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bangteamhyuk · 3 years

Text

In This Rain

Genre: Mafia (AU), Action, Suspense/Thriller, Smut

Mature content

Word Count: 4,962k

Characters: Police Captain!Namjoon, Police Officer! Reader, Mafia Boss! Jungkook.

Warning: mentions of drug use, graphic violence, language, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied dom!reader, emotional manipulation, mention of psychopathic characters, implied torture

Synopsis: You admire your captain, your beloved Capt. Kim Namjoon. You admire him so much that you wanted to be by his side always, well, quite literally. Under his office desk, inside his apartment, on his bed and even on his dangerous mission against a vicious Mafia leader named Jeon Jungkook.

He’s been so obsessed in Jungkook, his formidable enemy on his entire career, that he’s been trying to apprehend him for years. Until both of you uncovered an unsettling truth as to why he always slithers: there’s a mole within your department.

Namjoon kicked the door hard with his combat boots, took cover immediately from the wall behind him, before aiming his gun to the direction of the open entryway.

“Freeze!” he shouted.

Yet he was the one that was left frozen at the scene. Two men, thin as a stick, were staring blankly at the ceiling. Clearly passed out with rubbers wrapped around their arms, old scabs and fresh jabs on their skin. Several discarded needles were left lying on the floor.

They look so oblivious from the presence of Namjoon and his team that you can’t help but call him out “Namjoon, I think we’re late” you shook your head, as you watched their cold and drugged out bodies sitting on a plastic chair, heads resting on the air.

“We are, they’re both dead” Hoseok said after checking their pulse. He stared at them for a moment, as if saying a prayer as he shuts their eyes gently with his finger.

Namjoon walked around the room and picked a used foil and a paper with logo of a lotus flower “Jungkook…” he mumbled to himself as he crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor in fury.

“Are you sure it’s him?” you went to pick it up and checked. It was definitely the symbol of his organized syndicate.

“Positive” Namjoon’s blood suddenly rushed in and felt nauseous at the thought, as he shut his eyes, hoping that he was wrong about it.

“It was a close one...” Hoseok rummaged through the pockets of the two men, but he found none.

“I was so sure, they’ll be here. Him and his men. But why does it look like they knew... You think” you shut your eyes and gasped, realizing what Namjoon might have just thought of earlier. “there’s a mole within the Department?” you continued, slowly turning around to see Namjoon’s reaction. His face turned grim and just weakly nodded.

“I trust that you two would keep this a secret, until we find who it is…” Namjoon swore. It wasn’t about money or his ego any longer, he wanted to end this. For years. Whatever this was, he wanted to stop people from dying, stop wasting innocent lives, end the fear of women and children always being on the brink of death.

“Roger” Hoseok nodded.

“Roger, Captain!” you blinked and stood up. You and Hoseok tapped Namjoon’s shoulder, assuring him that you two were on his side. Always on his side.

You and Hoseok stood behind closed doors, but it was very apparent that the chiefs and the Department heads were clearly upset at the result of your team’s recent mission.

“Goddamit! We told you to think things through Kim and you blew it! You got one shot! One fucking shot, and you didn’t even get to meet a single strand of his hair!” the deputy chief exclaimed.

“What a waste of the city tax, really, you haven’t given us any valuable result” the Department head, fixed his paper and put everything inside his briefcase.

Namjoon just stood there, taking every thing silently. He was called names before, been spatted, got hit, everything. He’s the man who’s been through all horrible things and yet he still took it in. No wonder why you’ve like this guy, there’s something incredibly attractive about an underdog filled with potentials. It’s as if you’re hearing a club of hyenas around a lion, waiting for it to roar. He was the kind of leader you want to solemnly swear your loyalty, and that was the reason why you were there.

After the sham meeting, you and Hoseok just followed Namjoon towards your office room. He was clearly angry and frustrated, as well. But more than that he was determined to find another chance to get close to Jungkook . Namjoon went to his desk silently, and studied recent reports and profiles of people on his desk, piled and unkept.

Hoseok, feeling unnecessarily guilty, excused himself to get the team sandwiches from a nearby store.

You on the other hand, had something in mind to ease Namjoon’s frustration. “Hey there” you whispered on his ear. “Not here, Y/N. Not today” his eyes still concentrated on the screen. You gently pressed his shoulders, unbothered at his plea and made gentle circular motion, caressing his stiff shoulder blades. You slowly crouched down to kiss his ears and traced it down his neck. “You know what reminds me of your stiffness?” you chuckled.

“I said stop!” his quick reflex surprised you, as he held on to your wrist. His eyes stern, full of resolved. You stood up, and knew that he wasn’t up for any games.

“I just heard everything from the meeting. It’s hard to miss.” You folded your arms, as you watched him turn his back on you again and type disordered words on his screen. “Try, typing Gwangjin-gu, April 16…” you reached out for his hands to guide his finger from each letter on the keyboard, as he suddenly groaned softly to the sensation of your warm hands.

You smirked, seeing him freeze for a second. You crouched back down again and slowly reached for his legs hiding underneath his desk. “You know, it takes Hoseok about half an hour to get back? No one’s around. I’m sure you needed to let loose of that tension” you spoke softly, while caressing his legs. He slowly turned around from his seat and opened his legs.

“Give me 10 minutes tops, Captain” you smirked as you knelt down, and unclasped his belt.

Namjoon just stared at you blankly for a second, thoughtless and unsure. But as soon as he felt the warmth that you give right in the middle of his legs, he cursed and responded in pure ecstasy. You watched him toss his head and covered his mouth, trying not to cry out your name, but you love it. You love seeing your beloved Captain, the one people look up with so much pride and respect, becomes susceptible to your touch.

You were lounging in the smoking area during your break time, even though you aren’t smoker. You just like being outside, on a bench, and beside a vending coffee machine where you could refill your own cup.

“Hm, Sun Tzu’s Art of War” you heard Namjoon’s voice from behind. You nodded in agreement, as you finished the last line of the page and flipped it to the next.

“Read this about 9 times, still holds true” you replied, not leaving your gaze towards the book.

“I got a lead” he pulled out his cup from the vending machine and scoot beside you on the bench. You closed your book and turned to face him. Namjoon peered behind you, and looked around before he dropped the name “Seokjin”. You squint your eyes, trying to figure out how Namjoon arrived at his conclusion.

“You mean Kim Seokjin from the Hi-tech Crime Unit?” you spoke softly towards him, making sure no one hears even when it was only the two of you in the area.

He nodded, grinning. “I always wonder how he received information about them, everyone in his unit is as competent as he is but he would always get the best lead”

You smiled, finally beginning to piece things together. “It does seem odd Namjoon. It doesn’t make sense, but it does seem bizarre? How does he get those information?” you stared at Namjoon and smirked “I never thought of that, Captain. As always, that’s pretty smart of you to---”

“Y/N!” you heard someone call.

“Speak of the devil” you smiled at Namjoon then at Seokjin.

“Meet you after office hours?” Seokjin ran up to you, handing you a bag of sandwich. Namjoon tilt his head in confusion.

“Yeah sure” you blushed, turning your head to the floor at Seokjin’s sweet gesture.

“Y/N, are you…. Are you two going out? Since when?” Namjoon stood up, puzzled at the scenario. Clearly, you have left him out of the picture, but it’s not like you owe him anything. Besides weren’t you two clear about the position you two are in? Just colleagues trying to help each other out? Out of convenience?

“Kind of like that. Well, you never asked about our private lives, Cap” you chuckled. Not that he doesn’t care, but you know how much he respects his colleague’s personal space. Well, except on some occasion when you two needed to satisfy each other’s need. “Give me a minute, I just need to talk to my superior” you faced Seokjin for a moment and watched him wait for you at a distance.

“Cap, I’m sorry.” You cleared your throat and continued “The news surprised me too, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Can you trust me? I’ll try to look on to this. I swear, feelings won’t get involved. If I happen to find anything that might point a connection against Seokjin and Jungkook, I’ll let you know immediately”

“And what if he is? Are you okay with it? You know what will happen if he becomes part of our custody” he asked, worriedly.

You shut your eyes and nodded “I’m aware. I’ve been seeing him Jin for half a month now. It’s nothing compared to you, Cap” you looked down, refusing to look back at him, not when you just confessed your feelings for him albeit indirectly.

“Y/N…” he spoke softly.

“You don’t have to say anything.” You shook your head “I know this is purely work, lives are on the line…” You begrudgingly replied, then you paused. “That’s why I’ll make sure I’ll get compensated well on this” you slowly turned your gazed at him, now smirking.

“I can only pay what the government give--- ” you stopped him mid-sentence by pointing a finger on his lip, raising yourself up, tip-toed.

“Not that silly” He tilt his head again in confusion. “You, wrapped around my fingers. Go figure.” You whispered on his ear and chuckled. You turned around, and left him wondering on his own. It took him a moment before he realized what you meant. He bashfully chuckled at the thought.

After spending more time with Seokjin for months, you’ve finally gathered valuable information to report directly to Namjoon, which entails you in meeting him straight to his own apartment each night.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked, as he gathered his boxer he left from the floor. You remained still in bed, panting after doing a marathon with Namjoon. Namjoon opened his window to let the cold breeze enter his dull room.

You turned sideways and watched him moved out from the bed, savoring his bareness. “Nearly, ready”

He tied his discarded condom and threw it on the trash bin “Y/N, whatever happens tomorrow. I just want to let you know that I---” he paused, trying to construct what he was about to say.

You sat up, despite remaining bare “Shh” You reached him out for a kiss.

“If things goes bad tomorrow, I want you to know that you mean so much to me” he took your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, his lips pressed hard as if hoping that his pure intentions will get through your skin.

You shook you head. “Aren’t I just a colleague, Namjoon?” you smiled weakly, reminding him of the reality that you are just there for him… for his own convenience.

He cupped your cheek and kissed you again. “You’re my partner, in everything Y/N”

You parted and smile. “I’m glad you feel that way” you pushed him back to bed, and pulled his boxers off again, almost ripping it to two. You wanted to let him know he wasn’t wrong, about feeling that you are his.

He was clearly surprised at your reaction, and flustered upon seeing you right above him. You smiled, amused at the view. To see your beloved Captain in such a vulnerable position. And like a clockwork, you sat comfortably on his waist as you pulled his wrists towards you. You forced his palms open with yours and directed it to your chest, letting him feel you again.

You closed your eyes, as you let him cup you gently “Captain..” you breathed his name while you shut your eyes, and began moving your hips slowly.

“Shit” he quickly got hard again, and you felt that. You felt his excitement again after you shamelessly teased your beloved Captain. You took a sealed condom from the bed side table and placed it on his harden length. He pulled one of his hand away and held on to it, then guided his length towards your entrance. You opened your eyes and smile.

“Ready for a second?” you asked. You watched him nod, as he began to push it in within you, both of you cursed almost synchronously at the ecstatic sensation. You tossed your head, and began moving your hips.

He held on to your waist, and you relished on it. You relished the way your Captain held on to you, you relished at the sight of seeing someone strong like him depended on you for comfort and affirmation. Exhilarated at the view of him below you, exhilarated at the thought of your own superior, down at your mercy.

Seokjin informed the Investigation Department again, which the assignment was promptly relayed again to your team: “Apprehend Jungkook and his men in #32 Namdo Building Gangseo-gu District”

At the same time, Namjoon informed the Investigation Department of his suspicion against Seokjin.

“You sure, Kim? If you’re wrong about this, not only will you lose Seokjin’s trust but your whole credibility as a Captain…” Mr. Song, one of the Investigation head, reminded Namjoon.

“I am certain sir. One of my partner, Y/N, was able to gather pieces of evidence that may point out his guilt in conniving with Jeon Jungkook” he bowed and handed him a manilla envelope containing the things you took from Seokjin, secretly.

“Very well, we will take Seokjin in to custody after I examine these things. Good luck on your mission” he bid Namjoon good luck as he watched Namjoon ran towards his car while it rained.

“Point A to D clear” you heard Hoseok speak from you and Namjoon’s ear piece.

“Copy” you subtly replied from your microphone hidden inside your shirt. “Ready, Mr. Kim?” you fixed his necktie inside the car. He didn’t reply, his eyes were burning with hatred. You’ve never seen him this determined to be able to see Jungkook, his formidable enemy, finally in the flesh.

You and Namjoon, took great lengths over these past few weeks to be able to secure a seat on this secret meeting with the boss himself, Jeon Jungkook. Despite at his tender age of 22, he was able to amass a fortune more than his father and his forefathers could ever gain. And now at the age of 24, he was able to bring down all his enemies. Rumor has it, he would clear out his enemy’s entire family line so that no one could ever attempt to take revenge against the whole Jeon family.

But Namjoon was ready to risk it all, even if his own family was on the line. He was willing to wager everything he has, just to end his lunacy. Yet he still couldn’t bring to himself the idea of risking and losing you against Jeon.

“Y/N, if anything goes bad, I want you to run as far as you could. Away from this, okay? You know how vindictive Jungkook can be” he stared at you, longingly.

“Joon” you shook your head and corrected yourself “I mean Captain, I’m trained to face whatever remember? Whatever happens, I’ll show up. It’s part of my job---”

“Okay, lovebirds, enough chit-chat. You know this is recorded right? We’ll be handling our conversation to the heads, unless you wanted to let them know about your secret affair or whatever this is… God, it’s awkward listening to you two!” Hoseok said on the other line.

You chuckled. “Can we have this off-record? Anyway, he’s right Captain. Time’s running. You need to get to your sit there now, as Mr. Kim the representative of Fiery Brothel of Songpa-gu District. I’ll stay here, make sure everything is working according to plan, alright?” you pat his collar and checked his ear piece if it was greatly secured. “All dashing and ready!” you smiled at him.

Namjoon introduced himself as Mr. Kim to a man in red suit “I speak on behalf of my superior Mr. Co, who manages Fiery Brothel in Songpa-gu owned by the Jeon” The man in red suit just nod and led you inside the building.

At first, Namjoon was confused as to why he was led inside a burger chain. Then he turned to the left hallway and entered inside the “authorized personnel staff room”, Namjoon followed. The room was cramped and filled with cleaning tools, food and personal hygiene products and other things.

The man pulled out the fire extinguisher from the glass box, where he found a button hidden behind it. He suddenly pressed it twice, paused then thrice, paused then once. It was a secret code. The wall started to separate from top to bottom, unfurling another secret entryway that leads to a speakeasy bar-cum-opium den.

Namjoon quickly recognized few faces around, from the head of the other government department, to local celebrities, even the sons and daughter of influential businessmen were there. Gambling, out of wits, high from the aroma of opium mixed with other things.

They continued to walk, the man in red suit clearly unbothered, as if it was regular business. Namjoon gulped and tried to calm himself, putting a mental note on everything he saw and commit it to his memory. He’ll be needing it once he get his hands on Jungkook. Everything he sees right now, everything he owns, he wanted to see him lose it. He wanted his downfall. he was confident that after that night he’ll finally put everything to its end.

“This is as far as I can lead you sir” the man stopped in front of the door, bowed and opened it for Namjoon.

There it was the high table. Only 6 men, sitting on each side of the table, making him the last and the seventh member to the meeting. His heart was pounding fast, hands starting to grow cold, shaking uncontrollably. Little sweat beads were forming behind his neck, it’s as if he was drugged and out of wits as well, except his feeling was driven by his own fear.

Just a few second upon entering, he saw Taehyung and Jimin enter first from the front door of the room. He presumed it was an exclusive entryway for Jungkook and his trusted men, in case something bad happens, but nothing bad ever happened when they’re there. Taehyung and Jimin were his only trusted men. They were skilled, precise, ruthless and cold to the core. They would blindly kill anyone and even everyone for Jungkook, even if it cost their lives.

Jimin, narrowed his eyes towards Namjoon while he chew on his bubblegum. Taehyung, on the other hand, watched the other men shake in fear too. All were waiting for the boss himself to enter the room.

The room was white and bare, almost blinding to the eyes. The only color that was present are their ashen faces (except Taehyung and Jimin), their black clothes and the long dark-red oaken wood table and its matching chair. And finally, he was there, all in flesh.

No longer a picture posted on his office walls. No longer a dream, that woke up him up each night in fright. This was Jeon Jungkook. Young, tall, handsome, almost perfect that he can pass up as a god. Well, technically, he is, because he is the kind who plays like one. Because any mistake they omit in his presence can swiftly translate to a painful death.

Everyone rose from their seat to show their respect and fear towards him. Jungkook smiled. Too kind and too sweet, as if he looked innocent. But everyone knew better, he wasn’t the slightest bit of it. When he sat from his chair on the front, everyone followed, except Jimin and Taehyung who stood there to watch over.

Jungkook listened to each person during the meeting, he was attentive, alert and smart. He was the kind of leader that would bring shame to the whole police department, perhaps the whole country. Everything that runs out of his mouth were well-thought, intelligible and thorough. He didn’t leave a single issue unresolved, and the men quickly took note of it. The men were so scared that they just nodded without any further question. Jungkook like things brief, and hated being interrupted. The moment he finds someone that annoys him, Taehyung, a sharp shooter, will place a single bullet straight through their head. Not even letting them finish their first word.

“Actually, I’m sure you are all aware of the situation you are in right now, don’t you? I called everyone for a meeting because some of you are doing a very, very poor job” he grinned at everybody, nose a bit scrunched, like a harmlessly little bunny pouncing sunshine on each person on the table. Yet everyone looked down, nervous and grim. So did Namjoon.

Namjoon wasn’t aware of it. Neither anyone on the team. What was Jungkook thinking? Did he knew? Did Seokjin informed him that they’ll be attempting to take him in? Sh--

“Shit!” one of them men screamed in fear as he tried to ran towards the door, but before he could take another step from his sit, Jimin managed to throw his dagger in his head which passed through his eye and pinned his body down the floor.

“Tsk” Jungkook shook his head in disappointment. “Atleast, we were able to eliminate a coward in this group. Anyone wants to follow?” he raised his eyebrow as he chuckled again. Clearly entertained at the sight of blood.

No one dared to speak, not even a sound of whimper. “Very well, now that no one wants to speak for themselves, I would, for everyone’s behalf. I need to keep my business flowing, and you all are doing a terrible job. Thus, it’s unfortunate to inform everyone in this room that no one will survive today…” Right upon hearing it, Taehyung fired his gun towards 3 other men on his side and Jimin with his daggers flying and pinning the remaining 2 heads to the wall on his side, simultaneously and precise. “Except you, Kim Namjoon.” He blinks slowly and smiled at his direction.

