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keep-the-wolves-close · 2 months

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Steady Heart

Chapter 12: Heaven in Hiding

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

* Warnings: language, stressed Stella, threatening a police officer(eh? I think? Technically lmao), I think this chapter is pretty tame?

* Word count: 4,711ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! This one is a longer one too, so thank you for sticking around. I think this is one of my favorite chapters so far.

Rip opened the door for Stella to the foreman’s lodge and quietly told her to make herself at home. She plopped her sleeping bag on the couch that was inside the door. She wasn’t particularly thrilled with having to sleep on it, but it was better than the floor again. Placing her backpack on the table next to the couch, she took off her coat and hung it by the door. Stella could feel Rip’s eyes on her. He must have been trying to figure out if she was going to have a breakdown.

She didn’t bother to stop what she was doing to look at him before she spoke. Opening the scrunch bag her sleeping bag was in, she said tiredly, “I’m fine, Rip.” With a bit of struggle, she wrestled the sleeping bag out. When he didn’t say anything in reply, she broke her focus to find him leaning against the kitchen counter. His arms crossed and his face stoic. Even with the stoicism she could tell he didn’t believe her. “What?” She asked, walking around the back of the couch and mirroring his posture.

He almost broke and let a smirk escape at her crossed arms and the cute little scrunch that had taken over her full round cheeks. Lloyd’s words of them being similar came back to him. He had to think about how he should approach this because he didn’t want her to get angry with him again and hightail it.

“How are you okay with this?”

“I mean, is it tragic? Absolutely.” Stella leaned her hands against the back of the couch. “But one thing y’all have taught me is don’t get stuck in the what ifs. So I’m trying not to. I’m just focusing on what we’re gonna do tomorrow with the sheriff.”

Rip removed his hat and set it down gently on the counter. When he turned back to Stella his eyebrows were raised. “We?”

Stella frowned quizzically at him. “Uh, yeah? We were both involved.”

He shook his head. “No, I don't think we’re gonna mention you.”

“But we can’t just throw you under the bus by yourself! They’re gonna see two sets of footprints, two sets of hoof prints. It was my rope that was used, and I don’t have any sort of alibi, not to mention my finger prints are on your rifle,” she counted all the reasons on her fingers. “How could we keep my involvement a secret? Especially when the feds are probably getting brought in? Killing that bear was a federal offense. Self defense or not.”

He breathed out loudly, almost like a scoff. “You’re overthinking it. You’re brother and Colby, hell any of the wranglers would lie for you in a heartbeat. Hell, we could even get Kayce to say something. I’ll go up the mountain with John early before the sheriff gets here. We’ll take care of second tracks.”

“Someone has to think about it, Rip! You’re acting like we didn’t just witness people die and then kill a federally protected species! And I will not have someone else put their ass on the line for me for nothing.”

“Well we all would. And that’s because we didn’t do anything. It was all me.”

“You realize I’m not going to let you take the fall alone, right?”

“I’ll hide the horses.”

“You think that’ll stop me? We have four wheelers.” She straightened herself but kept her arms crossed. “Hell, I’ll sneak out early and walk up there before y’all even open your eyes.”

Rip bit his tongue. He knew he was walking in thin ice. “Alright, how about this?” He stepped closer to her. He figured he would take both of their opinions out of the equation. Stella looked at the floor, expecting to be scolded like a child. “We’ll let John decide in the morning and whatever he says, goes.”

She snapped her head up at him, taken aback that he was being patient with her. The way things had been between them the past few days had been rough. She automatically expected the worst. She uncrossed her arms and stood up straight and pushed her lenses back up her nose. “Does this mean we’re good now? You’ve got whatever gross out about me being friends with Kayce?”

It was a loaded question, but Rip understood why she asked. Whatever qualms he had with Kayce didn’t have anything to do with her. He knew she was smart enough to deal with whatever Kayce brought her way.

Stella continued with a smile gracing her lips. “Because you remember saying something about getting me into all kinds of shit or whatever?”

Rip had a feeling he knew where this was going, but nodded anyhow.

“Well who’s done it now?” She locked innocent but mischievous eyes with him.

He smacked his lips at her and gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. Stella giggled and stepped backward. “Alright Stella-belle. Go on and get to bed. We’ve got an early morning. I’m takin’ the couch and your sleeping bag as a blanket.”

She made a noise, about to complain, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to fuck the good vibe that was between them again. “Yessir,” she gave him a mock salute and strolled to the bedroom of the lodge.

Once in there she took a moment to herself. The last time she had been in here, she had been waking Lee up because he uncharacteristically overslept. That made the room heavy. It was almost like Lee was here. She wasn’t exactly sure where she stood on the whole ghost thing, but she wouldn’t mind if he did visit her.

Stella went to the lamp that was beside the bed and turned it on to brighten the room. The bun that sat atop her head started to hurt. Her glasses came off, she laid them down on the small bedside table, and unwrapped the scrunchie letting her hair fall around her shoulders. She swiped her hair to the left and realized she wanted out of the jeans she was in. She poked her head out of the bedroom door to see Rip sitting on the couch in quiet contemplation. Leaning on the door jamb she cleared her throat.

Rip’s head swiveled in her direction. He swallowed, not used to seeing her with her hair down or without her glasses. She looked soft and feminine to him, not the scrappy spitfire he was used to seeing. “Yeah?”

“Do you have sweatpants or something I could borrow? I’m tired of these jeans.”

He jumped up off the couch. “Oh yeah, let me get them for you.”

She laughed. “I can get them, Wheelie. Just tell me where they are.”

He stopped short. It had been a long time since she had called him that. He grinned affectionately at her. “Top left drawer of the short dresser.”

A small smile adorned her cheeks. “Thank you,” she mumbled quietly and turned around to go find the offered pants. She found the drawer and pulled the first pair of pants out, quickly slipping out of the offensive jeans and into the much comfier pajama pants.

She walked back to the door and watched Rip get the couch ready to lay down on. He unzipped her sleeping bag and flopped it out to use as a blanket. A soft smile came across her face and leaned her head against the doorway. Even though she wanted to strangle him for the last few days, she really was grateful for his existence in her life. One thing she knew she could always count on was the feeling of safety in his presence. She was so stuck in her own head, she hadn’t noticed him looking at her when he was finished.

His voice came through, sounding like it was in a tunnel as it brought her back to the present. “Stella? Is everything okay?” He took in her comfy appearance and noticed she had chosen his favorite pair of sleep pants.

“Uh, yeah. Everything is okay. I just wanted to say I found the pants and make sure you didn’t need anything else before I laid down.”

“I’m alright Stella-belle. You sleep good, alright?”

Stella smiled and turned around to head to the bed.

The alarm Stella had set for 4:00 am went off quietly under her head in the pillow. She wasn’t going to let Rip get to John first and convince him that she shouldn’t be involved. So she was going to get there first. As quiet as she could in this creaky bedroom, she got up, grabbed her glasses, and creeped out to the door to devise a plan to get to her back pack. It was, unfortunately, still on the table right by a slumbering Rip’s head. Standing at the door she watched him carefully to make sure he was still sleeping. It wasn’t often that she had seen him peaceful. She decided it was a good look for him. There was a slim to none chance of making it happen while he was awake. Unless he was with Beth.

She tiptoed from the bedroom door and around the back of the couch. Halfway around the couch Rip groaned and changed position. She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes closed, shoulders tensed, and jaw clenched. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself. A sigh escaped his lips as he got comfortable and fell back into his snoozing. Stella let out a slow breath that she had been holding. She continued around the side of the couch, and reached out to grab her back pack.

With a quick and quiet snatch, she padded her way back to the bedroom. “All this for the pair of clean underwear in this bag,” she muttered, annoyed at herself. She opened the bag and dug around to find the emergency pair she always carried. Finding it, she gave a quiet ha and changed back into her jeans from the day before. She thanked the gods above that her boots were in here, but had second thoughts of putting them on until she got out outside.

She looked at her bag and decided it would be safe here until they were done later. Picking up her boots, she inched her way out into the living room again. She stopped briefly when she noticed Rip was in a different position. Her eyes squinted in suspicion, worried that he might be waking up. This was about the usual time he started his day.

Carefully, she snuck back around the couch and grabbed her jacket. A swift movement brought the jacket over her shoulders and she slipped her arms through. She put her hand on the door knob and turned it, but it rattled louder than any alarm. The sound was way louder than she intended. A grimace took over and she looked one more time over her shoulder at the sleeping foreman. “Sleep tight,” she murmured.

Hurriedly she closed the door behind her as softly as possible and made her way to the end of the front walkway. Throwing on her boots, she sped off to her car. There was a back road that led up the mountain near that cliff. She would beat them all to the punch.

When she was almost to the barn where she had parked, she slowed her gait to a walk to catch her breath. She loved sneaking but also hated the adrenaline rush that came with it.

Stella made it to her car with a smug smile on her face. She reached out for the door handle. She pulled it rapidly but footsteps rushed up on her from behind. The door snapped closed out of her hand. She gasped and spun on her heel to confront the offender. Her face was in the person’s chest. Leaning back against her car she looked up. It was Rip and he was way too close to her.

“What’re ya doin’, Stella?” He looked down the bridge of his nose at her. The deadpan look on his face and the fact that she’d been caught red handed trying to escape had her mouth hanging open. The two of them huffed lightly in each other’s faces.

“Uh,” Stella struggled to find words, “um.” She swallowed thickly. “I was just coming out to,” her sentence cut short as Rip leaned closer and trapped her against her car with his arms on either side of her. She couldn’t breathe.

He smirked. Amused that he was able to catch her off guard and used it to his advantage. “To what?”

Stella remained speechless. She didn’t have any excuse to give to him.

He called her out, maintaining direct eye contact. “You thought you were gonna be slick and head up the mountain before everyone else so you wouldn’t be told no, huh? What happened to letting Mr. Dutton decide?”

Stella made a groan of complaint relaxing back against her car. She angled her face up at him trying to adjust for the annoyingly close proximity. “I just don’t see how we can logically lie me outta this, Rip.” She admitted in a soft voice. Her hand wound its way up to push her hair out of her face. Her mouth felt dry at being trapped. “Can you back up? I’m not gonna run.” He slowly dropped back a few inches just in case she decided to dart away. It was far enough back that she didn’t feel trapped anymore. “Thank you.” The words were soft when they came out.

“Miss Stella-belle. Always trying to do the right thing.” He chuckled. He grabbed her in a quick hug. “How’d we get so lucky to have heaven in hiding with us?”

Her eyebrows crinkled as Rip pulled away. She tilted her head to the left. “Rip, are you drunk?” She had only ever heard him talk about Beth like that. “I think you need to go back to bed.”

“No, I’m not drunk. Just seeing things in a different light.”

“Okay there, enlightened one.” She patted his chest, trying to get him to back up a few more inches. “Listen, you caught me okay? I’ll wait until he gets here.”

Rip breathed out and backed up. “Alright, I’m trusting you. I’m gonna go get my hat.” He took a few steps backwards and pointed to her, still keeping eye contact. “Don’t make me regret it.”

When he turned around, Stella sagged back in her car again. She was overwhelmed at all the emotions that swirled in her head about the whole situation. “Hellfire.” She breathed out.

Around her the sounds of the ranch coming to life for the day took over the silence. Off to her right she watched as Lloyd, her brother, and the rest of the wranglers filed out of the bunkhouse and toward the barn. None of them, except Lloyd, looked like they were awake yet. She smiled at the sleepy stumble they made.

From behind her car, she heard gravel crunch underneath tires. It caught her attention and she turned to look. John pulled up in his truck. He lumbered out of the tall vehicle. Making his way to Stella he took in the small smile that hung around her mouth. He was glad she was content here, but if they couldn’t convince the sheriff and fish and game what happened was the truth… things wouldn’t be so lovely in a few days.

“Stella, you’re to stay here.” John instructed, interrupting her moment of peace.

Her mouth dropped open with a scoff. “Excuse me?”

Rip added as he stepped up behind them, “she’s bound and determined to be involved.”

“Damn it, that’s because I was involved!” Stella turned and gave John a pleading look.

“I told her she’s overthinking it, sir.” Rip said.

Stella snorted. “Yeah and clearly someone has to because it appears no one has thought that far ahead. Except maybe Jamie if he’s aware of the problem.” She breathed out harshly, collecting herself before she fired off. “Sir, just listen to me for a second.” John waved her to continue.

“The feds are most certainly getting involved. If they see any kind of tampering, which they would pick up on no matter how good we did it, Rip would be tossed even further under the bus.”

She locked eyes with John. “Like I told Rip last night; they’re gonna see two sets of footprints, hoofprints, it was my rope that was used and his rope is still attached to his saddle. I don’t have an alibi and he needs someone else to back up his word about what actually happened! Not to mention my fingerprints are on his rifle and my DNA is on the rope.” John remained quiet as he waited for her to finish. “And I’ll be damned if someone takes the fall for something that I also had a part in and I have no repercussions. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

John’s hands were in his pockets and Rip placed his hands on his hips when she came to the end of her rant. Each of them for different reasons, but fair reasons nonetheless. John didn’t want her to be in this tight spot, but as he listened to her reasoning he couldn’t deny that she made a good point. Rip was flustered at Stella throwing herself on the tracks for him and everyone she cared about.

“So I say I go.” Stella looked over at the wranglers warming up the horses in the round arena, put her hands in her jacket pockets, and sniffed; the cold making her nose run. She wasn’t sure what had changed in the last few weeks, but she was starting to get tired of the back and forth and constantly having to argue with people.

John cleared his throat. If being involved in the deeper side of things on the ranch is what she wanted, that’s what he would give her. “Okay Stella, you go, but you follow my every direction. Let’s load up on the horses.”

Stella spun on her heels and went to get Abigail ready before either of the men could change their minds.

The ride up the back road started to feel like it would never end. Every step the horses took almost elongated the trail even further. Things between the three of them had been silent the entire way. She zoned out in front of her and Abigail and tried to pass the time by imagining how the meeting with the sheriff would turn out.

John cleared his throat, slowing his horse's gait. “You sure you don’t want to back out now?” He glanced at Stella, eyebrows raised in suggestion. “Because you can turn back here.”

Stella scowled at John. “Damn it, yes, I’m sure. Whatever comes, we’ll work the problem and that’s that.” She heard Rip suck his teeth at her answer. She knew he was hoping for a different reply. “Look Rip, you can be pissed all you want. All I have to say is tough shit homeboy.”

John had to turn his head to the side to avoid his smile being seen. He was glad that his daughter wasn’t the only one giving his foreman a run for his money. He made the right decision to keep her around. That made his mind up. She would come out of this just fine.

They trotted up and the sheriff and his team were already here. John turned to Stella and Rip. “Don’t speak unless spoken to, and don’t give too many details. Bare minimum unless I say otherwise.” It was mostly a warning for Stella because Rip already knew how things went.

Stella nodded with a mock salute. “Yessir.”

John was the first off of his horse. He slowly made his way over to the sheriff. Rip got down and grabbed Stella’s reins. She frowned for a second, but recovered her face to neutral when Rip held out a hand for her to use to dismount. ‘What the actual?’ Stella questioned herself. Rip shook his hand at her telling her to get a move on and take his hand. She grabbed it carefully and swung her leg over, using his hand like a springboard to catch her weight as she hopped off of Abigail. There was a quiet breath of sound that left Rip’s mouth as he supported her jump.

Her feet hit the ground with a solid thud. “You know I could’ve gotten down just fine right?” She looked up at Rip underneath the brim of his hat, since they were still hidden by the large mare. Instead of dignifying her objection with a verbal response he clucked at her and wound his arm around her placing his hand in the small of her back, effectively turning her toward the problem at hand. He led her up to stand next to their boss who was at that cursed tree next to the cliff.

When the duo got closer to the cliff, Rip could feel Stella tense through his hand still on her lower back. Her feet stopped abruptly, not wanting to go any further. He rubbed his hand against her shoulders to reassure her that she was safe. Stella breathed out willing her feet to quit sticking to the ground.

John looked over the edge at the people bringing up the tourists. Rip placed Stella in between himself and the tree behind John. He wanted to hide her from the view of the police. He didn’t want her to be here at all if he was fully transparent with himself.

Stella wasn’t exactly thrilled at being that close to the edge. She’d almost fallen to the same fate of the tourists if it wouldn’t have been for Rip gripping her up. She was fine standing back in the shadows for the time being though. She couldn’t believe she had actually convinced John that she should be involved. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure what steps to take next. She didn’t think she would have gotten this far.

“What a fuckin' mess, John.” Sheriff Donnie Haskell announced looking disappointed.

“You'd think these tourists would learn the wilderness isn't a theme park.” John said as he paced over to Donnie. Stella followed Rip’s lead and hung back by the tree.

“That's not what I'm talking about.” He motioned to the bear. “I'm talking about that.” Stella grimaced at the memory. Brown bears and grizzly bears were her favorite animals besides horses. It hurt that Rip had to do what he did, but they would be human pâté if he hadn’t.

Donnie continued. “Now I gotta get an agent up here from Fish and Wildlife. That's a federal offense. What's the ETA on Wildlife?” Stella had to hide the smirk that wanted to appear at having someone else tell John and Rip the same thing she did.

“Said a few hours.” One of the other officers answered from a few feet away.

John went in on the defense quickly. “It was self-defense, Donnie. Let's not overreact here.”

“They’re out here looking for a bear you told them to hunt.” Donnie fired back.

Rip leaned back against the tree and looked at the ground. Stella was feeling like they were in the principal’s office. She made sure the second part of the tree trunk was behind her and rested back on it and angled her body toward Rip. She couldn’t help herself and leaned against his shoulder for some safety. He put his arm around her shoulders and he gave them a squeeze. He knew she was out of her element, but he wanted her to know neither John nor himself would steer her wrong here.

“I told them to haze it out of here before it killed my cattle.”

“Here's the picture Fish and Wildlife are gonna paint. They are up here hunting illegally, kill an endangered species.”

Rip turned and let Stella go as he blew out a breath. He was getting angry at what the sheriff had to say. Stella tried to quietly keep him from exploding.

“Witnessed by two tourists that they then throw off the fucking cliff. Then he gives me some bullshit story about throwing them a rope… And both of them, John, both of them slip.”

Stella’s blood pumped through her ears like a drum beat. “It was actually me who threw them the rope. It’s missing from my saddle. You can check. And everything we’ve told you is true.”

“We’ll see about that, Stella.” Donnie’s voice foreboding.

“I'm calling Jamie.” John determined.

“You're gonna need him.”

John pulled out his phone “Jamie. I got a real problem, and you're not here to fix it. Call me back.”

“Look at me Rip.” He leaned to face her fully. “Everything is fine. We’re gonna be okay.”

“It doesn’t help that Haskell is being a prick about it.”

“I get it, I do. But the problem is, this is a huge fuck up. On our part, on his part, and he’s probably pissed he’s gotta fill out a bunch of paperwork.”

He gazed down at her speechless at her ability to stay lighthearted when the situation was far from it. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his chest. Placing a solid kiss on the top of her head to let her know the message was received. He let her go just as quickly as he had grabbed her. Stella didn’t even have time to open her eyes before he backed up a few inches.

John marched over to the pair. “They're gonna make a real stink out of this.”

“That's what I get for trying to do the right thing. I should've just buried them all.” Rip sounded defeated. Like he had already accepted the fate of going down for this.

