re just hoping it stays that way.

Tequila hums in amusement as the women gather, watching you look back at him and roll your eyes in annoyance. You have been on the receiving end of plenty of envious looks because of the dress you are wearing and maybe because of him, but there is a definite competitive air around the group as they try to nudge you towards the outskirts.

If you had a smaller family this might be less hysterical, but the sheer volume of single cousins guarantees that no one can have a single clue who’s actually going to catch the obnoxiously bright pink bouquet. It’s Cassie’s absolute right to enjoy the attention on her wedding day, and she’s encouraging the competition from the other side of the dance floor, so you just shake your head and laugh, preparing to give a good old college try but not intending to turn the whole thing into a mosh pit.

It’s almost humorous, the gasp and screeching that goes up from the crowd as the bouquet lets loose into the air and starts its arch over the crowd. Watching the hands go up and reach for it. Even though it’s far too high for them to reach.

This moment might be most athletic your cousin Cassie has ever been, tossing her flowers out into the living sea of eager hands. The shrieking is ear piercing, but makes you laugh more than anything. This is a group of women who firmly believe that a bouquet of flowers will predict their future and you just can’t take that kind of thing seriously. Which makes it all the funnier when your fingers snag on the large Barbie-style bow adorning the bouquet’s handle and you tighten your fist to make sure it doesn’t slip through your grip.

Tex immediately sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles out happily before starting to clap and holler as you keep a firm hand on to bouquet. Grinning like a loon and winking when you look over at him.

There’s a collective groan and general whining of discontent from your cousins, with one even remarking how you barely know Tex so it isn’t faaaaair! But you laugh it off as you walk back to him, wiggling the flowers in his direction with a smirk. “No one can ever say I’m not competitive,” you tell him with a giggle.

“You sure are.” Tex hums, grinning as he reaches out and strokes your arm softly. “If looks could kill right now, you’d be havin’ your stone set.” He chuckles, looking over the sour looks of every one of the other ladies as they disperse reluctantly.

“Now let’s go piss off the men, too.” Tossing him a wink, You nod to the dance floor where all the single men are now gathering to catch the garter. It’s a tradition you genuinely don’t understand, but for the moment it’s fun. Plus your heart is beating just a tiny bit faster wondering what kind of a kisser Tex will be.

Ambling over to the crowd, Tequila seems relaxed, but he’s tensed slightly under the cool veneer of his tuxedo. The skills that make him a great Statesman agent going to make sure that he is the one that catches the garter.

For the most part the men are less enthusiastic about the whole ‘next to get married’ thing, but they are all competitive and eyeing Tex like he’s the greatest threat to their existence they’ve ever known, which just makes you cackle with private laughter.

It’s a little more suggestive than the bouquet toss, everyone whistling when the groom’s hands slide under the bride’s dress to pull the garter off. He stands, holding it up like it’s a prize and grinning before he twirls it around his finger and launches it into the crowd.

It’s honestly pretty entertaining to watch the guys acting like they’re going to start knocking each other over while your divorced brother rolls his eyes on the sidelines, but the highlight is how horribly indignant the groan is through the crowd when Tex’s arm goes up and easily catches the little fabric missile in his large palm. He doesn’t even hide his happiness, turning around and smugly grinning at you. Waggling his brows as the other men slunk away grumbling under their breaths.

The DJ comes over the sound system again, calling for you to join your date on the dance floor so the winners of the two tosses can share a dance, and you chuckle at the pageantry of the whole thing. “It’s either a victory lap around the dance floor or putting us on display for my cousins who are planning bodily harm,” you decide, taking his hand regardless once you’re in front of him.

Tequila snorts and looks around the room with a cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He promises, looking back at you and giving you a small wink. “Enjoy the moment, darlin’. Every one of them are jealous of you.”

The song is nothing you recognize, but you move into his arms easily. It’s slow and melodic and obviously meant to set a mood, and you find yourself getting more and more nervous. With no desire to fuck things up between the two of you, you also have to admit that you don’t really know what actually is between you at all.

He can feel the nerves pouring off of you and his grip on you tightens slightly. “Relax, darlin’.” He murmurs, taking mercy on you. “We don’t have to kiss here in front of everyone and we don’t have to kiss at all.” He allows, knowing that if you aren’t into it, he’s not going to insist.

“No, I want to.” You assure him with an immediacy that surprises both of you. It makes your ears and cheeks burn and you clear your throat self-consciously. “Maybe not…not in front of everyone. But…I’m just nervous.” You sigh a little, shrugging against his chest. “I’m not very good at this, can you tell?”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Tex hums, his fingers at your waist stroking your side gently. “Maybe just out of practice.”

“Maybe.” The confidence in his tone makes you want that to be the case, and you turn your arm slightly so that he’s now holding your hand against his chest instead of holding it out. It’s more intimate, but not in a pushy way. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t have great luck.”

“Luck is what you make it.” Tex tells you seriously. “You can say you had a string of failed relationships. Or you can say you learned what you won’t tolerate.” He murmurs, looking into your eyes and he wishes that he had some inkling of what you are thinking.

“I guess I’ll have to think about what I learned, then.” Thinking of them as failures certainly hadn’t helped at all, and the idea that there are lessons to learn and room to grow is a comfort now that you have no soulmate and an amorphous future to try to navigate.

Tex honestly doesn’t know if he has a soulmate, he’s never had scars on his body, and he holds out hope that his is an agent, but he’s not counting on it. “You do that.” He murmurs softly, his smile encouraging.

“Pretty sure there won’t be anything against you in there, though.” You tilt your head a little, moving in closer to him as you sway to the music and looking up into his face. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

“Well first that means that I’ve got to be counted among the liaisons you’ve had.” Tex winks at you and waggles his brows at you playfully.

You had meant that you didn’t think any of the lessons you had to learn would count him out in the future, but of course his playful nature wins out and you end up with burning cheeks. “I suppose so,” you admit.

The song comes to an end and there is a smattering of applause and some murmurs that shuffle through the air. “Do you want to get another drink, darlin’?” He asks, not wanting to assume anything.

“Something other than champagne this time?” Bubbly is great, but you’ve sort of gotten the feeling that it’s not his drink. And as much as you enjoy your family, you also really enjoy just spending time with Tex. “Then maybe we can say good night? My feet are killing me and I’m sure you don’t want to get jumped by my cousins who were hoping that garter would get them proposed to.”

"One for the road." Tequila nods, and his hand stands on your back while he guides you towards the table with your name cards on two of the seats. "You can sit and I'll get our drinks." He offers, knowing those shoes have to be killing you. They look painful.

The atmosphere of the dress shop last weekend had been intoxicating - that’s why you went for them - but the next time you plan on dancing the night away you’ll definitely be in sneakers. Or cowboy boots. “Just get two of whatever sounds good,” you tell him, figuring he’ll come back with Statesman whiskey or something of similar quality. A full open bar is a thing of beauty.

Tequila makes his way to the bar and orders two old fashions, nodding politely to the older couple as he waits for the bartender to make them. Tonight has been interesting and he’s going to give Jack hell for skipping this, knowing how the older agent loves a good party and schmoozing up attractive ladies.

A few silent signals between you and your siblings are enough to tell them not to come over - that you’re in the middle of something with Tex and will fill them in later - and your older brother rolls his eyes at you as dramatically as humanly possible before pulling your little sister and her husband back into the dance floor for ‘Dancing Queen’. Your phone in your clutch has remained silent aside from social media posts, pictures from the wedding reception already going up as people continue to have fun. You had really hoped. Thought maybe a small ‘Sorry again!’ text or an ‘Hope you’re having fun.’ message might come through from Jack just to prove he’s been thinking of you. But there’s nothing. There’s been nothing but radio silence from him since he walked out of the kitchen on Monday. So you swallow the disappointment, shove your phone into the bottom of your bag, and resolve to forget about him entirely. You’re out with a handsome, sweet, funny man that made a stupid bet to earn your kisses, and goddamnit you’re going to make sure they’re good ones. And whatever else happens? Happens.

“You are a lovely looking couple.” The older woman smiles as she eyes Tex, making him grin like a sap as he twists his head towards where you are sitting. “Well, thank you ma’am. Hopefully that will be true soon.” He doesn’t want to start a rumor that you have to defend, but he would like to be reality.

“Soon?” The woman glances back at where you’re sitting and chuckles softly at the uncertainty of young people. “What’s stopping you?”

“Lady’s choice.” Tex answers easily. “I’ve made my interest known and now the reins are in her hands.”

“I didn’t see the face of a disinterested woman while you were dancing,” she assures him as the bartender puts two glasses down in front of Tequila.

Tex grins and tips her hat to her. “Ma’am, sir.” He drawls as he picks up the drinks. “I better go back to her before she loses interest then.”

“There you are.” When Tex reappears at your side with two glasses, you offer him a contented smile. “What are we drinking?”

“Old Fashioned’s.” He sends you a small wink and sets the glass down in front of you. “Since we are doing all the traditional things tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.” You pat the chair beside you, inviting him to sit with you for a moment to enjoy your drinks. “To good company.” Is the toast you offer, holding up your glass to him. “Thank you for coming this weekend. I know there are a million other things you could have done, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Tex takes the seat you’ve offered, wanting to be in something that moves a bit easier than this tux, but it’s worth it. “No one else I’d rather be with too.”

The rims of your glasses tap against each other with a dainty ringing sound, and you shift a little closer to him at the table under the guise of getting comfortable after your first sip. “Next time we decide to party, I say we do it in jeans and sneakers,” you laugh, seeing the discomfort in how he holds himself. “Something a little more casual.”

“God yes.” Tex groans, nearly ready to kiss you for that suggestion. “Don’t get me wrong, you look beautiful, but you’d look beautiful at a bonfire sippin’ a beer with a t-shirt on.”

“I like a good excuse to dress up, but it’s been a long night.” His utter relief makes you laugh, and you sip the delicious drink he brought you between laughter. “You…you look very handsome. I mean, you always do, but I mean…tonight especially.” Geez…you really are bad at this…

“Tonight I’m irresistible?” Tex offers, throwing you a wink before he takes a sip of his cocktail. “That was the goal, darlin’, I’m glad I pulled it off.”

You could laugh. You probably should. But you end up simply shrugging, and offering him a shy smile. “Tonight you look like Prince Charming.”

“Does that make you Cinderella or Aurora?” Tex asks with a smirk. “Always confuse those two.”

“Cinderella.” You tell him, your tone as serious as if he had offended your family’s honor. As an enormous Alice in Wonderland fan, you had had a very Disney-centric childhood. “Aurora’s prince is named Phillip.”

Tequila winces, shaking his head. “That’s a horrible name for a prince.” He huffs, insulted by the lack of imagination. “Although, Tex ain’t any better.”

"I'm sure it was just fine for the 1950s." Never really having thought about the validity of a cartoon prince's first name, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table and let your smile come back ever so subtly. "Besides, princes aren't all they're cracked up to be."

It takes him a moment, but when he gets your meaning, Tex breaks into a beaming smile. “Yeah?” He hums and waggles his brows. “Prefer cowboys?”

"Maybe." The way he takes that as such an absolute victory is adorable, and you lean into him at your table to enjoy the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

“Then I guess I better work on changing that to a ‘definitely’.” Tex chuckles and takes another sip of his drink.

"You have a particular method in mind?" The way you've ended up sitting, your chair is scooted right up next to his so you basically only need to whisper to each other. It makes everything feel that much more intimate and secluded even though you're still in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

The small, teasing smile that is in the Statesman’s agents face turns devilish and slightly cocky. “Well, that depends on what happens after that kiss.” He drawls out. “I can always show you how good I am with my hands.” He winks and settles back for your reaction.

Freezing with your glass halfway to your lips, you can feel your eyes widen and your body flush hot all at once. “I—is that…something you want to show me?”

He looks at you for a moment to gauge if you really don’t understand how much he wants you. He murmurs your name quietly, “I want nothing more that to take you back to the suite and show you exactly that.”

The decision isn’t a hard one. It’s not as though you aren’t attracted to Tex, and there isn’t the threat of alcohol clouding your judgement because your tolerance is so damn high. This is one consenting adult to another - and also admittedly a reminder to yourself that Jack Daniels’ opinion is not the only one in the world. Shaking off the sting of that rejection, you knock back the end of your drink and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek with your own completely on fire. “Then I think we should say our good nights,” you tell him pointedly. “And have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

The speed at which Tex springs to his feet is astonishing, immediately setting his drink down and holding out his hand to help you out of his seat. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

To your siblings’ credit, they don’t actually say anything when you come and say ‘good night’ with Tex’s hand on your back, and your mother only raises an eyebrow halfway before shooting your father a look that says not to say anything. She knows you’ll fill them in if there is anything they need to know, but your business is your business. In just ten minutes’ time you’re slipping out of the ballroom, hoping not to be seen or stopped by distant relatives looking to chat.

Your hand is still firmly in his as the two of you make your way towards the elevators. “Do you want to take your shoes off?” Tequila asks you. “You can walk barefoot or I can carry you?” His grin is playful, but he would totally carry you up to the suite.

“I’m not going to make you carry me.” You roll your eyes at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said, but still laugh. “I’m definitely taking these off, though. Three inches is too much.”

He snorts and bites his lip. “Darlin’ if three inches is too much, we’re gonna have a problem.” He jokes, a filthy grin on his face.

You stifle a laugh so hard that you snort, covering your mouth in embarrassment and looking up at him to see the absolute mischief on his face. “Oh no,” you promise him with a snicker. “That’s a very different circumstance.”

Tex winks and you and then bends down to one knee in the middle of the large hallway. “Let me take off those three-inch heels, hmm?” He pats his knee expectantly and smirks up at you.

“Reverse Prince Charming?” The hallway is mostly deserted, except for a few stray caterers and one guest who smiles at the two of you fondly before hurrying off to give you privacy. When he doesn’t move, obviously serious about the gesture, you lift one foot to rest it delicately on his knee while still trying desperately not to get his tuxedo dirty.

“Always gotta help a pretty lady in distress.” His fingers are thicker than the whoever designed the tiny buckles, but he manages to get the shoe undone and starts to slide it off your foot. “And this looks painful.”

“Who knows what I was thinking.” You laugh it off, nearly groaning in relief when you put your bare foot down on the chilly floor and let him unbuckle the other. You know exactly what you were thinking - it was all about how Jack looked at you in this dress and how you wanted to impress him. Thoughts that have no place in your mind right now.

“Done.” Tequila keeps the straps of the heels hooked on his fingers as he stands up and grins. “Now you can walk properly, even if it made your ass look incredible.”

“Flatterer.” Tangling your fingers with his when the elevator door opens, you pull him in with you and reach to take your shoes back.

“Just tellin’ the truth.” He puffs up in excitement and pride that you are so eager to go up to the room with him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Deciding that teasing is better than letting your emotions get involved even in taking a compliment, you tap the button for your floor and watch the doors close while you lean into his side. “I know you’re after my sweets,” you tease, shooting him a grin. “Sugar is the great temptation.”

"It is." Tequila can't even deny the way his body reacts to that tease. "I wanna find out if your sweets are only limited to your baking."

“Well…” Glancing at the closed door, you know you have nothing but privacy for at least the ride to your floor. “I believe I owe you a kiss.”

There's a smugness to his smile as he turns towards you, reaching for your waist to pull you against him gently. "Yeah?" He hums, glancing up at the numbers going up. "Think we've got enough time to do it properly?"

“That depends how much time you waste talking.” Tex likes to be teased, it gives his ego a stroke and makes him laugh, and he chuckles now even with the palpable tension in the air. “I swear, cowboys chatter more than church ladies.”

"Nothin' better to do at times." Tequila acknowledges, leaning in and his breath huffs against your skin. "But I'll shut up now and do this." He mumbles right before he captures your lips in a kiss that is meant to start gentle but eager.

It’s heated, neediness poorly hidden under the soft touch like he’s holding himself back but only barely. That gorgeously satisfying feeling of wanting and being wanted rolls through you and you lean into him more surely, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and letting the kiss linger.

It's hard not to deepen the kiss, not when he feels you soften under his lips. Your body shifting towards him and he could take it farther. Press you up against the wall and show you exactly how wild you are driving him, but the doors will open in approximately twenty-two seconds.

The faint ding of the elevator pulls you both out of the moment, albeit reluctantly, and you bite back a grin. “Maybe we should find someplace that has privacy for more than thirty seconds?”

He doesn't answer, just takes your hand and swiftly pulls you off the elevator to start striding down the hall towards the end where the door to your two-room suite is located. Eager to get you into the room and see where this goes.

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

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small-sinclair · 1 year

Text

I Promise I'll Always Love Ya

A continuation for Take Me Instead. This IS NOT the final part. Please read that before reading this to catch up on what's going on :3

This au is inspired by @ahmnom; check out their art!

Welcomed readers: @lhhsol, @phantomcat394, @nameisrojda (thanks for giving me this idea), @akiranamio, @fluffy-little-demon, @sketchy-rosewitch, @zaras-really-dreamless

Told by Bo's POV

dad!Bo Sinclair x fem!y/n (y'all are married)

Tw: Reader's in the hospital, starting off with angsty right away, religion mentioned, past near death experiences, strong words, reader flat lines, Bo gets sedated

Enjoy! (sorry not sorry for this angst)

That night, Bo didn't sleep, and he swore never left her side. He was scared that he would lose y/n if he turned away just for water or to blink. As night fell over the hospital, some nurses were changing shifts so the night owls took over. Nurse Macy, even though she was supposed to be off, didn't live the delivery wing until Dr. Henrik told her to, and he tried to tell Bo the same thing.