“How does it feel to finally meet your nightmare?” he stood up and went to his direction.

Suddenly, Namjoon heard Hoseok cursing on the other end “Namjoon, it’s a trap! They knew! If you’re still there, run! Quickly! The mole told everything about us!”

“Where’s Y/N?” Namjoon asked Hoseok, but you only heard noises from his end.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asked. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t have someone’s full attention”

“Where is she? My partner! Did you take her? Did you kill her?” Namjoon immediately stood up from his seat, demanding Jungkook for an answer. Jimin swiftly threw his dagger to pin Namjoon’s legs back to his seat while Namjoon cried in shock and pain .

“You know I wouldn’t dare you pissing Jimin any longer Namjoon, unlike Taehyung he doesn’t have much patience. If you try to move again, I swear the next time will be a bullet from Taehyung’s gun and it’s far more painful than Jimin’s knife… and I can’t assure you where he wants to aim it. Sit” he spoke calmly, and strangely alluring yet intimidating.

Hoseok spoke again “The mole is here! Seokji----- scchhhht” Taehyung went to Namjoon side and pulled the ear piece away from him, threw it on the floor and stepped on it.

“Where is she?!” Namjoon demanded, eyes intensely fixated on Jungkook.

Taehyung crouched down and slapped his mouth. “You’re not asked to speak” he took the broken ear piece from the floor and pushed it inside Namjoon’s mouth “You better listen!”

Namjoon gagged a bit and spit the shattered pieces “Enough Taehyung, I bet he’s got it” Jungkook commanded.

“You and Seokjin will pay for what you did to Y/N!” he screamed, his fear already absent upon realizing the possibility of losing you for good.

“Seokjin? Who is he?” Jungkook chuckled. “While, it’s true there’s a mole within you” he sat on the table, just inches away Namjoon. “It’s not Seokjin, whoever he may be, I never met the guy. He sounded like a nice guy” he shrugs, still smiling. “Give you a clue, try to think who is out of reach right now?” he taps his temple.

Namjoon paused. When he realized who it was, his blood rushed up to his head, leaving him cold, nauseated and in pain. “No, it can’t be”

There you were, entering the room from the door in front of everyone inside. Safe and unharmed “Hey love, I miss you so much!” you quickly ran towards Jungkook and jumped to give him a long pressing kiss.

“No… but why?” Namjoon’s eyes started to cloud with his own tears.

“Love, why don’t you tell him?” Jungkook pouted as he turned to face you, and pulled you in closer, letting you sit on his lap.

“Well, I got bored here. I decided I want to play police. That’s why I’m here, but I got bored too, so I decided to come back” you smiled at Namjoon then at Jungkook “to you, love”

Jungkook chuckled, his nose scrunched again in a bunny like manner, as he point his finger against your nose and tapped it “That’s my girl, isn’t she cute when she gets bored?” he asked Namjoon.

“But everything, what we’ve been through, were they all lies?”

You shook your head still smiling “Not everything, no. Well, except everything about Seokjin, and the brothel and Mr.Co…” you rolled your eyes, sluggishly “Didn’t I tell you I’ll make sure everything goes according to plan? I mean, my plan that is…” you shrugged.

“How?” Namjoon’s head fell to his chest, clearly desperate, praying that everything he was hearing from you weren’t true.

“Well for starters, it’s really not hard to fake documents, my background then my history… You’ve seen the opium den earlier didn’t you? The head of National Office Record is pretty much a regular these days, we just gave him a little freebies and then we’re good. But you sir, you were pretty interesting, I really had a great time!” you nodded.

“It was actually me who subtly planted the idea that it was Seokjin, it was me who gave Seokjin information, the exact location and a glimpse of our plan, well without telling him I am part of the group that is” you playfully traced your finger on Jungkook’s neck, letting Namjoon watch while he aches at everything. The reality that was unfolding before him.

“I was the one who curated random stuff as your evidence, made up stories about a non-existent Mr. Co and the Fiery Brothel in Songpa-gu, reserved a seat for you in the meeting and voila! You’re here! Isn’t great, love?” you gave Jungkook a peck on his lips and he nodded.

“Y/N” Namjoon cried

“You know Namjoon? I really like you, that’s pretty much true. But this man right here” you turn to Jungkook and playfully squeezed his cheek “I love him so much, I’m willing to give my life for him. That’s the difference. To be by your side, quite literally and to be by his side, forever, wherever I may be” Jungkook giggled at your declaration for his love.

“Please say it’s a lie! Tell me, you’re being forced by him, just say it. Please, I love you!” Namjoon screamed

“Stop, Namjoon” you watched him in pity. “Didn’t I tell you? We’re just bunch of colleagues…”

“Boss, what are you going to do with him?” Jimin’s eyes remained focused against Namjoon while he pops his gum.

“Love, what do you plan?” Jungkook gazed at you lovingly, while he was fixing your hair.

“He’s where he is supposed to be. A captain who just lost the trust of his superior and his men, just because of a woman. Isn’t it a tragic story, the story of a naïve pawn? This way love, you’ll be able to move freely with your business.” You stared at Jungkook’s lips, resisting to kiss him while he revel at your impregnable intellect.

“As usual, impressive as always” Jungkook nods as he kissed you again. “Let him live, so he’ll be able to tell our tale, a precautionary one to not screw with us”

“Y/N” Namjoon pleaded.

“Namjoon, you were the best Captain really. Thank you for the memories” you smiled.

Then Taehyung swiftly hit Namjoon in the face, leaving him unconscious, but only for a while.

Namjoon blinked at the sensation of rain drop falling over his face. Next thing he knew, people in scrubs were rushing towards him, raised him up from the pavement outside the hospital and secured his tired body on a stretcher.

“Sir, are you okay? Do you know where you are? Do you remember who left you here?” Namjoon was so oblivious at the moment, that he just tried to pull himself up to see if everything that happened earlier was a dream.

Until something fell from the inside of his coat. He picked it up “The Art of War by Sun Tzu?” he opened a page and saw a little note from you that says

“An enemy of my enemy is my FRIEND :) - Y/N”

Even when this rain stops, when the clouds go away I stand here, just the same Without saying anything, looking at the world There, a not so beautiful me is looking at myself In this rain In this rain

Rain by BTS

A/N: Thank you for giving time and reaching this far. This is my first attempt in making a smut fic so please be kind >.< This fic is actually my birthday gift for Slyn (SLL-AW Fictions) she’s a writer from YT who pushed me to try doing one too. Her bias is Jungkook so, naturally, the story ended with Y/N falling in the arms of Jungkook.

This is also nod and an attempt to honor one of my all time favorite fanfic, the BEST EVER CREATED on the internet about BTS: “House of Card by Sugamins” (if you know, you know 😉 )

I am so whipped for Master Jeon Jungkook that I just 👁️👄👁️. I didn’t want to recreate the verse, because I just can’t... I could never. House of Card is like a whole level of superiority and I’m just...a nursery...

Although, I borrowed the dark environment and the emotions involved in the characters... but I am totally disclaiming it to be a part of the verse. I’m a huge fan, I’m sorry I’m geeking out 😭 (Sugamins if you ever see this, I love you and thank you!! 😭 huge fan!!)

Slyn’s favorite genre are mafia, action, and romance (specifically with Jungkook). She’s aware of House of Cards too so yeah..

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed “In The Rain” :).

PS. If you haven’t read “House of Card” please do! It’s on a03! Google it! BUT YOU HAVE TO BE 18 and above... and open to like practically everything! Read the warning signs first before you proceed. But I swear, it’s the best out there!!! (you’ll know why it hit a million views once you finished. That fic should be in a book, and I’ll gladly buy several copies!

ALSO, I’m so sorry for making Y/N a villain/psychopath. As well as Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung. Forgive me. It was raining hard one day while listening to Rain on by BTS and the ending scene just came up to my mind and I happen to work on it since... :<

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE-Jimin

Jimin never falls in love. Not now, not ever. Especially now that the messy breakup with his most recent ex is over-it’s nothing but parties, blue skies, and freedom in his foreseeable future-just the way he likes it. That is, until he meets you by pure happenstance. And suddenly, he’s pretty sure he’s falling. The only problem? You know his ex. And it’s complicated.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Fluff, Park Jimin, Jimin, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, BTS x you, BTS x reader, college au, boyfriend au, Playboy!Jimin

Genre: Fluff

Soundtrack: My Ex’s Best Friend by Machine Gun Kelly

Title: Can’t Get Enough of It

Jimin downs the rest of his drink, crinkling the plastic red solo cup easily in his fist, the sound muted underneath the harsh bass of the music that is pounding through the frat house in tempo with the strobe lights reflecting off the walls.

“Hey! Jiminie!”

Jimin rolls his eyes good naturedly, as Jungkook plops down onto the couch beside him, jostling him slightly, a giggling girl crowding in next to him, as they tipsily situate themselves on the couch.

Jungkook slings his arm around Jimin’s shoulders, and not realizing how loud he is speaking in his slightly drunken state, yells into his ear above the music, “Have you met Rosie yet?” He pulls on the girls hand, and she falls ungracefully into his lap, laughing giddily and looking up at Jimin with large, doe eyes, covered partially by long pink hair. “Rosie, Jimin. Jimin, Rosie.”

“Hey.” Jimin flashes her a grin, and she blushes, even though Jungkook is watching both of them, burying her face hurriedly in her boyfriend’s side.

Jimin is not surprised. Girls fall at his feet. It’s nothing new.

Smirking to himself, he throws his discarded plastic cup onto the floor, and patting the drunk Jungkook on the shoulder, leans into him, saying in his ear, “Imma hit up the beer pong. Don’t get too crazy without me.” He stands, and winking down at the still giggling, and blushing, Rosie, he raises a brow at the duo and says smugly, “If you’re gonna need another partner, come and find me.”

Leaving the couch, Jimin weaves his way between the grinding flush of bodies in the living room, high fiving a few other fraternity members, and slapping a couple of girl’s asses, on his way to the stairs that lead to the basement and the game room below.

It is quieter down here, the bass of the music slightly muted through the floors, but not by much.

“Damn!” One of the guys huddled around the large ping pong table roars out, throwing his fists into the air and crowing triumphantly, “A perfect shot! Drink up, bitches!”

“Tae.” Jimin comes up beside him, as everyone swigs the dark liquids in the red cups on the table. He glances at the present company, and realizes he knows pretty much everyone here. “You win again?”

“I’m winning.” Taehyung flashes him a large, boxy grin, and takes another gulp of his own drink, before he claps Jimin on the shoulder. “Oh, that reminds me.”

Taehyung glances around, and then waves someone over through the crowd.

Jimin recognizes the girl that Taehyung has been hooking up with consistently for the last several weeks, and offers her a slight smirk, as she approaches them, lacing her hand through Taehyung. “Ah, yeah. I think we’ve met once. Jennie right?”

The girl nods, tossing a dark ponytail over her shoulder, and Jimin likes the fact that she seems to be confident, as she looks him in the eye and replies easily, “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Jennie brought a friend tonight.” Taehyung licks his lips and glances at Jimin, motioning with his head and clearly shooting him a look that says sleep with said friend or I will, even though his arm is snugly slung around Jennie’s shoulders. “Let us introduce you.”

“Oh, I know who he is.”

Jimin’s first thought when you step up beside the couple and he sees you is holy shit, she’s hot.

Followed quickly by the second thought-Shit, I’ve seen her before, and she doesn’t look too pleased to see me.

He watches as you fold your arms over your chest, red solo cup held daintily in the long fingers of one hand, and shoot him a look up and down. Jimin knows he is attractive-hell he knows how it feels to have every girl in the room looking at him-but somehow, your gaze doesn’t quite convey the feeling of admiration he’s used to receiving.

“You guys know each other?” Jennie asks, a slight question in her tone, as Taehyung looks nervously between the two of you.

“No.” You say firmly, shaking your head, and Jimin can’t help but notice the way your earrings dangle in the strobe lights overhead. “We don’t know each other. I’ve just heard of him.”

“You know Lisa.” Jimin finally manages to say, after feeling like he’s been staring at you for ages in silence. “Right?”

A smirk curls up the corner of your lips, and you flash him an almost amused look, as you take another swig from your drink. “We’re acquaintances. But trust me, Park Jimin, I’ve heard all about you.”

There is something about the way your red lips form a perfect bow around the lip of your cup that has Jimin wanting-no, needing-to know more.

Reaching up to rake a hand through blonde hair, he swallows, and then grinning at Taehyung and Jennie, leans forward to take you forcibly by the arm, even though subtly fight it, tensing beneath his grip. “Well, looks like we have some catching up to do. Talk to you guys later.”

“What are you doing?” You hiss out, heard only by him under the hum of the party, as he drags you toward an empty sofa in a darkened corner.

Jimin plops down amongst the worn cushions, pulling you unceremoniously down beside him, before he shoots you an amused glance. He can’t help it-the way your lips are pulled down into a stern frown, and the way your eyes are sparkling with flames as you shoot him a glare-has him feeling some weird way in the pit of his stomach.

You are something else.

“Tell me-” Jimin begins, glancing up and quieting as several noisy and drunk couples stagger their way by your couch. He refocuses, slinging his arm across the back of the couch behind your head, as he angles his body to face you, knees almost touching. “What was your name again?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “(Y/N).”

“Pleasure.” He flashes you a grin-a grin that normally has the girls swooning-though it seems to take no effect on you. And Jimin likes that.

“Not mine.” You retort back, taking another gulp from your cup, as your eyes scan the party, and Jimin notes, briefly, that you seem stiff, as if you’re trying not to accidentally touch him.

This just makes him want to touch and dig and explore you even deeper than he had moments before.

It only propels him forward-the odd need swirling in his belly igniting into a flaming fire of possession.

“First off-” Jimin leans toward you, lowering his voice, and the corner of his lip rises in a smug smirk, as you lock gazes with him, and he can’t help but notice, being this close to you, how your lips are parted, as if you’re waiting for him to say something. “I’m not sorry.” He arches a brow at you, and lets his fingers that are dangling over your shoulder trace the outline of your bra strap beneath the thin material of the sweater you wear-an oddly simple gesture that suddenly has him aching with need.

You arch a brow in return, and your lips gap even more, before you ask curiously, “Sorry for what? Being a douche who sleeps with anything that moves?”

“Aha.” Jimin barks out a laugh, and he can’t help it, as his gaze drifts down the angles of your face to your lips. Something about you makes him oddly unfocused. “Funny. But I won’t apologize.”

“For being a dick?” You push onward, scoffing slightly, as you break his gaze, and swallow down the last of your drink.

“For trying to get to know you.” Jimin winks at you, and takes your empty solo cup, as you roll your eyes at his behavior. “Now. We’re both way too sober for this. Let’s get some more drinks.”

******

“That is not what happened.”

Jimin doesn’t know if it’s the copious amounts of alcohol in his veins or if being with you makes him feel warmer, but he’s hot and flushed as he stumbles after you into the elevator, his voice louder than it needs to be in the quiet, slumbering atmosphere of the student apartment complex.

“Oh really?” You squint at him, and shove a finger into his face, as he clumsily reaches to push the button to close the doors. “Lisa told my roommate all about it. And you were a complete asshole.”

“No. No.” Jimin waves at you, or the slightly blurry outline of you, as you press pass him to push the button for your floor, and the smell of your perfume-floral and light and feminine-tickles his nose, and the warmth of your body pressed to his is enough to send him reeling, as if he’s had way more alcohol than he actually has. “Lisa likes to be dramatic.”

“So you’re telling me-” You stumble as the elevator sways into motion, and Jimin reaches out to steady you, although you shove his hand away. “Lisa lied about you sleeping with all those other girls?”

“Well, no.” Jimin admits, and his words slur together slightly, as he leans up against the wall beside you for support, the railing cold against his back.

“Aha!” You exclaim triumphantly, and the way your cheeks are red and the way your nose scrunches as you whirl to face him, has Jimin feeling like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest. “So you were a dick!”

“Okay, okay. I was a dick.” Jimin gives up, and you huff back against the wall beside him, as the elevator continues to tick its way upward.

It is silent for several moments, the two of you swaying unsteadily on your feet from the night of partying, and then Jimin-emboldened by the alcohol or something else-pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand in front of you.

“(Y/N)-” He begins to say, as the elevator sways harder than before, and he stumbles toward you, catching himself from falling into you with his palms against the wall on either side of your head. He glances down at you-your upturned nose, your cherry cheeks, and those damn, perfect lips-and suddenly, he doesn’t know what he was going to say.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You berate, your words running together, as you push weakly at his chest. “Stop.”

“Like what?” Jimin asks, suddenly bewildered, the alcohol muddling his senses and his thought process.

“Like you want to kiss me.” You state plainly, and at your words, Jimin feels as if he’s dizzy, and not just from the drinks.

“Like I want to kiss you?” He repeats softly, as if he didn’t hear your words the first time, and something inside his chest responds to those words, his heart beating loudly against his rib cage.

“Yeah.” You nod, and your voice is soft, and suddenly, Jimin is very aware just how close he is standing to you in the empty elevator. “Like you want to kiss me.”

The sound of the elevator beeping-letting you know you have reached your floor-jerks Jimin out of his trance, and before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s hitting the emergency button on the side of the wall blindly with his palm, and the elevator jerks to a halt, the doors locked in place.

“Did you just stop the elevator?” You ask in confusion, and your words are muddled, but the way you look at him has never been clearer.

“Yes.” He nods, and he feels heady, and brave, and right. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Your brow creases in confusion, and your lips part in that way that drives Jimin mad, and he can smell the sweet scent of alcohol on your breath, as you ask curiously, “Like what?”

“Like you want to kiss me.” He repeats your words from earlier, and your pupils widen against the color of your irises, and Jimin feels his gaze drawn once more down the features of your face and to your mouth. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he stares at you. Shit, he can’t stop staring at you.

“I can’t.” You breathe out, and Jimin doesn’t think he’s heard you right, because he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“You can’t what?” He inquires, and his head suddenly feels much clearer than it did before, not muddled with alcohol, as his fingers on the wall beside your head tap impatiently, wanting to tangle themselves into your hair.