“Hey knock it off. What’s done is done and you were trying to do it right.” Stella nudged his arm.

John stepped away to the space in between her and Rip. “Where were you standing, Rip?”

“Both of us were right here. Stella scooted back a bit when the bear charged, but we were both right here.” He pointed to the animal. “I mean, if that ain't self-defense, I don't know what is.”

“If that's where you were really standing.”

At the same time Stella and Rip went in on the sheriff.

“Hey, Donnie!” Rip started.

Stella shouted. “Oh come off it!”

Rip stalked over to Donnie. “There's powder burns on his fucking nose, man. Why don't you do your job?”

Stella placed herself in between the sheriff and Rip. “After the tourists fell, the bear came up over the hill. It gave a warning stomp once, then charged. It gave no time for adjustment. At all. You’d be an idiot to not know that was self defense!” Stella put herself in Donnie’s face.

Donnie looked down at Stella unthreatened. “John, you better calm your attack dog and attack dog in training down here, or we're gonna have this conversation in town.”

Rip witnessed Stella’s fist ball up and knew she was about to crank that Soulja Boy back to let a solid punch fly. She stepped backward to brace herself to throw the punch. Rip grabbed her hand and forced her fingers to interlock with his. They didn’t need her catching a charge for assaulting a police officer.

“Rip, Stella. Go to the house and wait for Fish and Wildlife.” John called them off.

Rip pulled Stella away from Donnie with their still interlocked hands. He pushed her in front of him and forced her away from the problem and to her horse. Rip sniffed indignantly at Donnie and trailed after Stella. They briskly walked past John, to which the foreman and ranch owner shared a look.

John came up to the sheriff. “I got enough problems without you inventing more for me.”

Sheriff Donnie scoffed. “Look, John, somebody kills a bear, and ten thousand vegans send letters to their Congressman. They won't send one goddamn letter for those tourists.” He raised his voice when John walked away. “Now you should have buried that thing in a hole before I got here, 'cause I ain't the problem, the Feds are.”

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #kayce dutton fanfic #rip wheeler #john dutton

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selfindulgentfandomstuff · 1 year

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@red-velvet-ships

Hii ty for the ask!! (Not technically but you know what I mean ahaah!!)

Edit: MY GOD THIS GOT SO LONG. If you actually read all this ur a real one ohmygod/lh

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Source: Star Trek The Next Generation

Name: Ethel Silvers

Species: human

Pronouns: they/he

Gender: transmasculine non-binary / demiguy

Orientation: bisexual + biromantic

Age: 25 (as of the beginning of the show)

Affiliation: United Federation of Planets - Starfleet

Rank: civilian scientist

Field: exobiology + veterinary science

Job Description: Dr. Ethel Silvers, a civilian science attaché, served aboard the USS Enterprise as the resident veterinarian, attending the wellness and needs of all the crewmember's pets and various other animals in transit. They also served a tertiary role of field scientist, occasionally being asked to beam down with an away team if their expertise was relevant.

Significant Other: Lt. Cmdr. Data Soong

How they met:

Data and Ethel first met when Data brought in his cat, Spot, for a fairly routine checkup, with a few questions pertaining to her weight and why it seemed to be decreasing. (Now mind you, this takes place before the Enterprise leaves space dock and s1ep1 takes place, so everybody's new to each other right now!)

Ethel, having heard various rumors about Starfleet's only android officer, was very nervous and a little jumpy about first meeting him in person. It didn't help that he was a ranked Starfleet officer, not to mention that he was second officer (third in line to the captain)!

But Ethel eventually calmed down after a bit of talking with Data over his cat, Spot. (there was nothing wrong with Spot btw! She just didn't like her food lately so she hadn't been eating it! Time to switch to a different feline supplement!)

Ethel didn't know it but Data had been very intrigued by them after that first meeting. He wasn't sure what it was but something about them reminded him of himself. (hint, its the autism lol) He made a point of manufacturing reasons to see the veterinarian or bump into them in the corridors of the ship. Somehow, he was always near by.

It was clear that Data wanted very badly to be friends with Ethel, and Ethel being a bit short on friends on this new starship, was equally eager to find a friend in Data. They eventually decided that they should get together after their respective work shifts at Ten Forward. (the ship's bar and one of its many recreational centers)

They remained just friends for a while, right up until s1ep13 "Datalore".

In this episode, (in my selfship au's canon ofc) Data and the crew find an android body that looks just like Data on the surface of Omicron Theta, an abandoned Federation colony outpost. Naturally, they bring the android body onto the ship where they attempt to activate him. When he is awake, Lore, as he calls himself, seems fairly benign, albeit... different from Data. Ethel picks up on that difference right away, already wary of Lore, though they can't put a finger on why, just yet. Later when Lore proves to have bad intentions (feeding them to a giant space-faring flesh-eating snowflake entity) Ethel is the first to figure it out and for that Lore takes them hostage. Data is, of course, able to outsmart Lore, beaming him out to the cold of space, and save Ethel.

There is a scene, after the cooldown from the threat of Lore, where Data and Ethel really sit down and talk to each other, Data apologizing for Lore and Ethel reassuring him that they don't blame Data at all. And that they have something to tell him. Ethel confesses to having romantic feelings for Data, something Data is a little startled by. He explains that he cannot feel those feelings back for Ethel (he thinks he can't but he is just bad at identifying emotion and expressing it!) but suggests that they enter a romantic relationship anyways. He figured it couldn't be that much different from what they were already doing as friends.

And he's right. Not much changes between the two as they start dating. Ethel is a bit more touchy (something Data is NOT opposed to at all, one of his favorite things about humans is how they express love with touch!). And they spend more time together. A lot more. Data really likes spending time with Ethel, he finds that they put him more at ease. He doesn't think about if he's going to make them uncomfortable by being him, because he knows they like him the way he is.

They do a lot of things together, working on the same assignments when its appropriate, going on holodeck dates, that sort of thing. The only thing that Data doesn't do with Ethel is his Sherlock Holmes LARPing with Geordi on the holodeck!! That's sacred!!

They have this sweet, almost childish (in how naïve they both are to romantic relationships) and wholly trusting relationship throughout the series. The only break in this was after s3ep16 "The Offspring" after Data's daughter, Lal, died. Data was kinda shattered after that, he needed to sort through it on his own, he thought, he told Ethel as much and they understood. They wished they could help him recover but they realized he needed to do that on his own.

By s4ep25 "In Theory" after Data tries dating someone else, he realizes that Ethel is what he needs. He needs someone who accepts him for exactly who he is and doesn't try to mold him into something more suitable for their own tastes, like this latest girlfriend did. He and Ethel get back together.

And they stay together, throughout the rest of the series, ending with a wedding episode near the end of season 7 (the last season)!!

They are married throughout the (TNG) movies and then Data dies. Ethel begged him not to go. They didn't care if the whole ship had to be destroyed, they couldn't lose him, not him, no. Data ultimately sacrificed himself to save billions of people on Earth as well as the thousands on the Enterprise.

Ethel was ruined. They tried for awhile to keep Data alive in B-4 but the memories were unstable and most faded. They didn't see Data in him anymore. Their own friends, as well as friends of Data tried to reach out and help them. They refused, further isolating themself until eventually they just dropped off the Federation radar completely. Coincidentally, on the same day that Ethel had been found to be missing, so too was the deactivated body of Lore...

(the last paragraph is all revealed retroactively in Star Trek Picard btw!)

Later in Star Trek Picard, it is also revealed that the reason Ethel had stolen Lore's body and reactivated him was to get help from one of Data’s only remaining family members in finding a way, some way, to restore his life. Lore, initially, had been deeply hostile towards Ethel but eventually agreed to help them recover his brother.

They spent something like twenty years trying and failing to bring him back.

And then came the call from their former captain, Picard. There was a girl. Soji, was her name. Apparently she was a descendant of Data built by Bruce Maddox. That meant.. that meant that a piece of Data did still exist, in her.

And she was in danger.

Ethel made great haste to get to Picard and his rag tag crew. And then they met Soji. There was.. so much of him in her. They could see it in the way she spoke and the odd little head tilt that Data always did when confused.

Ethel negotiated with Picard to bring Lore along with them, seeing as he’d been kinda reformed and had been helping to try to revive Data for the past two decades.

Eventually they circled back to get Lore and he and Soji really hit it off actually! Lore was.. a little overwhelmed.. in a good way, to have met another family member.. alive.

Things continue as canon and in the end when it’s revealed that Altan Soong has a copy of Data’s restored consciousness, Lore is able to use his superhumanly fast abilities to install said copy into his body.

This resulted in a sort of Jekyll and Hyde situation for awhile but eventually Dr. Altan Soong was able to build a new synthetic body for Data to inhabit.

It was pretty much human, made from flesh and blood with graying hair and blue eyes. It was perfect.

When Data finally woke up again, Ethel was still there, waiting for him. The two embraced deeply and took quite a while before they were willing to let go of each other, afraid if they did, they’d lose each other again.

They renew their vows on Earth with all of their friends and family present this time around.

They move to Southern California and make a home on the coast overlooking the water in La Jolla.

All is well again. And that’s how it would stay. They’d had their fair share of heartache. Now it was time for love and joy.

#data and his emotional support human #selfship #selfship asks #asks #selfship ask game #red velvet ships #mutuals #mutual tag #friends #friend tag

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tyonfs · 3 years

Note

hi<3 i love your fics they are super good! i wanted to ask something hehe . could you (if you want to ofc!!) make a fic about mark? i mean like you are enemies with him but eventually u fall in love with him and the u guys dating but its almost full of angst then fluff and smut? its ok if you dont want to! i just wanted to ask this<3

author’s note: hello anon !! i’m sorry for getting to this so late 🏃‍♂️ but omg i hope you enjoy this little bullet fic tho! AND TYSM i’m so glad you like my fics 🥺💞

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

summary: competing with the bane of your existence, mark lee, for a letter of recommendation from the dean was bad enough. on top of that, he was now the manager at your new job.

genres: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, smut, crack, slight angst, coffee shop au, college au

warnings: profanity, sexual tension!! bc what’s e2l without sexual tension, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!), hate sex, making out

finding out the dean only wrote a letter of recommendation for one student every year was probably the third worst news you could have received today

the first being the realization that the dean had to pick between you and mark lee

the second being that you were against mark lee

mark lee: the captain of the ice hockey team, the student body president, and the top student in the english department

he was also a smidge too attractive for his own good which made you want to pull your hair out

hot people with shit personalities should be a federal crime

but your gripe with him right now was that damn letter of recommendation

how Canadian Shakespeare was all buddy-buddy with the dean was beyond your understanding

maybe it had to do with the fact that he was the student body president and a perfect all-rounder student but you were appalled when you walked into her office to see her laughing at something mark said

this was just unfair; she didn’t laugh at your jokes

mark wasn’t even funny! he was just a kiss-up and you were infuriated

“take a seat, y/n,” she said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “mark was just telling me the most hilarious little tid-bit about edgar allen poe.”

ah, yes. edgar allen poe. what a riot.

mark smiled at you as you took a seat next to him, but you saw past his fake smile

“hey, y/n,” he greeted cheerily

you returned the stiff smile. “hey, mr. president.”

douchebag, you thought bitterly. who was he to say hi to you? clearly he’s working against you. this is his evil plot to watch your downfall.

“so, as you two know,” the dean interrupted your delusional thought process, “i only can give one student a recommendation and you two are my top candidates.”

you were practically on the edge of your seat, hanging onto every word the dean was saying

“so i came up with the perfect solution to decide,” she said. “write me a short paper by the end of next week on why i should pick you, attach your resumé, and then i’ll decide.”

you and mark turned to each other, exchanging a look

this was war

“end of next week? you got it,” you replied, fired up

you were confident you would get it

plus, you could add your new job at the coffee shop to your resumé—the timing was perfect

when you and mark left the room, it was like a switch flipped in him

“good luck getting the recommendation,” he said, raising his brows at you. “you’re gonna need it.”

“oh, please.” you scoffed. “save the attitude for when i get it. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m gonna go to my first shift. have fun with your hockey pucks!”

you stormed off, enraged

you were not taking shit from a dude named after someone from the old testament

okay, so maybe the world hated you

“what are you doing here?” you sneered

it was very clear what mark was doing here, actually

above his name on his name tag read manager, and you’ve never wanted to die more

“i’m here for work,” mark replied with a smirk. “excited for your first day, y/n?”

“not anymore.”

“come on, don’t be like that,” mark cooed. “sora here is gonna show you the ropes.”

the perky girl mark gestured to was enough to slap you out of your brooding nature and manage a smile for her

she looked you up and down and grinned. “let’s get you an apron.”

you sighed as she disappeared into the back room

mark leaned close until his lips met your ear before he turned to leave

your stomach twisted from what you thought was hatred, but it felt odd

he whispered, “by the way, don’t think i’m going easy on you today.”

you groaned when mark walked off

your day couldn’t get any worse

newsflash: your day got worse

who knew making a coffee could be so complex? what the hell was steamed? did people enjoy making their orders longer than the declaration of independence?

mark sighed heavily when he saw you struggling with the whipped cream

“let me show you how it’s done,” he offered

instead of demonstrating like a normal person, mark walked up behind you so that you were caged against the counter, and he placed his hand over yours

this isn’t weird, you tried to convince yourself even though it was very, very weird

“gentle,” he murmured in your ear, pressing against the nozzle to create the perfect dollop of whipped cream over the drink. “got it?”

your heart was going crazy. screw mark lee

“mmhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself to speak coherent words

you had to remind yourself that this was your mortal enemy, and he was clearly playing mind games with you right now

“so what’s going on between you and our manager?” sora asked once mark had gone to work the register. “i could feel the sexual tension all the way from the blenders.”

“nothing at all,” you replied coolly. “we hate each other’s guts. he’s just trying to break me down, but i won’t back down.”

“that’s a bit dramatic. i think he just wants to fuck you.”

you choked on air, backing away from the drinks. “no way in hell.”

sora laughed. “i’m just saying,” she said, “he doesn’t do things like that to the other girls.”

“trust me,” you replied. “we hate each other. whatever that was is just him trying to get into my head and mess with me.”

sora shrugged. “if you say so.”

you honestly weren’t quite so sure yourself, but if this was just mark’s plan to throw you off your game, you weren’t going to fall for it

and if this was how he wanted to play, you had a few tricks up your sleeve as well

“i thought you said you weren’t coming to the party,” renjun said as he watched you apply lipstick. “what changed your mind?”

renjun and jaemin were currently sitting in the middle of your room while you were putting on your makeup to go to a party with them

it wasn’t everyday you dressed up this good, but tonight you were ready to kill

but nothing too severe because you still wanted that letter of recommendation

“mark lee,” you replied, eyes practically burning holes in your mirror with how intense your gaze was

“i thought you hated him,” renjun said. “now you want to go to a party for him?”

“exactly, renjun. he thinks he can mess with me so i’m going to fight back.”

“sounds concerning, but you look great, y/n,” jaemin replied, giving you a thumbs-up

you beamed, turning around and placed your hand on your chest in gratitude. “why, thank you, jaemin.”

“but, y/n, what makes you think mark’s trying to mess with you?” jaemin inquired

you raised a brow at him. “you two are his best friends. you know better than anyone that we hate each other.”

“right.” renjun snickered. “and that’s why you’re wearing that low-cut dress?”

“i plan to make my revenge sweet, huang renjun.”

“oh god, they’re gonna fuck,” jaemin muttered

“we’re not gonna fuck, jaemin!”

jaemin and renjun were under the impression that your target was mark

and he was, but you weren’t going to get to him directly

your plan was to get to him by other means: his friends

there was nothing mark hated more than his friends getting along with his foe

he already had to deal with sharing jaemin and renjun with you, so you figured his breaking point would be if you got closer to jeno or hyuck

but you didn’t even get to carry out your evil plan because mark walked over to you himself

well, that was easy, you thought

his eyes were on your dress, examining the way the material hugged your body

you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were a little intimidated. being under his gaze was a little nerve-wracking

“you’re up to no good,” he observed

you batted your eyes innocently. “what makes you say that?”

“you look stunning.”

that would usually be a compliment but mark made it seem like you needed to be behind caution tape

“thanks? i guess.” you scoffed. “i just dressed up more than usual today.”

“yeah, okay,” mark drawled and looked back over his shoulder, which you assumed was him checking to see if his friends were around. “can i get you a drink?”

hook, line, and sinker

“i’m not drinking tonight, but we can dance,” you offered, slipping your hand into his

mark raised a brow at the physical contact but pulled you over so that you both were closer to the mosh pit

mark didn’t let go like you did; his eyes were serious and studying you like he was trying to calculate your every movement

his lips brushed against the shell of your ear when he leaned in. “i have a feeling you’re up to something, y/n.”

“oh yeah?” you taunted. “like what?”

“i can’t tell if this is about the letter of recommendation,” mark said, “or if you’ve already noticed how badly i want to fuck you.”

maybe it was a good thing you didn’t go get drinks with mark

because you surely would have spit it out all over him

“you want to—what?” you asked, cheeks heating up when your voice started to fail you. “did i hear that right?”

no way. there was no way in hell mark lee thought about you in that way. not after the constant bickering and teasing and—

wait

yeah, no, that just sounds like sexual tension, y/n, you realized

maybe you were stupid for intentionally ignoring all the signs, but that didn’t change much because the guy still pissed you off

even though the feeling of his lips against your skin was absolutely sinful

and the way his thighs looked in those jeans made your head a mess

and his hands on your waist left his touch lingering and left you wavering

the moment was ruined, though, because someone had to bump into you and spill their drink all over your perfect dress

“i’m so sorry!” the person apologized profusely

“it’s fine,” you replied

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t frustrated. how were you going to mess with mark’s head when you looked like this now? plus, you were sticky and felt gross

mark tutted. “look at you.”

something about his tone, about the way he was looking at you, made your stomach flip

mark grabbed your arm and continued, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

you could only follow after him as mark pulled you into the bathroom, closing the door behind him once you were in

“okay, now—fuck,” mark hissed and averted his gaze when you started peeling off your stained dress. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“isn’t that what i’m here for? to clean this?” you asked with a scoff

mark grumbled something incomprehensible and simply manned the door

“you don’t have to keep looking away,” you added with a smirk

“you’ll be in danger if i look at you right now.”

your breath got caught in your throat at his words, but you huffed and continued, “mark, why the fuck do you think i even wore this dress?”

a muscle in his neck flexed and his eyes darkened. it was all so incredibly attractive to you so you didn’t mind when he locked the door and made his way over to you, taking in the way you looked in lingerie

“you’ve been messing with my head these past few days,” he growled. “showing up to work and then dressing like this.”

mark snapped the strap of your bra and traced the fabric down, running his finger over your nipple

you shivered, even more so when he pressed the lower half of his body up against you and placed his large hands on your hips

“you’re one to talk. do you know how i felt when i found out you were the person i was up against for that damn—” you were cut off, gasping as you felt mark’s hand slip into your underwear and slide two fingers against your slit. “h-hey! that’s not fair!”

“you’re wet,” he observed, “and you talk too much.”

“fuck you.”