"Ya'll have to kill me," Bo answered, his eyes tired and drain. He didn't eat anything all day, missing breakfast to get extra cuddle time with his wife and kids. He didn't know what went wrong? Did he hug her too tight to make her here in the hospital with their child on a breathing box? Was this his fault?

"Excuse me?"

Bo's blue eyes, drained but still dangerous, glared at the doctor. "I said ya'll have to kill me. If ya wan' me out, then ya'll hav' ta shoot me." he looked back at his wife and brushed her hair back. "Ain't leavin' my girls."

Dr. henrik let out a deep breath. "It's hospital rules--"

"Fuck the rules," Bo snapped. "An' fuck you, too, if ya thin' yer goin' to drag me outta 'er."

Nurse Macy placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder and pulled him back gently. She's dealt with a father like this before; her own son acted the same when his wife was in Mrs. Sinclair's shoes. She stepped forward and sat on the chair next to Bo.

He was kneeling by his wife the whole day, his grandmother's rosary behind her and his hand. The amount of prayers and pleads he sent up was enough to make his voice horsed and strained. He rain out of tears to shed for awhile, but when he heard her heart monitor drop dangerously low, he started crying again. He felt helpless and broken, and he hated this feeling. As long as he lives, he never wants to feel this way. But his prayers never stopped. He hasn't prayed this hard since Lester's truck flipped into the ditch during a Louisiana storm.

He was in the ICU for two days, flat-lining for the first night. Bo wanted to forget how his brother struggled to breath, to say away in his arms as the EMS came to the country road. It was all over some tourist that almost got away, but Vincent took care of them so fast before any flashing lights came. As he waited, he held his brother tightly as he could without hurting him even more, glass cutting into his legs and knees. Bo thought promising his little brother that if he lives he'll do better, be a better big brother for him, to promise to be the best and not be like his father...

"'M tired, Bo," he breathed, his eyes slightly parted. Rain dripped off Bo's curls and hit his face. "'M really tired."

"Stay awake," Bo encrouged as he looked down at his brother. He cradled him in his lap. "I-I promise I'll be betta--"

"'M sorry..." Lester was struggling now. The glass and blood and pain; it was all too much. "... I fail-failed ya."

"Ya didn't fail!"

"Bo?" Lester looked up at the rain filled skied as he breathed out in a sigh, "Do ya believe heaven'll le' me in?"

Lester died in his arms for the first time, and Bo nearly lost it. He doesn't admit to his fears or show it, but his worst fear came through: losing his family, his brothers.

Bo will never forgot how easy Lester's ribs broke as he did CPR in the flashing blue and red lights, the driver running towards Bo while the other got the AFIB from the back. They took over for Bo as police came to pull him away, Vincent taking Bo into his arms to hold him back. When the stretcher came out to put him in the back, Bo went with them, holding Lester's hand as he laid so close to death. Him dying again in the truck then coming back again showed that he was fighting, but Bo knew he was tired... so tied...

Now, Bo feels like he's living that same stormy night again, but it's with his wife and new born daughter. He hated how he couldn't save them from this pain, and he hated how he couldn't take that doctor out back and beat the shit out of him.

"Mr. Sinclair?" Nurse Macy's voice wasn't above a whisper, but it was enough for him to look over his shoulder at her. "How about we take a break?"

"Can't," he breathed, eyes tired. "Won't leave 'em."

"I didn't say anything ;bout leavin, sugar," she said, offering a sad smile. "My husband is waiting for me at the front desk, and I asked if you could come with us to dinner at the Calbur's." She looked back at his wife then at his daughter behind them. "My friends, Jackie and Coby, will be the ones to take over."

"Don't wan' men 'round 'em."

"Jackie's not a man," she reassured. "She's a mother of five. Coby is the only male, but he's, well," she made a face, "fruity... if you know what I mean."

Bo relaxed a little. He felt better if... no, wait. No.

He shakes his head. "Can't leave 'er." He looked back at his wife and squeezed her hand. "Can't live without her."

"Then let her rest," Nurse Macy insisted. "What would she want you to do?"

He clinched his teeth too hard but he left out a shaky breath. "She-she would wan' me ta make sure our kids were safe an' feed."

"And what about yourself?" She hummed.

"Y/n would wan' me to eat." He didn't know why he sounded defeated when he looked back at the old nurse then back at y/n. "She'll be mad."

"That's right," Macy agreed, but she didn't sound mean. She was speaking to him as if he was her own son, and it made him feel comfortable and safe. His mama never talked to him like this. "So, how about you come with me, we get food, and drop you off? Sound like a plan?" He didn't realize that she wasn't from the south... huh. "Afterwards, I'll be back in the morning to take over again."

Bo looked back at his daughter, who was sleeping soundly, then back at his wife. She looked so peaceful and still, her chest rising and falling ever so gently under the covers. Bo swallowed dryly and stood up. His knees were numb and sore from kneeling all day, but he didn't seem to care at this point. If he stood the whole day by her side, his knees would still feel the same. He felt weak, powerless, and he hated it. he brushed her heair back and bent down, kissing her forehead sweetly.

"Be back as soon as I c'n," he whispered by her ear. "Won't be long... I promise, darlin'." He kisses close to her ear to seal it.

Bo closed his eyes before leaving the room, whispering, "Lord, don't take 'em while I'm gone. Don't do it."

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

Just like Macy promised, Bo was right back in the hospital, but he had something else in his pocket: a pack of Reds and a green lighter. He needed a hit, something to take the stress away. he stood outside the hospital as he smoked his first cigarette in 15 months, feeling guilty that he broke his promise to y/n of smoking. He promised that once this was all over, he'll go back to quitting again. He needed good-enough lungs if he wanted to play catch with his sons and run after them. If the twins were anything like him and Vincent, they'll be running all over the place. Jasmine, his oldest, didn't run as much, but she's still curious of the outside.

He put the cigarette out in the smoking bin and went inside towards her room. Bo could feel a thunderstorm coming, and he wanted his daughter to feel safe in the room, to know that he wasn't going to let the monsters or demons get her. He'll kill everything first before that happens. But Bo wanted y/n the most. He just wanted to feel his wife in his arms again, to hear her laugh at him for being like this and to be mad that he smoked a cigarette. He wanted to hear her scold him for breaking his promise.

But he was greeted by a familiar face sitting next to her bed, holding his hand, and his body tensed. Why was Vincent here? Why was he hear with her and not with his daughter?

"Hell ya doin'?" Bo asked, his eyes looking between him and her hand. "Le' go an' head home."

Vincent shook his head, and that's when Bo noticed that he wasn't wearing his mask, his face. His free hand lifted, signing, 'You should not be alone.'

"Wha' 'bout my kid?" He took a step closer, ready to hit his brother if he answered wrong.

'Lester is at the house in Ambrose.' Vincent's brow fell as he looked down at y/n. His thumb circled over her knuckles. Vincent didn't say it but he's scared. Terrified. What will happen if he ever lost her? 'Has she waken up?'

As much as Bo didn't want to have this talk, he found himself sitting on the bed, careful not to crush her legs. Bo rested his hand over her knee, giving it a slight squeeze. "Hasn't moved or nothin'." Then he looked over at his daughter. "She's made plenty of noise," the he chuckles, saying, "Reckon she'll be a screamer."

'Oh, no,' Vincent's shoulders fell and playfully signed, 'Not another screamer.' He gave a smile when he heard the baby fuss. 'But she is cute.'

"Cutest thin' ever seen," Bo added. A thought crossed his mind, and he liked the idea. He stood up and went to the sink. He washed his hands good and through, dried, and went to his daughter's crib. She was awake, her little arms wiggling in the cotton candy pink like a cat's tail, when he picked her up. He's been so worried that he hasn't held his daughter yet! He felt like the biggest jerk. "Hey there, little sunshine."

Her eyes melted his heart. Her right eye was a shiny ocean blue, like his, and it was so bright and filled with sparkles. Her left eyes was the brightest pine tree green he's ever seen, and it chest caved in as he looked down at her. "Oh, sweet pea," he breathed as he held her over her bed, careful not to move the wires or her oxygen. "You are so beautiful."

His eyes looked up to see his wife and his soul crushed. "Wish your mama would wake," Bo hummed. "Miss her like heck." He's not going to cuss while he holds his daughter. "But 'm happy I hav' ya, sweet pea." He takes a deep breath as his eyes meet Vincent, who was trying to get a glance of the child. Bo smirked and looked back down at his daughter. "Would ya like to meet yer uncle, Vincent?"

As soon as he mentioned Vincent's name, his brother was standing on the other side of the crib, ready to look down at the baby. If she's like her siblings, she would cry at the sight of his face. All three of them cried when they first aw Vincent, but her bright eyes looked upon him without fear. Instead, her little hands reached up and grasped his hair. She cooed happily, earning a smile from both twins. How could she looked at him without fear?

Vincent didn't tough her; Bo has to tell him that it's okay. "Look at that," Bo hummed, joy filling his eyes. "Seems like she likes ya, Vinny." Vincent nodded in agreement. "Must think yer handsome or somethin'."

"... I think he's handsome."

Their eyes shot up at the new voice, and Bo could cry. He laid his daughter down gently and hurried towards y/n's side. Her eyes were glazed and tired, and Bo knew she was trying to say awake long enough.

"Y/n!" Bo was overfilled with joy as he sat on the bed close to her, leaning down to kiss all over her face and cheeks. "Darlin, yer okay!" He held her face and rested his head against her forehead. "You're okay."

A weak hand reached up and cupped his cheek, and Bo held it there. He leaned into her touch and left hurried kisses along her palm and wrist, kissing up her arm and down again.

Y/n chuckled. "Breathe for me, baby," she whispered. "Deep breaths."

"Shh, shh, honeycomb," he whispered against her skin. "Don't talk. Please--"

"'M tired, Bo," she whispers. From Behind, Vincent eye looked up at the heart monitor. He looked at Bo then back at the machine. He started towards the door to find a nurse. "I'm really tired."

"I know, doll," whispers Bo, brushing her hair back. "I know 'at." He didn't realize that he was shaking. "But I need ya to stay awake."

Her head turns to the crib, a soft smile forming. She wanted to stay long enough to hold her child, but the pain was getting too much all at once. "Take care of them?"

"Don't say that--"

"I love you, Beauregard Sinclair," she breathed out, two nurses coming in the room as Vincent's hands wildly signed for help. "I love you..."

When a relaxed sigh escaped her lips, thunder broke and rain pattered against the wind. Glass might as well exploded on his face when he heard her heart monitor ringing loudly.

"No," he whispers as he felt Vincent pull him away from the bed. "No. No, no, no, no!" He's stronger than Vincent, and Vincent knows this as his grip became deathly hard annd fast as he dragged his brother out of the room. "No! Y/n, don't go! Don't go!" He didn't mean to scream her name as Vincent dragged him away, far enough for two doctors to rush in. "Don't go!" He pushed on his brother's arms. "Let me go! Let me go, Vincent!"

"No," Vincent answered, his voice raspy. "Can't do that."

"She-she needs me!" He shouted, trying like hell to be free. He wanted to run back in there and start her heart himself. He wanted to rip out his own just for hers to beat again. "I-I need her! I need her, God!" Soon, two night shift guards came to Vincent's aid to hold him back. "Let me go, now! Vincent, let me go!" He looked as the scene unfolded, his heart breaking as they wheeled out her of the room and hurried towards a surgery room. Bo wanted to kill. He wanted to taste everyone's blood on his hands, rip out their hearts and throw them away. He wanted blood. He wanted to kill God. he wanted y/n.

He felt like he was losing Lester all over again.

Bo was lowered to the ground as something pricked his neck, warm liquid shooting throughout his body. Sleepiness took over as Vincent hushed him in his arms. He held on to his brother tightly, crying in Bo's hair. Both felt their worlds falling apart over y/n, and who could blame them? She was the world to them and more. She made Ambrose better and showed them what it's like to love and to be loved.

"Don't take her, God," Bo breathed, looking up at the white ceiling. "Don't take y/n! She's mine. She ain't yours! Y/n's mine." He cried as he felt his eyes starting to close, and he begged, "Fuckin' take me! Take me instead! Take me... bastard, take me..."

Thunder rumbled over the hospital as it began to pour. Louisiana never sounded so silent before.

#bo sinclair x y/n #dad bo sinclair #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x female reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair #vincent and bo #lester sinclair #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #house of wax fanfiction #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #slasher

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thedreamingfish99 · 4 months

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Bright Sun Chapter One

5-8 x Reader

Summary Sawol is tired of seeing the two of you fight over everything and hate each other, but for better or for worst, a traumatic event might be what was needed to bring 5-8 and you closer to each other. Warnings : Slow burn, Ansgt, Hurt, Possible death Words : 4K Notes :

A/N: Haven't wrote anything in a while, but after watching Black Knight (Because Woo Bin is my god ever since School 2013) and absolutely falling with his character, I looked for fanfics and was disappointed by the small amount. So here I am trying to help some other lost souls like me. I really hope you enjoy! - - - - - CHAPTER ONE

The sky was getting clearer by the day, the sun beaming through fewer and fewer clouds as time passed. Sawol opened his window, pulling his arms on the edge to press his face against the grid and take his head out in the wind. He had started doing this every time 5-8 would light himself a cigarette, not really enjoying the smell of it, but truly loving the feeling of the caress of the wind on his face.

Even after they had stopped Cheonmyeong trucks from polluting the air, you still couldn't survive outside for more than twenty minutes without a mask. It was no surprise, it would probably take decades for them to be able to roam the earth free of a mask, if ever. But twenty minutes was no small feat compared to the eight minutes it used to be.

Sawol took a deep breath, even polluted, the fresh air tasted much better than the filtered one he was used to.

“It smells so good.” He whispered, taking in another full breath.

“Smells the same as always, polluted.”

Sawol turned to face the stoic man beside him, no expression showing on his face as he took one last inhale of his cigarette before exhaling and throwing it out of the truck's window. He then pressed on the switch, closing the windows with no pity for Sawol's arms that got pulled up with them.

He quickly regained his posture in his seat and faced his driver.

“Have you no joy in life except cigarettes?’’ Sawol asked, honestly curious.

5-8 gave him an empty glance before turning his attention back on the road. Knowing he wouldn't get any response, Sawol continued.

‘’Why can't you even enjoy the freshness of the air? You gave that to us!’’

5-8's mouth twitched with annoyance.

“I didn't give anything to anyone, I only took down the worm that was eating us alive.” He grunted in reference to Cheonmyeong.

“Fine.” Sawol pouted.

He folded his arms on his chest, his attention turned back to the road. It was quiet today like it had been for the past couple of days that he had gone on deliveries with 5-8. It had barely been a week since the event of Cheonmyeong's takedown and Sawol was still healing from the wounds he had gotten in the tournaments finals and the drugs that were administered to him. Well, that's the excuse he gave to everyone at the moment, not that it was a lie, his head was still killing him and he would feel some dizziness take over him from time to time, but in all honesty, he didn't feel quite ready to be on the road alone. He was scared to mess up and disappoint 5-8 on his first day.

Sawol shook his head to chase those thoughts away, he already had a solution, no time to dwell on that now.

“The sun..”

Sawol turned a confused look toward his friend, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. 5-8 gave him a side eye and let out a long sigh.

“What brings me joy.’’ He continued in a low tone. ‘’ I like seeing the sun more and more every day.”

“Oh,” Sawol breathed out, remembering the question he had asked a few moments ago. A large grin grew across his face.

“What? You think it's more stupid than smelling the air like an idiot?” 5-8 teased him. ‘’At least I'm looking at something visible.”

Sawol took offense but didn't let his grin die. He turned in his seat to face the older man, who watched him from the corner of his vision, eyebrows raised in a quiet question as to why the younger one was smiling.

‘’Y/N and you are so much more alike than you think.’’

5-8 rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed upon hearing this, he let out an incomprehensible mumble, the grip on his steering wheel tightening. Sawol laughed at the sight of such visible emotion from the usual oh-so-unnothered legend.

‘’I can’t be as annoying as 6-2, that's for sure.’’

‘’I don’t care what you think or whatever quarrel there is between you too, it’s still true. You two are the same.’’

5-8 gave him a tired look and went back to concentrate on the road. Sawol was annoyed, his grin long gone. He lifted his legs, and feet on the seat and hugged his knees, resting his chin on them as he quietly watched the view from his window. Turned his back on 5-8, giving him the silent treatment. He hated the constant bickering going on between those two. Right after 5-8, Y/N was his closest friend. She was always there the whole time of his training when he was preparing to compete in the delivery man recruitment tournaments. She gave him amazing advice, trained him to fight, to drive better, and even helped him learn a few manners, not that he really listened during those sessions but still! She took care of him, brought him food when he forgot to eat by training for too long, she even took him to her place a few times so they could hang out, but mostly so she could be sure he rested well enough for him to heal and be ready for the next day. She took care of him like a big sister while his wasn’t available, and he loved her like family. Sawol let out a sad sigh, what in the world did he do to deserve that his two favorite people have a pure hatred towards each other? He never knew where those mutual feelings came from, not that he didn’t ask, that he did and many times. But he had never gotten a different answer then;

‘’She’s annoying’’ ‘’He’s annoying.’’