“Stop looking at you like that.” You reply simply, and the corners of those perfect lips curve upward into the start of a grin. “Because I do want to kiss you.”

Jimin still isn’t sure that he’s heard you right.

The dizzy feeling is back, and the smell of your perfume is strong in his nose, and his fingers-dammit, his fingers-are itching like crazy wanting to touch your skin, to feel your softness beneath their tips. And don’t even get him started on your mouth-those beautiful, pink, full lips with their parted entrance, practically begging him to make them his.

He doesn’t know if it’s the freeing influence of the alcohol-or his own intense need-that he has to thank for what he does next, but Jimin is suddenly crashing his mouth into yours, his body pinning you back against the wall of the elevator, his hands and fingers finally getting to feel the soft silkiness of your hair beneath their touch.

Your lips-the lips he has been admiring all night-are soft and pliable beneath his own, and you taste like chapstick and the drinks you have been downing all night and the intoxicating, heady flavor of something new.

Your arms wind around Jimin’s neck, and your fingers go into his hair, and the feel of your body-warm and soft-against his own, makes him feel as if he’s drunk all over again.

Your teeth nip his bottom lip, pulling at the plush skin, and Jimin feels need and hunger surge inside of him, and he can’t stop himself from groaning into your mouth.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that it’s you, but something about this is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

And like the warm feeling of alcohol making him forget all his worries, he wants more.

“Jimin.” You whine out beneath your breath, as he tugs your head back and runs his tongue down the column of your throat. He glances up at you and meets your dark gaze, and the way you’re trying to catch your breath between your lips does something insane to him.

“Would it be wrong if I came up with you?” He asks throatily, as he releases you, suddenly feeling more sober than before, his fingers still tangled into your hair.

You offer him the hint of a smile, and the way your lips pull up at the corners has him feeling heady all over again, and he has to stop himself from slanting his mouth over yours once more.

You reach behind him to press the safety button, and as the elevator resumes movement, and the doors begin to open, you reach out to pull Jimin toward you by the lapels of his jacket, covering his mouth once more with your own for a brief, urgent kiss that catches him off guard, and leaves him reeling.

You grin at him, as you stumble and push him toward the open doors of your floor.

“Not wrong at all.”

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twilitty · 3 years

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Moonlit ch.1

This is the first chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3k words

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella moves to Forks Washington, her first week is uneventful. This fic has aged up characters, making them all at entry-college level ages.

Chapter One

My senses are sharper in Forks than they were in Phoenix, I’ve only been here a handful of days yet everything seemed brighter, louder, more alive than my past home. There was something here for me, something that made me feel more alert than I have in years.

The sound of heavy rain slowly pulls me out of my restless sleep, an elbow is thrown across my eyes in an attempt to keep the real world at bay. It’s always raining, the mist layering the ground never abandons its post, and the chilly air seemingly lasts indefinitely. The rainy town of Forks Washington sooner resembles my personal hell than it does a sleepy old town. The forest that borders the town at each cardinal point is layered in green moss, damp dirt, and an endless supply of fresh animal tracks. I’d moved to Forks only a week ago, the sum of which was spent unpacking dreadfully thin clothing and acquainting myself with the few stores and public access areas the town has to offer.

My father, Charlie, has had little to do with this process apart from moral support and the occasional bag of fast food that he’s picked up while on shift. Charlie is the town's police chief, a job that both seems ill-needed and also unbearably boring. How much crime can be committed in a town of fewer than ten thousand citizens? Other than the odd tag on a school building or bush party, what does his shift consist of? I have yet to bring my insulting opinions on his career to his attention, and likely will never do so. He’s a good man with a heart of gold and a passion for the judicial system, which is ever-present in his TV browsing as he cruises through endless episodes of Law & Order.

I’m not a big TV person, even back home in Phoenix, I preferred reading to the television. Perhaps this was related to my mother’s endless stack of yoga DVD’s that seemed to consume our viewing; her in a downward dog position gossiping about her latest advancements at her newest club membership, me sitting on the couch finishing a craft for her so she won’t be late submitting it. My favourite of her crafts was embroidery, one month I embroidered nearly two hundred dandelions on a pair of jeans for her. She gave them to the club administrator as an apology before she quit.

Regardless, at night when the TV is blaring the intro theme to a cop show, I am curled in bed with a book under my nose and headphones in my ears. Blocking out the rain is a full-time chore.

This morning is a particularly eventful morning, not because of any specific events, but rather the events that will be set into motion because of this morning. Today is the first day of my online college courses. I’m currently enrolled in an undeclared major. My hope is that the three courses I’m taking this spring term will help me decide on what I want to do in the future.

Charlie had given me a new laptop upon my arrival in Forks, a current model with modest upgrades to “enhance my academic experience”. Or at least that’s what the box boasted. I am not entirely convinced that a larger memory will miraculously cure me of my educational despise. High school was tortuous, I had few friends and fewer interests outside of my mother’s hobbies. I had no extra-curricular activities that were not synonymous with financial responsibilities. The monthly budget book was mine to care for, as was the constant, intrusive phone calls of the bank when my mother got too engaged in a store. She’s a gullible woman if nothing else. If a store clerk tells her a blouse suits her figure, she’ll purchase ten colours in the article along with two in a size lower just in case she finally loses the ten pounds she’s been trying to shed.

My eyes have barely opened, the down of my forearm just a fraction away from my pupil when Charlie pounds against my door. You’d imagine I was fostering a fugitive in here with the noise he’s making, but this is just the way my father is, loud noises and soft voices. I wonder, idly, if perhaps he has minor hearing loss from spending so much time around guns.

“I’m up!” I call out, my voice is thin and calloused with morning sleep. I clear my throat as the knocking cuts off, “Good morning, Dad.” Charlie doesn’t like me calling him Charlie.

“Morning, Bells,” he calls back through the door, quiet enough to not be taken as aggressive yet loud enough to sound authoritative. He is a father, my father, at heart. He pauses, and it’s as if I can hear the mental gears shifting in his mind. He hasn’t had to be a father since I was a baby, after that Renee was the parent. Charlie was the summer distraction. “Don’t be late for school.” I grunt a response, reaching for the alarm clock on my nightstand and groaning at the early hour of the morning. Barely eight, class doesn’t officially start until noon. I guess there’s nothing wrong with logging in early, although I’d much rather catch up on the sleep I’ve lost to the thunderous storms we’ve been experiencing recently.

As if he could sense my intentions, Charlie knocks against my door again. “Bella, I mean it. You didn’t come here to slack off, now.” No, I think nastily, I came here for peace and quiet.

Between unpacking my belongings and touring the town, I’ve developed a routine in my new living situation. Charlie is fond of my company, enjoying having a woman in the house outside of his ex-wife, my mother and ex-roommate. Although, his fondness of my presence does not directly translate to time spent together. He makes me breakfast, occasionally placing it in the oven to keep warm, and then immediately heads off to his family that is the Forks police station. We meet again for lunch, depending on our individual plans for the day, and then reunite again just in time for dinner. Food really is the great American pastime.

I dress in jeans and a light blue sweater that smells mysteriously of mildew although it’s a recent purchase and has yet to be worn outdoors. I suppose the rain permeates every available space, closed windows be damned. My socks are tall and I have to roll my jeans up at the bottoms to accommodate for the thick, high fabric of them. It’s a trick Charlie taught me for wearing rain boots, the higher the socks the less likely they are to run down to your toes as you walk. Immediately after that trick was taught I went to the nearest hiking store and purchased a pair of rain boots. My first pair of rain boots at nineteen years of age. Unfathomable yet ironic considering my lineage marks back to the wettest town in the continental US. My ancestors roll in their graves every time I step outdoors and forget a jacket or umbrella, I’m sure of it.

Charlie is waiting for me downstairs, both a surprise and unwelcome presence. I had a battered copy of Dorian Gray under my arm, I was expecting philosophy and moral ambiguity, not idle conversation. Before the chief notices my book, I slide it over the back of the couch and enter the kitchen with a polite smile. There’s bacon frying on the stovetop, the police chief is dressed in uniform already, but has a stained white apron tied around his neck. “Dad?”

“Oh,” he turns around and gives me a tight smile, “Excited for your big day?” You’d imagine it’s my first day of preschool with the amount of enthusiasm he’s trying to keep hidden from me, not my first day of online school. I don’t say anything to dampen his mood, I’m glad he’s excited about something. His life is repetitive, if my existence here proves to be no more useful than just disrupting his schedule, it will still be a success.

“Yeah, I guess.” He turns back to the bacon and shifts it around quickly, the grease snapping up at him. If it burns him he doesn’t show it, just maintains the stiff-backed posture of a respectable police officer cooking his daughter breakfast. “I’ve gotta ask, what’s up with the apron?” I stifle a giggle behind a bite of the toast that’s sitting in the middle of the small table. He shakes his head in faux annoyance.

Charlie takes the pan off the hot element, sliding the bacon onto two plates and pouring the grease into an open can. The second trick he taught me since arriving here: never pour grease down the drain.

“I’m in uniform, it would be disrespectful to the badge to stain it.” He slides a plate of bacon in front of me, sitting down in his designated seat across the table. “Besides,” he takes a sip of coffee from his to-go mug. “Can you imagine walking into a police station smelling of fried pig?”

Breakfast ends quickly. We each eat a piece of toast, Charlie stuffing a second piece into a plastic bag “for later” and heading out the door. I still have half a plate of bacon in front of me after he leaves, the maple glaze filling the small kitchen with its smell.

After my Mom and Charlie got married, Renee redecorated much of the house. Her lace curtains still hang in the master bedroom window, constantly drawn closed. The rest of the house has been minorly updated with age, the TV got bigger, the couch more comfortable, new bed linens and even newer rocking chairs on the porch. I had asked Charlie if they were Moms when I first came up to the house a week ago.

They were rocking gently in the wind, the wood seemed to be polished as it shined in what little light filtered through the depressive clouds. They were sitting side by side, matching pillows on them both, a coffee table in the middle with a stack of coasters. It was an old person's porch, where husband and wife would sit all grey and wrinkled, waving at the neighbourhood kids as the bus dropped them off from school. I could almost picture Charlie and Renee sitting there, her knitting a scarf and him content to just watch her and the scenery.

He informed me that they were relatively new, a purchase from a shop down on the Reservation. We haven’t spoken about them since, but I wonder if perhaps he wishes he had someone to sit out there with him.

I spend the morning before class doing odd chores around the house. It’s nice living at Charlie’s, nicer than I had expected it to be. I’m not a fan of the weather or the fact that I currently have no social life, but it’s nice to just sit. I throw my laundry in the wash and manage to get the kitchen cleaned up with just enough time left over to sit on the couch and read a chapter of my book before class.

School has never been my strong suit. That’s not to say I get poor marks or intentionally skip classes, I just never found it as fulfilling as my peers seemed to. I never woke up and looked forward to the social or academic aspect of high school. Perhaps this contributed to me postponing my college experience and only starting it now when I should already be a year into my program.

When I log into my schools online database and click on my first class, Social Psychology 1001, I’m immediately transported to a screen filled with windows and the faces of my classmates. “Hello, class!” The professor's voice calls out over my computer. Perhaps online school won’t be my strong suit either.

Class ends and the next one starts, and I get through all three classes and an hour's worth of homework by the time Charlie pops in for dinner.

“Hey, Bells,” He calls as he opens the front door. I can hear him from where I sit in the kitchen, hanging his gun belt up by the front door and kicking his boots off into a heap on the floor. I imagine Mom back in Phoenix, walking into the house with arms full of bags and tossing her flip flops onto her pile of shoes beside the coatrack she used for purses. Some things won’t ever change.

“How was work?” I ask. He pauses to poke his head into the kitchen, moustache moving as he chews on his lip. I can’t remember when Charlie initially grew out his moustache, just that one summer I arrived and thought could he look more like a cop?

“Good, good, just some meetings. New family moving into town, all foster kids around your age.” He takes pause, staring off into some middle ground in the hallway as if deep in thought. His eyebrows furrow, “Don’t want any trouble makers coming in, but the father seems nice. Respectable.”

“That’s nice,” I contribute conversationally. Charlie and I rarely have material conversations, always just idle talk of the weather or what's for dinner. I’m not entirely sure how to approach this topic, which clearly seems to be occupying his mind.

“Yeah, he’s a doctor.” He grins at this, toothy and a little crooked to the right side. A pang of embarrassment settles in my chest before he speaks, as if knowing where this will turn. “Perfect for you, considering how often your clumsiness-” I wave a hand over my face, grimacing at his words. “Don’t speak it into existence,” I mutter with a half-hearted plea underlying my words. He chuckles, disappearing up the stairs.

I hear the shower turn on after a few minutes of him fumbling around, presumably trying to get undressed. I’m sure once he’s showered and in sweatpants it’ll be twenty questions about my day of school. I’m not sure I have the heart to break the truth to him: it absolutely sucked.

The material was interesting enough, psychology has always been close to my heart. I loved the idea of people being more than their actions and thoughts, that there was something making them say that or something making them act that way. Perhaps this was yet another symptom of having Renee for a mother.

I sit at the kitchen table for a moment longer, my computer is closed in front of me and my pencil case- dreadfully unnecessary with school being online-sits closed and untouched. I haven’t made any friends in my classes, not that I had expected to. Twelve years of public school and no friend group to show for it, just a few texts every couple of weeks. Why would I have believed college, and an online college at that, would be any better?

Having enough with my thoughts, I get up from the table and pack my things into my bag. I’ve completed enough work for today, the rest of the evening I’ll spend either with Charlie or in my room. I’d rather not be nose deep in pdf textbooks and youtube videos constituting as follow-up lectures, I’ve had enough of that today. As if sensing the immediacy of my departure from the kitchen, the shower cuts off and I hear the bathroom door squeak open. For a man who, until recently, lived alone with too much free time, you’d imagine he’d have taken better care of the house. Nearly every door, except my own, creaks open and closed. I made sure to oil my hinges nearly immediately after moving in, I didn’t want Charlie to wake up every time I sneak downstairs for a comfort snack or warm glass of milk to help me sleep. He’s lived alone for nearly twenty years, he doesn’t need his sleep schedule disrupted now.

“The game is on in-” Charlie pauses as if double-checking the times mentally, “- an hour and a half. Are you interested?” He’s calling from up the stairs. I wonder if he truly wants me to watch the game with him, whatever sport it may be, or if he’s only being polite.

“Uh, I was just going to organize my room right now and then maybe make something for dinner,” I say in response. The floors don’t make a noise and I know he’s heard me, but he doesn’t respond. A lump forms in my throat, perhaps he really did want to watch with me.

“That’s fine, but if you want we can order in?” The lump passes and I convince myself that there is no reason to avoid the TV. It’s not like I’ll be a disruption, if I get bored I can read on the couch. I’ve only watched TV with Charlie on a few occasions since my move here, and each time I strategically saved my questions for the commercial breaks.

“Sure! That works.” The floorboards creak and I hear him retreat into his room, the door closing with a pitiful squeak.

We eat pizza on the couch, a large meat-lover for the carnivorous father and a small vegetarian with extra mushrooms for the daughter who cares about her cardiovascular health. We eat slowly, occasionally Charlie will make a face at the television or mumble something under his breath, but other than that we’re quiet. The sport turns out to be baseball and I recall a few of the basic rules from the tragic gym classes of my past. It’s not disastrous in any way, and surprisingly I don’t get bored. There is something relaxing about the repetitive nature of the game.

After the game ends we box up the remaining slices and put them in the fridge to be eaten tomorrow, say good night, and go our separate ways at the top of the stairs.

taglist:

@musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper #the twilight saga #carlisle #twilight saga #smeyer #2008 #twilight renaissance #bella/jacob #jacob/bella #jacobxbella #bellaxjacob #fanfic #fanfiction #twilight fanfic #mine

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jaggedwolf · 4 years

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TSCOSI Ficlets #3

Ghost of your loved ones judging your choices

Three hours after that headache-inducing call with the Rumor, Violet's still working. Their answer had come soon after the call ended. She's not sure what the point of the delay even was. But like Thasia said, they're in no position to refuse help.

Small chance of success. Doesn't mean Violet won't pull on the webs she can, thread some others together. She keeps typing. Hadn't she-

"You should sleep."

Violet's fingers still. She reluctantly drags her head up to acknowledge this occasional guest.

In life, Emily Craddock had been a wisp of a woman. In death, it makes her a picture-perfect ghost, ethereal and untouchable.

(In dying, it had made her terrifyingly small to hold, thin voice growing thinner. Her grip on Thasia's hand had only slackened at the very end.)

"I'm working," mutters Violet. She doesn't start typing again.

"I'm quite sure you are." Craddock floats closer. Her voice is whole, the words flowing together, and Violet is once more annoyed at herself for her computer-induced slip in front of the Rumor crew.

Raising an eyebrow, Craddock says, "Surely some of it could wait. Thasia wouldn't be asleep otherwise."

Both their gazes drift to the softly snoring Thasia on the bed a few feet away from them. Violet grimaces. "Thasia could sleep for a thousand hours and they'd probably still be on a deficit."

Craddock's eyes narrow. "They're not helpless."

"I know," snaps Violet tiredly. "That's not what I said. I-Do you want me to wake them?"

"Not unless they've suddenly gained the ability to see or hear me." Craddock lets out a high laugh. "I didn't come by to make you play intermediary."

"Then what?" The universe has always been low on sense, but Violet can't help think it a particularly absurd choice for her to be the one seeing Craddock, not Thasia. Even if personal history was put aside, Violet's confident the spiritual sort's a better fit for ghost whisperer than the biologist-slash-spy.

"You need to sleep. You're terrible in the mornings when you haven't had enough sleep."

"I'm terrible in the mornings when I haven't gotten enough work done."

"That's true." A thoughtful expression on her face, Craddock sits cross-legged next to Violet, sinking to float only an inch off the ground. "Another half hour then."

"Fine."

As Craddock begins humming, Violet resumes her work.

Invading someone's dreams

Brian doesn't feel great about this. Not like they've got a whole lot of options.

That Dwarnian artifact easily knocked Arkady unconscious shortly after she put it down, left her sweating and twisting and murmuring in the medbay bed, and then it as easily offered an avenue into her.

Krejjh's busy piloting. Captain's busy coordinating with their contacts. Violet's busy taking care of Arkady's body.

That leaves Brian with Arkady's mind.