“it’ll be my pleasure,” mark murmured before he leaned in, kissing you with a vigor you had never seen in him before

you were caught off guard but before you knew it, you were wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to pull him impossibly closer

mark was a good kisser, and it didn’t help that he knew all the right things to do that got you turned on

he held the back of your neck, tilting your head up so he could reach you better, and his fingers wouldn’t leave your slit alone

when his thumb moved to rub small circles against your clit, though, you had to pull back for air, whimpering at his touch

mark smirked and took this as his opportunity to kiss down to your neck

“i should’ve done this a long time ago,” he whispered against your skin before planting kisses along the column of your neck

mark’s hands moved to the back of your thighs and picked you up so you were sitting on the counter

“just fuck me already,” you groaned out, running your hands through his hair

“beg for it.”

“you’re such a prick.”

“i can stop.”

you whined and gripped his shoulder. “please, mark,” you begged, heat rushing to your cheeks at what he was making you do. “please, please, please fuck me.”

mark’s lips curved into a smirk. “that’s more like it.”

before you knew it, mark was ripping off your panties and unbuckling his belt

he must’ve noticed your shocked look when you saw how big he was because he grinned, grabbed the back of your neck, and pulled you in for a deeper kiss

you were so dazed from the taste of his lips, but snapped out of it immediately when you felt him push himself into you

“mark!” you gasped out, breaking away from the kiss to catch your breath once again

“f-fuck, you’re so tight,” mark moaned out, waiting for you to get adjusted and groaning whenever you clenched around him

when you got adjusted to his size, you met his eyes and mark immediately understood

he held your hips tightly and started thrusting, his merciless pace making you moan uncontrollably

“i fucking hate you,” you whined. “stop making me feel so good.”

mark moved one hand to clamp over your mouth. “quiet, kitten. we don’t want people hearing us, do we?”

you nodded, tears springing to your eyes and running down your cheeks as he hit that perfect spot every single time

your moans were muffled by mark’s hand but he got aroused each time regardless

his hand on your hip crept to press his thumb against your clit again, aiding his thrusts by stimulating you more

“c-close,” you whimpered out against his hand, and mark removed his hand just to hold your hips steady so he could go faster. “fuck.”

“you gonna cum for me?” mark cooed, leaning close to nip at your neck. “come on, y/n.”

you were at your limit

your climax washed over you and you came, crying out into mark’s shoulder as you were hit with intense waves of pleasure

mark was at his limit shortly after, groaning and pulling out so he could cum over your thigh

the both of you took a second to process what you had just done, and mark simply stared at you as his ragged breaths turned shallow

“you asshole,” you started, “we came here to clean me up and you made an even bigger mess.”

mark grabbed the dress you had strewn aside to slip over you again. “round two in the shower then?”

“this shower?” you asked, nose scrunching up in disgust

“my shower,” mark said. “let’s go to my place.”

you wanted to outright refuse him, but the sex was so good that you complied

mark’s driving was a bit concerning with most of his attention on you, but the both of you managed to make it to his apartment in one piece

he was ignoring his texts from his friends and you were ignoring yours, but you had no time to feel guilty because mark’s lips were on yours again

and round two was even better

now you found yourself in a dilemma

hooking up with mark once was fine and all

you both had your fun and sure, you didn’t follow through with your initial plan, but the sex was good

the problem was that it was too good

too good as in you hooked up with mark for six days in a row after that party

and you were currently making out with him in the back room of the coffee shop

too good as in you were starting to soften up to him

like he had gotten you both takeout the previous night

and you kissed him to say thank you

literally who does that?

and later he sent you a picture of his dog because he thought you’d like a picture of his dog

and fuck you, mark lee, you really did like the picture of his dog

you liked it so much that you added a heart reaction

and the night before that, he asked, “are you pissed off with me because we didn’t cuddle?”

he wanted to cuddle? he knew you wanted to cuddle? you wanted to cuddle?

you wanted to cuddle mark lee?

you also had to explain your whereabouts to renjun and jaemin

your friends were hellbent on finding out if you got together with mark or not, but you and mark had to keep your hookup under wraps

but that unfortunately didn’t stop you from accidentally blurting out that sex with mark was really good

but, to be fair, you were drunk so it wasn’t really your fault

plus, mark forgave you after you kissed him

this was a syndrome called Down Bad and you were not happy with it

what was this? rivals with benefits? acquaintances with benefits and downsides?

whatever it was, you were not happy

and you ended up pushing mark off of you

“what’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned at how you withdrew

“what are we doing?”

mark straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “uh, making out?”

“no, like, are we just having fun until we go back to hating each other or what?” you asked. “because if you’re stringing me along, i don’t want to be part of it.”

“stringing you along? how am i stringing you along?”

“i don’t know, maybe you’re trying to get in my head because of that letter—”

mark cut you off with a frustrated sigh. “why is everything about that damn letter of recommendation?”

anger bubbled in your stomach. “how can it not be? that recommendation determines if i can apply to my dream grad school.”

“and you think it doesn’t make a difference to me?” mark asked. “why would i fool around with you right now when i could be writing my paper right now?”

“i don’t know!” you exclaimed. “i don’t know what you want from me. you already have the upper hand.”

mark put his hands over his face and groaned. “god, you really think i just want to play with your feelings and drop you? you know better than anyone else that i take what i deserve and leave behind what i don’t deserve.”

“what?”

“forget it,” mark grumbled. he backed up and made his way to the door, adding, “you’re working register.”

screw mark lee

screw mark lee for being against you for that damn letter of recommendation

screw mark lee for leaving you like this

and more importantly, screw mark lee for making you cry right now because you cared about him more than a stupid letter

you did a lot of thinking that night

well, you had to, because your letter was due the next day

but you thought a lot about mark said about deserving things

and frankly, you didn’t deserve this letter

you tried to cheat your way into knocking out your competition

even though that completely failed and you ended up catching feelings

but that was besides the point

you did a lot of thinking

and you weren’t sure if you came to the right conclusion, but it felt like the right thing to do

so you sat down and you started writing

it had been a week since you submitted your paper

you hadn’t spoken properly to mark since your argument at the coffee shop

sora had asked if there was something up and you ended up telling her everything

she assured you that he’d come back once he was done blowing off steam, but now you had to walk into your meeting with him and the dean

and you were nervous as hell

she was going to announce her decision and you had a feeling you knew who was going to get it

it was bad enough you had to sit through a meeting with mark during that, but did you really have to run into him outside her room?

“hey,” he greeted awkwardly

you froze for a second but greeted back, “hey.”

“hey,” the dean spoke from behind the both of you, a brow raised at how distant you two sounded

you balked and she walked past the both of you. “come inside.”

you and mark exchanged a wary glance before walking inside and sitting in the two seats in front of her desk

she grabbed two letters on her desk and handed one to each of you

“congratulations,” she said with a smile. “two letters of recommendation for the both of you.”

“what?” you and mark exclaimed, taking ahold of your respective letters in disbelief

“i’ve never had two students write papers on the other student, but i was impressed so i decided to give you both a recommendation this year,” she said

you turned to mark in shock. “you wrote your paper about me?”

mark was equally as shocked. “you wrote yours on me?”

“i had a feeling you didn’t plan to bring up each other’s achievements,” the dean said. “that’s all i have for you two, so again, good job.”

you thanked the dean before saying your goodbyes, but mark writing about you was still bugging you

“i told you i didn’t think i deserved it,” mark said once you two walked out of the dean’s office

“i didn’t know—god, i feel like such a bitch right now.”

mark smiled. “well, you kinda redeemed yourself back there. i didn’t see that coming.”

for the first time, you could confidently say mark lee’s smile made your heart swell

“hey,” mark started, a touch nervous, “do you maybe wanna grab dinner sometime? and go see a movie or something?”

“is that a date?” you asked

“it could be.”

“mark,” you warned

“okay, it is!” he admitted, smile widening. “go on a date with me, y/n.”

you broke into a smile, too. “well, how could i say no to mark lee?”

mark laughed and swooped in to peck your lips

you could practically feel the happiness radiating from him

“this calls for a quickie in the bathroom,” mark said

“absolutely not.”

1K notes · View notes

scuttling · 2 years

Text

Territory/Terror - Ch 2

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 4,383 Chapters: 2 of 2, Complete Tags: Canon minor character death (Joyner), Minor background Morgan/Garcia, TW talk of explosion (does not occur on screen), Episode related 4x01 Mayhem Summary: Chapter 2 - Sophie does her best to keep it together and be there for Aaron following the terrorist attack. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 1 year 7 months - 2 years at the BAU Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 Link to A03 or read below! Sophie drives them back to the NYPD command center as quickly as she can after hearing about the explosion; they spend the entire ride discussing theory and trying as hard as possible not to think of what they could be looking at when all is said and done.

“Dave,” Sophie says when they spot him, and he opens his arms to her for a hug. She’s a little surprised, but she takes it, won’t deny the comfort. “We heard about the explosion on the radio.”

“I’ve been trying to reach the others,” Reid adds, and Rossi shakes his head.

“Me too. The cell system is crashing.” Sophie’s eyes are fixed on the tv, but there’s not much information being given.

“It’s a car bomb, did they say where?”

“No, not yet.” He looks to Reid. “Can you recall every site where the shootings occurred?”

“Uh, Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown.”

“All right, if our profile is correct and all 8 murders were tests to gauge response times, we're looking at 8 suicide bombers who are about to hit every one of those locations.” He turns to Sophie, who is hovering over a desk phone, trying to reach Aaron, Derek, Penelope, anyone. “Call Homeland Security. Tell them to pour troops into all of those sites.”

“Actually, if we're correct, there'll be 16 suicide bombers,” Reid reminds him. Sophie looks up, between the two of them, from where she’s dialing.

“Sixteen?” Rossi asks.

“Yeah, we predicted that they'll hit the second wave of emergency responders also.” The three of them share a look, and it’s not a good one.

The breaking news banner flashes across the tv screen, catching their attention. “We are just getting an update. The bomb is now reported to have been inside an SUV—a black SUV parked just blocks from 26 Federal Plaza.”

Sophie’s stomach drops, and she dials Homeland Security, fills them in as quickly as possible, before dialing Aaron again.

It goes straight to voicemail. She tries Derek, JJ, Emily, Penelope, and they all go straight to voicemail.

“This is so fucking stupid,” she mutters, frantic, dialing. “Why do we have seven different cars in New York fucking City of all places? It makes no sense.”

“I got Garcia!” Rossi shouts, covering the mouthpiece, and she breathes a tiny bit easier. Half of them are accounted for, they just need to reach the other four. It shouldn’t be too hard.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Gentle hands cover hers, and Reid says her name, soft. He’s shushing her. She must still be muttering.

“Everything will be okay. We’ll hear from them.” She looks up, and he looks worried, too. That makes her feel better; she pulls him in for a hug.

“I am so glad we were together. If I couldn’t get a hold of you right now, I’d be losing my shit.” He squeezes her, and then steps back.

“This is you not losing your shit?” he teases with an attempt at a smile, and she punches him in the arm. He winces.

At least some things remain constant.

“I spoke to Garcia again,” Rossi says as he walks over to them. His face is grim, and her heart is beating so fast she’s surprised it doesn’t bust out of her chest and take flight. “She got a hold of Derek and Emily. Derek is headed to the scene, Emily’s headed to an NYPD critical incident command post with the detective.”

“No Aaron or JJ?” she asks, wondering what he’s not saying. He doesn’t shake his head no, and she knows what that means. “Dave, please.”

“Garcia found footage of the blast. It was Hotch and Joyner, but they weren’t in the car. They were just walking up to it. We don’t know where they are now, or their condition.”

Sophie feels her eyes water. Her mind is blank. Her worst nightmare is coming true, it’s Aaron, he’s… Reid reaches for her hand again, and she takes a deep breath in through her nose, out through her nose. Then again. She blinks her vision clear.

She knows, now. That’s better. Better than wondering, dialing, waiting to hear. She knows, now. And she knows what to do. She clears her throat.

“We should look at the crime scene photos again. Anything we can do to provide insight to Homeland Security will be a huge help.” She walks quickly toward the board, doesn’t see the look that Reid and Rossi exchange. “We can follow up with them shortly, see if they’ve found anything unusual.”

“Sophie,” Reid says calmly, walking toward her like he’s approaching a startled horse; she looks up at him, shakes her head.

“No, nope. Until we know more, I have to do something. I’m not going to sit here on my hands and wait to find out that he’s dead.” She pulls the hair tie off of her wrist and scrapes her hair back into a ponytail, stands in front of the board. The two of them study it, commenting now and again, while Rossi tries JJ; Emily arrives within a few minutes, with the detective, and then JJ does too. Everyone is filling each other in when Garcia’s voice rings out through the laptop.

“The bomber! The bomber!” They crowd around the screen, and it helps relax Sophie to see her, even if it’s only virtual; six down, two to go.

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Derek's chasing after him.” She looks like she wants to hyperventilate. “The bomb was under Kate’s SUV. Hotch is out there with her. He seems okay, but she looks really hurt. He hasn't moved her.” Sophie could throw up, she’s so relieved, and then she wants to throw up for feeling relieved when Joyner is still seriously injured.

“Where was Kate's SUV parked?” Rossi asks.

“Two blocks east of Federal Plaza.”

“Two blocks east and they target Kate's SUV? Why?” Prentiss asks. It’s a solid question that none of them have an answer for, yet.

“Have you ID'd the bomber?”

“Lisa's running him and the dead guy through VICAP.”

“I’ll call Homeland Security, see if they found anything,” Sophie offers, and she gets on the line. Homeland Security turns out to be a bust; they’re of the mind that the bombing was a failed attack on the federal building and won’t listen to a word she says. She’s ready to throw the phone out the goddamn window when JJ walks up with a promising look on her face.

“Hotch and Kate made it to Saint Barclay's hospital.” Sophie hangs on up the douchebag from Homeland, stands.

“How are they?”

“Well, Hotch is in the ER, Kate's in surgery. Morgan's on his way down there now.” She shoots her a soft, reassuring smile, and Sophie grabs her jacket, pats her pocket for the keys to the SUV.

“I gotta go. I gotta go there.” She frowns, thinking, presses her hand to her forehead. “He’ll need clothes; I’m going back to the hotel to grab his bag, and then I’m headed there. Can you tell Morgan?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” JJ murmurs, and she hurries past, runs through the building and out to the car. She’s in and out of the hotel in a matter of minutes, flashing her badge at anyone who looks at her sideways, and back on the street, pulling up directions to the hospital on her phone.

She doesn’t turn on her lights, because it’s not an emergency, but she makes it in record time anyway, since so much of the city is locked down.

She gets past the Secret Service bypass with only a few curse words, runs into the hospital, straight to the ER, and is looking around frantically for someone who can direct her to Aaron, when she hears him call her name—it’s like music to her fucking ears, when there was a time she thought she’d never hear it again. She turns, sees him in his hospital gown, looking so beat up and tired, and she wants to jump into his arms, but she’s not sure the extent of his injuries; instead, she walks to him, cautiously looking him over. He’s clearly not as worried, pulls her close as soon as she’s within reach and kisses her so thoroughly she almost goes weak in the knees.

“Oh, baby I thought I lost you,” she breathes against his lips, running her hands over his face, carefully avoiding the cuts and scrapes, and he closes his eyes, presses their foreheads together. “Are you alright?”

“Not too bad,” he rasps, pulling back to look at her face. His eyes roam over her features. “Something called acute acoustic trauma?” She frowns, moves her hands to hover over both of his ears.

“Damage to your eardrum, temporary hearing loss.” She speaks a little louder, now that she knows. “Which side?” He takes her left hand in his, pulling it down, presses her right hand gently against his ear. “It will heal, eventually. Loud noises might bother it for a while. Flying. We’ll figure it out.” She stretches up on her toes for another kiss, sighs into it. He’s solid, warm, alive. She’ll never take it for granted again. “Here, I brought your clothes. We can talk while you get changed—you are being discharged, right? I’m not busting you out of here against your doctor’s wishes.”

“Morgan’s talking to him now, but he said I could leave. I called in the team to meet us here.” He guides her to his triage room, and she pulls the curtain closed, lays an outfit out on the bed. She helps him untie his gown, looks up at his poor ear, still bleeding, and then groans softly. She’s an idiot. He turns to her, confused. “What is it?”

“It’s so stupid, in the grand scheme of things but…” She pokes him gently in the neck. “I would cover you in hickies the night before you have to go to the ER after a horrible trauma. I’m so sorry.” He chuckles tiredly.

“It’s okay. You obviously couldn’t have known; plus, I think it got me a lot of respect from one of the male nurses.” She laughs, helps him button his shirt. “Morgan saw, though, so I’d expect some good-natured ribbing when this is all over.”

“I’ll welcome it, if it means we all make it home in one piece.” He finishes getting dressed, and she sighs. “I haven’t heard anything more about Joyner—Kate. Hopefully he has an update.” His eyes are so sad when she mentions her that it breaks her heart. She can’t imagine what he went through, trying to get her help, how she’d feel if she were in the same situation.

“She was in really bad shape,” he admits. “Spinal injury, she lost a lot of blood. I’m not sure she’ll make it.” She rests her hands on his arms, pulls them around her for a sweet, comforting embrace.

“She is a very strong woman, Aaron. If anyone has a fighting chance, it’s her.” He rests his cheek against the top of her head, nods.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He squeezes her tighter, breathes in the scent of her shampoo. “I was so busy trying to help her that I didn’t have a chance to worry about you—is it selfish that I’m glad I didn’t?”

“Not selfish. Waiting to hear was the worst part.” She touches his face again, softly. “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t make it…”

“I made it,” he reassures, leaning down for a gentle press of lips. “Now we just need to figure out why.” The team gathers at the hospital, vests on, trying to figure out next steps; when they learn of the Secret Service bypass on the hospital, all the little details seem to click into place, but knowing that they can’t evacuate the target throws a wrench in things.

“If we can’t evacuate, we need to find a way to get that ambulance out of here,” Morgan says, and she can see the wheels turning in his head. She looks to Aaron.

“I know you won’t listen, but you should stay up here. You got blown up like three hours ago, you’re still bleeding,” she says, reaching over the desk to grab him more tissues, “and if someone fires a shot near you, you’re going to be in intolerable pain.”

“I can’t, you know I can’t,” he says, softly, looking deeply into her eyes as if willing her to understand. She nods, exhales long.

“Yeah I know. I just had to go on record stating all the reasons you shouldn’t, so I can say I told you so later.” She squeezes his arm, turns back to Morgan. “Okay, what’s your plan?”

“You guys go after the EMT and try to stop him; I’m gonna drive that thing somewhere safe in case you can’t. Garcia can help me find a place nearby.”

“I’ll come cover you until you’re in the ambulance,” she says, and when he looks like he wants to argue, she just holds his gaze. “Trust me, Derek.” He sighs.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

They make it down to the parking garage without seeing anything out of the ordinary, but when Morgan is trying to explain the situation to Garcia, Sophie hears gunshots, whips around to the set of doors they’re coming from.

“You good?” she asks over her shoulder, and he nods, once.

“I’m good, go. I’ve got Garcia.” Sophie takes the four steps over to him, grabs him by the front of his vest.

“Get back to us in one piece, Derek. If you don’t, I can’t promise I won’t help her hold a séance so she can yell at you for dying.” He huffs a laugh, as exhausted, stressed as he is, covers her hand with his.

“I’ll be fine. Now go.” She goes, heads back through the double doors, staying close to the wall and keeping her ears open for more gunshots, or movement. She can hear an elevator that’s struggling to close, and when she approaches, she sees the dead Secret Service agents, figures that explains the gunshots.