Their similarity used to make Sawol laugh about the situation, he remembered telling them that hating the other was pretty much like hating themself, but he only had reserved cold glances in return. Now, Sawol was just annoyed by it, desperate that their relationship would change for them to at least bear each other, enough that he could talk about the other without being ignored or interrupted by an insult.

The mutant closed his eyes, his head was starting to hurt.

- - - -

5-8 sent him a few glances, feeling slightly bad to make the younger one upset. He knew 6-2 was a sensitive subject with Sawol, he adored her so much. 5-8 used to wonder why, being such an annoying person as she was, but after hearing so many things she did for the youngster, he did at least understand and respect that fact. But it wouldn’t change the pure annoyance he felt towards her. 5-8 wasn’t used to feelings much, to him, his feelings were more of an observation than an experience. He did feel happiness, but he wouldn’t really laugh. He did feel sadness, but he wouldn’t cry. He never really felt deeply, with the exception of his hatred for Cheonmyeong… and his annoyance for 6-2. This woman could make him boil with anger sometimes, everything related to her, he would feel it times 10, and he hated it.

5-8 let out a sigh, he untightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked at Sawol. Sawol made him feel too, like the younger brother 5-8 never had. He cared deeply for him, more than he would admit, and he hated to see him upset, especially when it was against him.

‘’Why?’’ 5-8 resigned and asked. The youngest didn’t even open his eyes as he asked;

‘’Why what?’’

‘’Why do you think we’re so alike?’’ 5-8 gritted his teeth. ‘’Me and the annoying one.’’

Sawol jumped on his seat, eyes widened in surprise. He couldn’t believe what he had just been asked.

‘’W-what did you?’’

5-8 was starting to get annoyed, he didn’t even want to talk about it. He just felt bad for the kid and he was tired of the silence, he was used to no silence at all when Sawol was around, and he liked it this way. The man let out a grunt, looking back at the road.

Probably scared that this chance would never come again, Sawol decided to answer without forcing the grumpy man to repeat himself. He sat back comfortably in his seat, a soft smile stretching his lips.

‘’It’s what you said about the sun.’’

5-8 blinked in confusion, he glanced at Sawol as if pressing him to continue. He couldn’t help but be curious, no one really seemed to care about the sun except for him.

‘’Y/N, I mean 6-2 to you,’’ He let out a small chuckle before continuing. ‘’She showed me her tools and her notes, you’d love it, you know? She goes to one of the tall buildings in the old city. The same roof at the same time every day. When the sun is at its zenith, she said that’s when you can enjoy its warmth the most. She takes notes about it, some kind of research she told me. She notes the warmth and the brightness of the sun, and its color too. She notes the amount of clouds in the sky and the purity of the air. She showed me some of her tools, but it was honestly too complicated for me. I saw some drawings in her notes too, she’s really good… Anyways, you guys both love the sun. That’s what I meant.’’

5-8 didn’t really know what to think, he would love to see your notes and the tools you used, but he would never admit it to anyone, especially not to you or that traitor Sawol, who he knew would rat him out.

He was honestly surprised to learn you had such an interest in the evolution of the clarity of the sky as he did. He always thought he was the only one obsessed with seeing how bright the star could be without being filtered by the clouds and the heaviness of the air. He wished he could come to feel the warmth of the sun with you... 5-8 ignored the excitement that took his heart, curious about something else.

‘’How does she manage to make her delivery on time?’’

“Ah..’’ Sawol let out, itching the back of his head from embarrassment. ‘’She doesn’t really take any break.. and often works overtime.’’

5-8 raised an eyebrow at the confession, no breaks meant no lunch, and overtime meant less rest. Both of which meant a dangerous accumulation of fatigue that could prove mortal if she was ever attacked. Hunters were still pretty active in the area, and even though things were getting better, some of them just loved the thrill of the hunt and the killings... If you kept going like this, something bad was bound to happen.

‘’Don’t encourage her.’’ He heard himself say. ‘’Late deliveries give us a bad reputation.’’

That was half true and 5-8 knew it, yes he didn’t approve of late deliveries, but in all honesty, he felt a little worried. He might find you incredibly annoying, but you were still a fellow delivery man, and Sawol truly cared about you. 5-8 did not want anything bad to happen. Sawol snorted at the comment.’’

‘’Pfff, Mr.Perfect. You’re the only one that's never late. ‘’

- - - - -

You let out a grunt, lifting your head slowly. You felt your forehead with the tip of your fingers, feeling the crease the steering wheel had left on your skin. You dozed off again… It wasn’t the first time, and you were quite unhappy with your sleeping self to find the hard steering wheel so comfortable since it left you with a quite visible mark that took hours to disappear completely.

A throbbing headache attacked you as you opened your eyes, the light of the hangar too powerful for your exhausted self. After a tired sigh, you grabbed your cap and pushed it as low as possible. Today had been pretty rushing and you felt on the brink of collapsing. You unlocked your door and kicked it open, grabbing your notes at the same time. You climbed down off your truck carefully, contrary to your usual jumping to the ground. You barely had time to slam the door shut when you heard your name being screamed from behind. You quickly turned, just in time for Sawol to jump in your arms. Thankfully, your truck was there to catch you when you fell backward, having received a running mutant straight to the chest.

A painful complaint escaped your lips, the hard metal hadn’t been gentle with your back. Sawol quickly took a step back, grabbing your shoulders and giving you a worried look.

‘’Are you alright?’’ he asked, his face twisted with guilt. ‘’I’m so sorry I shouldn't have jumped on you like that.

You gave him a comforting smile as you gained back your balance.

‘’Don’t worry about it kid,’’ you said, shuffling his hair to tease him. ‘’You’re just heavier than it looks!’’

Sawol laughed, taking a few steps back to let you breathe a little. You watched him as he tried fixing his hair, he was smiling, but his eyes still seemed worried. You knew it was probably more about how tired you looked than from the hit you took. You felt a tightness in your chest, not liking that look on his face. You took all the energy you had left to jump back on him, locking your arm around his neck and messing his hair even more with your free hand.

‘’Revenge!’’

‘’Yah! Let me go!’’

Sawol fought you back but weakened by your laughter and your exhaustion, it didn’t take him long to free himself. With a fake angry look on his face, Sawol tried fixing his hair once again. You let your arm rest on his shoulder, heavier than you would’ve wanted, but the young man didn’t complain, and gladly let you subtly use him as support without having to ask. When he gave up on his messy hair, he smiled at you fondly.

‘’Don’t work tomorrow.’’ he whispered to you.

You hummed, not sure if you agreed or not.

‘’I’ll be fine.’’

Sawol let out an exasperated sigh, it made you feel more guilty than you thought.

‘’If you come with me..’’ you quickly added.

Sawol’s eye widened and he gave you the brightest of smiles.

‘’Of course!’’ he shouted happily.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you looked at the young man. You tried your best to observe his beautiful features glowing with happiness, it would make a nice drawing for later.

At the thought of it, your smile dropped. Anxious, you patted your pockets and looked around on the grounds, searching for your notes. When you finally spotted them a few feet away, you felt your heart stop as a hand was already reaching for them. you took a step in their direction but quickly stopped when you lifted your eyes only to be met by the dead look on 5-8’s face.

‘’You dropped this.’’ he simply said, handing you back your notes.

Your hand reached out to it, and you took hold of your notes, brushing your fingers with his by accident. You quickly retracted your hand, pressing the notes against your racing heart. You never liked it when someone touched your notes, except for Sawol which you cared for like a little brother. But the discovery of the notes and research you were doing would’ve been enough of a reason to get you killed when Cheonmyeong was still in power, making you used to keep them hidden. The bastards might not be in power anymore but you had kept the habit of keeping your research to yourself. The fact that you had some random sketches mixed with them also played into this, some of them private enough that you tried to keep them hidden even from Sawol… And even more to one of the most annoying men on earth, you wanted to keep them away, especially from him.

Still feeling the warmth of his skin on the tip of your fingers, you quietly thanked him. you tried not to think of the abnormal beating of your heart, concentrating on the fact that you now needed to wash your hands from having touched his annoying self.

5-8 eyes lingered on your small figure, his face void of expression. You suddenly felt quite self-conscious, you cared more than you’d like to admit what the man might think of you, and you knew right now you were barely holding it together.

‘’You look like shit.’’

His deep voice surprised you, and your eyes widened feeling pretty hurt by his comment. You wish you had something clever to bask at him in return, but your usual witty self seemed absent, asleep deeply inside out. Thankfully, Sawol ran to your rescue.

‘’Even on her worst day Y/N will always look better than you!’’

5-8 snorted at his comment, an amused look in his eyes as they never left your sight. You couldn't help but blush under his intense look. You were happy your cap was helping you hide a little bit of your flustered face. ‘’No one as handsome as you though,’’ you said breaking the awkward moment you felt stuck in. You pinched Sawol’s cheek, the smile you made appear on his face quickly leaving replaced by annoying and pain.

‘’Yah! I’m not a kid!’’ he screamed, hitting your hand so you let him be.

You let out a laugh and tapped his cheek playfully. Sawol pouted and caressed his reddened cheek with his hands.

‘’I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome,’’ you said before starting to leave, making sure to ignore 5-8 still standing close by.

- - - - -

The warmth of the sun on his face felt amazing, he had taken off his mask to appreciate it to the fullest. He felt at ease, thinking that this must be what paradise feels like. Sawol took in a deep breath, but before he had the chance to exhale naturally, he received a strong punch in the stomach, making him lose all his oxygen. He sat up in a jolt, caught by an uncontrollable coughing fit.

‘’Yah!’’ he spat between two cough.’’You wanna kill me or what?’’

Sawol barely had time to catch the mask you threw him before it would hit him in the face.

‘’Come on,’’ you laughed. ‘’Time’s up.’’

The two of you slowly packed your things back in the backpack you used to carry your tools and made your way back to the ground level, 30 flights of stairs below. No wonder you were so in shape, Sawol thought.

Reaching the floor level, Sawol took care of moving the big wooden wall you always put up to hide the entrance of the building you used to hide your truck. It was mostly a bunch of tall broken windows, but they were fortunately big enough for the delivery truck to enter the building's lobby so it wouldn’t stay outside, exposed, and left alone for hunters to take advantage of.

After finishing to slide the barricade away from the door, Sawol was surprised to find you sitting on the passenger side of the truck. He quickly jogged up to your window, his heart racing with anticipation.

‘’Is this what I think it is?’’

You watched him jumping from one foot to the other, not being able to contain his excitement. ‘’Mm,’’ you hummed positively. ‘’Hop in Mr. Delivery Man.’’

A small joyful squeak escaped his lips before he ran up to the driver’s side and took his seat. Sawol felt his breath being taken away as he caressed the steering wheel with profound admiration. He couldn’t believe he was actually sitting on this side of the truck for the first time. He let his eyes wander, taking in as much as he could, but the multitude of buttons and switches changed his dreaming expression into a frown. He had no idea how to use any of these. Your laugh took him back to reality, and he sent you a sheepish look.

‘’Help…’’ he whispered shamefully.

You burst out laughing even harder at the pitiful sight he offered you, looking like a child in front of a new toy that he didn’t know how to use. When your laugh came close to an end, you pointed at a few of the commands. Sawol followed your finger, looking closely and listening to everything you said with more attention than he had ever given to anything before.

‘’That’s the radio to contact other delivery man, we have a common channel, but if you want to call someone privately, you have to enter their number here,’’ you explained, pointing at a num pad before turning to something else. ‘’Here’s the lights control, there’s the camera around the truck, and here’s the defense settings you can use.’’

Sawol kept listening intently until she was done showing him everything, he exhaled deeply, impressed.

‘’I would’ve never known any of this on my own! Thank you.’’ he smiled at her, eyes sparkling with joy.

‘’I remembered when you told me you didn’t feel ready to be left alone,’’ you said softly. ‘’Well you’re not alone, I’ll show you everything so you’re ready when the time comes.’’

Sawol felt his heart melt. He couldn’t help but wonder why 5-8 hated you so much when you were probably the most caring and gentle person he knew.

The day was still young and you had quite a few deliveries left to do. Sawol let you show him the rope for the first few, but he then forced you to wait in the truck so you could rest. It was clear to him that you were exhausted and you needed the rest. He couldn’t help but smile when he came back from a home delivery just to find you in a profound sleep, head resting against the window. Sawol took on him to continue the rest of your deliveries as quietly as possible so you could sleep as much as you needed. A few hours later, Sawol had just made the last delivery and he was driving back towards the hangar, feeling quite proud of himself for the successful day that had gone by. He felt immensely grateful that you had taken time to show him the ropes, and after today, he felt confident that he would be fine on his own, that he shouldn't have to be scared to disappoint 5-8 when he’d be given his own truck. Plus, he couldn’t help but feel reassured that you had slept for a few hours, you deeply needed the rest and he was sure today had been quite helpful in putting you back on your feet.

Sawol's glance wandered from the road to its surroundings, he was surprised when he spotted a sand storm racing straight towards them. It hit them a few seconds after he had seen it, making the visibility outside incredibly poor. Sawol couldn’t help a rush or anxiety take over him, but he didn’t panic, he knew the way to the hangar by heart, he didn’t need to see far in front or the GPS. They were gonna be fine, he thought, no need to wake you over this.

Sawol took his foot slightly off the gas pedal and opened his lower beam. He continued driving carefully, not wanting to hit anything. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until he saw a dark figure lying in the middle of the road. Sawol rapidly hit the brakes, waking you up from the sudden stop. He gave you a quick reassuring glance before putting his mask on.

‘’Stay inside,’’ he commanded. ‘’It’s probably nothing.’’

- - - -

A/N: I don't know when the next chapter is gonna be posted, hopefully soon enough, but I might take a while with the Christmas vacation coming up, I hope you understand! Be sure to leave a comment to let me know what you thought! Much love!!

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writereleaserepeat · 9 months

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Fan Mail

Fan work based on the Kane & Jim series by @whumpsday . I’m always so inspired by K&J, both in how to make a compelling story and how to be a better author. Please go read the original K&J before reading this - I promise you the investment of time is worth it. Some creative liberties and departures from canon have been taken to make this story work.

Summary: Jim gets a special delivery - fan mail. Kane is horrified when he finds out what this means, and Liz manages to make it worse.

WC: ~5500

CW: recovery from abuse and torture, PTSD symptoms, hate comments

Kane heard the familiar hum of the mail truck long before it reached the end of Jim’s driveway. The poor excuse for a vehicle sputtered along with its usual concerning wheeze. After hearing it for the first time, Kane had been waiting for the day when it inevitably gave out for good. In the meantime, however, it would continue to deposit a meager collection of mass-mailed pamphlets in Jim’s mailbox once every weekday.

“Is that the mail?” Jim called from the kitchen, having apparently heard the telltale rattling on his own.

“Yes,” Kane answered simply, unsurprised that even a human was able to hear the metallic beast’s pathetic keening. After a moment he heard the vehicle’s direction of travel change, and Kane’s red eyes widened as his heart accelerated in his chest.

“It’s… it’s coming up the driveway.” His words came out strangled by fear, terror at the sudden and unexpected.

Of the days Kane had spent tucked away inside, hiding from the daylight that blazed beyond dark curtains, he’d come to embrace the comfort routine. He heard when the birds first began their song before dawn, and he listened to the wind shift through the nearby trees as mid-morning became afternoon. He found melodies in Jim’s footsteps upstairs, tracing the man’s path throughout the home each morning before he fetched Kane from the basement. Crickets began their crescendo as the sun began to fall towards the horizon, signaling that it would soon be time for Kane to return to the basement once more.

But the mail truck was supposed to pause for a moment before carrying on down the road. It wasn’t supposed to travel across Jim’s driveway and sputter ever-closer, carrying another human and goodness knows what else in its belly.

“Oh, Liz and Laken must have sent me a package,” Jim said with nonchalance. “Blaise drops any packages off on the porch, instead of the mailbox.”

The fact that Jim sounded unfazed did little to settle Kane’s growing panic.

“A package? But- but don’t they visit often? Why would they mail something when they can just bring it over?” The questions were all hiding Kane’s true concern: what’s the catch? How is this going to hurt me? Are the hunters finally coming back for me?

There was the brief sound of Jim drying his hands on the kitchen towel, and then he reemerged in the living room with a half-smile on his face. This one seemed genuine, kind.

“I think they want me to have a pleasant surprise now and then. I know money is tight for them, but they always find new ways to try and lift my spirits. Besides, if I refuse, Liz just starts counting how many birthdays and Christmases I missed.”

“Oh.” Kane’s anxiety coiled inside him like a spring. It was a painful reminder of those years he’d stolen from Jim, the years that Liz would never be able to return with a thousand well-meaning gifts. It was a reminder that Kane was a monster, and always would be.

The vampire soon realized that Jim had picked up on his nerves. He’d drawn the jacket tight around himself, pulled the hood in close to his cheeks, formed a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. It was like Kane was a child, trying to hide from the monsters in his closet.

Jim ran a hand through his curls and gestured halfheartedly towards the basement door.