He doesn't know if he really expected anything in particular, but he's relieved to find himself in the Rumor. Would have felt kinda grubby seeing somewhere new.

Ahead of him, Arkady stalks down the hallway, her footsteps cautious. When she touches her comms, it sparks and she swears. She has a gun out.

Brian almost instinctively shadows her the way she likes it - three steps behind, angled so that she's always between him and the next turn. He lingers further back, and watches.

She takes another step, the hallway suddenly replaced by the slightly bigger mess. Classic dream logic. Brian squashes his fascination at that bit, what it'd be like to roll out the progression of someone's dream.

Arkady stands in the center of the mess, dark eyes sweeping across the doors in front of her. Brian's against a wall to the right of her, but she doesn't seem to notice him. Maybe he's like, invisible in here? Cool, but would probably make persuading her to wake up kind of difficult.

A door slams open, and Brian sees a flash of purple the same time he hears Arkady's gun go off.

He hears the gun clatter on the ground, but he doesn't look at Arkady, not now, not when his heart is freezing at the sight of Krejjh collapsed in the doorway, green blood oozing from under where their hand clutches their chest.

It's not them, he reminds himself, They're in the Iris's cockpit now. He still can't look away.

"First...Mate...Pa"-Krejjh's slurred words are cut off by a cough.

"Shit, no." Arkady scrambles towards Krejjh, gun on the ground forgotten, skidding on to her knees once she's close enough. Her voice turns ragged. "Not again, I didn't-"

Brian blinks, and the scene resets.

Arkady in the middle of the mess, gun in her hand, no sign of Krejjh anywhere. Her expression is once again as carefully neutral as it was at the start.

A door opens. Brian winces, expecting another gunshot. Instead, he hears his own voice.

"Hey, dude, have you seen any of the others?" Dream-Brian peeks his head through, an unsettling replica, and looks hopefully at Arkady.

"No." Arkady scowls. "Come on, stick close. I don't like this."

"I'm not the biggest fan of not knowing where the others are either." Dream-Brian joins Arkady in the middle of the room, and when she slides in front of him, still keeping a lookout, Brian feels a familiar relief.

Dream-Brian's hands are in his hoodie pocket. That isn't odd - Brian's hands are in his own hoodie pocket right now.

Then Dream-Brian pulls a knife out from the pocket and stabs Arkady in the lower back. Arkady crumples to her knees, twisting around in a way that jars the knife in her. She's not looking at Dream-Brian but past him.

Dream-Brian shrugs. Pulls out the knife. "Should’ve watched your back, Kady."

The pain in Arkady's face gives way to confusion. "Wh-"

The scene resets, and Arkady is once more whole and standing in the middle of the mess.

Okay, no. Brian doesn't know what's going on here, how much of this is the Dwarnian artifact putting Arkady through a messed up test and how much of this is Arkady's own ridiculousness, but he is done playing witness.

"Arkady," he says loudly, striding up to her.

When she looks at him, he thinks: That's a start.

Non-americanizing your canon

Violet's sense of professional ethics was never about saving face. Saving face would have been never taking this case on in the first place, never having the government's quiet ire about Ms Patel's - no, Arkady's claims extend to Violet's untarnished medical reputation.

So. It's only after Violet has proven herself useless, and Arkady has no need of her expertise, that she finds herself sweating through her blouse in a hawker centre with Arkady.

Yishun is a longer drive for Violet than it is a train and bus ride for Arkady. It seems fair, given the length of Arkady's regular journeys to her office.

"Sana's satay recommendation was good," says Violet, after her fifth stick. She's already considering another plate, fishing around in her purse for the tell-tale purple of loose two dollar bills.

Arkady pauses tearing through her own stick - mutton, not chicken. "Of course it was. It's Sana," she says, like that explains everything. Her right hand stays deliberately limp on the bright yellow plastic surface of the table.

Violet cuts straight to the point. "The police appeared at my office yesterday. They confiscated all our computers. And scared off a few patients."

"What." Arkady's head snaps up, a growl to her voice.

"I have backups. And I had good security on all the records, after that discussion with you and Sana."

Arkady's expression is question enough.

"Connors."

"Huh." Arkady tears off another bit of satay. "Guess the expat would be less scared." Arkady frowned. "What did the police say?"

Violet snorts. "Nothing. Said I could come down to the police station to pick up the hard drives."

What comes out of Arkady's mouth is a series of colorful curses. No stranger to Arkady's verbosity, Violet instead notes that Arkady's command of Hokkien is much better than her own command of Cantonese.

The SAF can take some credit for that. Just like them and their training accident could take credit for Arkady's ruined right hand, shaking and inconsistent and yet somehow, never with quite enough paperwork done to warrant an official investigation. Even less than there would have been if Arkady had been an NSman or a reservist.

No outrage for those who chose their duty.

"Fuck, Violet," is the final bit of Arkady's tirade. "Don't try to hide shit from them."

"I wasn't planning on going down there, " says Violet. She picks up the next stick of satay, ignoring Arkady's unmoving gaze on her. "As I said, I have backups. If they want to interrogate me, they'll have to actually detain me."

"Then that's what they're going to do," hisses Arkady. "Violet, give them what they want. Be the innocent doctor misled by a lying delinquent who blew a good chance when she had one."

"I'm not, though."

Violet doesn't mean recently, because of her involvement with Arkady.

Violet's never been innocent.

There's a hypothetical she toys with in her head, one more illuminating in how it doesn't differ from reality than how it does. If Arkady and her were men, Arkady would have done her two years and likely ended up enlisting anyway ; Violet would have gotten a deferment for medical school.

This isn't guilt. Guilt guiding one's decisions, in Violet's opinion, is dangerous both in a medical context and outside of it. It's not about righting the scales, hurting herself as if that would lessen the hurt Arkady's endured.

It's this: Violet doesn't want to imagine a world in which she doesn't have the back of the woman in front of her, a woman made of disbelieving words and hopeful eyes and a smidge of peanut sauce on the front of her white singlet. Violet doesn't know if she can become the kind of person that has that woman's back.

She wants to try.

Five Names Arkady Chose, and One She Didn’t (300 words 5+1)

First name's easy. Three syllables, like her current one. Slips out with a pained grunt. It's from some stupid vid she loved as a kid. Who's she kidding, from some stupid vid she loves.

Last name's a joke. Tantalizingly identifying, till they realize how many people they gotta search through.

There's one that never gets turned into a proper alias. An idle thought during another night in the deep, indulging in an old habit because it might have a use. Alternate name and alternate life.

But this one's not a soldier, and the war will always be visible on her

"I didn't know there were duchies nearby," says the bearded guy easily. His eyes say otherwise.

She’s got three guns and two knives hidden in this fancy suit. He's not carrying anything, but if he's stayed alive in Neuzo...

"Krejjh." The guy turns away. "Did you?"

A Dwarnian ally, shit.

She gives the coif a tug. Good thing it's not a different religion's building they need to sneak into, or they'd be shit out of luck.

Okay, not really, bullshitting's a part of the job description, but at least if she gets caught here, less risk of quoting something wrong.

She’s no knight in shining armor, but she'll use his name easy enough.

Only this biologist chick seems to have cast herself as the rescuer, little room elsewise. Full of reassurances that it's okay. Don't beat yourself up over my inevitable death.

Stupid. Now, what can the Iris still do?

It should be a relief to give it up. It isn't.

Spitting out its replacement doesn't stop it pulsing in her ears, a cacophony of voices and tones: joking, relieved, apologetic.

None from the bright-eyed woman kneeling next to her in the back of this shitty truck. Too late now.

Pick Who ̶D̶i̶e̶s̶

Sana knew her crew. She thought she did. She thought she knew Arkady best of all. When the mercenaries said they’d let Arkady meet up with the Iris to deliver the ultimatum they had for Brian, that Arkady could pick one person to go with her and the other would be left behind as leverage, Sana had felt a sense of calm at the grim way Arkady and Violet’s eyes immediately met, nods exchanged. They were clever and resourceful. They’d get back to the others, figure something out. Sana wasn’t calm at all when she was the one shoved out of a shuttle with Arkady.

“Arkady!” Sana fought to make her voice heard over the sound of the shuttle taking off behind them. Arkady paid no attention, trudging forward through snow towards the lights of a city that looked to be a mile away. If it wasn’t the capital, their route back to the Iris would be even more circuitous. Sana pushed herself forward, landing a hand on Arkady’s shoulder that was immediately brushed off. Arkady snapped, “We need to keep moving. We’re easy pickings out here, and I don’t have a weapon.” “We can walk and talk,” said Sana, doing just that when Arkady grunted and carried on. “About what happened back there-you didn’t have to…” “What?” scoffed Arkady, only Sana could hear the underlying hitch in her voice. “Sana, are you honestly telling me I should’ve left you both back there? Stupid of them to let me go at all, once I get a gun-” “Kady,” interrupted Sana quietly. “Why?” Arkady’s shoulders sank. Her strides grew shorter. “Do we have to do this now?” “It does seem to be bothering you.” Sana slowed to match her pace, bumping Arkady’s shoulder with her own. “No shit,” retorted Arkady. She sighed. “She made it easier than it should’ve been, okay? Violet was pretty clear that if I didn’t pick you to leave, she’d be mad at me. Like, really mad.” “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Sana. “You know how you hate all that stuff about calculating lives against each other, trying to reduce individual people to cost-benefit equations or whatever?” Arkady’s mouth twitched. Sana nodded. Arkady looked half-defeated, half-proud. “Violet doesn’t feel the same way.” “What do you mean?” An uneasy feeling settled in Sana’s throat. “Violet thinks that in light of current circumstances,” said Arkady, her tone implying a direct quote to follow, “the crew needs a captain more immediately than it does a medic.” Sana opened her mouth. “I…” “Yeah, I’m not happy with her either. Figure that can wait for when she’s not held captive by a bunch of mercs. How the hell did Brian piss off these guys?” Arkady started listing possibilities, and Sana knew she was done discussing Violet for now. A memory came to her mind, of the small smile with which Violet had accepted the crew jacket Sana had finally gotten around to making. Somehow, the moment felt tainted.

#ficlets #tscosi #tscosi ficlets #other violet liu #arkady and brian #violet and arkady #arkady patel #arkady and sana

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Hot Chocolate (and Goddamn Marshmallows)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~2530

Warnings: It’s SO FLUFFY. Straight up marshmallow fluff. Just a dash of angst for seasoning. Um. No warnings that I can think of.

A/N: Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for checkin it over. For @katymacsupernatural and her 6K Golden challenge! Congrats Katy!

“I fuckin’ can’t, man, I barely made it here to begin with, Baby was slippin’ all over the place,” Dean grumbles. He holds the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear so that he can pour another glass of whiskey. He only has half a bottle; if he can’t get out tomorrow, he’s fucked.

Even aside from the alcohol situation, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. He’s supposed to be at Jody’s, drinking eggnog and doing all the Hallmark bullshit with his family, but if the snow doesn’t stop early… well, fuck that, he’ll find a way. He’s gotta make it back for Christmas.

“The cabin’s still stocked from the last time we were there, right?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I won’t starve to death, at least,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice light. It’s the truth, although the cabinets basically contain black beans, a couple packs of ramen, and some skunked beer. Dean won’t starve, but this is just not how he wanted to spend his night. This Christmas was supposed to be different.

“Still not gonna tell me what was so important up there?” Sam says.

“Nope.”

It’s his own fault, really. Sam told him about the Christmas plan a month ago. It had taken Dean a while to figure out where Mom’s stuff had been stored without Sammy realizing what he was up to, and then their last hunt took longer than they’d expected… it was just one thing after another, and he’d been in such a rush to get up here he hadn’t checked the weather forecast. Typical.

“Fuck,” Sam sighs. “It’s supposed to let up tomorrow, we’ll mount a rescue mission, okay? Donna’s got four wheel drive, I think.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says gruffly, and he clears his throat, trying to sound cheerful. How many Christmases has he spent, now, telling Sam not to worry? It’s a Winchester family tradition. “I’ll figure something out. Give everybody hugs for me. Tell Jody she better save me some of that pork roast.”

“Love you,” Sam says quietly.

Dean kinda likes the big goddamn marshmallow who’s replaced his brother lately. Amazing what Eileen and a general lack of apocalypses have done for the kid’s temperament.

“Love ya, Sammy. See you tomorrow, one way or another. Hey, don’t do it without me, okay?”

Sam laughs at him. “Obviously. Bye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up and looks down at the little box on the table. As much as this situation fuckin’ blows, Sam’s reaction is gonna be priceless.

He opens the box again, peeking for the zillionth time before he slips it into his pocket. It’s still surreal to think about that ring on someone else’s hand. Mom stopped wearing it at some point after she came back, and Sam probably assumes it’s long gone.

He’d said something about how Eileen’s practical, they talked about it, she doesn’t want him to go out and blow a bunch of money on jewelry, they can pick out the actual bands together when it’s time… but Dean’s pretty fuckin’ excited to see the expression on his face. And hers, of course. Practical as she may be, Eileen’s a goddamn marshmallow too.

Dean’s happy for Sam, he really is. Sometimes he just feels a little lonely, watching the two of them; must be nice, having someone look at you like that. They just kinda fit. They finish each other’s fuckin’ sentences, sometimes, or sign the same things at the same time, moving in perfect unison, and Sam just smiles so much more than he used to. Dean looks at the way they are together and thinks it looks comfortable, like a warm fuzzy fuckin’ blanket, and he’s only just starting to realize that sometimes… sometimes he gets really cold, is all. Sometimes he could use a little more warm fuzzy in his life.

Like, hey, now, for example. He shivers and drains the last of his glass, pours himself a fresh one, and then he shakes off the melancholy and goes to get a fire started.

There’s no cable, or anything, but they hooked up an old DVD player to an even older TV a couple years back. Dean finds a stack of dusty DVD cases and shuffles through them, rolling his eyes at the selection. Love Actually? How the fuck did that end up here?

Or… huh. Now he thinks about it, there’s a chance he might have bought it at the dollar store, one time, while feeling mildly tipsy and severely sentimental. He also has a vague recollection of he and Sam both getting a little bit teared up while watching it. Just a little.

Dean looks down at his drink and sighs. It’s gonna be a maudlin drunk kinda night. Might as well just put on a chick flick, while he’s at it. He tops up his glass, puts in the disc, throws another log on the fire, and settles onto the massive, squashy couch.

Fuck his fuckin’ luck, seriously. There’s just this cold, dull ache in his chest that won’t seem to go away, and even though he keeps trying to tell himself that it might end up okay, the snow might stop in time, he can’t seem to shake it. Baby’s not at her best in the snow, what are the odds? He can’t ask Sam to drive however many fuckin’ hours to come pick him up, he won’t ask, and he just wishes a single damn thing would go right, for a change.

He knuckles at his eyes and pours another drink, but no matter how much whiskey he puts away, he can’t seem to warm up.

***

About an hour in, as he’s eyeing the whiskey bottle and deciding whether he should just go ahead and polish the thing off, there’s a knock on the door.

“The fuck,” Dean mutters. He’s stumbling awkwardly to his feet, reaching for the gun he’d put on the coffee table, when the door slams open, letting in a gust of freezing-cold air and a flurry of snowflakes. There’s a figure in the doorway: massive coat, bundled up, and they’re carrying two big paper bags, and Dean blinks stupidly for a second, gun still cocked.

Is that -

“Holy shit,” he blurts out. He sets the gun down and rushes to help her, but she’s already kicking the door closed behind her, setting the groceries down, and by the time he gets over there she’s unwinding the scarf from around her face so that he can see her eyes, sparkling and happy, her flushed cheeks, her bright smile.

“Good to see you, Dean,” she says, still breathless from the cold. He wraps her in a bear hug, stunned and speechless.

“Holy shit,” he says again, eventually, as she pulls away to get her gigantic puffy coat off. There are snowflakes caught in her hair and she’s beaming at him, and she laughs at his look of disbelief; she’s got the cutest fuckin’ laugh, Christ.

“Little birdy told me you might need some company,” she says. She’s giving him this impish smile and he wants to say something clever, but all he can do is wipe a hand down his face and shake his head.

“Shit, how’d you even get up here? Roads were bad when I got in.”

“Maybe for your little Baby,” she grins, shrugging off the big coat and stomping snow off her boots. “But it wasn’t a big deal for the truck. The plows will be out tonight, we can hit the road as soon as the sun’s up. I’d say let’s go now but I hate driving in the dark when it’s snowing. it’s like making the jump to hyperspace, y’know?”

Dean blinks slowly at her. “Wait, seriously?”

“You know, when the snow comes at the windshield and it looks- ”

“No, I mean, we’ll be able to get out? You’re really… you don’t have to drive me all that way, shit.”

“I mean, unless you’re set on sticking around? Got big plans?” She glances pointedly over his shoulder to where Love Actually is still playing, and Dean makes a face, but he’s so relieved he’s getting a little bit choked up.

“Options were limited.”

“Hey, you’re in luck. I came prepared.” She grabs her big puffy coat and rummages in pockets until she pulls out a DVD case. Dean’s mouth drops open.

“Die Hard? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my favorite.”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off, but she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, like she’s pleased with herself. “Here, help me with these?”

She picks up the grocery bag and brings it to the kitchen, and Dean trails after her with the second, which (judging by the clinking when he sets it on the counter) is mostly booze. She pulls out a pie, first, one of the supermarket ones in its plastic box. His stomach does a happy little flip-flop, and he has to hug her again. He wraps his arms around her from behind and squeezes hard. Her hair smells the same as he remembers.

“Did you turn into a marshmallow when I wasn’t around?” she teases, and Dean blushes.

“Guess it runs in the family,” he says quietly, laughing, and he steps away.

“Huh?

“Never mind. I might’ve had a couple drinks. Gettin’ sappy.” He leans against the counter next to her as she starts to unpack more food. “Last I saw you, you were in New York. Are you back in this neck of the woods? You shoulda called!”

“Just came back recently. I guess Jody heard through the grapevine, she’s the one who called me. My dad died,” she says matter-of-factly. “Been staying at his place trying to get everything sorted out.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She shoots him a little sideways half-smile and pulls out a carton of eggnog, a bottle of Jack, and a bottle of peppermint schnapps. “Thanks. I don’t mind being back, mostly, but I’m glad she called. The holidays have kinda been a bummer this year.”

“I know how that goes,” Dean says wryly.