“We’ve got bodies in the elevator, basement level,” she whispers into her comms. “Secret Service. Morgan’s got the ambulance, I’m in pursuit of the suspect.” There are bloody footprints leading away from the scene, so she doubles back to the garage just in time to see Morgan driving away in the ambulance, the EMT firing shots at him.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!” The man turns, shoots twice and runs, and she fires a shot of her own, but he’s too quick and it only grazes him, doesn’t slow him down.

The cell service will be back up any minute, she knows it, has to think fast. She chases him across the parking lot, exchanging a couple of shots and finally ducking behind a parked car for cover. She leans up for a better vantage point, sees his thumb hovering over the button, can’t find another option—she shoots him, point blank in the chest. He goes down.

She runs toward him just as the rest of the team makes their way out of the basement, but she crouches down, doesn’t look up, can only focus on the cell phone that fell out of his hand.

Call connected.

She sighs, checks his pulse even though it’s clear the man is dead, and finally turns to the others, shakes her head.

“He made the call. I couldn’t stop him.” She takes the phone, the gun, looks up and hopes to hell they don’t think she’s a failure for it.

“You were here and we weren’t. You did the best you could.” That’s Emily, always the first to give reassurance, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. Still, she smiles, grateful for the attempt. “Garcia, any word from Morgan?”

It takes almost a full, long, painful minute for her to reply: “He’s good. He made it. No casualties.” The team breathes a collective sigh of relief. They are back at the hotel after hours of coordinating with Homeland, NYPD, and Aaron is dead on his feet, understandably, and upset about Kate’s passing, also understandably. Sophie suggests a shower, but he says all he wants is to lay down with her, so that’s what they do.

They take off their guns, their phones, and Sophie guides him to the bed, pulls off his shoes, kneels down to untie her boots. He lays back with a sigh, closes his eyes, swallows hard, and she scoots up the bed, wraps her arms around him, curls against his side.

“A means to an end,” he says after several quiet minutes of her simply carding fingers through his hair. His voice is thick, emotional. “She was my friend, but to them she was just a means to an end. A casualty of war.” She feels herself get choked up as well, closes her eyes to hold back tears.

“I know. It’s fucked up. War is always fucked up.”

“So fucked up,” he murmurs, and she curls closer to him, presses her lips to the top of his head, and gently rubs the base of his ear, since he said that made it feel a little better.

“It’s okay if you want to cry. Or sleep. Or just… lay here. I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls her legs over top of him and turns toward her slightly, looks up at her so soft, sweet, sad that it physically hurts her to look at him. Hot tears slip down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she says, cradling his head.

“Oh, don’t cry,” he whispers, pressing his palm to her face, but his eyes are wet, too. “It’s alright. She wasn’t in pain.” She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to force the tears away.

“I’m so glad you were there for her, but I’m sure it was hard. If you want to talk about it, I want to listen.” He swallows again, like he’s not sure he even has the words.

“It was awful. She was bleeding so badly I could barely turn her. I was able to cut off the flow but I think it was too late. She was mostly incoherent, and she couldn’t move her legs, and… She told me to go. She knew help wasn’t coming.”

“I can’t imagine how she must have felt, knowing that,” she says softly.

“She was strangely calm. I think she knew she wouldn’t make it, but I didn’t stop trying. I didn’t leave her.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She bites her lip, holds back tears. “Of course you didn’t, honey. That’s who you are.”

“When the EMT came, I was so relieved. I thought it was over, that she’d be alright.” He runs a hand over his face, exhausted and emotionally spent. “The worst part is knowing how badly I messed it all up.” She sits up a little, abruptly, and he does too, concerned for her. She frowns; she just wanted to be able to look at him.

“What do you mean, you messed up?” He sighs, and it’s self deprecating.

“Sam, the unsub. I was talking to him for a while, he… he tried to help me with Kate. I had no idea it was him.”

“You had just been blown into next week, your friend was dying in front of you. You expected to be profiling the guy trying to help you?” She can tell that he did expect more of himself, and he’ll probably carry that weight for a while, knowing him. He’ll be second guessing everything. “There were other things on your mind, Aaron, and probably ringing in your ears. You were in pain. You need to cut yourself some slack.”

“How about the ambulance? The EMT?” he asks, shaking his head. “I literally drove a terrorist and an ambulance rigged with explosives right into that hospital.”

“Again, you need to cut yourself some slack. Kate was hurt and someone who looked and acted like a first responder came to help you. She needed medical attention, to get to a hospital, and you got her to one. What reason did you have to question any of that?” He looks down at his hands, and she carefully takes his face in hers. “Honey, listen to me. Absolutely nothing that happened tonight was your fault. Nothing.”

“It feels like it’s all my fault,” he says, rough, and she starts crying again: for Kate, for Aaron, for everyone.

“Believe me, this was not your fault. You did so well. And I’m so proud of you. And I love you.” She seeks out his mouth and just rests hers against it, breathes. They both cry, but he is silent where she is all heaving sobs, and they hold each other for what seems like an hour.

Eventually, her sobs taper off, and she reaches over for the box of tissues, cleans her face, then his. “Do you want to get undressed and try to get some sleep? We could catch four hours, maybe.”

“I’m a little afraid of what I’ll see when I close my eyes,” he admits, and she resolutely does not cry again.

“Let’s just lay like this, then.” She pulls down a pillow, puts it under her head, and before she can grab his he gets comfortable with his head resting on her stomach, his hand linked with hers. She takes a deep breath, scratches lightly at his head, rubs his ear, and they lay quietly, eyes open, waiting for morning. Sophie hangs back in the hotel lobby while Aaron and Morgan talk things out—kind of. They’re both really just looking at each other, letting their eyebrows do most of the talking. Men. She grabs a cup of tea, puts her arm around Garcia who is making a cup of coffee.

“Hey. How’re you holding up?” Garcia exhales softly, turns to her with a smile.

“Pretty well I think, considering everything that happened. You?”

“Not bad. Tired. Ready to be home.”

“You ain’t kidding.” She looks over at where Aaron and Morgan are talking, eyes lingering softly on Derek—really lingering. Sophie smiles, knows that look.

“You guys have lots of life-affirming sex?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. Garcia’s eyes meet hers, surprised, but then she nods, grins shyly.

“Yeah. I don’t want anything like that to happen ever again,” she says, waving her hands, her stir stick, “but that part was pretty spectacular.” She smiles wider, clearly thinking about the more pleasing events of last night, and then looks back to Sophie. “You two?” She shakes her head softly.

“No, we weren’t in the right headspace. We just cuddled, but it was what we both needed.”

“That’s good, that you could be there for each other. I’m happy he has you,” she says, patting her arm, and they chat a little more before Sophie gets tired of waiting and walks up to Aaron and Morgan.

“Alright, I let you two have your broment. Are you taking this job or not? We’ve got a four hour car ride ahead of us.”

“You can’t just ask him like that,” Aaron warns, and she grins.

“You can’t, I can. Derek?” He rubs a hand over his head, sighs.

“No. It’s not something I want. I’m not done with the BAU yet.” Sophie drops her bag and pulls him in for a hug, squeezing tight.

“Not only am I happy you’re staying, this makes you look like an incredible badass, you know that, right?” she says as she pulls away. “You turn down this field office for the BAU and you’re going to be talked about at the bureau for a long time.”

“Been making the unit look good since my first day,” he says, playful, but then he glances back at the rest of the team with a soft look. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and we do it best together.”

“You are right about that.” She shoulders her bag again, pulls the set of keys out of her pocket and shows them to Aaron. “You ready to head out?”

“Yep. Take care of the rest of them for us,” he tells Morgan, who nods, and they go their separate ways. “I’m okay to drive,” he tells her as he loads their bags, but she walks around to the driver’s side anyway.

“I want you to rest, since I know you’re not going to when we get home. I’ll drive.”

The ride is peaceful, surprisingly. It almost feels weird to be so calm after a night of such panic. They play music, low, Aaron’s choice, and they talk about what they’re going to eat when they get home, because they’re both all about food. He leans toward her, rests his hand comfortably on her thigh as they cruise down the turnpike, and she smiles.

She’s decided to be happy, today, for what they have, tries not to dwell on what they’ve lost, or could have lost.

A semi truck blows by them about halfway home, laying on its horn, and it bothers Aaron’s ear, which kind of breaks her heart. The steroid the ER doctor prescribed seemed to help with the pain a little, but loud noises are going to suck for a while, it seems.

“Make a doctor’s appointment as soon as we get home,” she murmurs when it passes, brushing her fingers soothingly through his hair. “I was reading about some treatments that can help, if it doesn’t heal on its own. I’ll go with you if you want, mention them.” He looks up at her, tired but so tender; it’s a look she sees a lot, one she loves.

“I’m so grateful that I found you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She swallows, keeps her eye on the road though all she wants is to look at his beautiful face, cuts and all.

“I’m grateful I found you too, baby. We’ll get through this, I promise.” She exhales, reminds herself that crying is not on the agenda. “Just remember that I love you, and I’m here for you.”

“That’s not something I’ll ever forget,” he says softly, and they finish the drive home.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x original female character

23 notes · View notes

lee-scribbles-and-doodles · 3 years

Text

Episode 4 reaction

Sam and Max using the roach to prank the commisioner 😄😄😄 (Date Goals)

"Demonic possession is the gift that keeps on giving"

We're fighting the president? Is this the golem Abe Lincoln intro episode?

It is, I wasn't paying attention to the episode title or image I just hit play as soon as the game booted up

"Get the keys" Lol of course the only thing Max cares about is his gun

Can we talk about how much of a bop the intro is. I wasn't paying it much attention previously but it's real nice

Asdfgh how did Max's boxing glove get on the white house lawn?

Lol why is Jimmy allowed in the white house

"Doggy daddy, this is lose canon. Requesting permission to pants this goon."

"Ah, emotional violence. Good plan!"

I like Superball :)

"I'd like you to smell these two handkerchiefs and tell me which smells more like clauroform."

"I want to write down a reminder to smother you with a pillow in your sleep."

"I'll drive!" "Not while I'm alive." "Exactly."

"That fox is totally checking you out. Go for it Sam!"

Lol. Sybil is a dating service now.

"Ever feel lonely, Max?" "No, I have the voices to keep me company."

Sybil's surprised that Sam and Max want to get dates. I'm 100% sure she ships them.

Lol, she really diagnosed them with "mlm who should be dating."

Lol, she agrees with Max that being a volcano God is better than being a matchmaker.

Mr. Spatula apparently went crazy because of Sam's blood???

"I still don't trust him, Sam. He's tasted your blood."

They're keeping Leonard in the closet!?

Oh, Hugh Bliss. At least he's better than the soda poppers. (I think it says something that peepers creeps me out more than the obvious cult leader).

It's cute that Max is so into the prismatology nonsense.

Bosco is Russian now

Max breaking the fourth wall and staring directly into my soul was slightly creepy

Asdfgh HOW does he have a satellite defence system?

His truth serum is just whiskey or something, right?

Max why would you use someone's toothbrush to clean out your ears????

"I could donate my body to science again, but the guys at the lab seemed pretty spooked last time."

"It's okay Max, I've been paying them out of your retirement fund."

"Federal pudding embargo"

"--Anybody need their nuts cracked" "heehee"

Lol, I got kicked out for trying to enter the war room.

Whizzer is a governor?

Also SHIT I have to deal with the soda poppers again

Chuckles roasting Sam and Max has me dying

"Your codependency sickens me."

Max trying to give Chuckles puppy dog eyes

Sam doesn't know who George Washington is

"Foolish chief executive! Does he not fear us?"

"Just the funnies." "You mean the obituaries, Max." "Potato, patato."

Whizzer is addicted to soda?

"Pop heads"

Sorry Whizzer, we got to get rid of you, drink your soda gdi

"I don't have a conscience, Sam. What's your excuse?"

Oh, I get rid of Chuckles by sending Whizzer to the war room

Oh so we're just killing the president, huh? Good thing he was a puppet (apparently)

"Sam did it!"

Love Chuckles

Oh golem Lincoln is the Lincoln memorial!

The commissioner is omnipotent

Oh, Max gets to add president to his career list!

Superball: "Solid Oak. Good Doors. Strong doors."

"I was on TV" (Yeah my mans, you sure was)

I'm pretty sure I can give sybil Lincoln's flyer... yup!

Oh, no. Do I have to set baby girl up for disaster.

Oh Sybil honey I'm sorry

No baby girl don't cry

Max's happy run to the desk 😭😭😭

And Sam's fond look 💖

Max immediately lording his power, ofc

At least I get to make it up to sybil by giving her enough money to go on a nice vacation.

Bosco honey, please get some new hot dogs

I knew the truth syrum was alcohol.

Hehe funny Easter egg joke go vrr

I'm giving the alcohol to Whizzer. He seems like the most logical choice

Wow little man can not hold his beer

Yeah, alcohol is the best truth serum

Omg they’re actually starting a war

Superball is singing???

What is happening!?

Sam has the most wtf expression ever, Max is just staring ahead

Ok this is a bop

Superball is a really good singer

Omg it just keeps going

At least Superball is having a good time

"Well." "Let's not do that again."

Secretary Superball of Mysterious Gassy Emissions/Secretary of Meats and Cheeses

"A vacation? Permission to weep openly sir." "Granted, and encouraged."

What to do in time of war. 1. Select Target. 2. Press Fire.

Imma blow up EVERYTHING

Asdfg KRYPTON!?

"This will teach them to put me in the Phantom Zone!"

Oh, Bosco IS being watched

Good way to test out his defense system... It works! Good thing cause that would've totally killed him.

Ok I got the Beacon

"I like to think I transcend genre conventions Sam."

"Lincoln smash!"

Max (lounging on table): Shouldn't we revel a little bit?"

"We broke two presidents in one afternoon!"

"Sam, you're my best friend." 🥺🥺🥺

I love these two.

#sam and max #freelance husbands #sam and max freelance police #sam & max #sam & max freelance police #sybil pandemik #bosco #agent superball

23 notes · View notes

rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

Text

Compelled

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Brandi Neal (female OFC)

Word Count: 5075 (blame him)

Warnings: The usual smut, very gentle dom Dean, nothing y’all ain’t seen before in my other fics

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

Brandi nodded attentively as the homicide detective spoke, but later that day she wouldn’t even remember what he’d said. The shock of finding her co-worker literally in pieces in the office next to hers was taking its toll, leaving her more than a little shaken. “Ms. Neal, thank you. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions,” he said, leaving her with a sympathetic nod.

“Brandi? Can I get you anything?” her assistant asked, and she drew a shaky breath, shaking her head.

“Thanks, Sarah, but I think I just need a minute to absorb everything. Please, no phone calls for a while, okay?” Sarah nodded with a smile, then turned to let Brandi enter her office and close the door. She blew out a breath, forcing herself to unclench her fists. The stack of files waiting on her desk would at least be a distraction, something to keep her mind off the carnage she had witnessed that morning. As she moved to go around and take her seat, a sharp knock at her door made her jump, and the entire pile hit the floor, papers spilling out everywhere. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before lowering herself to her knees to begin gathering the mess. “Come in!” she said, her frustration obvious in her voice.

Sarah opened the door, peeking in apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Neal – but there’s an FBI agent here to see you.”

God, what else. She sighed. “Okay, send him in.”

“Already in. Need a hand?” She bristled at the tone of his voice. He sounded almost amused.

“No, thanks. What can I do for you? I already spoke to the police.”

“I understand. But I’m afraid I’m going to need to hear it again. For our own records.”

She felt her temper flare, channeling it into scooping up the scattered papers. “As I told the police, I walked into Denny’s office to ask him a question this morning, his door was open, and there he was, torn to pieces.”

“Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I don’t know him that well.”

“Is there anything he was involved in here at the office that could...”

“I told you, I don’t know.” She stretched out a hand, reaching for a sheet of paper that had flown a couple of feet away.

“You realize, Ms. Neal, that this is a federal case. We can compel you to speak to us.” His voice was clipped, authoritative, and she bit her tongue for a moment, retrieving the last document and pulling them all together into a messy pile.

When she spoke again, it was with a cold, controlled anger. “I am speaking to you. And I don’t know how you can ‘compel’ me to tell you something I don’t know anything...” She stood and turned, the disorganized mess in her arms, and a pair of striking green eyes froze her in place. “...about.” Her face grew warm, and suddenly she was painfully aware of the wisps of hair in her face, the button that had come undone on her blouse, the dryness of her mouth. My god, he was attractive - chiseled jaw, perfectly sculpted lips, thick lashes framing those stunning eyes. The thought crossed her mind that he could probably compel her to do a lot of things, and his eyes narrowed just a touch as he watched her reaction to him. It was almost as if he could read her thoughts, his eyebrow raising just a touch, his eyes roaming to her now-exposed cleavage, those lips curling into a sinful smirk for just one second before his professional demeanor took back over, and he cleared his throat.

“So there’s nothing you can think of that might have, uh, put him on somebody’s hit list?”

“There’s nothing work-related that I can think of, and I really don’t know him very well personally, Agent...” Brandi answered, swallowing nervously.

“Gibbons. Dean Gibbons.”

“Agent Gibbons. I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help. I was just unlucky enough to find his body this morning.”

“So you saw no one leaving, anything like that?”

“No. I think it must have happened last night, although I don’t know that for sure.”

“I can check with the coroner on time of death. Nothing else you can think of that might be helpful?” His voice was more relaxed now, almost kind – not to mention deep and rich and sexy as hell, now that she no longer wanted to stab him with her letter opener.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“All right. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she took it from him, careful not to touch him.

“I will.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Neal.” He gave her a nod with a little smile, then turned to leave, and she dropped into her chair, shaking. Her assistant peeked in, a remorseful look on her face.

“Brandi, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sarah. Not your fault. It’s the FBI, not like you could have sent him away.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll try not to disturb you.” Sarah pulled the door shut, and Brandi cradled her head in her hands, closing her eyes. What she really wanted to do at the moment was go home, pour a very large glass of wine and climb into a hot bath.

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

Several hours later, she did just that. The bath soothed her, and the wine didn’t hurt, either. She was well into her second glass, feeling much more relaxed, when the doorbell rang. She was only wearing a camisole and a pair of yoga pants, but it was probably just a delivery, anyway. She opened the door, then felt her cheeks flush with color as she looked up into the green eyes of Agent Gibbons.

“Agent. I… wasn’t expecting… how did you know where...”

He grinned. “FBI.”

She laughed nervously. “Well, of course, I mean… Come in, please.” She backed up and let him step into the room, closing the door and turning back towards him, her arms hugging her middle as she spoke. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes swept over her, lingering on her chest for a moment before he met her gaze again and smiled. “Now that’s what I’d call a loaded question.”

“Is this… about the murder?”

“Actually, I’m off duty. I’m here because I picked up a vibe from you today. And I wanted to see if my hunch was right.”

“A – a vibe?” A million butterflies were fluttering in her belly, and she tried to heed the inner voice telling her to calm down, but the delicious curve of his lips as he smiled, his self-assured manner, his focused stare were all making her feel very much the opposite. When he took a step towards her, she backed up against the door, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his eyes roaming over her again.

“I got the feeling that you wouldn’t mind too much if I – compelled you to talk. Or to do other things, maybe.” The timbre of his voice flowed over her like melted honey, a smoky edge to it that made her insides quiver.

“Wha...what do you mean?” Her voice was nearly a whisper, and she stopped breathing as he leaned in a little closer.