“Why don’t you go downstairs for a few minutes? I’ll have to open the front door to get the package, and I don’t want you to worry about the sun.”

That was all the convincing that Kane needed. He willingly went down the stairs, past the silver door, and down into the dark recesses of his basement – no, the basement. He even let out a breath of relief as he heard the lock secured.

Moments later the rattling of the mail truck ceased to an idle hum. Kane could then hear Jim chatting with a stranger, their smiles evident in their tones.

“Hey, Blaise, how are you?”

“Doin’ just fine, Jim. I have a package here for you, not too heavy, but figured I’d spare you the walk down the driveway.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, man. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay, the missus packed me some water for the road this morning.”

“Alright, if you say so. You take care now.”

“Likewise. Enjoy your afternoon, the weather out here is beautiful.”

Both of their voices were warm, friendly, alight with the jovial tone of passing acquaintances. The front door closed and Jim walked back to the kitchen, dropped his package and letters on the kitchen table, and then the lock on the basement door slid open.

“You can come up now. Blaise is gone, and the door is closed.”

Kane trotted up the stares obediently, relieved that Jim had been telling the truth, but simultaneously burning with shame. He’d made Jim go out of his way for something as simple as getting the mail, all because he couldn’t quell his own anxieties. Kane did nothing but complicate Jim’s life, all he’d done for the last decade was complicate it, and he wasn’t poised to stop any time soon. He felt the full weight of his burdensome existence deep in his stomach.

Although he’d heard the front door close, Kane swept his eyes carefully around the room before letting the basement door shut behind him. True to his senses, and much to his relief, there was no sunlight leaking into the house. Further inspection revealed pamphlets and a large box on the kitchen table, but Jim had seemingly ignored them in favor of the meal he had working on the stove.

The question dropped from his lips before Kane could swallow it. As anxious as the unexpected mail drop had made him, he was just as curious what Liz could have sent along through the post.

“Aren’t- aren’t you going to open it?”

“Nope,” Jim said without hesitation, and without apparent annoyance at Kane’s prodding inquiry. “It’s not a gift. Its garbage, and the garbage is where it��s going as soon as I’m done cooking these onions.”

“I can take care of that for you,” Kane offered, desperate to be helpful, especially after the scene he’d nearly caused because of a simple package delivery. Whatever was in that box was definitely a sensitive subject for Jim: Kane could hear it in the human’s rapid heartbeat and he could see it in his tensed muscles.

“It’s fine,” Jim said, his voice wavering a touch. “But… sure. Just dump the contents right into the trash, and put the box in after it, alright? Might have to cut the box down for it to fit.”

“Yes, Jim.”

Eager to assist, and pleased he’d remembered to use Jim’s name under pressure, Kane sprang forward and whisked the box off the table. His talons effortlessly split the tape and he proceeded to shake out the contents into the nearby trash can.

Much to Kane’s surprise, a pile of letters came fluttering out of the box, and they fell in piles onto the waste that was already sitting in the bottom of the trash bag. The panic that had just been quelled re-emerged. Kane drew in a breath and let out a shaking whimper. There was no way Jim had meant to throw out letters, right? They were handwritten, addressed to him by name, sealed with stamps and beautifully scrawling script.

“I- Jim- I don’t think this is- these are letters! They’re addressed to you!” His nervous exclamation was louder than he intended, but Kane wasted no time in digging his arms down into the wastebin, fishing out fistfuls of letters in a hurried attempt to save them.

When he glanced up, Jim had a scornful look on his face, which made Kane shirk back.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why they’re trash. Put ‘em back, stuff ‘em to the bottom of the can, and get the bag ready to go to the curb.”

Kane had to force a swallow, and he quickly dropped the letters back into the bottom of the trash. The rest followed, and he tore the cardboard box into pieces that he piled on top of the letters. Whatever they were, Jim didn’t want to see them, much less acknowledge them.

Before he closed the lid he noted the return address on the box. It fluttered to the bottom of the trash just like the letters, but not before Kane had taken in the sender’s identity.

Birchwood Forest Publishing, Inc.

That created more questions than it answered. However, Kane knew he had already pushed on Jim’s good graces with this matter, and the thought of upsetting him further made the hair on the back of Kane’s neck stand up straight. If this was something Jim wanted to keep a secret, Kane would let him have that secret.

Still, the curiosity gnawed at him like hunger.

---

Five days after the incident with the mysterious package, and four days since any remaining evidence had been schlepped outside for trash collection, Liz and Laken came to visit. Kane had been gradually growing accustomed to their visits, including Liz’s caustic stare. It was no less than he deserved.

The two hunters had just come off shift, so it was quite early in the morning when they’d arrived. Kane had heard their arrival upstairs, and he’d listened with earnest pining as the family laughed and joked and made their way through the otherwise quiet house.

Kane had been allowed upstairs after sunrise. The ankle restraints were familiar by now, even comfortable, and he was able to sit on Jim’s couch in silence as Laken retold stories of the last week in town. He was sure the interest was apparent on his face, but he sat rapt through Laken’s retelling of the butcher who had finally gained the courage to ask the diner owner on a date. Although the entire affair could have lasted no more than two minutes, Laken had managed to stretch the tale into almost ten minutes, and their impassioned dramatization was the most relaxed Kane had been in days.

It was pleasant. There was no denying how nice it was, sat like a friend among these three humans, even if they largely ignored Kane’s presence. He was soaking in the laughter, the smiles, no matter the fact none were directed at him. Their blood smelled sweet, but not nearly as sweet as the joy Kane gained from listening to them laugh at something aside from his own pain.

The illusion of perfection was shattered when Jim finally piped up.

“Yeah, you won’t believe what I got in the mail this week. Another box of fan mail from the fuckin’ publishers. I told them months ago that I didn’t want them forwarding that shit anymore.” When he spoke he only sounded mildly irritated, at best, while Kane knew he’d been furious when the box had first arrived.

Kane immediately sat at attention, his calm dissipated, and he leaned forward as the siblings scowled in unison.

It had to be about the box and the letters, of course. There was no other noteworthy mail that Jim had received over the last week. “Them” could only mean one thing: Birchwood Forest Publishing, Inc.

“Fuckers,” Liz grumbled, and she took a sip of her cold cola, her lips smudging the frost on the side of the glass. “You’d think they’d at least screen it, right? You know, actually look at what they’re sending you, not just stuff it in a box and hope all is well.”

Jim scoffed.

“I don’t want any of it. No praise, no love letters, nothing. They can burn it, for all I care. Just stop sending it to my doorstep.” There was no hiding the sheer disgust that dripped from every word.

This only piqued Kane’s interest further. Why would Birchwood Forest Publishing send Jim love letters? And if they were indeed love letters, why did Jim speak of them with such vehement hatred?

Of the humans in attendance, Laken seemed the least bothered by the cryptic discussion. They stood up and stretched before grabbing the now-empty plate in front of them.

“I’m going to the kitchen to grab a beer and get the dishes started. Anyone else want anything?”

“I’ll be back once I take a leak,” Jim said, standing up alongside Laken.

“Guess that leaves me to babysit,” Liz said, to which the other humans laughed.

Kane’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. He knew that Liz’s words were in jest, but dread knotted in his stomach nonetheless. As Jim and Laken left, Kane wrung his hands together. Being left alone with Liz was always scary. Even now, before Jim had left the room, her glare burned holes in his tattered soul.

“So, do you even know what Jim was talking about? The letters?” She asked once both humans were out of earshot. The accusatory tone was yet another clue Kane hadn’t picked up on before – whatever this was about, it was because of him.

When it came to Jim’s endless pain and suffering, what wasn’t Kane’s fault?

“J- Jim got a package the other day,” Kane started. There was a soft waver to his voice, but he pushed on. “It was large box that came with the mail. He told me to throw it away, and I did- well, I started to. I thought he made a mistake, because it was letters, and they were addressed to him. But… he made it very clear that he didn’t make a mistake. He told me to throw them out without even looking at them.”

“Mhm.” Liz leaned back into the chair and crossed her right leg across her lap. “Do you know what those letters were?”

For a moment, Kane was tempted to lie. After all, Jim had told him to throw the letters out, not look at who the box was from. He didn’t want to admit that he had learned more than he’d been allowed to. At the same time, he felt as though Liz could stare through him and all his secrets.

“No. All I know is that the box was sent from Birchwood Forest Publishing, and that it made Jim very upset.” This confession came just as quietly, an admission that he’d snooped where he shouldn’t have.

“You know that Jim published a book, right? A book about what you did to him. A book about how he survived, despite that.” There was no missing the accusatory tone in her voice, that anger she never quite abandoned when speaking to Kane. It was a sound that made him want to sink into the earth and never reemerge.

Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear that I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me please please please…

“Yes,” he squeaked out, and pulled his hands close to his chest, as though that could protect him from a hunter’s stake.

“Well, you see,” Liz continued with another sip of her cola, “the book was a bestseller. Everyone loved the story. A human escaping from vampire territory? It was unheard of, especially after five years in captivity. It sold like wildfire the first year, and the sales haven’t slowed down since. But that level of notoriety, well, it causes problems too.”

Of course it did. Everything Kane touched caused problems for Jim. Even the very story of Jim’s captivity, and his attempt to make some profit from it, caused years of cascading pain.

“I’m sorry.” This time he couldn’t stop the apology slipping from his lips. It burned in his throat, and tears pricked his eyes. There would never be enough apologies in the world for what he’d done, and the thought that it continued to this day ached in Kane’s very bones.

“You don’t know the half of it.” That acidic abrasiveness gave Liz’s voice an edge. “The book had only been out for a week when the publishers forwarded the first box of fan mail. That’s what they called it, anyway. These were letters that readers had sent in to the publisher, addressed for Jim, because the publishers are some of the only people in the world with his address. They gathered up the letters, put them in a box, and sent them his way. You should have seen the way he smiled, thinking that maybe he’d inspired hope in some people, or that he’d find someone else who went through the same thing.

“Sure, some of the letters were like that. They told him how brave he was, how they could never imagine being so strong, or that his story gave him hope that their missing relatives would come home safe one day. But there were awful letters too. People who wrote solely to tell him that he should have died in captivity. Vampires who snuck into human territory to send words of vitriol for all humans, not just Jim. There were letters that accused him of being a liar, that he’d made up all of that suffering for the fame. For every kind letter of inspiration, there were at least two more than made him sick. They hurt him all over again.”

Kane’s head spun. He’d known that humans could be cruel – he knew that intimately well after his stint with the hunters – but he had no idea they could be so cruel to one another. And because of his own ignorance, not just trusting Jim when he said to throw the letters out, he’d dredged up all that hurt again.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, wishing he could hide his face. “I swear, I didn’t- I didn’t know. I never meant for people to hurt him like that, I swear, if I could stop it-”

Liz cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“For once, this isn’t your fault. I mean, it is your fault. But people being dicks for the sake of being dicks? Humans have done that to each other since the beginning of time. Still, it doesn’t mean that Jim can handle it, not anymore.”

That sisterly softness crept into her expression, sadness clouding her eyes. She didn’t look up at Kane, but instead down at the floor, focused intently on the edges of Jim’s rug.

“I won’t ask about the letters again,” Kane assured her. If he’d learned anything from his time in captivity, it had been that making mistakes was unforgivable. Jim had been kind enough to let the letters slide this once, and without comment. If Jim had been upset by Kane’s inquiries about the letters, he’d hidden it well.

“I’m sure you won’t,” Liz said. “If you do, and he gets upset, you’ll have to deal with me.”

It was a threat that was often left unspoken, so Kane didn’t hesitate to acknowledge it.

“Yes, I understand.”

After a moment of thought, Liz tilted her head to the side.

“Have you read his book?”

“N- no, I haven’t. The only books I’ve read are the ones he’s given me.” These were the words that Kane managed to say, but even more ran through his mind.

I don’t think I can read Jim’s book, not by myself. You’d have to tie me down and read it to me so I can’t run away from what I did. It just hurts too much. Haven’t I already paid the price? Do I just have to keep reliving my sins over, and over, and over again? Is this the rest of my life?

“Well, maybe you should one day.” Liz spoke in a noncommittal tone. “I know he has some advanced reader copies still up in his attic.”

Kane was spared having to answer as Jim walked back into the room. He patted water off his hands onto his jeans, and stared at Liz with a smirk.

“What, not helping Laken with the dishes?”

“It’s their turn,” Liz shot back without a moment’s hesitation. “I did them last time!”

The siblings continued their chatter and Kane took the opportunity to retreat into himself, pushing out the questions and the discomforts from his time with Liz. If he sat with them for much longer, he’d be sick.

---

Kane had excused himself to the basement looking rather ill, and Jim hadn’t pushed the issue. The hood on the jacket had come up and Kane had wrapped his arms around himself, which Jim had come to recognize meant Kane was having a bad time. Given that it had only happened after he’d left the vampire with Liz, however, he had his suspicions as to the sudden cause.

“What did you say to Kane?” he asked, giving Liz a pointed look. Her shrug and averted gaze told him that she’d pushed something she shouldn’t have.

“I just told him about the hate mail.”

“Dammit, Liz,” Jim groaned. “You think the guy doesn’t have enough guilt? I tried not to tell him when it came in the mail the other day, and that was on purpose. I can promise you he’s blaming himself for it now, and I’m sure that’s why he left early.”

“I told him it wasn’t his fault,” she said, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, like that’s going to make a difference in his fucked-up brain! Ask me how I know.”

“He needs to understand that his actions have consequences. Sometimes, those consequences are so far removed from the action that they’re hard to conceive. I just wanted him to see that his actions have long-lasting effects in ways he’d never have expected.”

Jim sighed and brought a hand up to his neck. In his discomfort, even in front of his sister, he was compelled to cover his scar.

“He sees those consequences. He sees them every day, and I don’t think he needs any more punishment than he’s received. You’re not here all day with him. The guilt, and the trauma, they’re eating him alive. Every. Day.”

“If you say so,” Liz said. She wrapped her arms around him, a sensation he’d never grow tired of. “But if you ever need any help keeping him in line, you call me, alright?”

“I know,” he said, and closed his eyes. All he could see was Kane cowering away from him on the first day he’d been home. How was that the same vampire that had tortured him for years? “I know.”

---

“Hey, Kane?” Jim called down the basement stairs, unwilling to enter Kane’s space without permission or good reason. “Are you alright? Liz and Laken are gone, you can come up if you’d like.”

It took a few moments for the vampire to take him up on the offer. There was the telltale shuffle of chains around his ankles, which he hadn’t removed before Kane retreated to the basement. Those familiar red eyes appeared at the base of the stairs and Kane made his way up slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not in trouble,” Jim reassured him, hoping to head off any nervous questions before they emerged. “I’m not upset that you and Liz talked about the letters.”

“Oh. Okay, I’m… Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Jim said as Kane tip-toed into the first floor of the house. “You’re allowed to talk with my sister about things like that. Hell, you’re allowed to talk to me. You know you’re allowed to ask questions, right? If I’m uncomfortable I won’t answer, but you’re still allowed to ask. You’ll never be punished for asking.”

“Yes, Jim.” The answer wasn’t particularly convincing, but Jim wasn’t going to push it. He carried on instead.

“I know I was upset when the mail came, but you were still allowed to ask about it if you had questions. I would have told you why I was uipset. I was mad at the publishers for sending it, not at you for checking about the letters.”

Kane’s red eyes watered with sadness, but tears didn’t fall.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said, all but blubbering. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel to you. I know it’s- it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” Jim tried to stress this, despite the small voice in his mind wanting to scream. Yes, of course it was Kane’s fault, in some distant way. But the Kane in that stupid book, the Kane that the rest of the world got to know, wasn’t the Kane that stood before him today. This Kane could hardly get a word out without sobbing.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Thank you for not getting upset.”

“Not upset at you,” Jim reiterated. “If you have any questions about the book, or the letters, you can ask. I might not be able to answer all of your questions, but I’ll try.”

He watched carefully as Kane looked down at the floor, then back up to Jim, and then back to the floor again.

“I… I had an idea.”

“Oh?” This came as a surprise to Jim. There were some things Kane had taken an initiative with, such as being useful around the house, but he rarely contributed any attempted ingenuity.

Kane fidgeted where he stood before continuing.

“You, uhm, did you like some of the letters? The nice ones?”

It had been a year since Jim had even opened one of the boxes from the publisher, and even longer since he’d read any letters the boxes contained. Even if there were a dozen letters praising his courage and complimenting the storytelling, one hate-filled page was enough to send him spiraling. It got to the point where even seeing the box in the mail spiked his anxiety and brought on nightmares.

It took a letter from a vampire, one who had managed to post the letter into human territory, to make Jim swear off opening them altogether. Those were the letters he remembered, not the kind ones. Those letters were the ones that gave him new nightmares.

“I suppose so,” Jim admitted with a sigh. “It was nice to hear from people who were supportive. I used to wonder if putting that book out into the world was the right thing to do, but enough letters convinced me that it did some good. I’d like to think it helped some people, wherever they might be in their lives. Maybe it still is.”

“Then… maybe I could screen the letters for you?”

This was something that Jim hadn’t foreseen. He stared at Kane with wide eyes, blinking in disbelief.

“Wait. You mean you’d read through all of the letters?”