“Yeah. Nice to have something to do. When Jody found out I was gonna be alone she about had a cow, so I guess I’m having Christmas with you guys now. Anyway, I can never say no to rescuing a damsel in distress.”

She winks, and Dean’s so goddamn charmed right now it takes a second to realize she just called him a damsel.

“Hey,” he protests. He tries to look affronted, but she’s giggling, so it’s probably not working.

“Should we start with the ‘nog? Or peppermint hot chocolate?” she muses.

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Hot chocolate it is. Boil some water?”

Dean grabs the old kettle while she peers at mugs, trying to find a couple that aren’t too dusty. He sneaks a glance at her out of the corner of his eye; she’s pretty, Christ, and she’s all pink-cheeked from the cold, biting her lip absentmindedly, and… yeah. Dean maybe can’t stop staring.

She catches him looking, but she just smiles back, shy and sweet, and starts pouring hot cocoa mix into two passably clean mugs.

“You never told me what you’re doing up here,” she remarks. “Secret Christmas mission, Jody said?”

Dean fumbles for the ring box and shows her. “Had to get something out of storage.”

Her eyes go wide and shocked, and her mouth opens and closes silently for a second.

“Oh,” she says, voice strained, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t realize you were…”

“No, not for me!” he says hastily. “God, no. Not for me. For Sam.”

“Oh!” she says, high-pitched. She laughs and fidgets nervously with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, okay.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the look of relief on her face, and something in his chest goes all fluttery.

“I am very single,” he says, and he can’t quite manage to keep his tone casual. “Just… to make it clear.”

She nods, trying to hold back a smile, like she’s laughing at him but also maybe (hopefully) like she’s charmed at the same time.

“Good,” she says softly.

***

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, it takes him a moment to remember where he is.

He feels sorta dazed, like maybe he’s still tipsy. That’s normal enough. What’s not normal is the person next to him; they’re curled around each other, fully clothed, and she’s tucked under his arm with her hand resting on his chest. They must’ve dozed off during the movie. Dean smiles to himself.

The fire’s mostly embers at this point, and he should get up, put a log on, before it dies completely. Maybe he should just go to his room, too; find her a blanket and then give her some space. That’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.

He takes a second to breathe, first. There’s something so perfect about the moment. He wants to memorize the way she feels, curled against his side, the way they fit together, the way her hair smells, the way her breath tickles his neck when she exhales. He feels boneless and heavy-limbed, like he could melt into the couch cushions, but there’s this tightness in his chest, the knowledge that he should enjoy this while he can, because it won’t last. It never does.

He’s careful when he gets up, trying to slip away without disturbing her, and he’s quiet as he stokes the fire. When it’s blazing again, he grabs a big quilt from the back of a chair and covers her up, tucking her in gently. He turns to head to bed.

“Hey, wait,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where’re you going?” she asks. When he looks back, the fire is illuminating the adorable grumpy pout on her face, and she’s all sleepy-eyed and pillow-creased and fucking gorgeous.

Dean shrugs.

“Come back?” she asks.

He slides under the quilt, and she snuggles close. When she tilts her face up to look him in the eye, her skin glows orange-gold in the firelight. She leans in slow, pausing just before their lips meet, and when they kiss Dean feels it through his entire body, liquid heat curling out to his toes. Her mouth is soft, and she makes this sweet, happy sound when he sucks on her lower lip; it makes his head spin, and he cups her cheek in one hand, feels her velvety skin under his fingers.

Her lashes flutter when she pulls back, her eyes still half-closed.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” she whispers. “We’ve got a long drive in the morning.”

She fits herself against his side, nuzzling into his neck, sighing contentedly, and he strokes her hair until her breathing evens out again.

He likes the way she fits in his arms, and he likes the sweet smell of her hair all mixed in with the woodsmoke. He likes the weight of her on his chest and the heat of her body against his, the way she’s wrapped around him, the way she’s half draped over him like a living blanket.

Warm and fuzzy, he thinks, and he’s smiling as he falls asleep.

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#katy6kgolden #dean x reader #dean x reader fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #spn #spn fic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #supernatural reader insert

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neerasrealm · 4 years

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Breakfast and Thrift Stores

Part two to this story. Literally just Dad Tim and Toby doing some bonding idk what you want from me man

word count: 1954

Toby looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. His pale, thin frame was covered in thin, faded scars. Some were from as a kid, some were more recent. Some were given to him, some were self inflicted and others...the car crash. He gulped, his fingers tracing over scars where doctors had given him stitches, where he’d been cut open to remove shrapnel, where he was cut and hit. He sighed softly and dropped his hand, grabbing his shirt from where it sat on top of the toilet lid. He put it on, then slipped on his usual sweater. He stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. His eyes fell on the white door connecting his room to the one next door. Tim had told him he could come inside, spend the evening with them.

The three of them were...odd. Tim was nice. He was friendly, and understanding. Toby had answered his questions the best he could, telling Tim his age, where he came from, some of his disorders. Keyword being some. Tim hadn’t pried too much into the boy’s personal life, but somehow Toby felt like he somehow knew more than he let on. Still, he had made a vow to himself.

He would never, ever tell any of them about what he’d done. He refused to mention anything about his dad, or his mother and sister. And he definitely wasn’t going to talk about...the thing. If it was even real. Maybe he’d imagined the creature. He wasn’t sure but- it was nothing Tim needed to know about.

Hesitantly, he walked over to the door. He held his fist up, hesitating on whether or not to knock. And then his arm jerked and slammed into the door, forcing him into knocking. Ah, thanks tourettes.

‘’Come in.’’ he heard Brian call. Toby grabbed the doorknob, turning it and pulling it open. The other room was identical to his. The three of them were sitting on one of the two beds. Or rather, Tim and Jay were on the bed, and Brian was sitting on the floor in front of it, his back resting against it. Jay waved a bit in greeting.

‘’Hey Toby.’’ he chirped. Toby smiled a bit and raised a hand in greeting, waving a tiny bit.

‘’Uh- hey.’’ he greeted softly. He closed the door behind him and fiddled with his hands, unsure of where to go. Tim gestured to the other bed.

‘’Take a seat kid.’’ he said simply. Toby clicked his tongue, another tic, and shuffled over to the bed. He very carefully sat down on the edge of it and crossed his legs. He tilted his head at the three men.

‘’So uh- why did you want me in here…?’’ he asked gently. Tim shrugged while Jay pulled a TV remote from- somewhere- and began flicking through channels on the small, cheap TV across the room.

‘’Just thought you’d get lonely.’’ he replied. Brian nodded.

‘’You’ve been travelling alone, right?’’ he asked. Toby nodded. ‘’For how long?’’

‘’I dunno...two weeks?’’ Toby shrugged. And then his head jerked abruptly to the side. Nobody seemed to notice it too much though, thankfully.

‘’Well- now you have some company!’’ Jay looked at Toby and smiled. Tim pat him gently on the shoulder and smiled a bit. ‘’Not that we’re very exciting company to have- eheh- but it’s better than nothing, right?’’

‘’I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the most exciting guy you’ll ever meet.’’ Brian replied. Tim rolled his eyes, though Brian didn’t see it. Toby laughed gently. He liked these guys...they were nice to him. Really nice. Nice enough to let him stay in their room till late into the night. The four of them really just talked, watched TV and exchanged stories until night. Toby fell asleep in his own room, feeling just a little bit more secure than he had in the days before.

He was woken up the following morning by someone knocking on the door to his room. Toby groaned sleepily and dragged himself out of the bed, stumbling over to the door and opening it up. In front of the door stood Tim, dressed in a pale yellow bomber jacket and blue jeans. He looked up at Toby. ‘’Morning kid.’’

‘’Morning,’’ Toby murmured, rubbing sleep from his eye. ‘’Did you need something…?’’

‘’Yeah,’’ Tim replied. ‘’Can I come in?’’

‘’Sure, sure.’’ Toby stepped aside and watched Tim walk into the room. His shoulder jerked involuntarily and he closed the door. ‘’What is it…?’’

‘’I wanna know how much stuff you got. Spare clothes, food, stuff like that. If there’s anything you need, I wanna get it today, before we head out.’’

‘’Oh! Uh- okay well- hot’n’fresh!- all my stuff’s in here,’’ Toby walked over to his bed and grabbed the black gym bag sitting on the end of it. It contained everything he still had from home. He opened it and rummaged around. ‘’I got some spare clothes, my phone charger, hairbrush, a towel, uhh…’’ he frowned. There were a couple other things in the bag, including a pair of orange goggles, an old framed photo, and two sharp hatchets. Toby decided not to let Tim know about those. ‘’My wallet, though that’s mostly empty and- 50% off!- I think I might have some cereal bars??’’ he frowned and pulled out a bunch of plastic wrappers and two water bottles. One empty and one half empty. ‘’Aw man- must’ve ate em all…’’

‘’So you got basically nothing.’’ Tim said. Toby shrugged at him. ‘’I’ll take you downtown to the goodwill and get you some more clothes and some other stuff, okay? And we’ll take your stuff to the laundry. It’ll probably start stinking of sweat soon.’’

Toby shut himself up before he could tell Tim that he actually couldn’t physically sweat. He instead nodded. ‘’Oh uh- you sure…? I don’t wanna be a waste-’’ he paused for a second, his tongue clicking a few times. ‘’of money-’’

‘’You’re not.’’ Tim interrupted. He turned and headed for the door again. ‘’Get dressed, okay? We’ll get breakfast while we’re out.’’ he left the room before Toby could even protest, leaving the boy alone in the room. He rocked on his heels for a few moments before sighing and looking at his bag.

Toby stepped out of his room with his bag slung over his shoulder. He looked at Tim, who was leaning against the wall beside the door, also holding a bag. Tim looked up at him and smiled a bit. ‘’Ready?’’

‘’Uh-huh.’’ Toby followed him down the hall and out of the hotel. As they reached the car he moved to open the backseat, only for Tim to call him.

‘’Kid, why don’t you ride up front?’’

Toby’s head snapped up. Up front...last time he’d been in the front of a car was- ‘’Mmm…’’ he hesitated. ‘’Sure…’’ Toby walked around to the side and sat in the passenger seat beside Tim. Sitting in the front, he could see everything in front of them. The road...oncoming cars...pedestrians...Toby swallowed his nerves. Thankfully for him, Tim didn’t drive fast. The car ride was calm, and not too long. Their first stop was the local laundromat. Toby followed Tim inside and to one of the machines in the back. He put money in two of them and gestured for Toby to take one while he loaded up the other. Toby felt a bit of relief at that. He definitely didn’t wanna risk Tim finding the hatchets in his bag, or anything else for that matter.

With the laundry in the machine and an hour to kill, they left and walked down the street to the local goodwill. Toby stopped next to Tim and looked at him. The shorter man looked at the teen and gestured around. ‘’Pick out what you want, kid.’’ he said with a shrug. Oh. Okay- Toby actually felt a tiny bit of excitement. He hadn’t gotten to pick out new clothes in a long time. Timidly, he wandered over to the men’s section and began perusing the clothes. A lot of it was ugly trash, which Toby and Tim both quietly made fun of. Eventually, after making fun of a dozen or ugly sweaters and gingerly sifting through t-shirts of questionable cleanliness, Toby picked out an outfit. An faded navy hoodie that was a couple sizes too big on Toby but very comfy, a white button-down shirt with blue vines and flowers patterned over it that made Toby feel fancy, and denim jeans that had colourful paint splatters along the legs. Toby didn’t know if it was a fashion choice or if the pants previously belonged to an artist, but he loved them.

‘’How do I look?’’ Toby asked excitedly as he stepped out of the dressing room. Tim looked at him for a moment, examining him up and down before he walked over. He reached up and tugged the collar of Toby’s shirt up over the collar of his hoodie. He stepped back and smiled.

‘’Looks good.’’ he said with a nod. Toby beamed. ‘’I also got you this.’’ Tim presented four pairs of sunglasses. ‘’Figured I’d get some for all of us. Jay likes to complain about getting sun in his eyes.’’

Toby looked over all the sunglasses before grabbing a pair of cateye shaped glasses that had a single sparkly gem on each corner. He put them on and grinned at Tim. The shorter man broke into a smile, and then began laughing. ‘’Nice choice.’’ he chuckled. Toby shot him some finger guns and clicked his tongue. Tim shook his head, still grinning. ‘’Go take that stuff off so I can buy it.’’

Toby smiled to himself. ‘’Okayyy.’’ he said, wandering back into the changing room. After he had his regular clothes on, the two of them paid and left. They went back to the car, with twenty minutes still left to kill.

‘’Any ideas for breakfast?’’ Tim asked as he backed the car out of the small parking lot. Toby frowned for a moment.

‘’I haven’t had a breakfast burrito in like...two years.’’ Toby looked over at him.

‘’Christ kid, who’s been starving you?’’ Tim asked jokingly. Toby laughed in the seat next to him. The two of them drove to a nearby taco bell and picked up breakfast for not only themselves but Jay and Brian too. The smell of hot, fresh burritos and cheese filled the car and made Toby bounce his legs, an excited tic of his. They picked up their laundry before heading back to the hotel. Tim was holding the bag of food. He would have given it to Toby but- well, one wrong tic and their perfectly good breakfast could probably hit the ground. Tim was not risking losing his breakfast.

Tim and Toby walked into the hotel room where Jay and Brian were still fast asleep. Tim set down his bag of laundry, walked over to Brian’s bed, and flicked him on the forehead. Immediately, the sleeping man gave an agitated groan and swatted at him. Tim flinched away from Brian’s swats until he was still again, and gave him another flick.

‘’Aghh!’’ Brian squirmed where he lay and opened his eyes, glaring up at Tim, who just smirked. ‘’Asshole.’’

‘’Dick.’’ was all Tim replied with before turning over to Jay’s bed. He leaned down and gently shook him awake. He smiled warmly at Jay as his eyes fluttered open. Brian glared at him. Jay sat up and rubbed at his eyes. ‘’Morning.’’ Tim murmured. He held up the bag of taco bell. ‘’We got you two breakfast. Toby’s choice.’’

Brian looked at Toby. ‘’...breakfast burritos?’’ he asked. Toby nodded. He smiled approvingly. ‘’Good choice.’’

#creepypasta #marble hornets #ticci toby #tim wright #writing #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #marble hornets fanfiction #mh tim #toby rogers #tim mh #jay mh #mh jay #jay merrick #brian thomas #brian mh #mh brian

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tirednotflirting · 4 years

Text

but we were something, don't you think so?

vaguely based on ‘the one’ by taylor swift and also my walk home on an afternoon in july last year

also i asked helen if my writing lashton card gets revoked if i write something sad. will report back on what she decides.

(i apologize now for the tense issues in this i am still Learning how to not do that but i think it’s pretty obvious what takes place in the present and what does not)

oh and here is the ao3 link !

It’s a blazing hot early afternoon in July when Luke sees Ashton for the first time in over a year.

(It’s been 13 months and 12 days since he last saw Ashton. It was on a cooler day in early May and he had been wearing the blue sweater. The one that made the green in his eyes stand out more than normal. But Luke likes to pretend he doesn’t keep track of that so consistently.)

It had been a good morning. Luke opened at the office that day so he had the privilege of making the first pot of coffee, getting to experience the rich smell filling the space while he responded to emails and voicemails. He had a brief chat with his favorite mail delivery person about their plans for the weekend and the renovations happening in the bathroom down the hall. His boss assigned him a list of names to call to discuss their fall registration complications. The time passed quickly with the phone chatter and two cups of coffee out of his favorite mug.

His replacement for the afternoon shift showed up on time for once and he shouted his goodbyes out as he left the office. He was eager to get back to the apartment he shared with Calum so they could head to the store and grab drinks and snacks for the concert in the park they had decided to attend that night. Last time they had gone to the event just the three of them, he had let Michael and Calum do the drink run and they ended up deciding that Jello shots were to be the drink of choice and all of the families attending gave them disappointed looks the whole night.

Luke walks through campus, his t shirt sticking to him a bit in the heat, and catches up on the texts he had missed from his mom and brothers. He takes a moment to appreciate the serenity of his university campus when it’s all empty in the summer, the only other people around being the occasional professor or a local family taking a walk with sunhats and a stroller.

He’s just gotten a text from Calum asking when he’ll be back at their apartment and Luke is responding with an estimated time of arrival, factoring in the time it should take for him to grab an iced coffee on the way, when he looks up once he reaches the street corner. He’s only meaning to check for cars and to see how many seconds are left before he can cross when he sees him.

Luke didn’t expect the way his heart would drop straight into his stomach when he saw Ashton again. Didn’t expect the way the message on his phone (one important to respond to unless he wants to get plastered off of vodka and Jello in public again) would be completely dismissed when he saw the black curls of the man who had made him feel like everything. The way his fingers felt like they were on fire.

He also never expected Ashton to lock eyes with him the first time they saw each other again.

But oddly enough, he is.

Two things flood into Luke’s mind then. The first is that Ashton doesn’t look bad. He’s got his hands shoved into black jeans that aren’t at all appropriate for the current weather. His hair is longer than he had kept it in quite some time, tied back into a tiny bun that rests just above the tattoo at his neck that he had gotten junior year (Luke still remembers his hand being sore for a couple of days because of how tightly Ashton had gripped it while the gun buzzed along his tanned skin). And his calm gaze holds Luke’s in a way that he had only just recently stopped craving four times a day at least.

The second thing that comes to mind is a day from two years earlier, probably almost exactly two years (if it wouldn’t nearly physically pain him to see their happy, drunken smiles from that day, Luke would have thought later to look through his camera roll to check if he was right).

Ashton had only officially asked Luke to be his boyfriend about a month prior, just after finals ended. It was the summer after Luke’s freshman year, the summer he started working his campus office job that allowed him a reason to stay in the city with his friends and his boyfriend. One of Calum’s older sister’s friends needed to rent out her room for the summer and Luke’s advisor had offered him the job. It was a perfect storm.

After work one day in June, Luke headed back toward the student apartments to Ashton’s building, his smile lazy but bright as he headed into a weekend and his boyfriend’s home. It was still very new, his relationship with Ashton, but it felt very big, very important. If he wasn’t so high on his love for the curly haired philosophy major and the feeling of being in the city in the summer, he might have taken the time to think a bit more critically about what it meant to dive in so deep with someone so fast. But then he felt a breeze in the air and the sun shining on his face, and he figured that was something to worry about on another day. Things were really good.