“Oh, I think you know what I mean, Brandi.” He straightened, looking down at her with that piercing gaze. “Now if you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll go. Maybe I didn’t read you like I thought I did.” He didn’t touch her, but it felt as if he did when he let his eyes wander down over her body again, slow and deliberate. “Was I wrong, Brandi? Or do you need someone to take charge for a while?” He raked his gaze back up, staring down at her until she tilted her head back to look into his eyes, her lips parted, the breath frozen in her lungs. She gave him a slight nod, her face hot, and averted her eyes, but he reached a finger to her jaw and held her in place. “Baby, I’m gonna need to hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Dean.”

She shivered at the authority in his voice, then nodded again. “Yes, Dean.”

He dragged his fingers along her jaw line, down the slope of her neck, resting them on her shoulder. “And you’re sure you want this? Because if you don’t, I can leave.”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

He bent closer, nuzzling his nose in her hair. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her, assertive, demanding, taking whatever sensible thought or will she had left with him. She wobbled against him as he pulled back, and he took her by the shoulders, steadying her.

“Whoa, there. I think somebody needs to sit down.” He took a step back, stripping off his jacket and tie, tossing them to a nearby chair. She watched as he unbuttoned his cuffs, quickly rolling his sleeves up, then reaching for her hand. “Come with me.” She let him guide her to the sofa, where he took a seat and looked up at her. “Hop on, sweetheart. I’m not finished kissing you yet.” He guided her to straddle his lap, pulling her up tight against him, and she inhaled sharply as she felt his erection between her thighs, unable to stop herself from pushing harder against him. “You like that, baby? Got me all hard. You like my hard cock between your legs, don’t you?” She whimpered softly, nodding as he nibbled at her lips. “What did I say about answering me?”

“Yes, Dean. I like it. I really like it.”

“That’s better. Well, go ahead, take what you want.” His hands gripped her hips, encouraging her to move against him as he captured her lips again, kissing her hard, his tongue stroking into her mouth in rhythm with her thrusts, his big hands squeezing and urging her on. Her heart was pounding, her clit throbbing, her head spinning, and she felt herself beginning to shake, but he grabbed her tight, holding her still. “Not yet, baby, we’ve got a long night ahead. Don’t want to go finishing too early, do we? Just take a breath.” He gentled her down with little kisses, drinking in the soft whimpers from her lips. “Such a good girl for me, Brandi.”

Okay, she was going to come just from hearing him say things like that if he wasn’t careful.

He reached one hand to lift her chin a little, his thumb tracing the shape of her lips, then pushing gently between them. She closed her eyes, running her tongue over the digit, then sucking lightly on the tip, and he hummed appreciatively. “I’ve been imagining those lips around my cock all day long, Brandi. Wanted to take you right there in your office when I walked in and you were down on your knees like you were waiting for me, that sweet ass in that tight skirt… Mmmmm. Would have liked to bend you over your desk and...” Brandi let out a pitiful whimper, sucking even harder on his thumb, and he pulled it out slowly, reaching for a throw pillow and dropping it to the floor between his knees. “Why don’t you get down on your knees for me, sweetheart, I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

He gently urged her back, and she lowered herself to her knees, looking up at him as she reached for his belt, then unfastened his suit pants. He was fully erect and twitched beneath his boxers as she reached for the waistband. “Oh, somebody’s really eager to meet you, baby.” Her heart was pounding as she pulled his boxers down enough to free him, letting him bounce free and slap against his belly.

She scooted herself in, snug between his thighs, and he inhaled, a slow hiss between his teeth, as she leaned forward to lick him from root to tip, then wrapped her hands around him and took the head into her mouth with a quiet moan. He swore under his breath as she suckled at him softly, her tongue sweeping over the smooth, hot skin. When she pulled off, nudging the tip of her tongue into his slit and then plunging down to take him in as far as she could, he groaned, his hand moving to grasp a handful of her hair at the back of her neck.

He swore steadily in a low rumble as she moved up and then forced herself down further each time, fighting not to gag as he breached her throat. She sucked hard, working her tongue over him, finally just letting herself relax as he lost himself and began to thrust, his hand wound so tight in her hair that her scalp throbbed with her heartbeat.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna blow, sweetheart,” he growled, then unloaded, filling her mouth and throat as she struggled to swallow. He finally relaxed enough to let her back away and take a deep breath through her nose, and she continued sucking softly as he finished, untangling his fingers from her hair and slumping against the back of the sofa.

She leaned against him, spent, cleaning him off before laying her head on her forearm, and he reached up to comb his fingers through her hair. “Surprised me there, Brandi. I didn’t intend to come this soon. But damn, you’re good at that.” She smiled, and he moved his hand. “Look at me, baby.” She pushed herself upright and tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “You doin’ okay? Tell me the truth.”

“Yes, Dean. I’m good.”

His lips curved in a one-sided grin. “Damn straight you are. Now I think this party needs to move somewhere more comfortable.” He leaned up and bent to kiss her, fingers trailing down her arm and sending goosebumps over her, making her shiver. “C’mon, gorgeous.” He stood, reaching for her hand, and she led him down the hall to the bedroom.

He stopped her next to the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her until she was dizzy, his hands moving over her back and down to grip her ass, pulling her close. “Mmmm, Brandi… Intoxicating, just like your name,” he muttered against her lips, then turned her around so her back was pressed against his chest. His fingers began to work at the buttons of her camisole, slow and deliberate, moaning in admiration as he pulled the last one free and slipped the garment off her shoulders. He cupped her breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading at them, nibbling at her neck as his fingers began to pluck and tug at her nipples.

“I need you naked and on the bed, baby, on your back,” he instructed, letting his fingers roam over her back as she bent to remove her pants and panties. Before she could move towards the bed, he pulled her back again, one hand slipping down between her thighs to just hold her for a moment, and groaning in her ear. “So wet for me, baby. I can’t wait to taste you.” He drug his fingers through her folds and then let her go to crawl up on the bed, her legs shaking. He had her in such a state that she’d probably come the second he touched her, and she hoped like hell that he was going to let that happen.

He stood over her, looking down at her as he ran his fingers lightly along her jawline, her collarbone, barely grazing the upper swell of her breasts. Then he slid his palms down the length of her arms, taking her hands in his and pulling her arms up over her head, wrapping her fingers around the slats in the headboard. “Be a good girl and hold on tight. Don’t let go.”

She looked up at him, then closed her eyes as ran his thumb over her cheekbone, leaning into his touch. “Yes, Dean,” she whispered, and he bent to brush a feather-light kiss over her lips before he turned and moved down to the foot of the bed.

He settled himself between her thighs, propping them apart with his broad shoulders, and she gasped as his tongue swept over her with a firm, broad stroke. He growled softly at his first taste, going back for more, then taking his time to explore her thoroughly, teasing and nudging at every spot that made her moan and twitch. He tugged at her clit with his lips, then sucked at it briefly, and Brandi’s back arched as she cried out his name, begging. “Dean! Please, please, Dean, oh god, please...”

“You want me to make you come, pretty girl?”

“Yes, Dean, please, please...”

He smiled, slipping one arm under her thigh, wrapping it back around and bracing it across her lower belly to hold her in place. Then he slipped his index finger inside her, stroking and petting at her walls as she whined and sighed softly. After a moment or two, he added his middle finger, seeking until she shouted as he found the sensitive patch inside her, and began to plunge his fingers into her, hard and deep, hitting that sweet spot unerringly. He bent to pull her clit into the heat of his mouth again, sucking hard and flicking his tongue over it until she let out a rasping cry and came, shaking violently, the headboard creaking from her grip as her orgasm surged through her body. He didn’t stop, not until he had sent her rolling into another climax and she was begging him to stop. He slowed, then pulled his fingers from her, gently laving over her and then rising to his knees between her feet, sucking his fingers between his lips to clean them off. “I knew you’d be delicious.”

He moved around to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, reaching for her hands. “Let go, sweetheart,” he coaxed, pulling her arms back down and rubbing her shoulders gently. He leaned down and kissed her, little nibbles at first, then deeper, more intense as she began to respond. He trailed one hand down from her shoulder to palm her breast, squeezing with a moan, pulling away from her lips. He worked his way down her throat and chest, finally taking the other nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly before sucking it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

Her hands now free, Brandi buried her fingers in his hair, grasping the short strands tight as he growled in approval. When he had her writhing from his pleasurable torture, he raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes dark with arousal. “So you got one more in there for me, baby? Because I want to bury my cock in that sweet pussy, feel you come undone. I want you to be my good girl and squeeze me tight until I explode.”

“Oh, god... yes, Dean!”

He stood once again, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a condom, dropping it to the table before efficiently stripping down. She couldn’t take her eyes from his toned, lean body, lightly tanned and dusted with faint freckles and multiple scars, and she wished for the time to explore and learn every mark and swell and rolling muscle of his physique. He turned to rip open the package and sheath himself, and a wanton moan escaped her lips. He smiled, reaching over to squeeze at her nipple. “Like what you see, sweetheart? I’m kind of loving the view you’re giving me, too.” He climbed up over her and settled between her thighs, shifting his hips to make more room, his heated stare making her breathless with anticipation.

He caged her in with his forearms, letting her slip her arms around him, her hands gliding over the smooth muscles of his back as he kissed her feverishly, done with teasing. He moved his hips, his erection nudging against her, then notching at her opening, and he pressed forward, filling her slowly, inch by inch. She pulled away from their kiss, panting, head pushed back into the pillow as she arched up beneath him, trembling. “Dean… oh my god… please don’t stop, please...”

He finally buried himself to the hilt, holding still for just one second before pulling back and then smoothly stroking back in. “Baby, don’t worry, I’m not gonna stop until you’re coming for me again. Damn, you feel so good, so hot, gripping me so tight I can barely move.” He leaned on his left arm, reaching for a pillow with his right, urging her to lift up so he could wedge it beneath her lower back. Then he pulled out and drove back inside her, watching as she gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head for a moment as he hit just the right spot. “There we go. Hold on, sweetheart, I’m gonna take you for a ride.”

He began a steady rhythm, a smooth drag out then a hard thrust back in, reaching the deepest parts of her, his pelvic bone rubbing against her clit with every down stroke. Every powerful thrust sent sparks zipping through her nerves and forced a muffled cry from her throat, and it only spurred him on. He began to drive in hard, their bodies slamming together until she was shaking and begging, for what she didn’t know. He pushed her knee up towards her chest, tipping her back even farther, and groaned as she shouted at the impact when he fucked into her harder and faster, the whole bed rocking with his effort. His teeth were clenched, jaw working as he kept up the punishing rhythm, determined to see her fall apart before he let himself go.

He reached down between them, capturing her clit between his fingers and rubbing, and she screamed hoarsely, going stiff, squeezing his cock so hard it hurt before she began to thrash and quake underneath him. He could hold back no longer, slamming into her with such force that they would both feel bruised later, feeling himself swelling, molten heat exploding from him in seemingly endless streams. All thought left him, the pulsing pleasure, the fierce, all-consuming release the only thing he was aware of, her mindless cries and whimpers almost faded into the background.

His legs were shaking as he felt himself throb weakly, finally empty, and he lowered himself down, his head on her shoulder. His back burned with the scratches he hadn’t even noticed until that moment, her arms now flung out to her sides, her muscles too spent to move them. He winced and grunted as aftershocks still hit them both randomly, weak little whines barely escaping her throat.

He finally mustered the strength to pull out, taking the condom off and disposing of it, then collapsing back onto the bed. She hadn’t moved yet, and he shifted her arm to rest across her ribs, then pulled her close, coaxing her to her side, her head on his shoulder. “Okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, and she let out a couple of incoherent sounds before finally nodding.

“I’m good. ‘Course, I might be dead.”

“Hey, if we’ve gotta go, that’s the way to do it. Holy fuck,” he breathed.

They laid there, silent, for a few moments before Brandi reached up to lay a hand on his chest. “Dean – thank you. I didn’t know how much I needed this. After what happened… I was acting like I was okay, but I was falling apart.”

He smiled down at her and leaned for a soft kiss. “Don’t need to thank me, you just gave me the best couple of hours I’ve had in… I can’t remember when.” His eyes fell on the clock, and he sighed quietly. “I suppose I should get out of your hair, you probably have to work tomorrow. Sorry about coming over so late – but I’m really not too sorry.”

She snuggled a little closer. “You really don’t have to go, unless you want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s nice, having you here.”

He kissed her again. “Well, if you don’t mind… we’d better get some sleep.” She nodded, finally letting her eyes drift closed as he wrapped her in his arms.

The next morning, Brandi rushed around, getting dressed and trying to keep her eyes off the naked man still asleep in her bed. She had gotten up, showered, tiptoed around to keep from waking him, but now she almost wished… But there wasn’t time. She was standing on one foot, reaching behind her to put her foot into the other pump when he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice making her want to crawl back under the covers. “Morning, pretty girl.”

“Good morning, yourself, sexy man.” She smiled as he actually blushed a little, a crooked grin on his face, his hair rumpled and adorable. She really, really didn’t want to go to work. “So, listen. If you have any more questions, or anything, I’ll be in my office all day. My office with the lock on the door, and my own bathroom. Just in case you need anything, you know, at all.”

A low, sexy laugh rumbled in his chest. “I think Miss Corporate Executive is deep-down a very naughty girl.”

“Really not that deep.” Dean laughed as she smiled, shrugging. “I have to be all proper and business-like at work, it’s kind of like – acting,” she smiled, shooting a wink his way. “Pretending to be all classy.”

He cocked an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes at her. “Listen – you’re one of the classiest women I’ve ever met. Nobody says classy means not having any fun.”

“So true.” She finally managed to get both shoes on, turning to the mirror to put on her earrings. “Well, I have to leave. Feel free to use the shower and raid the fridge, whatever you need. But can you lock up, and bring my extra set of keys to my office when you leave?”

The slow smile that curved his lips made her stomach do a little flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll be there. Pretty sure there’s more investigating to do.”

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

Later that morning, he showed up at the office, and she welcomed him in with a smile. “Agent! Please come in. Can we get you some coffee or anything?”

He gave her a little smile and a wink that Sarah, standing behind him a step, didn’t see. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Brandi said with a smile, and her assistant backed out, closing the door behind her.

Before the latch clicked, Dean was behind her desk, pulling her up and into his arms, kissing her hungrily, his hand gripping her ass.

“These damn skirts of yours, they drive me crazy,” he mumbled against her lips, and she giggled.

“Wait till you find out I didn’t put any underwear on this morning.” She laughed softly again at his moan, and his hand moved down to the hem of her skirt, his fingers slipping underneath and pulling the fabric up and out of his way.

“I think you’d better have a seat, naughty girl. Pretty sure there’s some investigating I need to do right here,” he teased, working his hand between her thighs. “Sit down and spread those legs for me, gorgeous. And remember, you have to be quiet. This is a place of business.”

He gently pushed her back until she was in front of her chair, and she sat down, scooting up to the edge as he dropped to his knees in front of her, one large hand on each of her knees as he spread her wide. “Fuck,” he growled, then ducked down and buried his face in her pussy, his tongue thrusting inside of her as she gasped.

“Dean, oh my god...” she whispered harshly, holding on to the arms of her chair for dear life. She had just thrown her head back against the chair, so near the edge that she could taste it, when a knock sounded at her door. Her eyes widened, and Dean looked up at her, his eyes shining with mirth. He gathered his legs in, hunching down farther so he wouldn’t be seen, and Brandi took a breath, calling out, “Yes?”

Sarah stuck her head in the door. “Sorry to bother you, Brandi. The Kowalski contract is due today, do you need me to do anything with that?” Brandi struggled to keep her face composed as the devil between her thighs slipped a finger inside her and wiggled it. She cleared her throat, her hand flying up to rub at her forehead. “Brandi? Are you all right?” Sarah glance around the room. “Where’s Agent Gibbons?”

“Bathroom,” she said bluntly, trying not to squirm. “He’s in the bathroom. Listen, the file with the completed contract is on the table there by my door. If you would please go through it with a fine-tooth comb, that would be wonderful. Yesterday was traumatic, I just want to make sure I didn’t miss something. Thank you, Sarah.” As the girl turned to leave, she continued, her voice a little strained. “Also, please, no interruptions unless it’s a dire emergency. Agent Gibbons wants to go over some company information, making sure it had nothing to do with the murder. There’s just so much to go over, if you could just take messages and put out the small fires, I’d greatly appreciate it. Thank you, Sarah, you’re a gem.”

Sarah nodded and smiled, grabbing the contract and leaving, closing the door. Brandi bopped Dean on the head as he laughed, shoving him back with a giggle. “Now, Agent Gibbons, go lock the damn door!”

There was a lot of investigating done in the next few hours. In her chair, over her desk, on the counter in the bathroom… It all went off (and so did they – a lot) without a hitch, other than the struggle to keep the entire office from hearing what was going on behind Brandi’s closed door. And damn it, Dean forgot to drop off her keys. Guess he’d have to drop by her place again that night.

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

Tags for mah babes:

@saenalife @deanscarlett @jensensgotyoudean @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @geeklibrarian @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @aprofoundbondwithdean @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @mrswhozeewhatsis @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel @darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @cavillanche @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5 @melanie451 @lovin-ackles @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean @savingapplepie-eatingthings @angelofwinchester17 @kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester @ericuhlorain @undecided-garden @ceeceewinchester @typicalweirdbookworm @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie @tanithlowisabamf @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @kreweofimp @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @darkx143 @disassociativedogma @ioanashalala @jencharlan @deansthirstblog @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1 @winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017 @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @torn-and-frayed @sandlee44 @wingedcatninja @evansrogerskitten @emoryhemsworth @peaceinourtime82

#compelled #dean fic #dean smut #dean x ofc #gentle dom dean #smutty smut smut #maybe a li'l fluff #this is what happens when i talk to liz about dean #so basically her fault #:D

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

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Codename Cupid: Chapter 25 (Final)

Previous: OT8

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU, Angst, Some Fluff

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Rape (as in, when I brought it up, she got mad)

Summary: Our Lovely P.I. reminisces on the end of her mission, and the fate of the Lee’s.

To Have Loved and Lost

Present Day

I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t watch the trial of Lee Enterprises, the plea deals through sentencing.

I’m not going to lie and tell you I wasn’t at the courthouse, listening to testimony, jotting down notes to add to my files.

I’m not going to say that I haven’t spoken to Lee Euna since her family and the majority of their coworkers were sentenced, escorted off to prisons where they were certainly going to be targets. You don’t embezzle, trade and engage in fraudulent activity without being a target to the very people you stole from. Though their clientele skews towards the upper echelon of society, the everyday person knows that anyone who deals with the upper 0.01% is scum.

But I did watch.

And I have spoken to Euna, regularly actually.

She’s been kind to me, connected me with a few other higher up clients that have utilized my services for more than cheating husbands. It’s been really nice to have steady work from clients who pay bank. It’s also been nice to speak to Euna in a non-worker-employer environment. Euna doesn’t have many friends, at all, Genevieve Yang turned out to be a plant from OT7, and anyone she had worked with or gone to happy hour with was either in jail, on probation, or on house arrest.

Together, the entire board, Mr. Lee and Dae-Seong were sentenced to 50 years in prison, each. They were ordered to pay nearly 2 billion in restitution, fines across the globe totaling 100 million, and should they be let out early, probation for the entirety of their lives.

Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min, though accomplices in their father’s bidding, faired far better due to testimony and expert opinions on their mental states. Dae-Seong had been subjected to the same scrutiny, but being the sociopath that he is, did not fair too well under the gaze of multiple experts. Kwan and Seo were sentenced to 10 years, a fine of 50 million each, and upon turning into witnesses, 5 years’ probation and a combined 75 million in restitution.

Rest assured, the three free Lee’s still sit on an Everest size amount of money. They won’t be singing for their suppers or scraping by paycheck to paycheck.

Euna had been caught unawares, scared out of her mind when the raid had begun, video cameras and film crews stalking the office as various federal agents descended upon her office. She watched, horrified, as everyone was hauled off. She called me immediately, asking what I knew, and as the only person she knew not arrested, I was tasked with running to her side.

I did stay with her.

I was in the court room for her.

I was with her during witness prep, when she cried over the lies her parents had told her, when the lawyer told her what her finances and career would be like.

She was heartbroken, bewildered that her entire life had been a lie. They all knew, they were all taking part in it, and they had prepped Euna to be the lone wolf, the soul proprietor of the family name and their legacy.

Let’s be clear, I felt deeply uncomfortable the first few weeks, but what was I supposed to do? I too had been a pawn, but, but, she had no one. Literally, no one except for her lawyers and me, the P.I. she paid to find the men who ruined her life and subsequently aided in her demise. She doesn’t know that though, that I was part of it. Euna does know that Jungkook is friends with Taehyung, and I did abandon the friendship on the truth that she raped Tae. She argued at first, that our friendship was stronger than that… but the irrefutable knowledge of her sexual abuse was too much, it was the nail in the coffin of our friendship, as it should’ve been all along.

In a shocking turn of events, Yoongi is my best friend. I’m obsessed with him, truthly and deeply in love. He is easily the most pragmatic, off putting, cuddly monster I have ever come in contact with. I spend whatever time I’m not with Jungkook and the rest of OT7, with Yoongi. It helps that Jungkook idolizes him, not as much as Namjoon or Seokjin, but pretty close. I just, I hate that I love his friends so much, and that I’m so jealous of his connection with them. They believe in one another, are rarely tired of each other even after a decades long mission. OT7 is, as cliché and disgusting as it is, a family. Jungkook was right, he can’t breathe or move without any one of them knowing.

Also? They’re ridiculously funny, thoughtful and compassionate. I truly hate them, and so desperately want to be a part of their club. If this is true friendship, well, maybe I would’ve held on to some of my acquaintances longer.

The other bit of news, I guess, is that I retired the old P.I. hat. I’m getting too old for this shit, and also, Euna had begun sending shitty threatening letters and packages to my office. While I was devastated to abandon my corner office, my safety took precedence and Jungkook nearly lost his shit when he saw the “gifts”. Amongst this outrage over my safety, I have fully been onboarded with OT7, well, adjacent. The company that oversees them, Big Hit, a horrible name, has put me to work. I don’t work with Jungkook, but am in constant communication with Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok. Thankfully, I don’t have to work with Seokjin, finances aren’t really a part of my gig. Jimin and Taehyung have come in handy, and I might be obsessed with Taehyung, too. I was right, tailing him was terribly terrific, and being in his orbit is equally as thrilling.

My first case with Big Hit was working a heist job, replicated documents, tracking who had been in and out of the museum, matching facial recognition across Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and federal databases as well as creating a comprehensive program to track comparisons.

I couldn’t tell you what my sister does, but when I described a few aspects of my new job, she said “Seems familiar.” C remains, as ever, a mystery.

Jungkook and I have been in therapy for a while. It’s amazing what you can unlock when you pay a professional to help you heal yourself. I’m, obsessed with therapy? Not even a question, I love therapy. I went regularly as an adolescent but stopped when I was about 22. I go separately, and every other week, Jungkook and I go together. He goes on his own, something everyone in OT7 encouraged. We live together, blissfully, and moved to a bigger apartment where we promptly got a dog named Gureum, a name Jungkook picked out.

I love him, so much more than I did when we started dating. So much more than when he told me he loves me, or when we moved in together, or when I met his family or when Namjoon told me that all Jungkook wants is a life with me. Which, one, was none of his business, and two, didn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would. Probably the therapy, or the acceptance that a life with him is all I want, too.

When Lee Euna came into my office, all Versace and dripping, oozing, pooling wealth, I didn’t know this is where my life would lead me. I didn’t know I would end up working for a major organization, steeped in secrecy, that I would find the love of my life, or friends that make every moment a little bit brighter. I didn’t know that sitting in that little office, sun streaking through stained glass, bourbon cheesecake waiting in my mini fridge, that the click-clack of Louboutin’s would alter the trajectory of my life forever.

But that’s the thing with secret missions, or shady surveillance under the cover of night and letters placed on your car seat, you never know what you’re going to find. Now, nearly three years later, all I have left to say to Codename Cupid is this:

Mission Accomplished.

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laufire · 3 years

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Supernatural s2

I’m halfway through s3 already (technically a rewatch, but there were episodes I didn’t watch the first time around), so this post is a little overdue lol. At this rhythim the posts will overlap. Plus I’m hoping I can finish s4-5 during the holidays to see the ~intended ending~ before I have to slow down on the binge-watch. After that, a season a month sounds achievable AND won’t take longer than 2021 xD

ANYWAY.

-Overall, I’ve enjoyed it more than the first one, but at the same time I’ve found myself missing how... claustrophobic? Insular? Compact? That one was. s2 was about the world opening up just a little bit more, introducing new characters to the brothers’ life, etc. I do love the detail that this is something that can only have, narratively speaking, once John is dead. Again: this show gets abusive families, consciously or not.

-The foreshadowing is beautifully done. 15 seasons make for a lot of unintentional and ironic foreshadowing later on, I’m sure, but the purposeful foreshadowing is superb this season. About the crossroads deals, of course, but especially about John’s last words. I already knew he’d told Dean he might have to kill Sam (father of the year, seriously. Though I side-eye the fandom even more for always having acted as if this is only awful for Dean lol), so I was hyperaware of every single detail. My favourite moment was the absolute horror of hearing Gordon proudly, cheerfully relate how he murdered his sister when she became a vampire (which, btw, as someone that’s still bitter about what went down with the Gunn siblings on Angel, I found it healing to see something like that treated as a horror story).

-Speaking of Gordon: I unashamedly love his character lmfao. Sterling K. Brown is mesmerizing, always. At the same time, I have serious mixed feelings (especially after seeing his arc in full in s3) because man, if it isn’t a racist mess. I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s not exactly revolutionary that the first time we see the story from the monster’s POV (something I want the show to do! Often!), it’s when white monsters are stalked and brutalized by our first black hunter. Especifically a white woman, btw (although I’m happy to see Tara Maclay as a brunette vampire. I didn’t know I needed that in my life, but I did). And you can tell that the show thinks it’s just so SMART and FUNNY to have a ~racist black hunter!! I mean, the comment about how psychic kids would be “betraying their race” if they allied with demons?? FFS.

And ofc there’s the fact that he’s condemned for the exact same type of stuff that makes Dean be hailed as a hero lmfao. Though I won’t like, I love the moment where, faced with the comparison, Dean’s response is “I might be like you, I might not. But you’re the one tied up.” I love those kinds of character moments. As of s2 I officially have a love-hate relationship with Dean Winchester, I hate it here xDD

But still, on his own, Gordon is an amazing character (it’s one of the most frustrating things about the show, the greatness tainted by the bigotry :))). Charismatic, terrifying, and ofc superbly acted. Also, I love that the fact that he praised John (as opposed to every other hunter having a rockier relationship with him) is clearly supposed to be a red flag LMFAO.

-I enjoy how the seasons delves more deeply into Sam’s ~~dark origins, since it was my fave thing about him way back when. I’m already mourning the (as I suspect) lost of his powers, ngl. There’s a little more attention in how he tends to over-identify with supernatural creatures struggling with their ~dark sides too (bitch me too, the fuck xD), which I LOVE to see (among other reasons because at least in that way we get a little of their POV in the forefront lol). One of my favourites in that sense was the episode centered around the ghost-who-didn’t-know-she-was-ghost, played by Tricia Helfer. I clocked early one what was going on, but it was still very enjoyable, especially with Sam’s empathy with her (contrasted by Dean being a total bitch about it, btw. I can’t believe I still see post about how Dean is all heart/kindness/compassion/whatever the fuck. Dean is all about selective empathy and only when it conveniences him, pls).

I was more divided on the episode with Madison the werewolf, tbh. OTOH it put Sam in a better position, for a change xD. As the one willing to make The Hard Choices by fulfilling his promise to kill her because she was dangerous, even when Dean offered to ~take the burden from him. OTOH I hate that kind of thing lol. YOU GUYS KNOW A HUNTER PRO LIKE BOBBY, I BET HE COULD’VE FIGURED OUT SOMETHING TO CONTAIN HER A FEW NIGHTS A MONTH. Also, my immediate reaction was to compare this to when my man Angel had a crush on a werelady and helped her every month lmfao. But then, very few characters can withstand a comparison with Angel, in any sense :P

I also liked Sam’s subplot with his fellow demon-psychic kids, though I wish it’d lasted longer :/ (also: RME at the queer girl dying almost immediately AND her power being killing people, her girlfriend first of all, with her touch. The black guy was the last one to die at least...?). My fave was Ava, by far. I loved her since her reaction to helping Sam stealing a psychiatrist’s records was yelling “I’M AWESOME!!”. It made it easy to buy that someone that appeared so mundane, with her easy life and her fiance and whatnot, would become so power hungry and go off the rails, IMO.

BTW: RME at Dean being all “oh Sam is going too dark/becoming to cold” when Sam kills Jake. Jake ripped off his spine and killed him first!! It both amuses me and infuriates me all the times Dean tries to push Sam to be more like himself and then freaks out whenever Sam is not all sunshine and rainbows (while still remaining, IMO, far less cold than Dean himself. Besides, it’s not easy to be colder than Dean, lol).

Lastly, a little character detail I loved was when Sam was jealous about Dean being in the federal database but not himself lmfao.

-I loved the new foreshadowing crumb with Sam finding out Mary knew the demon, too (information he’ll withhold from Dean, which I approve of LOL). I mean, I know exactly what’s up, I’ve watched most of s4 xD (also, what is UP with this family and making deals with demons. Everyone but Sam so far!! And then HE gets dragged for ~getting too close to one smh. Maybe lead by example!! Also also: yes, it was meant to be ambiguous, but I can’t help but notice the only kiss-pact -or further, depending to how close YED was to Lilith’s levels, since to make a deal with her you have to fuck xD- we didn’t see was the one that must’ve happened between John and YED. Cowards!! xD). Still. I’m so curious about her. Her resurrection is one of the main reasons I’m determined to make it to the later seasons, ngl.

-Another thing I LOVED about this season is how they used sibling relationships to parallel/foreshadow stuff about the brothers, the way s1 did often with fathers. I’ve already mentioned Gordon and his sister, but the others are not less brutal imo: Andy having to kill his evil twin, who wanted him all for himself (... Dean is that you xD); the little girl’s ghost who wanted her grand-niece to commit suicide to stay with her, and didn’t give in until her old sister agreed to die in her place. It was chilling. Also, at one point the parallel was between the brothers and a married couple (the ghost-who-didn’t-know-she-was-a-ghost) and asñdlfkajsf. I’m guessing they had fun with the shippers lol.

Speaking of the brothers’ relationship, this season also goes a little further in escalating the violence between them, when Dean punches Sam in the face and he refuses to respond (“you can hit me all you want, it won’t change anything”. Fuck), or when Dean again punches Sam after Sam was possessed by Meg ¬¬

-Going back to my love-hate relationship with Dean, lmfao. My biggest beef remains how much validation his POV gets from the narrative, granted or not; he’s one of the most irritating cases of protagonist-centered morality and I know it’s only going to get worse smh. At least this season it feels a little more balanced than in s1, with episodes like the one where the civilian Sam had tried to keep away dies halfway through the ep because Dean allowed him to get involved, for example. Still, it grates on me xD. The continuing prison rape jokes/demonic possession rape jokes (with Meg and Sam), his general grossness with women and his lack of sympathy for non-humans even when they’re not trying to hurt anyone don’t exactly help. Also, I often see him praised for some of his political views, a lot of which I agree with (his mistrust of cops, saying convicts don’t deserve to die no matter what they do), but when contrasted with his general attitude across the show it’s really grating ngl.

But then he has such AMAZING character details thrown in, that make me appreciate him as a POV character nonetheless, as much as I often want to curb stomp the guy xD. I loved his speech about how there’s no such thing as a dignified death. I love how he refused to come near his mother’s grave, both at the beginning and at the end of the episode (this show is like, the cure to DCCW’s shows false fuzzy sentimentality istg). I love his pop-culture references, like when Sam mentions Dean always thought OJ was the murderer or Dean jokes about freeing Katie Holmes from Scientology’s cult xD (sometimes it really hits you how old this show is lol). I enjoyed his Wishverse episode, and his lines after Sam dies/he sells his soul to save him (“I had one job”, “my life can mean something”) hit HARD.

But most of all? I LOVE how and why he starts losing respect for John. It’s so fucking cold and abrupt and makes so much sense!! Like, yes, part of it is John’s message about killing Sam (... again, father of the year!), but most of all it’s about John making a pact with a demon and dying TO SAVE DEAN (and probably, simply that he died at all. That shit de-mystifies anyone). IT’S SO FUCKING GREAT TO WATCH. “He spent his life chasing that demon. He was supposed to die fighting, not making a deal with the damn thing. That was supposed to be his legacy, not this." Damn, Dean xDD. The *contempt* with which he said that killed me.

I also love his inherently atheist vision of the world (even if yes, it’s extremely funny knowing this show has canon God and angels and shit -no Jesus Christ though, which I find endlessly funny-, or that they actually meet the archangel Gabriel in disguise xD. Either way, the episode with the fake angel and its foreshadowing was hilarious), his anti-destiny stance, and that it’s him and not John who gets to kill YED.

-I liked Ellen and Jo. Not LOVED, but I liked them. I keep fearing that secondary (especially female) characters will feel empty/shallow but the show keeps proving me wrong, even with one-episode wonders, and at first I wasn’t sure about them, but I was sold quickly. Partially because of the actresses, they both had this... humanizing, endearing quality? It worked really well. I also loved the explicit contrast between John and Ellen’s parenting styles, with Ellen wanting Jo to return to school and be safe from the hunt, and Jo wanting something different. Also, I wouldn’t ship it if you paid me, but LOL at anyone who actually buys Dean sees Jo as a ~little sister just because MEG said that rme.

This show is just REALLY good when it comes to giving depth to a character with only a couple of brush strokes, which makes it all the more frustrating when they abruptly die or disappear to never be seen again/only once more (to abruptly die!) :)))

I was less sold on Ash; he was amusing, but having a Genius Hacker TM helping them out seemed like the beginning of increasingly giving the brothers ways of deux ex machina-ing them out of problems, when one of my favourite things about the show is seeing them creatively find ways out themselves. I like when they’re competent! Like with the multitude of codes they have to improvise plans, like in the episode where with two words through a lawyer they implemented a quick scheme so that Sam would escape from a police precinct. I like that stuff.

-I’m still so bitterly jealous about the dead man’s blood hurting vampires detail. SO BITTERLY JEALOUS. I love a lot of what this show does with its lore but that little bit is the worst offender. I want it so bad xD

#talking to the void #my thoughts #spn thoughts #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #gordon walker #ellen harvelle #jo harvelle #spn s2 #the winchesters get to have a tag I GUESS

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Changes - part six Word count: ±5000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part six: Zoë remains one step in front Dean, which annoys the cocky hunter. As new details about the case unravel, both Winchester brothers find out that the independent woman is not planning to share. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Dean squints when he steps into the light. A clear blue stretches out across the sky, the bright color gradually turning paler as it closes in on the horizon. He’s outside in the parking lot crammed with cars; the desk clerk wasn’t lying when he said he was fully booked. The place doesn’t have a sinister feel to it anymore like it did last night, allowing the hunter to let his guard down on this caffeine-deprived morning. The older Winchester brother needs a fix and he needs it badly. Sam drank all the instant coffee and he refuses to drink that shit from the machine in the lobby.

He expected it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. Sam woke him up, turning up the volume of the radio completely during the drum solo of a Guns ‘N Roses song. Not because his little brother likes that particular music, but he does like to watch Dean bolt upward in bed. Payback, because the older Winchester can’t deny that he pulled a similar prank on his brother more than once. Honestly, he’s glad Sammy is starting to mess with him again. It’s been a while since they acted like siblings. The joke was a good wake up call, too, he has to admit, but he still feels hungover: wrecked, tired and in desperate need of a cup of coffee, or several.

Traffic rushes by, most of the cars and trucks entering the city of Rochester. It’s a big town, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment, he thinks of those the shapeshifter already took. Sam found a string of at least three disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had access to offline while Dean was driving up north. These people could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don’t find that bastard’s hideout fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs food, too. Dunkin’ Donuts, now that would be a treasure in this town.

When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was “out”, followed by, “she’s already getting us lunch” when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. He went outside anyway, in need of some fresh air. His shoulder is throbbing, shooting daggers through his arm whenever he moves it, but as long as he keeps it still, it’s not too bad. In the bathroom earlier, he did peel the gauze back slightly to check the injury, and he has to admit that he was impressed. He might not be able to stand Zoë, but she did an awesome job removing that bullet and sewing him back together. Plus, the painkillers she offered are a God’s gift.

Slowly, he strolls towards his car. The pitch-black Chevrolet Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glistening. Dean smiles; what a sight for sore eyes. He’s honored to own the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she’s such a joy to drive, but because it was Dad’s first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take good care of her. It’s what he expects him to do; to look after the family. “Hey, Baby,” he greets his Chevy, letting his fingertips glide over the trunk. “Since when have we reached the phase that you call me ‘baby’?”

Dean looks over the top of the Impala and finds Zoë’s Harley parked on the other side, but he can’t spot the owner. When he moves around his car he finds her, laying on her back underneath her bike. “Who says I was talking to you?” Dean returns, leaning against the hood. She crawls from under the Road King and judgmentally observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench and slips back under. “Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that,” she nags.

Dean grins and decides not to respond; it’s still early and he’s not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he has the sudden urge to pull his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But Baby is fine, she doesn’t need any TLC right now. “What’s wrong with your bike?” Dean asks curiously. “I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speed bump. It’s just the gasket, nothing serious,” she explains, keeping her eyes on the exhaust. “And what’s wrong with you?” he rephrases his question. “Excuse me?” Caught off guard, she pauses, but doesn’t make an effort to get out from under her Harley. Dean doesn’t bother to repeat himself. “You heard me.” “There’s nothing wrong with me, Shortbus.” Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago, annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Then what is that bandage doing there?” Dean asks smartly. Startled, Zoë sits up and hits her head hard against the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. Cursing like a sailor she lands back on the ground. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

She didn’t realize her shirt crawled up. Dean smirks at the string of strong language, but hides his smile when she surfaces from under the bike. Irritated, she pulls down her buttoned shirt to hide the gauze through which a little bit of blood has formed a perfect circle in the shape of a bullet wound. She uncomfortably pretends like neither he nor she saw it and disappears under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn’t going to let it go. “Did Sam shoot you?” “What?” “Last night he fired two bullets. Did he shoot you?” Dean repeats. The huntress scoffs. “Ha! Your little bro isn’t that fast on the draw.” “I’m not kidding,” he states seriously. “Someone apparently was.”