“Yes, Jim.” Kane’s voice rose in pitch, likely a combination of nerves and excitement. “I could read all the letters, and only pass on the ones that are kind and supportive. You’d never even see the other ones.”

An ache blossomed in Jim’s heart. This wasn’t just groveling and begging: it was Kane offering himself up as a barricade between Jim and the rest of the world, and he was doing so without any care for his own self-preservation.

Jim didn’t need prompting to remember some of the other letters he received. Letters that were neither expressing hatred towards himself nor admiration. There’d also been the letters from the vampire hunters and various victims, all dripping with hatred for not just all vampires, but Kane specifically. Undoubtedly, there were similar letters in the box that had been discarded just a few nights prior.

No words of affirmation from strangers would be worth putting Kane through that. Not now, not after everything had changed. Kane’s well-being was worth more than any hollow words of praise.

“No, man, it’s all trash. I don’t need that shit.” His smile felt painfully fake, but he put it on for Kane’s sake. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

A pause spanned the air between them as Kane’s distress prickled.

“And, uhm, Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Liz said I should… she said I should read the book. You never gave it to me, so, uhm, I’m not sure if you wanted me to, but I… I would do it, if that’s what you wanted. It would… it would be hard, I’m not sure I could do it on my own, but I’d try, I’d really try, if you said to.” The tears Kane was holding back were obvious as his voice cracked. He couldn’t even look up at Jim as he spoke.

Dammit, Liz. Part of Jim wished she was still in his living room so he could ask her what the hell she’d been thinking when she said that.

Instead, he had to draw a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. Yes, this was a sensitive subject, but he was ready to navigate it. Jim knew he was healing, because he patted Kane gently on the top of his head instead of screaming. There were things in those pages neither would be able to bear revisiting.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never read the whole thing,” he ended up saying. He was painfully aware of just how much in the book could wind up traumatizing them both if they ever dared to read the words. “I would never, ever ask you to read that. It was something from a different time in my life. A different time in your life. So long as the cheques keep coming in the mail, that’s all I’ll ever care about it.”

“Are you… are you sure?” The incredulity in Kane’s voice never ceased to break Jim’s heart all over again. Even after all this time in Jim’s home, it was like the vampire expected him to become as grotesque as the hunters.

“I’m sure.” Say it until you believe it. “It’s in the past now. For me, and for you.”

“I can handle the pain,” Kane choked out, tears coming in thick now. “I can, I swear. It’s the least I deserve, to try and understand…”

“No. I mean it. You’ve been through enough; no, we’ve both been through enough. The book is a paycheck, that’s it: it’s not a part of any fucked-up penance you think you deserve. I don’t want you to read it.”

“Okay. I understand, Jim.” The pain in Kane’s voice was still heavy, but Jim could bear it now. So long as the vampire was willing to back down, rather than spiral into a panic, they were making progress.

“Alright.” Another smile on Jim’s lips, this one feeling slightly more real. “As long as we’re on the same page – no pun intended.”

For the first time in almost two days Kane let out a sound that resembled a chuckle. He still didn’t meet Jim’s eyes, but that was okay. This is how their life was now. Baby steps, one day at a time.

“How about we get the kitchen properly cleaned up?” Jim offered, trying to brighten his tone. He couldn’t be jovial, not with his heart thundering so fast and the weight of the conversation on his shoulders, but he tried nonetheless. “I know Laken and Liz try to be good guests, but they never put the glasses back in the right spot.”

“Yes! I can do that.” Kane was still wiping tears from his cheeks, but his enthusiasm was impossible to miss. There was no mistaking his relief at being granted a task, one that he’d been praised for before.

Without another word, Kane darted off towards the kitchen on light feet, the jacket relaxed a touch across his shoulders.

Jim followed after him, trying not to think about the advanced readers’ copies of the book that sat in his attic.

#whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #kane & jim #whumpsday #tagging a creator who is so heralded in the community is honestly intimidating #I could have done better on this work... but I'm just glad I'm writing #I am so self conscious about this #I'm a very exhausted and out of practice author without a beta and alcohol in my veins #but kane and jim give me so much inspiration... I love this series so dearly #I have other ideas for fanworks but we'll see #thank you whumpsday for being so tremendous and such a cornerstone of the whump community #fanfiction

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just-a-carrot · 4 months

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How does the main five (including Cecil and Hunar) feel about their occupations? Do they all like their jobs or do any of them just do it for the payment?

is this in regards to their jobs in OW or their jobs in OC?? there would be a difference there at least for some...

i'll start with OW:

Iggy: Does enjoy his job for the most part. He likes that he can work freelance from home. And he likes coding and problem-solving. However, he hates networking and dealing with clients. It's not his dream job by any means and he does hate it sometimes, but it's not the worst. So I'd say a somewhat positive neutral.

Genzou: Chose to go into bikes mostly on a whim and because he couldn't think of anything else and really hated it at first when he was in training, but grew to love it and working with his hands in general. He does get a lot of joy out of his work and he loves having his own shop, getting to work with bikes all day. He doesn't enjoy the financial and business aspects of it though and he's often stressed about profits. But the job itself he does enjoy and he even tinkers around on his own personal projects in the shop, too.

Orlam: Hates everything about his job lol. Does it literally because he has nothing else to do but needs the money to pay for rent and food.

Gidget: Certainly believes they want to be a model lol. And I do think they get a lot of pride out of choosing outfits and going in for shoots. But it's not what they'd really like to be doing. Also they need to do a lot of random odd jobs and occasional part-time work to afford it, which they hate.

Bucks: Didn't like working the delivery truck that much, especially because of the weird hours and because she spent most of the time sitting in traffic or driving long hours, so she didn't get to move around much. Does mostly enjoy her manager position though as she's a good manager and it lets her interact more with people and be more active. Is definitely not her dream job though, she wants to be out playing softball or at least doing something physical and active, some kind of team sport or as a trainer, etc.

Hunar: Well, he doesn't really do much in OW. He's a writer and would love to spend his full time writing or being somewhere quiet to think and read, or maybe go on trips or quiet hikes to think up ideas. He's not really able to do this because of Saydie though. And even before that, since Bucks was busy at work, he had to take care of most of the house-related stuff, dealing with finances, mortgages, planning, family stuff, etc.

Cecil: His job is just attending to Gidget??? LOL he knows nothing else, it's what he was manifested for. He loves Gidget very much and enjoys being there for them but is obviously not always keen on their choices.

OK now to OC:

Iggy and Genzou are basically the same re: jobs in OC.

Orlam: Loves his job dearly. It gives him so much energy and makes him feel so important. He gets to meet new people all the time and make grandiose presentations and have lots of luncheons and meetings. It's his dream tbh.

Gidget: Likes their job a lot, but I wouldn't say that it's like... they would definitely do it even if they didn't need the money. I think in an ideal world they would love to just be a full-time volunteer and go around volunteering for all kinds of events and organizations, but they can't, so they also do something where they can be creative in a variety of different ways and work with a lot of people.

(LOL I HAVEN'T THOUGHT ABOUT THE SPECIFIC JOBS BUCKS, HUNAR, AND CECIL HAVE IN OC SO YOU'LL HAVE TO FORGIVE ME LKDJALDKF)

#ask: ow #ask: iggy #ask: genzou #ask: orlam #ask: gidget #ask: bucks #ask: cecil #ask: hunar #ask: char info #ask: char preferences #ask: iggy info #ask: genzou info #ask: orlam info #ask: gidget info #ask: bucks info #ask: hunar info #ask: cecil info

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paintedpeeta · 8 months

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I have this weird specific headcanon that I gotta share so sorry in advance if this is too random 🩵

After the war twelve is still mainly a walkable place but cars do make their way to the district and become more accessible and commonplace esp as twelve expands as the years go by. Katniss thinks the cars are stupid and a Capitol luxury that she doesn’t have any interest in at first. But Peeta actually wants to learn because Peeta wants to learn everything he possibly can. but then after a little while when they’re like 24ish Katniss one day comes to Peeta and is like “could you … teach me … how to drive…?” All shy because she was so adamant that she would never step foot in a car but now she’s like “babe, would you mind… teaching me something?”

And anyways I just think it’s so cute to picture Peeta teaching Katniss how to drive and work the car and being very patient and understanding when she’s all uptight and nervous because she’s never even really been in too many cars in her life let alone the driver

oooh i’ve always thought that after the war peeta learns how to drive, buying a truck to use for the bakery. he doesn’t use it for much else, preferring to walk because there really isn’t a need to drive between town and home, but it’s pretty necessary for collecting stock and doing deliveries (which i think he’d like to be able to offer for people who are housebound etc.)

i personally don’t think katniss would ever drive, i doubt she would like it and she’d probably worry about him. however, peeta might try to teach her some of the basics when she goes out on delivery runs with him. i love your idea that she’s very nervy when she tries to learn, and she’d get frustrated with herself sooo easily and try to throw the towel in when she doesn’t get it right the first time. (peeta laughs at her for being so uptight about it and that makes her worse because she hates when he laughs at her)

later, when the babies come along, they love to play in papa’s truck. they pretend to drive, and hide in the truck bed, and give mama a heart attack by pressing the horn. their son loves to go out on deliveries with his papa, early on sunday mornings and he begs to get picked up from school in the old truck too (even though it’s a short journey).

#everlark headcanons #asks #anon i loved this!! you should consider writing a drabble or something because i would sooo read that #she would be terrified trying to drive let’s be real #she probably would like to go out with him while he drives though because she likes to watch him while he concentrates #and he keeps the heater on so she’s nice and cozy #also i just love the thought of peeta taking one of his babies out to sit in the truck with him to keep them occupied while katniss naps

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frecklystars · 2 years

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I know I’ve been saying “I’m tired” “I’m stressed” but I didn’t rly realize HOW tired/stressed until I woke up today with... 17 hives all over my body 😭😭

#vent #i haven't had stress hives since i was 18 and i was the main lead in a princess musical #your saltwater stargirl needs a DAY OFF holy shit #pray i dont die at work todayyyy i hear there's gonna be another truck delivery #and last time there was a truck i cried 6 times thru my shift #nobody is properly training me and my dad keeps insisting 'just. DO it'#i dont know WHAT to fucking DO is the problem tho!!!#as pissed as i am working here i'd prefer it 100% to working in my old position #but i still rly fucking hate this company

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love-me-a-lotta-whump · 11 months

Text

The Guinea Pig Delivery Driver - Black Knight Fanfiction

Whumpees: (GIF above) 5-8 played by (Kim Woo Bin) and (Yoon Sa Wol) played by (Kang Yoo Seok)

Synopsis: After the fall of Cheonmyeong Group and the slow rebuild of Korea’s entire social and physical structures, it wasn’t surprising that there were days and sometimes weeks where the delivery drivers were taskless and bored.

This was one of those weeks. Or at least- it started off that way.

Maturity Rating: Both the drama and this fic are rated 15+

Words: 2,875

Chapter: 1/?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Kidnapping, Torture, Drugged, Self Sacrifice

MDL link for more information on the drama, itself

AO3 >>> [LINK] -=+=- FanFiction.net >>> [LINK]

NOTE: I will no longer be uploading on FanFiction.net but will continue using AO3. Ty!

After the fall of Cheonmyeong Group and the slow rebuild of Korea’s entire social and physical structures, it wasn’t surprising that there were days and sometimes weeks where the delivery drivers were taskless and bored.

This was one of those weeks. Or at least- it started off that way.

---

Sa Wol and 5-8 had been sparring daily. Multiple times a day. With the delivery truck robberies worsening, it was beneficial to keep up their fighting skills. Due to the country’s restructuring, law enforcement had been stretched paper thin. Because of that, the authorities weren’t doing much about delivery truck robberies. The drivers didn’t mind much at first given that they were already trained to handle these things but the robbers became bolder with every passing day. With no threat of legal action, they would take advantage of drivers. They were beaten within an inch of their lives if they couldn’t fight. They were often kidnapped and never seen again if they couldn’t stay in or get back in their trucks. 5-8 couldn’t let that happen to Sa Wol or… 5-7.

“Hyung, how many do you think I’ve fought before?” Sa Wol dodged a punch, throwing one of his own. It was a damn near daily occurrence for him to ask stupid questions.

“At once or in total?” 5-8 dodged Sa Wol’s fist, backing up towards the ropes in their wrestling ring.

“You know what? Both.”

“Why would I know that?”

“You could guess.” Sa Wol pouted as he was pinned to the ground. It was the third time that day.

“I won’t.”

The two decided to call it for the day, grabbing waters before heading out.

“Wanna hang at my place? We can order in.”

“How about tomorrow night after deliveries?” As much as 5-8 hated to admit it, he enjoyed the happiness on Sa Wol’s face after saying it. It was annoying that he actually liked him. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, though, given how annoying he could be. Damn kid was making his heart all mushy and soft.

------+------

Sa Wol couldn’t help but speed through his deliveries for the day. While there weren’t many, he’d still gotten finished with his workload faster than he thought he would. It was good, though. He needed to clean his place up a little bit before 5-8 came over.

He hopped back into his truck, quickly typing into his screen to start his final delivery of his shift.

“Now to 42, Hangang-daero. Final delivery.” The calm and warm voice of the woman in the GPS rang through the truck’s speakers.

Half way through his drive, he noticed some truck robbers on the side of the road. He quickly pressed on the gas to pass them before they could do anything. He sped past the group, eyeing them in his rear view mirrors to be sure he was in the clear.

He was not.

“What the hell?” He pressed harder on the gas, the screaming engine, the soundtrack to the chase scene playing behind him. He watched as the robbers slowly caught up to his truck, jumping onto it one by one. “There’s no way. They shouldn’t be able to catch up at the speeds I’m doing.”

He tried the maneuver techniques 5-8 showed him the week prior. Luckily a few were falling off but some wouldn’t. That wasn’t the worst part. Some of the ones who fell off quickly got back up and were right back to his truck in no time.

“There’s no way! What the fuck?!” He tried his maneuvers again but with no luck. How were these people falling from a truck going at insane speeds just to get right back up and get on the truck? Why were their arms not broken? Not even a leg? Shit did they at least have a scraped knee? What was going on?

The closer they got to the cab, the more the panic started to set in. These weren’t just your everyday robbers. These guys were on something. He sorta remembered the other delivery drivers talking about a new drug on the market but sometimes they’d exclude him from conversations like that if 5-8 wasn’t there to make them involve him so he wasn’t really sure if that’s what this was.

He switched his gaze frequently between the desert and the robbers on his truck. They made it to the cab. Shit. He watched as they blew three of his tires out. The truck’s alarms went off, the ABS light was the last thing he saw before the truck flipped. Luckily he was strapped in so all he had to do was unbuckle himself and allow himself to fall to the ground or better yet… the driver’s side door. His heart rate spiked and adrenaline flowed like a broken dam while the robbers surrounded the truck. He backed as far away from the windshield as he could. He fumbled through his pockets, finally grabbing his phone.

It works!

He quickly pulled up 5-8’s contact, calling him immediately.

“Hyung! Hyung they’ve surrounded my truck. I’ve never fought this many people before and they’re huge! I think they’re on-” A couple of the robbers broke through the windshield, reaching in towards him. “Fuck! These drugged up robbers just broke through my window I-” One managed to get a hand on his vest. He dropped the phone as he struggled to fight them off. “Get the fuck off! Hyung!”

Before he could get back to his phone, he was dragged out of the truck over the broken glass and beaten. Between kicks and blows, he watched the robbers turned his phone off. Great. How’s 5-8 supposed to find him?

------+------

“Hyung! Hyung they’ve surrounded my truck. I’ve never fought this many people before and they’re huge! I think they’re on-” A crashing sound was heard. Unmistakably broken glass. “Fuck! These drugged up robbers just broke through my window I-” He heard rustling before a loud thud come through the speakers. “Get the fuck off! Hyung!”

The sound of scraping broken glass pierced through the phone into 5-8’s ear. His eyes darkened as he heard the first blow to Sa Wol’s body. Listening to his painful groans only fueled the growing fire inside of his chest. These people had to be something else for Sa Wol to not be able to defend himself on his own.

He broke into a dead sprint out of the door for his truck. “I’m coming! Stay in the truck if you can!”

The lack of response sent a chill down his spine.

“5-7! Sa Wol!”

The call dropped.

5-8’s heart sank. He felt sick to his stomach as adrenaline surged through his body like wildfire. He had to get to Sa Wol as fast as possible. He was fortunate that the two had deliveries so close to each other all day but if he was headed to his last delivery, he’d be a good few minutes away.

He was there in practically no time but it was already too late. 5-8 took in a half-dead Sa Wol laying next to his truck. He was right. These guys are on some kind of drug because there’s no reason Sa Wol couldn’t have had at least a couple of these guys on the ground. They were all perfectly fine, ransacking the truck.

He approached the truck stealthily, peeking inside. He spared a quick glance to Sa Wol. He’s breathing. Good. He opened fire, hitting as many of the robbers as he could. Some dropped to the ground but some took the bullets like it was nothing. He backed up, heels touching Sa Wol’s torso. If he could do anything about it, they wouldn’t touch him again.

The robbers flew out of the truck like a pack of coyotes out of a cave, laughing and smiling, baring brown and broken teeth. They surrounded the two, causing 5-8 to start circling Sa Wol with his back still to him. All he wanted was to get the kid out of there but if these people were taking bullets the way they were, this was gonna be a fight. And a long one at that.