He punches the door code at the front of the building and climbs the stairs two at a time up two floors. When he turns out of the stairwell, he grasps the handle to the first door on the right, left unlocked since he was expected that afternoon.

“Honey, I’m home?” he calls out as he pulls at the laces on his Converse so he can leave them at the shoe rack before continuing into the cozy space. The coziness of the place felt a little odd for June, a candle that smelled like Christmas burning somewhere based on the mix of the smell of sugar cookies and pine that meets Luke’s nose as he hangs his backpack on his designated hook. But that was Ashton, always curating his spaces to feel what he wanted. During one of the first few times they had hung out the previous January, Ashton had insisted on popsicles. It was one of the things Luke felt himself already loving about him.

Luke frowns at the lack of response to his greeting and makes his way down the hall to the kitchen, his sock-covered feet sliding a bit on the wood floor. He turns into the kitchen and finds that the cookie smell had been due not to a candle but real life cookies that were cooling on a rack on the counter behind a headphone-clad Ashton. Luke laughs quietly to himself, wondering what the occasion was as he continues through the space and checks to make sure there’s nothing hot or sharp in his boyfriend’s hands before wrapping his arms around his waist. He lets his hands clasp together at his stomach and huffs out a giggle when he feels him jump with surprise.

Ashton uses his free hand not holding a spatula to pull his headphones off his head, hanging them from one of the cabinet handles. He leaves the utensil in the bowl and turns in Luke’s arms to face him, his arms wrapping around the blonde’s neck. “Hey you,” he beams, his arms tightening some to pull Luke closer to brush their lips together in greeting. Luke notes to himself that he must have been sampling his cookie dough from the sugar against his own lips now. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Seems like you were busy,” Luke smiles, moving one of his hands from Ashton’s back to gesture to the kitchen.

Ashton lights up, his dimples deepening as he smiles. “Oh, yeah! Wanted snacks for the show tonight.”

A confused look drops to Luke’s face. “Didn’t remember that we bought tickets for something tonight? Where is it at?”

“We don’t have tickets for anything. There’s this free concert series at the park that I thought would make a wonderful Friday night date night and I am determined to continue wooing you. So I bought pink wine and I’m making cookies.”

Luke releases his arms from his waist then, moving to the side to dip his finger into the cookie dough to taste it. “Consider me wooed. That sounds lovely.”

He’s ushered out of the space to sit at the counter then so Ashton can continue working. He’s given a glass of lemonade and tells Ashton all about his day, about the students who came into the office for help with registration things and the dogs that he saw on his walk to campus. Luke gets Ashton to talk some about what they’re going to and it’s apparently Ashton’s favorite part of the summer. He goes into a story about a sweet dog and baby he got to meet when sharing a beer with some dad at one of the shows the previous summer.

“It’s funny because last summer it was my favorite thing to do with just me,” Ashton starts as he packs the cookies into plastic bags to put in a tote with the wine that he’s already poured into plastic bottles (glass wasn’t allowed at the park). “But I got the email about the set for tonight and I don’t know, I think it could be nice if this becomes our thing in the summer, you know?”

He turns up to look for a response from Luke and is met with the likely hilariously bright blush that Luke feels creeping up to paint across his cheeks and nose. He giggles to himself and raises his brows at the blonde as he packs some strawberries and cherries away to take with them as well. “I’ll take that as a good response to the idea then?”

Luke bites at his lip as he smiles. “That sounds incredible.”

They take the bus to the park. The sky is just dipping into golden hour as they dance their way to where the other attendees have their blankets set up for the evening. Luke makes Ashton stop his skipping for just a moment, claiming he needs him to stand still and smile for a lock screen picture, please. They find a good spot next to a group of women who brought their dogs and boxed wine and immediately start telling them how cute of a couple they are. Luke blushes fiercely as Ashton kisses his cheek, resulting in a chorus of squeals from their neighbors. They introduce themselves and the dogs and it’s really all something out of a film, Luke thinks.

They chat about work and summer courses some more and exchange stories from their younger years they have yet to share while sipping wine from plastic cups. Ashton lets Luke feed him cookies and they listen to the women tell stories from their many years of coming to the shows there. Luke sits between Ashton’s legs as they listen, gentle and thankful smiles on their faces, and Ashton reaches for one Luke’s hands, weaving their fingers together and resting them against Luke’s lap.

The sun sets further and the music starts. They thank their new friends for the stories and smile respectfully, blushes on both of their faces hidden in the twilight when the women request invitations to their wedding. Ashton is stunned silent (a rare occurrence, really) so Luke makes sure to tell them he’ll add them to the guest list.

It’s during the main set that Luke realizes he wants to live in this night for the rest of his life maybe. His back is against the chest of the first boy he’s ever loved, his body rising and falling just slightly with Ashton’s breathing and singing and laughter. The hazel eyed boy has one arm wrapped securely around Luke’s waist while the other lifts the water bottle of rose to his lips every so often. Luke finds that he feels so safe in that moment, like because of this night, nothing in the world could ever hurt him because he feels so high up in the air. He feels Ashton tilt his head some to place his lips against Luke’s neck, and he just never wants this to end.

Eventually it does though, of course. They fold up their blanket, smiles on their faces after the band closed with a cover of one of their favorite songs. Goodbyes and promises to meet up at the next show are made as their new friends wander off. Luke jokes that he’ll have to tell his mom about how easily the pair of them are able to make company with women like her friends. On the bus back to the apartment complex, Ashton sleepily leans against Luke and the blonde cards his fingers through his hair, smiling at the bright, fruity scent of Ashton’s cologne he keeps catching a whiff of.

They stumble into the apartment, slightly tipsy off the wine and each other, only pausing to brush their teeth and change into something more comfortable to sleep in before falling into Ashton’s bed. They face each other and Luke kisses at Ashton’s laughter lines as their legs tangle together.

“God,” Ashton bites his lip against a smile as he lifts a hand to cup Luke’s cheek, his thumb stroking across his cheekbone. “I have no idea what good I did to deserve you.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Luke sighs as he leans into the warm hand on his cheek. “I think I might love you. Is that okay?”

Before responding, Ashton lifts his chin slightly to press his lips to Luke’s forehead. They breathe in unison for a moment before he moves to look Luke in the eye. “Only if it’s okay that I might love you.”

Sleep finds them quickly after their (almost, maybe) confessions.

The memory fades out like a fog when Ashton’s eyes pull away from Luke’s when the signal changes for Ashton to cross the street taking him in the opposite direction. Luke finds himself unable to tell if he wants the black-haired boy to turn back to face him or not. He’s not sure which action would break his heart apart more. As he watches him walk into the crosswalk, he feels another memory, this one quite the opposite feeling to the first, start to creep into the edges of his brain but he finds himself able to push that one down (thankfully).

He takes a deep breath as he watches Ashton continue down the street, not once looking back to see if Luke is still looking at him. And when his own walk sign lights up, it takes Luke just a moment to get his feet to start moving again as one single thought fills his mind so many times it feels like it’s blocking his vision.

If one thing happened different, would everything be different today?

He crosses the street then and continues down in that direction, deciding to take just a slightly longer route so his feet don’t have to take any of the same path as his ex-lover. He sighs then but as he feels a somewhat nostalgic summer breeze cool his face, Luke pulls his phone out to text the group message to ask if they want to help him make sugar cookies to take along with them to the park.

(That night, for just a moment, he swears he sees Ashton again a few picnic blankets away, his head tucked into the neck of another boy with curly hair. But then the boy sits up to laugh at something the other has said and Luke realizes it isn’t his past love. But the odd sense of hopefulness he had felt for the couple when he thought it was Ashton tells him that maybe one day he’ll really feel okay.)

#lashton #lashton fic #this really just kinda poured out to the doc and it was kinda cathartic i am not going to lie #summer concert thing is another thing i am missing bc of coronavirus #seeing your past someone on the street corner and having them lock eyes with you and then walk away is not something i am missing #this is barely edited i am sorry if there are Mistakes

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kamekamelea · 5 years

Text

Never tell me the odds

Hello @fezzle! Here’s an early Halloween gift for you for the @b99fandomeventsfall fic challenge! I got super inspired by your prompts and it was hard to choose one to write but I hope you’re happy with the outcome <3

Special thanks go to @amydancepants-peralta for all your precious help with this one! You’re a true angel 💖 And thank you @b99peraltiago for your moral support and patience with my rants about this fic 💕

also, it’s super fun to be part of this challenge once again 😊❤

read on ao3 (bc it’s kinda too long for tumblr)

How has she once again fallen a victim to Gina’s trick?

The bet was supposed to be an easy win for Santiago, but somehow Gina managed to outwit her (or rather, as Amy assumed, cheat). And the defeat was bitter. The defeat was Gina choosing a costume for Santiago for the Halloween party held at Linetti’s. Was the result different, Linetti would be forced to go to any nerdy event of Amy’s choice and the latter just briefly wonders if such outcome would make Gina suffer equally. Because Amy’s misery right now is enormous.

The misery being her wearing a Chewbacca costume, of all possible choices Gina could’ve made.

The costume is thick, doesn’t let any air in or out and the smell inside the upper part is overwhelming in the worst sense. But now it’s too late to start looking for a new one, Amy thinks, standing in front of the door to Gina’s apartment and she knows Linetti won’t let her in, her wearing only yoga pants and a t-shirt under her costume. So she follows Rosa inside, her shoulders slumped. Not that anyone would notice in the bush of fake Wookie fur.

There are cheap Halloween decorations all around Gina’s apartment - plastic pumpkins put on every free surface, tacky spiders and bats hanging from door frames and lamps. The cups have skeletons imprinted on them and a big bowl is standing in the middle of the kitchen, filled with a suspiciously looking red jello, which, as Amy assumes, is supposed to look like blood. It’s not sophisticated (what is expected from a students’ party) but Amy admires Linetti’s dedication to decor. In the corner, far back in the living room, stands an occasionally screaming witch, scaring off from time to time those who come closer to the drinks table.

And Amy would love to get drunk as fast as possible but it is not really an option in that suit - it’s hard to walk in it being sober, she can only imagine how worse it would get after alcohol circulating in her system. So she stands in front of the makeshift bar, full of the cheapest beer and wine, with a few bottles of tequila and vodka in the back of it, and contemplates the reasons behind her desperate need to show up here tonight. Why did she oblige to Gina’s stupid terms just for the sake of one party? She doesn’t even like Halloween that much...

Oh, right. Because her private life is a disaster.

She’s nearing the end of college, satisfied with her results - it’s a good feeling to have the highest grades, a scholarship and University authorities’ recognition. Yet at what cost? While going through her university experience, she has kinda forgotten about one important life’s detail - people. And Amy’s been in a weird place recently, getting to know new people becoming harder and harder with age. Her being stuck in a small crowd of friends, people she loved with all of her heart, but even they’ve kept telling her to take some air. A breath of clear air that comes with a new friendship.

However, Amy has always been a bit weird with people, add to it her geekiness and OCD, it really doesn’t create the best combination for being popular. Even if she has never craved for popularity, it also doesn’t help in creating deep bonds with people she keeps close to herself. One of those people being Rosa Diaz, her classmate from high school, with whom she managed to form some kind of meaningful relationship. It was a hard task - Diaz being a human form of a brick wall, and Amy having her own struggles with opening to people - but in the end Amy was over the moon when their friendship developed, reaching a level where the other Latina agreed to become roommates as the time for college came.

And it’s not that she doesn’t like to be around people, no. It’s just that if she was to describe the feeling that overcomes her after spending too much time with an acquaintance she would use the noun discomfort. Because there is always a wall, a wall of politeness and courtesy, that blocks Amy from being her true self around most people. Those are rules of dealing with people and Amy loves to follow rules.

Surprisingly, a weird easiness Amy finds also in Linetti’s company, Rosa’s girlfriend of few months. Even though Gina never noticed Amy in high school (and still doesn’t believe she and Santiago actually attended some classes together, even when she showed her some pictures on the school’s website, always chortling right in her face when Amy brings it up) and only hangs out with her because of one Netflix account Rosa shares with Amy, which forces them to often watch TV together.

And when Gina invited Amy to her Halloween party (after Rosa elbowed her hard in the ribs) Amy thought it might be a good opportunity to step out of her comfort zone. Of course Linetti had to do it her way, coming up with the whole bet idea and again, Amy agreed because if there is one thing she loves more than following rules it’s competition. And she calculated her chances well - doing some calculus of probability is actually one of her hobbies, but somehow Gina, being the sneaky girl that she is, fooled her anyway.

It is a spooky season indeed, Amy thinks, her demons chasing her on this last day of October.

All of a sudden, Amy’s small pity party gets interrupted, as a pair of unknown arms encircles her from behind and an unexpected impact makes her wobble. But the arms are strong and they keep her in place.

“There you are, Chewie! I was worried the Stormtroopers finally got you!” Someone shouts loudly right into her ear and if it wasn’t for the mask, she would have lost her hearing for sure.

The arms let go of her, making it possible for her to turn to the source of the voice, which sounds somehow familiar, even in this noise of a crowded party. Through the small holes which are supposed to be Chewie’s eyes she sees a snippet of an ecru shirt and black vest. What she doesn’t see is a face, so she tilts her head in a weird angle to inspect it. And then a big smile shows, and sparkling brown eyes and a head of messy curls.

Amy knows this face, she just has trouble to match it with a name.

“Come on, Chewie! Don’t you recognize your best friend?!” The smile only grows bigger (if that’s even possible) and for a reason unknown to Amy it makes her blush. God bless the mask.

“Is this supposed to be a Han Solo costume?” she asks, her tone maybe a bit too sharp given he’s been nothing but nice, with this beam of his and friendly attitude. There was no reason whatsoever for her to go into her defensive mode. Her blush deepens.

“Oh, come on! It’s obvious I’m Han - I even have a gun, look!” The man, she still can’t remember the name of, reaches to his back pocket and takes out the tackiest plastic gun she’s ever seen.

She actually chuckles at his attempt to roll the gun on his finger, even if it’s a failed one. “Yeah, so much better now, Han Solo.”

“It’s Jake actually.” He smiles and then it clicks.

“Right, Jake Peralta!” She points her finger at him in a weird satisfactory gesture, excited she managed to finally to remember and only then she realizes how awkward it must have looked.

That’s why she should’ve stayed at home.

Jake’s brows furrow in a confused impression, though the smirk is still there, so she hurries with an explanation. “We went to high school together.”

They did go to the same school, true. And that’s it. They’ve never exchanged a word, him probably oblivious to her existence, but she knew him of course, because who didn’t really? The goofball, school’s clown, his jokes capable to charm even the strictest of teachers. He wasn’t maybe the most popular boy in school, but his personality was just so loud it was catching Amy’s attention, besides she enjoyed watching him interacting with others. He made it look so easy. Just coming by to a random person to chat about nothing in particular and bonding. Never seemed so easy for her. Maybe if he would’ve come up to her, it would have been easy as well? But he never did, so those thoughts are pointless.

(Most of the time he would be wearing that trademark grin of his proudly, but there were times Amy saw him walking in contemplation through a secluded hallway, his gaze wistful and lips pursed and if someone was to actually talk to him, he would put on a smile Amy knew was fake.)

“That’s so cool! Gina invited so many random people, it’s gonna be so nice to see a familiar face. Well, if you decide to finally let go of that mask, Chewie.”

He’s going to be so disappointed seeing a face of yet another stranger.

But she grasps the mask and struggles for a second and only with a slight help from Jake she manages to get it off.

“You probably don’t re...” she rushes to explain but gets interrupted by an excited scream.

“Oh my God, Amy Santiago?! In a Chewbacca costume!”

Jake giggles like crazy, and with his whole body, but Amy doesn’t feel offended by his reaction because the laugh doesn’t sound like a mean one, and it is a hilarious sight of her in that costume. First and foremost though her mind can only focus on one thing now - he knows her name.

His laugh is contagious, so she lets herself to chuckle timidly, and is amazed how easy it is to just laugh with a person she has just met.

“Wow, Amy Santiago, I didn’t take you for a person to wear a Chewbacca costume. I love it.” he says once their giggles die a bit and Amy wishes the mask was still in place to cover the redness of her cheeks.

“Not my choice really. But now that my sweat has mixed with all the sweat of people who wore this costume before me, I don’t even mind it anymore.”

The words leave her mouth and her hand twitches to slap herself for making it the most awkward small talk ever. According to good manners, this is not how you talk to person you barely know. Especially if that person has such mesmerizing eyes and cute smile. Bringing up sweat isn’t a sexy thing to say. Not that she wants to be received as sexy.

(Even if she wanted, it’s hard to accomplish it wearing the most shapeless and fury costume ever. This is like the opposite of sexy.)

“Sounds sexy!” His right brow rises in a funny way as he chuckles but Amy has only half the mind to admire this adorable sight, because the other half is amazed - looks like small talks don’t have to feel weird and forced after all. He must’ve taken her shocked expression as a wrong sign though, because for the first time the smile disappears from his face as he starts to explain. “Just kidding! I’m so sorry, this was so inappropriate. I made it super weird, didn’t I?”

“Super weird is actually my comfort zone, so thank you for finally lowering your standards of social interactions to my level.” It’s actually so true, Amy realizes, and is surprised it was easier to admit it to Jake than to herself for such long time. He takes it though only as a pretty dark joke probably, the beam finding its designated place on Jake’s face again, giving Amy no choice than to reciprocate it.

“You know what would be the coolest thing ever?” Jake suddenly exclaims excitedly. “Us together taking part in the costume contest.”

“What contest?...”

“Gina is holding a competition for matching costumes, since she really wants people to praise her costume idea for her and Rosa.”

“Who are they dressing up as? Rosa refused to tell me when I asked her about the blonde wig.”

“I think she’s supposed to be Portia and Gina’s dressing up as Ellen Degeneres.”

Yeah, Amy can see now why Rosa seemed so uncomfortable in her costume, probably preferring to wear a more gloomy outfit. But, there are worse things people do for love, and Amy is moved by Diaz’s gesture to make her girlfriend happy.

“So, wanna take part?” He prompts further cheerfully. “Being honest, I think it’s a destiny you and I both came wearing Star Wars costumes. And they match in the best way possible!”