She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed, she looks up at him, lightning in her brown eyes. Zoë is nowhere near admitting to him what went down. Shit. How the hell is she gonna talk herself out of this one? “Don’t worry, Sam won’t get the credit,” Zoë comments snarky, as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away. “If he didn’t do it, who did?” he interrogates, clearly not accepting a smart answer. “What does it matter? It’s nothing serious,” she mutters, getting up. “It is. You got shot, damn it,” Dean argues. “So did you. How’s that shoulder by the way?” Zoë quickly changes the subject, but Dean is smart enough not to take the bait. “No - no - no,” He shakes his head and grins. “I’m not gonna fall for that one. My shoulder’s fine, thanks, but you’re still answering that question.” She sighs; seems like there’s no way out of this. “It’s not that bad, it was a clean shot,” she assures, still avoiding Dean’s question. “Did you get the bullet out?” Dean asks, almost parental. Zoë narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I got the bullet out.” “Who shot you?” he asks again, slowly this time.

Zoë doesn’t answer and saunters up to him, after which she leans against Dean’s Chevy as well. Her hair, still damp from the shower she took earlier and seems black. Despite the crappy night, her natural tan gives her a healthy appearance. The only thing that gives away that she’s tired, are the slightly visible dark circles under her eyes. When she looks aside, she meets Dean’s gaze, who’s waiting for some kind of response. With a sigh, she gives him an answer. “The shapeshifter.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, needing a moment to analyze her words. He doesn’t know which question he needs to ask first. “You ran into him?”

Zoë averts her gaze, debating her conscience. Should she tell him? She knows he will keep digging until he does, but she could lie, obviously. Oh, what the hell. She might as well give him the whole story. “Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him,” she explains. “Wait… Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?” Dean double checks. She suspiciously tilts her head while looking at him. “Yeah.” “Shit.” He rubs his face, realizing what is going on. “You’re Sharon Evans.” “What? How the hell do you know my alias?” Zoë asks with a tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Sam technically did get you shot,” he starts off hesitating. “Beg pardon?!” she cries out, turning towards him, completely stunned. “We rang Cliffer around five yesterday afternoon, to meet up with him,” he admits. She stares at him as the missing links connect. She places a hand on her hips, switching her weight to one leg, radiating her attitude. “Let me guess! FBI?” “Yeah. He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans’s partner. We didn’t realize we were on somebody else’s case,” he admits. “You son of a…”

She swallows down another waterfall of curse words and turns around furiously. That’s why the bastard changed! She didn’t give herself away, those dumbass Winchesters did! It’s a bit of a coincidence that two federal agents call, being on the same case without knowing it. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when it learned about the appointments, it changed shape quicker than planned. The fucker knew there was at least one hunter in town. It was on to her! “Fuck!” she exclaims.

Furious, she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean’s car and her bike. Dean just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that anything coming out of his mouth will only make her angrier, even if it’s just a smart attempt to lighten the mood. “What time’s that appointment?” “Five-thirty.” “Where?” “A bar. I’m not sure where.” “You don’t know?!” she snaps. “Sam knows. He made the appointment, not me,” he returns. Zoë rolls her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment.

“I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Dean starts off, casually, but she doesn’t take it well. “You don’t see why this is a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!” she hisses, lowering her voice when guests walk out the Motel Six. “You don’t know that. There could be two of them walkin’ around,” Dean argues. “The shifter doesn’t know that we’ve met. That gives us the advantage. It doesn’t know we know.” “What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?” she taunts. “I don’t have a plan. Like I said–-” “- Sam’s the geek, I know. God, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second child,” she huffs, turning on her heels as she crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest.

Dean glares at her, offended. Not that she notices, with her back already turned to him. She picks up the tools she used for the repair and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. While she cleans up, Zoë tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she’s not even sure who Sam actually made that appointment with, then how can she work out a strategy? Big chance that she’ll meet the shifter, but it could very well be Terry, so she can't actually go in guns blazing. Cliffer hasn’t been reported missing yet, even though he has a wife and kids. If he did disappear, they would have called the authorities and Zoë would know about that. Nothing is certain, which makes this job so much more impossible to work.

She stops what she’s doing and stares at the asphalt. Gears are turning in her head as she goes over every scenario. Dean observes her for a moment. “Did you eat?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or have coffee?” “No,” she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything? “Then how the hell can you think properly?” he wonders. She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like there’s a war going on inside. She could certainly go with a good latte macchiato to jumpstart her brain, too. It’s no fun to admit, but Dean has a point. “You’re right. I’m off.” Zoë throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle. She picks up her old biker jacket from the handlebar and puts it on. “Can I come?” The way Dean asks is like a little boy would, innocent and hopeful, adding ‘pretty please’ with his green eyes without actually pronouncing the words. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Sorry, Dean. I fly solo.” Her engine starts with a satisfying purr instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier. Content, she smiles and puts on her helmet. Dean, on the other hand, looks at her just like that same little boy, disappointed, even though he tries to hide it. Without another word, she turns the throttle and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a smirk from ear to ear. “Thanks for lunch!” she shouts, overruling the sound of her Harley.

Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. Lunch? What lunch? He feels his pockets, knowing he’s missing something. When the identical roar seems to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn’t exactly coming back, but drives up the ramp going to the city. She heaves her hand victoriously, holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean’s eyes follow her, his jaw dropping to the ground. That dirty little thief! She just stole my wallet! He gapes at Zoë, as she and her Harley merge into busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this…? Stunned, he scoffs. Un-fucking-believable. He, one of the best goddamn hunters in the world, just got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly. “Son of a bitch.”

An hour later, Zoë slips her key in the lock of room 82 and walks in like she owns the world, a straw coming from her iced latte on-the-go firmly between her lips. “Finally!” Dean complains. He made himself comfortable on the bed with his shoes on the bedspread again, sitting up against the back wall reading a magazine Zoë doesn’t want to know the content of. Sam is behind his laptop, not surprisingly. The older of the brothers smiles happily when he sees the Taco Bell symbol on the paper bags she’s holding. It might have taken her a while to get back, but at least she brought the good stuff.

Without responding to his comment, she throws him back his wallet without Sam noticing, who is occupied by research. Dean catches it with his left hand and answers her victorious grin with an unintelligible mutter. She sets down a small tray with two more coffee containers. “I didn’t know how you guys like your coffee, so I brought you both an Americano,” she says. “Francis over there prefers a half-caf double vanilla latte,” Dean comments, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother, who on his turn glares at him and takes his coffee. As if Dean hasn’t eaten for days, he attacks the burrito, quickly tearing away the paper wrap and taking a big first bite. Zoë isn’t surprised by his manners. Sam, however, can’t help but stare at his brother for a moment and clears his throat, disapprovingly. His sibling doesn’t seem to be bothered at all and lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’. “This is good,” he comments with his mouth full. “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, after which he also takes a bite of his lunch. “Don’t thank me,” she nods at Dean. “He’s the one who paid.” The younger brother frowns and looks over at Dean for an explanation. Dean and paying the bill? That’s new. He doesn’t need to observe him for long before Dean stops chewing and his facial expression goes blank. Uneasy, he looks away and swallows his bite. Zoë watches him, too, smirking like a cheshire cat. “She - uh,” he pauses, studying his taco for a moment. “She kinda… stole my wallet.” Sam almost chokes on his food and laughs out loud, the action earning a lethal glare. He then continues to look the huntress up and down. “That explains the new jacket.” Dazed, Dean looks up. New jacket? What new jacket? Then he spots the black leather Harley Davidson bomber jacket on Zoë, brand new by the looks of it. “You didn’t,” he reacts, shocked. She grins at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I did.” He grinds his teeth, trying to keep calm. “How much was it?” “Not sure, actually. I didn’t bother to check the price tag when I slipped your card,” she returns, utterly satisfied. For a moment Dean just stares at her, his upper lip nervously twitching. What would that jacket be worth? 400, 500 bucks, maybe? “Oh, don’t be such a cheap jerk about it,” she comments, when she notices his expression, as if he has eaten something spicy yet disgusting. “You have at least a dozen more credit cards hidden in the trunk.” “How the hell would you know that?” Dean snarls at her.

As she takes a bite of her burrito, she looks up, digs deep down in her pocket and tosses him his car keys. While she casually continues with her lunch, Dean stares at the keys in his hand with his mouth agape, trying to figure out how the hell she got those as well. Sam has a hard time keeping a straight face, and who could blame him? There’s no finer entertainment than this: Dean is getting played. “You touched my fuckin’ car?” his brother hisses. “Obviously. I need to borrow this, by the way.” Zoë holds up a demon protection amulet. “Give that back, Zoë,” Sam demands, trying to be strict. “What else did you take?” “Some herbs, nothing expensive,” she admits, carelessly. “You fucking thief. What did you take, Sullivan?” It’s Dean who rises to his feet, holding his hand out to collect the stolen items. Reluctant, Zoë reveals a dried vine of Viburnum from her inner pocket. “Gardener over here -” Dean nods at Sam, “- went through a lot of trouble to get ahold of that dead plant you have there. I’d give it back if I were you.” “No. I need it,” she decides a matter of factly. Sam narrows his eyes at the huntress, trying to read her. Why would she need that herb? He stares at it, two dried out plants tied together with a double shoestring. It only works for one thing… “Not for yourself, I hope?” Sam asks, carefully. “A case I’m working on the side, actually. Can’t find the damn plants anywhere,” she clarifies. “Keep the damn twig, but I want the amulet back. Get your own supplies.” Dean ushers Zoë to hand the item over, which she does with a sigh. He snatching his coffee from the table and returns to the bed without thanking her. In fact, he’s not happy at all that she has been sniffing around in his car. The silence that follows is awkward, even for Zoë, and she decides to change the subject.

“I reckon you updated Sam while I was out?” Dean nods, taking a sip of caffeine. “In detail.” “Let me get this straight.” Sam, seated on one of the chairs by the table, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The shapeshifter knows you’re a hunter.” “It does, but it didn’t know that at the time of the meeting. It knew one of the callers was out to kill him, but for all it cared, I could have been an FBI agent. The fucker shot me anyway,” she elaborates, finishing her drink and tossing it in the trash. Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s your point?” “Her point is that if we go to Beetles Bar, pretending to know nothing, it won’t take any risks. If the shifter shows instead of the real Terry Cliffer, it will try to kill us both,” Sam understands. “You guys are not going in,” Zoë makes clear right away, taking a mental note of the bar’s name that Sam just mentioned.

“So, what then? Lure him out and shoot the bastard?” Dean suggests. “Not until I’m sure it’s the shifter, not Terry,” Zoë replies, as she walks over to the fridge. Two confused faces follow her as she opens the door and looks inside. “You’re not making any sense at all,” Dean returns, puzzled, after which he apparently gives up on the conversation and props his feet up on the bed again. “You might actually have made an appointment with the real Cliffer guy, not with that chameleon. No one would be able to tell, unless you shine a flashlight in his face,” she explains, as she takes out three beers.

Sam looks back at Zoë, who beckons one of the bottles to him, but he rejects it. Dean takes both the beers without hesitation. “You’re serious? You haven’t even been up for two hours,“ Sam scolds at the older Winchester brother, astonished by the both of them. “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Zoë defends, puts the bottle against her mouth and takes a swig, earning a grin from Dean. “Want anything else, Sammy boy? Some juice, or milk perhaps?” she coos cheerily as if talking to a child. Dean snorts, almost choking on his beer, but when Sam shoots daggers at him, he quickly takes another sip.

“Don’t call me Sammy,” he warns the huntress, continuing their discussion on the case. “So, there is a possibility that we might actually have a meeting with Terry Cliffer–-” “Okay, stop there for a second. Let me make something very clear: there is no ‘we’.” Zoë leans on the table, her knuckles resting on the surface. Her body language is strictly business all of a sudden; apparently she’s not very happy about Sam and Dean joining in on the case, especially not without her permission. Dean eyes her as he sits up. “You could use our help, Zo.” “Help?” She scoffs. “Thanks to the big ‘help’ you’ve been, I couldn’t finish the case last night!” “That happened, sorry about that. But as long as we’re here, we can offer a hand. Besides, we have an appointment with Cliffer,” Sam argues. “I don’t care. This is my hunt. I’m going to that appointment myself,” she clears up. A quick glance at the clock tells her that it’s a little past three. She still wants to dig up more information on her guy. The boys better get going. “No, you’re not. That’s our appointment,” Dean bounces back. “Seriously? You really wanna fight me on this?” she returns snappily, pushing herself from the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That appointment that you scheduled fucked up my entire case! I was here first and I’m gonna end it!” “Oh, come on. How old are you? Five? Haven’t learned how to share yet?” Dean chuckles with an attitude, adding fuel to the fire.

Before Zoë can counter him, Sam comes between the two hot-blooded hunters. “Knock it off, both of you. It will be easier to catch that shapeshifter with three hunters than with one, Zoë. Why don’t we go there together? You lay low and when we find the shapeshifter, we shoot it. We know he’ll probably be in the bar anyway, either as Terry Cliffer or someone else.” “No,” she decides without any consideration. “I’m gonna deal with this alone and I do not need your help.” “I can see that,” Dean comments, nodding at her abdomen, reminding her of the bullet wound that’s covered by her shirt. “Who’s fault is that again?” she snaps. “I’m gonna say it one more time: I fly solo. I don’t do teamwork, certainly not with you two. End of discussion.”

She takes one last sip of her beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a loud bang. “Who do you think you are, ordering us around like that with your ‘end of discussion’? Our dad?” Sam bites back, defensive for the first time today. She freezes at the comparison and turns her head. The boys can see the fury burning in her eyes, as if they just lit the fuse of a bomb that’s about to explode. His comment stirred something inside of her they should have left alone. “I am nothing like your father!” she hisses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean questions, offended. “Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she counters with a tone. “What did he ever do to you? He exorcised that evil son of a bitch that was wearing you to the prom, for fuck’s sake.” Dean gets up and steps towards her, clearly not too happy about the way she’s talking about his father.

Trying to not lose her cool, Zoë chuckles sarcastically, looks away, and places her hands on her waist. “You owe him,” Dean pushes, halting before her. “I do not owe him a fucking thing,” she snarls fiercely, staring him down. Their eyes battle, waiting for the other to look away, but both Dean and Zoë are determined not to be the first. Her anger towards John Winchester radiates from her; the brothers can both feel it. They struck a nerve, that’s for sure. “I want you out,” Zoë declares without even blinking. “And I’m serious.”

Dean's jaw tenses as he grids his teeth. “Fine.” With a sigh, Sam gets up from the bed and grabs his duffel, Dean already on his way out. The younger brother doesn’t feel like leaving her alone on this case, but Zoë clearly isn’t going to change her mind anytime soon. “If you need us-–” “- I won’t,” she immediately intervenes. “If you do, we’re going south.” He leaves a card on the bed. “Don’t bother, Sam. The stubborn bitch won’t call us anyway,” Dean responds, holding the door.

She ignores his words, annoyed by the slightest sting that his bitter voice leaves. In a quick glance, Zoë sees two phone numbers written down on the card, but she doesn’t intend to pick it up. Sam looks over his shoulder, but he isn’t angry with her. His eyes ask her to please reconsider, but all she returns is a cold gaze. The door closes behind them and the brothers walk down the hallway. “Unbelievable,” Dean scoffs. “What a fucking waste of time.” Their footsteps echo through the hall as they pass the front desk. Sam nods at the younger guy who took over for the day when they exit Motel 6, and enters the parking lot. The sun is still shining and shimmers on the cars passing by on the 52 highway, tires rush over the blacktop. Dean halts on the driver’s side of his Impala.

“Where to?” he asks, opening the door to get in. “We’re staying in town,” Sam decides before he sits down in the passenger seat. “What? No! We have better things to do, Sam,” Dean argues, still mad at the huntress. “I know we do, but I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam admits. Dean sighs. “Here we go again with that feminine intuition shit.” Sam rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t respond to his words. He can’t understand why, but somehow he has the urge to look out for Zoë, almost like it’s instinct. Unnecessary, of course; she has been fine by herself for four years. Why should today be any different? “Let’s just go. You said something about a possible case in Iowa yesterday? If she can handle this, why bother to stick around if we can hunt something else?” Dean reminds him. “One night. We book a motel, check on her, and if she nails it, we leave. She doesn’t even have to know we’re there,” Sam suggests. “I thought you were determined to find Dad?” Dean looks aside at his brother, waiting for a response. “I still am, but we have no lead, not even a single clue where he is,” Sam points out. “Hey, that’s what I’ve been telling you, but it didn’t stop you from looking. You were the one who was all, ‘I gotta find Dad, it’s the only thing I can think of,’ Dean bounces back, imitating his voice. “And now you’re ditching him for some chick?” “I’m not ditching him for some chick!” Sam denies. “Ah, come on. You like her and you know it,” Dean carries on. “I do not like her, Dean! Jess just died, damnit!” he exclaims.

Dean looks away and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows he went too far, so he keeps quiet and turns the ignition. When he flips the key, the V8 motor under the hood growls, impatiently waiting for Dean to back up and hit the road. “You said it yourself: Dad doesn’t want to be found. I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to spend the night here, unless you have some kind of lead I don’t know about,” Sam suggests. “Fine, whatever. As long as that motel has a bed. I really need to get some sleep.”

He puts his car in reverse and looks in the rearview mirror as he guides her out of the parking spot. The shift of his body causes him to grimace, pain cutting through his shoulder. “Feeling alright?” Sam checks. “Yeah, just tired. I need more painkillers, that’s all,” he mutters. Sam takes out his phone and calls a booking agency he had listed in his contacts earlier. As the call goes through, he sighs. It’s going to be a difficult task to find a room with that poker event in town. He waits for someone to pick up on the other side, meanwhile wondering why Zoë got so worked up about their father. Dean has a point; John saved her from that demon, so how could she possibly despise him? Something must have occurred; maybe she crossed paths with him later on and John did something to upset her. She wouldn’t be the first to cross blades with him, after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seven here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @heartsaved @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

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whatsarasaid · 4 years

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I'm going to try this again and hope Tumblr doesn't decide to cut my message again 😂 Just wanted to send your way some virtual hugs and hope you're ok and healthy, since the world is a bit crazy now! And I saw your prompt post and, if you don't mind it, I thought about joining the party and send you one: Ada/Leon, post-RE6, involving the make-up compact that Helena tosses to Leon? Maybe Ada comes to collect? If it inspires you, ofc :D Anyway, stay safe! ❤️

Thanks for the hugs! Hope you’re doing okay, too. 🖤 It’s been a surreal mix of hectic and hazy—as I’m sure it’s been for all of us. But I’m happy to have these prompts to keep me, and hopefully Tumblr as well, positive and entertained.

One compact-themed Ada and Leon ficlet coming right up.

title: sentimental. fandom: resident evil. (post-re: 6) rating: teen & up. word count: approx. 900. characters: ada wong, leon s. kennedy.

—

Breaking into Leon’s D.C. apartment had been a nightmare. The man had every door and window sensored and monitored. Ada expected nothing less, but there was some small part of her which had hoped there would be a hole in his security set-up. No such luck. She spent the better part of two days hacking into the system. Finally, after he left for work one morning, she found her opening.