He began firing again, luckily sending a few to the ground. He dropped the gun once his ammo was out, using his fists and legs as needed. He kept an eye on any that dropped, knowing they might get back up yet hoping they didn’t. He took blows and handed them out.

The problem was, the bastards kept getting up.

He’d called for backup on the way to find Sa Wol but nobody was close. It would be a while before they got there. They were on their own.

After fighting for what felt like an eternity, he was exhausted and these assholes were still rearing and ready to go. Whatever they were on, it was too much. He finally decided he needed to just get enough distance from them to grab Sa Wol and bolt for his truck. Problem was, the kid was still unconscious and even if he was awake, he’d most likely be too weak to run as fast as they needed to. And there’s always the possibility that he has injuries that 5-8 hadn’t known about yet since he had no time or ability to look him over.

Either way, it was looking like that was his best option. He switched from punches to solely kicks, getting the distance he needed. Once they were all on the ground, he took his chance and grabbed Sa Wol. He held him in his arms, running for his truck as fast as he could, the freezing cold air biting into his skin.

As they got closer, he could feel the heat of his still-running truck’s engine. He got the door open, throwing Sa Wol inside. He hated how rough he was but it was either that or get captured.

Captured it was!

He didn’t feel whatever it was that hit him across the head. It just happened. His vision blurred as he fell to the ground. Before he could get up, another blow was sent, sealing the deal and sending him into a deep sleep if that’s what you wanna call it.

------+------

Sa Wol’s whole body ached. He writhed where he sat, slowly opening his eyes, hoping what he had just experienced was a dream. Reality hit him hard as he took in everything around him. The chair he sat in wobbled with every slight movement. It was only then that he’d realized he was chained to the chair. Great. He knew how to get out of different types of restraints and this one was always the worst. The only thing worse than that was seeing 5-8 restrained to a pillar in front of him.

“Hyung. Where are we?” Sa Wol’s voice was deep and raspy with a tinge of pain. Speaking hurt. Hell, breathing hurt.

“It looks like an old office building. It’s not like I could really look. I was too busy trying to make sure you were alive.”

“Okay first of all, watch the attitude. It wasn’t like I decided to be in this situation. And I could have fought them off if they weren’t on every drug ever manufactured ever.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? Hyung, look around. We’ve literally been kidnapped and you want to say I’m being dramatic? I feel like you’re underreacting to the situation at hand. But that’s just my opinion.”

“You two are so much fun to listen to.” A disembodied voice echoed through the lobby of the abandoned office building. “Unfortunately we can’t keep cracking jokes. It’s time to get down to business, huh?”

The source of the voice appeared. It was an absolutely jacked specimen of a man stepping out of the dark behind where 5-8 was tied up.

“I’m assuming you’re on whatever those other guys were?” 5-8 didn’t bother to spare their captor a glance.

“Thank you for noticing. Yes! And soon you will be, too! Except it’s my experimental recipe. See, I’m Kwon Seung Woo, the original creator of MT-5 and I’m looking to upgrade but I need new experimental subjects. The others died, unfortunately.”

Sa Wol scoffed, irritating his most-likely bruised lungs but he proceeded to speak despite it. “I actually already have a nice paying job so I’m good. Full time. Benefits. PTO. I appreciate the offer, though.”

5-8 rolled his eyes at the remark. Sa Wol knew it was for sure irritating his hyung but at the same time, the more he spoke, the more attention was on him. If he could make their captor mad, he would go after him instead of 5-8. He couldn’t let them hurt him. He only truly had 2 people left for him in this life and he couldn’t bear to watch that number get cut in half.

“You don’t have a ch-”

“You know what? I’ve actually thought about it. I could be persuaded but for the right cost. How much are you willing to pay me and what are the benefits like? Are there stock options? I may want to invest.”

“You’re a chatty one, huh?” The captor motioned towards Sa Wol, sending fear running through his nerves. Two of his beefed up henchmen approached him, both sending a fist to his ribs. He cried out in pain, doubling over as much as his restraints would allow him. As much as it hurt, his plan was working.

“Hey! Leave the kid alone. I know he’s got a mouth on him but you could easily fix that with a sock. Don’t be lazy.” Shit did 5-8 figure out what his idea was? He needed to step things up.

“If you stick a sock in my mouth, I’ll eat it just to spite you and still have something to say.”

“Kids these days have no manners, huh?” Their captor glanced over to a very visibly angry 5-8. “How about I teach him some?”

That phrase put so much pressure in Sa Wol’s chest, it was like an elephant just sat on him. Or was that from being beaten? Either way, shit was about to hit the fan and he knew it.

All he could do was sit there and take the beating he was given as 5-8 watched, yelling at them to stop. For a brief moment they did, slowly looking over to see him pulling on his chains.

“Whatever you want to do to him, do to me instead. He’s just a kid. He’s too stupid to know when he’s gone too far.”

Sa Wol couldn’t speak anymore, he was in so much pain. He desperately wanted to do anything to redirect their eyes from 5-8, but all he could do was sit in the crumpled up wreckage of what used to be a chair, feeling the wetness of pooling blood underneath him. It was only then that he realized in all the blows he took, one wasn’t a fist, but a knife.

---

5-8 could only watched as they wailed on Sa Wol. He struggled in his restraints, nearly breaking his wrists as he saw the knife come out of someone’s pocket. He watched as it was sent into Sa Wol’s stomach.

Fuck. His escape plan just went out the window, entirely. They needed to get out now. He watched as the blood pooled underneath the kid, snaking through every crack and crevice in the tile beneath them, winding around the chains and crumpled chair. He needed to think of something.

“You got what you wanted from him, now leave him alone.”

“He’s the perfect experiment. With the current state he’s in, I’ll be able to see how well MT-6 can do.”

“Kwon Seung Woo!” 5-8 was even a little shocked at how loud he was. As far as he knew, he’d never yelled like that before.

He struggled in his restraints, feeling blood flow from his wrists while Seung Woo stuck the large needle into Sa Wol’s chest, directly into his heart. All he could do was wait at that point. The kid’s whimpers burned his eardrums. It was one of the worst sounds he’d ever heard. It wasn’t long before the effects were visible.

Sa Wol stood, stumbling a little bit before catching himself. Seung Woo had one of his men cut the chains and before they knew it, both of them were practically sent flying across the room. 5-8 could see how shot Sa Wol’s eyes were. They were out of focus, it looked like.

Kwon Seung Woo and his men surrounded Sa Wol. “Just rough him up a little. I want to see what happens.”

The goons tried attacking him but were met with nasty right hooks and kicks that could kill a normal man. They did what they could but none of them could compete with him. Seung Woo put both of his hands up, having seen what was done to his people.

“Okay. You win. We’ll leave the two of you alone. We’ll go.” He motioned to his men before heading for the door.

5-8 watched on as Sa Wol’s eyes darkened. He looked like a lion locking onto his prey. He’d never seen that look from the kid. Ever.

“No. You won’t.”

------+------

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {X}

#black knight #black knight fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #kwhump #asian whump #asianwhump #kdrama fanfiction #kdrama fanfic

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whomstwedointheshadows · 7 months

Text

Season 6 Nandermo Prediction: Monty Python to Seinfeld to the Office Finale

In Honor of Reality TV House Flippers, I Present Vampires in Court TV

*CRACK ATTACK*

To honor Serial Killer Guillermo and the show subverting the reality/ sit-com format, I need the Staten Island Gang questing to face off the Big Bad. The Big Bad has a Network. They track them down, expanding their own territory, nutty vampire death sentences and leaning in to dark humor. Gore, bodies, glory everywhere. Evidence to one former familiar, everywhere, as vampires now help with cleaning up as as they are more equal in the house.

The Big Bad is revealed to be a holy terror and also cute as a bloodthirsty bunny. Bunnicula, the Big Bad, if you will.

See Murder Husband dream fighting together, Guillermo pledging to do whatever it takes to survive and come home together, overcoming this comically adorable foe. The fight is more glamor shots, inspiring questions of fan service and striking home Yes This Is Homoerotic and Camp until they win, plot feels rushed to audience but it’s clearly just a set up for Big Confession Time. Obviously they are Fully Realized and Ready for It, now show us!!

Vampires done vamping with the fallen head home, masses of dead-dead/undead cut up, ready for further dumping. Incriminating, but just the usual work for a familiar now shared. Matching gore and relief for Nandor and Guillermo, a picture of intimacy.

All these dead in the name of Flirting, they openly acknowledge, laugh together. Nandermo is here, the scene is tipping in to a Big Confession, Big Kiss… something…

In swarm the police, Humans, incongruous immediately with sense of culmination of fifteen years of pining. Trucks, helicopters, tanks against stakes. Completely lost the romance, dark humor into a Gritty True Crime NARRATIVE.

Narration of Colin Robinson expressing ACAB, but an energy vampire has to feed, won’t it be great when this airs? First acknowledgment the footage is broadcasting somewhere and he feeds from the viewer.

Too tired to kill them all, too many to immediately hypnotize. Nandor bats, at Guillermo insistence, now begins comical on-the-run and hypnosis witness tampering from the vampires. Wackiness includes decorating courtroom based on family side, sculpture and blood fountain delivery… but Guillermo somehow gets one day house arrest with his mother, Nandor does his best to arrange a tender Spa Day and they’re summoned back to night court. Night Court is of course, more nebulously supernatural and quickly kicks out of Mortal Prison into Farce with Consequences.

Mainly: Can someone explain the relationship of a rampaging slayer to his vampire former-master-warlord as they’re claiming new territory? How safe is the wider supernatural community, and are they like, a new conquering force or …another Thing? What to do about this?

Return of lawyer Lazlo, reference to hating the English during all the court proceedings (and damn isn’t this the ending of Monty Python and the Holy Grail? Seinfeld? -that was only because they were cowards that ran out of budget or wouldn’t get characters together, classic comedy half hours end with a wedding), public acknowledgement Guillermo’s a fucking slayer/serial killer to Silvia de la Cruz, seemingly friendly with Nandor and show of being peaceful amongst the crowd of supernaturals and, rather than fury of a Van Helsing, she shares she knew Memo had it bad for his boss. (Clearly, the Slayer bloodline doesn’t activate into killer mode, or is more controlled, when she understands them and isn’t surprised.)

Cue talkback scenes about an effing clip show in court as evidence, Nadja mostly focused on famous like OJ and explaining the web of who was horny when because what when presented with evidence, wearing matching wigs with Lazlo. Mimics Office Finale allowing for further commentary, still centered around present character interests. Definitely charting the course of Nandermo, getting more off camera stories of observing the Pining. Murder is framed in the context of caretaking and making Nandor horny, like they’re going out of their way to explain (to Silvia?) how involved her son is in their unit and vampire relations. Also, he’s a badass so no one fucks with him or those under his protection. Thank g- there’s this badass footage that doesn’t show Memo in too much danger or really, really hurt.

Cross examination of Nandermo by Lazlo, first kiss revealed years ago off screen, fucking all season, I love you’d exchanged but ‘I’ll be with you forever, whatever it takes’ WAS exchanged in the previous episode before battle, thus honeymoon glow and downright joyous-sexually charged battle.

Lawyer Lazlo: Do you think we have a fucking documentary crew and now we worry about courtrooms? Gizmo killed a theatre of vampires to save us and we took over the fucking council. Yes, we’re callous, we’re cruel, we’re insensitive to mortal and immortal suffering if it doesn’t concern ourselves. We’re killers, including our dramatic slayer here who’s the youngest but catching up on body count, and we’re a family. We love each other. We will protect each other. We’ll end anything that gets in our way, whatever it takes. Nandor, you’re up.

Nandor: *to put a button on the unable to drink blood, totally able to slay Guillermo arc, see previous fights up to Bunnicula, reference to be together forever, whatever it takes.*

Obviously Nandor has already discussed a big celebration for a possible yet-not-planned turning, but Guillermo suggested simple and ‘like a courthouse wedding, yes’ - Both understand the offer is on the table and Guillermo just says when he’s ready, and it’s okay if that turns out to be never. His hesitation has remained his ties with his Mom. It’s yes to all his life with Nandor, vampirism second concern when he’s accepted and ready as he can be for the consequences, specifically loosing his mom, who is not brain scramblie’d and here today, seeing all of Guillermo and his vampires.

Nandor, a strategist: welcome to our wedding!! Look at the public awe of your many conquered foes! You’re so amazing as a warrior and my closest friend. I am PROUD for EVERYONE to know you’re incredible and I’m head over heels for you, forever. Everyone includes your mom, as my family too, who is not killing all vampires on sight now! And everyone knows if they fuck with your vampire or slayer family, we’ll kill them and enjoy it together! Do you appreciate my intricate ritual of planning a wedding after you went and said yes to forever before I could propose after our many escalating battles together?

Guillermo: so, even with the documentary crew, we’ve always kept our intimacy for us. Yes, it was kinda toxic, but Nandor is my idiot, except when he’s a genius. And it feels good. To be proud of us. They celebrated me. So, let’s party.

Cut to everyone dirty, raunchy dancing, sloppy kissing, exceedingly graphic reception cut for rating. New glitter portrait of vampiric Nandor and Guillermo, kissing, sparkly bare chests in the Tigris, captioned ‘Honeymoon’

___

++Would love to see a parallel for the death of the historian in Monty Python leading to an arrest of King Arthur/Knights and the dead camera crew members leading to excessive workplace safety fines being the only lasting damage determined by the court.

+++Collin Robinson is somehow working for the prosecution, a corporate media outlet, and as expert testimony. No one is ever clear what the ‘trial’ actually is, he’s just fond of objections. Framing moves from court tv to royal wedding coverage, slowly edging the viewer wanting Nandermo confirmation about [yes, that is a glitter portrait from Nandor to Guillermo on 10 anniversary as master and familiar and here’s another one from later on their second anniversary.. of what? Well, how one can define a relationship is complex… oh! Let’s go frame by frame on these clips of their hands! ] confirming the bigger picture, Has segments devils advocating himself against Nancy Grace angry emotional vampire.

*** this is specifically a Crack!fic ideas playing with the idea all of Nandermo must be on camera, the viewer is primed for the next big step to be a confession or kiss, but what if we just jump straight to just married the dirty grinding, sloppy drunk kissing in public with all your family watching. Strikes me as a f-you to all the sweet chaste network gays, this is the suck and fuck show, babe

**** this is also a subversion of Guillermo resolving his arc as a vampire, having to be ‘ruthless’ enough, instead it’s about being assured in himself, what he wants, and cherished by those he loves. His found family accepting and making space for his family, because they care about his decisions and maybe he doesn’t have to choose, so they try. He’s gained the confidence in himself and is celebrated, welcomed, and supported by those he loves.

*****Listen, Nandor, was it kind of toxic to let your boyfriend get arrested and did you maybe plan a slaying rampage for the ‘gram- no one can quite prove, but good thinking if it was spur of the moment after the arrest, it tracks that a former warlord would yell about how awesome his spouse is and don’t fuck with us so they can have a bubble of peace due to the terror

#nandermo #wwdits meta #what we do in the shadows #wwdits 6 #Nandor the relentless #serial killer Guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #crack fic #someone please stop me #someone write this #silvia de la cruz

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taizi · 1 year

Text

i’ve been afraid of changing

tmnt 2k7 pairing: mikey & donnie, mikey & april, mikey & woody word count: 4575 pre-movie

well, i’ve been afraid of changing ’cause i’ve built my life around you but time makes you bolder even children get older and i’m getting older too

read on ao3

Mikey hates his job.

He thinks it for the first time on a Saturday evening when he’s lugging his catering equipment back to his van, sore all over and with a headache pounding away at the base of his skull, miserable and hungry and with another party to look forward to tomorrow morning.

He shuts the back doors, leans his forehead against one of the dusty rear windows, and thinks I hate my job.

He doesn’t know where the thought comes from. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he’d feel better after he got some dinner and played a few rounds of Mario Kart and clocked an hour of kitty therapy with Dr Klunk, PhD. Maybe it’s not a big deal. If he’s learned any one thing from daytime TV, it’s that everyone hates their job.

But it’s the first time Mikey’s ever hated anything about his life. He’s always had his brothers. He’s always been taken care of. He’s always had a home he loved running to at the end of the day. Sure, he didn’t get to play in the sun when he was little, or go to those cool fusion restaurants downtown that April liked, or hit up the movies or the skatepark without enough planning and subterfuge beforehand that the whole thing felt more like the Invasion of Normandy than a fun night out. But his childhood was a happy one. And for awhile he’d had this crazy idea that happiness wasn’t something you were supposed to outgrow.

But now Raph is mean and reclusive. And Donnie is short-tempered and too busy for anything besides his computer. And Leo is still gone. And Mikey hates his job.

He climbs into his van and just sits in the driver’s seat for a minute. He didn’t wear his headset today, because Donnie hasn’t used their private channel in weeks anyway, so what’s the point. There isn’t a familiar little voice in his ear telling him to get a move on, Mike. Don’t stay up there too long. It isn’t safe. Come home. Which is good. He doesn’t want to go home.

He thinks maybe he hates it there.

The thing is, Mikey is halfway to Rupert’s to pick up a pie for his birthday, when it occurs to him that he should be upset that his brothers forgot. He actually stops short, halfway down a fire escape, letting that percolate in his brain for a minute.