Amy doesn’t know what makes her agree eventually, after Jake - a man she doesn’t really know - gives her a countless number of arguments (none of which makes sense) about the brilliance of his idea. She’s of course quick to correct him.

“The form you’re looking for is “brilliantness”. “Brilliance” refers to something exceptionally effulgent.”

He then mocks her know-it-all tone (giving it a weird British vibe), but in a way that makes her laugh, and she willingly indulges into a banter that goes on for a while. And somehow the result of it is her saying yes to that proposition.

Despite the thick layer of the Chewie costume, she feels a spark going through her nerves when Jake grabs her hand to pull her towards Gina, person in charge.

~~READ THE REST ON AO3~~

#b99fandomevents #b99 fall 2019 fic exchange #b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #peraltiago fic #jake x amy #jake x amy fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #halloween meet-cute #i know i kinda twisted one of your other prompts #😅😂#hope you don't mind #and that you like it ❤#my writing #kasia writes #mine

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 years

Text

the larger courier six verse, media influences

tagged by @sybil-writes ty

the bibliography for this thing is extensive. my taste is wide and omnivorous. i try to drop what i was thinking about when i wrote a particular bit into the author’s notes, and i think i’ve credited all the direct references, but I consume a lot of dystopia and post-apoc media and harder scifi/fantasy with rules, and i don’t keep an accurate running list of shit I like, so i’m certainly not going to get everything in one post. this is mostly me looking at the very limited number of books i have with me and frantically looking at wiki lists like “yes read that liked that stole that”. if i link everything i will die. if you have trouble finding a specific thing lmk tho. this feels real goddamn pretentious like Ah Yes Look At The Media I Have Consumed but here goes

music: one of these days I will drop links to the network of playlists I have for these kids, but they’re all of Spotify and not super accessible. Danger Days, a post-apoc desert graffiti/neon/cars album by My Chemical Romance. the soft, nonsense love songs off Pretty. Odd by P!ATD. the poppy but sad neon bullshit of Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die also a P!ATD production. Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier, specifically Talk and Dinner & Diatribes. Halsey’s cover of I Walk The Line, Rihanna’s Desperado. Everything by Orville Peck but mostly Roses Are Falling and Take You Back (The Iron Hoof Cattle Call). Instrumental stuff: the opening to Silverado, the Billy the Kid musical, bits of Lawrence of Arabia. It’s Been A Long, Long Time. Fitz & The Tantrums’ Get Away. Mother Mother’s album O My Heart. Gorillaz’ Plastic Beach.

filme:

the Dollars trilogy ofc

the sheer bullshit nonsense of Wild Wild West and Blazing Saddles and Turbokid.

a lot of the interaction between many characters in a tight space from Stagecoach. my dad really loves John Wayne, so I am constantly thinking about Monument Valley even though that’s nowhere near the Mojave. honestly whenever i’m thinking about how to describe landscapes I’m thinking about The Searchers, even though I have a lot of problems with that film.

the colorful nonsense future of The Fifth Element.

the gritty self-surgery and prospecting of Prospect (2018).

SO much Trigun and Cowboy Bebop, for space western flavor and the same sort of analog-cassette-future. u kno how everything in Star Wars looks like it’s been there forever? the absolute opposite of a slick Apple future? that.

god I wish Firefly was...good

Akira, bc every time I think about motorcycles the Akira motorcycle slide gif plays in my head.

speaking of which probably a decent chunk of Adventure Time, esp the Super Porp episode.

a smidge of how a platonic trio works from Samurai Champloo.

anything with a big sprawling market and a chase scene, even though the only things I can think of are Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets and the first Indiana Jones. oh Skyfall also

the set dressing from Tank Girl

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. look I just really like airships and retrofuturisum but art deco

honestly a lot of Ghibli- the aviation fantasy of Porco Rosso, the gardens from Castle In The Sky, a lot of Sophie Hatter energy from Howl’s Moving Castle, the underground bits in Nausicca, the otherworldly sea from Ponyo (except the Fallout sea is probably much emptier). the lovely homey-ness and gadgetry of Sherlock Hound.

almost certainly some Metropolis for how I think about cities

thinking a lot about The Incredibles and earlier James Bond movies recently for that sort of sleek but still small physical gadget spycraft 60s bullshit

the team and found family dynamics in Leverage

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. the more recent film which I have stolen ENTIRELY too much of the Angel + Blondie + Six dynamic from

mad max: all of them, to some extent, but a lot of Fury Road. I have a theory about how the Dollars films take place in reverse order, bc of how they feel next to the Mad Max films. The first Mad Max film is about a specific person in a specific place and time doing really specific things. it feels like a movie made off the info of someone who was there. GBU also feels like that- it’s really place-specific in a way? The second Mad Max film is a little hazier, and focuses on mostly people trying to accomplish a goal. For A Few Dollars More also feels a little hazier, like it’s a little more metaphorical/a morality tale and it’s being told by someone heavily embellishing secondhand events. the third Mad Max movie is just over the top nonsense. feral children living in the wreckage of an old plane escaping in a working plane? sure. why the fuck not. For A Fistful Of Dollars also feels like this. of COURSE this big bad gunslinger drifts into town and escapes in a coffin and invents the bulletproof vest. why the fuck not.

books: i like shit that goes beyond the wander/scrounge/defend trio of verbs.

the trying to wrap your life around a huge unknowable event from Roadside Picnic,

too much Le Guin and Butler to really fit here,

god if anything i write ever has a tenth of the flavor of Kill Six Billion Demons i’ll be happy,

the postwar feel of Vonnegut and Heller,

Margaret Atwood’s biopunk Oryx and Crake trilogy

the incredibly sad decaying biopunk/mutation/last days novelette The Drowned World by JG Ballard.

the space-opera political machinations from the Ancillary trilogy by Ann Leckie.

World War Z’s accounts of survivors has always felt like reading terminal entries from Fallout games.

Philip Reeve’s Fever Crumb trilogy, for its interpretation of high-tech artifacts and archaeological reinterpretation of those artifacts.

Tales of the Bounty Hunters. Tales from Jabba’s Palace.

A Canticle for Leibowitz of COURSE.

the original three books in the METRO (2033, 2034, 2035) trilogy, for their tight dense locations and resource management and life-threatening travel/exploration.

the Family Trade comic by Jordan & Ryan, for setting and intrigue and a very unorthodox power source

Elizabeth Bear’s short story And The Deep Blue Sea, about a different kind of courier.

how Gibson’s The Sprawl trilogy (a trilogy i have MANY opinions about, not all of them positive) does worldbuilding when it implies a vast sprawling richly imagined world with casual in-universe references that you can extrapolate a lot from.

The Gernsback Continuum, for making me think about stranded architectural bits that survived

a little bit of the Empress’ energy from Cavendish’s The Blazing World.

the short story The Rational Ship by Caro Clarke, about a ship that runs on orgasms, from the EXTREMELY out of print Memories and Visions: Women’s Fantasy and Science Fiction edited by Susanna J. Sturgis. i’ve scanned it in as a pdf and will send it to anyone who asks. the stories in this volume are WILDLY varying in quality and terf-yness. i would not buy this book on purpose.

i think each separate Vault storyline is a tiny separate Lost World story, so just pick your favorite and insert it here.

Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy was FORMATIVE for baby me. biopunk! big trans energy! SKY WHALES

fucking hate Paolo Bacigalupi for what he does to his female characters but Ship Breaker was good from what I remember of it

there are three very oblique Sherlock Holmes references in “blow a kiss, fire a gun” for my own amusement.

Fallout scifi seems to be very Verne and Wells and Burroughs derived? a lot of very pulpy “pseudojournalistic realism to tell an adventure story with little basis in reality.” or “hey look at this COMPLETE NOVEL i found in a bottle by the sea OR locked in my weird great-uncle’s things, i shall retell it to you here”

idk i think The Road and the Hunger Games have so profoundly shaped the state of the genre, there’s probably at least a little bit of both these things in here even if I didn’t particularly like either of them. There’s also a lot of super bleak post-war stuff I read but am not necessarily incorporating, like Nevill Shute’s On The Beach. probably some Dune in here too if i’m being totally honest. why have a desert if there’s not going to be a giant worm, Fallout: New Vegas???

jesus i gotta read more lady authors. there are probably way more that i’m not remembering bc almost all the books i own are in a storage unit seven hours away that i haven’t touched in three years. there are probably way more comics also.

OH not a book but the decaying-rich-people-paradise of Bioshock. pity how they never made a third game

#ain't that a kick in the head #ty!!!#this was really interesting to think about #i'm not sure i answered it Right bc there's probably a way i could answer this more directly and draw closer parallels to shit #but here we are in an imperfect week with my imperfect brain

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kastlenetwork · 5 years

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kastle + laguardia :)

Laguardia is an airport, right? Lmaoo I’m so stupid, I had to google it. I’ve never been to New York, I only know about JFK.

Karen isn’t really sure what her plan is, now that her father has made it abundantly more clear that she is not welcome home. The rage and pain of the loss of Kevin and the roll of which she played still ever present in his every interaction with her. And she understands that, she really does. It’s not as if Karen has forgiven herself for driving them into a battlement of crunching plastic steel and shattering glass – she doesn’t expect her father to feel much differently. She can still see the red of blood staining the backs of her lids, whenever she closes her eyes – especially now, as she finds herself on the run from more trouble she’s shoved herself into where it she didn’t need.

It was stupid of her to go to the hotel and gain entry into his sham of a prison – she recognizes a plan built on the back of desperation when she sees it, when she carries it out on her own. But, the burning idea of “maybe” and “if he only just…” was too strong for her to not gamble the odds – that Wilson Fisk would reach across the table, after she confessed her most recent crime ending in the red stain of another, and harm her in some way anyway that would get him put back where he belonged.

A stupid plan that didn’t work and she should’ve known.

But, Karen thinks as she stares forward to a little kid playing with a tiny toy car across the discolored carpeting, doing nothing does nothing and she will never do nothing again.

Her father had hung up on her, despite the sounds of her sniffles she is more than sure that he was able to hear through the line, in an alarmingly quick fashion and she’d had less than no time to plan her next move. She knew she was being hunted by someone masquerading as Matt and far more deadly. She knew, better than most, that Fisk was powerful beyond measure. This will be the second time he’s had other men do his dirty work and try and take her out – her mind raises a phantom hand to rub at the span of her neck, where the bed sheet once wrapped. Her only option was to get out of New York for awhile, hunker down and lay low.

It’s not like she had a job to do, anyway – what with the whole being fired thing.

And that’s what she’s doing. She just needs her flight to come, so she can get out of the busy and dangerous city to Bumfuck, USA – or wherever her ticket is to, she can barely remember. Definitely not Vermont. Her father obviously wouldn’t let her in and she figures the rest of the family will follow. She doesn’t want to endure the images of her Granny Louanne (or any other family member who would dare open their doors to her) ripped apart and riddled with oozing burning holes, anyway.

How many people that she loves can she be she damned to get killed? She can’t have any more of their blood on her hands. She can’t. There’s only so much a person can recover, before they’re broken beyond repair.

Karen’s mind is so occupied with worry that she only notices the presence coming closer, as it’s already placing it’s weight in seat next to her. She keeps her eyes on the child while he plays and remains as calm as she’s able, as her hand immediately inches it’s way into her purse, before recalling with a internal curse that she has nothing with her to protect her. She couldn’t very well bring a gun into LaGuardia – that would be thrusting herself into the spotlight, instead of sinking away into the depths of the dark shadows.

How many mistakes can she make in the span of two days? How many decisions can she make that are going to get her fucking killed!

“Chicago, huh?”

Karen whips her head to the right, her ears not believing what her eyes suddenly see – her mind not registering the truth.

Frank tilts his head and lifts his arm, bringing a cup of coffee to his lips, “Good a place as any. Big enough to hide, familiar enough to feel like you stand out.”

“…Frank?! What are you–” she shakes the fuzz out of the space between her ears and drops her voice down to below a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“Got a call from David about some trouble,” he shrugs and Karen takes in the sight of him. She hasn’t seen him since the last time she was kidnapped (and isn’t that a joke if there ever was one – the last time she was kidnapped, shit) where he stood upon a roof and shot at faceless never ending ninjas. (Ninjas! What has her life come to?) “Punched a bunch of fucking buttons on a computer and did that thing where he stalks people ‘til he gets what he wants…found you here.”

His hair is short, again, and the beard the was swarming his face last she saw him long gone. His eyes are bright as they rest upon her face, but alert in a way that hers accidentally stopped being an hour ago, scanning the airport for the both of them. But, best of all, there’s no purple and yellow marks upon his face – it’s as clean as ever, only faint and faded scars of old painted against his skin. And there’s a merry clench around her heart at that clear canvas, just as there was when he’d called out her name on the street and asked to come to her home.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he’s talking and watching her as she watches him.

“Chicago?” she glances down at her ticket, clutched in the hand not grasped at the nothingness in her purse . “Yes…Chicago. Windy…Safe.”

“You know I would’ve come.”

Karen squints her eyes and mimics the tilt of his head, “Do I know that, Frank?”

He nods in an absentminded manner and sweeps the room. He’s not contacted her since he left through the top of that elevator and he knows that as much as she does. “That’s fair,” he hums. “I should have made it clear. I was…busy.”

“Not in the usual way,” she gestures towards his face.

“No, not in the usual way.”

Karen pulls her hand out of her bag and pulls it into a fist, “That’s good…Frank.” She opens her mouth to say more, but a monotone voice sounds out above their heads signaling boarding to her flight to apparently Chicago. Karen hovers for a moment and pulls her eyes back to the child, who’s parent is pulling him up off of the floor. Despite how it’s set her mind off axis, Frank’s sudden appearance doesn’t change the dire consequences of the situation, so she stands abruptly. When Frank does the same, she turns back to him, with a question in her brow and panic seeping out of her pores.

She really doesn’t have time for a famous Page and Castle bounce around, lives are on the line and she has to get out of New York.

“Chicago, huh?” he repeats, pulls another drink from his coffee, and holds up a ticket in his other hand and the breath rapidly leaves Karen’s lungs.

He’s coming with her?

To Chicago?

Her own dad told her not to come.

“You can tell me all about Fisk when we get there. Shit, you’re always gettin’ yourself into trouble, Karen. I do not understand it,” he looks both exasperated and impressed – which is often how she feels about him.

“Yeah, well so are you,” her whisper raises slightly, sharpens with a touch of hurt that she’s not really interested in exposing to him. Especially not now, when everything is so much worse than Frank Castle not pushing through his own fogs to call her. “You’re the king of getting yourself into trouble, I seem to recall a certain trial.”

“Yeah, now that was a party…Guess we’re both willing to throw everything away to get to some sorta justice.”

She watches him reach down to a backpack that she hadn’t noticed and gesture towards the line that’s formed, eyes ever vigilant. “You could’a gotten a ticket to California or something. It’s fucking cold in Chicago, right now.”

She brings them to into the line, “Next time I’m running for my life, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

He huffs out a laugh, “We both know there’ll be a next. Too nosy for your own good – you’d be damn good friends with David, actually.”

She looks back at him, “…I’m trying to be damn good friends with you.”

“Yeah,” he nudges her towards the lady looking to scan their tickets. “I know, Page.”

I gave up at the end ✌ ✌ ✌ writing is hard ✌ ✌ ✌ it’s not three lines ✌ ✌ ✌

#lololz #ninzied #ask #kastleff #kastle #txt: chey #ours

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conspiratortrue · 4 years

Text

Here’s a conspiracy theory

So assuming everyone DOESN’T die from COVID-19, we must all assume that the world will never truly be the same again. But will it be better?

Traveling to Lowe’s for some ant killer in order to curb my homicidal rage (don’t act like you haven’t been stuck at home with your family for the past week and a half too), I noticed that they had installed sneeze guards in front of every register. I thought this was brilliant especially considering how easily spread this virus is. No store can provide maximum protection for they’re customers, it’s just not logistically possible, but they should prioritize their own employees safety above all else, because that trickles down to protect the community as well. Upon noticing them I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not they would remain after the pandemic is defeated (as we all assume it will eventually be.)

This triggered me to question what long lasting effects this might have, and with the research I’ve already done on the subject I decided why not add some sheer speculation? I am a lover of conspiracy theories after all, why not make my own for once. So here goes.

New World Order

If you scrolled down to this header you missed a whole lot, including an explanation. But that aside, this is my conspiracy theory, based on a LOT of circumstantial evidence. Enjoy.

Starting from the beginning, as all good theories must, we have to go back to 2008. That’s right, back when Obama was elected.

Wait! Not his fault! Nor can it be blamed on any specific Republican (keep reading, I’ll explain later). But in ‘08, when we were just entering the Great Recession, as some minor news agencies love to call it, a conspiracy theory was going around social media websites that stated the United States government had purchased some one million “disposable caskets” in preparation for a forced and unconstitutional 2nd Amendment repeal, as well as a gun ban and buyback, which would cause a revolution that the government would have to put down. Resulting in tragic losses on both sides.

Obviously that didn’t happen. And while it’s mostly malarkey (as you might have guessed), there is some truth to it.

The facts? The U.S. government had purchased some 50,000 casket liners. Keyword ‘liners’. These liners are intended to be placed directly in the ground, in areas where erosion may be a greater risk, and a casket would be placed inside. These casket liners were kept at a staging area in Georgia. The question, however, remains, what were their intended purpose? Why would the U.S. government purchase 50,000 casket liners? What use would they have for these plastic bins?

Fast forward. The recent British election. Whether or not England would join Brexit was a major question. We’re obviously not here to discuss the logistics of a European trade deal. But prior to the election the British government purchased 100,000 caskets. When asked about this obviously confusing purchase, the British government gave no answer. Although some have speculated that had Brexit not gone through, those caskets might have been filled. Which seems unlikely. Especially considering that these people want to be re-elected and hence would probably come up with something to prevent 100,000 people from dying.

But assuming the British government would have been capable of governing (as they have for years), why waste what must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars if not more? Unless they weren’t preparing for a failed Brexit after all...

Now to speculate on circumstantial evidence. Assuming those 50,000 casket liners are still sitting in a field in Georgia, and assuming claims that this most recent coronavirus is man-made are true, then perhaps those 100,000 British caskets do have a use after all.