Despite knowing where he lived for years, she had never ventured inside. It felt too personal. Too close. Things were simpler when she maintained her distance. Unfortunately, the safest place to leave the intel was inside his (overprotected) flat.

Cracking the door open, she took stock of his living arrangement. The place was spartan. Overly tidy. Possibly the result of military training. Or maybe just workaholism. The entire kitchen and living room seemed as though it had been purchased from the same catalog—mid-grade, matching, and sterile. She should have just left the info on the dining table and moved on, but unconvinced by the conventional modernity of his home, Ada’s curiosity pulled her further in.

She peeked in the freezer (packed with health-conscious frozen meals), the fridge (empty say for a handful of half-used condiments), and then the cabinets (protein powder, chips, and whiskey). There were neatly stacked weights on the left of the main living area and a sofa, high-end television, and sound system on the right. No decorations adored any surface and everything had a neat place. It was all very…bland. Disappointing.

But her interest was gratified when she unlatched the door to his bedroom. The oak furniture within looked like it had been inherited, a family heirloom. Though the bedspread was department store, the quilt which lay folded on top was handknit. While the rest of the rooms wreaked of lemon-scented cleaner, this one smelled like gun oil and leather.

Her fingers grazed the footboard of the bed as she strolled through the room, taking it in. She paused when she came to a highboy dresser. It was the only cluttered part of the home, covered in trinkets from his decades of travel, antique lighters, loose change, and a wooden box with a scrolling design. Hand-carved, she guessed. It was beautiful.

Ada carefully lifted the lid.

There, lay her compact.

The harsh clearing of a throat made her jump and slam the lid shut. She turned to find Leon leaning in the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed.

Caught.

Ada tried to cover her fluster with a smirk, “You’re getting better at sneaking.”

“Am I?” He said pushing off the doorway to stalk closer, “Or were you distracted?”

Leon looked pointedly at the wooden box and then back to her.

“Your collection of knickknacks is impressive,” she said as she gestured to a multi-colored shot glass from Maui, “I had no idea you were such magpie.”

“You’re here because…?” Waiting for her to finish the sentence, he raised his eyebrows.

She understood his defensiveness. It had been a handful of years since she fled from him without explanation during the chaos of Lanshiang, and then he suddenly finds her snooping around his personal space.

“I got you something,” she said. Tugging a folded envelope from the back of her black jeans, she tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket, giving it a little pat before pulling away.

His brow creased in confusion.

Digging the parcel back out, he peered inside and began to flip through its contents. It was a comprehensive dossier on a young company that had dealings with a questionable ring of scientists and investors—fertile ground for the development of bioweapons. A situation begging to be investigated by a federal agency.

“You’d only give me this is if it were beneficial to you,” he said, fanning the documents in front of her face.

“I’m going to square with you,” she began, disregarding his subsequent grunt of disbelief, “It’s better for the both of us if this place goes under. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. So, if you can agree to that ambiguity, you can keep the evidence, alright?”

Leafing through the pages, his face twisted in conflict. Ada could tell he longed for his youth, back when the world seemed clear-cut and morality was easier to define. A time before she brought a whole heap of grey into his life. With a sigh, he dropped the packet onto the dresser, “Okay.”

Ada softened at his trust. Whether his propensity to hold onto things—old lighters, shot glasses, her—was a strength or a fault, she didn’t know. Perhaps both. She began to delicately fiddle with his shirt buttons, “I can’t believe you kept that damn compact.”

Leon looked down at her hands on his chest and then covered them with his own, “I have to keep something.”

‘Since I can’t keep you,’ was left unsaid.

end.

#resident evil #leon s. kennedy #ada wong #leon x ada #aeon #resident evil 6 #lordbhreanna #prompts #whoops it’s sad

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 4 years

Text

Red Light, pt 1

Hockey AU - Featuring Star Trek AOS, first person OFC.

XXX

There was something about the smell of freshly cleaned ice that instantly transported me back to my childhood, and every time I came in to work, that reminder of happier times made the stress of this job worth it. It wasn’t that I disliked my job - in fact, I loved it. But it was stressful managing publicity and media for a hockey team.

The San Fransisco Enterprise has been the best team in the United Federation of Hockey for the past four years. After the retirement of General Manager Christopher Pike, however, the team had been struggling. There were new players, and the team just wasn’t gelling under team captain Jim Kirk. The starting line-up was a hot mess. Kirk was at centre, and a new trade, Spock, had traded in at season start with a personal record for goals from his team on New Vulcan. Spock was a precision player, head always in the game, brain always four passes ahead. Kirk, on the other hand, was a cowboy. He played tight in the corners, and was a hard hitter, but his strategy was better summed up as flying by the seat of his pants. The men had nearly come to blows in practice, and barely tolerated one another on the ice. That conflict made for an uneasy team all around.

Team morale was worsened when ‘Doc’ Puri, the journeyman goaltender who seemed to be able to stop anything, blew out his knee on a road trip. It was a career-ending injury, despite the advances to medicine that had come in the three-hundred plus years since the game had been invented. The new GM had to find another goalie, and quick.

Which is what had been the biggest thing on my plate for the past week. Geoff M’Benga, the second string goalie, was in his first year in the pros. He was competent, but lacked the confidence to truly take the reins as the lead goalie. Talks had been heated, but finally, a trade was made with the Proxima Bees. The Enterprise’s draft pick for star goalie Leonard McCoy. McCoy was considered the best in the league, although his year had been off to a rough start. The man could stop almost anything, but the Proxima defense lines were weak and when they allow fifty plus shots on goal per night, there’s only so much one goaltender can do. McCoy was happy to be traded; the Enterprise had a solid defensive corp led by Montgomery Scott and Pavel Chekov, and the rumour was his marriage had just fallen apart and he was longing to get away from the drama.

I cleared my head of my musings, and filled my coffee cup at the pot in the corner of the office. The rich aroma of the coffee, countered with the cool tang of cleaned ice focused my thoughts on the day’s tasks. The press conference to announce the acquisition of McCoy was scheduled for 10. I needed a tight media release and some smiling players to welcome the new goalie. I pressed the button on my communicator to connect with the changeroom.

“Kirk, Spock, please come to the administrative offices when you’re done showering,” I announced. The loudspeaker in the changeroom would be amplifying my voice over the din created by the showers, and I knew I could expect the men to arrive shortly. I logged into my PADD and pulled up McCoy’s current stats to begin the media release.

“I’m afraid Kirk is outside signing autographs and flirting,” Spock announced as he walked into the office. “I let him know you wanted to see us, and he said he would be up shortly.”

“How are you settling in, Spock?” I asked. The team was ten games into the season, and I’d been hoping to see a more cohesive group by now.

“I’m starting to understand Kirk’s playing style,” he admitted. “It’s not to my liking, but his recklessness does have some advantages.”

“You guys need a team-building retreat,” I laughed. “Strand you on an island so you have to cooperate to survive.”

Spock looked horrified at the suggestion. “Every practice is an opportunity to build our team,” he protested.

“Yeah, but part of what makes a team work is when you like each other. You have to be able to see your strengths and weaknesses and figure out how they complement each other. That’s easier to do when you are not only teammates, but friends,” I offered. He shrugged.

“I’m not sure that Kirk and I are destined to be friends,” he replied, without a hint of malice. “I fear we are too different.”

“More alike than you realize,” I countered. “But I have faith it’ll come.”

“We will see. As interesting as your perspective is, I hardly think you called us in here for a pep-talk,” he changed the subject quickly. The doors behind me opened and Kirk strolled in. Spock must have seen his approach.

“Leonard McCoy should land at nine this morning, and we have a press conference scheduled for ten. Marcus wants a couple of players at the scrum to welcome him. As top scorer and team captain, I felt you two were the obvious choices.” I directed my comments to both men. Kirk smiled his lazy, handsome smile and sat on the edge of my desk.

“Is that the only reason you picked me?” He asked. I raised my eyebrow in question and then realized he was trying to flirt. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“I’m not one of your puck bunnies, Jim,” I reminded him. “I’m immune to the charms of hockey players.”

“I keep telling you that if you just give me one chance, I can change your mind,” he teased. I laughed in response.

“And I keep telling you, I am a professional, and cannot compromise my integrity by carrying on with someone at work.”

“That’s kindest way I’ve ever heard someone say that I’m not their type,” he winked.

“I appreciate that you recognize it as that,” I laughed.

“I appreciate that you allow me to continue to flirt with you,” he shrugged. “Keeps my skills up.”

“As if you need practice, Jim Kirk!” I shook my head again, but couldn’t help but smile. Of all the hockey players I’d ever interacted with, Jim Kirk was the safest. He loved to flirt, he loved to play the romance card, but he always respected the women he flirted with, and never went too far, never made anyone uncomfortable. “Now, scoot, both of you. I have work to do.”

XXX

I checked over everything that was needed for the press conference. Media release was ready, the new jersey for McCoy had just come up from having his name and number sewn on, scrum room was clean, chairs out, mics working. I placed the script for the GM on the prompter, and made sure it was running at his speed, and then double checked it. Marcus was not the kind of leader to make friends, and he ran a tight ship. He made me uncomfortable, and as a result, I actively sought to minimize our interactions. Being called on the floor because I’d screwed up something simple was not on the agenda.

I was waiting at the zamboni bay doors for the arrival of the new goalie, to bring him to the press conference. The shuttle arrived from the airport just moments after I’d stepped outside. Leonard McCoy stepped out, ballcap pulled low on his brow. He swung his equipment bag over one shoulder and grabbed his stick bag with his free hand. He scowled at me as he approached. I reached for the stick bag and he pulled back.

“I can manage my equipment just fine, sweetheart. Just tell me where it goes,” he growled. I cocked my head to one side and gave him a hard look.

“My name is Samantha Nelsen, not sweetheart. You are welcome to call me Sam, or Ms. Nelsen,” I corrected sharply.

“Where do I stow my equipment, Sunshine?” he snapped.

“I was under the impression this move was a happy one,” I countered, my tone equally sharp and I gestured to a dolly sitting just inside the doors. “Perhaps you can put on your big boy pants before the press conference? You have five minutes.”

He dropped his bags with a heavy sigh and turned to face me. He looked exhausted. His jaw was covered in a three day growth of stubble, and there were bags under his eyes that appeared to be packing their own bags. Aside from that, he was as undeniably gorgeous as all his headshots had made him out to be.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m running on empty,” he apologized, pulling his ballcap off and rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Lawyer met me at the airport this morning to give me all the paperwork on my divorce. She took everything, the house, the car. She may as well have taken the goddamn team and the whole damn planet. All I’ve got left is my bones.”

“And a shiny new contract with the Enterprise,” I reminded him. “So let’s go counter some bad press with some good, shall we?” I offered a smile, hoping he realized I was effectively erasing his bad first impression. I headed toward the elevator, my heels clicking smartly on the hard cement.

“So you’re the media gal?” He asked, catching up with a quick skip. I pursed my lips and nodded.

“I prefer Manager of Broadcasting, Communications and Public Relations, media gal is kind of old fashioned,” I corrected with a wink, wondering exactly how many times I was going to have to straighten up this man’s language and bring it into the 23rd century.

“Of course, ma’am,” he nodded and bit his lip. I wasn’t sure if he was trying not to smile, or trying to bite back a smart comment. I suspected it might be both. I stepped on the elevator and held the door for him. As the doors closed, I turned and looked him over.

“We need to stop in the office and grab you an Enterprise hat. Get rid of that ratty old Bees one. You glad to be back on Earth, at least?” I asked. He pulled his hat off again, and scrubbed his hand through his short, messy hair. I led him from the elevator to the office and pulled a hat out a closet full of swag.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve had some actual sleep.” He pulled the hat on and checked his reflection in the mirror by my desk, slapping his cheeks a little to wake himself up. “This old face has a few more miles in it, anyhow.”

“Yeah, doesn’t look like you’ve stopped many pucks with it,” I teased, tipping my head toward the doors leading to the media room. He smirked.

“Why, Ms. Nelsen, I’d hazard you just told me you find me handsome,” he teased, meeting my eyes. With his temperament improved, and warmth in his eyes, it was undeniable, the man was stupidly hot.

“Focus on the press conference, pretty boy,” I laughed, opening the door for him. He walked in to the press conference, and I headed to the back of the room to manage the media.

#star trek fanfic with OC #star trek hockey AU

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v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e · 4 years

Text

So, Star Trek: Picard - here is my late review of this season as a whole. Spoilers for the whole season under the cut.

When this show was announced, i remember feeling pretty excited. Not for the expected reason. I mean, I was excited to get to see Picard again because he is a favorite character, but what I was most excited for was to finally see a Star Trek show going to the future again after so long.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love Enterprise and Discovery, and I don’t even mind the AOS films too much. I truly do. I think they’re very much Star Trek at heart, they’re good shows full of lovable characters and I do adore them, but for ages now I have been wanting to see something set in the Trek universe going to the future, and Star Trek: Picard finally did it.

Certainly not the way I imagined it going, but I have no problems of the direction it went.

The last tidbit of information that we had about the Trek universe in the future came from the AOS films saying that Romulus was destroyed. I never particulary enjoyed the idea of having Romulus destroyed in Primeverse and I especially dislike the notion of Vulcan destroyed in the Kelvin Timeline, but tbh? I’m glad Picard made a Big Deal of it. That Romulus being destroyed was something huge and that it had an impact not only for Romulans, but for whole quadrant, for the Federation.

I think the Federation becoming something more corrupt is quite in character for what we have seen in the previous season. The Federation always had the... potential to do so, and despite what many people say, all Trek shows, even TOS, flirted with this idea.

it makes a lot of sense and it always did, because the Federation is an institution, and like all institutions it needs to be constantly checked to see it it hasn’t become a parody of itself along the way.

After the Borg invasion, after the Dominion war, I think is quite in character for the Federation to be wary, to not be eager to offer help to someone who was more often than not an enemy. Even more in character of Picard to be incensed by the idea of not helping a people losing their entire planet.

Even more in character of Picard to, seeing this and seeing the synth ban, leave the Federation in a failed bluff to get his way, but still being stubborn enough and loyal enough to his principles to not return to them after the bluff failed, and to say, decades later, that they were indeed wrong.

so, this is the background of the action - a future where Romulans are essentially refugees, unwanted refugees, not unlike the xBS in Hugh’s cube, where the Federation is very cinical and cold, unwilling to trust so easily, and Picard is an old man, haunted by the loss of a dear friend, and that’s where the heart of this shows lives.

Emotionally speaking, the heart of Star Trek: Picard is all about Data. All about Data and Picard, how much Picard loved Data, treasured him as a friend, never voiced it and spent twenty years mourning Data without properly dealing with it.

Picard was always quite emotionally constipated, after all.

I always thought that Data dying to save Picard would be something that would weight on Picard, but I was surprised to learn in this show how much it hurts him. I dream about you all the time, Picard tells Data in the last episode of the season; You don’t remember your death and I can’t forget it, he also tells him, and these first episodes tells us this. He really dreams about Data, small, little things, and his death is so clearly something he never got over, which is more easily seen when Dahj Asha comes to the picture.

When Picard learns about who Dahj is, it’s clearly something that deeply affects him. Very clearly that, since he could not save Data, he would do anything to save his daughter, even a daughter Data never met. He’s crushed when Dahj is killed, and once again so determined to save Soji when he learns about her existence.

I talked about this before - at the end, is all very much about Data, about how Picard never had closure over his death. We, the audience, at least got to hear Data say goodbye in Star Trek: Nemesis. Picard didn’t. All he saw was data transporting him, and then the ship Data was one blowing up. I rewatched Nemesis a short while ago and Picard seems shellshocked in that scene; he can’t hardly speak. I doubted he ever sat down and dealt, properly, with the trauma of this loss and what it meant to him and as a result, he never /quite/ got over Data’s death the way that he perhaps would otherwise.

This is the emotional heart ot this show, where the heart strings are pulled. Is not the only important thing, ofc, and I should speak a little about the new characters as well.

Chris Rios, Agnes Juratti, Raffi Musiker, Elnor, Soji Asha, Seven of Nine, Narek, Narissa.

Chris Rios might be my favorite of the new bunch. Wants to be broody and suave, but it’s actually a sweetheart with a heart on his sleeve. Claims to care about business and getting paid but I don’t think anyone believes him. Santiago Cabrera is doing a wonderful job with him and his many, many holograms.

Agnes is a character a bit all over the place for me. I like the potential of her and Alison Pill plays her in a very ~adorkable~ kind of way, but I don’t like very much what was done with her so far. I do like that she was able to win over the mindfuck done to her, but overall I don’t think she was used very well so far. I do hope they get around to it on s2 and give her a better arc.

Raffi is someone I love dearly. She’s a great character, very smart, with a lot of determination, very sharp, and she’s such a mess. The scene where she’s with her son is very touching, because you can see the hurt on both of them - on Raffi, wanting to do better, on her son, tired of being hurt and not willing to risk getting burned again. She’s cross with Picard at first but once she’s in, she’s so fierce and loyal. An amazing friend to have, and Michelle Hurd plays her really well.

I talked quite a bit about Soji Asha already, but she’s a character I love dearly. She barely knows herself at this point, but she’s curious, and friendly, clever and so clearly full of emotions. She’s angry and she’s confused, but she has such potential to be a kind, good being, just like her father was. Isa Briones is a wonder with her.

Elnor is lovely and I absolutely love the idea behind his character, but so far he’s a bit all over the place as well, like Agnes. The show doesn’t seem to know very well what to do with him but I hope they find out yet, because I sure hope he sticks around!

Narek and Narissa are some of the show’s weakness for me. Not a failure on the actors playing them, but in the narrative itself - they are not compelling characters that you can feel for. I think the last episode gave us a bit more with Narek, but still doesn’t make me feel much for him, and indifference is never a good thing to feel for a character, because it means the plot failed them.

Is not secret for anyone in this blog that my least favorite Trek show is Voyager. I just think Voyager wasted so many, many many MANY opportunities of being an amazing show and it became just mediocre, but despite my complicated feelings for it, I do love its characters, and it’s no different with Seven of Nine. She’s an amazing character despite everything. despite the objectification and the catsuits, and sexist writers. I also do hate the C/7 end on Voyager (who doesn’t?) so it was a pleasant surprise to see Seven on Picard. It’s really so freaking good to see her out of a catsuit. I was surprised to see her in a role as a ranger, but tbh I like it quite a bit? I wish the show had show us more about how she ended up in this position and if she’s still in touch with her Voyager mates, so I’m hoping s2 will touch on that eventually.

also Seven/Raffi? Lots of potential here. I love this idea, but tbh I will need more than just tender hand holding between them. Again, hoping season two will step up on it!

Star Trek: Picard is also very much about this crew of mismatched crew slowly becoming friends, maybe even family eventually. Is about Picard becoming more vulnerable, emotionally, and dealing with his grief over his dear friend, who died protecting him. It’s about the xBs’s lack of place in the galaxy, about the rage of Romulans who lost so much, about the Federation learning to be less ruthless again, maybe.

Is very much about hope even in the bleakest of the situations, of doing the right thing against all the odds, of being willing to help a friend in need, and I, for one, can’t consider this anything but pure Star Trek, tbh.

Was it a perfect first season? Like any other Star Trek show, no, of course not, but it has more strong points than weaknesses, and it did deliver a beautiful first season.

#bruna watching the picard show #-#--#/#Star Trek: Picard #Star Trek #bruna saying things

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