He should be disappointed or annoyed or hurt, right? But he’s not any of those things. He’s not even sad.

He hasn’t seen Raph in like three days. Donnie had breakfast with Mikey this morning, but the older turtle had shadows under his eyes, and this pale, brittle way about him that Mikey clocked as a migraine and a chronic lack of sleep, so he immediately curbed his own energy and made a mental note to leave his brother alone.

Their birthdays are stupid, made-up things anyway. Dates they picked for each other when they were little, and marked on a big calendar that Splinter hung outside the dojo. Leo’s was a couple months ago, and that night Donnie and Raph got into a screaming fight about—Mikey doesn’t even know what.

Maybe they’ve outgrown birthdays. Maybe Mikey’s going to outgrow every single good thing about his entire life until there’s nothing left but a job he hates doing and a home he never wants to go back to.

Woody is waiting for him out behind the pizzeria. There’s a private drive back there for delivery trucks but the gate is locked at all other times. The building behind Rupert’s is vacant, its windows boarded up. It’s a safe spot for Mikey to venture out of the shadow into the warm, flickering light of the kitchen where it pours from the door Woody has propped open.

His human friend is sitting on an upturned plastic vegetable crate, and smiles automatically when he sees Mikey.

“Hey, amigo,” Woody says, offering his fist for a bump. “Bingo—”

It’s such instant relief to be around somebody who wants Mikey around. He didn’t even realize how much tension he was carrying until he exhales and a bunch of muscles in his back and shoulders go loose and suddenly it’s a little easier to hold his head up.

He grins back and completes the fist bump. “—bongo!”

Woody is still on the clock, but it’s a slow night, and his sister Darcy is running things up front. Mikey met her by accident last year when he was hanging out with Woody in the prep kitchen after close and neither of them were paying attention to the footsteps thumping down the stairs from the second-floor apartment. He’s never told his brothers about that because they’ll probably kill him. Besides, Darcy’s cool.

They head inside, kicking the door shut behind them. The packed heat of the pizza ovens and the heady smell of garlic and oregano and basil is so familiar it brings a rush of comfort.

Mikey stays for hours. They cook pizzas and break-and-bake cookies and a very wonky attempt at a birthday cake in one of the ovens. He goes home with a bag full of leftovers and a meticulously-wrapped present from Darcy that she refused to let him open in front of her. Before he left, Woody hugged him so thoroughly that the warmth of it stayed with Mikey for the entire journey underground.

It doesn’t last long after that.

“Where the hell’ve you been?” Raph barks at him by way of hello when Mikey is barely two steps through the door. There’s a big duffel on the floor next to him, so either he just got in or he’s on his way out.

Mikey should rise to this, he thinks. He should be full of festering hurt, disappointment, resentment. You forgot about my birthday and now you’re giving me shit over a non-existent curfew?

It wasn’t so long ago that he was willing to get right in Raph’s face when Raph was being especially antagonistic. Mikey doesn’t wear anger like his brothers do, but everyone has put on a jacket that didn’t really fit once or twice.

He used to goad and wheedle and harass his big brother into venting his feelings the only way he knew how. Tussles and shouting matches were a vehicle for Raph to express the parts of himself he wasn’t comfortable with talking about. Mikey knows that. And he knows that Raph is always angling for a fight these days because he has so much he needs to say to somebody.

But Mikey isn’t the person he needs. The person all three of them need. He couldn’t be even if he tried. He doesn’t want to try.

He hates his job and he hates being home and he’s beginning to hate how Raphael talks to him like they’re total strangers who made a bad first impression on each other and never managed to forget it.

“I was at Rupert’s,” Mikey says, walking past him. “If you needed something while I was out, you could have texted me. You still have my number, right?”

It takes the shape of a joke, the way he used to tease a good mood out of moments like this. He sets his bag on the table and roots through it, coming up with a tinfoil-covered pizza round. There’s a birthday cake underneath the foil, the sides uncertain and lopsided because it wasn’t big enough to bake to the edges of the round, the buttercream icing a little lumpy and way too rich.

It’s Mikey’s favorite thing in the whole world, because he and Woody laughed the entire time they made it, about a hundred different things, and somehow it tastes like laughter, like they managed to bake that in there with the butter and vanilla. It almost feels like it doesn’t belong in this kitchen. He puts it on the counter anyway.

“There’s dessert if you want it,” Mikey says, meeting Raph’s eyes from right across the room and about a thousand miles away. Raph is frowning at him, but the anger from a moment ago isn’t there anymore. Mikey doesn’t want to know what fresh new thing Raphael has to frown about, so he says goodnight and goes looking for his cat.

He cancels a gig. He doesn’t tell Donnie. He doesn’t get out of bed. No one comes looking for him. Everyone else is busy, everyone else is on track. Mikey can’t keep up.

Donnie corners him on some random Thursday. It’s been a few weeks since Mikey’s worked and a part of him has been dreading this confrontation. It was only a matter of time.

“We don’t need the money,” Mikey says. Because they don’t. Donnie has been seeding funds from untraceable backdoors into Fortune 500 companies for years. The jobs were Donnie’s idea to keep them busy, back when sensei first forbade them from doing ninja stuff while Leo was gone. “What does it matter if I quit?”

“It’s not about money, it’s about responsibility. If you make a commitment, you stick to it,” Donnie grinds out. His voice is carefully measured, straining on the brink of losing his patience. For some reason, it’s rubbing Mikey wrong. It’s making him feel itchy and restless.

Responsibility. Commitment. What do his brothers know about keeping promises? About sticking to it? They’ve abandoned Mikey one after the other and now Donnie is lecturing him about responsibility and commitment.

“You can’t make me go,” Mikey blurts, too loud. “I won’t. I don’t want to.”

“Jesus,” Donnie mutters, rubbing his forehead. He’s already so fed-up with Mikey after like three seconds of conversation that Mikey can feel his eyes start to sting. “The last thing I want to do is fight with you, Mike. I thought you liked Cowabunga Carl.”

It’s not fair. Donnie’s so smart. He’s tired and overworked and unhappy, but he’s smart. How can he get this one thing so wrong? How can he not know Mikey as well as he used to, like all of those years of being each other’s best friends and co-conspirators and secret-keepers from where they were relegated to the “B Team” aren’t as intrinsic and important and fundamental to him as they are to Mikey? How can he look at Mikey, right in the face, and not understand him at all?

Something breaks.

“I hate it!” Mikey screams. His chest is full of heat and air and nothing he can dig his hands into and ground himself in, just emptiness and panic. “I hate my job, I hate going up there by myself, I hate driving in rush hour traffic, I hate being around strangers who wouldn’t want anything to do with me if they found out I was a freak of nature, I hate the kids when they scream and run around because it makes me feel like I’m in danger even though I know that’s stupid! I hate all of it, I hate going out there and I hate coming back here, and I hate that none of you love me anymore! I hate you!”

There would be a ringing silence in the lair, if not for the way Mikey’s chest is heaving as he gulps for air. He’s crying, but he can still see the way Donnie’s face has gone slack and sickly white with horror, the way he’s looking at Mikey like he’s a fucking alien creature in the living room that Donnie has no idea how to communicate with. They don’t know each other anymore.

“Mikey,” Donnie whispers.

Mikey takes a shaky step back, then another. That burst of too much feeling has left him, deserted him, and now he’s reeling from the lack of it.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

Donnie’s hands catch him before he can move another inch.

“Please don’t go, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Hey, look at me.” Those same hands let go of Mikey’s arms and cup his face, framing it carefully and keeping him still. Donnie moves into his line of sight, his eyes round and full, mouth pressed into a wobbling line. “I love you, too. Of course I love you. I’m here. I never should have—I never should have let you think I was anywhere else. I’m right here, okay? Don’t go.”

His hands move again, pulling Mikey into an embrace so tight it almost hurts.

“I don’t hate you,” Mikey sobs. He can’t believe he said that. He can’t believe he knew how to say those words in that order.

“Mikey, I know,” Donnie replies. His voice is all thick and watery, and he presses one hand to the back of Mikey’s head, and holds onto him like he’s terrified Mikey is going to vanish into thin air. “You don’t have a hateful bone in your body. You’re the last good thing I have.”

When April and Casey show up a few hours later, Mikey isn’t surprised when they make a beeline for the sofa. He freaked Donnie out pretty majorly, it’s only natural he’d call his best friends for support or advice.

What does surprise Mikey is that Casey only trades a speaking look with Donatello before tugging on Mikey’s mask tails playfully and then heading in the direction of Raph’s bedroom like a man on a mission. April, meanwhile, plants herself on the arm of the sofa on Mikey’s side and wraps her arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t know about Casey, but I’m here for one reason and one reason only,” she confides in him. “To make Donnie watch this bootleg of RENT that I just downloaded from a potentially malicious website. You in?”

Donnie makes a disgruntled support technician sound.

Mikey beams up at her. She’s so cool. She’s one of the best people he knows. She isn’t his friend like she’s Donnie’s and Leo’s, but she’s his big sister in a way they can’t claim. The way she cares about him hasn’t changed a smidge from day one.

“Donnie needs more culture in his life,” Mikey says. “And he’s totally gonna cry during the I’ll Cover You reprise. I’m in, times like, a billion.”

April smiles back at him and takes his face in her hand. She thumbs at his cheek like she can still see the tear tracks there from earlier but she doesn’t say anything about any of that.

She just says, “Good, ‘cause we brought enough Thai food to feed a ninja army.”

Splinter emerges from his rooms, drawn into the open atrium by the sound of their voices. Or maybe he’s in on this, too, because he doesn’t seem at all surprised by April and her formidable arsenal of takeout bags. His dark eyes are gentle as he greets her. He pats Donnie on the arm as he passes by, and tugs on the ends of Mikey’s mask tails in that affectionate way all of Mikey’s relatives do, the way Casey just did a minute ago, and then settles into his recliner.

His presence nearby is like a balm. It always is. Even though he sent Leo away, and saddled Donnie with the mantle of leadership that was never his to carry in the interim, and Mikey is sort of unhappy with him somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s still their dad. He still makes the world make a little more sense, just by being there.

They’re twenty minutes into RENT before Casey reappears, and he’s got Raph with him. Casey accepts a heaping container of green curry and rice from April, gives his red-banded best friend a truly evil look, and pointedly takes a seat in an armchair.

There’s a spot left on the sofa on Donnie’s other side, or in the other chair. Raphael, to his credit, only waffles about it for a moment before he sinks onto the couch. Mikey feels Donnie’s whole body go stiff with tension, but neither of them break into their usual song-and-dance routine—maybe in part because April is absolutely willing to take them down with extreme prejudice if they start a fight right now. Maybe because they don’t actually want to.

“What is this shit, anyway?” Raph mutters.

“Theater,” Mikey, April and Casey say at the same time—only Casey sounds significantly less enthusiastic than his little brother and his fiance both do.

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Mikey adds. “Twenty bucks says you’ll have one of the songs stuck in your head tomorrow.”

“You’re on, brat,” Raphael says.

For a minute, they might as well be fifteen years old again, before they started getting tugged in different directions, before Leo’s absence drove a wedge between them that honestly feels like nursing a knife between the ribs.

Raph turns his head, golden eyes darting past Donnie to look at Mikey sidelong. Mikey finds himself thinking that it’s absolutely crazy he could have ever found anything about Raphael unfamiliar. That’s his brother. No matter what else changes, that’s always going to be true.

So Mikey sticks his tongue out at him. Surprise, relief, and good humor run through Raph’s expression one after the other, and they all settle into a comfortable scowl.

“Pass me that chicken satay before I come over there and take it from you,” he demands.

Donnie snatches one of the skewers off the plate as it changes hands in front of him and smugly says, “Taxes.”

“I’ll show you taxes—”

“Okay, boys, I love the bonding going on here, but talk through Light My Candle and see what happens,” April interjects pleasantly.

Raph and Donnie shut right up. Casey snorts and mutters “cowards” under his breath. Mikey leans against his sister and bites into an eggroll so he doesn’t say something really embarrassing about how much he’s missed family movie night.

Splinter watches them more than he watches the musical. Like something about the rowdy, reactive audience they make is more precious and compelling than anything Broadway could ever have to offer.

Donnie works about half as much as he used to, and drags Mikey into his lab with him the rest of the time. Sometimes they tinker and talk, other times Donnie starts, like, solving world hunger or the energy crisis, and Mikey parks himself on the loveseat and watches a movie.

He started out with headphones and a laptop, but then Donnie scolded him for trying to loop him out of Legally Blonde. Now they project movies onto the wall so Donnie can watch while he works, and Mikey can make silly commentary, and it feels like they’re friends again.

Mikey doesn’t hate being at home so much anymore.

“But Donnie can’t babysit me forever,” Mikey confides in Woody sometime later. They’re in the kitchen at Rupert’s, after closing time, and Mikey is helping him shut the place down. Right now he’s doing the books in the broom closet of a back office while Mikey hangs over the back of his computer chair and idly swings himself back and forth, the ever-important moral support. “He hates his job, but he has to have something productive to do or he’ll go crazy. That’s why we started working in the first place. I need to figure something out, too. Not Cowabunga Carl. Something I won’t—hate.”

“Donnie’s a genius, right?” Woody asks abruptly. “He has like two actual PhDs that he got just for fun?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mikey says.

“Call me crazy, Mikester, but maybe he’d be happier if he found a job that played to his strengths.”

Woody shuffles receipts around on the desk until he finds the computer mouse and then Googles “new york remote jobs phd graduate” and gets hundreds of results with buzz words like “researcher” and “scientist” and “engineer” that make more sense in relation to Mikey’s polymath brother than entry level tech support. Mikey reads over his shoulder with wide eyes.

“Look, NYU is hiring. He won’t even need a teaching degree to work at the university.”

“E-mail that to me,” Mikey demands.

He feels full of purpose. He imagines Donnie as a professor, explaining any number of impossibly complicated subjects to his students the way he’s been happy to explain things to Mikey since they were toddlers discovering the world together. He imagines Donnie brainstorming with colleagues whose minds are as bright as his.

Mikey wants it for him so badly he’s annoyed with himself for not coming up with this idea a year and a half ago.

Woody is watching Mikey in that careful sideways manner that makes Mikey think there’s something else he wants to say.

“You know,” the human settles on, “I’m kind of hurt.”

Mikey is a ninja, and more than that, he’s the youngest of four dynamic, explosive personalities, so he’s good at sussing out tones. Woody is clearly joking, so Mikey tips his head, more curious than anything.

“What’d I do to you?”

“You left me hangin’, amigo. You quit that catering gig—which was the right call—but now you’re sending your resume everywhere but here.” He shakes his head, mock-solemn. Mikey is staring at him.

“I don’t have a resume.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Rupert’s is hiring?”

“You see anybody else back here, bud?” Woody’s smiling at him. “Uncle Rupert cooks days, I cook nights. But nights are significantly busier, and sometimes my uncle comes back in to help me out. He’s gonna work himself into an early grave at this rate. We’ve been looking to add onto the night crew for months.”

Mikey feels like the world just tilted off its axis. He glances around at the kitchen he knows so well, the place he spends all his free time, because it’s where his best friend works. He thinks of how often he helps Woody knead dough, prep gallons and gallons of sauce, box up orders. The countless evening hours they spend drinking cream soda and eating cheesy breadsticks or Chinese from across the street and watching cable TV on the crappy plasma mounted on the wall.

He thinks of doing all of that as a job. He would love it. He didn’t know he could have a job that he loved.

“Really?” he says quietly.

Woody laughs at whatever his face looks like. He gets up and shoves open the order window and bellows, “Darce, take that Help Wanted sign out of the window! And text Uncle Rupert! Mike’s on board.”

“Thank GOD,” Darcy shouts back, and audibly stomps all the way across the tiny lobby to rip their handmade paper sign down.

“Uncle Rupert’ll love you,” Woody confides in Mikey, dropping back into his seat. “I mean, he loves you already. We talk about you enough at home. He doesn’t know you’re a turtle, but I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. You’re way more normal than that one delivery guy who drops off the produce order every Tuesday in a glittery tux, and Rupert keeps him around.”

“That guy’s so weird,” Mikey says, and he’s sort of crying, but he’s laughing at the same time.

A little over two years after Leo left New York, April followed a ghost story through a South American jungle and managed to track down the familiar boy behind it. She did her best to convince him to come home, because missing him was like missing a limb.

She told him about Donnie lecturing on half a dozen different topics at NYU, and Raph getting hooked on musical theater, and Casey sneaking Mikey into Comic Con in a DIY Bowser costume just to get an exclusive variant cover edition of the new Silver Sentry comic and how extremely grounded they both were for that.

She didn’t say they’re lost without you, because she didn’t think that was true anymore. But if she knew her friend as well as she thought she did—as well as she used to—then it should be enough just to tell him that his brothers needed him. They missed him. They loved him, and he wasn’t there.

Mikey hears all of this firsthand, about eleven and a half hours later, when April’s plane touches down at LaGuardia and she calls the lair the second she’s allowed to turn her cellphone back on.

He and Donnie are just getting in at around three in the morning, because Mikey is a tiny bit drunk. Rupert hauled down a case of craft beer after closing time and Darcy goaded everyone into a drinking contest and Mikey discovered that a mutagen-reinforced metabolism has nothing on a family of Irish-Americans. Woody called Donnie, and Donnie agreed to come pick Mikey up, and Darcy sat on Mikey’s carapace until his brother got there, because none of them wanted him wandering the sewers and getting lost.