What if, and that’s a big “if”, but what if the U.S. government has staging areas just like the one in Georgia at various strategic locations around the country? What if other large countries around the world have similar stockpiles? And what if the novel coronavirus is a way to suppress the populations of the world so that as situations worsen each government feels the need to look to the WHO to distribute their medical supplies, and effectively govern their countries? It sounds crazy, (as most conspiracy theories do) but think about this, you can stand against guns and tanks, jets and an iron fist. You can’t fight a virus.

Yes this is a theory, no I don’t believe it. No political party has anything to gain from this pandemic, nor does any particular person. Nor does anyone have anything to gain from a one world government or a new world order. This is just the stuff I like to think about. Odds are this will all come to an end, and when it does, the world will not be very different than it was before. Aside from the newly acquired knowledge which will allow us to more effectively prepare for the next outbreak.

And hopefully next time, we will be prepared.

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shortnsweetconnor · 6 years

Note

A imagine where a Detective joins hank and connors cases who is smart sweet beautiful and cares for androids then they later found out she is gavin's twin sister

I had fun writing this! I hope it meets your expectations!

You’re Who’s Sister?!

AO3 Link

Connor walked into work one day and found it to be oddly peaceful. He walked up to the receptionist, a now freed android, and asked “Is there something happening today? It’s very quiet” The receptionist smirked but coughed to cover it and answered“Detective Reed is on paternal leave for a few months, a replacement is already here for him.” Well that was why it was so quiet, Reed wasn’t there to stir up any trouble. Gavin Reed is a father, what an odd thought. He had been on everyone’s nerves the past few months as his wife’s due date grew closer, how he had ended up marrying such a sweet woman. Connor would never know, although Gina was a spitfire in her own right. He walked into the office area and headed towards his desk. A woman stopped him along the way, sticking her hand out in greeting. As he shook the offered hand, you beamed“Hello! My name is Y/n Reed, I’m the detective who is going to be covering for Detective Reed while he’s out. What’s your name?” Your bright smile dazzled him but he managed to stammer out“My name is Connor Anderson.. I’m the android detective on the force.” He gauged your face for a reaction to the fact that he was an android, but if anything, your smile widened. “Hi Connor, it’s nice to meet you. Nobody else is here yet and I’m glad, I was so eager to get here that I came really early. Do you know which desk is to be mine?”“Since you’re here to replace Detective Reed, I’d assume you will use his desk. It’s right across from mine, actually.” “That’s great! Will you show me?” You pulled his hand gently and he realized that you had never released his hand after your greeting. He led you to your desk nonetheless. “Thank you Connor,” you squeezed his hand and dropped it, “I’ll see you around?” He felt your smile warm up his circuits, sending tingles through him. He smiled and answered “I certainly hope so.”The day went by and you met Hank, Connor’s adopted father. He was rough around the edges but you could tell he cared about his son quite a bit. A week later, you and Connor had become quick friends. That afternoon, the captain called you and Connor into his office that afternoon. “Now Y/n I know you just got here a few days ago, but we have a case we could use your expertise in.” The only android in the office refrained from scanning her to see exactly what she specialized in. “A man who recently lost his own android child to a car accident has been kidnapping a number of android children trying to replace the one he lost, it seems he grows angry when they can’t replicate his daughter. He disposed of them after a few days and then moved on to stalk the next child. All of the parents have reported seeing him in the area before their child is taken, but our officers seem to lose him in the abandoned industrial part of Detroit. That’s where you come in, Anderson with his expertise in androids and your experience with children kidnappings. All of the information had been sent to your desks. So I suggest you get started right away.” The pair left the office and you followed Connor to his desk. “Y/n?”“I’d rather go over the information with you since we will be working together.”“Makes sense.” Piecing together what the officers had so far on the unsub, you found out that after the daughter had died. The father had dropped off the grid for a few months, losing everything. Which explained why he decided to camp out in abandoned buildings and what made him so hard to find. No connections, no job, no house, and no frequent haunts. The only sightings were at the actual kidnappings. The latest one had taken place just yesterday, that gave you and Connor only today and tomorrow to figure it out before he killed the little girl he currently had. You made the decision to go to the place that the officers had lost sight of him in their latest chase. Connor drove you there and you decided to split up to search for anything useful. It was broad daylight so splitting up didn’t seem like such a bad idea at the time, you had your gun after all. But when you rounded a corner, you bumped into a jumpy man dressed in tatters. “What do you want girlie?!” the older man spat. “Sorry sir, I’m just looking around for something useful. I’m a detective with Detroit Police. Have you seen a man with a little girl around lately?”“I ain’t seen nothing!” “Well, good day then.” The way he was looking you up and down was making you wary. You started to back away but he lunged and pulled you towards him, the sharp tip of a knife in your back. Your training kicked in and you made to escape, but the knife just dug a few inches into your back. You cried out and resumed trying to break free, biting the man, scratching, even managing to take a few chunks out of him. “Now now, there’s no need for that, just give me everything you have with you and I’ll let you go.” You didn’t believe him and you managed to get your knee just right there. He collapsed to the ground clutching himself, you backed away from him and called for Connor. “Connor!” The android barreled around the corner, took the scene in, the man had risen looking furious but he just charged the man. Taking him down in just a few seconds, he cuffed him to a nearby pipe and turned to you. “Y/n! Are you alright?” “I.. I’m fine.” You tried to pull yourself up off the ground but you fell back down, the blood loss was getting to you. Blood sluggishly poured out of the hole in your back, soaking your shirt with crimson. Connor noticed immediately and he picked you up bridal style. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you to the hospital!”“What about him?” You pointed to the sulking man cuffed nearby with a shaky finger. Connor’s LED blinked yellow and he relayed the situation to the nearest cruiser. “There, now lets get you to a doctor.” You wanted to protest but your vision started to grow white. “Y/n? Y/n!” Connor was yelling, you wanted to say everything would be okay but you were already gone. White lights greeted you as your eyes fluttered open. From your side, a blue lump released a relieved sigh. Blinking a few times to regain focus, you registered Connor now leaning over you slightly with a crease between his eyebrows. You reached out slowly and smoothed it with your thumb. “Hey.” He fell back into the chair and clutched your hand. “You scared me and all you can say is hey?” You laughed and winced in pain. “What can I say? I’m a peach.” “Actually, it’s impressive that you managed to break free from that man after he stabbed you.”“I’m a strong girl!” You flexed your arm despite the pain it caused. Connor laughed but held your hand a little tighter. “I’ve never experienced fear like that before, when you fainted in my arms. I had this irrational thought that you had died. I ended up speeding with the sirens on all the way here. I broke so many traffic laws!”“It was for a good cause though, right?” You winked at him, trying to make him feel better. He brought your hand to his lips “Yes, a very good cause.” It was stupid but you already felt a connection with the man sitting by you. “Connor, would you got out with me sometime?” He blinked in surprise “Uh…” He started to say something else but then your brother burst into the room. “Y/n are you okay? What did this plastic prick do to you?” “I’m okay Gavin, just a perk of the job.”“I never should’ve asked you to come from Seattle and be my replacement.”“But then I never would’ve gotten to see Gina and my new niece!” In your mind you added, ‘or Connor’ your brother would not appreciate that. Ever since your nanny android had died in a fire saving your brother, he had closed himself off and took his anger out on all androids. He blamed himself and had become very bitter. That incident had only solidified your belief that androids were alive. Deep down, you knew Gavin also believed that but it was easier to distance himself from them if he pretended not to. Gina was good for your brother, she had softened him and had brought out the brother you once knew. You were brought out of your thoughts when Connor spoke up and asked“Detective Reed is your brother?”“We are fraternal twins actually.”“What’s it to you?” “Well… I’m just surprised especially since your sister just asked me out on a date.”“What?!” They continued to argue but you just laid back smiling in amusement. Getting wounded was not the best thing that could’ve happened, but getting to go out with Connor made it a little better. You wondered how your date would turn out as you drifted off to the sound of your boys arguing.

#connorxreader #connor x reader #connor fanfiction #connor detroit become human #detroit become human #connor dbh fanfiction

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prairiesongserial · 5 years

Text

5.2

The highway had been overwhelmed by noise and motion only moments before, and John was still getting his bearings. There was no sign of the mutie pack. Apparently the high-beams from the trucks - and three well-aimed shots - had been enough to send them packing. The strangers in suits now lay bleeding silently on the ground.

John walked among the trucks and surveyed the damage. There had been six of them, all dressed to the nines. Like at La Salle, except these suits were white, not black and red. The white showed the blood clearly, even in the low light. The woman - Sailor, she had said her name was - had slit their throats from behind in only seconds.

Cody was handling the conversation with Sailor, which John was grateful for. It left him time to collect himself. His ears were still buzzing. The bike was busted. He needed to sit down. All was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the trucks, still waiting for their drivers.

“John, over here,” Cody called.

John watched from several feet away as Sailor climbed into the front seat of one of the trucks and tossed a dead body out the door behind her.

“Okay, load the bike up,” she yelled down.

Without its wheels, the bike was impossibly heavy, and John and Cody struggled to move it the few feet to the back of the truck. Eventually Sailor climbed back down to help them with it. Cody was swearing the entire time, sweat gleaming in the white headlights.

“I don’t know why we’re bothering. We don’t have the money for new tires,” Cody said, panting with effort. He, John, and Sailor gave the bike a final heave, and John climbed quickly up into the truck bed to pull from the other side.

“I know some guys,” Sailor said. She didn’t seem concerned.

“Guys who work for free?” said Cody.

“I’ve got something in mind,” Sailor replied. But that was all she said.

With the bike in the bed of the truck, Sailor started for the driver side, waving them along behind her. Cody started to follow, but John pulled his arm, hard, and gave him a wide-eyed, severe look. It was all John could manage just then.

“It’s her or we take our chances walking,” Cody said. “I don’t think we’re gonna get lucky again.”

John had to agree, but he didn’t have to feel good about it. Cody climbed into the car, then reached down to pull John up behind him. They hadn’t yet closed the door before Sailor took off, making a wide U-turn through the roadside brush.

When Sailor finally killed the engine, the truck was parked outside a motel that looked as if it had just lost a fight with a junkyard. There were cars up on cinderblocks, piles of metal scrap, batteries, and oil pans. Two lights were on - room three’s, which was the room deepest in the labyrinth of scrap, and that of the motel office, though no one was manning the desk.

Sailor parked the stolen truck in front of room six.

She hadn’t finished climbing down from the cab when a man with a shotgun and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth appeared in the doorway of room three.

“That better be you, Sailor, or I’m blowing your tires,” he called.

“Then you’ll be kicking yourself, Rabi, because these ones are for you,” she sing-songed back to him.

She slid easily down from the truck and walked over to him. Cody began to climb down, too, and John followed. The twenty minute ride had given him time to get back to baseline. Sailor hadn’t talked much - at least not as much as Cody, who had become John’s metric. But she had explained herself, more or less. She was a bounty hunter who had moved south a few years ago to claim a big bounty, but had found plenty of smaller bounties to keep her in business when her initial mark didn’t pan out.

“It’s not that I’ve given up, it’s just that he’s thought of everything. I can’t get close, so I’ve settled for picking off his men,” she had said, almost deadpan, over the roar of the engine. “Christ, this car needs a better muffler. He’s such a coward that he’s got twenty armed guards at his place, random shift changes…it’s fucking ridiculous. I keep killing his guys, he keeps hiring new ones. And putting them in designer suits. White suits. The money never ends.”

John felt Cody tense, crammed next to him in the cab.

“So that’s the head of Hemisphere? I thought she was supposed to be a girl. A woman.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Sailor cracked a smile. “He’s not the head of anything but his own house - but shit if it isn’t a house.”

“But he’s…”

“Yeah, he’s a gang leader. Well, he’s more of a one-man gang. He’s the boss, and then there’s the hired guns, and he makes his money doing…” Sailor waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve been looking into it all for years. I could tell you a lot. Big picture is, he bullies his way in, gets control of as much water as he can get his hands on, and sells it back to the people at three times the price.”

“And he’s Hemisphere?” Cody asked.

“Associated with Hemisphere. You practically have to be, to do business on that scale.”

Cody looked exhausted. He had pushed his driving goggles up his forehead, and John watched his face intently. It had been a while since he’d had the chance to look at Cody. Since what happened at La Salle they’d been driving all day and all night, trying to make up for lost time, praying Ethan wouldn’t be pushing as hard as they had been. And it had clearly taken its toll; Cody’s eyes barely focused on anything. At the confirmation that once again they had run into gang trouble, just a handful of days after La Salle, Cody looked defeated. And John didn’t blame him. They had no bike, no money, and their only friend was a bounty hunter who had just killed six men on a powerful crime lord’s payroll.

“You two are on the wrong side of Hemisphere? That’s some shit luck.” Sailor laughed.

“We are now,” Cody said.

The conversation had ended there until they arrived at the motel.

Sailor waved Rabi over impatiently.

“Got you another one,” she said, slapping the side of the truck. Rabi took a drag on his cigarette, looking it over. He had thick black hair and deep brown skin that reflected the headlights, like Cody’s. He was tall and wiry, though, while Cody was stout. He had very recently been dressed for bed, wearing nothing but an undershirt and pants that looked like they had been thrown on in a hurry.

“It’s shit. You keep bringing me the same truck like it’s not shit every time.”

“And every time you scavenge something and make it worth your while. Is Celeste still up? Celeste always takes my side.”

“I know he does, which causes a lot of marital stress for us. You’re ruining my marriage, Sailor.” Rabi finished his cigarette and flicked it into the dust. “Alright, I’ll buy the tires and...What’s that?”

Rabi’s attention had fallen on John and Cody’s bike. He hopped into the back of the truck.

“Now this is something I can flip - shit, look at that…”

“That’s not for sale, actually,” Cody piped up. “I was hoping you could fix it for me.”

“Two new tires? That’s not cheap…”

“Yeah, yeah, they’ll pay, we’re working on a payment plan.” Sailor said. “We can sort it out in the morning. These paying customers need a place for the night, should I wake up Celeste?”

“Celeste is awake, just bang on the door.” Rabi waved her off. He took a pocket flashlight out of his pants and shined it over the bike. “Jesus, did you throw this thing off a mountain? Not cheap, Sailor.”

“I heard you the first time,” she said. She gestured for John and Cody to follow her to the motel office, which was still unmanned.

Sailor rapped on the window, loudly, several times, until a man appeared from the back room. When he saw her, he gave her a broad smile. He had short locs which hung at odd angles, and wore mismatched glasses made of one pink frame and one blue - the plastic had been artfully melted together in the middle.

“Sailor! Covered in blood, as always. Who are your friends?”

Sailor shrugged. “Didn’t ask their names. Can they have a room? I’ll vouch for them.”

For the first time, John realized that Sailor had taken them under her wing for a reason, and it wasn’t just the giving spirit. This woman was a bounty hunter. She was hard. One of her legs had been welded together out of scrap metal - probably in this very junkyard. And in the warm glow of the motel office, John got a real good look at Sailor’s scar. It ran from the top of her forehead to the bottom of her chin on the right side of her face, pink and jagged. It hadn’t really registered before, half-hidden by hair in the low light of the truck cab. But now that John was looking, he noticed buckshot scars on her arm, too. And there were probably more, out of view.

He and Cody had needed her, and had been too shell-shocked to ask why Sailor needed them.

“They’re dead on their feet, Celeste. They’re good for the room, or you can add it to my tab.”

“Alright, alright…” Celeste took down a key from the wall behind him. “I see you brought Rabi another one of those horrible gang cars. You know he can’t flip them when they’re so obviously Mr. Waters’s.”

“His name is Mr. Waters?” Cody groaned, just loudly enough for John to hear.

“I thought you were on my side,” Sailor said with a smirk.

“I’m only on your side when you’re up on rent,” Celeste said, returning the smile. “Okay, away with you. Go sleep off your crimes.”

“Good man, Celeste,” Sailor returned. She practically pushed John and Cody to their room, even going so far as to unlock the door for them. She herded the two of them inside, then stood in the doorway, grinning toothily at them. John felt the urge to go for his gun.

“Well boys, rest up. We’ll talk through the job in the morning.”

With that, she was gone, leaving the door wide open. Cody sat down hard on the bed and took off his boots. He looked up at John as John hastily crossed the room to close the door.

“She just hustled us, right?” Cody said.

“The job,” John replied in the affirmative.

“There wasn’t a job before. Before, it was ‘do you boys need a ride?’ You remember that too, right?”

“What kind of job?” John said.

Cody rubbed his temples, hunched over his knees.

John didn’t need him to reply. What else, but killing Mr. Waters?

5.1 || 5.3

#story

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fancyladssnacks · 6 years

Text

You and Whose Army

or;

What if the Seed family were actually good and Hope County is just really paranoid?

AU fic with slow burn Jacob Seed/Staci Pratt, and not-so-slow-burn John/male!Deputy in the background.

Keeping it on tumblr for now because AO3 creates scary ~commitment~ and I just want somewhere to share it with my FC5 buddies (especially you, @avaleahblog). I have not abandoned my Fallout fics. No content warnings for this chapter but I’ll flag ‘em up as necessary.

Pratt hasn’t been out to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.

Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is level and clean.

The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met him, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.

Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say seems to be connecting with people, because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.

While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough calls to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days, so Earl tasked his deputies with visiting various Seed family properties to cast an eye over things. Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he left it—set down on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building—then sighs and pushes through the gates.

The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gates, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather is warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.

Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.

A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.

“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.

He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse within. The windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn inside. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in.

“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.

There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Still not a soul to be seen.

On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.

The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…

“Oh, shit.”

The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack, while the one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.

He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.

Suddenly, all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the path. The hospital’s yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.

He jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.

Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.

One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.

“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.

Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he knows anything else. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle, and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.

“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.

He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the ribbon of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.

Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marred worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already marked skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.

He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.

Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”

Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.

“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You’ve found me now.”

Clearly the opposite is true.

Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”

Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.

“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”

“A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”

“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”

Pratt exhales impatiently. “It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”

Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”

“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”

Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.

“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”

“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”

Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.

“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”

Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.

Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”

“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”

“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.

Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.

“Are we done here, Deputy…” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “…Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.

They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man that he’s no cowering fool.

Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.

“We’re done.”

Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”

“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” His attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets Staci’s eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”

Staci frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.

The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.

Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.

He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.

#jacob seed #staci pratt #jacob seed/staci pratt #fancy fanfic #far cry 5 #alternate universe #slow burn #enemies to lovers #john seed/male deputy #john seed/deputy #you and whose army

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