Everyone worries about him a little more than they used to. But the Dirkins clan sent him off with waves and laughter, and Donnie was smiling crookedly as he guided Mikey’s clumsy limbs down a manhole ladder, and all of it made Mikey feel cared-for. It reminded him of being younger, being taken care of.

By the time they get home, Mikey’s burned through the fun parts of too much alcohol and now he has a pounding headache. Donnie points him toward a chair at the kitchen table and starts rummaging around in the fridge for the coconut water he keeps on hand for Casey and Raph when they’re in a similar state.

And then April calls the repurposed payphone that serves as their landline and says she found Leo, and Mikey’s heart jumps right into his throat.

“He said he wasn’t coming back, but you should have seen the look on his face,” April says. She sounds croaky and exhausted from her exploits and the red-eye flight, but her voice is still full of care and hope and optimism. “He’s homesick. He misses you guys so much. He doesn’t want to be out there anymore.”

Mikey wants to ask her how she knows for sure. He wants to beg for some kind of impossible guarantee. But he can hear Casey in the background of her call, probably waiting at the arrivals gate to take her home, so instead he says, “Thanks, Apricot. Thank you. Get home safe, okay? Tell Case I said ‘or else’.”

“You bet, honey. I’ll see you later.”

Donnie couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation, even with his freaky ninja hearing, but he knows how to read Mikey’s expression like a book. He’s holding a glass of that fancy water like he’s forgotten it’s in his hand, and his clever eyes are narrow and darting across his little brother’s face.

“What is it?” he asks as soon as Mikey hangs the phone up. “Is everything okay?”

Mikey doesn’t answer right away. He’s still processing.

The truth is, Leo has always had the same number one priority. Before his father’s expectations, before his duty as the eldest son, before his own wants and goals and secret childhood wishes, he had one thing he always put first.

If his brothers need him, he’ll drop everything. He’ll run to them, wherever they are.

Maybe that's still true. Maybe Mikey still knows how to believe in that.

So he looks up at Donnie and says, “I think so.” He even really means it.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2k7 #hamato michelangelo #hamato donatello #april o'neil #woody dirkins #my writing #tmnt fic #b team #team freckles #pizza bros #woodyangelo

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gainingfiction · 2 years

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A Day’s Work

Summary: Andrew is a bike courier for FreshEats, a popular food delivery service. Julian works from home as a senior software developer for FreshEats. Sitting in his luxurious apartment, spoiled by a handsome and obedient boyfriend, squeezing profit from couriers like Andrew, Julian can’t imagine anyone who works harder than he does.

This story is a little different than some of my others. I wanted to play around a bit with point-of-view and try out a different tense! I hope you enjoy!

The alarm goes off, and Andrew rolls out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping roommates. He readies himself for work, straightening his hair before pulling on his bike shorts and a polo shirt.

In the kitchen, he inhales a piece of toast and downs some instant coffee, then starts out the door.

It’s 7 AM when he unlocks his bike, chained to the rack by the front door of his squat brick apartment building. He pulls out his phone and opens up the FreshEats app, ready to start his shift.

An order comes in almost immediately. He hops on his bike and starts to peddle towards the McDonald’s a few blocks away, to pick up the breakfast order. His thin legs pump as he glides down the quiet streets, knowing that dispatch will give him trouble if he takes too long.

Julian groans as squirms and shifts in bed, starting the process of heaving himself to an upright position. He glances at the clock on the nightstand: 9:38. Another day, and more work to do. He frowns, wishing he could sleep in.

Grunting, he hauls his body to a stand. Getting out of bed takes a few minutes these days. He knows he’s been getting fatter, but it was his boyfriend’s fault, really. Julian would probably be a model if it wasn’t for Quinn, always bringing him chips and beer whenever he asks for it.

Julian plods to the bathroom, stripping off a too-tight undershirt and a pair of boxers that cling to his thickened thighs, letting his blubbery butt spring free. He pads across the tile floor into the walk-in rainfall shower, letting the water flow through his wavy hair and across his folds of soft flesh, washing off the sweat he worked up during sex the night before.

Stepping out of the shower, he runs a towel along his sizeable rolls, annoyed at how long it takes to dry off his expansive body. He throws the fluffy towel on the floor and reenters the bedroom, where he pulls on some clothes. His basketball shorts stretch tight over his wide hips and big ass, while his gut and love handles hang out under the hem of his t-shirt, fat bobbing and swaying as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Morning, beautiful,” Quinn says, not looking up from the yoga mat. He’s in the downward dog pose, tight little butt sticking up in the air, begging for a slap. “Breakfast’s on the counter, and I switched on the air conditioner in your office.”

“Pancakes?” Julian says, walking through the open living area to the kitchen. Quinn doesn’t answer. Julian rolls his eyes; he specifically asked for french toast, but whatever. He knows better than to expect much from his stoner boyfriend.

He grabs the plate, piled high with flapjacks, and douses them with syrup. He eats a few bites while he waits for the espresso machine to warm up, and then carries his latte and pancakes down the hall to his office.

He doesn’t hate his condo, especially the view of the skyline from the 29th floor, but 1800 square feet is starting to feel a little cramped for two people. As he loads his dump truck ass into a specially-ordered gaming chair, he thinks about spending more time at his lake house in Tahoe. Cracking his knuckles, he inhales another mouthful of pancake. Time for the daily grind.

Hey andrew, seems like the GPS hasn’t moved since you accepted the order. Everything OK?

Andrew frowns, glancing at his phone, which is mounted between his handlebars. He’s flying down Park Street, traffic whizzing past him as he tries to avoid cars parked in the bike lane. It’s getting hotter, and he’s starting to sweat as the July sun beats down on him.

At a red light, he sends the dispatcher a reply. Definitely on my way. Must be a mistake.

A moment later, his phone lights up again. Ok I see youre moving towards the pickup. He sighs with relief, but then another message arrives from the dispatcher. Either way order was accepted 20 minutes ago from highland and park it shouldnt take 20 minutes cycling to north and cedar.

Andrew grits his teeth. No, it should only take about 15 minutes, but he stopped to give directions to a group of elderly tourists, before detouring to avoid an accident outside the convention center.

Another message: thats walking pace andrew.

Andrew sighs, swerving as a car crosses over into the bike lane. When he was writing his master’s thesis on political economy in the late Roman Empire, he thought he’d be a professor. Instead, he’s just trying to make enough to pay the interest on his loans, working gigs to cover his sky-high rent.

Finally, he reaches the intersection of Highland and Park, and leaves the delivery at the door. Outside, he sees a homeless woman panhandling, a gaunt-looking dog lying beside her. He digs around in his fanny pack for a few coins and drops them in the woman’s cup. He knows he shouldn’t feel sorry for himself; there are so many people worse off than him.

Julian rolls his eyes at an email from Cody, the CEO. They’re pushing the launch of the new software update, because the rest of the development team couldn’t seem to get their shit together. Why am I the only one who does anything in this company? He wonders, as he turns back to his other monitor, bass-heavy techno beats shaking the speakers of his sound system. Feeling a little warm, he bumps up the AC.

His stomach gurgles as he takes a swig of cola, his fingers flying as he enters line after line of beautiful code. He feels like Michelangelo or DaVinci, and the FreshEats software is his masterpiece. Except, those guys just did art and shit. Julian was changing the world. Back when those Italian fuckwads were painting dicks on ceilings, people ate the food they grew. Now, every man was a king: with a few taps on their phone screens, they could conjure up whatever they wanted to eat, delivered to them in their homes by serfs on bikes. And if every man was a king, Julian was king of kings.

He was a scrawny 19-year-old when he and Cody came up with the idea for FreshEats. Cody had a mind for software, but he was even better at business. Between the two of them, they turned an idea into a thriving startup, and by 21, Julian dropped out of his comp sci degree to help turn that startup into an empire.

And what an empire it was. FreshEats had become a major player in the tech game, employing thousands of drivers and trading on the New York Stock Exchange. And as the stock price soared, Julian got used to living the high life. He’d started to get a little chubby when he was spending long hours at his computer, building the FreshEats software from the ground up. His ex had actually broken up with him over his weight gain, saying he was spending too much time on his pet project and not enough time on himself or their relationship. Julian smirks, thinking of what a dumbass that guy was, to let a catch like him get away.

Quinn could see potential, though. Sure, he was a gold digger, but he had a hard body and a pretty face, and when they met, he didn’t care that Julian was packing more and more weight onto his chubby frame. Quinn could smell success, and his nose led him to Julian. So, as FreshEats grew, so did Julian, his small layer of chub expanding into a genuine gut, his skinny hips broadening into a set of dough thighs and a big, round ass. Why would Julian work out when his mind was the ultimate muscle? And so he sat around on his computer, stuffing his face, his body swelling larger and fatter with every passing day as his fortune ballooned with him. Quinn would never tell him to lose weight; Quinn is sexy and obedient. Julian is king, and Quinn is his devoted servant, a househusband whose only job is to keep himself looking hot and keep Julian satisfied.

Julian’s stomach growls, turning his thoughts from his muscled lover and back to reality. “Quinn!” he yells. “I’m hungry! Can you bring me some chips?”

He scowls with impatience. God, he’s starving.

Andrew looks up at the clouds gathering above, dark and heavy. The humidity is brutal, and sweat plasters Andrew’s polo shirt to his slender torso. He rounds a corner, the muscles in his legs aching as he propels himself down the street, trying to keep up with the flow of traffic.

He pulls his bike over in front of a small house, surrounded by a chain-link fence. The gate is unlocked, and he closes it behind him, approaching the front door with a bag of burgers. His heart almost leaps out of his chest at the sound of a dog barking, and he winces as a massive pitbull races towards him, stopping just a few feet from him as the dog’s chain pulls taut. The pitbull keeps barking, teeth gnashing as Andrew rushes to the door.

He drops the food on the doorstep and runs, taking care to give the dog a wide berth. He doesn’t want to end up with a nasty dog bite. Not because he cares about getting hurt, but because he doesn’t have the savings to pay the hospital bills, and none of his gigs offer insurance. Not to mention the time off work… no, he can’t get hurt. Not right now.

He closes the gate behind him, leaning against it with a sigh, the slobbering pitbull yelping and snarling at him on the other side. He taps his phone: delivery complete. Another pops up, from a Thai restaurant around the corner.

When he reaches his bike, the sky opens up and it starts to pour. Andrew sighs as the rain soaks his hair and douses his shirt. At least it’ll cool him off.

Julian lounges on the couch, manspreading, his thighs billowing out on the Italian leather. Thank God for air conditioning; he can’t think of anything more uncomfortable than having his skin sticking to the stupid sofa. Leather had been Quinn’s choice; Julian didn’t care, as long as it was comfortable. Discomfort is the thing he hates most, aside from not getting what he wants.

He shifted to his laptop at lunchtime so he could eat on the couch, stuffing his face with an entire stuffed crust meat lover's pizza while Quinn was at the gym. He’d gotten back just before the rain started, and it now pelts the large windows, a true downpour. Julian can’t hear it over his music, though, and he focuses on his coding, laptop perched on top of his gut, which flows out almost to his knees.

God, he’s bored. He knows he has the hardest job in the world, but sometimes he wonders if it’s worth the $900k a year they pay him. Of course, there are stock options, the company car (an electric BMW 5-series), his housing subsidy, and a management cash incentive. But still, Julian feels like nobody appreciates how hard he works. He peeks at the time: 2 o’clock. A little over an hour to go.

Glancing from the couch to the kitchen, he sees Quinn blending up some awful-looking green smoothie. He looks cute in his slinky workout clothes, strong arms and steely thighs on display in shorts and a tank top. Checking him out, Julian grabs a donut from the box beside him, devouring it in a few quick bites and licking the frosting off his fingers. Glancing at Quinn’s brawny glutes in his tiny shorts, Julian feels his cock start to stiffen.

“Babe,” Julian whines, glancing across the apartment with a forlorn look in his eyes. He puts his laptop aside. “I’m slaving away over here. How about some head to make it worth my while?”

“Aw, my poor hard-working man,” Quinn says. He abandons his smoothie, crosses the floor, and drops to his knees. “Of course.”

That’s what Julian likes most about his servile boyfriend; he never says no. Julian peels off his basketball shorts, letting his manhood spring free. Quinn’s biceps strain as he lifts Julian’s heavy gut to access his member, pushing the mound of fat upwards; Julian can feel the flab bulging through his boyfriend’s fingers. Julian groans with pleasure as Quinn sucks his dick. As Quinn pleasures him, Julian eats two more donuts, washed down with a swig of beer, his third of the day, and lets out a long, loud belch.

Julian can barely see Quinn over the mountain of fat on his torso. He used to like running his fingers through Quinn’s hair, pushing him into a deep throat, but now he can’t be bothered to lean forward. His paunch is just too big; if he tried to shift forward, his fat belly would slap Quinn in the face, pushing him backwards. So he puts one hand behind his head, the other reaching under his shirt to circle one of his pointy nipples. With Julian’s fatpad stealing more and more length, he doesn’t have that much dick to deep throat, anyway.

He feels his whole body relax as he comes, pleasure radiating through his king-sized form. Quinn lets his belly drop, and it covers his dick again; his shirt has ridden most of the way up his gut, revealing mounds and rolls of soft fat, zigzagged with red stretch marks. Julian notices that there are more and more of them, lately, yet another sign that his weight gain has been escalating. Quinn sits back, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

“Mind cleaning this up?” Julian asks, gesturing to the pizza boxes and empty box of donuts scattered around him as he turns to his laptop.

Andrew’s shift with FreshEats ended at 3, and he’s spent the past three hours making deliveries for one of their competitors. He took a 15 minute break between shifts to scarf down a sandwich, before heading back out into the rain. It had eased off a bit, turning to intermittent drizzle, and the humidity is creeping up again, leaving Andrew sweating as he peddles up a steep hill. The tips had been miserable today, but he appreciates any additions to his $9.50 hourly wage.

His heart almost stops at the sound of screeching tires and a horn blaring from behind; an SUV careens around him and pulls ahead. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!” the driver yells as he passes.

Andrew exhales when he reaches the top of the hill. He carries the bag of takeout to the front door of a tidy row house, which swings open as he approaches. A muscular frat boy stands in the doorway, a small beer belly pushing against the front of his tank top.

“Finally,” he says, when he accepts the bag. He looks Andrew up and down with glassy eyes, and frowns, nose wrinkling. “Dude, looks like you need a shower!”

He laughs, slamming the door in Andrew’s face. With a sigh, Andrew returns to his bike to finish the day’s last deliveries.

He gets back to his apartment around 7, and almost collapses onto the lumpy futon, body thoroughly exhausted. Some of his roommates are out, but Greg and Cory are scrolling through their phones at the kitchen table.

His own phone lights up, and he looks down to see a message from his mom. Hi sweetie! Hope you’re doing well. Dad and I miss you. Just a reminder that Julian’s birthday is coming up. I think he and Quinn will be in Lake Tahoe but don’t forget to get him a present!

Andrew sighs. He’d completely forgotten. Of course, Julian hadn’t gotten him a birthday gift in years, but he’s still Andrew’s little brother, after all. A very big little brother, but still. He racks his brain, trying to figure out what to get the man who seemed to have it all.

“Quinn! The door!” Julian yells. He’s planted on the couch, gaming, and his stomach is howling for some dinner. He’d used some of his FreshEats credits to order himself a few burgers, glancing with growing impatience at the slow-moving dot on his phone as it crept across the city. He designed this beautiful app, but of course there’s always some dipshit to fuck it up. “Are you gonna get that?”

Quinn doesn’t answer. The two smoked a few joints, and then his boyfriend had retreated to the shower, leaving Julian to game in peace.

Julian pauses his game with a scowl. I guess I have to do fucking everything around here, he thinks. He grunts, clutching the arm of the sofa, and hauls his titanic body to a stand. The motion sends shockwaves across his fat; his waves of flesh wobble and quiver. There’s just so much of him these days, it’s like his ass fat and his thigh fat and his belly fat are on different frequencies, bouncing wildly around his once-slender body. He should get paid just to haul around those hundreds of extra pounds, in his opinion. The coffee table shakes as he stomps across the living room, sending small ripples across his beer.

Julian’s thighs fight their way past each other, lardy buttocks shaking and jiggling in his basketball shorts as he trudges to the front door. He runs his hand through his dark, wavy hair, wishing he could invent an app that puts the food directly in his hands. His breathing is heavy by the time he opens the door, glaring at the young man staring around the lavish modern hallway.

“Took you long enough,” Julian huffs, snatching the bag from the sweaty delivery boy. “You know you can leave it at the door, right?”

“Sorry,” the guy mumbles, his eyes glued to Julian’s prodigious belly, which is pouring out of his shirt. The workout of walking to the door had forced it up past his navel. “The traffic is—”

Julian slams the door in his face, already bored by his excuses, and turns to see his boyfriend, naked except for a towel.

“God, what an asshole,” Julian says, greasy paper bags clutched in his chubby fingers. “Some people are so fucking lazy.”

#wg #male wg #gaining fiction #wg story #realistic gain

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